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I probably will not be utilising this site much more than posting updates for fics Iâve made. However, since most of my fics include a.d.u.lt content or are not safe for Oath/Verizonâs precious puritanical constituencies whom have never before looked at their own genitals or nipples, I canât use the site in good faith.
Iâve been here since 2011 and seen a lot; from the implementation of comments (they used to be only available through Disqus) to side blogs and more⌠and then this garbage happens.
If you wanna know where to find me, Iâm most active on twitter. Pillowfort is 2nd but until they change domains away from io, Iâm keeping my n/////s//f\\w\\ stuff off of there.
Hereâs a link to my contact post.
Again⌠not abandoning my blog since I love a lot of the content my fellow creators make and reblog, I just wonât be active here as much anymore.
I canât change my settings, my icon, or whatever, and no one sees this anyway. For those of you who have followed me here, THIS is the account you need to follow if you want to get in touch with me, since I am abandoning this blog.
Since I canât fsckin use it as a viable platform anymore.
Direct link to Ao3: archiveofourown.org/works/12509220/chapters/39021155
( this fic is rated 18+, do not interact with me if you are reading this as a minor for my safety and sanity, thank you! )
Chapter 64; summary: The brothers spend the day bonding over poorly-constructed cardboard sentry stations. Grillby is back at home with a huge mess to deal with. Papyrus is disgusted with the state of things and takes things into his own hands.
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(Â E-rated but any smut is marked for easy skipping. )
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Chapter 63:Â Fireplaces
In this chapter: Sans watches over Grillby while Grillby has a bath. A second attempt at cyclical magic sharing is more successful, thanks to a dream. (Grillby POV.)
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(E-Rated but the smut is marked for easy skipping.)
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Chapter 62: To Feed a Fire
In this chapter: Things seem normal, until Sans finds Grillby's completely empty. The shopkeeper arrives to dispel any worries before they become too much and leads him to the Snowed Inn, where Grillby is staying, albeit worse for wear. Sans helps to care for the ailing flame and ends up highly flustered.
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In this chapter: Spending the night at Alphysâ lab, Sans reads up on Soul Reactions and doesnât sleep for long thanks to a dream about a parent long gone. In the middle of the night, he decides to search through the footage of the afternoon he was attacked. He discovers a very informative letter from Papyrus regarding interspecies hanky panky.
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Happy birthday, @undertailsoulsex! I wanted to write something for you and I heard you like sick fics... Please enjoy my first foray into these subject matters.
Summary: Papyrus has been acting odd lately and Sans has an inkling that the other isn't feeling well. He has a recipe for that. (Can also read as platonic)
Rating: Gen (sick fic, caretaking, fluff, cooking, cuddling & snuggling)
...
Papyrus had been silent. Too silent. Sans grew more suspicious of the otherâs actions despite snapped retorts that nothing was out of the ordinary. His eye lights settled on the subtle jitters that shot through the otherâs bones, fixated on the way the counterpart of his brotherâs sockets seemed to dim in focus briefly, before flaring up again. It was as though this Papyrus was infuriated with the prospect of zoning out, which only made Sans exhausted in return.
So he kept to himself on the couch in the living room, huddled under a thick comforter with the remote just in reach. Snow echoed on the screen the same as it fell outside, and no matter how many times he attempted to change the channel, it was the same on every station.
His eye lights dragged off to the side when he heard the none-too-gentle closing of cupboards in the kitchen while Papyrus seethed to himself. He didnât hear what was being muttered, but he knew asking him if everything was ok would only be met with another bark of irritation.
He didnât know what the big guyâs problem was lately. He figured it was just a bad mood of sorts. Their relationship ever since he had arrived had been a little strained, to say the least. For the most part, he wouldâve liked to think that things had settled into amicable camaraderie. At best, the awkward fluttering in his rib cage whenever they shared personal space and secrets told him they had something. And that it was mutual.
