A collection of tales about everyone's favorite mysterious fire man. Part of the JournalVerse.
In-character asks OPEN.
Heavily affiliated with @theskelejournals
* Do not repost or edit the artwork on this blog.
A little late again to the festivities, but it's been TEN YEARS since Undertale came out? Wow. That means Grillby has been part of my life for nearly that long. How lovely and wonderful. What joy and friendship this silly little fireman has brought me. I've had some of my best days thanks to this game and the group of friends that has come of it, and so I'll always be thankful to Toby Fox for creating it.
In honor of this, have a tiny short story that takes place in a world very different from Undertale, but with a couple of familiar faces.
Below the cut for your browsing pleasure. <3
“Gustav!”
“Hm?” I lifted my head from the silverware I was polishing to see Quinn waving at me. I grinned, waving the cloth in my hand at them to return their greeting. “Hello birdbrain.”
“Heyo hothead. What's on the menu today?” Quinn had memorized the menu ages ago, so the question was moot, but it never stopped them from asking it.
“For you? Yesterday's potato peels.”
“Disgusting, I'll take it.” Quinn hopped onto the diner stool in front of me, patting their hands on the counter in time with the song filtering over from the jukebox. “Can you add some normal food in with them though? I'm so hungry.”
“Hah, of course.”
Ten minutes later Quinn was alternating between humming along to music and chewing. I could hear their feet thumping softly against the edge of the counter under the bar. It was a normal, rhythmic, expected noise that I'd come to realize I missed when Quinn didn't show up for lunch.
Glancing over at the other table I was meant to be minding, the gaggle of young teenagers who were near regulars. They were gathered closely around a Switch, the girl with the dark afro in charge of its controls. If I remembered right, and I was sure I did, her name was Jamari. They seemed to be fine with what was left of the giant basket of fries and their individual sandwiches, and their drinks were still fairly full, so I left them to their own devices.
That is, until Quinn had turned to lean against the bar and people watch, and then started giggling.
“What is it?” I asked, setting a rack of glasses behind them on the counter to unpack. Quinn just giggled again, then pointed with their chin.
“The teenagers keep looking at you and then back to their game, then back at you. They're discussing something in heated tones now, look.”
Sure enough, they seemed to be in a spirited yet whispered debate about something. The blonde who was smaller than the others was shaking her head, furiously, while the others were trying to convince her of whatever was on the Switch. I smirked fondly, they reminded me of my own younger brother Garan. Jamari looked back up and saw me watching, so I glanced back down to the glasses I was unpacking to spare her any embarrassment.
A row of glasses dried and put away later, I looked back up at the sound of a cleared throat.
“Excuse me, Mr. Vercher?” It was the small blonde girl, holding Jamari's Switch in both hands. “Could you solve a debate for us?”
I chuckled, drying my hands and moving to lean my elbows on the counter near her. “I can try. What is it?”
She laid the Switch on the counter then spun it, orienting it towards me. The screen had an 8-bit world on it, an orange and brown diner much like the one we were standing in, complete with a jukebox in the corner. And behind the bar was a little man dressed much like I was, except his head was made of flame. I laughed softly, leaning closer to look at the red bird on the stool near the fire man.
“Is this what the debate's about?”
The girl nodded, pointing to the fire man. “Everyone over there says he looks like you, and we want to know if you ever got approached by a mysterious video game maker and asked if he could use your likeness in a game.” She was so straightforward about it, I couldn't help but laugh again.
I shook my head, still grinning. “I'm sorry, I can't say that I have.” My head dipped to look at the little fire man again. “You're right, he does look like me though. If my head were a fire.”
Quinn leaned over to look as well, and the girl shifted the Switch to give them a better view. “Oh my! Look! An actual hothead! He is you!” Quinn's laughter was much more raucous than my own, and the blonde girl smiled in triumph.
“Thank you so much, Mr. Vercher, you've proven me right and everyone else wrong.” She gathered the Switch back in her hands, then paused. “Oh, his name is Grillby if you're curious!” With that, she darted back to the table, no doubt boasting her victory over the rest of them. I chuckled at the groans from across the diner.
“Grillby hm? Interesting. Wonder how much he's actually like me.” My quiet musing didn't go unheard by Quinn, who snickered.
“Well you're both hotheads so there's that!”
Their laughter was muffled by the polishing rag I whipped in their face.
Two months into living on the surface in Austria, Wingding and I decided to live permanently in Annecy. Q and Juliet decided to join us, and our boys weren’t far in Austria if we wanted to be with them for a few days. It hadn’t been a very hard decision, Austria was crowded and loud, and whenever Germany was mentioned Dings made a show of changing the subject back to Annecy.
Sera, Gautier, and I had grown up in the lakeside city, and even two centuries ago it had been a tourist attraction. It was nothing compared to what it’d turned into, however. The quiet town had blossomed into a beautiful resort city with more hotels and restaurants than anyone could really count. The peaceful city of my childhood was busier and more crowded than ever, but still held the charm and wonder from before. It had expanded across the valley, around the lake, everywhere it hadn’t been while I was still growing up.
Our old neighborhood had been destroyed when we had been evacuated, and since built over. That was blatantly visible even as you drove along the mountain into the city. I had held onto hope that our homes had survived, but there had never been any chance. So, the short lived dream of returning to my family’s home was gone, but Dings and I had managed to find somewhere just as good. It was near the local schools that had been built while we were underground, and honestly not that far from the edge of my old neighborhood. The old diner would have been within walking distance if I would have gathered the nerve to go see if it were still there.
We’d settled into our new home easily, using the gold we had from our respective jobs Underground, trading it for human money. A human banker with a bit too much greed in his eyes for my tastes helped us out, and got the job done despite my dislike of him. Between Dings and myself we had more than enough funds to settle into a home and begin establishing ourselves on the surface. While Dings was still recovering from what we’d called “void sickness,” I’d taken a job at a nearby restaurant, just as a line cook, to keep income flowing and get some roots dug back into Annecy. Even though it bothered him, I’d told Dings that I wasn’t expecting him to work at all until he’d recovered, and I was prepared to take care of everything. He had a hard time taking that, he hated being dormant so very much. But with his legs literally not working, there wasn’t really anything he could do. Luckily, Q had the brilliant suggestion of him doing a few courses online to get Dings on track to becoming a teacher.
We’d discussed it - him signing and me hoarsely translating to a slightly drunk bird - before even moving to France, and Dings had decided he no longer wanted to be the Royal Scientist, but he did want to remain in the field. The happiest medium for him ended up being a teaching position, and he lit up at the prospect once Q suggested it. As for me, I don’t really know how to do anything outside of a kitchen, so I was perfectly fine staying in one. I was good at it, comfortable with it, so I went ahead and got the certifications and training I was asked to and went right back to work. The only difference was I wasn’t at the bar, and the building didn’t have my name on it. Having been in the business for so, so long, I shook my head at a lot of the things the other chefs did, but it wasn’t my place to say anything as an entry level line cook.
