#I do think it's pretty hilarious that she has multiple songs about/brands herself as this

[folklorianhaze]

I really like Kacey Musgraves' music man, it makes me wish she wasn't a tayhater lmao

[marvelandponder]

OC Tag Game

I was tagged by one of my fav fabulous dorks @starbutterfly-diaz to talk about one of my OCs, but you know what? I’m gonna talk about two because I love these two together (plus I just really like talking about my ocs and don’t get a lot of chances too).

For the record, these two are from an Equestria Girls/MLP next gen, and I’ll start with the adopted AppleDash princess.

Name: Gale Primrose Apple (Formally, Gale Force in her first adopted family, and originally... Cream Puff because I just find that hilarious)

Nickname: She goes by Gale. Her girlfriend and later wife, Betty, calls her Rosie. She also answers to G, princess (her moms’ nickname for her from when she was smol), and Big Buff, Rough n’ Tough Cream Puff (well, doesn’t answer to that...).

Gender: Female

Star Sign: Aquarius 

Height: Pfft, like 6′2. She’s buff as heck despite being a girly girl.

Sexual Orientation: Gay. Too gay to cope.

Hogwarts House: I could absolutely see her in Gryffindor. She pulls crazy stunts that put her own neck on the line if it’s for the right cause (like, say, doing a triple backflip off the top of a cheerleading pyramid to win over a girl and flip off her teachers).

Nationality: Well, even if this wasn’t set in the Equestria Girls universe, she’d be American. Southern princess.

Favorite Fruit: Hm. If she said anything but apples, would she get disowned? (... probably pears)

Favorite Flower: Primrose. That’s what Applejack and Rainbow Dash brought her the day they came to meet her and take her home for the first time, and well, while they were changing her name anyway... 

Favorite Season: Knowing how much she loves Thanksgiving, probably fall. 

Favorite Scent: It’s either some ultra-specific makeup brand (she’s a makeup artist) or the way her moms’ mac and cheese smells when it’s being cooked.

Coffee, tea or hot cocoa?: Coffee. Something’s gotta get her up for morning workouts.

Average Hours of Sleep: 9ish, and she snores through all of them.

Dogs or Cats?: Dogs. Definitely dogs. 

Favorite Fictional Character: Oo, that’s tough... I’m leaning towards someone like Kim Possible. Someone who manages to be a normal, fabulous teenage girl despite being in what would normally be a guy’s role. Being as big and muscly as she is, Gale would appreciate that. 

A better answer would be someone from a romcom but I don’t watch enough to know actual characters... can I just say all of the Disney princesses?

Number of Blankets They Sleep With: 2 or 3 for maximum coziness.

Dream Trip: When she’s in her late teens, it’s to go to L.A., but she ends up living there so I don’t know what to tell you. Aside from that, she’d go anywhere if she got to take her wife. She used to think Vegas with her besties would be fun but... well, I’ll just say she doesn’t leave with fond memories.

Random Fact: Although it takes her quite some time to realize it, Gale’s polyamorous. She’s not the type to like an open relationship, but she can fall in love and be in a committed closed relationship with multiple partners at once. 

Coming out as poly was so much harder than coming out as gay (mostly because she was raised by a gay couple, but polyamorous relationships are still so... out of the public eye, let’s say).

Name: Battaglia Philharmonica

Nickname: Betty (Although Gale has quite a few nicknames for her, including Betsy and Babydoll; her adoptive mom, Octavia, also calls her Lia)

Gender: Female

Star Sign: Leo

Height: 5′5. Decently average, but smol compared to her wife Gale.

Sexual Orientation: Gayyyy. Really gay. Like, can’t-talk-to-girls gay what a mess gay.

Hogwarts House: I think Hufflepuff. She’s confident in herself, but a huge sweetie and well, kind of lets people take advantage of her if she’s not careful. 

Nationality: Equestria Girls land? Aside from that, I’m really not sure, actually. Half-Italian, half... something. It’s hard to say because her father was never in the picture (and considering how Betty happened, that’s probably a good thing).

Favorite Fruit: Strawberries, if there’s whipped cream involved.

Favorite Flower: Forget Me Nots (why yes, she was a hopeless romantic as a child...)

Favorite Season: Spring, maybe.

