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europeanguy · 5 years

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Gotta Gogh [Part 2: Apple Water Is Not A Real Drink]

Pairing: Nadia x Maxwell

Words: 3,138

Tags: Canon Divergence, Crossovers, Curse words probably, The Riot Club!AU sort of, Loss

Neville pinches the bridge of his nose and heaves a sigh. It was dark outside, Leo left three hours ago, and they have emptied a bottle of 18-year old Macallan whiskey (it was 70% Leo’s – he drank straight from the bottle). Maxwell didn’t understand why he wouldn’t just simply recruit their friends. Every member of the club had to be handpicked by Neville, approved by Leo, be a noble, or at least be as rich.

“Max, I’m asking you – not as president of the club, but as your friend. Are you sure you can’t do anything about Liam?”

“I told you, several times Neville. He doesn’t like clubs – especially ours. You know how he is –“

Maxwell did ask Liam, but nothing could sway this person’s principles. Not even an offer to get him a life-time supply of baklava. Or buying him a peacock (which he definitely did NOT like. Said peacock now resides at the Ramsford Estate’s menagerie. No returns or refunds.)

“But Leo was president!” Neville looked like he was ready to tear his hair out of his scalp.

Although, it wasn’t just the general debauchery that they got up to that “bothered” Liam – it was Neville himself. And to be completely honest, Maxwell started seeing it too. But he’s not about to tell him that.

“And that’s exactly why he doesn’t want it.” Maxwell stands up and gathers his coat. He slings his UofC scarf around his neck. “Now, until you actually want to talk to me about club stuff, and not His Royal Highness, I’m leaving.”

As he goes down the winding staircase to the main museum wing, Maxwell passes a portrait of Prince Leo Rys, King of Hedonists, probably the worst ex-president in the hall of fame. Maxwell was only familiar of the “dinners” he threw for the club through stories by past members – it made Neville’s parties look stale. His own older brother, Bertrand, was Leo’s right hand during their time. But after their parents died it was hard to imagine Bertrand doing any sort of activity that a normal person would consider fun.

Maxwell doesn’t see where he’s going as he turns a corner to the archway, and he runs into someone. “Otis! shit, sorry,”

Oh. It’s not Otis.

The girl hurriedly straightens up, backing away a few steps. She looks worried, and Maxwell cuts her off before she could apologize. It would’ve been the second time today. “Wait, you’re not Otis. What are you doing here?”

He notices her fidgeting, absent-mindedly picking at her nails. However, she notices it too and immediately stops, and hides both hands behind her back instead. “I’m Nadia,” she smiles. It’s small, but even that he notices. “I work here part-time… uh… sir..?”

“Sir? No, just Maxwell.” Maxwell could feel the corners of his mouth turning up. Technically it was Lord but he was already douche-y enough during their first ‘encounter’. “So, what do you do…for the rest of the time?” Witty, Max. Fucking cool it.

“I’m an exchange student actually, Fine Arts.” Nadia says proudly. “Um, Otis actually left early, if you’re looking for him?”

Maxwell shakes his head. “No, no – I was just leaving. So, Otis left early? What happened to him?” Some nights club meetings go until eleven, and the old man would still be at the museum. Sometimes Maxwell wonders if Otis was actually a real person – not just some grumpy museum spirit who likes to clean and give tourists dirty looks if they get a little too close to the art.

“I may have convinced him to go home,” Nadia smiles and starts walking, Maxwell catches up to walk beside her. “I found out that he collects sketches, doodles, stuff like that – so I promised him one if he went home before dinner today.”

“He talked to you??” Maxwell asks in disbelief. He tried befriending the guy, but he was as cold as ice. The one time Otis did sort of interact with him was three years ago.

Maxwell has stayed over in the museum before – in their club’s office in the upstairs left wing. The office had been there since this very building was built. The whole construction paid for, of course, by one of the esteemed members in 1645. He was nineteen and drunk out of his wits – the night of his parents’ funeral. He collapsed onto one of the leather chesterfield sofas and yet he didn’t sleep a blink. The next morning Bertrand came running in with Otis, his brother looking gaunt and haggard – like he aged ten years. He hugged Maxwell and for once Maxwell had openly sobbed onto his brother’s jacket until there was no more.

Otis left to give them privacy, and when he returned he had coffee for them both. Bertrand thanked the old man, and patted him on the back as they left for home – to Ramsford – forced to face a home without their mother’s infectious laughter.

“Hey, you okay? I didn’t know you wanted to befriend Otis that much.” Nadia jokes, quickly glancing at him to gauge his reaction. Maxwell gives her a reassuring smile. How could he not, when looking at a face like that?

“He likes drawings huh? I’m not very good,” Maxwell confesses. “I think I’ll need lessons.” It was his turn to check her reaction. He has had painting lessons (among others) as a child – his father knew all the tricks to make him and Bertrand look effortlessly accomplished. To keep up appearances. But Maxwell was always the one who would ditch those lessons to go play somewhere else. Sometimes Bertrand would join, and their mother would find them both muddy, their leather shoes and the hems of their shorts soaked with water from the estate’s lake. But she only shook her head, smiling, as she led them back to the house to clean up.

