#because I contain Multitudes *snorts at own joke*

[miss-ingno]

12, 19, and 27 for the fanfiction asks? 🥰

12. Tell us about a WIP you’re excited about.

Ohhh, but WHICH ONE JEN. I have too many WIPs lmao

Hmmm... I’m not gonna tell everyone about the one we were chatting about because spoilers; the YOHE retcon is predictable so that’s boring, let’s see.

Arranged Marriage AU: I’ve talked about this one before, but basically Canon AU in which Dixing and Haixing are sovereign neighbours. ZYL has to marry HPS to uphold the peace (and hopefully get some trade clauses in Haixing’s favour). There’s tensions between the two nations, so it’s Captial I Important. Except ZYL is in love with Shen Wei, who he sees rarely and they’re not like, committed or anything, but he’d really like to be? And he doesn’t know SW=HPS so. Cue sadnees, but putting duty before self. Meanwhile, Shen Wei tries his damndest to just tell Zhao Yunlan, but keeps getting cockblocked interrupted just when he gets him alone.

YOHE Rescue via Twinswap: Kunlun wasn’t killed by the rebels because his allegiance to the Alliance wasn’t as obvious. Cue the chieftain trying to woo him to his side by inviting him to negotiations and offering things... to which KL brings a disguised Shen Wei, and then they run into Ye Zun and Operation: Swap the Twins starts.

Casefic in Which Shen Wei Gets Wrongfully Accused: not getting to this anytime soon, I don’t think (not planning it for the Bingo) Haixing’s police shows up and arrests Shen Wei for murder. They have evidence. They don’t know SW=HPS. Shen Wei plays along, knowing he is innocent and assuming that they will realize the same. Meanwhile, Zhao Yunlan & the SID work furiously to figure out the real culprit to exonerate Shen Wei.

19. Do you prefer canon-compliant, AUs, or something in-between?

Depends on the fandom! Generally, if it has fantasy vibes or is set in a historical era, I tend to prefer canon-adjacent stuff (like, not necessarily compliant? but fix-its, canon divergences, what ifs, that kinda thing). On the other hand, if the story is set in a contemporary setting, I utterly love the shit out of AUs (that are not just. modern AUs lmao. Give me the magic gdi!)

For Guardian, I am definitely still most drawn to canon and canon-adjacent stuff, but I've read several good AUs too (@sasamelons Sailor Moon AU or @bird-armadda's Mafia AU) Actually, mafia AUs are definitely a glaring exception for my "non modern AUs" thing, as are spies or assassins or similar stuff lmao. Probably because they don't feel quite usual life?

27. What’s the nicest comment you’ve ever received?

I've been lucky enough to receive several very nice comments over my stint as a fic writer 🥰 (including yours on Dark Star, I was re-reading it the other day and squealed again <3)

I keep all of my fave comments saved in my inbox and re-read them when I need a pick-me-up (or go re-read comments on a specific fic because I wanna add another fic in that series or remind myself why I loved writing that trope, etc.)

I appreciate all comments, but the ones that hit me the hardest (in the best way) are the ones that mention their favourite bits, point out a phrase they liked, and/or theorize about what is happening (plotwise or in a characters head). Which. I guess I like someone going meta? regardless if it's about the fic or the canon material that went into the premise. Yeah that tracks.

Questions for Fic Writers

(answer to 6, 7, 33; 8, 9, 29)

[headcanonsandmore]

Left in the dark

Summary:  While chatting after a long day at WWW, George asks Ron why he never asked any of his siblings for romantic advice. (WARNING- this fic does contain criticism of Fred, George and Ginny Weasley)

~~~~~~~~~

             Read on FFN.                           Read on AO3. 

~~~~~~~~~

‘So, you and Fred were both dating Lee at various points?’

‘He and Fred were. I just snogged Lee on occasion.’

The shop had shut for the day, and the takings had been counted. Ron and George were lounging in the small sitting room of the flat George had above the shop. A fire was crackling merrily nearby, and George had two glasses worth of firewhisky in his stomach. Ron -always the more practical brother- was sipping a butterbeer.

‘I did always wonder,’ Ron said, chuckling. ‘I’m guessing you told Angie?’

‘Oh, she knew about it at the time,’ George replied, smiling lazily. ‘I mean, she did walk in on Fred and Lee several times, after all.’

‘That must have been awkward.’

George giggled, taking a swig of his drink before speaking again.

‘Okay, Ron… I’ve been meaning to ask this for a while…’

‘What?’

‘How come you never asked any of us for help? You know, when you were pining after Hermione?’

Ron stared at George.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘I mean, why didn’t you ever just say to any of us “what do I do?”?’

‘Isn’t it obvious?’

‘No. You had six siblings at the time, and -to the best of my knowledge- you never asked any of us for advice. Why?’

‘C’mon, George; you really don’t want to know…’

‘I’m not a teenager anymore; I won’t make fun. I’m just curious, ‘s all.’

‘Well…’ Ron began, a little hesitantly. ‘Obviously, I couldn’t ask Bill…’

‘Why?’

‘Way too intimidating. Besides, he wasn’t around for much of that time.’

‘Fair point,’ George said, nodding. ‘I’m guessing the same was true for Charlie?’

‘Nah. Have you met Charlie? The guy’s never been interested in anyone, so how would he know what to do? Great for advice about friendships, but not romantic advice.’

‘Okay, then; Percy?’

‘Was a stuck-up git, and then left. So, no.’

George was getting a sinking feeling in the region of his stomach that he couldn’t exactly place.

‘Er… Ginny?’

‘Oh, that’d go down well,’ Ron said, rolling his eyes. ‘Asking my little sister for advice about girls. She’d never let me live it down, and she’d spent every moment looking smug. It was bad enough that she knew in sixth year that I’d never kissed anyone before Lavender. You should have seen what her and Harry used to say about me when they started dating; the way they saw it, I’d only dated Lavender so I could snog her in public. Nevermind that Lavender was actually a nice person who was there for me.’

George’s sinking feeling doubled. They were all out of siblings, except… well…

‘Me and Fred?’

‘You’re… you’re joking, right?’

The two of them stared at each other for a moment. On the one hand, George did want to know, but -on the other- he also didn’t. And he couldn’t place why. Maybe the firewhisky had affected him too much?

‘What’s that supposed to mean?!’

Ron rolled his eyes.

‘You two didn’t give me any help until after me and Lavender broke up. And -even then- it was just that book.’

‘Hey, that is a good book! Me and Fred put a lot of thought into buying you that!’

Again, Ron rolled his eyes. As if he was waiting for George to put all the obvious information together.

‘Yeah. After sixth year. After the time I actually could have used some advice and avoided all that mess.’

‘Okay, maybe we did buy the book a little too late for you. But we weren’t stopping you from asking us from advice; we were there for you. you could have asked at any time.’

Ron stared at his brother, his face a cacophony of confusion.

‘What?’

‘You could have asked us for advice,’ George repeated.

‘You never would have given me any!’ Ron exploded, leaning forwards. ‘All I would have got was “oooh, ickle Ronniekins can’t understand girls! The widdle baby needs help from his big brothers to woo Hermione! Oh, poor widdle boy!”’

George goggled at him, as if Ron had slapped him. Ron didn’t honestly believe that, did he?

‘Do you really think we would have taken the mick-’

‘Yes!’ Ron exclaimed. It seemed like he’d been holding this in for years. ‘Obviously! It wasn’t as if you two were supportive big brothers most of the time! I had that stupid song sung at me for months in fifth year, and all you two did was do stupid impressions of me missing the Quaffle. Oh, don’t act like you didn’t!’ He spat, seeing George’s shocked expression. ‘You might have thought I was stupid, but I wasn’t blind!’

