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Chapter Text

Undyne was not the type of monster to overlook details; her eye for minutiae had gotten her promoted through the ranks to Mount Ebott’s Chief of Police after all. Today, though, she had underestimated the weather, and the summer heat and humidity left her water bottled drained long before the end of her daily jog. Overheated, sticky with sweat, and uncomfortably thirsty, Undyne ducked into the first little coffee shop she saw to purchase a cold bottle of water.

That decision changed her life forever.

Undyne grabbed a bottle of water out of the cooler, barely paying attention to her surroundings… until she saw the barista at the counter. The short yellow lizard monster wore a frilly apron and a bow adorned her head spikes. Her name tag had “Alphys” written on it in round handwriting with tons of flourishes, and underneath that, in neat, small letters, it said “Owner.” Undyne stood at the cash register, staring in awe at the monster in front of her and entirely forgetting that she needed to actually pay for her purchase. 

The lizard monster, Alphys, repeated the total, stammering a bit as she did. With a quick apology, Undyne handed over some cash and hurried out of the coffee shop without even waiting for her change. Outside, she leaned against the brick wall of the building, heart thumping a rapid rhythm in her chest, bottle of water dangling, unopened, from her hand. She couldn’t stop thinking about Alphys.

Undyne began to jog past the little shop every day. At first, she only stopped to check that her running shoes were properly tied, glancing surreptitiously through the window at Alphys when she discovered, time after time, that her shoes did not need the attention. She finally found the courage to go into the shop again when she accidentally left her water bottle in her work locker. Sure, she could’ve gone back to get it, but the coffee shop wasn’t far, and Undyne supported local small businesses!

Once again Undyne grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler, but this time she remembered to pay for it, dropping the change into a festively decorated tip jar. She lingered in the shop with her purchase, just listening to Alphys talk to various customers. It became a daily ritual for Undyne, stopping at the coffee shop, buying a bottle of water whether she needed it or not, and observing the cute lizard monster who ran the shop.

The more Undyne thought about it, the more things began to make sense. She’d never really noticed the males around her when they attempted to flirt with her or asked her out on dates. She’d brushed them all off with disinterest, thinking that perhaps they weren’t her type though she had no clue what her type might be. Now she knew. Her type was an adorable lizard monster who wore the cutest outfits, spoke with a slight stutter when nervous, and always blushed ever so slightly if Undyne stayed at the cash register to talk to her.

I’m a lebiab, thought Undyne before correcting herself. Lesbiam. Less bien....

She liked girls, and more importantly, one girl in particular, one female monster whose sumptuous curves and clever mind had stolen her heart so easily and completely that she hadn’t even noticed it. Now she needed to figure out what to do about it. How do you flirt with someone that you’re already head over heels for?

Alphys had developed a crush on a customer. Each day before work, she chose one of  her cutest outfits, knowing that the buff fish monster, Undyne, would be stopping by later. Undyne always wore her jogging outfit to the coffee shop- a black sports bra and tight lycra pants in a bold and colorful pattern. This allowed Alphys an uninterrupted view of some very toned lady abs, abs which she tried hard (and mostly succeeded) not to stare at.

Cautious peeks through the big glass windows facing the street had become daily visits for bottled water and eventual conversations. Alphys once mentioned a love for magical girl animes, and Undyne had absolutely glowed as she passionately described a favorite anime of hers- one involving big swords and tenacious heroines. The attraction was undeniable, at least on Alphys’ end, but she had to find a way to break the ice about a possible date.

Alphys decided to do what she did best- create the perfect recipe for a baked good, something tailored specifically to Undyne’s tastes and formulated for her healthy lifestyle. She’d seen Undyne staring longingly at turtle brownies (which contained absolutely no turtle, a joke that had made Undyne roar with laughter), but the fish monster always passed them up because of all the refined sugar and carbs.

Alphys worked diligently to make something healthy that satisfied that craving for decadence, and finally, she settled on a recipe to win her sushi crush’s heart.

The next time Undyne stopped by the coffee shop, Alphys stepped out from behind the counter, making her heart go doki-doki. It was a bold move for the usually shy lizard monster, but the two female monsters had become comfortable enough with each other that Undyne didn’t suspect anything more than a coffee shop owner joining a regular customer for a drink and a chat.

As the pair of female monsters took seats at one of the quaint little bistro tables with their mosaic tile tops, Alphys surprised Undyne by placing a plate of turtle brownies in front of her. Undyne opened her mouth to protest, but Alphys quickly reassured her that these particular baked goods had been crafted with care… and less calories, carbs, and refined sugar. She took advantage of Undyne’s open mouth by breaking off a piece of one of the brownies and popping it inside.

Undyne chewed thoughtfully and swallowed.

“Well?” asked Alphys, eager to know if the healthy treats were a success.

“I like you… I mean, them!” Undyne blurted. Her face turned as bright red as her hair, and Alphys smiled smugly.

“That’s what I thought.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Stretch walked into his Human Cultural Studies classroom on his first day of college and nearly turned around and walked right back out again. Of course his brother had criticized him about his decision to delay college for a few years… and then a few years more, but he never imagined that he’d put off his education long enough that a childhood friend (and unrequited high school crush) would end up being his professor.

Obviously, Edge considered his education and career a priority and had focused on it immediately following their high school graduation. It didn’t surprise Stretch. He admired the goal-driven skeleton for his ambition and tenacity, the very same attributes that made scoring a date with the other skeleton extremely unlikely for a dedicated ne’er-do-well like himself. As if to underscore this fact, Edge scowled at him the moment he slouched into the classroom and sank into a seat in the back of the room.

The scowl maintained its position on Edge’s angular features as the skeleton professor prowled through the room, handing each student a hefty course syllabus. When he arrived at Stretch’s seat, the scowl transformed into a smirk. Stretch reached for the syllabus, and Edge yanked it away, holding it just out of his reach.

“NICE TO SEE THAT YOUR MODUS OPERANDI OF PROCRASTINATION AND LAZINESS HAS SUBSIDED, CARROT,” Edge said, voice pitched low so that only Stretch could hear his words. Stretch could see that Edge’s tongue was still as sharp as his cheekbones, but he loved antagonistic repartee. 

“wrong as ever, Edgy McEdgelord. i intend to procrastinate lazily throughout my entire indenture as a student here until i receive a degree that i will never use as i pursue my preferred career of wasting my life entirely through inactivity,” quipped Stretch, loudly enough for the other students to overhear. Several of his classmates tittered, but Edge just gave him a slow, knowing smile.

“GOOD LUCK TRYING TO PASS MY CLASS THEN.” He slammed the syllabus down on the tabletop in front of Stretch and stalked off with his usual grace, though his usual grace involved a hip sway that Stretch couldn’t help staring at.

It was going to be a long semester.

The first near-perfect test score might have been a fluke, but the next few established a pattern that Edge couldn’t deny. He stood next to Stretch’s usual seat near the door, shuffling through mediocre and abysmal papers to present the highest score in the class to the student that he had expected to do the worst. Secretly, though, the grumpy skeleton professor was proud of Stretch for applying himself and showing off the intelligence that few knew he possessed.

“TOP SCORE AGAIN, CARROT. AT LEAST SOMEONE IN THIS CLASS IS PAYING ATTENTION.” He actually handed the paper with its marked absence of red ink to Stretch instead of tossing it down onto the table as he so often did.

“when you’re up front lecturing, i just can’t look away,” Stretch admitted honestly. His SOUL ached, feelings that he thought had been laid to rest long ago stirring again any time the professor so much as glanced his way with those dangerous red eyelights. “to be honest, though, i’m surprised you remembered me that first day. i didn’t think you ever noticed me in high school.” Stretch winced at his own babbling.

“OF COURSE I REMEMBER YOU. HOW COULD I FORGET SUCH A-” Edge closed his mouth abruptly, scrambling for a word to replace “handsome” and change the tone of the sentence “- SUCH AN UNRELENTING SLACKER.” Edge lifted the other students’ test results to cover his blush and hurried back to his own desk.

It was going to be a long semester.

By the time the course ended, the tension between the two skeletons had only gotten stronger. Edge avoided Stretch like a highly contagious plague, and Stretch’s notebook contained more sketches of his professor than lecture notes. The end of the class should’ve been the end of the awkward teacher-student interactions, but Stretch couldn’t help checking the online course list for more classes taught by his rekindled crush.

Stretch’s eyelights scoured the classroom for any sign of seating and found none. Perplexed, he watched Edge stroll into the classroom, wearing something that definitely was not his usual tailored shirt, tie, and slacks. To Stretch’s untrained fashion eye(socket), the outfit resembled pajamas- something Stretch might wear on the first day of class, but Edge would never leave his house in under normal circumstances.

Stretch hid his confusion by calling out a question as Edge strode past him. “what am i in for this semester, Edgelord? philosophy of ancient civilizations? monster-human history and politics?” Stretch had picked a more advanced course, looking for a challenge… and another chance to impress the other skeleton.

“THIS IS ADVANCED JUDO,” Edge stated flatly. 

For once, Stretch had no response, and a wide smile crept across Edge’s features when he realized that he had the upper hand. Moving as swiftly as a striking cobra, Edge grabbed Stretch, spun, leaned, and tossed the slacker over his shoulder and onto the mat. Stretch laid on his back on the ground with an audible “oof,” completely stunned and just a little bit in love. 

“nice pajamas,” he wheezed.

“IT’S A JUDO GI,” sniffed Edge loftily, staring down at his student. “I AM GUESSING THAT YOU SIGNED UP FOR THIS CLASS SO THAT YOU COULD SPEND YOUR TIME LOLLYGAGGING AND BEING UNCONSCIOUS ON THE FLOOR, BUT I AM HERE TO TEACH YOU. NOW GET UP.”

Edge offered Stretch his hand. Not suspecting any foul play, Stretch tried not to blush when their hands touched. Edge tugged Stretch upwards, then dropped backwards, falling to his back and using one leg to propel Stretch over his body and onto the mat behind him.

It was going to be a long semester… but Stretch kind of liked it.

The moment enrollment opened after the summer break, Stretch sat at his computer, scrolling through a list of professors to see which classes were available from Edge. He considered filling his entire semester exclusively with those classes, but he needed to work his way through the recommended curriculum if he actually wanted a degree and not just a chance to stare longingly at a handsome skeleton professor.

“is this advanced judo 2?” Stretch asked, a picture of innocence as he sank gratefully into a chair at the back of the classroom. Edge paused midway through writing a lesson outline on the whiteboard.

“NO. THIS IS PHILOSOPHY OF ANCIENT CIVILIZATIONS, THOUGH I’M NOT ABOVE PUNCTUATING MY LECTURES WITH JUDO FLIPS IF YOU’D PREFER THAT METHOD OF LEARNING.” The writing resumed.