Torn from more pleasant thoughts, Sans turned his skull to the kitchenâs direction when he heard a lid hit the floor and warble away, followed by a rather colourful objection. He snorted to himself and let out a sigh, creeping over the edge of the couchâs arm to have a better look.
âyâok in there?â he called out half-heartedly, although he was legitimately concerned. He had learned rather quickly that the crockery was to be treated with care. Papyrus slamming things down was extremely out of character - at least where his cooking pots were concerned. When he didnât get a reply, Sans sighed again and pushed himself off the warm couch and its blankets to stroll up to the kitchen doorway.
The scent of tomatoes and onions immediately hit his nasal cavity, although saltier than he recalled the fruit being, he didnât utter a word. Instead, his eye lights fell to Papyrus, whom was half-grasping at the countertop and bent over the sink. The pot lid had stopped its journey from the cupboard at the wall and soapy water was strewn almost everywhere.
âgeez.â
âI DONâT WANT TO HEARÂ IT,â the other groused, throwing a warning look over his shoulder.
Sans shrugged, not daring to breach the doorway. Instead, he leaned against the jamb and watched for a while, his gaze searching as he picked up the little hints and subtleties that his own brother had exhibited in his universe. The usual grand exuberancy in which he carried out his actions were masking trembles. Getting angry or irritated with him to raise his emotions, to hide the flush on his cheekbones. The way he rushed everything to make it look like he was panting from exertion and not simply because he had a fever.
Of course, this Papyrus was not dissimilar, with the same traits right down to the bone, despite being rough around the edges. Sansâ grin tugged absently with the thought, but was quickly expelled from his reverie when one of Papyrusâ knees jittered noticeably.
Yeah, this had gone on long enough.
âok, bud,â he started, all business now despite another warning glare he received. He dragged his feet through the sudsy water on the floor, extending a hand to the other as a sort of peace offering. Papyrus was staring it down like it was some sort of profane object, instead. Every part of him stiffened and trembled through his struggle to keep upright. âi think i get what this is.â
âAND WHAT, PRAY TELL, MIGHT THAT BE?â
Sans schmoozed up to his side with a wink, leaning against the wet countertop without a care. âyou got the flu,â he said simply, although Papyrus could detect the hint of a sing-songy tease.
âARE YOU MAKING FUN OF ME?â he demanded, his phalanges gripping at the countertop with renewed strength through his irritation. âIS THAT WHAT THIS IS?â
âmy buddy, you just dropped the pot and despite not livinâ your life by the 5-second rule like i do, youâre pushinâ even my standards,â Sans replied with a light laugh as he nudged at the half-cleaned pot on the floor with his foot. âyou seem to enjoy that sink a lot. who knows, maybe i can smear somethinâ around, just for you. i know you like your ablutions.â
A marvelous crimson flooded the otherâs face with the tease and Sans grinned a little more, proud he could get under Papyrusâ metaphorical skin, all the same. He had to know what was going on when Sans tilted his hand, and now it was a kind of dare as to who would fold first.
Papyrus being who Papyrus was, held his ground - or rather, the counter - with astoundingly unbending stubbornness. The fact he had not retorted to Sansâ accusation was either because he was still thinking of a witty response, or he was too fuddled to properly come up with anything. Sans could see it was the latter when he saw a small wilt in the otherâs stance and moved closer to make sure Papyrus didnât fall.
âcâmon. no need to put a damper on things,â Sans grinned, raising a brow bone as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. As he did so, he scooted a little closer; not much, but enough that he was within reach if Papyrusâ legs decided to give out. âwhatâre you tryinâ to do here? make soap?â
âSOUP.â
ânot gonna lye, i heard soap.â Sansâ grin widened while Papyrus groaned audibly. It seemed the shorter skeleton was resolute in his plan to assault him with bad jokes in order to crumble his defenses.
âSOUP,â Â Papyrus said again, pointing to a bowl of crushed tomatoes that had miraculously stayed on the counter. When he did so, the world swayed for a moment and he huffed out a hot breath when spots appeared before his vision.