George stared at him, numbly.

‘We… we didn’t think you were stupid.’

Ron chuckled mirthlessly.

‘Couldn’t have fooled me. Just because I wasn’t naturally confident around women like you, that doesn’t mean I was thick.’

George turned his head to the side, feeling even more confused.

‘Naturally confident? Me and Fred?’

‘Yeah. Just like Bill,’ Ron said, irritably. ‘You two had boatloads of confidence from the off. Even Percy had that; how do you think I felt stumbling along, not knowing how to do that?!’

‘We never did have confidence from the start! Where… where did you think we got that confidence from?’

‘Just naturally. Duh. How else do you explain it?’

‘We asked Bill for advice! No-one’s confident at that age!’

There was a billowing silence. Ron stared at George, his eyes wide with shock.

‘Wait… really?’

‘Yes! Obviously! Teenagers don’t know what they’re doing, so we asked Bill for help! He’d been around the block longer, and he knew what to do, because he’d asked dad for help! Isn’t it obvious?’

Ron blinked, his blue eyes a mix of astonishment and confusion, as if re-evaluating a multitude of different things.

‘It wasn’t obvious to me,’ Ron said, quietly. ‘I thought I was a right moron for not being confident immediately…’

The two of them went incredibly quiet, each lost in their own thoughts. Then, a question appeared in George’s mind, and he spoke again.

‘Ron, who… who did you ask for advice? I mean, before we got you that book.’

Ron’s ears went red.

‘Er…I asked dad. Towards the end of sixth year,’ he mumbled, looking embarrassed. ‘He was really good about it; told me to not assume I was bad at everything just because I was nervous. Just wish I’d been told that before.’

‘But aside from him? Did… did you not ask anyone else?’

Ron stared at George.

‘There was no-one else to ask,’ he said, bitterly. ‘Don’t you get it? I didn’t get any advice until after I dated Lavender. You all just kept going on about how thick I was, and I… I didn’t know that you were taking the mickey. You were all so confident with this stuff; I just… I thought I was just the stupid one who didn’t understand any of it.’

George’s mind was suddenly filled with memories. Of Ron eyeing Bill and Fleur at Christmas, as if hoping to pick up tips. Of Ron deliberately snatching letters from Hermione out of Errol’s claws before the rest of the Weasley siblings could see. Of Ron hiding what looked like a bottle of perfume in his shopping bag so that Fred wouldn’t notice and start laughing at him. Ron, looking frustrated and confused whenever his siblings laughed about how long he was taking to get things going with Hermione.

They… they really had messed things up for him, hadn’t they? How had they never noticed? Ron was their brother, after all, their little brother. Who they were supposed to look after. Sure, they had taken the mickey a lot, but their hearts had been in the right place, right? Ron must have known that they were always there for him… right?

No. No, Ron hadn’t known that. Ron had thought the exact opposite.

George and Fred hadn’t even taken the time to think about it, but it was no wonder that things between Ron and Hermione had taken so long to work out. Hermione was an only child, so that was understandable, but Ron… he had six siblings and yet hadn’t felt he could rely on any of them for help. He’d been struggling all that time, and none of them had ever taken the time to ask if he wanted to talk about it. Just to show Ron that the support was there for him if he ever needed it.

What was the good of having so many siblings if you couldn’t come to any of them for advice?

‘Ron… I’m… I’m sorry… we were…. We should have realised. We… we should have been there for you when you needed us.’

Ron snorted, taking a final sip of his butterbeer.

