#its stuff like this that makes me unable to decide on my true otp

[victoriacircuits]

This is so perfect I had to share it with y'all

~later~

3rddoctor:

(I’m sorry I’m not even supposed to be online right now and I should be making Master things but this happened instead and I knew I had to send it to you)

[moonlightreal]

Strange Fate timeline

I decided to collect everything I can find out about Strange Fate into a little datafile, including a timeline of events leading up to its nonrelease.  I do not know L.J. Smith; all the data here is collected from around the internet.  I dug pretty deep, and I can't promise that everything I found is correct.

Timeline:

In January 1998 Witchlight, the last of L.J. Smith's books, was published.  She'd been bringing out three Night Worlds a year for the last few years, working hard.  Strange Fate had a release date—I don't remember what it was but I do remember I'd put in a request for it at the local bookstore.  And silence fell.  According to wikipedia Ms. Smith stopped writing to care for her brother's children while he battled cancer, and during that time she also lost her mother.

March 2001 the final Vampire Diaries: the Return: Midnight was released.  After this all future books were by the ghostwriter.  The ghostwriter is anonymous; we don't even know if it's the same person for all the later books.

January 2008 Ms. Smith opened her old blog

October 2009 saw the publishing of the Night World Ultimate Guide

2011 saw the Secret Circle TV series and the news that Ms. Smith was fired by Alloy Entertainment.

October 2012 in an interview with Salt Lake magazine Ms. Smith says she “just finished” The Last Lullaby.

February 2013 the first chapter of Strange Fate first appeared on Ms. Smith's website.  So one chapter is written, anyway!

November 2013 Ms. Smith posts the “What about Strange Fate-- really?” post, which tells us how she decided to split the book into the Strange Fate we hope to know and love and a more “serious” dystopian novel called The Last Lullaby.  I actually emailed Ms. Smith about this time, a quick “Dystopias are fun, amirite?” and she responded a quick, “They sure are!” kind of reply.  

April 2014 we get articles about tribulations with the publisher. Ms. Smith is no longer allowed to write for Vampire Diaries and Secret Circle.  Disagreements about which pairing is the true OTP seems to be the reason for giving VD to ghostwriters.  Ms. Smith of course bit back by writing fanfiction of her own series so we could continue reading them.

The end of June 2015 had the last facebook post for a good long time.  It would be December before fans found out what happened, in the post entitled “And Then I Woke Up.”  You've all read it so short version: Ms. Smith had a major medical emergency, was in a coma for like two months, and while she was well enough to post by Christmas she wasn't well enough to do all the normal life stuff.  She talks about the difficulty of life in a wheelchair and wanting to write a book with a wheelchair-bound heroine.  (Am I the only one who'd love to read that book?)

During 2016  Ms Smith facebooks mostly about her pets.  In January she gave us a chatty post about her still-wonky brain and her Goodreads reviews—of which there was only one.

December 2016 the hardcover Night World editions were published.

January 9 2017 silence fell.  I couldn't find any news from Ms. Smith after that date.  

So what happened?  We don't know.  The obvious guess is that she suffered a medical setback that left her unable to blog or write. Rereading her blogs as I've done to put this post together it's easy to see that Ms. Smith really likes her fans, and it's hard to imagine she'd leave us in the dark if she could help it—and even if she were just acting nice and didn't really care about her fans, I'm sure she'd still be eager to sell a new book to pay medical bills!

Logically if she could get the book to us, she'd have done it.  And she hasn't.

That leaves us with very little hope for ever seeing Strange Fate.

But there is this: in the author's forward to the gorgeous hardcover re-releases of the Night World books there is this sentence, Ms. Smith speaking of what the new release has meant to her:

“It has allowed me to finish Strange Fate, which grew into an epic that included roles for almost every Night World character.”

It has allowed me to finish Strange Fate

allowed me to finish Strange Fate,

finish Strange Fate,

(the whole author's note can be read on amazon, if you don't want to buy the hardcovers.)

So... it's finished?  But we've heard “it's finished” several times before, so I don't think we should get too excited.  But it is reason not to give up hope.

I can see only one way to find out more.  I'll have to call Simon & Schuster and try and get someone there to tell me what's going on!

Ugh.  I hate cold-calling people with random questions like this, it makes my insides get all crawly.  But the quest must go on!  To be continued.

[ticknart]

Preemptive Apology

As stated by the title, this is a preemptive apology to fans and fandoms and those who may find their way here. This promises to be rambling and possibly pointless. I expect some personal things will be tossed out there that may make some uncomfortable, but nothing personal that makes me uncomfortable will be posted, maybe just written and erased.

Maybe this whole preemptive apology thing, too.

I apologize for disappointing the expectations of those who decided to follow me. My self-esteem is low enough to wonder why you would do follow, but I appreciate the follow. I've always wanted to tell stories for a living. This is the closest that I've come. Probably the closest that I'll ever come. I don't know what kind a storyteller I am. I have some idea about what kind I'd like to be, but I'm unclear on the future. I can't know what you expect except for maybe more of what I've already written and I hope I won't be, though. So, I'm sorry about not meeting any expectations that may be out there.

I apologize for all the time between one story and the next, whether they are or are not related stories. In no way am I a perfectionist, just see the errors that riddle this and anything else I've written and been willing to post. Some people can write a few hours every day and be happy tossing it out for our reading pleasure right away. I am not one of these people. I don't write stories every day. If I'm lucky I'll do something every week. And when I do write, it's in hard to stop chunks of time. My fingers pound across the keyboard trying to finish, like they're afraid that I'll forget or lose my ability or something, which I have done before. Also, I'm unable to serialize. I don't like posting something that's unfinished. Serialize is a promise to finish. A promise not always met. A promise I'm afraid to make. I don't need to live with that guilt. So, I'm sorry for waiting instead of starting and stopping and starting and stopping again.