We managed like this for a year or two, Dings tapping away at his essays and reports while I snoozed away in my chair after the dinner service. The same year Dings finished his courses was the year I proposed to him, and we got married not long after. That’s a story I’m happy to tell, but after I finish this one.
We’d been in Annecy for roughly two and a half years at the time, and that was when I finally worked up the courage to drive through our old neighborhood to see what had become of it. All the streets remained, the physical layout of the neighborhood had not changed. The buildings had, though, of course. Driving past where my family’s home used to sit, especially wearing Gautier’s coat while doing it, was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life. Sera had decided to stay in Austria as well and continue her work as a translator, so she wasn’t able to make this little journey with me. That made it all the harder.
I paused in front of the lot our house used to sit on long enough for the fact the building I was staring at wasn’t my old home to sink in, then restarted my car and headed down an all too familiar path. Even now, so many years later, I’m still not entirely sure why I took the one turn that would take me to the diner and not home to Dings, but I’m still completely fine with that split second decision. Taking a left instead of a right after sitting at the corner for a good three minutes, I held my breath.
It’s not there, there’s no way, there is not any way, no chance. My thoughts went on in that loop, and I pulled over across the street from the diner’s lot. I couldn’t look to my right, I could not. I stayed inside the car and stared out the passenger side window, out towards a building I had never seen, one that had been built while I was Underground. I may have sat there for at least fifteen minutes before a text message brought me out of my thoughts and I finally shook myself out of it. Glancing at my phone quickly, I answered Q’s query as to when I’d be home then finally looked up.
What I found was a low brick building, standing the middle of the parking lot, a few people coming out of the door holding to-go boxes.
It’s still here.
I stared in awe, watching customers move around and be seated, eat with their families, just in general be happy and enjoy their meals. It was like nothing had changed besides the parking lot and the clothes the customers were wearing. I couldn’t be completely sure until I got a closer look, but it even looked like the staff was wearing the same or similar uniforms. I couldn’t stop a laugh at that, and so I put a hand over my mouth to catch it. Silly of me, now that I think about it, since I was alone in my car.
It took a few more minutes for me to do it, but I gathered up the courage and got out of the car, quickly darting across the street to the edge of the parking lot and staring at the building I’d practically lived in for nearly 30 years. I don’t think I breathed.
I can’t believe it’s still standing so many years later. I always just assumed we had lost everything. It always seemed like the most logical explanation given what all had happened.
I was startled out of my thoughts by a car pulling into one of the parking spaces next to me, and shuffled out of the way to let the mother of the family open her door. Over the years we’d been on the surface, I’d gotten used to dirty looks and barely lowered voices offering up snide remarks and comments, so I was surprised when all she did was give me a friendly smile and move to release her child from their carseat. I offered a much shyer one back and took a breath before finally heading into the building. The door had been replaced however long ago, to keep up with security and other technological advances, but it was roughly the same weight and still swung the same way. It felt just like walking in decades, centuries ago. Almost like traveling in time. It was strange, but also pleasant. I had been working in the diner Underground for 200 years, it wasn’t as if I had been out of the industry. But walking into this diner, this building that I had grown up in, was an entirely different experience.
So many memories came flooding back as I slipped in and looked around. Not much had changed on the inside either, besides obvious technological upgrades and ways to improve safety. The bar and dining room layout was the same, new tables and chairs of course, but everything was more or less in the same place. Even the color scheme had remained, but obviously been repainted. I guess the design my mother had come up with had stood the test of time. I stood for a moment inside the door until the hostess caught my attention.
“Ah… heh, excuse me, sir? Are you looking for someone?” She sounded a bit timid, but I couldn’t blame her. I was likely one of the only monsters she had ever seen up close. And I was, in fact, a walking flame. Even some monsters drew away from me still.
“Oh, no, apologies.” I slid out from in front of the door, making room for the family that had pulled into the parking lot. Luckily they already had people waiting for them, and I could keep the hostess’ attention. “I haven’t been here in a very long time, I thought I should come and see how things have changed.”
When she tilted her head and furrowed her brow at me, I was suddenly and blatantly reminded of my accent and how it was bordering on three centuries old, and therefore not exactly easy to understand, even when we spoke the same language. With an apology, I spoke a little slower and she grinned back with a nod.
“Ah! I see! How long has it been, monsieur?” She leaned on the host stand, grinning wide, and I grinned back. It didn’t really matter if the friendliness was just for show, seeing two humans smile instead of withdraw in fear was a huge boost to my mood.
“Oh, heh, well…” my hand went to my headflames and I gave up calculating the exact number very quickly. “About two hundred years, honestly.” Blue streaked into my headflames at her reaction, wide eyes and jaw dropped.
“What? There’s no way, none! How old are you?” Her voice had raised half an octave and she was speaking faster, it was impossible to hold back a chuckle.
“Heh, I’m bordering on three hundred now. Getting up there.” I glanced down, blue gathering into my headflames once more as my hand slid to the back of my neck. If the hostess’ eyes could have gotten bigger, they would have.
“That’s amazing! You’re totally the oldest person I’ve ever met!”
“Oh heavens. I can’t say I’m surprised.” The bell on the door chimed and I slid out of the way as the hostess regathered her composure to greet and seat the newcomers after a quick apologetic glance my way. I waved her on and decided to make my way over to the bar and find an empty stool. It seemed I’d come in the middle of a weekend rush, those odd ones in the middle of the afternoon when everyone got bored at home and decided that a diner was more interesting than a book or the radio. Or, well, I suppose the television or computer these days. Upon sitting at the bar, I was greeted with a friendly shout over the bartender’s shoulder.
“Sorry, one minute sir! I’ll be right with you!” He called over the sound of the blender, shooting a quick glance at me with a wide grin.
“No worries friend, I see it’s busy.” He grinned once more, thankfully, and returned to his blending. I settled on the stool, folding my hands together and resting my arms on the counter. The mirror behind the bar still existed, the shelves had been replaced with metal ones, but considering the length of time that had passed, that was unsurprising. I wouldn’t doubt it in the slightest if the wood had literally rotted away. It hadn’t exactly been new by the time we’d left it.
“Alright, bonjour, what can I do for you today Monsieur de Feu?” The bartender appeared in my vision as I glanced up, he was grinning away, obviously trying not to stare but failing at it. With a gentle chuckle I grinned back, speaking slower than normal since my accent had already confused the hostess.
“Bonjour, I was actually wondering if the owner was available? I would like to ask them some questions.”
The bartender furrowed his brow at me for a moment, and assuming it was over my request, I continued.
“You see, I used to work here, ages ago. I’d like to discuss the history-”
“Oh, sir, of course, he will be glad to speak with you.” He waved his hand and picked up a glass to polish it. I held back a smirk of amusement, that was my go-to when speaking to customers. “I was just focusing on your accent, are you Canadian?” He glanced up and I blinked in confused for a moment, then laughed.