‘Yeah. What else is new?’

 ~~~~~~~~~

Hope you liked that, everyone! Hopefully, I wasn't too harsh on Ron's siblings, but I wanted to discuss this subject, since I've seen a significant amount of fics that have Ron's siblings mocking him for taking so long to get together with Hermione, despite offering him little advice or support when he could have needed it. It always seemed unfair to me, so that's why I wanted to explore Ron's reasons for not doing so, and his siblings reasons for not just asking him if he wanted advice.

[lover-of-skellies]

Mal meets herself

A little drabble I've had sitting in my notepad app for way too long, showing what would happen if Mal met a version of herself that was still very much one of the bad guys

Mal released a startled yelp as blue threads captured her wrists and whipped her aside, sending her crashing into a stone wall. Furrowing her brow bones, she blinked and stared at the threads; these... didn't belong to Error. Traces of his magic lingered in them, sure, but he wasn't the one who'd made them. Her gaze slowly lifted and began to follow the threads back to their source, and her sockets widened in shock and fear.

As a pair of crimson sockets gazed back at her, she let out a shaky breath; there was a deep purple bruise residing on the other skeletons face, her clothes were coated in a thin layer of dust, and her eye lights were blown wide in some sort of sick euphoria; she was gazing up at herself.

The clone stared back at her, evaluating her for a moment before snorting in mock amusement, "The hell is this?... Some kinda joke? There's no way a precious little house pet like you could be another version of me." Mal untangled her wrists and rose to her feet, ignoring the shooting pain in the back of her head, "Yeah?... At least I don't look like some kinda homicidal maniac." One of her duplicates sockets twitched and she grinned widely, "It's cute that you think you can insult me so easily. It'll take a lot more than that to hurt my feelings though, you stupid glitch."

Memories flickered in Mal's mind and her figure glitched, a look of heightened resolve settling on her face as she sighed; she'd really have to play that card here, wouldn't she? Taking a deep breath, she stared directly into her clone's sockets, "Why are you still doing all this? Being the bad guy, I mean. Nothing you could ever do will be enough to make Error happy with you. He'll never care about you. The only person he cares about is himself. Nightmare doesn't give a damn about you either. You're just another pawn. A toy he'll throw away as soon as you stop being useful."

The duplicate was silent, frozen in place for a moment, before her figure began to glitch wildly. Her grin dropped, fading into a scowl as she growled, her voice lower than anticipated, "...You... You BITCH. Don't start acting like you suddenly know everything!" More blue threads were produced, and they shot toward Mal, tearing through the fabric of her clothes and tangling around individual bones. Mal was lifted up off the ground, uncharacteristically calm as she spoke, "He doesn't love you. None of them do. If you give all this up, I'll take you to people who'll actually care for you and protect you, love you as you are... You have an amazing father that thinks about you all the time, who'd do anything for you. You know who I'm talking about, don't you?" The duplicate screamed, a ferocity behind her words that was laced with venom, "SHUT THE HELL UP. YOU'RE JUST SOME WEAK, NEEDY, ATTENTION WHORE. I'M BETTER THAN YOU. ERROR LIKES ME BECAUSE I'M EVERYTHING YOU WEREN'T."

Mal let out a shaky sigh as the blue threads began to tighten around her ribs and pull ever so slightly, "He likes you because you do what he says without hesitation. You follow orders, and you don't ever complain about being nothing more than a servant to him, do you? He only values you because you make his job easier. You're useful, that's all it is. And that bruise on your face... he hit you, didn't he?... That's not what love's supposed to be like."

Stomping one foot defiantly, the duplicate roared, "I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO SHUT UP." Mal momentarily closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, a hand flew to her face, touching the edge of her socket and producing her own blue threads. Whipping her hand out toward the other her, the blue threads lashed out, pinning the clone to the wall behind her. As she was released from the threads that had held her, she sent out another wave of her strings, capturing the duplicate's soul and withdrawing it from her chest.

As Mal tugged it closer to herself and cradled it in her hands delicately, frowning as she observed it and noticing how deep each of the visible cracks was, her sockets began to water up at the realization that this could've been her, had she ran back to Error when Necro gave her the option to leave. She could've been so much more damaged, so much more aggressive and unstable, and so much more lost, consumed by denial and uncertainty.

She slowly lifted her gaze, looking to the clone again and speaking up slowly, "Hey... What do they call you, where you're from?" The clone narrowed her sockets at Mal, growling lowly in agitation, "Why do you wanna know? It's none of your goddamn business!" As the clone's figure began to glitch heavily, Mal let out a deep sigh, beginning to approach her duplicate. Watching her closely and hissing as she began fighting against the multitude of threads that held her in place, the captive glitch bared her teeth in hopes of discouraging Mal from getting any closer.

Ignoring the display before her, Mal hummed, very delicately pushing the others soul back into her chest, "...Suboptimal Abomination Number 406. Probably 406 for short, I'm guessing?" The other female skeleton froze, her narrowed sockets suddenly widening. For a fraction of a second, she appeared lost and unsure how to respond, but as soon as her uncertainty had arrived, it was gone, replaced with more irritation and spite, "Yeah? So what? Why's it matter so much to you what my name is? You have the exact same name, so it's not like you're anything special."

Mal shook her head, her expression softening the smallest bit, "You're wrong, actually. My name's different now." Struggling against her restraints again, 406 bitterly hissed, "Good for you. Too bad I don't give a shit though." Mal pressed on, ignoring the clear hostility in her words, "It's Mal now... That's my name. It was given to me by my uncle. I didn't know we were related at the time, and for a while, I took him and everything he did for me for granted." 406 growled again, "Hey, weren't you listening to me?! I just said I don't give a shit, so why the fuck are you still talking?!"

The glitch offered her counterpart a half hearted smile and shrugged, "I figured that maybe, just maybe, you'd like to know that you have a family you could return to. A loving father, two uncles that are pretty cool, and a bunch of others that'd love to call you their friend. For starters, Dream and Ink." Upon hearing the artist's name, 406 froze, her sockets widening. Her eye lights constricted into the smallest of pin pricks, and her body began to glitch wildly as she balled her hands into fists and roared, "LIKE HELL I'D EVER BE FRIENDS WITH THAT ASSHOLE."

Arching a brow bone and tilting her head, Mal hummed, her grin slowly beginning to widen, "Awe, c'mon, what's the matter? He'll only puke on you when you're nice to him the first time. The rest of the time, he's really not that bad." 406's sockets rapidly clouded with errors, and without a warning, she began to thrash and scream, a look of blind rage settling on her face. Mal's smile dropped and she sighed, deadpanning, "...Well so much for being casual and having a sense of humor."

And then the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching, accompanied by a second voice caught Mal's attention. It came as a loud, high pitched whine, nearly shrieking, "NOT MY MAMA! PLEASE DON'T HURT MY MAMA!"

Freezing in place as her eye lights quickly located the source of the voice, Mal's sockets widened in shock. Her chest began to feel heavy as she locked eyes with a small child whose body glitched heavily, a black, tar-like substance dripping down their face. A soul that glitched and resembled a bright crimson target floated outside their chest, perfectly centered, and they were clad in a pair of baggy shorts, a tank top, and a jacket much too big for them that had flecks of dust stuck to its fabric. That faded, familiar deep blue fabric, and that fur lined hood. Mal's eye lights constricted in fear as they trailed down from the child's face, noticing the black stain from liquid hate that had been smeared on the front of the jacket they wore.

Looking back to their face and meeting their gaze, only one of their sockets contained a small, white eye light. The way they clung to 406 and tried in vain to free her, wearing a thoroughly terrified expression, sent a pang of guilt straight to Mal's soul. She had no idea what to do now, and it was obvious. She needed to deal with 406, but now there was a kid here... And she couldn't risk scaring the poor thing any further.

[okitodorokidoki]

a36+44 | miyuki kazuya

pairing - miyuki kazuya x gn!reader genre - fluff wc - 1170 36 - “You’ve shown me what love can feel like.” 44 - “You’ve always felt like home.” AO3