“Well… this is a once in a lifetime offer but, if you’re here tomorrow I can give you one.” Nadia shrugs like it was no big deal.

“Hm,” Maxwell was almost jumping at the thought, but he had to retain some semblance of a cool image. “We’ll see.”

The next day after his last class, Maxwell finds his feet taking him to the museum, walking a little faster than normal. He knew he must’ve looked like a manic high on caffeine, but he didn’t care. He ran into Tariq, spilling coffee into his jacket.

“This is new!” Tariq yelled after him but Maxwell escaped with excuses of promising to pay for it as he backs away. He doesn’t hear Neville whispering to Tariq about “some American on a scholarship”, he can only see Nadia’s face. His fast walking pace turns to a jog – to a full-on sprint – when he sees the museum.

Nadia looks up from the front desk when Maxwell awkwardly (and quite dramatically) bursts through the doors.

“….Hi,” He breathes, taking in Nadia’s appearance. She smiles, but its tight, forced. Only does Maxwell notice the smooth classical music filling the room. “Bach?”

Her smile widens, more genuine this time. “Jon Liefs. How did you even mix that up?”

“Yeah, I-I don’t know anything about classical music. Believe it or not.” Maxwell only paid attention to music he could dance to. Slow dancing doesn’t count.

Nadia nods, humoring Maxwell. “Hey, so I promised you drawing lessons?” She clears her throat, then fruitlessly arranges papers on her messy desk.

This was his chance. “Actually… I was thinking we could go on an adventure?” He sounded more like he was asking a question than asking her out. Like a normal person.

Nadia sighs. “I don’t know. I’m kind of in trouble right now.”

Maxwell’s heart sinks to his stomach. “Trouble? What happened?”

“A professor yelled at me earlier because I couldn’t answer his question,” Nadia frowns. “I spent so much time studying up on paintings that I actually don’t know anything about Cordonia itself!”

Oh.

“My offer still stands...” Maxwell shrugs. “Let’s turn that trip into an educational one! Consider it a tutoring session, courtesy of a true local.”

Nadia narrows her eyes at him. “Where are we going? How should I know you’re not gonna kill me out of school premises?”

Maxwell’s jaw drops. “…did you just ask me that? Me? Look at this innocent face.” He pauses for effect. “See? I won’t hurt you.”

“Make sure of it.” Nadia meets his eyes as she quickly scribbles a number on a piece of paper. “I get off at five.”

Maxwell takes her number – it feels electric inside his fist. Or maybe his nerves are just going off. He shoves it inside his pocket as to not smudge the ink. “Right. I’ll see you later.” Two hours.

When Maxwell turns to walk away, he notices Otis standing to the side, giving the two of them a weird look.

“Hey, Otis.” He waves as he exits the museum.

“…hey.”

“Where are you even taking me?” Nadia walked beside him. It strangely felt natural, walking with Nadia along Cordonia’s capital city – cobblestone roads, traditional architecture, greenery growing wherever it allowed – and yet Maxwell wanted to shoot out of his shoes and into the sky. Calm down. A man was playing his guitar in a familiar tune, well, familiar to him. Nadia looked like she belonged in this beautiful place. He couldn’t help but smile at her and the sunshine she radiated – even when the sun has set.

“I was going to take you horseback riding but you’re wearing a dress… and I’m a gentleman.” Maxwell grins down at her, and Nadia scoffs at him.

“Horses?! You could’ve told me and I would’ve worn pants!” Nadia slaps him on the arm.

“Ow!”

“Oh, you baby. It wasn’t that hard… was it?” Nadia looks at him. “I took self-defense classes before, and I’ve been told to practice controlling my strength.”

Maxwell shrugs. “Dunno, I might need a kiss to make it better?”

Nadia stops walking and Maxwell looks back at her. “You’re a shameless flirt, you know that?” She shakes her head.

“Is it working though?” Maxwell flashes her a hopeful look.

“….no.” And with a smile, Nadia walks past him. She’s taking large steps, dodging a few people – some looking at Maxwell and then back at Nadia with that look on their faces.

“Wait up! You don’t even know where we’re going!” Maxwell weaves through the small crowd.

Nadia yells back, “I’m just following the smell of food!”

They end up inside a hole-in-the-wall café, a place that he has never entered in 21 years. The space was narrow, the brick walls were lined with old photographs, and the smell of freshly baked pastries. It was… as Bertrand would describe it… cozy – not without that judgmental look in his eyes.

“Why is it that you look like a lost puppy in your own country?” Nadia is sitting across from him.

“What? I’m just taking it all in…” Maxwell looks around, his eyes landing on her. “It’s um… very pretty.”

Maxwell clears his throat. “Anyway, how do you feel about breakfast for dinner? It’s not a Cordonian thing, it’s just a Maxwell thing.” Nadia’s eyes light up.