The judo flips proved to be unnecessary; Stretch aced the course as easily as he’d aced the others. The lanky skeleton was a single semester away from an Associate’s Degree with a sterling 4.0 grade point average and the acclamation of every professor and department head that he encountered. His chosen degree entailed English credits, though, and Stretch could no longer put them off. He was pleasantly surprised to discover that Edge led the English department and handled all of the high level courses personally. 

Basic English and literature classes filled quickly, but the high level classes required Edge’s personal stamp of approval for any student who dared to request them. Stretch submitted his course schedule online, and Edge invited him for an interview the very next day. This would be a one-on-one meeting in Edge’s office, and Stretch found himself uncharacteristically nervous at the thought of facing Edge alone.

Stretch knocked on the door to the English administrative office, and when Edge called for him to enter, he did so with an attempt at his trademark humor.

“is this the Doki Doki Literature Club?” he asked, stepping into Edge’s unsurprisingly spartan workspace.

“I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THAT IS,” Edge answered drily, “AND I SUGGEST YOU ACTUALLY READ YOUR COURSE DESCRIPTIONS IN THE FUTURE. NOW HAVE A SEAT, OR WOULD YOU RATHER CONDUCT OUR MEETING FROM YOUR BACK ON THE FLOOR.”

Stretch pretended to consider the offer, and Edge stood up and reached for him across the desk as if to grab him for a flip. His face moved close to Stretch’s, and without thinking, the lazybones leaned forward and kissed him.

Startled, Edge kissed back, taking far too long to shove the other skeleton away. “SUCH BEHAVIOR IS INAPPROPRIATE BETWEEN TEACHERS AND STUDENTS,” he rasped, shaken, and Stretch, face flaming with an orange blush, fled the office and the campus. Edge regretted his severity immediately, but immediately was too late.

Taking any English classes at the college would now be impossible for Stretch. The conflict of interest could cost Edge his career as a professor. Edge had rejected him anyway; seeing him on campus would hurt too much.

The counselor, unaware of Stretch’s reason for dropping out of college in his final semester, argued for him to stay. Stretch refused. Dropping out of college seemed fitting for someone with such slothful habits. The only thing he truly regretted was running away without telling Edge how he felt. Hood pulled over his lowered head, Stretch left campus for the last time…

… and bumped into someone carrying a box full of odds and ends.

“WATCH OU- CARROT?”

“professor?”

“WHY AREN’T YOU IN CLASS?”

“i dropped out. i didn’t want you to risk your job…”

“I QUIT MY JOB,” said Edge. “I DIDN’T WANT YOU TO DROP OUT IF…”

“if?”

“IF WE STARTED DATING.”

The two skeletons stared at each other. Edge had already resigned. Stretch had already dropped out. The staring continued until Stretch broke the silence.

“soooo, boyfriends then?”

Edge let out a long-suffering sigh. “YES. BOYFRIENDS.”

Chapter Text

Sometimes Toriel regretted leaving her cozy home in the Ruins to move to the Surface with the rest of monsterkind, and all of these instances mysteriously occurred whenever her ex-husband, Asgore, was nearby. While she admired the gentle King’s persistence, she wished that he would direct it elsewhere since she had no plans of reconciling their marriage or even spending more than a few moments in the same room as him.

Unfortunately, the royal monsters shared mutual friends, and get-togethers often involved Asgore making attempts to rekindle their long-ago romance and Toriel putting as much distance as she could between herself and her ex. It was an exhausting ordeal, like hide-and-seek for poorly adjusted adults.

Thankfully, a solution appeared in the form of a pun-loving skeleton named Sans. Toriel and the aforementioned skeleton were exchanging puns at a neighborhood barbecue hosted by Papyrus. She’d accidentally made eye contact with Asgore, and he was making a beeline for her. No avenue of escape presented itself, so she quickly whispered to Sans: “Pretend we’re dating.”

Sans didn’t question the request; he loved shenanigans of any kind. Asbore walked right up to Toriel and grabbed her hand, eyes pleading with her to forgive him, to take him back. Sans pretended that he’d just arrived, stepping up beside Toriel and planting an obvious kiss on her cheek. With feigned shock he suddenly “noticed” Asgore.

“hey, Fluffybuns,” he greeted Asgore casually. The King nodded at him, still processing the kiss on the cheek, assessing it for possible romantic value.

“There you are, sweetheart,” Toriel said pointedly, pulling her hand away from her ex-husband and clasping it tightly with her fake boyfriend’s much smaller hand. Asgore still looked skeptical, so Sans drove the point home.

“i hope there’s no hard feelings with me dating your ex and all,” said Sans, rubbing the back of his skull as if it embarrassed him to break the news to Asgore this way. 

“Of course not,” blustered Asgore, still not moving away from them.

“after all, she’s an ex-cellent lady, and i’m ex-tremely ex-cited to be with her,” the skeleton blathered on. Toriel giggled, but Asgore finally took the hint. He wasn’t a fan of puns at the best of times, and finding out that Toriel had chosen a new suitor did not qualify as the best of anything… except maybe the best excuse to leave.

“I can’t believe it worked!” Toriel let out yet another laugh, this one caused by relief instead of mirth.

“that’s because i’m an ex-pert in the field of fake dating,” joked Sans, and this time Toriel’s lovely laughter was all for him and his punning abilities.

After the initial success of their phony relationship, Sans accompanied Toriel to any event where Asgore might show his fluffy buns. Toriel hated the deception, but it worked in a way that her words had not. Asgore never approached her when Sans was at her side, but she still sometimes felt his eyes on her when they made appearances together.

Sans proved to be more than ex-husband repellent, though. Whenever they were together pretending to be boyfriend and girlfriend, Sans went out of his way to make her smile and laugh. He distracted her so much that at times she forgot whether Asgore was at an event at all, and after awhile, she no longer cared. The dating charade meant more to her than just an excuse to shake off a clingy ex.

She truly enjoyed the time she spent with Sans.

“hey, Tori, i don’t think Asgore’s even at this party.” Sans’ deep voice interrupted Toriel’s thoughts.

“Oh I know,” she replied absently. “Sans, would you do me a favor?”

“anything for you, Tori.”

“Kiss me… on the mouth this time,” Toriel delivered her request in a soft, almost shy voice.

“but you said Asgore wasn’t here,” replied Sans, oblivious to the flirtation. Toriel waited, and when realization finally dawned on Sans, he kissed her… not because she’d asked him for it but because he’d always wanted to.

Chapter Text

Every lamia bitty’s life starts out as a celebration. As the hatchling lamia opens his sockets onto the world for the first time, he is greeted by the proud face of a doting parent, an awestruck adopter’s muted gasp, or Edgar’s welcoming smile. From that point on, a lamia’s life is full of milestones to celebrate from his first practice pounce onto real or imaginary prey to a transition to adulthood where he begins a life of his own.

At the Lamia Bittybones Adoption Center, these celebrations are shared by Edgar, the nursery caretaker and the rest of the bitty shop staff. Edgar has his own private collection of mangled plush toys that his ferocious hatchlings have dispatched and presented to him. The owl-skeleton hybrid does tend to tear up and sniffle just a bit when he congratulates his hatchling on their graduation from the nursery to the nesting areas of the shop. It’s hard to see his little hatchlings all grown up.

The next event to celebrate is a lamia’s adoption day. Each lamia waits for that oh-so-perfect owner to enter the shop, notice him, and fall in love. Lamias daydream of what their lives will be like in these new, special homes, and being chosen is, according to the lamia themselves, one of the best feelings in the world. Even their hatching dates pale in comparison to the annual celebration of their adoption day.

The rest of a lamia’s life may contain small celebrations, large celebrations, or no additional celebrations at all. Sometimes a lamia simply craves a life of quiet contentment, like a Corny and a Coral who have found themselves a home together. The pair of lamia roommates thought that their life would be smooth and uneventful until certain feelings began to blossom between them. 

Surely the stages of bonding are something to celebrate once completed?

Especially the final stage of bonding when a Coral and a Corny officially become lifelong mates and their totally-not-crying adopter throws rice on them in some strange human tradition that both bewilders and delights them.

In the days that follow, the two lamias scour the house, searching out a quiet corner for a secluded nesting space. Their adopter helps them set it all up- their own private nursery, hidden away in an unused closet. By the time the nursery preparations are complete, the Coral’s tummy already shows the distinct roundness of eggs.

A few short weeks later, the three true eggs rock and wobble, hairline cracks spider-webbing across their surfaces. The expectant lamia parents lean forward, sockets wide with wonder as the first uncoordinated hatchling flops out of his shell, blinking up at the bright new world. His two brothers follow close behind, emerging from their shells with much more fanfare than finesse.

The adopter watches from a respectful distance as the brand new lamia parents complete the circle of celebration by welcoming their three beautiful new hatchlings into the world.

Chapter Text

Sometimes Reaper hated the cruel fate that doomed him to an existence as the deity of death. Sometimes he wished that he could cast off his cloak and scythe and live as normal monsters and humans did. Sometimes he couldn’t even bear to look at the poor suffering SOULs that he collected as the living transitioned into death. Guiding them to the afterlife was a thankless task, and sometimes he wanted out.

Today happened to be one of those days. It always hurt the worst when the SOUL he arrived to gather belonged to someone young, someone who had barely begun to experience life. Those deaths weighed the heaviest on him as he shepherded the tiny SOULs away from the bodies that they had abandoned far too soon.

The fact that no living creature could offer him the slightest physical comfort only added to his burden. The dead rarely waited around to chat, viewing him only as the harbinger of their demise, and his fatal touch meant that he could never risk receiving even the tiniest gesture of solace- a touch on the cheek, a head rested upon a welcoming shoulder, a supportive arm slung casually around the back- without killing the person who sought to help him.

His was a lonely life of isolation without end, and on days like today, despite the singing birds and blooming flowers, it seemed like his own personal hell. To escape his responsibilities and the pity he saw in the eyes of the other deities that he called friends, he fled to the Void. The vast, dark nothingness of the Void echoed the emptiness inside of him… at least it usually did. Today, though, the Void had a visitor.

It was strange to see another skeleton monster interrupting the murky darkness of the Void. The other skeleton seemed to be fighting (and losing) his own emotional battle, curled up with his knees held against his chest, one eye staring but seeing nothing. Reaper considered making a hasty exit to another timeline, but the stranger intrigued him. He crept closer, observing the newcomer.

The other skeleton’s clothing was torn, showing a wound across his chest, and an odd glitch partially obscured his face. Something bright red, possibly blood leaked in thin lines from his mouth. A long, equally red scarf unfurled behind him, moving as if touched by a breeze though no air stirred in the Void. Surprisingly, the skeleton emitted no signals of life beyond the fact that he shifted in his spot every now and again. Reaper knew the dead when he saw them, and he could see the auras of the living. This monster was neither.