“Oh, no, I am French, I was born here in Annecy. I was part of the group that was, ah… Underground.” My hand lifted to rub through my flames. It was hard to talk about what all had happened, you had no idea how anyone was going to react. A friendly smile could turn to a glare with just those words. Humans, it seemed, tended to hold grudges for things they hadn’t even personally been through. We were lucky there weren’t any humans still alive from the war. Thankfully the bartender just nodded and went back to polishing his glassware.
“The owner is indeed here, he will likely be out in a moment to tell me to go take my break and that I’m working too hard.” He smirked softly, fondly, and looked back towards the kitchen as someone started laughing. It was a loud, booming, pure delight of a laugh and I couldn’t help but be reminded of my own father since that had been his laugh as well.
With an amused grin, I turned back to the bartender, “I know the feeling. My father was the same way.”
“Well I like him already.” The bartender grinned, and looked back up as a figure came into view. He was about as tall as my eldest son, but much more round. His jovial voice betrayed the gruff demeanor that his bushy mustache and eyebrows gave off, and once he turned my way his large grin spread. Coming over, he clapped his bartender on the back in a familiar, fatherly way.
“You’re working too hard. Get out of here, you’re overdue for your break.”
The bartender gave me a ‘see, I told you so’ smirk and nodded at his boss. “Oui, chef. I’ll take my ten.” He moved to put his rag and the glass he’d been polishing down, but the owner pulled both out of his hands and shooed him away. “Hah, alright, alright, I’m out!” The bartender held his hands up in surrender, nodding to me once more before slipping back into the kitchen.
“So what brings the husband of the Royal Scientist into my diner?” His grin was pleased but a bit shy, and to say I was shocked would have been an understatement. My face must have betrayed my bewilderment because the man started laughing and set the glass down. “You and your husband were all over the newspapers when that barrier broke, alongside the Royal Family. You’d be surprised how many people know your face.”
“Heh, well, you’re right about that. I didn’t realize those pictures had gotten published. And, heavens, we weren’t even engaged back then. How did you kn- oh! That damn bird of mine put an announcement in the paper, that’s right.” I shook my head at the memory, Q laughing up a storm once I’d realized what they’d done. The owner chuckled, nodding.
“That ‘damn bird’ gave us a nice peek into the fact monsters are just like us. Helped… humanize? You lot a little more. For lack of better term, apologies.”
“Ah no worries, I understand what you mean. Made us seem more real and not some scary story mothers use to make their children behave.” I chuckled and clasped my hands on the bar, leaning on my elbows. The owner had a slightly stricken look, and looked like he was worried he’d said something wrong, so I grinned. “All I mean is I’ve heard the stories people tell about Mt Ebbot. Frisk sat in my bar and told me all of them once when they were waiting for their mother to pick them up.” Another gentle grin and the owner calmed, returned it, and crossed his arms to lean against the back bar. The action was once again so reminiscent of my father and even myself that I cracked another grin.
“So what brings you into the littlest part of Annecy, sir?”
“Well, actually…” I lifted a hand to rub through my flames, masking the bit of blue trying to peek through them. “My father used to own this diner. Back in…” I squinted into the liquor bottles, calculating years and time periods. “Up until 1915, when the war started.” I moved my gaze back to the owner, shyly, I didn’t know how he would react. But surprise of all surprises, he was grinning as if he had a secret.
“I knew your face looked familiar for reasons other than the newspaper.” He shoved off the bar and motioned for me to follow him. “I would love to show you what the first owners after your family found when they came in to clean the place up.”
I furrowed my brow and moved to stand, pausing next to the stool briefly. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to interrupt the dinner prep…”
The owner laughed and waved me on again, so I smirked and followed him back to his little office. It looked much the same as it had two hundred years ago, with the addition of a computer and other updated electronics. “When the next owners were cleaning out the bar area, there were a lot of photographs stuck to the lower part of the mirror.”
My eyes widened at the mention of the photographs, of course! It had been so long since I had thought of them! Even before the war they had been there long enough that they had become a part of the background, never thought about but always appreciated. When I broke out of my brief sentimental moment, the owner had set down an incredibly old box, almost as old as I was. I grinned and recognized it as one from the shoe store that had been in town ages upon ages ago. It had been taped and re-labeled a few times but it was unmistakable.
“Oh, wow. Good heavens. What a relic.” I sat in the chair across from him at his motion, reaching for the box then pausing. “Oh, may I?”
“Hah of course! If I’m right, everything in it belongs to your family anyways.” He sat back in his chair with the most jovial grin, folding his hands over his stomach and nodding me along.
With another quick grin I pulled the box to my lap, lifting the lid gently, holding my breath before peeking under it. All my breath went out in shock.
On the very top of the short stack of photos, was one from the day Gautier had been shipped out to his location. My brother, in full uniform, looking away from the camera with a soft forlorn expression, taking in the little city he’d lived in all his life.
“Oh… heavens…”
“Is that someone you know?” The owner leaned over curiously and I turned the photo for him to see, a sad smile stretching on his face..
“It’s. My brother. I haven’t… I haven’t seen his face in two hundred years. And here it is, perfectly preserved.” Turning it back into my line of sight, I shook my head. “I honestly thought I would never see him or anything concerning him ever again.” I smirked, that was a bit of a lie since I still had his coat and wore it regularly, but it had become far more mine than his over the centuries.
“Well the family resemblance is definitely there, you two could be twins.” His smile was honestly infectious and it brought my own grin back.
“Oh, the resemblance between him and my sister is even more, they have the same color flames. It’s amazing how many times people thought those two were twins despite the height difference.” I set the picture of Gautier down with a chuckle, pushing aside a few bits of old paperwork that I’d take a better look at later. Underneath them, I grinned at another photo of Gautier, but this time surrounded by Sera and Mama. Pere had a photo of her in his wallet when we lost everything in the war, so her face had never left my memory. Seeing her with her children, however, was entirely different.
“Is that your family as well?” The owner’s voice jolted me out of my quiet reverie, and I looked up with a grin and quiet nod.
“It’s my mother.” I turned that photo to him as well.
“Oh, you absolutely are her son.”
“Hah! I’ve heard that a lot.” I chuckled, setting that photo down as well.
“I’m sure, the resemblance is uncan-” His attention shifted as his office door creaked open, the hostess’ head peeking around it.
“Pardon, chef, they need your help in the kitchen.” She looked as if she were holding back a laugh, and the owner smirked back. “Roland says it’s important.”
“Oh, I’m sure he does, he always does. I’ll be there in a moment.” He nodded and the host trotted off away from the office, ready to absorb whatever drama was about to happen. The owner turned back to me with the same smirk and pushed out of his chair. “I had better go see what all the hubbub is about. Feel free to stay in here, everything in that box belongs to you and any other members of your family.”