“I’m all for it. Just no apples.”

“Wow, offended Cordonian citizen here. I can only drink apple water to survive.”

“That’s not a real drink.” Nadia laughs.

“We’ll talk about drinks later,” Maxwell narrows his eyes at Nadia. “This apple argument isn’t over.”

He stands up, unsure. Right. So, no waiter. I just order in the counter – wait, do they accept credit cards?

“Do you need help, sir?” The guy behind the counter crosses his arms.

“Ah- yes, I’d like to order please.” The guy nods, finger poised to type in his cash register. Maxwell reads the menu, and looks back at Nadia. She gives him a thumbs up. “Two err- madame cristos-”

He manages to order without blundering and asking for apple water or “your most expensive champagne, preferably from the vineyards of Ramsford – a bottle of the L’ Dame Gold 1995 is best.”

“That will be 16 euros.” He finishes punching the order in, and his assistant, a girl no more than twelve (his daughter, probably) starts to fry up some eggs expertly in a griddle.

Maxwell hands him his credit card. He looks down on it, and hands it back. “Um, we only accept cash…”

Maxwell looks up at a sign above the counter. Cash only painted in big bold letters. Shit shit shit.

He sheepishly hands the man a 500 Cordonian-Euro note.

“Do you have a smaller amount, sir?” The guy looks confused now. “Or I could just run over to the next store to get you some change-“

“No, no! Please just keep it.” Maxwell could feel his embarrassment creeping up like the blood rushing to his ears. Note to self: keep smaller bills in wallet for next time.

The man argues, but Maxwell wouldn’t have it. Even he knows it’s ridiculous. Their hushed back and forth leads to an agreement on him coming back and getting “free” food until his balance runs out. Damn, all that arguing in his philosophy classes really came through.

Maxwell comes back to their table now with a tray of food plus a complementary dessert – their house special apple tarts.

“He gave it for free, couldn’t resist my charms.” Maxwell explains as he sits down, feeling more exhausted than after a jousting game with Leo. “What were we talking about?”

“Fancy apple infused water… drinks?” Nadia muses as she slices the egg on top of her madame cristo, breaking the perfect yolk.

“Right, you told me apple water isn’t a real drink, so we’ll have to agree to disagree on that.” Maxwell starts on his own sandwich. “However, I do have a non-apple drink that I invented and it’s amazing.”

“No apples? Tell me more.” Nadia takes a bite, her eyes widening. “Wow, this is… wow.”

“I know right?!” Maxwell grins proudly at her. “And I was getting to that, I actually need some name suggestions. It’s pineapple flavored, and it’s so good but super deadly.”

“Poisonous?” Nadia cocks an eyebrow. “I’m intrigued.”

“You could say that. My friend Tariq loved it so much – he failed an important test the next day and had to retake that class.” They all failed except for Liam, but he decided to leave that part out.

“Pineapple Paradise Punch.” Nadia says with a flourish of her fork. “It’s pineapple, you drink it and feel like you’re in paradise, and then it punches you in the gut the next day.”

“I don’t have to credit you every time I tell people about it, right?”

“You do! Every single time. Even if I’m not there. Nadia Park, famous painter and expert drink… namer. That could be a thing.”

Even if I’m not there.

Right.

“How about I make it for you whenever you want instead?”

Oh, god. No. No. Too forward. She’s not gonna stay in Cordonia forever.

Nadia simply smiles. “You’ll make it for me sometime this week. That’s a deal.”

It always got a little cold at night in Cordonia. After the cafe, Maxwell leads Nadia through streets that he doesn’t have memorized, but they were familiar enough. The crowd outside is starting to thin, a handful of tourists watching a saxophone solo being played. He doesn’t mind that he’s holding Nadia’s hand now as he practically drags the both of them toward the sound.

“Have I told you I’m a dancing king?” Maxwell grins at Nadia before tossing whatever bill he got first from his wallet inside the saxophone case laid out (he stupidly doesn’t carry change). The saxophonist’s eyes widen at the amount, but continues playing.

Maxwell holds his hand out to Nadia in the middle of the street, no cars, just warmly lit windows and some tourists – they don’t even matter. He half-expects Nadia to hesitate, but she immediately takes his hand and stands before him, matching his position.

“Dancing king? Let’s see then.” Nadia looks up at him, and rests one hand on his shoulder – the other in his hand.

He doesn’t see people looking in either adoration or judgement, he sees Nadia, and he hears the saxophone – like the music was being injected into his nerves. Maxwell easily leads her, surprisingly very light on her feet. He keeps his movement fluid and to the rhythm, raising the hand holding Nadia’s to cue her to do a spin. She does, laughing as she turns away from him and then their eyes meet again. Only for a second, because Maxwell surprises her by doing a spin of his own – quite the struggle considering his height but it only earns a laugh from the both of them. They stopped dancing, but the world is still spinning.

Maxwell wanted to kiss her as much as he needed to breathe.

Instead he drops his eyes and looks away.

