The evening rolled into the late night, like waves crashing upon a sandy beach at high tide.

Two hot pies, one cinnamon-butterscotch and one snail, sat upon a polished cherry coffee table set with white lace cloth and floral coasters, atop which were steaming mugs of goldenrod tea. The temperate living room air was filled with the garlicky aroma of baked escargot and fine spice, accentuated by the soothing heat of a raging den fire and the crackling pops of searing wood and smoldering embers. All the usual components that made home seem like...well, home.

"Three A's and a B in math, with a GPA of 3.75 for the semester."

Toriel gazed upon Asriels term summary with a look of proud satisfaction, expecting nothing less from her son. Though a textbook mother, Toriel was also well known for being quite ruthless when it came to her educational norms, and everyone at her school both respected, and feared, her authority in that field. Now known as Ebott Garden, its two-story brick and marble manor housed over sixty classrooms, two auditoriums, four laboratories, a rich library that was wall-to-wall with hardcovers and cataloged periodicals, and a sizable recess yard complete with a playground, a running track, and even a soccer field overlooked by numerous bleachers. Its verdant campus was lush and immaculate, germinated with all manner of flowers, plants, trees and greenery, all meticulously maintained by Asgore himself, the school groundskeeper. The student population, once mainly comprised of younger monsters with a few sparse humans in the mix (Frisk being the first), had long since blossomed because of the sensational reputation it had garnered over the years, and now harbored a healthy mix of humans and monsters of all ages, faculty included. The overwhelmingly positive reviews it had amassed for its hard-working staff, its well-tended foundations, its diverse student body and the quality of education it adhered to flagged it as one of the highest rated institutions in the region.

But, as her students had learned in horrific ways, there was a dark side to the academy as well, and she had white fur, curved horns, pointy fangs, inky claws, and a penchant for terrible puns. While Toriel was often her kind, caring and sweet self, always willing to put aside time for her fellow pupils, beneath that tapioca shell lurked a savage, unbending headmistress who had no qualms about throwing misbehaving slackers to the Froggits. Her academic standards were staggering for the age ranges she taught, her assigned work load was outrageous compared to her fellow staff (in class and at home), and the consequences of not meeting her expectations were swift and severe, often punished with double homework, weekend classes, even summer schooling if she thought you needed it. This was doubly true for her own children, having overseen nearly half of the classes they had attended over the years, but ultimately no one was safe from her lofty academic criterion.

Yet, despite her austere, steely stance as an educator, the students had a lot of love for this foolish old goat. She brought joy to a great many of her proteges, and it gave her a special sense of pride, knowing that her tireless devotion made a profound difference in so many young lives. Knowing that she once again had purpose in her own.

And much to her delight, her children were both making excellent grades.

"Fantastic! I guess all of Frisks online tutoring paid off then."

Pleased, she set his report card neatly on the tables edge, using a lit, cinnamon-scented candle as a paperweight.

"Yeah, it really did. I don't think I would have passed my final exam without her help."

With his free arm, Asriel reached over and ruffled Frisks hair, almost giving it the mangy, disheveled look from her youth. Those pristine locks were reduced to little more than a frayed, knotted mass of frizz.

"Hey watch it, bucko!"

Frisk jerked away unconsciously, running her fingers through her scruffy scalp in a desperate bid to mend the damage left in Azzys wake, but the devastation was all but total. Nothing short of an ultra-fine brush and a can of moose could salvage it now.

"Oh, it's hopeless!"

Anyone who knew Frisk even remotely was aware of just how highly she cherished that prized hair of hers. The long evenings that Frisk would spend compulsively brushing, straightening, and then bobbing it sometimes bordered on obsession. Like the Heart Locket Asriel had given her so long ago, that engraved sky-colored pendant solidifying the immortal bonds of friendship and love that ran between them, her hair was an object of immeasurable value, and she treated it as if it were some priceless, minted artifact that belonged in a museum. She treasured it almost as much as she did her dear friends and family.

And now it was ruined, muddled beyond repair.

"Look at what you've done, Azzy! Do you know how long it's gonna take me to tidy up this mess!?"

Disgruntled, she shot the smelly dork a look of concentrated scorn and pointed with emphasis towards the matted mop that was once her bobbed rats nest, flabbergasted that he even had the gall to do such a thing. To her surprise though, he simply laughed it off and openly mocked her on the subject, almost as if he were challenging her to do something about it. It was like waving a red flag to a raging bull.

