/sus/ - The Spice of Life

/sus/ Thread #1025: Need Tomboy Edition
h ttps://desuarchive.org/trash/thread/65115350/#65126199
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The Spice of Life
By TwoDaysMaybe

>Susie sets the rolling pin on the counter and groans as she tries to shake some feeling back into her hands
>The Dreemurr kitchen looks like a warzone
>Flour coats every surface in misshapen, random clumps
>Flecks of orange-brown dough cling to the sink, the countertops, the pantry doors, even the ceiling
>The late afternoon sun lances through the open window, glinting off an amber haze of cinnamon-ginger dust that tickles the inside of Susie's nose
>A breeze ruffles the curtains now and again, but it does little to break the muggy, cookie-stinking heat that clogs the room
>The oven's been running full blast for hours, endlessly baking batch after batch of gingerbread monsters
>Heating up the kitchen to the point where it's baking Kris and Susie too
>Susie wipes her brow, smearing a mud-dark streak of molasses across her purple scales, and sighs
>For a moment, she considers sneaking off to the bathroom and running herself a cold shower, or maybe just popping open the window and making a break for it
>But then she looks over, sees Kris dutifully cutting out shape after shape like a weird little cookie-stamping machine
>Eyes hidden by a curtain of chestnut hair, slender fingers tracing the cutters as he picks the one he needs by touch
>Mouth set in an expression of unusual focus as he fits the shapes into each other with practiced efficiency, barely leaving a speck of unused dough behind
>Susie watches him for a moment, watches the satisfied little smile that flickers across his face every time he finishes a sheet of cookies
>And she knows she has to stay.
>So she sighs
>Fixes her high, fluffy ponytail (leaving her tangled brown hair stiff and sticky with the sugary butter that sloughs off her fingers)
>Adjusts the apron Toriel lent her (leaving it off-center in the other direction)
>And grabs another fistful of dough out of the fridge
>She'll be damned if she quits before Kris does.
>Even if he does have the easy job.
-
>When Kris called her that morning to ask if she'd be willing to help him and his mom get ready for the church bake sale, she'd been halfway out the door before he finished his sentence
>A whole day with her favorite guy *and* all the salt and butter she could eat?
>She'd have been a fool to turn down a deal like that.
>...Or so she had thought.
>Sure, Kris had mumbled something about how it was going to "be a lot of work" and "Mom takes it pretty seriously, so if you'd rather not I'll just come up with an excuse for you."
>But Susie just rolled her eyes and told him she'd be over in five
>Nice try, Kris, she thought
>Bet you thought you were so clever, that you were gonna have the sugar all to yourself today
>But I saw right through you
>She probably should have realized something was up when nobody came to the door when she rang the bell
>Kris usually waits for her in the living room
>Half the time he gets the door for her before she even has a chance to knock
>But Toriel's voice had echoed out of the kitchen, cheerful and lilting, and lulled her into a false sense of security
>"Is that you, Susie? The door is unlocked, come on in!"
>Kris and his mom were already elbow-deep in a bigger pile of baking supplies than Susie had ever seen in her life
>Toriel shot her a quick smile before ushering her to a station that had, seemingly, been waiting for her since Kris called her that morning
>"Thank you so much for coming over, Susie! I was worried we wouldn't have enough hands to get everything done in time, what with it being just me and Kris this year."
>Kris didn't even look up, just mumbled a greeting that was barely audible over the whine of the stand mixer
>And then, casually, Susie had reached a claw out for the open bag of brown sugar
>Kris's eyes flashed with panic, and he opened his mouth to cry out in warning, but it was too late
>A huge, furry paw squeezed her shoulder, and Susie froze
-
>"No snacking today, I'm afraid. We're on a rather tight schedule, and I would hate to have to waste time running out for more ingredients."
>Susie thought for a moment to complain, or at least to start plotting with Kris to grab a handful of sugar here or there when Toriel's back was turned
>But then Toriel gave her a very particular look
>She didn't even narrow her deep, crimson eyes.
>Just creased them at the edges a little bit, smiling all the while.
>It wasn't a glare. There was no malice in it at all.
>Just the confident assertion that it would be much better for everyone if Susie gave up on sneaking sugar
>Susie's mouth went dry
>She nodded, meek and silent
>And that was that.