“I think I need to see more dancing. Verdict’s still out.” Why did Nadia always know what to say? Maxwell plucks the courage to meet her eyes again but Nadia is simply watching the musician now, looking peaceful.

He sighs. “I don’t think you’re ready for b-boy Maxwell. It’s a lot to handle.”

She looks up at him. “You’ll find that I’m very…strong-willed? Prepared?” Nadia shrugs. “I can handle anything.” True, Maxwell thought. He wouldn’t know what to do if Bertrand had shipped him off to Oxford for one semester.

“I want you to meet my friends.” Maxwell blurts out.

Nadia laughs easily. “Wow, way to change the subject. Okay, why?”

“…Because you can tell a lot about a person by their friends. And we’re trying to get to know one another right?”

“I thought I was here to get to know Cordonia but… okay.” Nadia jokes. “So, are you saying that you carry hair gel and a comb wherever you go too?”

Maxwell snorts. Oh, Bertrand would have an aneurysm if he heard. “Are you talking about Neville?”

“Yeah…? That other friend you were with yesterday?”

Maxwell laughs. “No, I meant my real friends. Liam and Drake.”

“Just those two?”

“Only the ones who really matter.” He looks at her. “Liam is the most responsible and kind person I know. Got tons of girls after him, but he insists that his heart is only for Cordonia – so yes, he’s a dork. Drake, well, a little cold at first – but he’s a simple guy. Talk to him about fishing or camping and you guys will be automatic friends.”

“They sound like lovely guys.” But he could hear the slight hesitation in her voice. “Okay, let’s all hang out. Soon.” Maxwell releases a breath that he didn’t realize he’s been holding.

“How about this weekend? A few of us are planning on a little gathering…” Maxwell cocks an eyebrow at her. “It involves horses…”

“I’M IN.”

to be continued

FUN FACTS these facts are the best part only fools don’t read these

Lord and Lady Beaumont:

- In canon I’m pretty sure they died when Max and Bertrand were pretty young. But in this one, they died in 2008 (story takes place in 2011) so basically three years ago. Maxwell would have been 19 and Bertrand 24-25. It’s still pretty fresh.

- The orphaned Beaumonts don’t go broke in my universe. That’s just sad.

The Club:

- Leo and Bertrand ruled the club six years before Neville and Max. There was a group in between generations, but we don’t talk about them lmao.

- Leo still likes to keep tabs on the club even after he and Bertrand graduated from UofC.

- Members are mostly the nobility, rarely royalty, special cases of new money, and absolutely no commoners.

Just Noble Things:

- Leo had the idea to bring jousting into club activities. Neville loves them because he can take out his aggression – and hate for poor people. While watching, Liam convinced Drake to try it out once, and that was the last time Neville played. (He wasn’t severely injured physically, but his ego was thanks to a certain pants-ripping incident as he was sent flying off his horse.)

Cuisine:

- I HC that Cordonian cuisine is like a fusion of many others – with their own twist of course. Based from pictures, it seems that the geography and climate vary a lot, but the capital is near the sea. It has a Mediterranean vibe so that’s it, short answer: Cordonia has Mediterranean cuisine. Long answer: each duchy would specialize in different dishes. Portavira is near the sea, so seafood. Castelsarreillan is famous for their vineyards, but I’m imagining that they use olive oil, yoghurt marinades, complex spices, veggies, stuff like that – for entrees (simply because it looks like they have a lot of farmland). Olivia has mentioned before that she only likes her animals on a plate, so idk that just gave me a vibe that Lythikos is all about meat, deep and rich flavors that kind of contrast the cold all around. And of course, there are apple-themed dishes everywhere. Bottomline: I think about food a lot.

- Madame Cristos are a THING and yes, they are fucking delicious. It’s a cross between Croque Madame and a Monte Cristo. Here’s the recipe.

Currency:

- I wasn’t sure which currency Cordonia uses in canon. I read a “Krona” before but I’m pretty sure that’s a duchy (Madeleine’s fam). So, I just used “CDE” – meaning Cordonian Euros. It makes sense to me.

Dance, dance, dance:

- For the dancing scene with the sax solo, I was thinking more slow, sweet, “Can’t Help Falling In Love With You” instrumental cover vibes rather than sexy “Careless Whisper” lmao

- This dancing scene is a nod to Miss Saigon’s “Last Night of the World” because I just fucking love Lea Salonga okay LISTEN TO IT FOR THE FEELS

#europeanguy #gotta gogh #part 2 #maxwell x nadia #maxwell beaumont #nadia park #trr #the royal romance #pm #perfect match #fan fiction #fluff #au #canon divergence #multiple crossovers #europeanguy fic #I KNOW I KNOW THE PACING IS too fast but im tryna fix that issue lmao #thanks for 400 followers!#long post

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diamondsareapearlsbestfriend · 7 years

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Sans/Toriel 30 Day OTP Challenge: Day Twelve

day twelve: shopping

prompt: “Your OTP shopping together. What are they shopping for? Are they just running errands, or are they buying gifts for each other?”