"Hahaha, you should be thanking me then. I just fixed it for you."

"What!?"

"Ahahahahaha!"

The gauntlet had been cast, and their parents had ringside seats to the brawl.

"Oh, that does it!"

Hungry like the Wolf, Frisk cralwed on all fours over to Dorkbros side of the couch, wobbling as the padding of the cushions sagged beneath her weight. As she perched herself precariously on her ankles to match gaze with this sly ball of fluff, folding her legs underneath her for balance, she couldn't help but take a moment to study his suave, gallant features, much like a curious little squirrel. Those glassy malachite pupils. That dense, angelic coat of frosty fleece. Those droopy Nubian ears, calmly flopping and swaying like chimes in the breeze. That wavy tuft of cornflower between his stocky horns.

And of course, that precious downy snootle at the center of his kawaii face.

"Umm...what are you do-MMPH!"

He was rudely cut off as Frisk slapped both hands flat against his bony cheeks, squishing them together like the cookies of an ice cream sandwich.

Then she leaned in close and planted a big, sugary kiss right on his cold, wet snout.

"Mwah!"

"Gahhhhhh!"

Instinctively he wretched and spat as his gag reflex kicked into full, and everyone in the room broke out into full-blown hysterics. It's not as though he was against kissing or anything of the sort, being the lovey-dovey cuddlebug that he was, but his snootle was sacred territory and, with the sole exception of nose nuzzles and the occasional boop, none were permitted to violate its sanctity with their pecks or smackers, family included. Even his own mother of all people had to tread carefully around that restriction.

"Ugh, not again!"

Wiping his muzzle with a wooly sleeve, he cast at Frisk the most sheepish of glances, clearly riled by her brazen tomfoolery.

"Come on, Frisk! Really!? Really!?"

Unable to contain herself, Frisk fell back on the couch next to him, smacking the cushion beneath her with a free palm as she doubled over in laughter.

"Hahaha, I'm sorry Azzy, but you had it coming, and I just couldn't help myself."

No she could not. It was in her blood, her very name, to be this way, the flirty little tease that she was. She had a reputation to live up to, and she was wholly and utterly incorrigible in that regard. She always had been.

"Cmon Azzy, you know you love it."

He really did, much as he might try to conceal it, which is partly why he did nothing to prevent it in the first place. But he could never outright admit that. Toriel was as affectionate as they came, and there would be no end to mothers candy-coated kisses if it ever came to light that he secretly adored the attention. He had an image to maintain, a zero-tolerance policy on snootle touchies to uphold, and that meant Frisks blasphemey could not be allowed to go unpunished. She had to be taught a lesson, as a warning to all who would dare oppose him.

And he knew Frisks Kryptonite.

"Now you're really gonna get it, Frisk!"

With a burning desire for vengeance and a twinge of holiday mischief, Asriel raised his bulky hands and wiggled his frayed, stubby fingers in a playful fashion that was all too familiar, immediately putting Frisk on red alert.

Oh no...

But it was too late. Asriel pounced at Frisk with all the grace of a prowling leopard, pinning her to the upholstry. There was no warning, no chance to scrabble away. All Frisk could see was a blur of fuzz as Dorkness descended upon her. Firmly securing his victim, Asriel leaned down to lock eyes with Frisks shutterlike eyelids, drawn like automated firegates, honed fangs glistening in the dim firelight. His fiendish grin was reminiscent of the one the Grinch bore when he masterminded the brilliant scheme to steal Christmas from every Who down in Whoville.

But unfortunately for Frisk, Asriel had something even worse in mind. Much worse.

"You are hereby found guilty of the crime of Inappropriate Snootle Smoochies! The sentence is...one thousand tickles!"

Judgment had been rendered, and those clawed ivory digits shot out like sharks smelling blood, raking and kneading her tender sides like bread dough. The contact was something electrical, like drilling into a tooth without anesthetic, and it made Frisk squeal uncontrollably, a piercing shriek that was immediately followed by a tidal wave of mousy giggles. An involuntary spasm of flailing and kicking at open air was Frisks only line of resistance as she folded her arms in vein, exhausting every possible countermeasure she had to shield herself from the Legendary Ticklemaster and his torturous ways. It wasn't much to give.