Favorite Scent: Aside from her wife? Who am I kidding, it’s Gale. That’s the most comforting smell to her.

Coffee, tea or hot cocoa?: Tea, but she won’t say no to hot cocoa.

Average Hours of Sleep: 7-8. Well. When she’s healthy. 

Dogs or Cats?: DOGS. For their first anniversary, Gale gets her a puppy Betty names Princess (whoops, Princess is a boy... ah well, Princess it is) and that dog is her world. And her therapy dog for her anxiety when she’s overwhelmed.

Favorite Fictional Character: Anyone Marilyn Monroe played. She has a thing for old movies because that’s all they had on in the hospital room when she was sick for a while as a kid (unidentified autoimmune disease, was stuck in Sick Kids for 2 years of her life). This inspired her acting career, at least.

Number of Blankets They Sleep With: 3 or 4. She hogs one from Gale, always.

Dream Trip: If not L.A., which, again, they eventually live in, either New York or London. What a sap.

Random Fact: If she was going to have a voice actress, it’d be Kristen Bell (Anna from Frozen, among others). Which means this is her solo song during the same story arc where Gale realizes she’s poly.

I tag pretty much everyone who wants to do this?

@adgerelli, @umbraamethyst, @apricalico, @digikate813, and plenty of people who I’ve seen tagged already

[diamondsareapearlsbestfriend]

Sans/Toriel 30 Day OTP Challenge: Day Thirteen

AO3 | Day One | Day Two | Day Three | Day Four | Day Five | Day Six | Day Seven | Day Eight | Day Nine | Day Ten | Day Eleven | Day Twelve

day thirteen: our song

prompt: “Your OTP and music. Do they have a song? Do they sing? Do they dance?”

The thing about the music in the Underground is – when you've been hanging out here your whole life and through multiple different timelines – there isn't really much variety.

Once you've heard a few songs, they're pretty much all the same, whether Sans is lazily flicking through the channels or sitting through Mettaton's latest vehicle with Papyrus even though it feels like he's slowly being buried alive in rose petals – loud, flashy and fake, whether it's thumping dance beats or grandiose, swelling strings. It's maybe not exactly what he would've chosen, but Sans can just about deal; the unrestrained joy lighting up in his little brothers' sockets whenever a familiar rectangular figure sashays across the screen makes it worth it. And on some level, he gets it, why half the Underground's so in love with Mettaton despite him being so...well, Mettaton, because he's literally all they've got. Sparkles and symphonies and aggressively manufactured positivity – it's all an escape, a chance for everyone to forget their problems for a couple of minutes and believe whatever the repetitive robotic lyrics are telling them: they're fabulous, they're shining stars, they're whatever they want to be. They're free, even in the face of the obvious reality that they're most likely stuck down here for the rest of their lives.

For Sans it mostly just feels like background noise – most things do these days. He's not one to judge, if everyone's happy (okay, he kind of is, but not on this particular subject); he just can't help wondering, sometimes, if he'll ever get to hear anything that sounds like it comes from somewhere more...well, real, whatever that means any more. But he isn't expecting to find out when he dozes off at Grillby's yet another night, somewhere around his second ketchup bottle, and wakes up to this melody floating through his skull – slow, sad, hauntingly beautiful. It's like nothing he's ever heard before, definitely not MTT-brand, and for a moment Sans thinks he's still dreaming until he lifts his head and glances around at the empty bar. It's just him and Grillby, perched elegantly at the piano in the corner – Sans didn't even know that dusty old thing was a piano – with his fiery fingers dancing along the keys, filling the room with a tune as light and delicate and delicate as the falling snow, but slowly sliding into something more sinister, like an unspoken threat looming over them, and Sans feels it, somehow, every note sending a chill through his bones. It feels like Snowdin, like the creeping threat of the next day he knows so well, like...home.

"Dude, Grillbz," he says finally as Grillby finishes, glancing back over his shoulder to meet Sans' sockets as he widens them in awe, “what was that? You write that? How come you never told us you could play?" 

Grillby hesitates for a second, before his face flickers into a smile as he tells Sans – in his crackly dialect that he's just about picked up by now – that he doesn't usually like an audience. And even if he did, it's not like he has a spare moment to play for them in between running the whole place himself and keeping on top of all his customers' demands.