In all her years, Toriel had never seen anything quite like it. Rows upon rows of shelves, filled to the brim with unfamiliar items with the strangest names. It was a far cry from the cosy, traditional shops with their lovingly home-made goods she preferred to purchase from in the Underground; even at the most extravagant royal banquets, she could never recall seeing this much food all in one place. Just looking at the swarms of monsters and humans pushing and grabbing their way through the aisles, Toriel already felt quite exhausted – but that did not matter, for she had promised her child a party, and they were going to have all the peculiar human foods their little heart desired. Fortunately, however, she would not be navigating such uncharted territory alone.

"Sans," Toriel said, her hands tightening around the handle of their (as of yet) empty cart as she turned to him with a look of steely resolve, "read me the list, if you please."

"The whole list?" Sans did not sound any more enthusiastic than she did – although that was not unusual – about the prospect, but he obediently pulled the crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, trailing almost all the way to the floor, and began to read: "Cheese, milk, eggs, cupcakes, cotton candy, party hats..."

"Thank you – that will be enough for now." Toriel held up a hand to silence him – a habit from school she could not quite shake – as she scanned the aisles. "Very well, let us start with cheese!" That sounded simple enough – they had had plenty of cheese in the Underground, after all. "Now...can you see any cheese...?"

"One sec." Without warning, Sans hopped up onto the front of the cart for extra height, and Toriel grabbed onto the handle before the whole thing capsized as he looked around, then pointed to a sign hanging a few aisles away from them. "Looks like cheese over there. Full steam ahead, Tori."

Toriel sighed, exasperation mingling with affection, but she allowed him to remain hanging onto the front of the cart as she steered them towards what she now recognised as the dairy aisle. There was indeed an impressive variety of cheese, not to mention all the milk, butter, cream, yoghurts...

"Well, there is certainly no shortage of cheese," she observed, glancing over them all – great blocks of cheese, grated, cream, somewhat dubious-looking cheese in a tube...even 'goat's cheese', which brought several questions to mind. "But which kind do you think is most suitable for a party?"

"It says here Frisk wants...'cheese on sticks, with pineapple'." That was not tremendously helpful, as none of the cheese appeared to be served on a stick, but Sans grinned, a familiar gleam in his sockets as he caught Toriel's eye. "Hey, Tori."

"Yes?"

"What kind of cheese do you use to hide a horse?"

"Hide a horse?" Toriel blinked, shaking her head in bemusement. "I do not – is that some sort of party game...?"

"Nope. You gotta use..." He took a tub of creamy cheese from the shelf and held it up in front of her, "marscapone."

"Oh!" It took her a moment, but Toriel let out a braying snort of laughter, some of the tension in her body beginning to evaporate. "Mask a pony! That is perfect – put it in the cart. I am sure the children could dip their pineapple in it, if they wish." Sans tossed it in, just as inspiration struck: "Oh, I know one! Sans, what do you call cheese that does not belong to you?"

"Is it 'RESERVED FOR USE IN THE GREAT PAPYRUS' GREAT CULINARY CREATIONS! DO NOT EAT! ESPECIALLY IF YOU ARE A SMALL DOG OR SANS! YES, BROTHER, I AM IMPLICATING YOU IN THE TRAGIC YET INEVITABLE FUTURE DISAPPEARANCE OF THIS CHEESE!'?"

"No! Or, well – perhaps, but that is not the answer I was thinking of," Toriel giggled, clasping her hands together in appreciation of Sans' attempt at his beloved brother's impassioned rattle. "Because it is...nacho cheese!"

Sans snorted and pointed double finger-guns at her in approval. "That...was super cheesy."

"Myself, I thought it was rather Brie-lliant." Toriel winked back at him, and once they started to laugh neither of them could stop, despite – or perhaps further fuelled by – the alarmed glance they received from a lady across the aisle. She could happily have continued in a similar vein forever, or at least until they ran out of cheese jokes, but there was still much to be done in preparation for the party tomorrow, so Toriel attempted to compose herself before taking charge again. "Okay, we have cheese – what is next?"

"Chips."

"Ah, chisps, I am sure we can find –"

"No, chips."

Toriel frowned. "That is what I just said. Popato chisps."

"No, Tori – it says potato chips."

"What? Let me see that." Toriel plucked the list out of Sans' hands – if he was playing a prank on her, it was not very funny, but upon investigation Frisk had indeed specified chips, no 's'. "Well, how very strange. I wonder what the difference is? In any case," she added, trying to remain optimistic, "it is fascinating, is it not, how much we are learning about the unique wares of the surface?"

It was almost like one of Papyrus' puzzles, the two of them making their way through the aisles in search of all manner of party foods – some of which was familiar, some not, and almost all of it of dubious nutritional value. Cupcakes adorned with smiley faces, brightly coloured sodas, brownies, jelly, ice cream (just the regular kind – or, as Sans dubbed them, 'Not Nice Creams', which sent them off on a tangent thinking up the most amusing insults one could print on the stick as an alternative; Toriel had overheard some particularly creative ones at school, although she would never dream of repeating them under normal circumstances)...She may have gone off-list, but Toriel also insisted on picking up some nutritious brown bread and cucumber slices for sandwiches, as she felt it was probably sensible to have something on the table that was not loaded with sugar.

