A collection of inane nonsense (ranging from Error being reincarnated as Palette to Dust finding a new love for the color pink) circling around the many AUs and Multiverses of the Undertale world. Some stories will be connected; Others will be rando...
Summary: Ink's just trying to get rid of the evidence.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Whispy, white strands of steam steadily rose from the slowly heating pot of milk on the stovetop.
Dream took the silicone spatula resting atop the counter beside his pre-packaged hot chocolate powder, then gently stirred the pot's contents to reassure himself the bottom wasn't burning. And, considering the last few attempts where the dairy turned dark and chunky, the consistent white color and smooth texture made it an extraordinary success.
Thus far, at least.
There still laid many pitfalls where the beverage could go wrong: the milk needed to reach a temperature beyond warm-ish (and not burn), the cocoa mixture had to be added in, and once finished, the concoction had to be poured into a cup without it spontaneously bursting into flame.
Like had the previous times the guardian nearly got the tricky drink ready to serve.
He glanced at the numerous chipped, slightly burnt mugs piled in the nearby sink and grimaced.
At this rate, I'd have better luck wrestling Geno's hot chocolate recipe out of his cold, half-dead hands.
Or giving up altogether, much like with everything else I've tried to make.
Cooking truly required some pertinent skill the yellow-clad skeleton failed to summon time and time again.
Perhaps that was why Nightmare handled all the cooking during their childhood, and the villagers panicked or made excuses whenever Dream wanted to use their brick stoves/ovens.
"Well, at least Ink won't care how it turns out," The Guardian of Positivity mumbled to himself. His eyelights returned to warily observing his twenty-second attempt at hot chocolate. "I'm not giving it to Palette if it starts creating skull and crossbones-shaped black smoke again, though. That can't be healthy for a child."
But hopefully, if all went well this time, he wouldn't have to worry about any deathly omens from his cooking. Might finally have something to give both skeletons to help fight off the cold as well. Since the father-son duo was currently outside enjoying the many wonders winter brought upon their yard- i.e., the snow (and the icicle, which Dream successfully dissuaded them from licking).
Certainly isn't a bad idea to check on them to make sure they aren't freezing out there, he thought, giving the pot another stir. The temperature is rather low today, and a toddler ("and a man-child," his mind near silently supplied) should not be out in it for too long.
The yellow-clad skeleton nodded to himself and pulled the spatula out of the pot before returning it to the counter. (Something told him it would somehow find a way to melt into the milk if he left it in there unsupervised.) Then he gave the pot a firm glare, daring it to go up in flames the moment he turned his back, and strode over to the window above the kitchen sink.
He gazed out the slightly frosted over glass at the winter wonderland laying beyond. A thick, heavily disturbed four-inch layer of snow coated the backyard, which oddly glistened with a dancing yellow and orange light. Yellow eyelights slowly tracked the warm-toned glow to its source, sockets widening when they locked onto Ink's form holding their horrified-looking son above a lively blaze, prepared to drop him.
Time felt as though it slowed as Dream instantly teleported next to the artist, managing to simultaneously steal away the toddler in his hands and slap him across the face. All the while, shouting, "INK, NO!"
His husband yelped, quickly backing out of his range.
"What was that for?!" He whined as a gloved hand rose to rub his stinging cheek.
"Preparing to toss out son in a fire!" Dream hissed, cradling a shivering, sniffling Palette to his chest.
"But he said he was cold!"
"So you tried to throw him into a fire?!"
"How else was I supposed to warm him up?"
"Oh, I don't know-take him inside, paint him a scarf or extra coat!" Dream snapped sarcastically- then the toddler in his arms suddenly whimpered. Thus, prompting the guardian's anger to deflate and allow concern to take its place.
Though that hardly stopped him from shooting a scathing glare at Ink before addressing his son.
"Come on, Palette. Let's get you a nice, fuzzy blanket and some hot chocolate." He paused, remembering the abandoned pot left on the burner, and added with a faint sigh, "If the milk isn't burnt again."