Before he knew it, Sans had caught him. Although when he came to, whether it was after heâd hit his skull off the floor or not was debatable. Papyrus felt as though his head was pounding and there was no definite source as to where it was exactly emanating from. He heard Sans curse under his breath and felt arms encircling him, bringing one of his own arms over the otherâs shoulder to hoist him up while his legs shook uneasily when he was pulled to his feet.
âok. thereâs no way you can say youâre not sick, man.â
âIâM NOT A SICK MAN!â Papyrus muttered stiffly, attempting to extract himself from Sansâ hold.
Sans was frowning at him, the gears turning in his head as the other blathered on about âDUTIESâ and how âA TRULY GREAT PERSON NEVER GETS THE FLUâ and âSICKNESS IS A WEAKNESS NOT IN MY CONSTITUTIONâ. He rolled his eye lights as Papyrus continued on, tempted to call out the otherâs utter absurd behaviour - but this was his house after all. Technically it was both of theirs, but interdimensional timeshares would be a whole different ball game to sort through with the logistics involved.
âlemme at least get you to the couch or somethinâ-â Sans offered, attempting to steer the other skeleton out of the kitchen; he had a lot of dead weight for someone who was nothing but bones.
Despite his efforts, Papyrus was still objecting as his legs automatically followed Sansâ lead; âI WILL NOT HAVE YOU CARRY ME LIKE A PETULANT CHILD-â
âthen donât act like one, man. câmon.â Enduring the otherâs protests, Sans had little difficulty bringing Papyrus over to the couch. He couldâve sworn heâd heard a relieved sigh escape the other skeleton when he sat down, and Sans started bundling him in blankets.
âYOUR EFFORTS ARE WASTED,â Papyrus repeated relentlessly, to which Sans only hummed in agreement and pushed him back into the couchâs plush cushions. He leaned forward and briefly caressed the otherâs skull, resulting in an indignant squawk from Papyrus, who hid his face in the blanket while Sans retreated back to the kitchen.
âstay there,â the shorter skeleton called from the kitchen.
Papyrus could very clearly hear crockery being messed with and seethed quietly - although it wasnât in rage or irritation, not at Sans. He hadnât shown it, not necessarily; Sans had a way of worrying that tipped him off. He stayed close. He lingered in rooms that he was in. He made small talk and tried to distract him by slipping jokes under his radar.
Papyrus shrunk down against the couch, his legs sprawled out over the edge of the cushions as their view wavered dizzyingly in front of him. A grand guardsman like himself couldnât afford to take âsick daysâ. What would others think? He knew what they would think, that was the problem. Sickness was what monsters with weak magic reserves had to deal with, and he was beyond strong! Someone below him mustâve brought something in regards to that, he thought in bemusementâŚ
His skull was aching again and he wrestled an arm out from Sansâ bundling and brought his hand to his face, cupping the side as though to gauge the temperature. Was he warm? He didnât feel well, but he didnât feel hot. If he was âgettingâ a flu, he probably still had a day or two before it really settled on him, then he could⌠possibly make some excuse. Like⌠Sans. Who⌠possibly needed something. Far away. Probably Hotland. Was he hot?
Was he hotâŚ
Clinks and running water from the kitchen pulled him from his swimming thoughts. How could the Great and Terrible Papyrus succumb to such a thing as a cold!? Who was the careless oaf whom heâd contracted it from? There would be answers - at least, thatâs what he was planning for.
Soon enough, Sans had come out from the kitchen, somewhat spattered with red sauce. He had, to his credit, attempted to wipe the flecks of tomato off his hoodie and face with his sleeve, but Papyrus found himself glaring at the little splotches while his vision swam in and out of focus.
âbetter now that youâre sittinâ?â the other skeleton inquired as he leaned in close. Papyrus hung his face against his hand and huffed heavily in response, not in any mood for conversation. But he did see it - that odd little way Sansâ eye lights constricted when he was worried and the way his grin tugged down ever so slightly, unconvinced.