You knew even back in high school that Kazuya and his father didn’t exactly have the closest relationship. You’d see him for a few hours for special occasions, but most holidays and birthdays were really just the two of you doing something special for each other. You wouldn’t describe their relationship as cold or loveless as of late, but it hurt your heart to think of how much affection Kazuya missed out on growing up. Today, you’d gone to his old family home for a congratulatory dinner after a big win, but it didn’t take too long for Kazuya to look ready to head back home. You managed to gracefully direct the conversation to goodbyes without making things awkward or tense, and you felt fingers graze your back in thanks as you took the small container of leftover cake from his father.

Kazuya helped you get everything together before splitting off for a moment alone with his father. You tapped your fingers against the lid as you sat on the stairs leading up to his door, looking out at the fading sunset as you waited. It wasn’t too long, however, before the door opened and closed gently behind you.

“Thank you,” he murmured, breath ghosting your cheek as he helped you up.

“Anytime,” you said, grabbing his hand with a reassuring squeeze.

The walk to the train station was relatively quiet, with Kazuya stopping you not far down the road to carry the cake for you in his free hand. He napped on your shoulder on the ride back to Tokyo, feeling the exhaustion from the game yesterday, and all the interactions he’d had since. There weren’t many people in the train car with you, just a few at the furthest end, so you didn’t need to worry too much about someone possibly recognizing your pretty-boy catcher and disturbing him. Finally letting yourself completely relax, you brought your hand up to card through his hair, gently working out any tangles he’d tousled into it.

Kazuya never really slept on public transportation, for a multitude of reasons, but the past few days had completely wiped him out. Maybe you’d use some fancy products for the bath that night to help him unwind.

-

Kazuya was relatively lucid by the time the two of you arrived back at the apartment. It took nearly the entire elevator ride just for him to stand up straight, but you could still see his eyes drifting behind his lenses.

“I’ll put the food away,” you said. “Go ahead and wash up first so you can go to bed early tonight.”

Kazuya hummed in response, waiting for the elevator doors to open to hold his arm out over the threshold. You stepped out first and waited for a moment to make sure he didn’t pass out on his feet and take a ride back down to the lobby.

“You okay?” you asked, gently tugging his shirt to pull him closer.

He nodded, but as soon as you stopped to unlock the door he leaned against you.

“There’s no way I’m carrying you to bed, so you better wake up.”

He laughed quietly, fingers grazing your back once more as you moved to hold the door open for him. He set the bag he was holding down on the kitchen counter, and made his way to the bathroom to wash up. You made quick work of the leftovers, having made room for it all in the fridge before you left, and followed him in.

Kazuya was sitting on the bathroom stool, leaning heavily against the wall with his eyes half-open. You sighed with a smile, and resigned yourself to your fate. Removing your clothes, you bent down to grab the shower head and help Kazuya wash up.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, bringing a hand up to caress yours.

“I’m not sleeping next to a man that smells like he slept on the floor of the train,” you joked, leaning forward to press a kiss to his head.

You slid your hand up the back of his neck, guiding him to tilt his head down so you could get his back.

“Did you grab your things?” You asked.

He hummed, and you heard the sound of something skidding across the bathroom floor. You glanced down and saw his basket of toiletries, nearly toppling as it ran over the edge of the tiles. You tilted his head back, pushing his limits a bit to kiss his forehead, and got started on his hair.

By the time he was clean, you almost felt too tired to wash up yourself. Then you looked over to see him relaxing in the bath, and soldiered on. You slowly slid into the water, shivering as the heat immediately soaked into your skin.

“How do you not cook yourself when the water’s this hot?” You asked, leaning back against his chest.

Kazuya chuckled, wrapping his arms around you loosely. “It feels good. And the steam’s good for your skin.”

You snorted, wiggling to get yourself comfortable. Kazuya ended up resting his chin on your shoulder, face turned slightly towards your neck.

Kazuya let out a deep sigh, kissing your shoulder. “Thank you for today.”

You reached back to play with his bangs a bit. “Of course, baby.”

The two of you soaked until it seemed like he might check out while still in the tub. You brought him a pair of pajama pants while he dried his hair off, and sent him off to bed to finish your nightly routine.

When you were finished, he was laying on his side with his mask slid up to his forehead.

“Why’d you wait?” You asked, sliding in next to him.

He pulled his mask down and turned towards you, tugging you in with an arm.

“Because I’m tired,” he mumbled.

You laughed to yourself, rubbing his arm as it laid over your waist. “Sounds counter-productive.”

“Mentally and emotionally,” he continued, breath tickling the back of your neck. “I need to recharge.”

You hummed, bringing a hand behind your head to toy with his hair. He pressed a lingering kiss against your nape, taking a deep breath.

“I like your new conditioner,” he said. “The other one was too perfume-y.”

“Sorry I never shoved my nose into my own hair enough to notice.”

He chuckled, the feeling seeping through your back. His steady breathing lulled you enough that you were almost asleep by the time he spoke again.

“You’ve always felt like home...”

You opened your eyes, staring across the dark room as you let his words wash over you. You reached your hand back once more to caress his cheek, your shoulder beginning to protest your affections, and he turned his face to kiss your palm.

“I love you, Kazuya,” you said, rubbing his arm with your free hand.

“I love you, too… I never thought love was something people felt so strongly. But you’ve shown me what love can feel like.”

[jadekitty777]

Love is Bold/Snow Day

Okay, today’s order of business? Posting up all my entries from the Shipwreckedfanzine (Read it here!)

I’m doing two in one for this post - my two Fair Game entries!

First up, the poem I wrote for front matter. I’m only going to enclose a link to Ao3 for this one, because tumblr doesn’t allow me to format it the way I want (and it looks really nice formatted properly).

Ao3 Link: Love Is Bold

Word Count: 156

Summary: A tragic love poem between a Bird and a Clover. [Hint: There's a gimmick to it, can you figure it out?]

~

Second up, is my fanfiction entry! I’m super proud of this one, so I hope you all enjoy it too!

Rating: K

Pairing: Qrow/Clover

Word Count: 2.1k

Ao3 Link: Snow Day

Summary:  Qrow’s having a bad day. Clover and Ruby might just have the solution to cheer him up.

☘~☘~☘~☘~☘~☘

The vials of dust jingled softly inside the case as it was set down beside the dozens and dozens of others that had made it here on the multitude of trips before it. Clover straightened up, rolling out the ache in his shoulder as he announced, “Alright, that’s the last one.”

“Finally.” Qrow’s response was distant in the hall. While he didn’t have a problem carrying some of the load into Amity Arena, he absolutely refused to go into what he called ‘an explosion waiting to happen’.

Penny clapped her hands together, looking positively thrilled. “Oh, splendid. I cannot wait to tell the general that we were 12.5% more efficient on today’s run.”

“I’m pretty sure all he needs to know is we succeeded.” Ruby offered as they all headed out of the room.

Qrow glanced at them from where he was leaning against the wall. “Nah, add it to the report. Bet Jimmy loves hearing about how his tin soldiers are becoming more efficient.”

A retort was on Clover’s tongue, but Penny beat him to it. “But I’m not made of tin. I’m made of 100% carbonite steel. See?” She hit her head, the hollow ring echoing almost eerily down Amity’s empty halls.

Clover almost couldn’t contain a laugh over the flabbergasted look on the other man’s face or the way he mumbled, “Not what I meant kid.”

He turned back to the door to set the security locks, before ushering his team on down the hall. As they stepped outside, he could see Penny’s calculations appeared correct. Usually, between the round trip, off-loading, and handling any Grimm encounters along the way, they didn’t get back until well past sunset. However, from the position of the sun, they were definitely going to be returning with some light still in the sky.

“Alright,” He turned to the team, “We’ll do a quick perimeter check before heading back. Penny, Qrow, go ahead and do an aerial sweep. Ruby and I will handle the ground.”

“Affirmative, sir!” Penny saluted before taking off, all smiles.

In contrast, Qrow just waved him off with a flippant, “Yeah, Yeah.” Before he burst into feathers and a bird took flight.

He watched him go, pursing his lips some before glancing at the smaller girl beside him. “He’s in quite a mood today, isn’t he?”

Ruby just seemed sympathetic. “Yeah, he gets like that. Dad used to call them ‘Uncle Qrow’s Grumpy Days’.”

He snorted softly. Yeah, that about covered it alright. “What do you say we do something about it?”

Mischievousness glinted in her silver eyes. “What did you have in mind?”

☘~☘~☘~☘~☘~☘

It was a fortunate thing that Ruby’s semblance was speed – as it was the only reason they were able to clear the perimeter in record time while also setting up for their ambush.