“Oh, thank you sir. That’s so kind of you. I won’t invade your space for long.” He laughed and waved my comment off as he walked out of the office.
“Don’t worry about it at all. If you wanted to, I’m sure you could find the paperwork to kick me out of here. So I had better stay on your good side.” His tone and grin assured me he was friendly and teasing, so the blue that flooded my flames dissipated quickly and I let my nerves out in a chuckle, relaxing back into the chair. I was left to poke through the shoe box, finding more photos of my family along with other bits of paperwork and trinkets I hadn’t thought about in ages. The wooden keychain that had held the spare keys was in the box, the keys obviously gone and likely replaced. Small toys left behind from customers’ children had been gathered into it as well, things from the era that belonged to my family but not to us. Goodness these are probably worth a fortune by now...
I heard uproarious laughter coming from down the hall, the kitchen, and I assumed it meant whatever drama had happened had been absolved. With a soft smirk, I started to gather everything back into the box, pausing as my phone buzzed in my pocket.
[When will you be home, my light?] It was from Dings, and I melted a bit at the mental image of him pouting at his phone because he didn’t know where I was. He was so adorable.
[I’m not sure, I’m finishing something up and then I need to stop by the store and also pick up Brelle, I’m asking her over for dinner tonight and Sera may be coming into town tomorrow as well.] I’d decided while texting him back that the other people in the photos needed to see them as well, so I’d call Sera on my way home and just swing by the Diva’s house as I went past it.
[Oh, alright, I’ll make sure we have a clean plate for her, and get the spare bed ready for Sera. Please be swift. I miss you.] The shyness was still so blatant in Dings’ messages, even after being married for this long, and I chuckled at it. He had always been shy but to watch him slowly work out of it was a treat and a blessing.
[As fast as I can, Dings darling. Have no fear. I’m bringing home a surprise too.] I finished off that text and pushed my phone back into my pocket, setting the lid on the box and tucking it under my arm. As I went to leave the office, the owner was coming back down the hall, and I waved at him.
“Ah, all done looking?”
“For now, I’m going to take it home and have my sister look through it as well.”
“Wonderful! Bring your whole family in for dinner this weekend, I bet they’d love it.”
“I’m sure they would!” I laughed lightly, imagining Sera and Brelle once more bickering across a table next to the window. “Oh I’m sure they would.” I paused, rubbing the back of my neck briefly, then looked up at the owner. “Say… you... wouldn’t happen to need a chef or a bartender... would you?”
His grin could have lit a bonfire. “You know I think we just might.”
=========================
Hours later, after dinner and dessert and an impromptu performance of the aria from Phantom of the Opera from a ever so slightly drunk Brelle, I set the box in her lap without a word.
“My darling what is this? Did you dig up a two hundred year old pair of shoes for me?” Her chuckle was light and she pressed her fingers to her lips to muffle the hiccup that came after it. Perhaps more than slightly drunk. The moment she lifted the lid and saw the picture of Gautier I’d settled back on top, however, her eyes filled with tears. “Oh… Grillbert where did you… oh where was this oh my goodness….” The rest of the box was forgotten, set on the floor as she tenderly picked up the photo and held it up, her other hand still pressed to her mouth.
I grinned from my spot on the couch next to a similarly grinning Dings, I’d shown him the box already once I’d gotten home so he knew my plan. “Well. I went to the diner today.” Brelle looked up with a snap of her flames, eyes still teary but suddenly alert.
“It still stands!? Oh! Oh my heavens! I never even thought of looking, I never thought it would still be there since the rest of the neighborhood got burned, I always figured it was gone forever and we would nev-”
“Breathe, diva.” Dings’ voice was soft, as was the chuckle that followed, and Brelle shot him the softest glare I have ever seen in my life.
“The diner still stands.” I leaned my head gently against Dings’ as Brelle stood and held the photo closer to the overhead light, squinting at it.
“Oh he is still as handsome as ever.” She sighed, wistfully, longingly, and my soul sunk just a little with the sound. Brelle may have been mine and Sera’s best friend, but given the chance she would have leapt like the ballerina she was to be Gautier’s loving and devoted wife. “Oh how I wish it weren’t... just a photograph...” I nodded, closing my eyes for a moment.
“A photograph is far more than we had before.” Dings spoke once more, nuzzling against my cheek softly, and when I looked down he was smiling gently at Brelle.
“You are right, my Wingding, you are right.” Brelle hummed in thought and went back to the box, kneeling beside it on the floor to pick through the other photos, giggling at one of her and Sera. “Oh, I cannot wait until Sera sees these. She is coming in tomorrow, oui?”
“She’s going to try. She’s very frustrated that I won’t spoil the surprise for her and am just forcing her onto an overnight train, but she apparently loves Dings enough to come see him.” I laughed as I remembered the phone call, Sera making sure I knew that she would never have done this if it had been just me and Brelle, but Dings made it a special case.
“I’m so flattered.” Dings chuckled against my shoulder.
“And I’m so hurt, wounded in fact. I will have to lament to her tomorrow.” Brelle made a face as she pulled another picture out of the box, tossing it to me. “Destroy that one. I do not care how.”
Picking it up from the spot on the floor where it’d fell, I made the same face. It was a group shot from Brelle and I’s theatre days, almost our entire troupe. Most of the people in it we were still on good terms with. At least, those we knew were still alive. There was one person in it that we weren’t, and we had no idea what had happened to him. “Oh, ew.”
“Oui, ew. Get rid of his face.”
“Who is it, my light?” Dings leaned over my shoulder to peek at the photo and I turned it to him, pointing to the flame near Brelle and I in it.
“Reule.”
“Yes, Reule! Get rid of him. He does not deserve to be with the rest of these happy memories.” Brelle hadn’t taken her eyes off the things she was sorting through, and I noticed the picture of Gautier had been set safely away on the chair.
“Haha, as my diva commands.” I handed the picture to Dings as he reached for it, leaning back against the couch. Dings squinted at the photo and nestled against my side.
“Reule? Should I know about him?”
“Hm, no, likely not. That’s not a nice story. Is it alright if I tell you later? Unless you want to see Brelle angrier than ever before.” I grinned up at her then ducked behind Dings’ skull as she shot me a glare.
“Save it for later then, let her sort through the happy pictures.” He tossed the picture lightly onto the end table, out of Brelle’s sight, and rested his head on my shoulder. “Are there any of Yves? I have the one I took Underground, that’s the only one we’ve ever had.”
“Ah yes, yes, so many of dear Yves. Plenty of sweet Lara as well. Darling woman, goddess Lara.” Brelle flicked through the photos and pulled one out of my parents together, one Gautier had sneakily taken of them with their heads together and quietly whispering.
“Oh, heavens, how lovely.” Dings grinned and reached for it, curling back to my side with it. I rested my head on his to look at it better.
“Gautier got in trouble for that, until Mama convinced Pere that it was a wonderful moment and should have been captured.”