Sans shrugs, flashing him a sympathetic grin – Grillby can't be talking about him, he's the least demanding customer ever. “Yeah, okay, I hear ya. Still – you should get some staff in to cover sometime, 'cause that was great. No joke, I felt it in my bones. Gotta be better than some of the crap Bun puts on the jukebox, am I right?"

Grillby hisses a reluctant laugh and nods, standing up from the piano bench and smoothing down his clothes. Sans is waiting for him to tell him to go home – it's way after closing time and Papyrus is probably getting worried by now – as he walks back over to the bar and starts gathering glasses, but he says he'll think about it. Or – if Sans wants – maybe Grillby should teach him how to play sometime instead. Then Sans can be the new entertainment, or at least a convenient target for the regulars to heckle and throw fries at.

"Heh – why do I feel like this is payback, somehow?" Sans chuckles, but actually it's a pretty generous offer, and he's kind of touched. “I mean – sure, when you're not busy, why not? That might be cool, or at least something, uh...different.”

They never do get around to those lessons, though because things end up getting super busy and their world gets a whole lot bigger – and brighter, and that's not just because of the sun. Where the Underground was quiet, the surface has music everywhere, with as much variety as anyone could possibly want or need, pouring out of every store on every street corner. Some of it's pretty good, some of it's just as bad as any of Mettaton's bleeps and boops and some of it's worse – but somehow it doesn't feel quite so fake any more, not up here where they're actually free to feel good, or whatever the songs say.

It probably helps now he's with Toriel, who unapologetically loves all of it – the Ruins were always so quiet, she tells him, so it feels so good to be able to surround herself with music. No matter how awful it is, and it shows pretty much every morning when she's making breakfast and singing along to the radio. She doesn't know half the words, but she improvises, making up nonsense as she bounces to the beat with her little tuft of tail bobbing up and down. Sometimes she makes Frisk faceplant into the table, groaning Moooom, it's too early, do you have to be so disgustingly cheerful? Sans sympathises, because he's not even sure what he's doing awake at this time – up until Toriel catches his socket and winks, always as she's braying along with the cheesiest, corniest, most nauseating love song, and he remembers some things are worth getting up for.

They still end up in Grillby's most nights, because some things don't change; just the amount of songs on the jukebox for everyone to fight over, and the weird human-brew wine Grillby's got in tonight. It's kind of disgusting, but it also makes Sans feel warm and fuzzy inside – although that might just be Toriel, as he's been leaning against her since they reached the stage where just about everything the other one says is the most hilarious thing ever.

"Grillbz, Grillbzzzz," Bun slurs, leaning over and thumping the bar like he's just had a revelation, "you know what we should do? You know what would really bring in the hot guys?"

Sans only has to catch Toriel's eye to know they're thinking of the exact same joke, and the slightest nudge is enough to set them both off, snorting and spluttering uncontrollably into their drinks before either has a chance to state the obvious. Everyone else, as usual, ignores them.

 "Karaoke night!" Bun squeals, and a groan immediately ripples through the room, with a few lone murmurs of interest. "C'mon, you sad sacks, it'll be fun. Grillbz, aren't you always saying we should  liven up this place?"

Grillby raises his glasses in his 'I said nothing of the sort' expression; undeterred, Bun reaches out and slings an arm around Sans' neck, pulling him into something between a hug and a headlock. "Sansy! You'll sing with me, right?!"

"Oh, yes, Sansy," Toriel joins in just a little too eagerly, her eyes glittering with amusement as she slips her arm around Sans' ribs from the other side, so he's effectively trapped, "now that you mention it, I do not believe you have ever blessed us with your dulcet tones! We should put that to rights, should we not?"

Sans is starting to feel unfairly victimised here; he looks to Grillby for help, but he just snickers quietly behind the bar, the traitor. "C'mon, guys," he laughs, holding up both hands in a vain attempt to defend himself, "trust me, no one wants to hear me sing."

"I wanna hear it!" Big Mouth yells out, unhelpfully. "And whoa, hey – you disobeying an order from the queen, Sans? Shouldn't he be, like...executed or something for that, Your Majesty?"