"N-nooohoohohohohoo, not thihihihis agahahahahahain! Whyyhyhyhy!"

"Because I can! Nyeh!"

He stuck his taffy tongue out at her, cheerfully bobbing his head left and right as his snowy paws effortlessly worked their way inside her flimsy defenses, where they could exert their devilish magic on Frisks most vulnerable zone of attack.

"Ahahahahahaha stahhhp it azzahahahahah! I hahahahahate youuuouououou!"

"D'awwwwww, I love you too sis! Now gimme that tum tum!"

Asriel cooed as he pressed the assault, those prickly marshmallow fingers digging firmly into her tummy. He was gentle and soft in his approach, cautious not to cause injury with those ebony clawnails of his, but merciless and unrelenting at the same time. Frisk thrashed about like a beached fish, fighting vigorously against her brothers bonds in a frenzied effort to escape his goofy antics, but she may as well have been trying to stop the very sun itself from rising in the morning. It was hopeless. Desperate for a reprieve, she cried out for assistance.

"Ahahahahaha ha-ha-helppppahahahah!"

But nobody came.

Toriel and Asgore made no effort to interject on Frisks behalf, as it was not their quarrel to interfere with. They simply sat and watched as their children reenacted the "War of the Couch" from the Christmas of 2030, a battle that Frisk was ultimately destined to lose.

"Gosh, this brings back fond memories, doesn't it?"

Asgore noted, his low, booming voice all but mute amidst the torrent of giggles being coaxed from Frisk at the hands of her fuzzy tormentor. Toriel nodded gleefully as she daintily sipped her tea with one hand, holding its glass coaster with the other.

"Heehee, yes. Our children may be grown up now, but they certainly haven't changed."

There was a lot of truth to that statement, and neither Asriel nor Frisk would dare try to deny it. Their tastes in fashion and recreation may have evolved somewhat over the years, but they had never really outgrown their childish tendancies. Here they were, fully matured and right on the cusp of adulthood, and they were having a one-sided tickle fight on the living room couch over such serious matters as a few hair ruffles and an unwarranted kiss on the snout. Even all grown up, they were still largely kids at heart, the little rugrats they had always been, and Mom and Dad wouldn't have them any other way.

But, as adorable as it was, this little exhibition of sibling rivalry also served as an evocative reminder of the hardships that lay before them. Before long Toriel found herself staring across the den at a weary Asgore, whom had finally gotten comfortable and sunken into his easy chair, his heavy peridot irises reflecting tiny orange flickers from the blistering den fire.

"Speaking of which, do you think we should give them the news, now that everyone is here?"

Hearing this, Asriel finally called a ceasefire to his ticklish siege and allowed Frisk to right herself, who quickly took in full gulps of snail-permeated air to satiate her starving lungs, not even minding that her sinuses were declaring open revolt on all the wonderful scents she was inhaling. They gave each other a brief glance and turned to their parents in unison like a scene out of a badly scripted sitcom.

"Hmm? Tell us what?"

Toriel set her tea on the coffee table, stood, and walked over to her husband, putting a quivering hand on his broad shoulder, his pink floral sweater still slightly damp from the cold outdoors. She was visibly tense and edgy, and there was a nervous stutter in her voice not at all unlike the one that continued to plague the brilliant Doctor Alphys.

"W-well, Asgore and I have been talking for a w-while now, and..."

Asgore reached up and took her hand in his, stroking it with the other in a feeble attempt to soothe his apprehensive wife, but he was just as uneasy about the matter as she was. Part of him was still contemplating whether the time was really right to make this announcement, not at all sure if they themselves were ready for such a monumental commitment.

"Tell us what? Come on, don't leave us hanging now."

Asriel beseeched them, high-strung and anxious from the brewing suspense. Though still somewhat unsure, it seemed as though now was as good of a time as any to get it out in the open. Moments where the entire family was together were few and far between these days, and this kind of declaration was really something that needed to be addressed in person, not over the phone or an internet chat room.

"It's okay, Toriel. Go ahead, tell them."

Asgore said, only half-certain that they were making the right decision. But it was enough for her, at least. Toriel nodded hesitantly with calm approval, and finally turned to their waiting children.

"Asriel, Frisk...we've decided that we're going to have another child."

Delight wasn't even in the right ballpark to describe what Asriel was feeling in that moment. His face contorted with such rapture that it would make the Joker himself look depressed. His eyes glistened with glittering stars as if he were just pulled out of some wacky anime.