I apologize for shipping your ship and then turning around and shipping your ship characters with others. I've never had a "one true pair" as a fan. I don't really understand the OTP mentality. Part of the reason why is because I like to write post-canon stories and I don't believe that the pairings of youth carry through as time goes on. Yes, two of the best people I've ever know began dating in high school, married in college, and now have two school age children. I know it happens, but it's the exception, not the rule. I believe that it's much easier for friendship and feelings to span childhood to senility than it is for romance. Besides, in the end the best romances become the best friendships. So, I'm sorry for not backing your ship, or any ship, 100% of the time.

I apologize for rarely creating for things that are currently being produced. I prefer not to contradict canon. I like to answer a question not answered or imagine a future that can't be undone with a single word or come up with something outlandish that doesn't interfere with what happened. Yes, ripple (or butterfly, if that's your thing) effects are cool and fun and can alter favorite stories in interesting ways, but that's not my thing. (At least for right now.) Things in production change so quickly and in such unexpected ways and I like for the stuff I make to "count," even though it doesn't "count." So, I'm sorry for often waiting for the end to begin.

I apologize for not sticking to one fandom. I did that for years in the beginning and I'm slowly re-posting the stories I wrote back then that I still like. Anyway, I'm not feeling that way anymore. It was finding this other fandom, and one drawing in particular, that gave me the bump I needed, the bump meds couldn't supply, to start writing again. Suddenly there was an itch again that wouldn't go away by ignoring it. When that itch was satisfied, another came along. And now I'm itchy to convert notes I've carried around for a while into the stories they were meant to be. These are shows that I enjoy and, ultimately, I write for two reasons: 1. practice, and 2. because I'd like these characters to be remembered. So, I'm sorry for not always writing for the fandom that encouraged you to visit but hopefully, other stories will keep you coming back.

I apologize for being a terrible part of fandom. I'm not great at cuddling and sharing and communicating. Years ago, when I first ventured from a passive member to an active member of fandom I did join in. I found a message board that was mostly devoted to my show of choice. I worked up the courage to share my thoughts along with my stories. I'd post a thought and a thread would die. No answer to my question. No acknowledgement of the joke. It simply died. I don't know if my perception was objectively right, but I got tired feeling like a conversation killer and I hardly ever commented anymore until the point I stopped commenting until the point where I stopped posting. Reason why, see the self-esteem issue mentioned at the top of this ramble, also the darkness became overwhelming. So, I'm sorry for not jumping in with gusto; I've not had good experiences trying.

I apologize for writing too much or not enough "not safe for work" content. I've marked this tumblr as adult content because occasionally I expect to write about naked bodies pressing against one another. However, I try hard not to keep my work from being smut, even though I quite enjoy smut. It's a fine line that I've just started trying to walk in my writing. Originally, this tumblr wasn't marked adult content because I think stories that include naked bodies pressing against each other are fine for teens, the fappable and non-fappable stories. Then I wrote about how panels are used in a comic and got called a lot of terrible things. It wasn't for my content, but I'd rather not deal with those people. So, I'm sorry for trying to write some NSFW stuff without making it too explicit.

I apologize for the times I'm not sensitive enough and the times I'm too sensitive. See: self-esteem issues. There's this one word that I've thrown around about myself usually after the modifier "socially" or "emotionally." Under its original meaning the word is fine, but the (recent) historical use makes that call much harder and I shy away from using it in conversation and writing to keep from alienating people over a word. Too sensitive, right? However, if I were to write a certain kind of character, say a scientist with a hard on for Szechuan sauce, then using the word could be very appropriate because the character has said the word before and there are plenty of character situations where I would write him saying it again. Not sensitive enough, right? This is one of the few places where I can't see a line to walk. You step on one side or the other, upsetting one side or the other. Where's the middle ground? Thank goodness I don't write Huck Finn fanfic because to be historically (and canonically) accurate would upset lots of people, but so would disregarding an important aspect of one of the themes that really can't be explored without. So, I'm sorry for over-thinking the meanings that individuals may or may not ascribe onto words due to popular usage.

I apologize for criticism that veers into the insulting and for the generalities. I have plans notes to write a bit about the writing quirks out there that drive me nuts. My notes aren't near me, but I think it's mostly word usage stuff that makes things unnecessarily hard to read or confuse. This isn't grammar-Nazi stuff, but phrases and choices that are grammatically correct and accepted that interrupt my flow when reading and take me out of the story. Not just in fanfic, but everywhere. The plan is to keep these things very general because I don't want to single out an individual. Just because it's writing that bothers me, doesn't mean that it's bad writing. (I also have a list of my own writing quirks that I can recognize. I plan to use those to explain myself and better understand why I constantly fall back on them.) There's also the possibility that if I write one of these, or any type of criticism, on the wrong day I could be perceived as insulting or actually be insulting. I recognize this about myself. So, I'm sorry for the generalities that I will be writing and the possible cruel things I could write about actions and individuals.

I'm a person who wakes up most morning and has to be reminded that the best reason for waking up, bathing, and going to work most days is because I get to do it all over again the next day. Without the reminder, I can't promise that I'll be able to do it again the next day. I want to find something more positive for the reasons and I think writing may be that reason. However, I don't want to get bogged down and overloaded with the petty, vitriolic minutia that fills so much of the unterblerbs and crushes the morale of some good writers and artists and critics. I'm afraid of being one of those and by getting my apologies out there now I hope I won't feel like I always have to explain myself.

Some may ask, why post the writings? To which I will reply that arts aren't complete without someone (who isn't the creator) reading/hearing/seeing/experiencing the artwork. While I can't prove that people actually do read what I've written, I can track numbers and see that someone landed here and I can tell myself that at least one person read it. (Bots may mean I'm lying to myself, but I'll live with that.) And if I believe that one person did read it, then I believe it's complete. Completing art, it seems to me, is very difficult for many artists to do. Maybe because they look at feedback instead of simple numbers. It's harder to lie to yourself when you have no comments or cuddles or whatever the site give you, isn't it?