"Goodness, what sort of queen do you take me for?" Toriel gasps in mock offense, before sliding her hands up to Sans' skull and resting her chin gently on top like a warm, furry hat, subtly nudging Bun away in the process – turns out she's a handsy drunk, not that Sans has any bone to pick with that as he feels her smirk. "I am sure I can think of a much more suitable punishment.”

Everyone whoops and hollers as Sans' brow bone shoots up in simultaneous alarm and intrigue at this threat/promise, while Bun hops off of his stool and over to the jukebox. It's right next to the old piano – for some reason, Sans is glad Grillby kept it, even if he hasn't heard him play anything since they moved to the surface. He still occasionally thinks he should take Grillby up on those lessons, or at least get him to play one of his old pieces for Toriel sometime, even if it's just the three of them, because he feels like she deserves to hear something so beautiful – wants to be the one to share it with her, even. He's grinning to himself just from the thought and wonders when the hell he got so mushy, anyway. Must be the wine. Definitely the wine.

Sans' train of thought is interrupted as a familiar, upbeat tune blares out; there's a few half-hearted protests from the bar, but nobody gets up to change it as Toriel's hands fall from Sans' skull to excitedly seize both of his hands.

"Oooh – I know this one! Let us dance!"

Even if Sans could say no to those eyes, he figures he's probably not getting much of a choice in the matter anyway so he lets her drag him out of his seat and onto the not-exactly-dancefloor where Bun's already busting some moves by the jukebox, his ears flopping wildly back and forth. Sans isn't exactly a dancer at the best of times, and now he's just a total disaster, tripping over the floor and Toriel's feet, but she barely seems to notice or care, her eyes and cheeks glowing with joy as she moves their linked hands up and down while singing that she just met him, and this is crazy, but  – she goes to twirl herself under their arms, temporarily forgetting their height disparity, and misses, stumbling forwards and landing with her full weight right on Sans' foot.

He lets out an involuntary yelp of pain and Toriel gasps, pressing one hand to her mouth as she abruptly skids to a halt.

"Oh, dear, I am so sorry! Did I hurt you? Let me see..."

She kneels down and lifts Sans' tibia before he can reassure her that he's fine, her brow furrowing in concern as she squeezes his foot gently as though checking for broken bones – just as Bun, happily oblivious to it all, spins around and bumps into Sans, knocking him off-balance so he falls forward and straight into Toriel, sending them tumbling to the floor. Toriel lands flat on her back, Sans sprawled messily half on top of her, and he's not sure who starts to laugh first but soon neither of them can stop, clutching each other and giggling hysterically until Sans' ribs ache, there are tears rolling down his cheekbones and it must be pretty bad because even Bun stops dancing to look down at them with concern.

"Uhhh...you guys okay, or what?"

"Oh...oh my, yes, sorry, excuse me," Toriel splutters, the last of her laughter eventually petering out. “I think – I think, Sans, that perhaps it is time for us to go home.”

"Uh-huh." Home sounds good; the only flaw in that plan is that Toriel is really soft and warm and Sans doesn't really feel like being separated from her right now. "Tori, Tori, Toriiii," he whines, trying for the sympathy vote as he nuzzles his face as far into her neck as he can in an attempt to bury himself in her fluffy fur, "my foot still hurts, I don't think I can walk. You gotta carry me home, 'kay?"

Toriel snorts, goodwill evidently evaporating as she sits up, pushing Sans off of her before hauling them both upright and dusting herself down. “Do not be a baby bones. You will be fine – I am quite sure I would have felt if anything was broken."

That's what he gets for dating a teacher, Sans figures as Grillby leans over the bar and enquires whether he should call Papyrus to pick them up.

"No – no, Grillbz, don't do that. We're good to walk, right?" He glances up at Toriel for confirmation, who nods emphatically. "Yup, all good here. Same time tomorrow, guys, yeah?"

The regulars mumble their goodbyes with varying degrees of enthusiasm, leaving them to stagger out into the cold night air onto the luckily-not-that-long path home.

“Probably should've mentioned,” Sans says as they approach the door, “I, uh – don't really dance. Too much energy.”

Toriel laughs softly, shushing him not to wake Frisk up as she lets them in. “Think nothing of it. You made an...admirable attempt.”

Sometimes, it worries Sans a little that this woman is tasked with ruling over monsterkind, even if mostly hypothetically these days.