Clover had not made a snow fort since he was eight and it looked about as well-crafted as it had been back then, with uneven walls and a section on the verge of complete collapse. Meanwhile, Ruby was getting their snowball supply ready, stacking them up like firewood piles in every corner of their little fortress. Busy as they were, he almost missed the report of Penny’s rocket boots blasting through the air.

“They’re coming back!” Clover warned.

In a flurry of petals, Ruby was gone, already standing at attention in front of the truck. Clover hopped over a wall, jogging over to join her, both of them trying to take a casual stance by leaning back against the front bumper and taking on the air that they’d been waiting an excruciating amount of time. Ruby hammed it up even more when they landed, bemoaning loudly, “What took you guys so long? We finished forever ago.”

“I apologize, I will work on my speed!” Penny said with a nod.

“Don’t bother tin-can, you’ll never be up to this pipsqueak’s standards.” Qrow rolled his eyes, but it was hard to deny the absolute fondness of his tone.

“I am still not made of tin.”

“I- uh, nevermind.”

Clover pushed off the truck, cutting in, “Anything unusual to report?”

“Nothing to the east and northern sides for at least three miles.” The living android detailed.

Qrow’s was even more succinct: “Nah. We can move out.” before he slunk on by, heading for the back of the truck.

Clover shared a knowing look with Ruby. She nodded, speeding after her uncle and slowing his gait by getting in front of him. He took up the rear of their group, fingers twitching with anticipation as he waited for the moment.

“So, Uncle Qrow!” The huntress chirped, walking backwards as she spoke with him, all open smiles as if she wasn’t planning to utterly deceive him. “Yang was telling me this really good joke the other day, wanna hear it?”

“Sure kiddo, lay it on me.”

“Knock, knock!”

“Oh gods.” He groaned.

“Uncle!”

“Okay, fine. Who’s there?”

“Snowball.”

“Snowball, who?”

Hearing his cue, Clover had Kingfisher out and extended in one swift movement, throwing its line towards their fort and, with just a little bit of luck, snagged one of the snowballs on its hook. With a hard yank, the ball went up and flying through the air – and perfectly nailed Qrow right in the side of his face.

Ruby burst into laughter as she pointed at him. “Snowball you!!”

Slowly, Qrow rose a hand to his face, wiping off the flakes of ice stuck to his cheekbone and hair. Then, with a predatory deliberateness, he turned on his heels, catching each of their eyes, and declared war: “You both are going down.”

Still guffawing up a riot, Ruby sped away for their fort while Clover hooked another snowball on his weapon.

“Wait, what’s going on? Are we fighting?” Penny asked in confusion.

“I’ll explain in a second kid, we got to find cover!” Qrow grabbed her wrist, ducking under his and Ruby’s combined fire as they ran around the truck.

He took the opportunity to join Ruby in the fort, the girl already hard at work at making more ammo. He took one from the pile, placing it on the end of Kingfisher. “Watch this.” With a flick to his pendant and a swing of his arm, he lobbed the snowball up and over the truck.

A second later they heard Qrow’s angry squawk. “HEY!!”

Ruby’s eyes lit up like stars. “We’re going to destroy them.”

He just laughed, readying for the retaliation.

☘~☘~☘~☘~☘~☘

The terrain had become a battlefield.

Ruby was a whirlwind of terror, zipping around Penny at high speeds, throwing volleys of snowballs in rapid succession before hurrying away for cover.

The android didn’t take the abuse lying down though, circling her swords in a windmill pattern to collect snow piles on their ends, before shooting missiles of snow in their direction.

Clover covered his head under the icy shower, racing across the field for his own target who was loaded up on snowball ammo. With a war cry on his lips and his fishing rod swinging low, he struck, but his attack missed completely as Qrow disappeared into feathers. He squinted against the sun as the other flew up high only to nosedive down, transforming again halfway down and pelting him from above.

“Ah, what?! You keep them between transformations? That’s unfair!” He cried, protecting his face as the other landed right in the path of his escape route.

“Better luck next time!” Qrow gloated in triumph as he continued his merciless assault.

Over his makeshift shield of arms, Clover could see the bright grin on his face and fell in love with the way it made his eyes light up like gemstones. He could have stared forever – but he had a game to win.

As Qrow’s ammunition ran low, he made his move, skirting to the left and plucking one of the flying snowballs on his hook. He spun around with all the grace of an ice skater and at the end of his full rotation, struck the other huntsman in the face with it. Another swing and this time, he had his ankle caught.

With a yank, Qrow went tumbling into the snowbanks, a breathless laugh leaving him.

The noise was so unexpectedly nice, Clover forgot himself as he allowed himself a moment to just listen – and quickly became the victim of one of Penny’s snowy waterfalls.

“Penny, you’re supposed to make them into a ball!” Ruby called from the only remaining wall of their fortress that had survived thus far.

“Oh, got it! Be right back!” She said before taking off towards the tundra.

“Uhhh, okay!?” Confused but knowing an opportunity when it presented itself, Ruby’s gaze slid to the only combatant left.

So did Clover’s, smirk growing.

Qrow blinked as the gravity of the situation fell on him. “Uh oh.”

They all scrambled for the snow, but the little huntress was the fastest, pelting her uncle with a fast ball to the gut and a curveball to the leg. He tried his best to retaliate, only to wind up tangled in Kingfisher’s line as Clover dragged him forward and cruelly shoved a handful of ice down the back of his shirt, drinking in his angry screeches. Then Ruby was there again, piling even more snow on his tattered cape and throwing it up over his head like a reverse poncho.

“Okay, that’s it!” The fishing line was suddenly empty as Qrow morphed out of it, somersaulting through the air only to land as a human several feet away, Harbinger in hand. He twisted it back, changing its form mid-spin, and burying the curving blade of the scythe into the snow. He swung it towards them and a wave of ice followed.

Clover ducked and rolled under the torrent, leaping forward to try and entangle the wild fighter while Ruby zipped around to get him from behind, her own weapon out now. He had just managed to hook Kingfisher into the hole near the base of Harbinger’s blade when a shadow darkened the area around them.

They all looked up, wary.

And then blanched.

“Snowball acquired! Targets locked!” Penny declared proudly as she effortlessly held the jet plane-sized ball above her head. “Probability of winning: 100%.”

“Uhhh-! Penny!” Ruby shouted futilely.

“Goodbye.” She smiled cheerily as she threw the weapon of mass destruction their way.

Clover saw Ruby dash one way.

Qrow the other.

He shut his eyes and accepted his fate.

☘~☘~☘~☘~☘~☘

Even with the heater going full blast, there was a lingering chill in the truck as they headed back home. Clover rummaged through the crate where they kept the supplies, pulling out the first blanket he could find and heading to the front so he could drape it over Ruby’s shivering shoulders.

“T-T-Thanks.” She said around chattering teeth.

As he walked away, he heard Penny ask, “So, was I a good combatant in the snowball fight?”

“Y-You were the b-b-b-best!”

Their words faded into background noise as Clover continued his search, shoving aside water bottles, unperishable food rations, clothes, flares and other items. “Oh.” He said once he’d hit the bottom of the box.

“Problem?” Qrow asked from where he was sitting back against one of the walls, rubbing his arms for warmth.

“Well.” Clover rose out the only blanket left as way of explanation.

One fine eyebrow rose. “You gotta be kidding me.” For a second, he thought he was bemoaning their circumstances – until he added, “You’re pulling that trick on me?”

He coughed down a laugh. “You’re giving me more credit than I deserve. Though,” He didn’t hold back a flirtatious smile, “Won’t complain about fortunate circumstances.”

The other huntsman rolled his eyes, fighting down his own smile. “Just get over here.”

And really, there just was no denying that command, was there? Clover settled down beside him, spreading the blanket between them. They had to press in close, everything from their shoulders to their hips touching with an undeniably tender warmth.

Qrow tugged his end a little tighter, lent a little more weight onto him. “You know what? I reject what you said.”

He looked down towards the head of black hair rested comfortably against his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“About this being fortunate circumstances. You give your semblance credit for everything. But this one?” He pointed a thumb at himself, smug. “This one’s all mine.”

Clover’s mind tripped over itself to process what he’d just heard. In the rare instances Qrow would talk about his semblance, it was always with dejected contempt. But today, there was a hint of pride there. A sign that things were changing for the better.

“Yeah.” He agreed, taking a gamble and resting his own cheek against Qrow’s hair. “This one’s yours.”

When no protest came, Clover shut his eyes and smiled.

In more ways than one, things were changing.

[mythicalsecretsanta]

35mm Memories (T)