Thinking of comments, this isn't about me looking for praise and guilting a reader into saying nice about my work. I'm not perfect and neither will my writings be. I know that. True critique is the best way to explain to me, though, not name calling. (This is one of the reasons I don't often write comments. I want to go into the hows and whys of the creation, not just the created. Also, I truly believe, deep down inside, that, the hypothetical, you are not interested in my opinion because self-esteem.) I have to assume that any praise I get isn't simply mindless or rote (again, see: self-esteem issues, it's a terrible theme!), and I have to work hard to assume that. My favorite comments, the ones I remember most clearly, are the ones that let me know that the person finished the story because that means I really succeeded. I kept interest for however long I needed to. That's success.

These are my preemptive apologies. I reserve the right to add a retroactive apologies list which has the potential to grow forever and ever until the day I die. Amen.

[forcedapotheosis-blog]

Gloomy Days

So, how am I going to start this one? A while ago, maybe three months or so, I was scavenging the internet for fanfiction regarding my OTP in One Piece, SaNami, but after a while I didn’t find any new ones. But no problem, eh? Be the change you want to see in this world! Thus I started writing my own, my second fanfiction in general, in German, mind you, and thought it was going to be a oneshot. Well, so much for that, three months later I’m still not freaking finished. And until the muse kisses me again, I decided to translate it into English and share it with you. Please, cut me some slack though, it’s very average and, at times, a bit too angsty. Plus English is not my mother tongue and I’m a far cry from being a Shakespearean scholar. That said, I hope that you can force yourself to enjoy the first chapter. Cursive are the character’s thoughts.

Disclaimer: One Piece doesn’t belong to me. Which is a shame.

---

Chapter I – Broken, damned and drained

“Cast your stone into the water now

And watch the ripples spread like poison

Under the gun, underneath

You'll feel slaughtered and betrayed”

Witchcraft – White Light Suicide

Can't believe that I really came here. It's like cutting my own flesh, some kinda shitty devil must've possessed me, forced me to endure this torture.

Despite these grim thoughts, the scenery Sanji was enjoying in this very moment was far from horrible. Not a single cloud shrouded the bluest sky imaginable and the sun shone in all its glory. He was sitting on a bench, quietly staring at the marvellous estate before him. Two wide floors, born from the finest architecture one could find this side of the Grandline, surrounded by pillars made of incredibly expensive marble.

The owner must've been financially gifted.

Also, the obvious addiction to perfection didn't seem to stop when it came to the encompassing garden, blooming in all the wonderful colours of spring, seamlessly becoming one with nature while still holding its own special place. At this very moment, a literal army of gardeners  was working tirelessly to preserve the status quo, only adding one little piece to it: They were planting tangerine trees. Sanji of course knew where they came from.

Doesn't come of as a surprise, eh? She never settled for anything but the best., he thought.

He should've felt warm, sitting under the bright midday sun while wearing a custom tailored black smoking and, instead of his usual tie, a bow-tie made of silk. A few minutes ago, he had opened the jacket before sitting down to have a cigarette and contemplate his situation.

Look, even the shitty sun's giggling about the poor clown that is me. Goddamn shitty schadenfreude. So grossly incandescent, it seems that there's never going to be night-time again while I'm probably facing my darkest days here. Oh, l'ironie!, surprisingly enough though, he smiled. A tired and resignated smile, but nonetheless a smile. And the only thing that seemed to fit into his current mood. Fate had forced his hand when answering her invitation, fate and a whole lot of booze. How long has it been since the Straw Hats were forced to disband? How did it happen? He wasn't able to recall, mostly because he didn't want to. It's been a terrible time for all of them. He could still remember their former captain, Monkey D. Luffy, crying bitter tears of helplessness, vowing that they'll meet each other again to continue their adventures and the pursuit of their dreams.

 All of them again, together. Those have been his words.

But nothing did ever come true. I should be the last person to be surprised by that, shouldn't I? That's what comes from living a life of making empty promises to each and every attractive woman under the sun. Promised 'em the moon and the stars, but still left with the first light of dawn. Even after the bonds of friendship were shattered, even when I wasn't forced to live as a fugitive anymore, I couldn't stop moving to new places, from island to island, from woman to woman.

The cigarette was finished and he slowly thought about moving, not wanting to risk a late arrival to the ceremony, but he couldn't be bothered with that right now. Thus, he ignited another one. A ritual of his own. The first draw from a fresh cigarette always breathed life back into his body and soul, sometimes literally. With a slight smile on his lips, he remembered shrugging off devastating damage done to his body just by smoking. But those days were gone, probably forever. Why fight anymore, for anything?

At least some of us have been able to .. finally be happy with their lot in life. Shouldn't I be happy for them?, but he wasn't able to force himself to feel good, not for them, not for anyone. It even seemed to him that an eternity had passed since he felt anything at all anyway.

From a strictly objective point of view, those past years had been good to him. He managed to gain a small fortune with his cooking and his name was first on the list of many a food connaisseur on the entire Grand Line and all the four Blues. No, not 'Black Leg' Sanji. And don't even bother with that whole Vinsmoke-thing. He was 'Sanji, protégé of Uke Mochi', the mythical goddess of food. Sanji couldn't even remember when it was that he dropped the 'Black Leg', but sometimes, when his mind drifted away, he was compelled to remember just how proud he had once been.

All the lives he - no, they - touched, all the tyrants they brought down, the marvellous and sorrowful moments they shared were connected to 'Black Leg'.

And maybe that was very the reason he had to get rid of it.

Absentmindedly, he gazed upon the estate, inclining his head from one side to the other, asking himself how many rooms this monster had anyway. And in how many of these rooms one lucky man received what and who he had been denied for so many years. He arrived an hour ago but had not yet taken any steps to introduce himself to the personnel or the owner.

Because he didn't know how he would react to seeing her again. Her beautiful copper-coloured hair .. I wonder how she wears it now. Still long? Maybe short again? Pinned-up maybe? Oh my.., her gentle and clever brown eyes, so deep that a man could drown himself in there, sometimes, especially when she was working on some kind of plan, looking sly, making her even more attractive. Her face as a whole, he was sure about that much, would still look like angels descended from the Heavens to sculpture it, their one flawless masterpiece walking amongst mere mortals. Only .. happy now, that she has arrived somewhere in her life after all the running, the fighting and falling of silent tears. No longer restless, no longer a fugitive, no longer burdened with fear about what would happen the next day.