But tonight – if it's her occasionally questionable judgement that leads them both back to her bed – he supposes he can't exactly complain.

From the moment the music started up as Alphys shuffled awkwardly down the aisle as though scared of tripping over her dress, Mettaton on her arm and her eyes darting nervously all around the room before they landed on Undyne and instantly lit up, her mouth curling up into the hugest, goofiest, most genuine grin like there was no one else in the room but her soon-to-be wife waiting in her tux at the altar, today was always going to be emotional. Toriel's eyes were already starting to mist over before they'd taken their seats, and by the time they got to the vows she was almost as much of an emotional wreck as Papyrus, who was practically vibrating with excitement as he took his place as best skeleton besides Undyne. The tears of pride glistening in his sockets started flowing freely down his cheekbones when Undyne impatiently burst out that yes, obviously she took this giant dork to be her lawfully wedded wife, before taking Alphys in her arms and dipping her into a kiss so passionate Toriel probably would have covered Frisk's eyes if they hadn't been up there with them, clutching a blue and yellow bouquet and grinning from ear to ear.

"It is terribly cliché of me, I know," she says later at the reception, dabbing delicately at her eyes with a tissue. "It is just...such a wonderful day to be a part of, to witness the love between these two young monsters. Just to imagine the lifetime they will share together..." She sniffles, before flashing Sans a watery, self-deprecating smile. "Oh, do not mind me. I am just a silly old goat."

"I don't mind. I got a thing for silly old goats." Sans winks at her and Toriel snorts, bumping her foot affectionately against his as they fall into a contented, companionable silence. It is pretty great, he has to admit, looking around the room at everyone; Undyne's idea of dancing is basically tossing Alphys around like a pancake, and she couldn't look happier about it, shrieking with delight as Undyne whirls her around with her arms wrapped around her neck like she's never letting go. On the other side of the room, Asgore looks like he's deep in conversation with that creepy-cute spider girl from the bakery, while Mettaton is leading Frisk, Papyrus and a whole crowd of others in a series of increasingly elaborate poses, until Frisk catches Sans' socket and takes the opportunity to turn and point dramatically at them.

"Sans! Mom! Come over here and dance with us!"

"It seems we have been summoned," Toriel says, smiling fondly as she waves back at them before offering her hand to Sans instead, an anticipatory twinkle in her eye as she nods towards the dancefloor. “Shall we?”

He grins back at her, throwing in a defeated shrug mostly for show before accepting Toriel's hand, linking their fingers together as it closes around his with a warm, reassuring squeeze. “I guess we shall. If you can't beat 'em...”

Just as they make their way over to join Frisk and the others, the song changes; something Sans doesn't recognise, slow, yearning guitar chords rolling in and making them both hesitate for a moment, smiling awkwardly at each other like teenagers at a high school dance.

“You, uh...remember how it usually works out when I dance, right?”

"I do, and I shall take my chances." Toriel lets out a soft chuckle, warm and soothing as her touch as she manoeuvres them gently into position, moving Sans' hand up to her waist while hers settles on his hipbone. "Do not fret, I believe we will be fine. Just...go with what you feel is right, yes?”

From anyone else, it'd probably be pretty useless advice – but Toriel's not everyone else, and from the moment they start to move together, slowly at first, back and forth with the music, it doesn't feel the same as all those other times, either. It's almost like the song is moving them, falling into a natural rhythm as the song builds around them to something stronger, sweeter, more uplifting and Toriel smiles back at him encouragingly, like she's proud of Sans for not screwing up or stepping on her toes yet. The DJ's actually pretty good, he thinks idly – he's Mettaton's cousin or something, but he can't help that. Sans is definitely going to find some way of convincing Grillby to play, though, when it's his –

...wait, what?

Maybe that really is when it hits him – the most cliché of moments, gazing up into Toriel's huge, beautiful eyes, shining as they catch the light and soft with the kind of love that's still almost too much for Sans to handle, that he still can't really believe he has, or deserves for that matter, with the singer crooning about their true colours shining through, and that's why I love you...and yeah, of course he does because it's Toriel and she's the best thing that's ever happened to him in any timeline, how much of a bonehead would he be if he didn't want to be with her for the rest of his life, or as much of it as she was willing to put up with him? Because no one makes him laugh like she does, and no one makes him feel safe like she does, like even if he screws up, even if they stumble and fall and bring the whole place crashing down with them, everything's going to be okay as long as they're together, but – holy shit, he does, he wants this. He wants to marry her, and it's amazing and terrifying and probably totally insane and Sans feels like his soul's about to burst just from keeping it in, trying and failing to stop the huge, stupid grin stretching his skull like an idiot because Toriel is definitely onto him.

