As usual, this is all pure self-gratification and nothing more. Enjoy my little fantasies 3
The air was always crisp and cool at this time of the morning, and the colours of the orchard and gardens muted, faded. It was like stepping into another world when Papyrus walked out of the farmhouse, breathing clouds of steam and sipping his peppermint tea. A world where everything held its breath as it waited for the sun to peek over the horizon, birdsong and rustling leaves the only sounds for miles.
The chill on his bones was invigorating, and the tall skeleton monster bounced on the spot as he surveyed the quiet world that was all his. Well, his and his older brother's. But Sans was asleep in bed still, and wouldn't rise till the sun was well and truly up, so this moment, this quiet, dim world, was all his right now.
Moving to the countryside had been the most rewarding decision the brothers had made up on the surface. A few years in the city while the world figured out what to do with the monsters who had emerged from the mountain, limited to a few certain places until their rights and safety was decided on, and then they were free to live where they pleased. The city had been exciting and fast-paced and Papyrus had enjoyed being close to everything they needed, socialising with humans and monsters of all types, but soon enough the call of something calmer, something that involved hard work and peace and quiet, was too loud to resist.
Sans seemed to be settling in nicely. The slow life suited him perfectly, and while he was still his sleepy, lazy self that Papyrus knew and loved, he was an asset on their productive little farm. Methodical and mechanically-inclined, their machines- and the machines of the people who lived around them- had never been cleaner or smoother after Sans was finished with them. And the farm animals adored him, his unthreatening demeanour making him a favourite among the chickens and their one well-loved cow.
Leaving his mug on the steps to collect later, Papyrus headed in the direction of said cow's shed, already hearing her protests of hunger and full udders. His morning would be full of feeding, milking, collecting the fruits and vegetables that were ripe for harvesting, and finally cooking breakfast for himself and his brother before retreating to the attic to paint. This was something he never really had time or room for in the city. Now, with so much time on his hands and a lovely spacious farmhouse to take advantage of, Papyrus could throw himself into his art as much as he liked. It kept his hands and mind busy, but it was relaxing all the same, creating beautiful pictures of the sunrise, sunset, landscapes from the Underground from memory, or anything else that took his fancy.
Sans rose late in the morning to the smell of coffee and fried eggs and tomatoes with herbs. Every morning his eggs were made a different way and his breakfast was piping hot, waiting for him. His brother was ever attentive and it was wonderful, living so comfortably like this. Later he would definitely be pulling his weight around the farm to make up for it, but for now, he enjoyed his food and glanced through the newspaper, noting the snippets of news from the city that let him know how their friends at the embassy of monsterkind were fairing. Papyrus had worked as ambassador between the two races for a while, but as his position as gloried mascot eventually became unsatisfying, they had chosen to withdraw to a more comfortable, slow-paced life. They were still friends with the human representative, Frisk, who by now was in their mid teens and sent them monthly letters regaling them with tales of teenage angst and city life between their official duties. Most of their close friends had high positions in the city and kept in touch, if sparingly sometimes, and so the brothers were able to keep up to date with the goings on that concerned them.
All in all, things were good. Sans eventually got to work, sorting and cleaning and packing the produce that Papyrus had brought in that morning, getting everything ready to be sold at the market. Though the gold that they had brought up with them was worth a whole lot above ground, earning money and providing food for their close-knit community was rewarding. And it was their main social activity now, living so far from other people and usually minding their own business on their own farm for most of the week. The market took up their weekend with buying and selling and trading, enjoying the company of like-minded monsters and humans alike before retreating to their little world again. And one particular human made the experience something to look forward to.
You were a flower seller- a florist, you had insisted primly, with the qualifications and experience to back it up. Once a city-dweller, now living in your own little paradise, just like the skeletons. You brought a truckload of flowers and crates of honey to the market every weekend without fail, and were delighted to trade your goods for theirs. Sans always knew when you were around, the buzzing of bees and the scent of flowers always heralding your presence. You were the friendliest human he had met, and the first to offer friendship when you had met them years ago. After knowing each other for so long he had picked up of your little quirks, like the way you skipped to their stall with you hands behind your back and your wide, welcoming grin, or the flower you tucked into both his and Papyrus' pockets before they left, every weekend without fail. It was tradition now to wait for your gift before leaving. It left with him a stupid grin that was hard to get rid of- even now, thinking about your cute face and your cute mannerisms and you, just cute cute cute! He kicked the last crate of apples next to the others with a chuckle and a headshake, brushing down his flannel shirt. He was being silly, but damn if he wasn't excited to go to market again tomorrow.
When Papyrus would inevitably emerge from the attic smudged with paint and stretching his aching joints, he would also inevitably find Sans snoozing in the chicken coop with a basket of eggs, their resident rooster perched on his ribcage to inspect the sleeping invader. He would be dragged back to the house with a half-assed, loving lecture about napping and laziness that he could recite along with his brother, and their day would go on, Sans judging and praising today's artwork and running through their plans and preparations for the weekend. And the brothers' lives would always go on in such a relaxed, comfortable manner, for all of eternity if they had any say in it.
To be continued :)