This gift is for: Jody (AKA @nectarine-migraine) Jody, I hope I succeed in making you cry! This was a real challenge for me to write, fluff peddler that I am, but I really enjoyed it and am glad I got a chance to dip a toe outside of my comfort zone.  From your Secret Santa, Archie (AKA @archionblu)

Link to AO3, or read below:

He doesn’t know why he still has the stupid thing, really.

Rhett’s had so many opportunities to throw it out: every time he’s moved, every time he’s gone digging through mementos to find something specific, whenever he’d gotten in one of those Link-like moods where he just had to get his clean on. 

He has a ritual with it now. Whenever he found it, he’d pick it up, run his thumb along the underside of the worn edge of the cap, unseating it slightly. Then he’d slide his index finger over the top of the grey plastic, the ridges of his fingerprints catching on the tiny dot of imperfect plastic hidden in the center divot as he pushes it back down, sealing it again without ever actually opening it. He thinks about how he should really toss this, but he always comes up with an excuse not to. 

Aren’t you supposed to recycle these things nowadays? Not that he knows how to do that, it probably has to go to some special facility. It’s not like it’s taking up that much room anyway. He’s held onto it for so long, it feels almost sacrilegious to toss it out. He’s not ready to let go.

This time, he rolls it around in his palm a little, musing about how something so tiny can feel so big. This single canister of 35mm film holds some of his happiest memories…and one of his greatest regrets. How can this thumb-sized lump of plastic – ‘cause that’s what film was made of, he’d looked it up once – contain such a multitude?

He snorts a little at how cheesy that sounds, even in his head, closing his fingers around it. He goes to stick it in his pocket but then has the paranoid thought: could his body heat somehow damage the film inside? So he keeps it in his hand, even though his sweaty-ass hands are probably warmer than his pocket anyway. He’s keeping it in his hand instead of putting it back because, after twenty-six years of sitting in that canister, he’s finally going to try and develop the film inside. He’d even found a place that still did that and everything. 

See, it was true that when they were sixteen, he and Link thought it’d be great to do an art shoot with a bright yellow plastic flower and the remaining photos on one of Link’s disposable cameras. They’d already shown those pictures to the Beasts, way back in season one of their show, before they’d even broken a hundred episodes. 

They’d made a big joke out of it, spent an entire ten freaking minutes cringing over their sixteen-year-old selves’ attempt at art. They had made a particularly big deal out of two shirtless photos, ‘no homo’ing so hard he was surprised looking back that they hadn’t felt the need to bring up their marriages. To women. Two separate women. 

What they hadn’t revealed to the Beasts, and what Link refused to even acknowledge, was that there was a second roll of film.

The one clutched in Rhett’s hand right now. 

It makes steering a little awkward, but he’s unwilling to let it go as he drives himself to the CVS – not the one closest to his house or the studio, but one a little farther away from both. A CVS he doesn’t frequent. There’s always a risk of him being recognized in LA, but he could at least make sure that it was more likely to be a stranger who wouldn’t ask questions about why he was getting decades-old film developed.

The thing was that when they had gotten to the end of Link’s camera, they’d been on a roll (hah.), still brimming with ideas for the perfect artistic shot. So they’d gone back to Rhett’s house and gotten his mom’s camera, spent actual money to buy a roll of film, and kept going. But the photos ended up not being the kind you could laugh at and make a mocking over-dramatized slideshow out of.

A car behind him honks and Rhett shakes himself free of Buies Creek,1994, to focus on L.A., 2019 traffic. He can get lost down memory lane when he’s back home, with the developed photos in hand.

-----

Rhett’s usually a pretty steady man, but his hands shake a little as he carefully unsticks the temporary adhesive of the envelope that holds his developed photographs. He’s scared, he can admit that. Real, physical evidence makes it real, makes it into something that actually happened that he can’t sweep back under the rug or ignore anymore.

The first few photos in the stack aren’t that incriminating. They’re shirtless, yes, but the scenes aren’t any worse than the two from Link’s disposable camera. Rhett, standing in the spot they’d found those dirty magazines, the flower laying flat in his hand. Link, holding the flower in his teeth, looking broodily off into the distance. 

They’d had a lot of botched, blurry shots as well, obviously unfamiliar with the more complicated settings on his mom’s fancy camera compared to the simple point-and-shoots that seemed to spawn in Link’s house. There’s about ten shitty photographs of them just attempting to get a shot of Rhett on his bicycle, riding down the empty road, flower tucked in his back pocket.

Every single one of them is too blurry for anyone who hadn’t been there when they were taken to be able to discern what they were supposed to depict.  They’d tried to do it with Link following behind Rhett on his own bike, but Link had never been the most coordinated of people, and they’d been worried about breaking Diane’s camera. They never did get the clear shot they wanted of that. 

The photographs that follow those are the ones that make his heart squeeze painfully in his chest. These are the photos he doesn’t dare show his wife, let alone the public. 

Link, standing in the river, the waistband of his underwear just visible above the waterline, slung low on his hips. They’d discovered that the plastic flower could float, so they’d left Link’s jeans on the shore and set up the shot with Link reaching out towards but not quite able to reach the bright yellow petals on top of the water. How Link had managed to convey so much yearning despite not looking at the camera, Rhett still doesn’t know. He’d have thought that level of acting to be beyond sixteen-year-old Link. You couldn’t even tell that he’d complained for a whole ten minutes before that about how freaking cold the water was.

Rhett knows what’s coming next, and he almost doesn’t want to continue, thinks about stuffing the rest of the stack back in its little envelope and being done with this. But he’s come this far and he feels like he has to finish this, so he shuffles the top photo to the bottom of the stack revealing the next image. 

There was no denying the intimacy of this pair of photos, or the implications behind the poses they’d chosen. He can’t remember what their teenage selves had been thinking, if they had still been striving to create art or if they’d moved on to just being silly. As Rhett stares down into Link’s earnest blue eyes, looking right at the camera, it doesn’t feel silly. 

It feels very, very real, to see Link in wet boxers and his sneakers, down on one knee, holding the flower up to the camera like an offering. As real as the sense memory that overtakes Rhett with the next photo, the sensation of cloth petals brushing against his nose and cheeks as he holds the flower to his face, as if taking in the aroma of the gift the Link of the previous shot had given him. His eyes are closed in the picture, and unlike the photos before this, there’s a smile on his face, turning up the corners of his mouth. 

The next photo is blurry, but that doesn’t stop it from being the most arresting photograph so far. Rhett had tucked the flower behind his ear and had been trying to arrange an artsy three-quarter angle shot of his face, and just as the shutter was clicking open and closed, there had suddenly been lips pressing against his own. Link had ended up a blurry streak in the photo, but the memory of that moment is still very clear to Rhett. 

When he’d felt those lips against his, he’d taken a sharp breath in through his nose and almost stepped back, startled, but Link’s hands had found their way to his shoulders and kept him in place. Rhett’s hands had moved almost against his will, curling around the warm skin of his best friend’s waist and coming to rest on his hip and the small of his back, the camera hanging forgotten by its strap on his wrist. Link’s lips had been slightly dry, and Rhett had licked his own lips without thinking about it, causing Link to gasp and open his mouth, inviting Rhett’s tongue inside. 

Rhett had french-kissed girls before, but it’d been so unlike all those times that it might as well have been the first time. Even now, staring at the photo in his hands, Rhett feels the echo of what had felt like grabbing an electrified cow fence, when his tongue and Link’s had met in the middle, shy and exploring. 

He wishes he could remember what Link tasted like. 

-----

It was clear that a lot of time had passed between that blurry photo and the next one, as it was almost too dark to show up, grainy and grey. This was the last photo on the roll – he knows without even checking the rest of the stack, because he’d taken it on their way back home, twilight falling around them. 

It was an action shot, spur-of-the-moment rather than carefully posed like most of the others had been. Link, waist deep in the river again, his clothes and shoes bundled up in his arms as they waded back to the other side. The flower, somehow still obnoxiously bright in the fading light, was tucked behind his ear like an afterthought. 