"Y-y...you mean...I...we're...!"

Asriels physical body was so wrought with positive emotions that his brain went into lockstep trying to process them all at once. He was eccentric. He was bouncing up and down. He was skating back and forth across the living room carpet. He was screaming incoherent gibberish at a decibel range that could be heard towns over.

And of course, he was crying. 'Where did it all come from?', everyone wondered.

"G-golly, this is so cool! This is the happiest news I've had all year!"

Asriel shouted, wholly and utterly incapable of containing himself. Not only were his parents finally coming together again after years of gradual, painful and very slow reconciliation, now there were plans to extend the family tree as well, to bring another little Dreemurr into the world. What was once seen as little more than desperate, wishful thinking was finally becoming a reality, a true Christmas Miracle in the making. There were simply no words to express the joy he felt in that moment.

Frisks response, however...

"Y...yeah, it's wonderful. Heh, heh..."

And suddenly all eyes in the room fell upon Frisk, fretful and alarmed, as if she were a firebrand preacher spewing harsh tales of damnation at the pulpit. There was no cheer in her voice, no warm, beaming grin to accompany her words, no celebratory gesture to express her gaiety. Her mood was strangely flat and even melancholy in a way, and it was unnerving to everyone in the room. This kind of behavior was completely alien to Frisk and her upbeat, happy-go-lucky personality.

"Wh...Frisk? What's wrong?"

Asriel tentatively probed, rattled by Frisks dismayed response to the announcement. His inquiry went unanswered as Frisk became completely despondant, which only disconcerted him even more. While Asriel was over the moon fantasizing about the adventures of 'Baby Makes Six', Frisk was drowning in a black, churning ocean of despair that was rife and teeming with all manner of bleak, horrific scenarios, each one founded on the same farcical notion.

"Mommy, I don't like that weird human. Why does she live with us?"

That the child might push her away.

"Frisk?"

"No, get away from me! You scare me!"

That the child might be afraid of her.

"Frisk!?"

"You're not my sister! I hate you!"

That the child might even...

"Frisk!"

"Huh?"

Asriel shouted, his husky voice finally shattering the dreary haze that surrounded Frisk, snapping her out of her gloomy fugue. Regaining her composure and her bearings, she took a sweeping glance around the room and found herself center stage to a gaggle of weary eyes, the worried faces of her closest kin.

And Asriel was on point to address it.

"What do you mean 'Huh?'!? You looked like you were about to pass out!"

Asriel barked, making Frisk fidget in shock. There was a not so subtle hint of unease in his tone, compounded by the glossy sheen in those emerald pupils, an apprehensiveness that Frisk could feel radiating off of him in waves. After a full minute of being limp and unresponsive, the only reply she could muster was a simple 'Huh?', and it was a wholly unsatisfactory answer to him. He knew something was wrong and made little effort to hide it.

"Are you okay, Frisk?"

Asgore called to her, his deep, soothing voice masking undertones of perplexity. Toriel kept silent, but she really didn't need to say anything, her sullen, slack-jawed countenance told all there was to know. Everyone was abash, baffled to the point of fright, and it was only magnified by their loss for any kind of an answer to this riddle, some explanation as to why Frisk was behaving in this manner.

But that wouldn't last forever, the truth would out eventually, and if this continued in the direction it was heading, everyone would either deduce it on their own, or Frisk would crack under the pressure and confess herself. And as ashamed as she was of her unfounded feelings of ostracization, this farcicle notion that she would become the outcast with the addition of a new Dreemurr, Frisk did not possess the necessary courage in that moment to face them, fearful of what everyone would think if they made the connection.

So instead, in a last-ditch attempt at damage control, she did the only thing she could think of to stave off the mounting concern for her well-being.

She downplayed it.

"Ah...yeah, I'm okay. Sorry, I don't know what came over me. Must have blanked out."

She touched her fingertips to her forehead, gingerly massaging her temples as if she had a simple migraine, a feint to ease the growing tension. Toriel and Asgore gave each other strange, disingenuous glares, not at all sure that they believed her. At least until they heard her explanation.

"I'm sorry to worry everyone, I just...haven't really been getting a lot of sleep lately. Being an ambassador is hard work, you know?"