“Gautier was right.” Dings nodded, setting the photo back into Brelle’s outstretched hand. It seemed she was in the process of sorting them by subject. Family pictures here, solo pictures there, pictures of Pere and Mama over here.
“He was right about everything.”
“Pff, Brelle, your hero worship has not ended.”
“Oh, well excuse me my darling, for believing in a man who protected his neighborhood while others ran scared.” She flipped her flames back, huffing and glaring briefly in my direction before turning her attention to the paperwork in the box.
“Gautier protected your neighborhood?” Dings asked quietly, and I nodded.
“He saved me and Sera from some guards and a mage. The firewall he created held off a good number of the forces even after we got away. That’s what Sera told me, at least. I was unconscious at that point.”
“Perhaps Brelle’s hero worship is well placed then.” Dings grinned, chuckling softly.
“It is! See, Grillbert, this is why we want to talk to your husband more than you.” Brelle swept the photos together without ruining her sorting and deposited them back in the box, standing to bring the paperwork over to me.
“Oh, perhaps I’ll just go to sleep for the night then.” I grinned up at her and shifted as she flopped down on the couch against my other side.
“You shall not. You shall read that paperwork and see if any bit of it is the deed to the diner.”
“Oh that’s likely still there, in the safe. They’d need the deed to give it to new owners over two hundred years.”
“Oh! Fine! The original sale then! Anything to get the diner back under the Chaleureux name.”
“That isn’t a bad idea, really. Owning a diner or bar is what you’re used to. You said you didn’t really want anything else.” Dings had taken the first paper out of the stack from me and was looking it over, squinting at the French he was slowly learning.
“Well, I did ask the owner if he needed any help.”
“What did he say? Are you going to go back to your home, my darling?” Brelle looked at me from where her head rested on my shoulder, and I ruffled her headflames.
“I am. He needs some help in the kitchen and at the bar, and since I’m used to doing everything on my own, I think I can handle it.”
“Oh how lovely. Back where you belong.” Brelle was smoothing her flames out and grinning, and when I looked over at Dings I was rewarded with his own soft grin.
“Right back where you belong.”
“With you.” I whispered. Dings’ blush made me grin, and I slid my hand in his to lift and kiss his knuckles softly.
“Oooooh heavens.” Brelle giggled on my other side, and Dings covered his now purple face with a laugh. “You two are cavity inducing, far too sweet.” She pushed herself off the couch and strode over to the kitchen, picking up the wine bottle where she’d left it. “I am going to drink the rest of this wine if you do not stop me.”
“By all means, diva, finish it off. Stay here tonight and greet Sera when you arise from your beauty sleep.”
“I shall then.”
“Hehe, you’re more than welcome anytime, Brelle.” Dings leaned forward to kiss between my eyes softly, then stood himself, leaning against the couch and making his way to the kitchen much more slowly than Brelle had. His legs had been working again, for awhile now, but he was still being careful just in case. “Pour me a glass too, won’t you?”
“Oui, mon chérie, oui. Pour vous.”
I chuckled and settled back down on the couch, paging through the paperwork Brelle had handed me. A few bills, likely unpaid, forever unpaid, and a list of tabs from the week before the war. Also likely unpaid. I smirked at the thought and flipped through a few more pages, finally settling on one and squinting at it.
“Huh, I… guess I was wrong.”
“What’s that, my darling?” Brelle called, and when I looked over the couch I saw them both looking at me curiously.
“The deed was in the box.” I held it up, and Brelle laughed and pointed at it.
“I told you! You have to go claim the building now!” Brelle’s triumphant laughter spread to Dings and he started giggling into his wine. I smirked and looked back at the paper.
“Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to talk about it…”
Sorry @countthelions I had to immortalize your tags because they’re making me giggle, so let me say why.
I used to work at this little boutique hotel/inn, and they did indeed have a fireplace in the small lobby. It used to be a manor house, and got turned into the inn.
But what’s making me laugh is that I actually wrote 80% of The Fire Journals and the other JournalVerse AUs next to that fireplace. So I guess that feeling bled into his character and stayed, even this many years later. <3
Thank you for this, also, it made my heart grow 3 sizes.
The bar wasn't technically a bar, it was really more of a diner with alcohol inside it. That meant Grillby couldn't keep underage monsters out for any reason, and why would he want to? Deny the citizens of Snowdin a nice meal and a cozy refuge from the ice and snow the town was named after? Preposterous.
The kids of Snowdin were absolutely taking advantage of this today, a group of them had gathered in an empty booth, huddled around hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and the hand-toasted marshmallows Grillby had started doing just to see the delight in their eyes when the sweet turned from snow white to golden brown just from his touch.
Grillby kept a quiet eye on them, they weren't known to be troublemakers, but they were the rambunctious sort who liked to knock over mugs of hot liquid sometimes. Absolutely on accident, of course.
Their banter and random shouts of laughter peppered his normal middle-of-the-day work, polishing glasses and stacking them neatly in rows, rolling some silverware, scraping off whatever ketchup stains Sans had managed to leave on his favored stool the night before.
But then it all stopped, there was a pattering of small footsteps, and the ding of the bell on the door. Then silence. The kids had run out suddenly, and with purpose.
Grillby lifted his head, looking to the table, then out the window to see the kids running off towards a larger snow poff, surrounding it and attacking it with ferocity that only small children have. He chuckled soundlessly, smiling at their youthful joy and vigor.
Clearing the table, he gathered all the mugs and grinned at the fact every bit of whipped cream and every marshmallow had been devoured, leaving even half full cups of chocolate abandoned.
Well, they know what they like. He went about his business, getting their table fully cleared and even halfway into his prep work for the dinner rush, before the bell rang out and someone shouted.
"GRILLBY! Grillby!!!" The call was a small voice, amplified by hands cupped around the speaker's mouth. "Where did you go, Grillby!?"
Grillby poked his head out of the kitchen and grinned at the gathering of small monsters, all clambering to peer over the bar to try and spot the fire. He came out of the kitchen, standing behind the bar with a grin and a questioning look, and the child who'd shouted slapped their hands on the bar, visibly shaking with excitement.
"Grillby! Remember when you were playing with us in the snow and you were having trouble with the snowman because you're all warm?"
Grillby nodded, loosely crossing his arms and giving the child an even more quizzical glance. He remembered, snow games and fire really didn't mix. Snowmen were just absolutely out of his reach, unfortunately.
The child grinned even harder, and a couple of the others started giggling. The lead kid patted their hands repeatedly on the countertop, giggling through their words. "You gotta come outside! You gotta come see! Come on!!" With that command issued, the kid hopped off the stool, waving a beckoning arm to the bartender, the other kids calling for him to follow.
With a laugh, Grillby shook his head, untied his apron and laid it down, then followed the kids out into the ever-present white blanket of Snowdin.
It didn't take long for him to see what they wanted - needed - him to see. Just across from the diner, probably visible through the windows, was a snowman about thigh-high to the fire. It was normal for the most part, typical snowman body, sticks for arms, little rocks for buttons and facial features.