Did they not have good times too? Even with the marines ever so close by, even with all the pirates that had a different understanding of that word than they had. At least they usually didn't have to go to bed with their stomachs empty.

But .. I guess I can understand her. These times left everyone of us scarred in more than one way, and some of them will never be able to heal .. but could it be that she had the worst lot of us all? At least I wasn't kidnapped and forced into marriage by that .. beast, Absalom. Yeah, I think I understand why she has chosen this way. Away from everything, conquering new frontiers., actually, he did want to walk the path of oblivion too.

Of course, he never thought about marriage. But after the end of the Straw Hats, he just wanted to forget everything, not willing to torture himself any more than he already did.

Before his thoughts could drift away again, he suddenly became aware of somebody entering his sphere of solitude.

"Marimo."

"Ero-cook."

A few seconds passed until they finally looked at each other and somehow both of them knew that it wasn't easy for the other one to be here. No matter how aloof they had tried to be when the bonds of friendship, nakamaship even, couldn't hold the crew together any longer, each and everyone of them was devastated. "Didn't expect to see you here, ero-cook.", the former pirate hunter Roronoa Zoro finally tried to start a real conversation, even though in his usual laconic manner.

"And I didn't expect that you'd make it in time before the ceremony ended, all the guests left and Winter Solstice.", was the obvious answer. The pirate hunter's bad sense of direction was the stuff of legends.

Sanji took a last draw of his cigarette and flung it away, pulling out another one while exhaling the smoke into the warm day.

"It's not like that you're very punctual yourself, mh? On your way here, did you have to cling to the last pieces of virility your startlingly small frame possesses?", surprisingly enough, the green-haired swordsman wore a suit himself. Not custom tailored, of course, but it was an actual suit. And it was even more surprising that this very guy, who usually couldn't care less about his appearance - as long as it was terrifying – seemed to have at least basic knowledge about the colours he could put on with that rather uncommon hair of his. Over a pale shirt, he wore a navy blue suit coat, complemented by trousers of the same colour. He didn't wear a tie though, but that didn't surprise Sanji in the least. The swordsman always went for a more casual look, but he could've done a lot worse.

"Actually, I saw you from a distance and it took me half the day igniting candles and having a hell of a lot of moments of silence for the poor, sodding drunkard that finished your attire.", both men looked at each other again and, surprisingly enough, both of them smiled the very same smile. For just one second, it seemed to both of them, the past was alive and well, new adventures and friends on their way.

"Jokes aside, I did not expect to see you ever again, ero-cook, here in the least of all places.", some seriousness found its way back into the conversation and both immediatly knew it, Sanjis mind unable to ignore it all. Maybe I wouldn't have come if I had received the invitation when I was sober. Maybe I would've just torn it apart to burn it and throw its ashes into the wind instead of thinking about all the good times we had for hours on end, weeping bitter tears just to accept it in the end, because I persuaded myself that I had to see her one last time.. How could I even think that some dreams are worth suffering, fighting for? Could've just stabbed myself right in the shitty chest, it'd amount to the same. What an idiot I am.., instead of replying with even one of these things, he just fell into a somber silence and for a second it seemed that not even the sun in all its glory and schadenfreude did not dare to touch him.

The first conversation after so many years it was, he didn't want to start it with lies.

More moments passed and the good mood had gone into the the realms of forgottenness.

[diamondsareapearlsbestfriend]

Sans/Toriel 30 Day OTP Challenge: Day Five

On AO3 | Day One | Day Two | Day Three | Day Four

day five: reminder

prompt: “What trinkets or items does each member of your OTP keep with them to remind them of their significant other? A gift? A photograph? Something else?"

"Miss Toriel?"

Toriel glances up from marking that morning's spelling test into the curious eyes of the only child still lingering at her desk, after all the others have rushed outside for recess. "Yes, Grant? Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Oh, um, it's nothing, really..." Grant shuffles his feet, suddenly shy as he ducks his head to hide behind thick brown bangs. Toriel waits patiently for him to work up the nerve, until the child reaches across her desk to point at something. "I just wondered – what's that?"

Toriel follows his finger, and smiles when she sees what he is pointing at: the smiling faces of herself and Sans, propped up in a picture frame next to her pencil holder. Well, most of their faces – in truth, it was not the best photo ever taken of the two of them, but it remained her favourite.

"That is Sans, my..." She hesitates, unsure whether it is strictly appropriate to explain the nature of their relationship on school grounds, before settling for: "dear friend."

"Your friend? You mean he's alive?" Grant's eyes widen, glancing fearfully at the photograph as though it might leap off the desk at any moment. "But...I thought skeletons were supposed to stay inside your body."

Toriel chuckles gently. "Very much so. You are correct, Grant – that is indeed the case for humans. But we monsters come in a great variety of shapes and species, and some, like Sans, happen to be skeletons. It is quite natural, and nothing for you to be afraid of, my child."

"Huh." Grant falls silent, considering this information. After a moment's hesitation, he continues: "My mom says...She says I have to stay away from monsters that look scary like that. She says we can't trust them."

"Does she, now?" Toriel steeples her hands under her chin, considering her response carefully. "Well, that is funny. Because I remember a time when there was nothing scarier to us monsters than a human."

She gasps as if she is afraid, pretending to hide her face behind her ears and making the child giggle. "Miss Toriel, don't be silly! I'd never hurt you – you're way bigger than me, anyway! I bet you could beat any human in a fight."

Looking into the child's wide, innocent eyes, Toriel cannot help but feel an ache in her soul, thinking of the truth Grant will one day come to learn. Sometimes, she still wishes she could protect him – protect all of them – from the harsh realities of their shared history, but she knows that would not be right. Only by acknowledging the mistakes of the past can they move towards a better future, and so she simply smiles fondly back at him.

"Perhaps that is true, Grant – not that I would ever dream of doing so, as you know, for violence is never the answer. But sometimes, it is the things that seem silly to others that frighten us the most. That is something monsters and humans have in common, is it not?"