âIâM NOT SICKâŚâ he suddenly said, still clinging to the delusional hope that Sans would believe him. Despite how horrible and warm he was feeling, it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep from shivering.
That fact was apparent when Sans could hear the subtle noise of bones knocking together. It seemed like his hunch was correct, and that Papyrusâ overzealous nature had finally caught up to him. Wearing himself down while having the flu⌠just like at home. Only this Papyrus was not his Papyrus.
He sighed and flopped onto the couch beside him, close enough to rest his skull against the otherâs. When Papyrus froze, if only for a moment, Sans grinned to himself and tugged him so the other was resting against him.
âsure you arenât.â
Whether or not it was due to the creeping warmth his sickened magic was coalescing, Papyrus continue to feel warm. Despite not moving for more than a few minutes, he felt exhausted and light-headed. Coupled with the tomato-y smell wafting from the kitchen, his senses were being overloaded by light, sound and vertigo.
Biting back a threatening miserable groan, Papyrus huffed as he buried his skull further into the comforter. Sans had turned his skull to see him better; Papyrusâ eye sockets were closed and his brow was knitted together in a fierce attempt to look ânormalâ. The flush of his bones betrayed how he truly felt however, and the rattling continued.
âyouâre like the worst not-sick person iâve ever seen, man,â Sans sighed quietly, bringing a hand up to cup the top of the otherâs skull. He felt the coiling and restless magic fettering inside the otherâs bones, signalling the fever broiling within him. Pushed to his limits, Papyrus shook his head, attempting to get the hand off him without much success.
A few moments passed with Sans gently patting the otherâs skull, phalanges tracing soothing scuffs over the cracks and smooth bone until Papyrus finally settled. He was still shivering, but he was being leaned against like a large dog, threatening to bury his body with the cocoon of blankets Sans had wrapped him up in.
Thatâs when he decided to slip away - or at least, that had been the plan, had he the wherewithal to get away without jostling the other skeleton. As predicted, Papyrus cracked open an eye socket and seemed perturbed that he had been roused, or even that he had fallen asleep in the first place.
âWHERE DO YOU THINK YOUâRE GOING.â It was more of a statement than a demand and Sans had to laugh, patting the otherâs skull.
âsoup.â
âSOUP?â As fuzzy as things appeared all around him, Papyrus blinked up at the skeleton grinning down at him. At least, he thought it had been him, but he was less sure now. It could be a trick. He didnât make soup, nor did he think Sans knew how to cook.
Of course.
Sans didnât know how to cook! Nothing in their time together had led him to believe that the other skeleton knew how to make anything apart from microwaved burritos or the odd piece of charred toast!!
Suddenly renewed through an internal horror of Sans demolishing his kitchen, Papyrus pushed himself up. He lurched threateningly as he pointed at the otherâs face, hand shaking in protest.
âDONâT YOU DARE!â
âdare what? finish the food you were planninâ on makinâ anyways?â Sans challenged, giving the other a light shove. The jostle was enough to send Papyrus back onto the couch with a weak grunt, unsteady where he sat. âgeez. why the heck did you force yourself? look at you, loose anâ limp like a wet noodle,â Sans shot him a cheeky grin while Papyrusâ groan became louder in irritation.
âIâM COMING WITH YOU.â
âiâll literally be in the next room.â
âTHEN IT WILL COME TO NO SURPRISE TO YOU HOW EASILY THE GREAT AND TERRIBLE PAPYRUS WILL OVERCOME SEVERAL FEET TO THE KITCHEN!â
âdude, you canât even manage your own feet.â
âSEMANTICS.â
âmore like pedantics, but alright,â the other sighed in resignation. It was far less an effort to drag Papyrus back to the kitchen and prop him up with chairs or something than it would be to argue over whether or not he could handle being upright.