But it was the facial features that stopped Grillby in his tracks.
Literally. He paused, mid step, heel on the ground, toes pointed up, and stared.
The little snowman had flames for a head, and glasses made from bent sticks. Grillby's hand settled on his heart, and he took the final step forward. His other hand lifted to his mouth.
It was him! Grillby as a snowman! The kids had built a little Grillby snowman, just out of the pureness of their hearts.
The kids started giggling, pulling at his pant legs and his vest, dancing around him. "Do you like it? Do you like it Grillby? Is it good?" They were all talking at once, voices clattering around each other, giggles peppering every sentence. Grillby laughed, softly, breathlessly, dropping to his knees to hold out his arms and gather all of the children he could close. Resting his head gently against the little leader's head, he whispered gently, "I love it, thank you so much."
The kids cheered and squished their friendly neighborhood fire as best they could, tiny arms trying to encircle him and hug him back.
Due to their kindness, the kids were treated to a free round of marshmallows and whipped cream with a little bit of hot chocolate added, and a heaping basket of fries to share. They cheered again, a few of them dancing beside the table despite no music playing, making the other patrons who had started to filter in grin and laugh at the display.
While the diner was in a lull, Grillby slipped out of the building and across the street, lugging the now antique camera with him. Even in Snowdin, things didn't last forever, so this needed to be preserved.
It took a moment and a soft curse to get the camera working again, but soon enough, Grillby had the perfect memento of the kids' kindness.
"what's that new picture there, grilbz?" Sans had shown up later that evening, as usual, and was perched on his stool swirling a ketchup bottle around.
Grillby grinned wide, moving to pull the little frame off the shelf and hand it to Sans. The skeleton took it with both hands, sensing the importance of it, and laughed.
"aw, a tiny snowfire. did the kids do that?" Sans handed the frame back, grinning at the fire who was nodding eagerly with a grin big enough to split his face. Sans leaned his head in his hand, chuckling. "well, now you have concrete proof that snowdin adores ya, grillbz."
Grillby chuckled breathily, pressing the frame to his soul for a brief moment and nodding. He did, there was no way he was ever allowed to doubt his neighbors' love for him ever again.
.......
A few weeks later, a surprise visitor walked into the establishment. Grillby lifted his head from where he was cleaning the bar, and smiled upon seeing his friend, his brother's fellow soldier, Ashbel. He lifted a hand to wave at the military fire, beckoning him forward and turning to grab the man's usual drink.
"Hello Grillbert." Ashbel said, smiling softly as he slid onto the stool. "I haven't visited in awhile, figured I'd better." He shrugged off his coat - the same military issued one Grillby wore, except Grillby's was Gautier's - and laid it on the stool next to him, shaking snow off his scarf as he unwound it. "How've things been up here in the ice?"
Grillby shrugged loosely, grinning and gesturing around the diner, as if saying "oh much the same." Ashbel chuckled, following Grillby's gestures and nodding along.
"Sounds right."
The two sat in silence as Grillby delivered Ashbel's drink, the din of the other customers filling the space so they didn't have to.
As Ashbel wrapped his hands around the mug - hot chocolate with a splash of rum and hidden with whipped cream - he glanced over the shelves holding the rest of the alcohol. His flames sparked in surprise as his eyes landed on the little picture frame that was the latest addition.
"Oh, what's that? That's new." He gestured to the frame, shifting to lean forward, attempting to see it better. Grillby's wide grin returned, and he set down the silverware he'd been polishing to lift the frame from the shelf and hand it to Ashbel.
The general took it with both hands, brow furrowed for a moment then laughing in pure amusement when he realized what the photo was of.
"Oh my stars, that is absolutely adorable! Did the children do this?" He chuckled, setting the frame against the counter to continue admiring it.
Grillby nodded, giggling soundlessly, covering his mouth in mirth. Ashbel looked up and gave him a matching grin, shaking his head with continuing amusement. "They sure do love you."
Another nod, and Grillby lifted the frame from the counter. He felt, even though he couldn't see it, his soul light up at the sight. He must have grinned lovingly without realizing because Ashbel started chuckling softly once again.
"Did you already get told you're never allowed to doubt Snowdin's love for you?" Ashbel's grin was as bright as Grillby's soul.
Grillby nodded, holding the frame to his soul again, just like he had when showing Sans, and turned to put it back on the shelf. Ashbel picked up his mug and took a sip, letting the warm spiked liquid sink into his core and defrost the thin layer of chill that always settled over anyone moving through Snowdin, especially at night. He let out a slow sigh, his eyes closing with it, letting the peace and quiet and coziness of his friend's diner fill his soul. Ashbel had always been thankful to the Chaleureux family for basically taking him in after the war, taking in everyone really. He'd been just as lost and confused as everyone else, but here was this safe haven carved out of the mountainous cavern they'd been forced to call their home.
The pair sat in companionable silence for the most part, besides Ashbel giving Grillby small updates on things as he thought of them, and Grillby quietly asking Ashbel to check up on Sera he had a chance.
Ashbel wound his scarf around his neck while he agreed to poke his head in, nodding. With it tied in his normal fashion, Ashbel's gaze landed on the little snowfire photo once more. This time, his smirk was a little sad, a little wistful, letting the soft pang in his soul ring out through his flames. Grillby heard the change in crackle and looked to his friend, expression asking what words didn't. Ashbel shook his head, reaching out to ruffle Grillby's flames in a brotherly fashion. Once Grillby smoothed his flames and lifted his head, Ashbel was grinning warmly once more.
"Your brother and your father would be so proud to see who you are. I'm sure of it." The general shrugged on his coat, nodding to the bartender before turning to the door. "I'll try not to make my visits so far apart." He lifted a hand to his fellow flame, moving towards the door and shoving it open. Grillby raised his hand in return, his other palm pressing to his soul which had rapidly picked up its pace.
I hope so, Ashbel. I'd like to think they are. Grillby sighed, barely a breath, and turned to look at a different photo pasted behind the bar. Yves, Sera, and himself, right after the building had been built. I hope they're as proud of me as I am of them.
((Ashbel is the JV version of Grillby from Casting Rain by @silverskye13 He’s used with love and permission.))
I had to wait until the day after to post this because it's not gonna be as mushy and sappy as everyone else's. This is a post about how Undertale wrecked me and broke me for the better.
Rinzydings and I have the best group of friends we've ever had, and it's due in very large part to us writing Undertale fanfic. I would quite literally die and kill for every single one of those people. They are my chosen family and without them I would be an entirely different person.
But that's only partially the point here.
A few years ago, we had an Undertale based group chat on telegram to match our others about Pokémon, Warcraft, Paranormal shit, and others. We're a very organized family.