Mortal eyes (or eyelights) could not recognize immortal beings, yet the moment Reaper stepped into the other skeleton’s line of sight, the stranger leapt to his feet, throwing his arms out as if to ward off an attack. Reaper recoiled, a natural reaction for someone whose touch killed instantly, but he moved too slowly. The other skeleton’s hand brushed his face, and he braced himself, waiting for the inevitable collapse and appearance of a dispossessed SOUL.

Nothing happened.

The stranger scrambled backwards a few paces and stared at him. Reaper supposed he must look alarming- an amorphous mass sensed but indiscernible against a backdrop of inky blackness, with only the pale hint of a skull and gleaming blue eyelights visible. He extended his arms past the sleeves of his cloak and lowered his hood.

“Do not be afraid, mortal,” Reaper intoned, but the visitor interrupted him by barking out a humorless laugh. Reaper continued, all bravado lost. “I’m, uh, Reaper, the, um, deity of death.”

“You missed your chance then, friendo,” answered the stranger. “I’ve been dead for a while now; only the Determination keeps me going.”

Reaper cleared his throat awkwardly. “I’m not actually here to, uh, collect you,” he admitted. “I’m actually… on break.”

The other skeleton laughed a little more gently this time. “That’s a relief, probably. Do you come here to hide away from the world too?”

Reaper nodded.

“I’m Geno,” said the other skeleton, reaching out to shake Reaper’s hand. Reaper yanked his hand away, but again, he wasn’t quick enough. Geno shook his hand only once, letting it drop when he noticed Reaper’s discomfort. “Something wrong?”

Reaper stared at his hand in wonder, then glanced up at Geno, meeting the other skeleton’s eyelights. “I can’t… touch people,” he explained, though the words were clearly untrue. “My touch kills.”

“Not me it doesn’t.” Geno sounded proud but also a bit melancholy.

“I’ve seen too much death today anyway,” sighed Reaper, sitting down on the ground. Geno sat down beside him, not touching, but with very little distance between them. “Me too.” Scenes from a plethora of genocide timelines played in his mind. He’d come here to escape them. “Timelines without mercy… they all live up here.” He tapped the side of his skull.

Reaper nodded again. The inescapability of the deaths they’d experienced was a trauma they shared. Tentatively, Reaper stretched out his hand and rested it on Geno’s hand. The other skeleton didn’t move away.

Death smiled.

Shared visits to the Void became a regular occurrence with the two skeletons. Each had his own reasons for being there, and they found a reprieve from their overwhelming sorrows in each other’s company. Often they sat side-by-side, hands touching and no words spoken to break the solemn silence. Other times they spoke of their sorrows, offering consoling hugs or an empathetic shoulder to cry on as they fought to cast out their personal demons.

“Do you remember when we first met?” Reaper asked Geno on a quieter visit to the Void, one made for companionship and not to flee from his responsibilities. He suspected that Geno often had similar reasons for making so many trips to the infinite nothingness from his usual residence- the Save Screen.

“Of course.” Geno leaned against Reaper. “I wanted to escape the horrors of the past, and you were avoiding a bleak future.”

“Yeah,” agreed Reaper. “The past is full of unreconciled suffering, and the future is still a dismal prospect, but the here and now? Well… that I kind of like.”

With those words he leaned over and planted a kiss on Geno’s mouth.

Chapter Text

It was so strange. Without the pressing need to scavenge for any scrap of food that they could get their hands on, the skeleton brothers who’d escaped from the Horrortale universe found themselves with an abundance of free time and no idea how to fill it. Axe appreciated the down time, but Crooks believed that he and his brother needed activities to burn off their excess magic and calm Axe’s nagging mania.

Cooking classes were out of the question; the skeleton brothers still saw food as something sacred. It tempted fate to use it for creative pursuits, and the two skeletons would never truly lose their paranoia of losing it. Crooks preferred something relaxing but with motion and beauty, something that embodied everything that their Underground had lacked. Axe agreed with anything that brought a smile to his brother’s face, so they decided to try dancing.

A few internet searches pointed the pair of skeletons to weekly Latin dance lessons at the local community center. Crooks stared in excitement at the photos on the community center webpage. The dancers wore vibrant outfits and their movements embodied powerful emotion. Most importantly, Crooks felt that his extremely long limbs could be tamed into the graceful positions and elegant expressions of the dance. 

Axe and Crooks signed up for the classes immediately, and Crooks’ excitement only grew as their first session drew near. The tall skeleton bounced in place as Axe opened the door to the community center gymnasium. The murmur of conversation trailed off as every eye in the room, all of them both curious and human, turned to the monsters in their midst. The humans closest to Crooks shrank away in fear, and one woman shrieked before clapping both of her hands over her mouth to silence herself.

Axe was no stranger to fear and revulsion. In the Underground and here on the Surface, everyone he met, human and monster, viewed his broken skull and ragged red eyelight with blatant uneasiness and poorly disguised disgust. He expected it, and it didn’t really bother him anymore. One look at Crooks’ distraught features told Axe that his brother was bothered by it… a lot.

Suddenly, Axe saw enemies, threats, danger. His mind quickly grew crowded with confused thoughts that he couldn’t untangle, and this reality became jumbled with his former life in the Underground. Crooks grabbed his arm, hastily mumbled apologies, and backed out of the room as Axe’s one working eyelight expanded and began to glow.

“COME ALONG BROTHER,” the gentle giant coaxed his brother in a soothing voice. Still gathering his thoughts, Axe followed Crooks out of the community center building building and away from the judgmental dance students. It took him hours to settle his mind and react appropriately to the situation.

“stupid humans act like they’ve never seen a skeleton before. they’ve got a skeleton inside ‘em all the time, but the sight of one still sets ‘em off, screaming and carryin’ on,” Axe ranted.

“I FRIGHTEN THEM, BROTHER. I AM VERY TALL, AND MY TEETH ARE QUITE STARTLING IN APPEARANCE,” Crooks argued though he secretly felt ashamed and embarrassed by the whole debacle.

“yer perfect, bro, and they can shove their dumb prejudices up their fleshy-” Axe proceeded to explain in exceptionally graphic detail exactly what the humans should (but were probably physically unable to) do with their opinions of Crooks. 

Though the incident at the community center left him crestfallen, Crooks appreciated his brother’s quick defense of him. Even if nobody else liked him, he knew he could trust Axe to have his best interests at heart. He just needed to figure out a different hobby, preferably one that didn’t involve interacting with humans.

Axe refused to let the matter drop though. He didn’t mention it to his brother, but he spent a great deal of time researching Latin dance instructors in their area. One by one, he contacted them about lessons for self-conscious monsters. He doubted he could lure Crooks to another class, but perhaps he could learn the dance steps and instruct Crooks himself? He remembered the expression on Crooks’ face when they’d first discovered Latin dance, and that image drove him on until he found a teacher.

The wizened woman had once danced professionally, and she had retired from her days both as a professional and an instructor, a fact which she explained to Axe over the phone right before she hung up on him. Most of the potential teachers waited until he mentioned being a monster with a grotesque head injury before turning him down. Retired, he could deal with. He contacted her again, telling her in one babbling rush about Crooks and the community center incident.

The other end of the phone line was silent, but he didn’t hear a dial tone, only the weight of unspoken consideration. “And he won’t come to classes?” the elderly woman asked.

“”he’s very self-conscious already,” explained Axe, “an’ after what happened, he’s reluctant t’ go out in public again.”

“Understandable. I expect you to be at my studio at 8 am sharp.”

Punctuality never mattered much to Axe, but every single day he showed up promptly at 8 o’clock in the morning for his private dance lessons. The focus needed to learn the complex steps helped him calm his often tumultuous mind, and he found himself truly enjoying each dance that he learned. There were many to learn, it turned out. Latin dance was a style of dancing, not just one set of dance steps, and it included many different dance types.

After months of intensive lessons, Axe could samba and mambo with the best of them, and his paso doble had been declared passable! Thankfully, his instructor also made him practice teaching the steps. When she finally declared him ready, she also challenged him to convince Crooks to visit the studio because flamenco (the style of dance that mesmerized him the most) required an expertise to teach that Axe couldn’t develop in a short amount of time.

She also asked him an important question: Had he been able to find an outfit for Crooks (who absolutely adored the dresses worn in Latin dances) in his very unusual size. Axe hadn’t considered clothing, and admitted this to the kindly older woman. She nodded; his answer didn’t surprise her. Fortunately, in addition to being a talented dancer, she possessed some decent skills as a seamstress and had designed all of her own competition costumes. 

With Crooks’ estimated measurements in hand, the woman promised to have something ready in time for Axe’s surprise at the end of the month. Axe warned her not to overwork herself, but excitement over doing something kind for Crooks was apparently extremely contagious. When the instructor showed him her sketches the next day, Axe’s jaw nearly dropped to the floor. These dresses were everything Crooks could ever want and more, all saturated fire tones and ruffles that would echo and accentuate every movement of Crooks’ body.

The woman refused all of Axe’s offers of money, saying that she wanted to see Crooks happy more than she needed cash. After all, she pointed out, she was retired and no longer taking on paying clients. Over the course of their lessons, she had come to consider Axe, and by extension, Crooks, to be friends.

Axe snuck the garment bag into his brother’s room while Crooks was busy doing magic exercises. With the costume stealthily delivered, Axe went downstairs and approached his brother. “remember how you wanted t’ learn Latin dancing?” he asked Crooks; if you asked Axe about subtly, he would’ve guessed it was a hot beverage.

Crooks tensed instantly, remembering the woman who had screamed at the sight of him. “NO, NO. THAT’S ALRIGHT. I DON’T WANT TO MAKE PEOPLE UNCOMFORTABLE. I DON’T WANT THEM TO BE SCARED OF ME,” the last words came out softly, as quiet as Crooks’ voice ever sounded.

“lucky for you then: i took some classes myself. got you an outfit n’ everything. i can teach you myself now.” Axe smiled proudly. Crooks stood frozen for a moment then swept Axe up into his arms, spinning him around. As soon as he set Axe back on his feet, he dashed upstairs, and Axe heard his gasps of wonder when he saw the custom-tailored garment.

Axe said a silent thank you to his instructor-cum-seamstress for her talent. Even working with estimates alone for Crooks’ measurements, the costume fit wonderfully, clinging and flowing in all of the right places. Crooks almost floated down the stairs, doing a little twirl at the bottom to show the flounce of the skirt.

Axe stepped forward and made a formal bow. He’d removed his hoodie to reveal a T-shirt printed to look like a tuxedo though he still wore his basketball shorts. Looking up at Crooks’ unabashed smile he asked: “may i have this dance?”

Chapter Text

Mutt avoided laundry day for this exact reason. After realizing that his beloved jacket thoroughly reeked of smoke, barbecue sauce, and unwashed bones, he’d washed it, only for it to turn up missing. Good jackets were hard to find, especially ones with the big fluffy hoods that he preferred. This one had even been embroidered with a Gaster blaster silhouette across the back (courtesy of spider monster and local entrepreneur, Muffet), and now it was gone!