Grant grins, a little bashful. "I mean, not all monsters are scary. You're nice and warm and fluffy, like a big, really smart dog. And obviously Stig is my friend, and so is Bob, and they're monsters, too..."

Toriel nods knowingly, as she recognises the first glimmers of understanding in his eyes. "And how wonderful it is, to have so many good friends. Tell me, Grant, are they your friends because of the way they look, or because of..."

"No, 'cause it's what's inside them that counts, Miss Toriel, I know," Grant interrupts, rolling his eyes; Toriel frowns a little at his tone, but she cannot help but smile all the same. "We learned that in, like, kindergarten. Whether they're nice and you have fun together and stuff like that."

"I am pleased to see you have been listening, Grant," she replies with a wink, as he leans over her desk to study the photo again.

"You guys look really happy," he says, thoughtfully. "I guess...if someone makes you happy, they're a good friend, right? Even if they look scary?"

Grant looks up at Toriel with hopeful eyes, and when she nods in approval, he breaks into a proud, toothy grin that lights up his little face and warms her own heart. There is no finer sight, she thinks - except perhaps the one contained in the photo sitting beside him. She reaches out to adjust the frame, her expression softening into a contented smile as her fingers hover for a second over fond memories, just before the bell goes.

"I could not have put it better myself, my child."

"Well. Here we are."

"Indeed! We are certainly, ah...here." Toriel cleared her throat, looking around at all the faces – some old, many new – assembled in the hall. "I must say, I never imagined that we would be meeting in such...unusual circumstances." 

"Heh – you and me both." It still felt so strange, even after everything that had happened, that the voice she had come to know so well had a name, and a face, grinning up at her. Yet, for as long as it had been since Toriel could recall seeing a skeleton, there was a certain warmth to his smile, the faint blue light in his empty eye sockets somehow reassuring her. "The kid did good in the end, huh?"

"Very good indeed," Toriel agreed, smiling as her chest swelled with pride and gratitude for Frisk, for everything the child had accomplished, and everything they had done for all the people gathered here. "To think, were it not for them, we might never have gotten the chance to meet in the flesh! Or, ah, bone, as it were," she added, with a nervous giggle.

Sans smiled – well, naturally his bone structure made it a little hard to tell when he wasn't smiling, but Toriel was almost certain it was wider than before as he winked at her. "Yeah, well. I told you I was nobody."

Toriel let out a snort of laughter at the old, familiar joke, and as Sans joined in suddenly she was back there – back telling jokes through the old forest door as though nothing had changed, and yet everything had. Because there was no door, no barrier – he was here, her friend, right beside her, and whatever it was that awaited them on the surface, Toriel realised she was certain of one thing: she would no longer have to face it alone.

"Ah, but you are not nobody, surely? You are Sans," she responded, returning the wink as she emphasised his name, as though tasting it for the first time. Short, sweet and succinct – it suited him down to the bone, she thought, unable to keep from smiling at her own joke as she filed it away for future use. "In that case, perhaps we should have something to remember this moment by, should we not? In honour of your becoming somebody – well, to me, at least."

"You saying the queen wants a selfie with me?" Sans' sockets widened for a moment, but she could tell he was not truly intimidated – as Toriel feared he might be, learning her true identity – by the playful gleam in his eye as he chuckled, reaching into his pocket. "Sure thing, Tori – just gimme a sec."

Never before had she gone so quickly from 'the queen' to 'Tori' – indeed, no one had called her the latter in decades, but it sounded so casual and natural, in Sans' pleasantly familiar laid-back monotone, that Toriel decided she rather liked it. He produced a phone from his pocket, and with a few taps she found herself looking at the top of Sans' skull and most of her own chin.

"Oh...right, heh." He turned his head briefly back to flash her a sheepish grin. "Maybe if I..."

"Ah, sorry – please do let me..."

They shuffled around each other, exchanging awkward smiles as their height disparity became increasingly apparent; Toriel tried her best to fit in the frame, bending her knees and lowering her head closer to his, while Sans held the phone out at various angles, even edging up on his tiptoes – for he was barely an inch taller than Frisk, and Toriel could not help but find it adorable, if inconvenient at the present moment – until eventually, they both appeared at least somewhat in the frame. 

"Okay – say 'goat's cheese'."

"Excuse me?"

The camera clicked a few times before she received a satisfactory response. Toriel straightened up as Sans flicked through the results, laughing a little and shaking his head.

"Wow, heh, that's...uh, something. Hey, we can always get Frisk to take one when they get back."

"May I see?" Toriel glanced over his shoulder and Sans held out the phone for her, her ear brushing against his skull as she leaned in. Upon seeing the picture, she too let out a laugh of delight.

Neither of them were looking at the camera; Sans was looking up towards Toriel – or as much of her had gotten in the shot – grinning at whatever she had been saying, her fangs bared in something that barely resembled a smile. The angle was awkward, they were pressed just a little too close together and meanwhile there was Undyne flexing in the background with the Royal Scientist – Alphys, that was her name – clinging onto her arm and looking equally terrified and delighted. 

Toriel smiled, excitement stirring in her soul as she thought about all the possibilities that lay ahead of them, beyond the barrier – they would, she hoped, have the opportunity to take better pictures. But none would ever be quite the same as this one, and somehow, seeing Sans' grin just as wide and foolish as her own, she was certain he felt the same.  

"It is perfect."

Sans wakes up with one too many dogs in his pocket.

"C'mon, buddy, go on, get out of there. No spare ribs here," he says, patting the white lump as it kicks its legs uselessly, having somehow managed to bury its face halfway inside his left pocket. After a brief struggle, the dog emerges with its prize – half a hot dog he doesn't even remember putting in there – as well as a whole bunch of junk, scattering everywhere as it gives itself a good shake before jumping off of Sans' lap and scampering away, victorious.