The photograph did a really lackluster job of capturing the smile on Link’s face, at least compared to Rhett’s memory of it. It had been so wide it had practically split his face, and it’d shone brighter than the fading sun, or the stupid flower behind his ear. The joy and laughter lit up his whole face when he’d looked back at Rhett over his shoulder, the secret of what happened during those unrecorded hours caught in the crinkles around his eyes, present even at that age after years of laughing together.

Rhett doesn’t remember where they’d been, what they were wearing, anything specific about the setting of the next memory, but it honestly didn’t matter. All that really matters is the way the words rang in his ears as if Link had screamed them rather than muttering them quietly whilst not looking at him. 

It had probably been a few days after they’d done that photo shoot, and he knows for sure that he’d asked Link when he wanted to go get their film developed. He doesn’t remember actually asking, but he knows he did, because he’s pretty sure that Link wouldn’t have even acknowledged it if he hadn’t brought it up. But because he had, Link had forced out a gruff “Don’t bother.”

“What?”

“You should throw it out. The roll from your mom’s camera.”

“Why? I spent like a whole four dollars on–”

“Because it was stupid. Those photos were stupid, they ain’t worth developing. It’d be a waste of money.”

“Oh.” Rhett had paused, trying to swallow around the sudden knot in his throat. “…Okay.”

He still remembers how small his voice had been, when he’d agreed after that painful silence, trying to catch Link’s eyes even though his friend refused to look at him. He remembers it feeling like someone sticking a pin in a balloon inside his chest, all the joy trapped there leaking out until all that was left was limp latex. He doesn’t remember if he cried later that night, but he knows he’d definitely wanted to, back

Because one of the best days of his life up to that point was apparently not worth the five dollars it’d take to remember it. Not to Link. And the implication was that if it didn’t matter to Link, well, it shouldn’t matter to Rhett, either. 

Whether or not he’d let those tears fall back in 1994, they’re flowing freely now, and he puts the stack of photos carefully to the side, not wanting to ruin them by accidentally crying on them. Despite it being nearly thirty years ago, he still remembers how much it hurt. He wonders if Link knew at the time just how badly he’d hurt Rhett. If Link remembered how quickly Rhett had gone out and got a girlfriend after that; needing an excuse to not spend time with Link for a while, needing someone to remind him of what he was supposed to want. 

Like all things, the hurt and the memories had faded with time. But he hadn’t thrown the roll out. He’d shoved it into the backs of junk drawers, closets, and cardboard boxes, but he’d never been able to toss it away, disown it the way Link obviously had. It followed him from place to place for twenty-six years, until Rhett had found the courage to face it head on. 

Vision still a bit blurry, Rhett takes his phone out of his pocket and types up a quick message.

“Hey, can we talk?”

He sits and waits, watching the ellipses that appear a few minutes later as Link types his reply.

Because Link had been wrong. It had been worth it. Those memories were absolutely worth keeping, and whatever it meant for them afterward, Rhett needed Link to know that.

It had been worth everything.

[candied-fluff-and-angsty-muffins]

Over The Moon But Under the Bus

I read through Bean’s reposts and found a line that was helpful for writing the start to Cooper and Averil’s spiral downwards into werewolf high jinks. The link to the post I used Here (click clonk) so go check it out if you’re interested.

-Dorkfish

“Hey Avi,” the freckled teen jabbed her finger at her friend’s side, twisting adeptly out of her way thanks to years of practice when Averil retaliated with a jab of her own. Cooper feigned innocence when her friend pretended to be mad at her, meeting Averil’s ‘scowl’ with a broad smile as the other teen goes back to trying to gather the necessary items to smack a burrito together.

“What’s up?” Averil’s muffled reply came from within the (unnecessarily large) food closet her family hand. Cooper could hear the sound of cans being moved to the side and bags containing a multitude of dry ingredient being mashed and rubbed together as the teen dug.

“Are you a werewolf?” Her question was met with silence, even the rummaging in the closet stopped. Cooper shuffled her feet, she meant it in a joking manner but for some odd reason, she couldn’t help but feel like she had said something wrong. The beat of silence between felt like it was drawn out for hours before the rustle started up again.

“Pfft, what kind of question was that?” snorted Averil, coming out of the closet with a bag of black beans and a container of rice in hand. She pretended to not notice Cooper visibly relaxing and dropping her hand from her scraggly locks as she walked by to set the items on the counter.

“Don’t laugh at me,” Cooper huffed, rolling her eyes as she walked around to the cabinet that contained the Bailey family’s pots. Behind her, she could hear Averil popping open the container of rice, scooping some of it out and depositing it into the rice cooker after a finishing the grains. “It’s a perfectly valid question. You just, you know, are missing a lot of the time.”

Averil raised an eyebrow, looking back from the rice cooker at her friend. There was a look of bemusement of her face but something more restrained rested just beneath that mask, something Cooper just couldn’t seem to identify when she stood up with a medium sized pot in hand to confirm it would be the correct size for the meal they were making.

“I didn’t know you cared that much,” Averil teased, setting the rice cooker before moving on to prepare the beef. “I didn’t know that I was that much of a catch,” she tossed her ridiculously long hair over her shoulder with an exaggerated flare, verbalizing a “Wink wonk” as she winked at Cooper.

“You wish,” Cooper rolled her eyes, “My tastes are much more refined than you.” Averil feigned a gasp of offense before she moved onto cutting the seasoned beef into slices as she chuckled.

“So,” she began, moving the meat to the side to heat a pan, “You think I’m a werewolf? Is it because I don’t hangout with you on full moons?”

“Well, not with me specifically,” Cooper replied after a short pause. She’d never specified when Averil would go missing. Averil must have realized it too, the sounds of the knife scraping over the cutting board stopping as she froze place.

Cooper pretended not to notice it, setting aside the beans she had poured into the pot as she spoke, placing it behind her on the free counter space Averil wasn’t taking up with the meat preparations. It was an odd reaction she got when she sprung the question on Averil, but since her friend was talking about it, perhaps she just imagined up that tense silence that had occurred between them? “Just, in general, you know? No one likes going camping enough to take a break once a month to do it. How are you even passing your classes?”

“A magician never reveals her secrets,” the sound of sizzling meat accompanied Averil’s response, the aroma of the cooking food began to fill the kitchen as the two girls worked. “But in all seriousness, my family really does like being active and all. You know how my parents are, ‘Teens these days, always on their screens and sitting around. Go out and exercise!’” Averil pitched her voice to match that of her mom’s, causing Cooper to snort as she adjusted the wedge of cheese in her hand to get a better grip on it.

“Still, it’s weird how your camping trips always just happen around the time of the full moon,” Cooper pinched off a chunk of cheese to pop into her mouth as she finished up the wedge.

“I never really noticed,” she responded as she shoveled the cooked meat from the pan and onto a large plate. It was an obvious lie given what she had let slip earlier. There was another beat of silence as the two worked. Cooper moving to cube the tomatoes and Averil boiling the beans.

“You know, why don’t you spend the spring break with me?” Averil’s sudden invitation caused Cooper to pause in her work. “I’m going to hang around home while the fam go out camping.”

“And your parents don’t mind that?” her hands picked up work again once she had digested the information.

“Nah,” Averil shrugged, “I’ve been with them on these trips all the times, I probably could make an argument of not wanting to go this time around anyway.” Averil drained the cooked beans and poured them into a bowl, bringing both her cooked ingredients to the island table Cooper had been working at. The both of them disposed of the scraps they didn’t need and each grabbed a tortilla to start working on their food.  

“I’ll see what my family has planned first,” Cooper finally replies after layering her cheese into her burrito. Averil responds with a nod, trying to roll up her overstuffed burrito.

“So, how do you feel about doing a full 32 track race of Mario Kart after this?”

[diamondsareapearlsbestfriend]

Sans/Toriel 30 Day OTP Challenge: Day Seven

AO3 | Day One | Day Two | Day Three | Day Four | Day Five | Day Six

day seven: laughter

prompt: “Your OTP making each other laugh. Jokes? Stories? Tickle fights?”

Sans' memory is hazy at the best of times, but no matter how many years or timelines go by, he's pretty sure he'll never forget the first time he heard Toriel laugh. 