Now that was true, Frisk had been quite sleep deprived as of late. Between her part-time job as a school nursing assistant, personal lessons from her father on diplomacy, Dodgeball practice, and her honors classes for English and PolySci, her free time was stretched awfully thin, often to the point that it interfered with her sleeping habits. Somehow she still made time for her friends and family, and amazingly she was able to keep up with her grades despite the immense workload she was under, but nonetheless, it took its toll on her, and everyone could see it.

"Are you sure, Frisk?"

Asriel prodded, still not fully convinced that everything was peachy. Though it had not shown for quite some time, he had seen this behavior before. Frisk had a habit of trying to hide her feelings when she was depressed or moody, particularly if she thought it would only cause the people she cared about unnecessary stress. And Frisk knew that, as astute as he was to her mannerisms and her tendencies, Asriel would not be as easy to sway as her parents. They knew each other too well, as close as they were.

But her next response was reasonable enough to set his mind at ease, if only a little.

"Yeah, I'm alright Azzy. I think you just wore me out from earlier, that's all. I'm still catching my breath."

He let out a half-hearted chuckle, reflecting on his part in that. He did almost just tickle her to the pearly gates, so he couldn't fault her for being tuckered out. Chara certainly knew what that felt like, as she was quite often on the receiving end of it in the days of long ago, from the worlds #1 Momster if not the smelly dork himself. After all, he wasn't called the Legendary Ticklemaster for nothing; he learned from the best, having inherited his mothers silly side. It was something he enjoyed almost as much as cuddling, being the floofy screwball that he was.

That and snails.

"Oh, heh heh, sorry about that. You know how carried away I get sometimes. I was just really happy to see you."

"Me too, Azzy. But I'll get my revenge on you later. Trust me."

In the end, he decided not to press the matter. If something really was wrong, he knew she would confide in him eventually, but it would be better to let Frisk be the one to open up about it, when and if the time came. And while Toriel and Asgore also weren't fully convinced of Frisks veracity, for the moment they bit their tongues and opted not to say anything about it either. The last thing they wanted was to upset Frisk, especially if it turned out that they were just spinning their wheels over nothing. It could have just been a byproduct of exhaustion. It could have just been a dizzy spell from being out of breath. It wasn't, but the reality was that they didn't know, and it would be foolish to make hasty assumptions without all the facts, especially when such conjecture could cause harm.

They still couldn't shake the feeling though.

"Wow, I'm...I'm gonna be a big sister! Gosh, I...I don't know what to say!"

Gosh, Golly, and Howdy had become staples of Frisks vocabulary at this point, as did Sup, Wowie, Goodness and Yo. Her close circle of kin and their tendencies and habits had rubbed off on her far more than she realized.

"I guess I'd better learn how to change diapers and bottle feed and read bedtime stories a...wait a minute. Mom, are you actually...?"

Toriel cocked her head ever so slightly, already aware of what Frisk was trying to get at.

"What, expectant?"

Not the word Frisk was thinking of, but she nodded, feeling a little embarrassed. Toriel simply responded with a soft giggle, not at all minding what Frisk probably figured was an obscene, possibly even lewd question to ask, and it relaxed her a bit.

Unfortunately, the answer Toriel gave her only raised even more questions.

"Hehe no, it doesn't quite work that way for monsters, Frisk."

Toriel teased, vaguely hinting at the subtle differences in childbirth and care between humans and monsters. The content of that subject would dictate its own lecture, possibly even a full term course, MonsterSexEd-101. For how curious of a topic it was, Frisk suddenly found herself wondering why she had never asked about it before, or why their parents never gave them 'the talk' all throughout their teenage years. She almost thought to ask them about it right then and there.

But before she could, Asriel spoke up and put to them the question that was worth all the gold in Fort Temmie.

"So, have you guys come up with any names yet?"

And suddenly Asgore was as giddy as Aaron in a flexing contest, promptly sitting up in his easy chair fidgeting with his black sweatpants, stout footpaws lightly hammering into the thick carpet below. It was the one question he had been so patiently waiting for, praying that one of them, either Asriel or Frisk, would bring it up, so that he could flaunt his depth and breadth of genius, to show the world what a visionary he was.

And finally came his chance to shine.

"Oh yes, quite a few in fact! Torgore, Asrisk, Torisk, Chargore, Charisk, Frisra, Asra, Friskriel, Chariel, and Friskgore, just to name some of them."