Sans yawns, bones cracking as he stretches and reluctantly lets himself slide off the bed and onto the floor, surrounded by various debris he'd been hanging onto either because he couldn't remember if it might have been important, or just hadn't gotten around to throwing it out. A deflated whoopee cushion; a matchbook from Grillby's from way back in the day before Grillby got sick of "certain people who think they're funny" asking if they could light up on his face; some old puzzle calibrations he'd probably never looked at; a crumpled equation that reads d = mc?? in handwriting he doesn't recognise. 

As he half-heartedly kicks most of the stuff under his bed – just in case – one neatly folded piece of paper catches his socket. Sans unfolds it, and smiles to himself as he glances over the familiar recipe for butterscotch-cinnamon pie, all lovingly detailed in Toriel's elegant cursive script (“cups of butter, not buttercups”). It's well-used, yellowed from age with a few splotches of what was once probably pie mix obscuring some of the writing.

Sans folds the recipe up again instead of just stuffing it away like he normally would, careful not to tear it as he strokes a finger absent-mindedly along the edges before placing it gently back in his right pocket.

It's not like he can get a paper cut, but if he could, it'd be worth it.

"Oh, pardon me – is this yours?"

"Huh?" Sans turned around, hanging back as they passed through the throne room to see Toriel holding up a piece of paper with a questioning look. “Oh, thanks, Tori – it's probably nothing...”

He realised too late what it was as Toriel unfolded the note, her eyebrows raising before she looked back at him with a surprised smile. “Goodness, Sans – you were carrying this around?”

Busted. “Heh, yeah, I guess I was...?” Not only was Door Lady the queen, turned out she was also really, really cute, which apparently was affecting Sans' ability to think of anything smart or funny to say as he scratched the back of his skull. “Sorry – been meaning to put that somewhere safer, but...”

"There is no need to be sorry! To be honest, I am quite flattered that my cooking has left such an impression on you." Toriel giggled, light and musical, as she folded the recipe neatly and handed it back to him. “But, where we are going, you will not need this old thing any more. I know this recipe like the back of my paw, and – should you ever need it – I would be more than happy to give you a...tu-Toriel.”

She brayed with laughter at her own joke, even more amazing and infectious in person than from behind the door, and Sans started to laugh too, slightly hysterical with relief and anticipation as it finally started to sink in that this was happening. Like some fairy tale, he'd found his Door Lady and now they were all heading to the surface, finally getting their happy ending...or something. It all seemed way too perfect to be real, but Sans had figured out by now that there was no point in worrying any more – he had to hold onto moments like these, no matter how long they lasted.

“Nice, nice – you know, Tori, I might just have to take you up on that sometime.”

“It would be my pleasure any time, Sans.” They exchanged final, nervous but excited, grins and Toriel nodded her head towards the door, where the others were waiting for them. “I will see you – as they say – on the other side!”

Sans pointed a finger-gun at her in acknowledgement as she hurried through the door to catch up with the others, before looking back at the paper still clutched in his other hand.

Maybe he wouldn't need it where they were going, but if he'd learned anything, it was that maybe wasn't always enough. Hands shaking just a little, Sans felt a strange, powerful sensation pulsing in his soul as he took a last look at the pie recipe before folding it how it was and placing it carefully back in his right pocket, the one that wasn't full of junk. If everything reset tomorrow, he had to remember this feeling – he had to remember her.

Sans let out a steady exhale, stuffing both hands back in his pockets as he prepared to join everyone – Papyrus, Toriel, Frisk, all the possibilities stretching ahead of them – and as he teleported his hand tightened reflexively around the note, just to be sure it came with him.

Just in case he ever needed a reminder.

[paladinsheadcanons]

I don't know if you've run out of ideas by now but how about more Sha Lin/Kinessa? Fluff or angst, up to you. I just need more ;A;

Me? Run out of ideas? For the OTP? Impossible. I hope you like college AUs, because I sure do! (Also because I’m suffering in school. Send help.)

- Mod Mal’Damba

Midterms were coming around and that meant students from all over campus were hunting down quiet study spots for them to hole up in for hours on end with nothing but a thermal flask full of coffee. That also meant that if you didn’t get there early, someone was going to take your spot.

Kinessa was a little frustrated to see that someone had taken her spot by the window at the library, forcing her to look elsewhere for a place to chuck down her books and notes and pens.

The library was chock full of study groups and loners, heads buried in books, flipping aggressively through pages looking for that one highlight they knew they took down some weeks ago. Unable to find a secluded spot from everyone else, the Literature major fled from the library.

All over the outside students were curled up under trees and on grass patches, hunched over notes and scribbling down flashcards and annotations. She wasn’t one to just sit outside in the open, so she kept on moving.

With no more classes for the day, she decided to just hitch a ride from one of her friends and just head out of campus and study in one of the cafes nearby instead. She was lucky enough to run across Cassie who was just getting in her car.

“Hey- wait up!” She flung the car door open, sliding into the passenger seat next to her friend. “Sorry. You don’t mind if I hitch a ride do you?”

Cassie laughed. “That depends, where’re you headed?”

“Uh, just any cafe. Some jackass took my studying spot in the library.”

“That sucks. Okay, cafe it is. I know the big ones are super crowded right now so we might just go a little bit further from campus if that’s okay? If you have class later I can just drop you off closer.”

“Nah, I’m done for the day. I just need a quiet place to hole up for the rest of the day.”

Cassie pulled the car out of the lot and took it out of campus. Kinessa watched as the car passed a couple making out in front of someone else’s car. “Don’t they have midterms too?” She muttered. Sure, some could deal with a relationship and study at the same time, but that wasn’t her. There wasn’t anyone who really caught her eye on campus anyway. 

Cassie drove past their dorm, heading further out from campus. As much as there was tons of cafes peppered around campus, they were all filled with stressed students looking to get their fill of coffee before holding out for the day, curled up on torn sofas and blocking out the noise of everyone else in the room. Knowing how much Kinessa liked true silence, she took her to a secluded coffee shop closer to the suburbs.

It was a small shop, wedged on a corner block, quiet and rustic. At first glance, there wasn’t anyone inside except the cashier. Kinessa was already in love with it. “Thanks so much. I’ll return the favour… eventually. When I get a car. Or I can just get you food tomorrow or something.”