“What is funny?” she asks, arching a suspicious eyebrow and smiling too despite herself.

"You," Sans tells her automatically; Toriel lets out a little huff, equal parts indignation and amusement, but before she can reply he continues, more seriously: "Tori...you trust me, right?"

Toriel blinks, the question seemingly catching her a little off-guard. “Why, Sans, of course I do. For why would you ask such a thing?”

It's a little risky, he knows; they haven't really tried anything like this before, but then there's also never been a time where it felt so right, until now.

"I just...wanna try something."

Before Toriel can respond, Sans lets go of her and steps back, just for a moment; the magic flares up from his soul and into his hand as he reaches out again and Toriel bleats in surprise at the new sensation, the soft blue glow enveloping her. He hesitates for a split second, just long enough to meet her eyes and realise it's okay: she trusts him, even like this with her soul almost literally in the palm of his hand, her energy intertwining with his before he flicks his wrist – a simple but carefully timed movement, spinning them both in a circle and twirling Toriel around and away from him before bringing her back and dipping her low to the floor so Sans catches her neatly in his arms and his magic, their faces barely an inch apart.

"My goodness, Sans!" Toriel exclaims, wide-eyed and breathless as she gazes up at him before breaking into a huge, exhilarated grin, her eyes and her cheeks flushed with pleasure. "And here you have been telling me you do not dance..."

"I don't." Sans can't keep from smirking as he gives Toriel a moment to catch her breath before lifting her again, right up off her feet and into the air so her dress billows spectacularly all around her as he twirls her one last time; it's not really in time with the song any more but he couldn't care less, catching hold of her hands in the air as the magic dissipates around them and he brings her back down to earth. It's Toriel who catches Sans this time , stumbling to an inelegant finish as he falls into her, their hands still interlinked and laughing a little already with sheer joy before he even drops the punchline: “But sometimes I still need to practice my pickup lines."

"You guys – you know you're not supposed to upstage the brides, right?" Frisk interrupts the moment, bounding over and shaking their head mock-disapprovingly as they somehow manage to wriggle right in between Toriel and Sans like a self-appointed chaperone. “Even if that did look super fun.” Predictably, they turn their biggest, most hopeful puppy-dog eyes on Sans. “Saaans...can I –“

"Absolutely not,” Toriel interrupts swiftly, planting her hands on her hips and fixing them both with her sternest 'don't even think about it' look. "You, my child, are to remain firmly grounded. I mean that in the sense that you are to stay on the ground," she clarifies, "not that you are not allowed to leave the house, of course."

"But Mom –"

"Sorry, kiddo - your mom knows best." Sans backs her up, reaching out to ruffle Frisk's hair with a sympathetic wink. "We don't want any broken bones here  - yours or mine."

"Hey, little punk, c'mere –" Before Frisk can protest any further, Undyne pounces on them from behind, scooping them up and whirling them around so their legs go flailing through the air. “You didn't really think you needed puny skeleton magic for this, did you?!”

Frisk squeals with delight, Toriel clutches at Sans in alarm and Alphys giggles sheepishly as he catches her eye, glowing with happiness, and they grin at each other in what's obviously the universal “how did a couple of dorks like us end up with such ridiculously amazing girlfriends/wives” expression.

That one, Sans still hasn't figured out – but he'll get around to it some other time, because the next song's starting up and he's already being pulled into a mass dance-off, Toriel on one arm and Frisk on the other. It's one of Mettaton's old hits, but remixed into something more spookwave, with more of an edge to it but the same ecstatic euphoria, an incredible energy pumping through the air that feels like – as cliché as it also is – the souls of every monster and human in the room beating together as one.

Sans looks at Toriel, illuminated with laughter and love under the strobe lights as she twirls Frisk around under one arm before reaching out to do the same with him, and nothing has ever sounded better.