>Still, even with Toriel watching the sugar and salt and flour and ground spices like a hawk
>And even with Kris furiously baking away, barely saying a word as he rushed around the kitchen, even when she teased him or complained or started slacking off
>There was something oddly satisfying about the process
>About knowing that as soon as she ran out of dough to roll flat, Toriel would be right there with another batch
>About watching the little gingerbread shapes pile up, puffing fragrant steam as they came out of the oven
>It was so satisfying, in fact, that it took her a while to realize
>This isn't fun at all.
>This is *work*.
>Susie rubs her palms with her thumbs, wincing as they cramp and tingle
>The crusted, half-dried dough that sticks to her scales rolls into tacky little balls, and she wipes her hands on her jeans with an irritable snarl
>Alright.
>She's happy to help her best buddy, of course, but they've been at this for hours.
>Toriel left a while ago to go get more tupperwares. They've already filled every last one in the house
>The boxes sit stacked in a corner like ammunition in a depot, teetering in great towers that reach nearly to the ceiling
>They have to have earned a break by now, right?
>"Listen, Kris..."
-
>Kris pulls a fully-laden baking sheet out of the oven and switches it off
>He sets it on a cooling rack with a sigh, then wipes his face on his apron
>Little smudges of spiced flour paint his cheeks like woad, and he beams at Susie
>"All done. That was the last batch."
>She pauses, blinks
>"...Really?"
>"Really."
>Susie slumps down onto the kitchen tiles with a groan
>"Oh, HELL yes. Dude, if we had to do another batch I seriously might have passed out."
>Kris folds his arms, leaning back against the counter
>He chuckles, but his cheeks are just as ruddy as Susie's, dark circles under his carmine eyes
>"I warned you, didn't I? Mom takes the bake sale seriously."
>He pushes his hair back with one hand, stares grimly at the great monolith of baked goods in the corner
>"Anyway, it'll be a while before they've cooled off enough for me to do the decorations. Might as well take a break."
>Susie has zero confidence in her ability to decorate a gingerbread monster, and even less willingness to put in more work than she already has
>But she still hauls herself to her feet and shambles over to the tupperware tower
>...That is a hell of a lot of gingerbread.
>Enough to feed all of Hometown for a month, assuming the people of Hometown were willing to eat three meals of gingerbread a day without rioting
>"Kris... who buys all of this? I mean, how many people even live in Hometown?"
>"People come from out of town to check out the bake sale. I wouldn't say it's famous or anything, but you'd be surprised at how much product we can move on a good day."
>He shoots her a quick, sly grin as she glances back at him
>"Plus, we keep the leftovers. I'm sure Mom'll be willing to send a few boxes home with you."
>She perks up at that
>Tail wagging as she eagerly digs through the pile
>Maybe this was worth the trouble after all. Free cookies are free cookies.
>And these cookies look damn good to boot.
-
>Browned and crispy at the edges, soft and puffy at the center
>Cut in a dizzying variety of shapes, from antlered cervids to horned boss monsters to airplanes and skeletons and a couple of shapes that Susie isn't even sure are monsters at all
>Still, as she looks through the boxes, a strange, suspicious feeling itches at the back of her brain
>Almost like she's looking for something in particular, or like there's something she expects to be there that isn't
>It takes her a while to realize it
>Long enough that Kris notices her silence and hovers behind her, standing on tiptoe to peek over her broad shoulders as she takes box after box down from the stacks
>Tilting them this way and that, squinting through the clear plastic
>There's gingerbread Boss Monsters.
>Gingerbread cervids.
>Gingerbread avians and gingerbread skeletons and Temmies and rabbits and cats.
>Susie whirls around, brow furrowed
>She pushes past Kris, strides into the kitchen
>The cookie cutters he was using are piled by the sink, covered in dough that's hardened like set concrete
>So tangled and mismatched that she can't tell where one ends and the next begins
>Not that she has to. Because next to them is exactly what she expected to see
>A much smaller pile of cookie cutters
>All in the exact same shape
>Two arms.
>Two legs.
>A round, unadorned head.
>Perfectly clean.
>Completely unused.
>Every last one in the shape of a gingerbread man.
>One of Susie's hands balls into a fist.
>"Hey, Kris. How come all of the cookies are gingerbread monsters?"
>His shoulders tense, a guilty little shiver rippling up his spine
>"What do you mean?"
>"They're all gingerbread monsters. You've got these gingerbread man cutters right here, but you didn't use 'em."
>Susie's voice is low, a rumbling purr that reverberates through the still, hot air
>"Really? I didn't notice."
>Like hell he didn't.
>He turns to face her, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish smile
-
>"I was just using the shapes that were easiest to fit into each other. Didn't want to waste any dough, I guess."