He doubted that he’d find another jacket in his size and style at the Dump, but walking around in his tank top and jeans left Mutt feeling extremely exposed and vulnerable. He needed the bulk of the jacket to comfort him and add some intimidation to his look to keep other, more powerful monsters away. He couldn’t risk being injured with a babybones brother to take care of.

Speaking (or rather thinking) of little Blackberry- a name based entirely on his roundness and magic color… where had the stripes-clad little stinker run off to?

Mutt’s search for his jacket became a search for the wayward babybones. Blackberry had a knack for getting into trouble, and brothers couldn’t be scavenged for at the Dump. Mutt rushed through the interconnected caves that comprised their personal fortress until he heard the boisterous sound of Blackberry’s voice. For a tiny little guy, the babybones sure spoke loudly!

When Mutt finally stumbled upon the cave where his brother was playing, he found the cutest sight that his eyelights could ever hope to behold: Blackberry was wearing his jacket, and it was quite a few sizes too big. Black’s stubby arms barely reached the elbows, and the overhanging sleeves flopped adorably as he gestured. The hem of the jacket dragged along the cave floor, and Black occasionally tripped over it.

One of Black’s stuffed animals, a bunny with one drooping ear, sat propped against a rock; several other stuffed animals that Mutt had collected for his brother over the course of his garbage scavenging trips surrounded the bunny.

“DON’T WOWWY, BWACKBEWWY!” bellowed the babybones in what Mutt assumed was meant to me an imitation of his voice. “YOUW BIG BWOTHER IS HEWE TO SAVE YOU!”

Careful to remain unseen, Mutt took his precious cell phone- a gift from his sometimes benefactor Muffet- out of his pocket and hit the button to record a video.

“THEY’WE TOO STWONG!” cried Blackberry, bouncing his bunny doll in time with the words as if the doll itself was speaking in the falsetto that Black used for his own voice.

“NOBODY’S TOO STWONG FOW THE GWEAT PAPYWUS! WHAM! POW! YOU’WE BWOO NOW! TIME FOR MY GASTER BWASTER ATTACK!” Blackberry responded, using his “Papywus” voice again. He then proceeded to make kicking, punching, and karate chopping gestures at the other plush toys, knocking them over one by one and providing extremely inaccurate sound effects and exaggerated cries for “mewcy.”

“YOU’WE MY HEWO!” declared the stuffed bunny version of Blackberry as the real Blackberry accepted a hug from the doll.

“I’M NO HEWO,” answered the Mutt-voice, “I’M JUST THE GWEATEST BIG BWOTHER EVER!”

Wiping tears from the corners of his sockets, Mutt saved the video then swooped down on his doppelganger to pull him into a tight hug, jacket theft completely forgotten. Years later, when life looked bleak and tough situations pushed him to the edge of falling down, he would take out his phone and watch that video. It reminded him that he had something to look forward to each and every day: his brother, Blackberry.

Chapter Text

“THIS IS A PERFECT SPOT FOR OUR SENTRY STATION!” Blue declared with utmost excitement. His older brother, Stretch, nodded amicably. 

The younger skeleton monster still wore stripes, but his age did not diminish his dream of becoming a sentry and, someday, a Royal Guard. Blue hounded the Royal Guard Captain, Alphys, constantly, marveling at her every action, and when she’d informed him that Royal Guards were always on the lookout for humans, he immediately declared himself to be the Sentry of Snowdin Forest.

Stretch wished his little brother also listened to the legends regarding how powerful and dangerous humans were, but he refused to hamper his little brother’s enthusiasm. Thus, the two skeletons found themselves walking down the lonely path through Snowdin Forest towards the Ruins, arms filled with building materials: discarded cardboard boxes from Muffet’s Bar and Restaurant and plenty of duct tape.

While Stretch meandered around the construction site, lost in his thoughts about Royal Guards and humans, Blue had already cleared a large area of the forest’s ever-present snow. Blue’s boundless energy made Stretch crave a nap or five just from watching him scurry around. In fact, Stretch decided to sprawl out in the center of the future sentry station location and do just that.

Blue puffed his cheeks in outrage. “YOU’RE. SUPPOSED. TO. BE. HELPING!” he cried in exasperation, trying to lift his brother into a standing position. Uncooperative, as all big brothers are required to be, Stretch kept going limp and sliding out of Blue’s hands to puddle on the ground again. If a skeleton could be boneless, Stretch would be the one to achieve it.

“i am helping,” claimed Stretch from his prone position. “i’m making sure the area you cleared doesn’t float away now that there’s no snow to hold it down!”

Blue threw his hands in the air in exasperation. “THAT DOESN’T HAPPEN!” Despite his objection, Blue eyed the patch of dirt uncertainly. “WE’D BETTER HURRY AND BUILD OUR SENTRY STATION JUST IN CASE THOUGH!”

Stretch chuckled. Blue might be ready to graduate from his stripes soon, but he still made the perfect target for pranks. Dutifully, Stretch stood up and began laying out pieces of cardboard to form the structure of the sentry station. Blue directed the project, and eventually he also became his own architectural and construction team since Stretch often deliberately misunderstood his directions, as older brothers are also wont to do.

Despite his brother’s unrelenting shenanigans, Blue soon had a (somewhat dilapidated) cardboard kiosk erected between some coniferous trees beside the path to the Ruins- a perfect spot to catch any humans who might attempt to enter Snowdin and cause mischief… or possibly even… mayhem!

Stretch surveyed his brother’s work. For a building made entirely of compressed paper, it seemed structurally sound even if it appeared to be a bit off-kilter- most likely a result of his antagonistic interference. “this support beam looks a little unsteady,” he commented. “maybe we should strengthen it with some cardboard-hydrates?”

Blue uttered a choked sound of indignation and stomped his foot, finally at his limit for his brother’s teasing. Stretch just laughed… until Blue scooped up a handful of snow and tossed it at him. 

The epic snow war that pitted brother against brother began in earnest with only a light scattering of falling snowflakes to bear witness to it. Blue’s boundless energy proved to be an advantage as the small skeleton scooped up huge armloads of snow to dump on his brother. Stretch succumbed quickly to the onslaught, allowing Blue to bury him up to his neck in his own private snow poff without much protest or retaliation.

“MWEH HEH HEH,” crowed a victorious Blue. As the snow battle wound down, the intensity of the snowfall increased until a blizzard overtook Snowdin Forest, obscuring anything more than an arm's length in front of the skeletons.

Stretch wiggled his way out from under the pile of snow that Blue had dumped on him, and the pair of skeletons sought shelter together in the only structure available- their newly constructed sentry station.

“you really buried me in that snowball fight,” teased Stretch, enjoying the sight of his little brother stomping in outrage at the terrible puns. “that was cold, bro.”

Blue groaned, and Stretch put one bony hand to his equally bony brow. “i’m so exhausted from the ordeal that icy stars.” With that final pun, Stretch collapsed dramatically… right on top of Blue.

“PAPY, NO!” cried Blue in dismay, fighting to hold Stretch up and failing.

“sorry, bro, gravity is increasing on me,” explained Stretch as his body weight slowly crushed Blue to the floor.

“NO IT ISN’T!” shouted Blue.

“yup. same thing happened to me yesterday.”

“YOU ROTTEN BROTHER! YOUR BUTT IS CRUSHING ME!” complained Blue from the floor where Stretch’s sprawl of lanky limbs squashed him into the ground. No matter how much he pushed and shoved, he couldn’t move the bigger skeleton.

Soon, Blue stopped struggling and went unusually still and quiet. Concerned, Stretch stood up to check on him only to discover that Blue, exhausted from building the shack and trouncing him in snow combat, had fallen asleep.

Stretch pulled off his hoodie and laid it over Blue’s small body to keep him warm. He shivered a bit, but the cold didn’t bother him enough to leave his brother uncovered. When the blizzard subsided, Stretch carried Blue, still wrapped in his hoodie, back to their house and tucked him into bed properly.

Over the years, the rickety looking shack deep in Snowdin Forest stood firm, despite its hodgepodge construction, and if each of the skeleton brothers occasionally paid it a visit for maintenance to ensure its continued existence? Well, it certainly wasn’t something worth mentioning….

Chapter Text

“Apples?” you asked in a voice rife with skepticism. “You brought apples to our cooking lesson?”

The twin skeleton guardians of the Sacred Tree at least had the decency to appear appropriately chastised before they corrected you.

“These aren’t from our Tree,” Dream explained.

“We just thought it would be funny,” continued Night, looking a bit embarrassed at the premise of the joke now that it had fallen flat.

You sighed. “When life gives you apples, it’s time to make a pie, right?” Smiles lit up the skeletons’ faces- so similar, yet so different if you knew them well enough. Dream’s smiles were as bright as sunshine and as plentiful as seeds on a sunflower. Night smiled reluctantly, his emotions kept shadowed and guarded like the moon on a cloudy autumn night.

Neither of the brothers had many friends among the villagers, though most villagers found Dream appealing for his warm personality. Everyone focused so much on the Sacred Tree and its golden apples that they sometimes forgot that the guardians were people just like everyone else… well, not quite like everyone else, but close enough for you, at least. You had invited them over for a cooking lesson to help them feel included in at least one villager’s life.

The two skeletons placed their apples on your counter, and you frowned briefly before schooling your face to neutrality. The apples were two different types. You recognized Granny Smith apples right away from their unique color, and closer inspection of the other apples revealed stickers that read “Honeycrisp.” Not only were these apples of two different types, they had completely different textures and flavor profiles. You decided to peel them and chop them into small pieces instead of slices to disguise the inconsistency.

While you worked, you instructed the guardians to start on the pie dough.

You provided Dream and Night with a worn and well-loved recipe book that contained all of your favorite recipes with annotations for changes, tips, and results. You trusted the simple pie crust recipe that the book contained. Even beginning bakers like the skeleton twins should be able to follow the directions easily.

Should be.

You focused on peeling and chopping the apples, only half paying attention to the two skeletons. Dream and Night took turns measuring flour, adding cold water, and chopping up butter for their part of the recipe. The butter chopping became a friendly competition, and you didn’t even notice that before long, an entire pound of butter had found its way into the pie crust mixture. You did notice, however, the mention of eggs.

“Baking requires eggs,” Night explained to Dream, who had appointed himself leader of their foray into crust construction. You turned towards them just in time to see Night holding out a pair of eggs to Dream. Dream cracked the eggs into the pie crust mixture before you even had a chance to protest.

Pie crusts don’t use eggs at all, you wanted to tell them, but you also didn’t want to discourage their ambitious efforts, so you simply hoped that the crust could survive their misguided attempt at being expert chefs.

Once the pie crust mixture had been thoroughly mixed- and subsequently spilled several times due to overenthusiasm- you helped the twins press it into a floured pie pan. It actually looked passable despite the addition of eggs and a bit too much butter. It helped that both brothers had insisted on adding a handful flour to the pan. The abundance of flour absorbed the extra moisture.