Some things from back in the Underground, he's still not sure whether they happened, or how they happened, or if they happened to someone else entirely – but that day, he remembers almost better than anything. The pause before the punchline, that fleeting moment of uncertainty as he realised he wasn't alone – and then those glorious, unrestrained, braying howls of laughter like nothing he'd ever heard before, right when he was starting to think he'd heard it all before, that they were all just locked in the same pointless loop until the next reset. Maybe you'd call it fate or destiny or something, if you believed in that stuff. Sans never did, but he did know back then, leaning back against that ancient forest door and listening to her laugh at everything he said like he was the funniest, the most fascinating guy in the world – and she was pretty damn hilarious herself – that nothing was ever going to be the same.

Sans always knew he wanted to keep making Toriel laugh for as long as she'd let him, but really, he was pretty much gone from the first time he saw it in person; not just the sound, but the way her whole face transforms as she clutches her belly, doubling over or throwing her head back as she laughs, throat bared and all her fangs on show with a totally unashamed, raw, almost primal energy that has absolutely no business being as attractive as it is. Sans isn't expecting to be as into it as he is, but hey, he's always been down for learning new things. Specifically, figuring out just how many different noises he can get Toriel to make – snorts and shrieks and howls, and sometimes he can even make her bleat, when he gets the ticklish spot right behind her ear.

He gets to learn a lot of her different laughs: there's the lighter, almost musical titter when she's in a good mood, pleased with herself as she pulls another delicious dessert out of the oven, or recites a particularly interesting snail fact or historical tidbit from school to Sans or Frisk or anyone else around to hear it, and then there's the shrill, high-pitched giggle that pops up when she's nervous or uncomfortable or trying to hide something.

Toriel is a terrible liar, Sans figured out pretty fast; she feels too much to be able to keep it from showing on her face, her eyes too wide and expressive to hide whatever's on her mind and in her heart. A little inconvenient if you're trying to plan a surprise party, sure, but Sans has to admit he's always loved that about her, how open she is and how easily he can read her when he gets to know her tells. Maybe it's a little because he got a little too good at pretending himself over the timelines – but mostly it's just the way Toriel's mouth twitches or how she scrunches up her nose right before she cracks, secrets spilling out in breathless, hysterical whoops, and then Sans starts too before he even has a chance to press her for details, until they're both just giggling like numbskulls at nothing, but it's worth it. It's always worth it.

The one that might actually be his favourite, though, that usually comes later. When they're just chilling on the couch, Toriel with a book on her lap and Sans sprawled out with his legs hanging off the end of the sofa and his skull resting against the crook of her arm or shoulder. He'll be telling her about his new genius idea of giving out discounts for every ten hot dogs or cats a customer can get on their head, or how someone's been stealing beer mats from Grillby's and it's definitely not him, despite what anyone says, because he's been pretty much set for life since back in the Snowdin days. Toriel might only be half listening, peering over her glasses at her lesson plan, but she'll still laugh, a soft, indulgent chuckle as she rubs the palm of her hand tenderly over Sans' skull, warm and comforting as a freshly baked cinnamon bunny.

It might not be as loud or as long as the first time, but it's real, and it's her, and it's perfect.

(Maybe later, some time further down the line, Sans will tell her he's pretty sure he's been in love with her ever since that first day, when he first heard her laugh. Toriel will laugh at that too and insist he's just flattering her, that he couldn't possibly have known that back then, when she was just a voice behind a door – but she'll still reward him with a kiss on his skull or a nuzzle against his cheekbone, and Sans still thinks that maybe, in some way, they've both always known it was true anyway.

Once, back in the Underground, he heard Toriel laugh and he started to feel like maybe there was hope, maybe there was still something, someone out there he could believe in. Someone who might be able to make all the timelines he'd trudged through over and over again worth it in the end.

Now, on the surface, he hears that laugh every day and he knows he was right.)

Toriel has learned many things, in her time, and come later to learn that perhaps not all of them were true. But if there is one thing that she has only come to realise more and more over the years, it is that one must be able to laugh.

Perhaps she had not realised just how much she had missed it until she met Sans; swapping jokes through that old forest door, she felt more alive than she had done in decades, simply to laugh again and to share that joy with someone who sincerely appreciated her jokes, genuine mirth rather than polite, insincere titters out of a desire to appease their queen. Toriel knows well that a smile can conceal a multitude of complications, because people rarely look beneath the surface as long as it reflects what they want to see, reassuring them of what they have already decided to be true – and having known him only as a voice, the first time she finds herself quite fascinated by Sans' appearance, the hard edges and sharp contours of his skull, strikingly different from her own pliable flesh and fur, and his teeth bared in a seemingly ever-present smile, a mask to the world of permanent amusement or indifference.

Yet Toriel has lingered for many hours listening to Sans laugh, and she only grows to appreciate the differences more from up close, when they are firing puns back and forth at one another; the subtle yet unmistakable shift in Sans' smile from merely a fixture to a genuine grin, his warm chuckle as instantly comfortable and familiar as from behind the old forest door, yet immeasurably more wonderful, more satisfying to behold in the flesh and bone– especially when she is the reason for it. Sometimes, when something truly tickles his funny bone, a tiny dimple appears in his left cheekbone, and it is one of Toriel's favourite things in the world. 

Sans may have the superior comic timing of the two, maintaining a naturally deadpan delivery up until the moment he drops the punchline; indeed, Toriel is almost envious at times, because she is prone to giving the game away by laughing at her own joke before she can tell it – but she can still surprise him every once in a while, relishing the moment Sans' sockets widen before he lets out that wonderful long pfffft of laughter when she sneaks in a pun before he does, or recalls the somewhat perplexing incident when a child asked they could have their milk from Toriel instead of the cow on the carton. He'll turn to her with a high five or fist bump, which Toriel has just about learned to catch, but even if she does not they are usually both laughing too hard by then for it to matter.

(She may also not be above more devious means, having discovered that skeletons are indeed ticklish – or hers is, at least, especially his ribs and lower spine, and blowing a raspberry there is quite an effective method of persuading Sans to move when he does not wish to, which is often. Until he retaliates, digging his fingers into Toriel's sensitive sides until she is helpless with giggles, and war has been declared, both of them rolling around the bed tickling each other until someone pleads for a truce. Or – on one unfortunate occasion – until Frisk walks in and, having evidently misunderstood what they have just witnessed, runs away again covering their eyes with both hands and yelling “sorry oh my gosh Mom I'm so sorry I didn't know you were I really didn't mean to –“ before running straight into a wall.)

But sometimes it is the moment just before, when Frisk and Papyrus are eagerly talking about their hard day's “ambassadoring” and something will remind them of an earlier joke. Toriel has only to catch Sans' eye, that dangerously infectious twinkle of amusement in his sockets, and they are laughing before either has even said anything, her braying snorts and his deeper chuckles intertwining and building to something louder, stronger, virtually unstoppable until there are tears rolling down Toriel's cheeks and her stomach aches, but it is surely the sweetest pain of all. Frisk and Papyrus will shake their heads, exchanging fondly exasperated looks over their respective family members, but they know by now not to take offence; that it is just Sans and Toriel being Sans and Toriel.

Eventually, they will sober up, the warmth in her soul remaining even as their laughter fades away. Toriel looks at Sans, sees the kaleidoscope of emotions somehow contained within that smile – laughter and trust and love, all for her, so much brighter and better than she ever dreamed it could be, ever since that first time she heard him back in the Underground. Leaning against each other long after they have stopped laughing, his head on her shoulder and her cheek resting against his skull, she feels like she is home.

As long as Toriel can laugh – and as long as she has Sans to laugh with – she knows she has nothing to fear.