Unfortunately, Papyrusâ unsteady and teetering balance proved difficult to manoeuvre to the kitchen table. At one point, Sans had to dip under his arm to steady him, keeping an arm wrapped around the otherâs rib cage as the taller monster stumbled, off-balance to the side. He could tell how adamant he was at keeping his pride intact when he glanced at Papyrus, seeing the way his teeth were gritted and rivulets of sweat trickled down his face.
Man.
Why was he enabling this?
Sans helped Papyrus through the doorway and ushered him to one of the chairs, pushing him down. âthere, happy?â
âIF YOU THINK THIS CONSTITUTES ANYTHING BUT PURE MISERY ON MY BEHALF, YOU HAVE ANOTHER THING COMING.â
âyou can just say âyesâ, yâknow.â Sans shrugged and checked the otherâs temperature again, ignoring the stubborn yet dazed glare thrown his way. Papyrus didnât answer him at least, so Sans made his way over to the stove where a large pot was bubbling with red onions, tomatoes, garlic and carrots.
âAT LEAST IT DOESNâT SMELL BURNT,â came the grumble from the other side of the kitchen, which Sans pointedly ignored. It seemed more of a compliment if anything, although Sans merely chalked it up to the fact that Papyrus was clearly becoming delirious. âI SHOULD GIVE YOU INSTRUCTION.â
Sansâ grin tightened as he cast a glance over his shoulder, not even registering the words as he automatically turned down the heat on the stove to a low simmer. He then pulled out a small pan from under the oven and put it on one of the burners, turned it on, and poked his skull into the fridge. It was one of the weeks where they actually had something he could work with, so he pulled out the butter and cream and set it on the counter.
Papyrus was watching, somewhat dumbfounded. He had barely opened his mouth when Sans seemed to be moving as though on automatic. Wow, he didnât even have to bark out orders - Sans basically could read his mind! Although he wasnât sure what the other was doing with the butter and flour now in the pan. Curiously, he leaned forward, bones still rattling under the blanket theyâd brought from the couch.
It had admittedly been awhile since he had cooked anything, but Sans decided a creamy soup would be best. It was something that reminded him of when he had ambitions, when he was younger and when cooking didnât tire him out. Some spices that this Papyrus had in the cupboard were enough to bring out the flavours. Meanwhile, the halved potatoes he threw into the pot did their job at soaking up a lot of the salt that had been dumped into the mix.
Papyrusâ silence had been worrying, but when Sans glanced over, he saw the otherâs puzzled yet curious expression as he worked. Sans grinned to himself, face flushed through the hidden amazement and how it affected him. Although the other didnât say anything, Sans could see he was impressed. He also hoped that Papyrus wouldnât think this was a thing that would happen all the time; usually cooking burnt him out on the idea and he didnât attempt it more than a few times a year. Sometimes less.
With Papyrus watching and leaning against the table, Sans stirred the roux and spices together, watching the pot boil on the other burner while the sauce thickened. Even though Papyrusâ concerns had been that he was worried for his kitchen, Sans was proving to be a pretty adept cook of his own caliber. Not that Papyrus would admit it.
Eventually, everything blended together into one pot and the tomato smell wafted to Papyrusâ senses. It was much less of a smell than disgusting ketchup, but more mellow than marinara sauce. The taller skeleton frowned as his blurry vision settled on the back of the blue hoodie shambling around the counterspace, every clink and scrape of dishware jarring against his throbbing headache.
Groaning pitifully and having no more mind to keep up any pretense of dignity, Papyrus let his skull drop onto his arms on the table. Well, as long as the other didnât burn down the house, he supposed it was permissibleâŚ
He didnât know how long heâd been out, but the quiet slide of a bowl against the wooden table jerked him awake. Sans was smiling down at him, eye lights softened with the spark of concern as again, Papyrus felt his hand against his skull, rubbing soothingly against him. He sighed and sunk against the table a little more, fully coming to terms that⌠perhaps he was not feeling one-hundred percent after all.