Cassie laughed. “Don’t worry about it. Good luck with your midterms!” She left Kinessa on the street, staring at the outside for a bit before wandering it.

It was most definitely quiet inside, wide windows letting in warm sunlight and dim, orange lights casting a golden glow on the inside of the wood-and-stone coffee shop. She was greeted by the cashier, a chipper girl who looked about her age, perhaps also a college student working a part time job to pay off the loans. 

After a moment of admiring the chalkboard menu and the glass display of cakes, she ordered a coffee and a slice of pie and looked for a comfortable seat, somewhere where she’d get as much of the natural light filtering in through the window, and near a light so that when it got dark she didn’t have to move around.

Looking around, she didn’t expect to see anybody, but found a very familiar someone from her class curled up in the corner, casually transferring his messy class notes into something more readable.

She liked being on her own, but if she had definitely noticed him. Maybe he could help her study anyway. Right? Right? Study groups never worked out because half her entire class wasn’t serious about it anyway, but it was worth a shot one more time.

“Hey- you don’t mind if I join you right?” Kinessa asked as she approached her classmate.

Sha Lin, in all his messy long hair and flannel, looked up in surprise at her presence. He didn’t realise she had come in, and quickly hid his messy notes under even messier books. “Oh hey! Nawh, it’s cool. Just ignore my notes, they’re horrible.”

She took a seat opposite him, letting herself sink into the comfortable faux leather. “Midterm stress?” She ventured, noticing his frantically taken class notes. Or maybe he was half asleep when he took down those illegible annotations.

“Yeah. You too? I thought you were always in the library.” He put down his pen which was quickly running out of ink to sip on his coffee that was turning cold soon. 

Kinessa arranged her notes neatly on one side of the table and flipped open her main notebook that held all her carefully taken notes in incredibly neat handwriting. “Some jackass took my spot. My fault for not getting there earlier, I got carried away with lunch with Evie and Ying.”

“I thought you didn’t like Evie,” Sha Lin mused, going back to his notes. His notebook was nowhere near as organised as hers, his words going off the lines, handwriting changing rapidly and ink leaving trails that shouldn’t have been there when his hand rubbed on wet ink. Arrows pointed everywhere and stuff was hardly readable. His handwriting was adorable when it was legible.

“She’s okay. Theatre majors are wild though.” He just hummed in response, and they lapsed into silence as they slowly chipped through piles of notes, reading, highlighting, understanding, complaining. She wasn’t even halfway through the stack of class notes when the sun began to make its descent beyond the glass buildings across the street. The pie had long since disappeared, leaving only crumbs on a plate. Sha Lin had gotten through another cup of coffee already. In the warmth, he shrugged off his flannel and sat there in his shirt and jeans.

Kinessa took a break from her notes, staring out of the window for a bit. The street was a little busier now that people began to leave work and go home, the sky painted with shades of pink and gold and casting the same light on people. From the street to the buildings her gaze drifted lazily, observing everything, soaking it all in. She enjoyed his presence, both of them quietly sitting in the light. It wasn’t like working with other study groups where they shifted and moved and complained. Just those few hours of sitting with him, occasionally looking up to watch the way his hands shifted and scribbled on paper was satisfying enough.

“You come here often?” She asked after hours of silence. Sha Lin glanced up, hair in his face. The red bandana he wore hardly kept his fringe away.

“If I got a ride, yeah. Why?”

Cassie had somehow decided to come by and pick her up again to head back to the dorms. She saw the black car pull up outside, Cassie rolling down the window to gesture for her to go. She pulled her gaze away from Cassie to observe Sha Lin again.

“Will you be here tomorrow?” She asked. If he was, then she had just found a new study spot. Sure, the drive would take away a few minutes that could have been used to cram notes, but that was okay. She could just stay up a little later back in the dorm to make up for it.

He shrugged. “Sure. You coming back here tomorrow?” He tried to sound as nonchalant as possible, but silently hope she would. He liked studying with her, even if they didn’t say anything.

Cassie honked her horn, beckoning from outside for Kinessa to get going. She quickly gathered her stuff, chucking everything into her bag. “See you tomorrow tiger.” She smiled, and rushed out of the door.

Cassie rolled her eyes as her friend got into the car. “Guess I’m driving you again tomorrow?” She asked, a smug grin on her face as she knew what Kinessa really wanted to go back for.

Sighing, Kinessa looked back at the cafe as Sha Lin returned to his work, not looking up again. “Yep.”

[megaman-newagerock]

Never Meet Again

Written for a 2020 OTP prompt challenge.

Prompt 74, “I don’t know what I thought happened to you, but I didn’t think we’d be meeting again.”

Rock finally finds out just whose face is beneath Proto Man’s mask

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24765967/chapters/59964394#workskin

The streets of ACDC City were painfully quiet. Only the faint breath of wind and Rock’s footsteps - there was nothing more than that. It put the bot on edge. It shouldn’t have been this quiet, not with Roll’s report of the Mavericks in town. They had to be driven back before they got any closer to the Light Sanctuary, or else Rock and their friends risked being overpowered again, just as they had been when Blues died.

Blues…

The robot sucked in an inhale, then exhaled in a sorry attempt to ease their nerves and wounded heart. Who thought about giving robots feelings again? If they were still alive, Rock would have loved to have a talk with them and maybe even begin to understand all these emotions weighing down on their back. The strongest still was regret - regret that they hadn’t gotten back faster, that they hadn’t saved Blues, that they couldn’t have even been given the chance to say goodbye.

They raised a shaking hand to the scarf around their neck. Rock kept it well-laundered. It was what Blues would have wanted. They brought the fabric up to their nose and sniffed. Just as they thought, it had long since lost Blues’ familiar scent of hair gel and cheap cologne. Rock never would understand why he liked the stuff. Sticky and smelly? No thanks. But Blues liked it, and that was enough for Rock.

