FallenShadow950
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Summary
When she was little, Toriel wanted to be a ballerina. When she was very little. (Don’t laugh. It’s silly – it seems so silly now, but – don’t laugh).
There weren’t any ballerinas in the underground – they were a thing in old books that came down from the human world, and they were magic to her. She knew monsters who could breathe fire, monsters whose touch turned things to ice, but those girls in those floofy pink skirts, their delicate ankles, their perfectly bent wrists… They were foreign and lovely. It didn’t matter that the covers of the books were torn and the illustrations smeared from their travels, those girls shone out, perfect and neat and beautiful and so small.
But then she grew up and realised there were no ballerinas who looked like her, and that she had two left feet besides.
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"THE POINT IS, HAVING GRAZED MY BOAT AGAINST THE ROCKS OF LIFE, I CAN NOW GIVE YOU THE BENEFIT OF MY WISDOM!” Papyrus says.
“Okay then,” Sans says, “lay your wisdom on us, bro. How do we deal with a crush?”
“WELL,” Papyrus begins, laying a theatrical hand on his chest like he’s in a particularly unsubtle production of Hamlet, “PERSONALLY I FOCUSED ON ALL OF HIS WORST FEATURES AND CRUSHED MY FEELINGS DOWN INTO A TINY BALL SOMEWHERE NEAR MY FEET.”
Frisk blinks at him. How did that go? they sign.
Papyrus scowls. “TERRIBLY! HE HAS SHOCKINGLY FEW BAD QUALITIES FOR SUCH AN IRRITATING PERSON!”
Frisk has a crush. Everyone tries to help.
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When you pull apart, you give a shaky little breath. You open your eyes, and Sans is watching you intently. He looks as surprised as you feel. You can see the imprint of your lipstick on his teeth, and you're quick to wipe it away with your sleeve, drawing a laugh from him.
He lowers you gently. You groan inwardly at the loss of his touch when his gloved hands retreat back into his pockets.
"Wow." You murmur.
"Agreed." Sans says. "See you Saturday."
You blink, and he's gone.
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"Juniper..." Blueberror trails off. His brows knit together— deep in thought. He takes another sip. "I like that." For once, he doesn't meet Nightmare's gaze. "I—" he mumbles. "It— It would be a nice name. Juniper."
Nightmare steadies himself. How often had he been there to witness the birth of a new name? He takes a deep breath. Despite everything, he can recognize this for the honor it is. He can feel the power. It tastes like, well, juniper: clear and bright. Dark and shining.
Five times they talked about the nature of names, and the one time they didn't.
Series
- Part 3 of Multiverse of Grey
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Summary
Jay doesn't die right away, and Alex doesn't leave him. There's time to talk, but not enough.