"Oh, Sans, look at these!" She held up a charming little selection platter of miniature pizzas. "Aren't they adorable?"

"Tori, they're pizzas, not puppies," Sans replied, smirking as he levitated a stack of mozzarella sticks into the cart with a flick of his wrist.

"I am aware of that – but they are perfect, are they not? I am certain Frisk will love them." Toriel smiled, already picturing her child's excited little face. "And they are so versatile! We could make a game of it – I could throw them, and you could try to catch them in your mouth!"

"Heh – really?" Sans glanced back over his shoulder, his grin somewhere between fond, amused and just a touch concerned as he caught her eye. "Sounds...messy, not to mention potentially dangerous." It was not long, however, before the mischievous twinkle was back. "I'm in."

"I knew you would not be able to resist a pizza the action." Toriel began piling pizza boxes into the cart with glee, starting out with two, but Frisk had a lot of friends and she did not want any child to go hungry, so they would need extra, and then extra extra just in case the extra ran out...the pile was wobbling a little, but it was better to be safe than hungry. "What is next?" She had lost sight of Sans over the pizzas, but her brow creased in concern when she peered around them and he was still nowhere to be found. "Sans...?"

"Over here, Tori – next aisle to your left," came Sans' disembodied voice, evidently having teleported when she was not looking; Toriel might almost have suspected he was trying to wriggle out of shopping duties, had she not known better, before rounding the corner to find him contemplating shelves full of ketchup.

"Ah, do they have the kind you like?" Toriel could not help but smile as she pushed the cart over to join him, for she would never have described Sans as a picky eater, or particularly picky about anything, but he was studying the back of the ketchup bottle as intently as if he were to be taking an exam on it.

"The surface stuff's all pretty much the same," he answered. "I mean, it's okay, but it's got nothing on Grillby's." He put the bottle back on the shelf, a wistful, almost longing expression passing over his face. "Grillbz won't tell anyone how he makes it, though – trust me, I've tried. But you know that guy...keeps it all bottled up."

"Indeed." Toriel let out a sympathetic chuckle as she picked up a bottle for herself – usually, she much preferred her meals home-cooked, but even she had to admit there was just something about the food at Grillby's, greasily guilty yet sinfully satisfying. Reading the ingredients to this concoction, however, she was unimpressed; it appeared to consist mostly of water, sugar and artificial colourings that would probably turn one's insides – or lack thereof – bright red. "Do you know what, Sans?"

He smiled at her, most likely anticipating another joke. "What, Tori?"

"I am going to make you some ketchup myself," she declared with a decisive nod. "With real tomatoes! And only the very finest ingredients the surface has to offer!"

"What – seriously?" Sans' sockets lit up, before he predictably attempted to downplay his enthusiasm with a shrug. "Come on, Tori, you know you don't have to go to all that trouble for me. I'll eat anything, it's no big –"

"Do not be silly – it is no trouble, and you know how much I enjoy cooking new things. Besides, I do not want you eating just anything." Toriel sidled a little closer to him, batting her eyelashes beguilingly as she slipped her arm around his shoulders, stroking her thumb along the upper ridges of his spine. "You will need to keep your strength up when you are helping me keep a socket on all those children, will you not?"

"Oh, I see what you're doing here." Sans folded his arms in a somewhat futile attempt to appear offended. "Think you can pay me off with food, huh, Tori? Well, you're...totally right. Damn it." Judging from the grin now stretching from cheekbone to cheekbone as she felt him melting into her touch, however, Toriel suspected he was not too upset about this undeniable truth.

"I am afraid you are simply too easy to see through, my dear," she replied, just a hint of smugness in her smile – of course, she would have made it for him anyway, but a little extra incentive never hurt. "And, hmm – if it goes well, perhaps I will open up a restaurant of my own! We could serve pie and hot dogs, and I could call it...Tori's."

"Now you're talking." Sans' brow bone lifted in interest. "Although – you trying to put Grillbz out of business? That's pretty cold." He looked up at the precariously balanced array of goods stacked in the cart. "Anyway, we done here? 'Cause that's one very, uh...leaning tower of pizza."

Toriel reached once again for the list, her eyes skimming over hurriedly. "Yes, I believe we are just about – oh, one last thing. We need some more snails."

"Party snails...?"

"Well, why not – they are full of nutrients! And we can arrange the shells into patterns to create a pleasing display?" While Toriel and Sans shared many common interests, she was aware that her passion for gastropods – both aesthetic and culinary – was not one of them. Nonetheless, he simply shrugged and nodded with an expression she recognised as 'I don't get it, but I'll go along with whatever you say'. "Now, I wonder where we might find some in here?"