There it was, that classic Asgore creativity, the kind of open mouth, insert paw nonsense that he took so much pride in, yet left everyone around him stinging with broiling cheeks. Ten years of monsters living on the surface, and their king still couldn't name worth a damn. Some things just never change.

"Toriel doesn't approve of any of them, but I think they're all very inventive and euphonious."

With brawny fingers and jet claws he forked and stroked the thick stubble of his sunflower mane like some sagacious philosopher in deep contemplation, the two burly horns on either side of his gilded hair glinting like curved ivory spires in a sunny field of dandelions.

"Euphonious!? Who are you trying to fool, Asgore? They're all terrible. This is just like that time when you tried to have Ebott Village renamed to Newer Home."

His pensive moment of self reflection was cut in two as Toriel brashly howled her disapproval, her piercing deathglare only magnified by the pair of flimsy reading spectacles that balanced precariously on her frayed muzzle. Asgore was not one to go quietly into the night though, and while it was quite the blow to his ego, he had every intention of giving as well as he got. In his mind he was an artistic marvel, brimming with innovation and flair, and he would defend that belief to the literal death.

"Oh come now, Newer Home is a great name! It's symbolic of what we've all gained, and at the same time pays tribute to the memory of what we left behind."

And now that Toriel was on the defensive, in an uncharacteristic display of pettiness, Asgore threw in a little zinger for good measure.

"And besides, when you first opened your school on the outskirts of the village, what did you name it? You simply called it 'School.' So you're one to talk!"

And though her own ego felt just as bruised, there was simply no reasonable argument against that statement. After all, hadn't other people, local residents, parents and even other students made similar complaints as well? Had they not made the same observation, noting the bland, generic name that her academy was once known by? She was just as guilty as he was, and that subtle lack of creativity was, not surprisingly, passed down to their own son, who came up with such colorful names as Star Blazing and Shocker Breaker for his own spells, cool though they may have looked. Toriel could not disagree with him, because...well, she didn't.

"Well that's...very fair, I suppose. But those names are still ridiculous."

"Yes, dear."

"They are!"

"Yes dear."

"You're not even listening to me anymore..."

"Yes, dear."

"Ugh..."

This petty squabble could have continued on into the wee hours of the morning were they left to their own devices, but Asriel was having none of it. The night was still young, and Asriel wanted to commemorate this joyous event while it was still fresh off the belt.

And he had just the thing in mind.

"Hey, I know! Why don't we all go out to Grillby's tonight to celebrate?"

Unsurprisingly, Frisk was immediately on board with the idea. Besides the fact that she had not seen Asriel in months, she was never one to pass up an opportunity to spend time with family, even with the alarming upset from earlier still weighing on her.

"Yeah, that sounds like fun! We could even help them come up with names for the baby! Mom? Dad?"

But Toriel and Asgore were a bit more reserved about the subject. Not that they weren't in the mood to toast such a wondrous affair (a hazard for Toriel, who was known to have...incidents, when introduced to wine), but they wanted to keep the news hush hush for the time being, family business only, and openly discussing the matter in a bustling joint like Grillby's was bound to spread. All it would take is one nosy patron eavesdropping from the next booth, one random walk-by from Burgerpants while waiting tables, one little snitch selling out to Bratty and Catty, and the scoop would go viral in minutes. It would be broadcasting on the MNN (Mettaton News Network) the next day. Already Toriel was having nightmarish visions about tomorrows headline.

"Good evening, darlings. Our top story tonight on MTT7, Royal Family announces plans to extend the bloodline. Prince Asriel and Ambassador Frisk caught on camera rehearsing lullabies and diaper changing protocols to prepare for Baby Dreemurrs arrival. Oh, the perils of being older siblings!"

Already Toriel could feel the onset of a nice headache from these half-baked imaginings. Shaking her head to evict those foolish notions, Toriel tentatively removed her reading spectacles and folded them together, clasping them to the collar of her wooly, lavender sweater. An elongated yawn followed as she rubbed her cardinal eyes in an attempt to rid them of sleepy sand, her own fatigue finally catching up with her.

"Oh, that does sound wonderful, but to be honest, Asgore and I aren't quite ready to share this information with the public just yet. There are still so many little details we have to discuss and plan out."

She leered maliciously at Goatdad, hellfire blazing in those cinnabar beads, melting his spine like a bisicle in Hotland.