Next, the apples needed to be seasoned with sugar, cinnamon, ginger, and nutmeg. You watched carefully as each skeleton sprinkled the correct amount of sugar over the apple pieces. Dream and Night struggled a bit with the spices though.

First, Dream added the cinnamon. Night was supposed to add the other two spices, but due to a mix up with the containers, he ended up adding even more cinnamon. In an attempt to assist his brother, Dream only succeeded in spilling a small mountain of nutmeg onto half of the apples. You scraped as much of it as you could off of the fruit, but you were pretty sure that this pie would become a freshly baked spice bomb.

Still determined to make this pie fiasco work, you helped the brothers cut the rest of the pie dough into strips so they could make a latticework top for their pie, something unnecessary and fancy that made both brothers bounce with excitement. You turned your attention to making an egg wash, delegating the weaving of the edible lattice to the two skeletons, a task which they settled into with the utmost concentration and excessive planning.

It was difficult to hold in your laughter as the pair squabbled good-naturedly over how the lattice should be woven. It may not have been the best-looking pie crust you’d seen, but the pride that Dream and Night clearly felt over their work made a few wayward strips of pie crust a nonissue.

A quick brush of egg wash and a sprinkling of sugar and the pie was officially ready for bake time. Thankfully your oven had an interior light so that the brothers could watch their creation bake without constantly opening the oven door and letting the heat escape. The sweet scent of apples and the tang of spices filled your home as the guardians of the Sacred Tree waited anxiously through the longest 2700 seconds of their lives for their pie to finish baking.

The moment of truth arrived: you removed the pie carefully from the oven, letting it rest for several more excruciatingly long minutes before carving three slices out of the steaming monstrosity and setting them on three small plates. You, Dream, and Night each picked up a spoon and lifted bites of the fragrant pie to your mouths in perfectly choreographed unison.

It tasted terrible. The crust lacked any sort of golden flakiness (thanks to the addition of eggs), the apples’ flavors somehow cancelled each other out creating a strange absence of apple taste, and the overabundance of cinnamon and nutmeg scorched your mouth and nose and made the entire thing difficult to swallow.

If the price of seeing the delight that shone on the guardians’ faces was choking down a slice of horrendous apple pie though, then every bite was worth it...

… but you insisted on letting them take home the leftovers.

Chapter Text

The skeleton brothers from the Underfell universe didn’t need reasons to argue. Their antagonistic brotherly relationship transcended their life in the Underground, following them to their new home on the Surface. Most of the pointless altercations ended with Red storming out of the house, door slamming behind him on his way to Grillby’s. By the time he stumbled back home in the wee hours of the morning, the animosity had faded away into mild worry on Edge’s part over his brother’s whereabouts.

Scoldings over his trips to Grillby’s comprised a rather large percentage of the argument fodder, and unfortunately, when Red opened the door that day to storm out to his favorite haunt, Doomfanger darted out before either skeleton could stop her. The little white streak vanished into the hedges that bordered the driveway, and the brothers stood slack-jawed in the wake of her escape.

The shocked silence didn’t last long.

Without missing a beat, Edge berated Red while simultaneously shoving him out of the way to pursue his wayward cat. Edge almost knocked Red off his feet in his hurry to find her, and a string of insults slowly faded into a murmur then to silence as the distance between the brothers increased. Red took a seat on the front steps and closed the door behind him, opting to await Doomfanger’s possible return instead of going to Grillby’s. As much as he hated to admit it, he cared about his brother’s cat… and his brother.

Hours passed, and when Edge finally returned to the house that he shared with Red, he appeared dejected. Doomfanger wasn’t with him. Guilt washed over Red, especially when Edge just glanced at him, too fatigued from his search to even toss a casual insult his brother’s way. At that moment Red vowed that he would not rest until they found Doomfanger… after a good night’s sleep of course.

The next day, the two skeletons scoured the neighborhood, showing everyone they passed one of the abundance of photos of Doomfanger that each of them had on his phone. She happened to be a very photogenic cat and adored the glamor and attention of a photo shoot.

Nobody had seen her, but one helpful neighbor from a nearby apartment complex asked them if they had checked the local animal shelter. Stray cats who were friendly enough to be caught by Animal Control were taken there to either await pick-up by their owners or find new ones through the adoption process. Red and Edge locked eyelights, silently agreeing to check the shelter for Doomfanger.

Never one to simply walk through the front door of a public building, Edge organized a two-skeleton recon mission that involved Red crouching in front of each of the animal shelter’s windows while Edge stood on his back to peer inside. Sure enough, one of the windows yielded results. There could be no mistaking that gleaming white fur and delicate pink nose! Doomfanger sat in her crate, peering down her elegant nose at the other scruffy cats around her.

“HUMAN LAW ENFORCEMENT HAS ARRESTED MY PRECIOUS DOOMFANGER! WE MUST INITIATE A JAILBREAK AT ONCE!” growled Edge, leaping to the ground and immediately sketching out rough, elaborate plans into the dirt underneath the window.

“i think you can just go in and claim her,” Red pointed out, but Edge ignored him, tapping his mandible with the stick he was using to create a layout of the building. Red assumed the acorn and leaf on the diagram were meant to represent them, and the twig “X” was probably Doomfanger.

Edge scanned the surrounding area. “THAT SHRUB COULD HIDE THE ENTRANCE OF THE TUNNEL…” he mumbled to himself. Red sighed and wandered around the side of the building to execute his own, much less involved, plan.

Edge was still mulling over the necessity of drugging the guard when Red returned, cat carrier in hand. Doomfanger let out a disgruntled meow at being shuttled around in such an undignified manner.

“HOW DID YOU RESCUE HER?” Edge asked, leaning over to coo at his beloved pet through the grating at the front of the carrier. Red noticed, but did not mention, the sparkle that appeared in Edge’s eyelights when he baby talked to his cat. “DID YOU FEIGN INJURY TO DISTRACT THE GUARD?”

“no, Boss,” replied Red. “i went in and asked for her. they even loaned me this carrier so we could take her home.”

Edge snorted. “I SUPPOSE THAT’S ONE WAY TO DO THINGS,” he grumbled, scuffing out his carefully drawn strategies with the toe of one boot. He paused as if gathering the mental resolve to deliver his next words. “EXCELLENT WORK, SANS.”

Red basked in the praise. The skeleton brothers did not need a reason to argue, but all of their contentious bickering simply served as a disguise for emotions that they struggled to express. No, they didn’t need a reason to argue, but they were working on finding more reasons to encourage and agree.

Chapter Text

It’s difficult to plan the perfect gift for your brother’s graduation from stripes to monster adulthood when you’re so busy worrying about his future. Thankfully, Wine prided himself on his strategizing. He started by listing all of the reasons that he worried about his brother, whom he affectionately called Coffee. If he listed his worries, he could organize and solve them more efficiently before turning his attention to the gift choices.

Wine’s primary concern involved the dangerous nature of their universe. Monsters in stripes enjoyed relative safety in the Underground, but adult monsters were always at risk of attack by ambitious monsters seeking to increase their status. Coffee possessed no combat skills; he hated conflict and avoided it whenever possible. The solution for this issue led Wine to his second source of worry: the party.

In order to guarantee Coffee’s safety (as much as anyone’s safety could ever truly be guaranteed), Wine had arranged a grandiose party for the milestone celebration. Many powerful monsters would be attending, showing that Coffee boasted powerful allies who would retaliate against anyone who harmed him. The Queen herself had RSVPed to the event! Wine hoped the sight of a Queen, a Royal Guard Captain, and a variety of influential guests would ensure that no monster dared to threaten his brother.

The party itself presented the third major worry that took up residence in Wine’s thoughts: Coffee would not enjoy the spectacular celebration at all. Wine’s brother became very uncomfortable in social situations. He disliked talking to others and being the center of attention. Thus far, Wine had not devised a solution to his brother’s social aversion. The party needed to happen, and Coffee needed to mingle. Forcing his brother into such a situation, whether for his own good or not, did not sit well with Wine.

The solution dawned on him like the sun that he hoped to someday see: he could kill two proverbial birds with one brilliant idea… if Muffet agreed to help him.

Thankfully, Muffet adored Coffee, so when Wine proposed his master plan to her, she agreed to help without argument or repayment.

Time careened forward as it often did when deadlines needed to be met. Working diligently, Muffet combined her talents with spider silk with Wine’s abundance of magic to craft a gift worthy of Coffee’s new status as an adult. The day of the grand event arrived, and with the party only a few hours away, Wine knocked on the door to his brother’s bedroom.

Coffee opened the door just a crack to see who might want to speak to him, and when he saw his older brother waiting on the other side, he threw the door wide open in welcome. Wine quickly assessed the room for threats, tactical advantages, and escape routes, a habit he’d developed as Captain of the Royal Guard. This room was where Coffee felt the most comfortable, surrounded by the things he enjoyed the most, all gifts from Wine intended to provide a happy life for his brother.

Coffee had a video game paused, the controller abandoned on the floor when Coffee got up to answer Wine’s knock. Rubik’s cubes and other puzzles were scattered about, and an army of figurines marched across the dresser top. Blankets and an overabundance of pillows hid the bed, and Coffee’s clothes were sorted in numerous piles in a system that only made sense to him.

Coffee stood in the center of the room, his private retreat, and wrung his hands, nervous about the upcoming social event. Wine gave his brother a gentle smile and held up the box that contained his brother’s gift. Coffee took the box reverently. He opened the gift by carefully untaping each end and sliding the box out, leaving the wrapping paper intact and tube-shaped. Wine chuckled warmly at this typical behavior of his brother’s. All of Coffee’s idiosyncrasies made him who he was, and Wine took a great deal of comfort in the routine-ness of them.

“NO MORE STRIPES FOR YOU, DEAR BROTHER,” Wine announced as Coffee lifted the lid off of the box. “I THOUGHT YOU WOULD ENJOY THIS PARTICULAR ARTICLE OF CLOTHING INSTEAD.”

Coffee lifted a black hoodie out of the box. The hoodie material felt extremely soft, and when he pulled it on over his skull, the fabric wrapped around him like a comforting hug. The hood allowed him to hide his face so he didn’t feel so exposed. He lifted one soft hoodie string to his mouth and chewed the end of it. 

“i like it,” Coffee said quietly as Wine led him to a full-length mirror in the hallway. It took a moment for Coffee to actually look at himself in the mirror, but when he did, he gasped in delight. The hoodie read “Nervous Guy” when he first saw the lettering on it, but the words changed to “Happy Guy” as soon as the skeleton noticed the words and smiled.

“NOW YOU CAN EXPRESS YOURSELF WITHOUT NEEDING TO SPEAK,” Wine explained unnecessarily. Coffee gave him a rare and cherished hug, and Wine savored it with closed sockets before speaking again. “THERE’S ANOTHER GIFT IN THE BOX TOO.”