As Toriel glanced around the store, her eyes fell upon a pair of colourfully dressed shop assistants: two monsters, an alligator and a cat, who appeared to be waving to them from behind their counter at the back of the store. As her energy levels were fast depleting, her feet beginning to ache from trudging around all afternoon, she decided they seemed as reasonable a source to ask as any.

"Hey! Check it out!" The alligator waved as they wandered over, flicking her blonde curls over her shoulder with one hand and indicating the selection of glistening scales on offer with the other. "You should totally buy some of our fish!"

"It's like, the best fish," her friend added, nodding vigorously. "We tested it ourselves, right, Bratty? Like, you will literally die when you taste this fish, it's so good."

"Literally. Except, like – metaphorically, obviously. It'd kind of suck if you actually died. But you almost definitely won't, 'cause me and Catty are fine. Hey, wait a sec –" Bratty, as she was apparently known, paused to narrow her eyes over her long, lipsticked snout. "Don't we, like, know you from somewhere?"

"Oooh, yeah, I remember now!" Catty chimed in. "You used to open for Mettaton, right? At the resort?"

“Me?” They all turned to look expectantly at Sans, who simply shrugged noncommitally, though the way his sockets dimmed for just a moment suggested the memory was not a particularly pleasant one; Toriel made a mental note to ask him about it later. “Oh...yeah, maybe, a couple times.”

"Called it! So...is it true?" Catty leaned forwards over the fish, her big, yellow eyes growing increasingly wider with curiosity. "That you guys are dating now?"

"Uhhh – what?" That got a reaction; Sans let out an incredulous splutter as though unsure whether he found the insinuation hilarious or horrifying. "Me and Mettaton?!"

"Mettaton and I," Toriel could not resist correcting him, attempting unsuccessfully to stifle a giggle into her paw. "Well, Sans – is there something you would like to tell us?"

"Catty, I told you that wasn't him!" Bratty interrupted, elbowing her in the side. "It was the other skeleton – the tall hot one, remember? It was all over Mettanet."

"Ohhh. Okay, my bad." Catty giggled sheepishly, holding up her paws in a shrug. "That makes so much more sense. 'Cause you...really don't seem like his type. Um, no offense and stuff."

"Least amount of offense ever taken," Sans replied with a dry chuckle, regaining his composure save for a slight crease in his brow which suggested he would have much to discuss with Papyrus when they got home. "Anyway, we were just looking for..."

"But this one's hanging out with the queen, which is maybe...half as cool as that, I guess?" Bratty continued. "So what are you, like, her servant or something?"

"Oh my god, does Mettaton need a servant? Because we totally volunteer."

"We would be the best at that job."

"I feel like maybe we, like, already have that job?"

"He just doesn't know it yet. Also we don't get paid or actually have to do anything."

"Yet!"

"Let's go with 'or something'," Sans eventually managed to get the words in edgeways, slipping his hand into Toriel's below the counter with a discreet but meaningful squeeze; just enough for her to feel –while he wasn't one for grand public gestures – he was happy and proud to be with her, and it must have shone through from her soul to her smile as Bratty raised an eyebrow.

"Aw, really? That's cute! And...kinda weird?" She looked them both up and down with a vaguely perturbed expression Toriel was by now too familiar with to be offended by. “'Cause you're all...”

“And then you're like...”

“But, like, whatever! We're totally not gonna judge and stuff.”

"Also," Catty added, her ears quavering hopefully, "if you guys are together, does that mean Asgore is, like...single?"

Bratty snorted, shaking her head pityingly. "God, Catty, stop being so thirsty."

"I'm taking a healthy interest in our royal affairs, Bratty!” Catty shoved her, and the two of them promptly dissolved into giggles.

"Ladies," Toriel interrupted eventually, in her most pleasant yet authorative tone usually reserved for reclaiming the attention of an overexcited Friday afternoon class, "while I would love to stay and chat, I am afraid we are on a rather tight schedule at this moment! So if I might possibly trouble you, we were wondering whereabouts in this place one might find the snails?"

"Oh, snails...?" As they sobered up, Bratty and Catty exchanged a puzzled look.

"Oh...snails."

"We have a monster food section...um, somewhere over there, I think?" Bratty pointed a manicured claw vaguely towards the front of the store. "But it's like..."

"Super small and hardly has any of the good stuff." Catty wrinkled her nose.

"They don't even sell Glamburgers."

"Oh my god, right?! Everyone knows they're like, the greatest achievement of monsterkind or something."

"Not that we ever actually got to taste any..."

"Which is like, the most tragic tale in the Underground, right, Bratty?" Catty draped a paw theatrically across her forehead, pretending to faint against her friend; Bratty scoffed, but let Catty's head linger on her shoulder a moment before her eyes snapped open again. "Oh, wait, actually. I think there is a snail farm around the block!"

"Um, isn't that a record store now?"

"Yeah, I guess, but they still race snails out back! It's like, a whole thing."

Bratty giggled. "Catty, since when did you become, like, the expert on snails around here?"