"Like names..."

His ashy fur stood on end like a coat of porcupine quills, as if he were inside some kind of static bubble. Though he may have won the battle, this war was far from over. He had not heard the last of this matter.

The point conceded, she turned back to her kids.

"Besides, it's awfully late, and I don't think either of us are in any condition to go out anywhere tonight. It has been a busy day for both of us."

Though disappointing, that was understandable as well. Between keeping the house in tidy order, knitting new clothes for the family, cooking meals and grading papers (something she was always backlogged with, even during holiday breaks) there was always some little detail that demanded her time and attention, even when the day was finally at a close. Asgore kept himself equally busy, whether he was on the phone negotiating the acquisition of unused parcels of land for the ever-expanding Monster population, or simply tending to the innumerable shrubs and bushels and trees and blossoms in his vast collection of flora. And that was only an average day for them. Between preparing for Christmas and their usual chores, they were dead on their poofy paws.

But that didn't mean that the kids had to be left out of the picture, and one thoughtful suggestion was met by another.

"But I see no reason why the two of you can't go. If nothing else, it'd be a good chance for you to catch up and spend some time together."

King Fluffybuns flashed his kids a conspicuous wink, and their ears immediately perked up like puppies at chowtime. Even if it was just the two of them, they did have a fair bit to catch up on in the four months since Asriel flew the nest, and this would be the perfect opportunity to do just that. Though still afflicted by the looming fear of rejection from future sibling, deep down Frisk was also genuinely thrilled at the news, and she wanted to celebrate the occasion as well.

"Goodness Asgore, all by themselves?"

But of course, Toriel had to play the ever cliche Concerned Mom card, her patented Ace in the Hole, and once more their hopes were dashed. It didn't matter that Asriel had spread his wings and taken to the skies of independence, it didn't matter that Frisk had more responsibilities to shoulder than most, they were still children in Mothers eyes, still bound to her will, and given what she and Asgore had witnessed only a few moments earlier, it was a difficult position to argue away. But it was what it was, and now they had to come up with a way to win over Mama Goats approval.

"Toriel, they'll be fine."

Only, to their surprise, this time it was Papa Goat who came to their defense, throwing himself upon the sacrificial spear. Not that such an action was contradictory to his nature as a leader, always one to take responsibility for himself and his people, but rarely did he ever put himself in the damage path of Toriels rage, no matter what it was directed it; he much preferred to steer clear of such incidents and bide his time until the dust settled. It was inevitable at this point though, there was no saving himself from her fury this time. His ticket was already punched, and he made peace with his eventual fate.

But he wasn't about to let her sabotage their evening as well.

"It's Christmas for goodness sake, and besides that, it's not even a school night for Frisk. She has been working so hard these past few weeks, with so little time to herself as of late. Let her go out and have some fun for a change."

"But..."

Try though she did to refute his argument, Asgore was absolutely right. As hard as Frisk had been working over the recent weeks, bogged down by her new responsibilities as the Royal Ambassador, on top of everything else on her plate, was it any wonder that Frisk was so exhausted? With how much strain Frisk was under, a little fun on the town might have been just what she needed.

So, veto'd three to one on this proposal, Toriel withdrew her objection and conceded to majority decision.

"Well...I suppose it's alright. But make sure to bundle up at least. It's terribly cold outside."

"Okay Mom! I'll go get ready!"

With renewed vigor, Frisk sprung from the couch to her feet and made for the stairs, stopping to give Mr Dadguy a quick smacker on the side of the face, whispering into his dangling ears as she pulled away.

"Thanks, Dad!"

Nervously, the shy king tugged on those fuzzy straps in a vain effort to hide that his puffy cheeks had gone blush and rosy, like a pair of cherry blossoms in spring bloom. So bashful, even in his golden years.

"Dear me, what would I do without that wonderful child of mine..."

But that wonderful child of theirs was suffering now. And as Frisk ascended that spongy staircase, away from the worrying eyes of Goatbro and company, her inner voice made one last attempt to twist the knife in a little deeper.

What if the child hates you?

She didn't sacrifice the dignity to answer it, but no longer exhibited the same buoyant energy from before either. With nothing more to do, she simply swallowed it down and slowly retreated to her room, softly closing the door behind her and mercifully shutting out that nagging influence with it.

It didn't make the heartache go away, though.