Coffee darted back into his room. Underneath the hoodie, the box contained a spiral-bound book with blank pages and a marker. Coffee already had sketchbooks, so he looked to Wine for a (necessary this time) explanation of the gift.

“THE PEN NEVER RUNS OUT OF INK, AND THE BOOK NEVER RUNS OUT PAGES,” said Wine. “IF YOU AREN’T COMFORTABLE TALKING, YOU CAN WRITE WHAT YOU WANT TO SAY IN THE NOTEBOOK.”

Coffee sniffled, tears gathering in his sockets. Wine truly understood him. Coffee had been so afraid of adulthood, so afraid of the implications of a social gathering that focused on him alone. He should have known that Wine would take care of him. He always did.

Leaning over the notebook, Coffee wrote a few words on the very first page, turning them to show his brother.

The lettering of Coffee’s hoodie (which now read “Grateful Guy”) and the message scribbled in the notebook blurred as Wine wiped tears from his own sockets. He and Coffee shared yet another of their treasured embraces, and the notebook laid on the floor, open to the page with the words “Best Brother Ever” written on it.

Chapter Text

From the moment the newly hatched Krait tumbled out of his shell into the big wide world, the young full-sized King who observed the hatching adored him. Edgar saw the look of affection in the King’s eyes and initially mistook it for that joyful glimmer that he himself felt at seeing any baby creature, but this was different. The King knew that he and the baby Krait were meant to be together always.

Swiftly, the King scooped the Krait into his arms, holding the hatchling close and letting him feel the beat of the bigger lamia’s SOUL. When the King passed the Krait to the nursery caretaker for his first bottle feeding, the hatchling beeped and peeped frantically until Edgar returned him to the King’s arms. The Krait quieted instantly, and from that moment forward, the pair were inseparable.

The King fashioned his scarf into a sling to carry his small friend around in. The Krait, a full-sized lamia himself, grew quickly under the King’s painstaking care. The King fed him until he was old enough that the pair could simply share meals in companionable silence. He preferred to bathe with the King nearby, allowing his friend to dry him off before he returned to his sling. Each night, he fell asleep listening to the gentle thrum of the King’s SOUL.

The King stayed in the nursery well past the time that he should have moved out into the adoption area. He had no intentions of leaving his friend behind. Once the Krait reached young adulthood, they moved to a nest in the shop together. The nest bordered the King nesting area yet was in close proximity to the Krait pools- the best of both worlds!

Though many guests at the shop petted and cuddled the Krait during their visits, he never attempted to stow away in any of their backpacks, purses, or clothing. His bondmate wouldn’t fit in any of the available spaces, and the Krait had no intention of leaving the King behind just as the King had once refused to leave the nursery without him. For his part, the King opted not to participate in displays for potential adopters either. Unless they wanted a Krait, the King just wasn’t interested.

The pair of lamias were in no rush to find a permanent home outside of the shop. They refused to be separated, and if that meant waiting longer (or even forever) for the right adopter, it didn’t bother them as long as they were together. 

Days blended into weeks, and weeks became months. Months eventually accumulated into years, and still the two lamias lived their happy lives in their shared nest in the shop. A potential adopter entered the shop one day while the bondmates lounged next to the Krait pools. The King watched the Krait perform the same type of acrobatics that had won him over during their bonding display. The sight of his bondmate in a Krait’s natural element always brought a smile to his face. The smile widened when he overheard the conversation between the adopter and Vex, the shopkeeper.

“- looking for a Krait and a King. I know it’s an unusual combination, but I think that they would be perfect for me,” the person explained to Vex. The Krait slithered out of the play pool. He’d heard the words King and Krait spoken together too. The King quickly dried the Krait off with a fluffy towel and tucked him into his carrying pouch. The pair snuck closer to the front desk, where Vex asked the adopter a few questions.

Vex spotted the pair and gave them a barely perceptible nod to let them know that she approved of this adopter. Poking his head out of his pouch, the Krait pointed to the satchel sitting on the ground next to the visitor. It seemed like an ideal place to stow away… except that the King would never fit! The bondmates hissed quietly to each other, discussing their stowing away strategy.

Vex continued to distract the adopter while the lamias made plans. In the end, the King decided to wedge himself into the satchel as best he could. It didn’t turn out well. The King could only get the bag over his head and one shoulder, and Vex was running out of ways to keep the person’s attention on her. The Krait bounced up and down on the King, trying to squash him further into the satchel to no avail.

Vex waved her arms wildly as the person turned, just in time to see a King thoroughly stuck in their satchel, one arm contorted above his head to fit inside and the strap snagged on his other arm. A Krait perched atop the King’s head, sockets wide in shock at being caught in the middle of stowing away.

Covering their mouth to hide their laughter, the adopter extricated the King from the satchel. The King and his bondmate looked crestfallen, so the adopter made a quick suggestion: “I have a wagon outside that you’d both fit into. I can wander around the shop for a bit while you sort yourselves out, and I promise not to look in the wagon until I get home.”

Vex watched out the window as the lamia bondmates shifted blankets around in the wagon to hide themselves while their new owner filled out the adoption paperwork. As the Krait snuggled up against his bondmate, a thought occurred to both of them. If their new adopter allowed it and they felt comfortable in their new home, the Krait might soon be doing some carrying of his own...

Chapter Text

Being in the Underlust universe always made Axe, the Sans from Horrortale, uncomfortable. The monsters, each of them unusually good-looking and flamboyantly dressed, stared openly at him in his worn, blood-stained hoodie with the jagged hole in his skull and whispered to each other behind their hands as soon as he passed them. He endured their stares and gossip resolutely; he wasn’t here for them anyway. He only came to this universe to visit its Sans.

The Sans in question paraded across the stage at Grillby’s club, waving his hipbones in an exaggerated manner in time with the thumping bass-heavy music and flirting with any monster within his line of sight. Midway through swinging around a pole using only his femurs to support himself, Axe managed to catch his twinkling, heart-shaped eyelights. Lust abandoned the pole and shimmied over, giving the hulking skeleton a sassy wink.

Placing his legs shoulder-width apart, Lust leaned down, tilting his coccyx towards the ceiling. Axe raised his browbones without saying a word. Petulant at the lack of reaction, Lust turned his elevated tailbone into a quick split, ending with his ribs pressed to the stage and his chin cupped innocently in his hands. Axe would never admit it, but he truly admired Lust’s unrelenting showmanship.

“What can I do for you, handsome,” purred Lust as the club’s other patrons grumbled at being ignored in favor of the disheveled skeleton. “The usual?”

“I wouldn’t come here for anything else,” rumbled Axe, playing up the flirtatious banter.

Lust swung his legs around, using the momentum to toss himself into Axe’s arms; the burly skeleton caught him easily and carried him, bridal-style, up the stairs to Grillby’s private rooms. The mood of the crowd had shifted, and monsters hooted and cheered, whispering amongst themselves about what the two skeletons might do together.

Once the door closed behind the two skeletons, Lust let out a gusty sigh and hopped out of Axe’s arms. The stocky skeleton shrugged his stained hoodie onto the floor, and his daintier counterpart took off his fur-lined vest and folded it neatly before placing it carefully on a chair. Axe tossed back the comforter on the bed, and gestured for Lust to climb in.

“After you.” He waited until Lust had made himself comfortable, then climbed into bed after him.

Lust relaxed against the larger skeleton’s body, allowing Axe to curl around him and sneak an arm around his waist. It always amazed him how such a terrifying monster could be so surprisingly gentle. Axe respected him, taking great care not to touch him inappropriately or roughly. That level of care refreshed Lust since so many monsters treated him like an object.

Lust’s sockets slowly closed as he nestled warmly in his small spoon position. Axe’s chin rested atop his skull, and when the big skeleton spoke, the words thrummed through his bones, as soothing as the sound of a gentle rain.

“You’re always so theatrical when I show up.” Axe let his sockets drift closed. After the violent struggle for survival in his own universe, the chance to do something as simple and peaceful as cuddling was the hottest commodity that the Lust universe could offer.

“I do spend most of my time on stage, you know,” Lust murmured drowsily, and Axe rewarded him with a loud chuckle like a big cat purring.

The pair of touch-starved skeletons, each with their own personal reasons for the intense need, stayed in their cuddle position for hours. They dozed or chatted about inane things like what stars might look like or whether it’s weird that rabbit monsters exist alongside pet rabbits. When they finally emerged, patrons of Grillby’s club would speculate wildly about their lengthy private session.

Axe and Lust would play to the crowd with innuendo while making furtive plans for their next cuddle session. Each skeleton faced his own struggles in his own universe, but the chance for physical comfort made the future something to look at with hope rather than despair.

And who knew? Maybe someday they would spoon on the Surface under the huge expanse of the sky with the brilliant array of the stars watching silently over them.

Chapter Text

No amount of story-rich,colorful universes could disguise the lonely nature of the Anti-Void. The islands floated in the vast space, contained within it, but separate from it. The protector of these havens of creativity interacted with them, but he did not truly belong to any of them..

Holding a vial of swirling pink paint in front of one socket, Ink contemplated his plight. The only other inhabitant of the Anti-Void happened to be his counterpart and nemesis, the self-declared Destroyer- Error. Still, thought Ink, twirling the vial with its heart-shaped stopper between nimble phalanges, who better to understand and befriend him than the literal only option available?

Decision made, Ink unstoppered the vial, and tilted it into his open mouth. Unfortunately, Error made an unexpected appearance, staring at the portal to one of the universes with his hands on his hips. Distracted, Ink choked a bit on the paint, and he unintentionally swallowed the entire bottle of powerful pink emotions.

Error glared at the universe in front of him, irritated glitches fizzing across his bones as his eyelights followed the orbit of frozen images swirling around the portal. This one will do nicely, he thought; he was in the mood to live up to his title as Destroyer with this pathetic universe as his target. Blue threads shot from the tips of his phalanges towards the portal, only to be halted by a flurry of movement nearby.

Ink cartwheeled across the Anti-Void, coming to a stop in a handstand right in front of Error. With a little hop of the hands, Ink somersaulted over Error, who turned to face him, his grand plans of destruction swept away by a wave of the grumpiness he always felt when his all-too-cheerful counterpart was around.

“What’cha doin’?” Ink asked without a single care for the animosity that should exist between them as timeless foes.

Error spluttered for a moment before he could even answer. Why did Ink have to be such a weirdo all the time? It threw off his gloomy villainous vibe. “I’m the Destroyer,” he growled, his words glitching into poorly synchronized layers. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Ink dropped to the non-ground on his stomach, kicking his feet towards the non-sky while he rested his chin in his hands and made a great effort of contemplating the question.

“Brooding,” he finally answered.

“What? No! I’m not brooding; I’m destroying!” Except destroying had been replaced by arguing with Ink, something he simply could not stop himself from doing. He didn’t even have skin, but somehow Ink got under it.