>She picks up a gingerbread Temmie cutter
>It's in a dynamic pose, its limbs winding out randomly like the tentacles of an octopus
>"...Huh."
>"Besides, gingerbread men aren't interesting. They all look the same, no horns or antlers or anything... They're boring. Nobody wants to buy them."
>"Really? You sure?"
>She regrets the words as soon as she says them, as soon as she sees the look in Kris's eyes
>He glances away
>Tries to hide the bitterness on the edges of his words and doesn't quite succeed
>"...I'm sure."
>Susie's no empath.
>She wouldn't even say she's particularly sensitive.
>But she can imagine it, clear as daylight
>The Dreemurrs, manning a table at the bake sale
>A box full of messily, lovingly decorated gingerbread men, the only one left untouched
>A much, much younger Kris, tears running down his cheeks as his parents and his brother tried to comfort him
>She's almost surprised at how angry, how indignant the thought of it makes her
>At how hard it is to tamp that fury down so she can actually do something about it
>"We got any extra dough?"
>Kris takes a moment to answer, clearing his throat before he does
>"A bit. You can eat it if you want, I'm sure Mom won't-"
>"Cool."
>Susie wrenches the fridge open, grabs the last few scraps of dough and slams them on to the counter
>She rolls them flat with quick, decisive strokes, her eyes gleaming a furious citrine
>Kris jogs up behind her, reaches towards the cutters, but she slaps his hand away
>"Leave it. I'm gonna cut these ones myself."
>Susie grabs a gingerbread man-shaped cutter, starts pressing it into the dough
>"Susie, I just... Nobody's going to buy those!"
>She grits her teeth
>She wishes she knew the magic words.
>The words she could say to Kris to make him believe that he's fine the way he is, that she loves him just as he is
>Soft and hornless and kind and *human*.
-
>She doesn't know them. Doesn't know if they exist at all.
>So instead she cuts a line of gingerbread men and puts them on a baking sheet
>"You said we get to keep whatever's left over, yeah?"
>Kris pauses
>"I mean... Yes. Mom won't just throw them out."
>Susie hands him the baking sheet
>"Then bake these. If everybody else is too stupid to buy them, that just means more for us."
>He takes the sheet, stares down at it
>"...You don't think they're boring?"
>His voice is quiet as he asks
>As though he's already decided what her answer's going to be, and he's just bracing himself to hear it
>She sets one great paw on his head, ruffles his hair with a toothy grin
>"It's all gingerbread, dude. Who cares what shape it's in?"
>Kris opens his mouth, then closes it
>His eyes gleam
>He blinks, then swallows, a weak little smile spreading across his face
>"Susie..."
>"Yeah?"
>He takes a deep, shaky breath, then presses the baking sheet back into her hands
>"I care, actually. Cut out a few dragons to go with these. They're my favorite."
>She wraps an arm around his neck, pulls him into a headlock, her laugh booming and echoing through the house
>"Of course, dude! How could I forget?! You gotta have dragons with your humans! Obviously!"
>It's dark outside by the time Toriel finally returns with the extra tupperwares
>She smiles when she sees Kris and Susie napping on the couch, still covered in dough and flour and sweat
>Seemingly hard at work up until the very moment she got home
>It's a bit surprising, though. Toriel thought they were more or less done when she left them
>She tiptoes into the kitchen, shining her phone's flashlight this way and that to see what they could possibly have been doing up until now
>And then she sees the special cookie they made together, sitting on a plate on the counter
>She presses a hand to her mouth, tears beading in the corners of her eyes
-
>Goodness.
>Simply adorable.
>A quiet, joyous smile spreads across her face
>She pads over to the closet, fetches a blanket
>Drapes it across Kris and Susie, pats them gently on the head
>They stir and smile, but do not wake
>She sneaks back to the kitchen to take a picture before she settles in for the night
>Two cookies, or perhaps one depending on how you count it.
>Linked, melded at the hand.
>One a human, with a scruffy spray of brown icing along its scalp and messy stripes of green and yellow across its body
>The other a dragoness, with a long, flowing mane of chocolate and expertly crafted purple scales
>Perhaps it is true that the gingerbread men will not sell as well as the gingerbread monsters. Perhaps not.
>But it doesn't matter.
>She always bakes a few anyway, even when Kris insists she doesn't have to
>Variety is the spice of life, after all, and she didn't buy those gingerbread men just so they could sit around and gather dust
>And in any case...
>Toriel would not part with this one for all of the money in the world.
Realized it's been a while since I wrote something for our favorite purple girl. As always, hope you all enjoy.