We all in some fashion created Undertale content and shared it here on Tumblr. I'm absolutely freakin blessed enough to call SilverSkye, the author of Casting Rain, one of my most beloved friends. The same goes for NinjaMouse, author of Ocean on Fire. Those two are some of the bigger names in the Grillster/Grillby content scene and at one point, definitely considered competition for fandom attention.
This group continued on for a good long while, it was fun and great and we developed pocket AU after pocket AU of our characters interacting. I edited some chapters of CR and OoF. My Gautier got put into CR.
However despite all my blessings, I remained a bitter and envious little shit of a person and constantly held it in my head that my friends' content was getting more attention than mine. I started sharing less and stopped participating as much. All because of a little note counter at the bottom of the posts.
I want to say that my darling friends have always been perfectly supportive and loving and encouraging about everything I've ever written, and never once have they fawned their popularity over me. All of the avarice was completely on me.
It got to the point I snapped at everyone and left the telegram group, which since I was the creator of it, deleted it. My own pettiness and jealously took away that safe and encouraging space I made for my family.
This is where I get to the point of Undertale breaking me for the better.
That was my lowest point concerning the fandom. I hadn't written a story for a very long time. I didn't listen to my friends, I was in "fuck it all" mode. I want to again stress that none of them did anything wrong, it was entirely me.
A few days after my snap, SilverSkye messaged me privately and gave me the most polite slap across the face I have ever had. They called my ass out and told me exactly how I was misbehaving and everything I was doing wrong. It was honest to God the best thing that could have ever happened.
Because of Undertale, I got greedy for likes and attention, I let what little bit of fame I had get to my head. I let it infect my friendships and fester. I let it affect my writing so that instead of writing for my own personal pleasure, I wrote for likes and kudos, despite telling Rinzydings to not do that.
Because of Undertale, my greed and jealousy got completely out of hand.
Because of Undertale and the friends I've made through it, I got shattered and rebuilt into a more understanding and patient person, who is capable of celebrating all of her friends' victories instead of comparing them to her own.
This game and the people who love it have made me into a better person, even if I had to become a terrible one to get there. This game and its people have taught me patience, forgiveness, and a better way to love. And there's nothing better than knowing how to love someone so fully and completely.
So thank you, Toby and the rest of the team. Thank you, Undertale fandom. And thank you to Grillby, for being my touchstone through this entire whirlwind.
Hi !
So this blog is far from dead, this AU is far from dead. Silver and I are actually working on things right now and hopefully they’ll be ready to post very soon. We’re aiming for at LEAST Feb 22nd, but there could easily be more before then!
Stay tuned!
We’ll also have an announcement scheduled for tomorrow, stay tuned for that too. =)
Hey daughter! As a drawing request, could you maybe draw Grillby with smaller sans and pap? A gentle dadby with his boys, free reign on what you'd like c:
‘Mild’ Says The Living Fireplace
Here u go, dad! :D on days with little wind, Grillby likes to get the boys some fresh air, even if he becomes a traveling heater halfway c:
Create music and video playlists with tracks from YouTube, Vimeo, SoundCloud and Bandcamp at Playmoss
The first thing he noticed was darkness. It wasn’t unusual, for the last two years a sight like this was typically all he knew. A feeling of being suspended in utter black, with no way to touch or interact. Just a thick blanket of blackness. But then he began to hear. It was like being underwater, everything sounded garbled and distorted like in the manner of being submerged.
My mind was elsewhere, lost in a book I had been pouring over the night before. It wasn’t the first time I’d read it, not even close. Honestly it was closer to the hundredth. My eyes traveled to the window, staring out at the snowstorm that had decided to blow in. Words floated into my head as I watched the snow swirl, words that out-aged even my father. I couldn’t be certain why it was this particular sonnet that had stuck so firmly in my mind, there was no reason for it. Nevertheless, I let it play through, staring at the snow all the while.
Devouring time, blunt thou the lion’s paws,
And make the Earth devour her own sweet brood,
Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger’s jaws,
And burn the phoenix in her blood.
Dark imagery to be sure, especially to those of monsterkind that shared such traits as those mentioned. It got lighter in the second half, which was normal for the fair youth sonnets. Unrequited love stood the tes-
A jolt.
Stumbling, but not falling, my hand moved to my chest, the soul underneath pounding rapidly, my lips parting as I froze where I stood, all pacing stopped for the moment. As if in a trance, I stared into my carpet as what I could only describe as a flood of memories assaulting me, pinning me where I stood.
Gaster. The name was familiar, it was my sons’ last name, I’d heard it and spoken it these past twenty odd years. The name was not a shock to me in the slightest. The given name before it, however, did shock me ever so slightly. But that was only because I had not spoken it or even thought it in two years.
Wingding.
Wingding Gaster.
The one my heart had chosen.
My hand lifted to my mouth, holding back a sob as I stumbled back, falling against the arm of the couch and letting myself sink against it and finally just allowing myself to sit, watching as images flashed through my head. A skeleton that looked remarkably like my sons. Because he was their father, their real father. I saw him in bandages after the war, asking me to explain what happened. I saw him reporting the old chef’s shortcomings to my father, comforting me after Yves had passed on.
Most frequently I saw him sitting across from me at the bar, a multitude of expressions on his face that changed with age ever so slightly as the decades rolled past. I watched us grow ever closer, slowly touch more and finally on one drunken night share a kiss.
Wingding - no, Dings, my Dings, my scientist, my shadow, my love. He was my love. And if these memories were correct, he knew that. Because I was his love as well. My hand remained over my mouth as a grin broke out underneath it, remembering that night fondly, the night we finally confessed our love to each other and decided to be together, to be a couple. The sheer elation that night had yet to be matched. I reveled in it, letting the delight simply take over, letting myself be lost to the memory of Wingding telling me he loved me, that he wanted to be with me. The kisses that night, sleeping with Wingding in my arms. As I could remember now, that wasn’t an unusual happenstance. He often fell asleep in my arms, beside me, on my shoulder.
The next few months we were still together… and yet… it seemed we were hardly ever in the same room. Most of the memories seemed to be of text messages gone unanswered, looking over the bar at an empty stool, heading home after close to a bed that only contained me and my thoughts. Suddenly it made a lot more sense as to why my coloring had been more red than orange for the past two years. My Dings and my - our - eldest son, Sans, had been working on a machine that had consumed all their waking hours. Dings was far more affected, his appearances at the diner became non-existent.
It was a few weeks after not seeing him that I finally gave in and forced myself through Waterfall and to the Royal Labs in search of not only my dearest one but also answers as to what was going on. What I’d received was a stressed out, malnourished skeleton who collapsed onto my living room floor and sobbed, kissed me desperately, and finally passed out in my embrace. I stared at the spot on the floor where he’d collapsed, soul aching at the memories and the emotions they contained. The next ones to come were no better. They were ones I already knew, but altered now to include me begging whatever powers there were in the world to not let me lose my Dings, my love. The one man I loved so dearly and deeply that it tore at my soul to know I had simply forgotten him for two entire years.