âI THINK THAT I DONâT ENJOY BEING SICK,â he grumbled into his arms.
Sans laughed, although it didnât hold any spiteful undertones. âare you finally admittinâ it?â
âNO, I JUST ENJOY RANDOMLY STATING WITH PROLIFIC OBSCURITY MY DISTASTE FOR MAGICAL INTERFERENCE.â
The other scoffed and shuffled into the opposite chair, then idly stirred the soup in front of Papyrus until he lifted his head. When Papyrusâ hazy vision settled on the deep orange soup, he frowned at it.
âYOU⌠MADE THIS.â
âsure.â
âAND ITâS NOTâŚâ
Sans levelled him with a look. It wasnât anything challenging, but Papyrus could feel the subtle rebuke in his gaze. Instead of testing his company further, he pulled a hand from inside the blanket and shakily took the utensil offered to him. Then he tentatively allowed the spoonful of soup to drop back down into the bowl with jaded, scrupulous judgment.
âhey, if youâd rather me get somethinâ from grillbyâsâŚâ Sans left the threat unfinished and Papyrus glared at him, his face reddening anew. Then, stubbornly, he forced a spoonful of it into his mouth.
Sans watched as the other fought his own movements, however it was his intention to continue cooking, no matter how lacklustre the end product was. It was lumpy, maybe the spices werenât all there and he had haphazardly chopped up the cooked potato for it to be a bit more filling, but in the end it worked out.
As Papyrus ate, Sans tapped idly at the tabletop, supporting his head on his left hand. He stayed quiet, but inside he was wondering if it was enough. Papyrusâ movements were slow and he had only eaten two-thirds of the bowl before pushing it away and sinking against the table again.
âso,â the shorter skeleton mumbled nonchalantly, âhowâd you like it?â
âIT WAS⌠TOLERABLE.â
âglad you didnât hate it, at least.â
âIT WAS SURPRISINGLY SATISFACTORY,â Papyrus rephrased, turning his head in his arms. He caught the sheepish grin that had passed over Sansâ face and straightened up with renewed strength.
âback to the couch, i guess,â Sans sighed as he pushed himself up, waiting for Papyrus to do the same. But there was a problem; with Papyrus more subdued, he was less likely to argue. At the same time, he wasnât about to put up a fight if Sans genuinely wanted to help him. He narrowed his eye sockets. Sans⌠did want to help him, right? That seemed logical.
Still, his thoughts were swimming and Papyrus was finding it was becoming more and more difficult to focus on any other task except settling down and perhaps closing his eye sockets to rest. For a few minutes. Heâd be fine for a few minutes, he thought, just as his skull tilted forward in a doze. The quick movement roused him and he blinked in confusion when he felt the other encircle his arms around his chest and hold onto him tightly.
Then the world dipped. It did absolutely nothing for how dizzy he felt and Papyrus nearly stumbled off-balance when his foot hit the couchâs leg. He bit back a mild grunt of irritation, unsure when or how he was able to fall asleep while standing. It was the only way he figured that Sans was able to cross the distance in such a short amount of time. Either that, or he had been carried. Or he had stumbled, much like his thoughts were constantly doing.
He huffed all the same when the other carefully manoeuvred him around to sink back onto the plush couch, helping to tuck him in before settling in beside him. A few of the channels had cleared enough for a bit of warbling dialogue to filter through the sound of static, but it was enough white noise that Papyrus was drifting off to sleep again.
As much as he hated to admit it even in his private thoughts, the soup had been good and made him feel a little better. He could sense that Sans was worried in his own way with how he curled against him, making sure he was as comfortable as he could be. With how he feigned indifference and disinterest, Sans certainly had a way with showing how he cared. It was preposterous how much he fit in that way in Papyrusâ universe when he did like that.
Still, Sansâ arm lay around his shoulder as Papyrus slipped against his torso, listening to the subtle hum of magic within the otherâs body. As Papyrus finally drifted off, he thought that perhaps it was alright to show weakness.