Ink rolled onto his back, watching Error from an upside down viewpoint now. Error’s statement didn’t faze him in the least. Instead, he grinned and wiggled like he couldn’t sit still, like he had a secret that he couldn’t wait to share but wouldn’t mention unless some specific phrase was uttered. It unnerved Error.

“Well,” Error prodded when Ink just kept staring at him, “aren’t you supposed to be stopping me?”

“Oh yeah!” Ink leapt to his feet as if his job as Protector of the multiverse had just suddenly occurred to him. He summoned Broomie, his giant paintbrush and performed a flamboyant baton act with it before gently tapping it against a stunned Error’s forehead and saying “Bonk!”

Ink stepped back, once again grinning, his mismatched eyelights mischievous. Error noticed that though they changed shape often, they frequently settled on different stylized versions of hearts. Suspicion crept through him.

“What’s gotten into you?” There was no way in the entire multiverse that Error could fight Ink when he acted like this. It made him feel less like a god of destruction and more like a schoolyard bully, something that surprisingly didn’t sit well with him.

Ink cartwheeled again until he was face-to-face with Error, only a breath away… which Error knew with extreme accuracy because Ink’s warm breath lightly touched his cheekbones. It felt strangely intimate.

“Pink paint,” Ink replied flippantly, then leaned forward and gave Error a smooch right on the mouth.

Error.exe crashed in a brilliant explosion of glitches.

Ink stared at his crashed crush, a single phalange against his mouth, which had fallen open into a small “o” of shock, an innocent look of perplexity plastered onto his face. After a moment he resumed cartwheeling, practicing the acrobatics in hopes of impressing Error with his dexterity. Once the glitchy skeleton rebooted, Ink would sweep him off his sandaled feet with confessions of undying love!

Surely Error would reciprocate… and if he didn’t? Ink would try more cartwheels!

Dream sighed for the umpteenth time.

“Just go tell him how you feel already,” snapped Nightmare, finally out of patience for his brother. 

At first he had enjoyed seeing Dream pining after his sometimes partner in nefarious deeds, Error. Dream frequently stopped by his castle hoping to run into the cantankerous glitch, and Nightmare savored the dark melancholy that tinged his golden aura. He gloated over a victory that had fallen auspiciously into his lap with no effort required on his part. Oh how the mighty beacon of positive energy had fallen...

His smug satisfaction faded quickly. The longing gazes and incessant wistful sighs were driving him insane. He couldn’t take one more second of Dream blushing shyly whenever Error stopped by without giving him so much as a glance, and if that simpering sap doddled “Dream + Error” on one more piece of his very expensive gilded stationary, he might explode.

Dream gasped, mortified at the suggestion, his cuteness absolutely sickening to the embodiment of negativity. Nightmare had had enough. This ended now.

Opening a portal, Nightmare stepped through into the Anti-Void, arriving right in front of the self-proclaimed Destroyer. Scowling, Nightmare prepared to spill his brother’s secret just to get some peace and quiet in his own home, but one look at Error stopped him in his goopy tracks.

Was that… longing in Error’s strangely uneven eyelights? Was the yellow glow that seemed to strum the blue strings under his sockets actually the glitched out skeleton… blushing? And trying to peer past him? Perhaps looking for someone? Error sighed wistfully, and Nightmare’s socket twitched. 

“Dream isn’t with you, is he?” Error asked casually, crushing any hope that Nightmare had of being mistaken.

Nightmare face-palmed with all four tentacles. Those two idiots deserved each other. Nightmare would just slap a bow on his annoying brother and drop him off in the Anti-Void, solving his recent infestation of lovelorn emotions; hopefully, they’d take the hint and stay out of his castle!

Nightmare actually found himself wishing the pair happiness in the future, and his perpetual scowl deepened. Damn wistfulness must be contagious, he grumbled to himself without bothering to retract his wish.

Chapter Text

Young monsters wear stripes. In more peaceful universes, these simply help identify a monster's age. In dangerous universes where monsters lie, steal, and dust to get ahead, stripes provide a modicum of protection for children. After all, who is going to waste magic bullets for such a meager amount of EXP?

Once a monster's animal ears and tail appear, all bets (and stripes) are off. The badge of adulthood told other monsters exactly how much EXP and trouble a monster was worth. Predator ears and tails warned potential attackers of their victim's power and intent. Prey ears and tails loudly broadcast an opportunity for a quick, safe stat boost.

So far Mutt's sharp wolf ears and Raspberry’s striped sweaters had served the pair well, but Mutt began to lose sleep to a gut-churning mixture of hope and worry as Raspberry teetered on the cusp of graduation from stripes to ears. What form would his undersized brother's ears and tail take?

Please let them be something suitably intimidating, Mutt pleaded to whatever unseen power might be listening to the desperate prayers of monsters in their stars-forsaken Underground, though none had answered him yet. I just want him to be safe.

Mutt awoke to the sound of his brother wailing. The normally lackadaisical skeleton leapt to his feet in an instant, bone attacks at the ready, wolf ears twitching to pinpoint Raspberry’s exact location. Right outside his bedroom door? Weird, but convenient. 

Mutt opened the door, ready to deliver some well-deserved brotherly teasing, but the sight before him froze his SOUL in his chest. There, atop his brother’s skull (and ridiculously easy for him to see from his superior height) sat a pair of oversized, floppy rabbit ears. Mutt didn't bother checking his brother’s tail; the ears alone were a death sentence. He stood speechless, his little brother staring at him with wide, desperate eyelights.

"I HAVE FLOPPY BUNNY EARS," wailed Raspberry unnecessarily when his brother hesitated.

Mutt fumbled for some reassurance to give him. "maybe they'll stand up if you give 'em time?" The words fell flat, and both skeletons knew it.

"THEY'RE BUNNY EARS." Hysterical tears overflowed Raspberry’s sockets. He looked pathetic in his plain, unadorned adult shirt and drooping ears, exactly the kind of appearance that screamed EXP fodder. Turning away from his unhelpful brother, Raspberry dashed down the stairs… and out the front door.

Shit.

Not bothering to throw anything on over his “tank top and boxers” sleepwear ensemble, Mutt followed.

Muffet just wanted to get the tabletops in her bar scrubbed down before she opened for business, but the commotion taking place outside her door caused her elegant lynx ears to flatten in irritation. With a sigh, she abandoned further cleaning in favor of going outside to teach some noisy hooligans a lesson. Instead of the expected hooligans, the spider monster found skeletons, skeletons she grudgingly admitted to being quite fond of, surrounded by a mob of EXP hungry attackers.

The first time she'd laid (all five) eyes on the skeletons, Mutt had been digging in the dumpster behind her restaurant, the tiniest of babybones tucked under his worn striped sweater for warmth. Realizing he'd been caught, he bravely stood his ground. He only had one request, and it wasn't MERCY for himself.

"you c'n dust me if y'want, but please don't hurt my little bro."

He pulled the babybones out from under his shirt, just a tiny skull visible from the tightly swaddled maroon blanket that he now wore as a bandana. Little Raspberry was fast asleep, exhausted by cold and hunger.

So she fed them. 

And she let them move into a house she owned in Snowdin. 

And if she happened to "find" spider silk garments in exactly their respective sizes as they grew up, who dared to question it? The skeleton brothers were orphans, after all.

Her orphans.

The older skeleton brother, Mutt, pushed his younger brother behind him, but not before Muffet spotted the source of the problem. Poor little Raspberry had sprouted a damning pair of lop bunny ears overnight. Magic crackled in the air, but it dissipated as soon as Muffet stepped outside onto the snow covered street. Her reputation alone forced the assailants to take a collective step back.

Pretending not to notice the deference,  Muffet strode over to the pair of skeletons. Standing next to Raspberry, she stroked the soft magic of one of his ears. In a voice that carried to the entire crowd, she complimented him.

"Ahuhuhu, I haven't seen such elegant Boss monster ears since Queen Toriel stopped visiting! You'll achieve great things with ears like those, I'd bet my restaurant on it!"

After her words faded, Muffet fixed each monster in the crowd with a baleful five-eyed glare, the tufts on her lynx ears giving her an impressive height and providing the crowd with a spectacular view of her wicked fangs. The unspoken statement rang out crystal clear: these young skeletons were under Muffet's protection, and her ruthlessness far outweighed the damage done by having an adorable pair of lop bunny ears, even with the little cotton ball tail to match.

Chapter Text

Lust turned heads everywhere he went. Literally. The moment he stepped into the cozy little coffee shop every single set of eyes sought him out, with some folks craning their necks dramatically just to get a view of him. Lust wondered if maybe this crowd had never seen a skeleton in leather skinny jeans, a crop top, and a neon blue fur lined vest before. Maybe they hadn't, but that didn't excuse the lip-licking and mental-undressing that followed him to the table where his companion sat.

Blue smiled at his friend, passing over an iced coffee with entirely too many toppings and a plate with a little square of gooey butter cake and a fork sitting on it. Lust’s face lit up as he dropped into the seat across from the other skeleton who knew him well enough to have his favorite order memorized and waiting for him. 

"have i told you lately how much i love our little get-togethers?" Lust cooed. Honestly, who better for a skeleton with multiverse issues to befriend than another skeleton with multiverse issues?

"TALKING TO THE PASTRY AGAIN?" Blue quipped, making his friend snort into his beverage. Not everyone got to see this saucy side of Blue, and Lust cherished it.

"don't make me snort, blue. it's so not sexy." Lust restored his diminished sexiness by licking whipped cream from the top of his drink.

"YOU MIGHT WANT TO DO A BIT MORE SNORTING THEN. THAT TABLE LOOKS LIKE THEY'RE ABOUT TO START THROWING DOLLAR BILLS."

Blue pointed to a table of giggling humans. Lust averted his eyes, hoping to discourage the increasingly crude gestures that the humans were making at him. No sense in letting them embarrass themselves for nothing. He certainly wasn’t interested, but he played it cool with a casual shrug.

"i don't mind as long as they don't get handsy. some of these humans think that just because someone is comfortable with sexuality they can help themselves."

"AT LEAST PEOPLE DON’T THINK YOU'RE AN UWU BABY WHO'S NEVER HEARD OF SEX BEFORE! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO CHARM MATURE LADIES WHEN THEY THINK I'M A KID?" Blue grumbled. Lust leaned forward. Blue frequently complained about his baby face and the consequences of pairing it with his short stature, but he'd never mentioned his dating preferences before.

"mature women?"

"MILFS AND COUGARS, OBVIOUSLY." Blue sipped his coffee, completely serious. Lust barely held back another snort as Blue continued his lament. "THEY NEVER TAKE ME SERIOUSLY!"

Blue puffed out his cheeks in frustration just as a retiree shuffled past him with her senior coffee clutched close to her chest. She stopped short at the adorable sight before her squinty eyes.

"What a cutie you are," she crooned, reaching out to give one of Blue’s round cheeks a pinch.