I felt more than heard the hiss under my eyes as tears broke, feeling that dreadful jolt all over again, feeling the confusion of the name Wingding echoing in my thoughts before it was lost forever.
No, not forever. Just until now. I remembered now, I know why my soul had been aching these past two years. I knew why it distressed me so horribly when Sans had spoken his father’s name, why I’d ended up on my floor clutching my chest and near tears. I knew who Wingding Gaster was, what he meant to me. What he meant to everyone.
I stood shakily, pressing hard into the arm of the couch to steady myself as best I could. I knew who my love was, I could find him, I could go to him, I could hold him and remind him just how much I adored him and needed him. I could fi - no. No I couldn’t. No one had seen Wingding after the accident. No one had known what happened to him. I had never gotten an answer out of the guard I’d questioned in the hospital.
No one in the entire Underground knew what had happened to my love.
I sank back down on the couch, settling my head in my hands and closing my eyes, processing this realization.
I couldn’t find Wingding. It was entirely possible he would be lost to me forever, and had been for these two years, without me knowing. Sighing slowly, I considered my options. I could simply continue on with the line of thought that my lost love was truly lost, or I could try to find answers. There was one person who had witnessed the accident, and he always answered when I called. Standing once more, this time more solidly and with only a little help from the arm of the couch, I made my way to the coat that I’d tossed over the back of the armchair and fished my phone out of the pocket. My son always answered when I called, but as the ringing continued and I finally got his pre-recorded voice asking me to leave a message, I realized that I hadn’t heard directly from him or Papyrus since the news of the barrier breaking. I obviously couldn’t leave a message, so I sighed and hung up before the beep sounded. At the very least, he’d see that I called. All I could do was sit here and wait.
Well, no… no that wasn’t entirely true. My soul picked up speed again as I realized a few more things. I hadn’t heard from my sons in roughly 24 hours. I’d instead been updated on their whereabouts by other monsters bringing news from the furthest reaches of Hotland. Last I knew, they’d been near the Palace before the barrier had been broken. I currently didn’t know where they were or even if they were alive. Putting a hand in my flames, I swallowed, trying not to think of the worst possibility. If they were. Gone. Someone would have come to find me. We didn’t know every monster in the Underground personally, but enough of them that I was confident in my assumptions. Someone would come and find me if my sons were hurt or worse. Taking a breath, I decided I could safely assume my sons were alive and well.
That only left one more soul to seek. If I could find out where Sans and Papyrus were, I would at least know if my love really was lost to me forever. I thought about heading to their house, but quickly dismissed the thought. If Sans, of all monsters, wasn’t answering his phone, then had either lost it or was in a deep enough sleep his ringtone couldn’t rouse him. It would be better to try Papyrus first, before I did anything else. My youngest son was notoriously bad about answering his phone, but he always at least texted back if he couldn’t talk. Picking up my phone once more, I quickly drafted a text to him, judging it was more likely to be answered.
[Pap, where are you boys? I’m at home if you need me. Q made me leave early.]
Writing that last sentence brought to mind the very reason Q had made me leave, and I paused in lingering confusion over that moment, wondering still what had happened. What had made my soul seemingly heal itself when I had pulled it out to examine it. The crack had been there for roughly two years now, since the… since the accident. It wasn’t a pleasant memory to dwell on, so I didn’t. I tried not to be the kind of person that looked a gift horse in the mouth, but it was difficult since this particular gift directly dealt with the very core of my being and my life. With a huff, I decided I could discuss it with Sans later. He was smart, and he’d worked in the labs around the soul research. It was likely he would be able to at least point me in the right direction.
There was indeed a response from my son and it only took a few minutes to come. Pap was generally more soft spoken and less aggressive in his texting, the absence of tone and body language almost made him sound like his brother.
[We’re at home, just resting. We’ll come visit you later, okay Uncle Grillby? We’re tired.]
I was instantly relieved with this response, and while I could have just gone over to their house anyways and no one would have minded, I decided it was best to simply let them be. It was rare that Papyrus said he was tired. So instead I simply told him to get some rest and to come find me afterwards. Stashing my phone back into my coat pocket, I sighed. What to do now? It was past closing, no need to be at the diner. The next four lines of the earlier sonnet floated back into my mind, and my eyes returned to the window and the snow.
Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleets,
And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time,
To the wide world and all her fading sweets;
But I forbid thee one more heinous crime:
O, carve not with the hours my love's fair brow,
Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen!
Take away anything in this world except for my love. The most basic explanation of this sonnet was that line, and now I realized why the entire sonnet was stuck in my head. My Wingding. Time had tried to take away my Dings. Two years of not knowing who he was, why my soul ached so desperately.
Him in thy course untainted do allow
For beauty's pattern to succeeding men.
Yet do thy worst, old Time! Despite thy wrong
My love shall in my verse ever live young.
As long as I held Dings in my heart, he couldn’t be lost. As long as he was in my memories, he was alive. It didn’t matter where he was, if he even still lived. Dings was alive through my love for him. Of course I wanted him back, I wanted him physically in my diner, in my home, in my arms. The simple fact of the matter was that the chances looked and felt very slim.
You are slipping into cold logic again, Chaleureux. I sighed, nodding at the thought. That’s what I’d done when dad had died. Just gave myself over to cold, nearly unfeeling logic. It had been fine then, I had others to run things for me. Now there was no one else but me. I couldn’t let myself go back into that. Especially if my boys remembered their father now, as I did. I couldn’t become a cold, robotic bartender when my sons needed me to remain the father figure they’d always known.
If dings was indeed lost to us forever, as he seemed to be, I couldn’t leave my boys out in the cold by themselves, it didn’t matter if they were grown men already. I quickly scrubbed a hand through my flames once more and nodded to myself. As of the moment, I needed to operate under the assumption that Dings wasn’t coming back. The very idea of it, thinking about it, made my cracked old soul ache more harshly than I’d ever felt. But it was simply how it seemed to be. And I had to accept that.
Accepting that left me with far too much nervous energy to be sitting here reciting silent poetry to myself. I couldn’t just sit or even stand and pace, I need to do something productive, something worthwhile to burn off the nervousness in my flames and hopefully focus on a plan for either moving to the surface or staying underground. Depending on what Q and my sons’ plan was. I did indeed pace around my living room while running through these thoughts, until I gave up with a sigh and threw my coat back on, heading back out into the snow.
No matter what happened next, I still needed to take inventory.
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"you’re about the face the greatest trial of your entire journey,” he told them. “your actions here... will determine the fate of the entire world. if you refuse to fight, asgore will take your soul and destroy humanity. but if you kill asgore and go home... monsters will remain trapped underground. what will you do?"
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Through a veil of fog from a machine that I'm still not sure how he managed to hide, Mettaton EX appeared, a body truly fit for the stage. I couldn't help but laugh softly in disbelief, watching the entire thing play out. He really was the face of a showman.