They closed their eyes and tried to remember. How did it smell again? Their memory was fuzzy, even with it saved to their core as best they could. There were too many other memories. But they didn’t want to forget. They couldn’t, or it would be like losing yet another piece of the time they shared with Blues. If only he hadn’t died, but he had. He was gone.

The distant sound of heavy footsteps pulled Rock from their thoughts. So they weren’t alone. The report had been true, if only to an extent.

Their hand folded in on itself revealing a bright blue cannon. Who knew what they were up against? Giant mechs, specialized weapons bots, or that annoying guy - it could be anything. Though they really hoped it wasn’t the last one. Their first meeting with that Proto Man guy had been uncomfortable. First he killed an innocent woman and tried to stop Rock from challenging him, and then he went and kissed Rock. Seriously? Who did that?

And the fact that Proto Man said he was the one who killed Blues…

It was better they didn’t run into each other.

Rock’s eyes flashed blue as they went into a sort of scope mode, scanning the horizon for who - or what - had made the sound. There seemed to be two reconnaissance bots to the north, but that didn’t mean that was it. The Mavericks likely had additional troops posted somewhere throughout the city. Better safe than sorry.

They blinked, and the blue glow was gone. They steadied their cannon and ran into the city, always keeping a careful ear out in case anyone else decided to show up.

Finally, they could see the rusted green mechs from a distance. They looked somewhat like birds, in that they walked on two legs that didn’t look like near enough to support the body. But that wasn’t what caused Rock to skid to a stop. No, there was a figure sitting on one of the mech’s ammo packs. Of course it would be Rock’s luck to run into him again. Proto Man.

Proto Man raised his hand in a casual wave as if they weren’t sworn enemies, as if he hadn’t brought an end to the life of Rock’s best friend. “Been a while, Blue Bomber. How’ve you been holding up?”

“I was better before I ran into you,” they snapped, raising their cannon to take aim.

Their target did a front flip off of the ammo pack, avoiding the first few bullets. His arm shifted into a cannon as he removed his shield from his back. “Aw, you’re gonna hurt my feelings.”

Rock narrowly avoided the bullets shot their way, before firing a few shots of their own. They didn’t care about Proto Man’s feelings, embarrassed as they were to admit it. What they cared about was making sure Blues’ sacrifice didn’t go to waste.

For a while, they stayed in that sort of dance, narrowly avoiding the other’s bullets, staying just out of range of the other. But Rock had a plan in mind. They didn’t know how well Proto Man knew the layout of the city, or if he knew it even a fraction of how well Rock knew it. In their time at the Light Sanctuary, Rock had made many a trip to ACDC, and was starting to recognize its ins and outs, its streets and alleys. And, finally, Rock had tricked Proto Man into running into one of said alleys. It was a one way street ending in a very high wall. The stairs leading from the apartments’ windows had long since rusted off.

There would be no escape, not unless Proto Man went through Rock.

Rock raised their cannon, charging to shoot an especially strong bullet, when Proto Man turned to them with a cocky grin and removed his helmet. The last thing Rock expected was the face hidden beneath. There wasn’t time to stop their charge, almost not enough time to fire elsewhere. The charged bolt jolted past the hauntingly familiar face of Blues, leaving a bloody gash on his cheek.

Again, Rock wondered why their creators were the way they were. Why did robots need to bleed?

And why did it have to be him?

“Blues…?” For a moment, a look of hope lit up the blue bomber’s face, followed by the painful reminder that Blues was gone. It couldn’t be him. Anger followed shortly after. “You’re not him! You can’t be!”

“Please don’t look at me like that.”

Rock’s metal core pulsed faster and faster, like a heart gone into shock. They were scared they might be having a meltdown or were going crazy. But that face, that voice - Rock was only just realizing that they all belonged to Blues. But how could that be? They saw that scrap metal their best friend became. This couldn’t be them. It couldn’t! And yet…

“Why…?” Rock asked, their breath shaky. “Why do you have his face?”

Blues didn’t answer. He looked around, eyes flashing a glowing crimson for a moment. When he seemed satisfied they were alone, he blinked and the glow was gone. Then he stalked across the alleyway. Rock tried to back away, but Blues cornered them with their back against a wall. A black leather glove rested on either side of Rock’s face, leaving them nowhere to run.

“You see your best friend after all this time, and that’s all you have to say. Seriously, Rock?”

“What do you want me to say? You stole his face!”

“I didn’t steal anything. This face has always belonged to me. You know that, right?”

Then that meant… It couldn’t be…

“You’re Blues? But I thought-”

“Thought I was dead? All part of the plan.”

What plan? Rock’s brows knit together in some mix of frustration and confusion. Had Blues ever been on their side? Had they ever been allies at all? Or was it just some elaborate hoax? Rock didn’t want to know. They were too angry. All that pain and guilt - had they been pointless?

“Get away from me!” Rock snapped, trying to shove the Maverick away.

“Rock, please calm down. I’m not gonna hurt you. You’ve gotta believe me.”

But Rock didn’t stop struggling. They had to get out of here. They had to warn the others. The Blues they knew may have been dead, but this- this thing- this imposter was still there.

Blues held those trembling wrists in one hand, the other moving around Rock to hold them to him. He didn’t care how the other shoved or sobbed. This was the closest Rock would likely ever let him get again.

“Shh,” he said softly. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“How can it be okay?” Rock demanded. “All this time… All this time, I’ve been fighting for your sake! I wanted to avenge you!”

“You don’t have to.” Blues rested his chin on top of Rock’s dark brown hair, his thumb rubbing circles into the other’s back. “Just stop fighting.”

Rock wasn’t listening. “I thought you were… That you’d been…” They shook their head, unable to admit that they’d been so foolish as to think Blues would have died so easily. “I don’t know what I thought happened to you, but I didn’t think we’d be meeting again. Not like this.”

Finally, they stopped struggling, letting their chest rise and fall in shaking breaths, threatening to crack at any moment.

“I loved you,” they said at last.

“Wh-what?” Blues barely managed to get the single word out.

“I loved you, but I don’t anymore.”

Rock figured that was the least of what Blues deserved for all that he’d done.