Catty flipped a tuft of blue hair out of her eyes, flashing them a smug smile. "Since I heard how Mettaton totally goes there, like, all the time?"

"Wait, seriously?!"

Toriel sensed the pair would not yield any more useful information, as charming as they were in their own way. "Ah, I understand – well, thank you both very much for your time. It has been a pleasure, but I think it is time we were on our way." She nudged Sans and tilted her head pointedly back towards their cart, and he nodded in understanding, offering Bratty and Catty a wave in return.

"Laters!"

"If it doesn't work out with Mettaton, tell him to call me!"

"Really, Catty, really?"

"Okay, sorry –"

"She means tell him to call us!"

"So...you wanna check out that snail farm on the way home?" Sans asked after they had left them to it, making their way back to the front of the store towards the cashiers.

"Ah..." Toriel hesitated, allowing herself one lingering thought of a succulent, slimy snack before she shook her head. "No, we do not have to do that. We have plenty of food as it is, and besides, you were right – the children will not want to eat snails."

"Probably not, but you do," he pointed out, shooting her a knowing but sympathetic look, and Toriel could not very well deny it. "C'mon, maybe it'll be fun. My treat?"

It had been a long afternoon, and they both knew that staying out a moment longer when he could be at home sleeping was not Sans' idea of fun; the knowledge that he was doing this for her melted Toriel's heart, just a little, as her face softened into a smile and she widened her eyes in mock surprise. "Do you mean to tell me that you actually have money?"

"Okay, so maybe I wouldn't go that far," he admitted with a sheepish chuckle, "but...I might just have some Thundersnail winnings long overdue for collection. Whaddaya say?"

Toriel tutted half-heartedly, but she was unable to keep the smile from growing across her face as she squeezed Sans' hand gratefully in return, before turning her attention to packing away their considerable purchases.

"Oh, very well, then. I suppose it couldn't hurt to take a look."

Frisk's birthday party had, by all accounts, been a great success – which naturally meant that it had also been total chaos. The house was filled with excitable children, running around all over and getting into places they should not be; there were pizza splatters on the walls that Toriel could admittedly not blame entirely on the children (she did not have the best aim, and Sans was not quite as skilled at catching them in his mouth as he claimed, but they had enjoyed themselves trying anyway); and Sans was currently sporting an assortment of crudely drawn...appendages across his face, an unidentified assailant having evidently gotten to him when he'd dozed off during Pin the Gyfts on the 'Trot. Toriel had her own hands full attempting to pick up all the chocolate cupcakes from the carpet while balancing a tower of paper plates when she felt something tugging on her skirt.

"Miss Toriel!"

She glanced down over the plates into the eyes of an increasingly distressed-looking child. "Is everything alright, Grant?"

"I, um...I don't feel so good..." Clutching his stomach, Grant began to turn alarming shade of green, and Toriel's heart sank as she recognised all too well what was about to happen.

"Oh, goodness, my child, you do not look at all – Sans!" she yelled out in desperation, unable at that moment to provide adequate assistance herself. "Could you please come over here and help..."

"On it." Toriel had never been so grateful for Sans' penchant for materialising out of nowhere, much as it made Grant jump as he tentatively patted the child on the back. "C'mon, buddy, let's get you to the..."

But it was too late – Toriel heard him retching, moments before the unmistakable sound and stench of copious vomiting assaulted her senses. She promptly dropped the plates, letting them flutter to the floor in her haste to assess the damage.

"...bathroom," Sans finished helplessly, cringing as Toriel clamped both hands over her mouth and nose, barely suppressing the urge to gag herself at the unappealing cocktail of what had once been birthday cake, pizza, jelly, ice cream, soda and anything else Grant might have consumed – all floating in Frisk's brand new, custom designed, exquisitely bedazzled and very expensive MTT-brand beach hat.

"Oh, please, no..." Toriel and Sans exchanged wide-eyed expressions of pure horror just as Grant, evidently feeling better, leapt to his feet and ran away to join the crowd chasing the little white dog that had somehow wriggled in during the commotion and was barking joyously. "Maybe – maybe it will be okay!" she declared, much more optimistically than she felt. "We will find a way to clean this up, just so long as Frisk does not..."

She really ought to have known better – before either of them could move, Frisk burst in.

"Mom, Sans, have you guys seen my – oh, never mind, there it is!"

Toriel made a desperate grab for the hat, but her child had already seized it with a satisfied, if short-lived smile. "Frisk, no – do not put that on your –"

It would be mere seconds before the room exploded with ear-splitting screams and howls; weeks before Toriel was able to scrub the horrible stench out of Frisk's hair; months before anyone dared to tell Mettaton the real reason they were not wearing their fabulous hat; and – needless to say – a lifetime before any of them would ever forget that particular party.

#30 day otp challenge #soriel #undertale fanfiction #fanfiction #smh this is actually the most domestic thing i've written #and i write a LOT of fluff #bratty and catty kinda took over #there's a tiny mention of papyton #idek #my fic

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