Lust sensed impending disaster, so he grabbed Blue, dragging him towards the exit with a hand over his mouth. The last thing they needed was to get kicked out of another coffee shop for making a scene about inappropriate affection from well-meaning geriatrics. 

A human wolf-whistled at Lust as he passed, and he pointedly ignored them. The human decided it would somehow be acceptable to get attention by grabbing his pelvis instead. Lust’s heart-shaped eyelights vanished in an instant.

Lust slapped the human's hand away, loosening his grip on his friend enough for Blue to make his escape. Blue used his newfound freedom to leap onto the nearest table, knocking napkin holders and sugar packets flying right before shouting at the top of his voice:

"I FUCKED YOUR MOM AND YOUR GRANDMA!"

Well, they certainly wouldn't be having coffee here ever again…

Chapter Text

The moment their combined magics solidified into a soulling, Papyrus, Russ, Edge, and Hickory swore to do everything in their power to nurture and protect their future child, and they all took their oath very seriously. It's not that Papyrus didn't appreciate his mates’ attentiveness; he really did. The pregnant skeleton just felt a bit… smothered.

Papyrus brought the matter up to Russ, Edge, and Hickory, but the three co-parents insisted that they were just looking out for the health and well-being of their mate and soulling. Papyrus didn't want to push the issue because he didn't want to hurt any of their feelings. Besides, he understood Edge’s and Hickory's overprotective tendencies that came from the environments they'd grown up in. Sleeping, eating, bathing, or exercising, Papyrus simply accepted the presence of the three other doting skeleton monsters.

Lately, Papyrus had been having trouble sleeping. The round baby bump that housed the soulling and their magic made finding a comfortable sleep position difficult, and Russ, Edge, and Hickory weren't helping. The trio of skeletons liked sleeping pressed against their pregnant mate, which caused him to overheat. The baby bump also possessed a unique allure of its own, attracting gentle rubs and touches from four pairs of hands. Unfortunately, three of those pairs of hands had terrible timing and awoke Papyrus from his unusually light slumber. 

After many nights of interrupted sleep and a long evening of tossing and turning, Papyrus felt exhausted, desperate, and hungry. When Hickory's hands snaked around his waist to rub his tummy, Papyrus groaned.

“is somethin’ wrong? do you want me t’get Edge n’ Russ?” Hickory's worried face appeared over Papyrus's shoulder.

“NO, BUT I AM HAVING A VERY STRONG CRAVING FOR A FRESHLY BAKED CINNAMON BUNNY.” The sweet baked treat sounded heavenly to the sleep-deprived skeleton.

Hickory nodded. While most bakeries that served the famous bunny-shaped sweet rolls wouldn't be baking them at this time of night, the gold-fanged skeleton was sure he could convince them to change their minds with his abundant charisma… and the offer of some extra G. He shortcutted away from the house, secure in the fact that Edge and Russ were nearby to watch Papyrus.

Papyrus continued to toss and turn, ultimately deciding to walk around the house for a bit to alleviate his restlessness. As he passed by the bathroom, he noticed Russ carefully arranging rugs to prevent slip hazards. The normally lazy skeleton had already relocated the towels and soaps to more convenient locations to keep his pregnant mate from straining himself by reaching for necessities that would likely be carefully handed to him anyway.

Another craving sprang to Papyrus's mind, so he called out to Russ. “I'M HAVING A SUDDEN STRONG CRAVING FOR A VANILLA NICE CREAM.” 

Russ leapt to his feet. “i'll get some for you. gotta keep my mate and soulling happy!” He gave Papyrus a quick peck on the cheek and another to the soulling then shortcutted away to look for a nice cream vendor. It would be difficult to find one at this time of night. Thankfully, Edge and Hickory would be home to keep a socket on Papyrus while he searched.

Still restless and increasingly hungry for very specific foods, Papyrus wandered down the stairs and into the kitchen where he found Edge. The angular skeleton was busy preparing an array of healthy snacks to keep on hand for Papyrus. Unfortunately, none of those snacks would satisfy his current craving. Edge’s proud smile turned to a frown when Papyrus foraged in the fridge without finding what he was looking for.

“WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO MAKE YOU SOMETHING?” Edge offered, but Papyrus shook his skull.

“I'M HAVING A CRAVING FOR GRILLBY’S HOUSEMADE PICKLES, AND APPARENTLY WE'RE OUT OF THEM.” Papyrus sighed, forlorn. The pickles were always so perfectly crunchy and tangy. Nothing else would do.

“I CAN GO GET SOME FOR YOU.” Edge was already grabbing his car keys. Papyrus clapped with joy, and the smile returned to Edge’s face. Grillby’s was across town, but at least the bar and restaurant would be open. Besides, Russ and Hickory were home if Papyrus needed anything.

Jar of Grillby’s pickles in hand, Edge dashed up the stairs to the master bedroom, not even noticing the unusual silence in the house. Just as he reached for the doorknob, Russ and Hickory materialized next to him, nearly colliding with each other. Hickory held a bakery box that smelled deliciously of freshly baked cinnamon bunnies, and Russ had an insulated bag filled to the brim with packages of vanilla nice cream. 

The three skeletons stared at each other in shocked silence for a long moment. Suddenly overwhelmed with anxiety about their shared mate and soulling, the three skeletons piled into the bedroom, sure that disaster had struck the moment they turned their backs. Instead, Papyrus sprawled across the large bed, sleeping more soundly than he had since he became pregnant. 

Feeling very sheepish indeed, Russ, Hickory, and Edge backed quietly out of the bedroom, closing the door softly behind them. 

Papyrus's late night snack could wait while he caught up on some much needed sleep.

As for his mates, they each took some time to reconsider his request for space and vowed to do everything within their power to ensure the health and safety of their mate and soulling… even if it meant taking a step back sometimes.

Chapter Text

“AND THE ENTIRE PREMISE OF THE STORY IS THAT THE SKI LODGE MIXED UP THE RESERVATION AND THE ONLY ROOM LEFT HAS ONLY ONE BED!”

Mutt watched the city pass by in a blur as the taxi wove through traffic and his brother complained loudly about Blueberry’s manuscript, which he had so graciously offered to critique. Blackberry apparently took the job very seriously, waving around the sheaf of papers he’d printed out so that he could read Blue’s work during their conference trip.

Mutt unloaded the taxi and carried their luggage into their hotel, checking in while Blackberry continued his tirade about “IMPLAUSIBLE PLOT ELEMENTS” and “GROSS LOGISTICAL INCOMPETENCE.” He hoped that Blueberry had the mental fortitude to withstand Blackberry’s laundry list of negative opinions. His brother could be quite abrasive, as evidenced by the fact that the hotel staff refused to make eye contact with him, not wanting to attract any of his loudly disgruntled attention.

“the room key, m’Lord,” Mutt murmured, offering the keycard to his brother and using an honorific that he hoped would soothe Blackberry’s seemingly endless agitation.

Blackberry waved the keycard away. “TAKE OUR LUGGAGE UP TO OUR ROOM,” he ordered Mutt as if his brother worked as a bellhop for the hotel, a bellhop who would be lucky not to receive a rebuke in place of a tip. “I NEED TO GO OVER THE ITINERARY FOR TOMORROW.”

Mutt hauled the suitcases to the elevators, feeling a brief flash of sympathy for the conference planner. Blackberry did not simply “go over” an itinerary. He passive-aggressively suggested changes until the human delegates of the Integration Council surrendered to his whims. Nothing could stop Blackberry when he set his mind to something, not since he was a babybones being spoiled by his big brother.

Black’s first utterance, like most babybones, had been “MUH!” which would have worked out fine if they'd had a mother to look after them. To avoid the inescapable humiliation of being called Mom by his baby brother, Mutt had opted for a tougher nickname, and even Blackberry himself never knew the truth of it. Still, in the role of a single parent, Mutt took the blame for letting Blackberry grow up spoiled.

Mutt missed his bossy babybones brother. Despite their unstable situation as young skeletons on their own in a dangerous Underground, Blackberry had always been affectionate with him… until he grew up and decided that a proper Royal Guard didn’t need pesky emotions or brotherly affection. Sure, he would fight until he dusted to protect Mutt, but a hug? Out of the question.

Mutt dragged the suitcases into the room and tossed them onto one of the queen-sized beds. He stared at the luggage for a moment as his mind turned the word bed over and over until an idea fell out of it. 

Only one bed!

Mutt swept the suitcases onto the floor. Next, he hurried over to the window and pried it open. Their room faced a courtyard because Blackberry would never choose a room without a view. It took some effort (and the loosening of the bolts that held the bed securely to the floor and wall), but Mutt managed to haul the entire bed (frame, mattresses, bedding and all) to the window and tip it over the edge until it plummeted to the courtyard below like a cartoon piano.

Mutt leaned out the window to check his handiwork. Sure, the mattresses had taken out a few lounge chairs and tables, but who sat outside in a hotel courtyard anyway? Nobody now, that was for sure. Blackberry could deal with that issue during checkout if anyone dared to make the egregious mistake of confronting him about his faults as a temporary tenant.

Blackberry stormed into the room minutes after Mutt had schooled his face into an expression of mild confusion. “WHO DID THAT HUMAN THINK HE WAS DEALING WITH?” snapped Blackberry triumphantly before trailing off to take in the hastily remodeled hotel room. The story of the battle for the conference itinerary fell by the wayside in light of this puzzling new development.

Mutt spoke before Blackberry could gather words. “m’Lord it seems that there’s been some sort of booking error. there’s only one bed.”

Blackberry’s sockets narrowed to slits, and his eyelights traced the path of destruction from the bare bolts and obviously unfaded queen-sized bed shaped rectangle of carpet to the open window where surprised shouts drifted up from the courtyard outside. He inhaled deeply, paused, then exhaled. The conference started early in the morning the next day, and he would need to rest his lungs to point out various acts of incompetence committed by the Council until late into the night.

This matter of the mysteriously missing bed could wait. Whatever reason Mutt had for wanting to share this single bed, Blackberry decided not to argue with him. They hadn’t shared a sleeping space since Black wore stripes, but it didn’t bother him to revert to the old habit, just this once.

With a sigh, Blackberry unpacked his suitcase and donned his pajamas. Mutt stripped off his jacket, sweater, and pants and dropped the clothing directly onto the floor. Wearing only a tank top and his boxers, Mutt curled up on one side of the bed. Once he’d properly prepared himself to sleep, Blackberry joined him, awkwardly tucking himself into Mutt’s arms. Mutt readjusted his brother so that Blackberry’s skull rested under his chin.

Slumber claimed Mutt almost immediately, but Blackberry laid awake for awhile as he usually did. He actually… enjoyed the sensation of Mutt being curled protectively around him. It brought back nostalgic feelings of being a babybones, protected and carefree with no responsibilities to trouble his mind.

Closing his sockets, Blackberry leaned into his brother’s embrace, and right before he drifted off to sleep he thought that perhaps the premise of Blueberry’s manuscript might not be so farfetched or terrible after all.