An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Hey, so, if y'all haven't seen me losing my mind over on AO3, @kambiteydragon somehow infected me with brain worms and I've become slightly obsessed. Show's called Hazbin Hotel (it's on Prime, I think, but the music's on Spotify and banger) and this series was supposed to be an excuse for some smut fics but the murder angel decided she needed character development.
Darkness and pain. That's what she awoke to, despite the sensation of the sun on her skin. A strangled groan of agony wrenched from her lips as she tried to move, the weight of something bearing down on her, but she could neither dislodge it nor even open her eyes to see what it was.
How long had she been out? Was it that very morning that she'd stepped into her chariot, prepared to lead the charge against the enemy, or was it a week past? More?
She couldn't be sure. Couldn't feel anything aside from the pressure and pain, the heat of the sun and the cool kissing breeze of early evening, and Winter Schnee understood very well the traditions of her people. To die on the battlefield- the ultimate honor, not sullied by being removed from the field, left to stand vigil over the sites of bloodshed, and without the sounds of the war drums pounding, she'd been counted among the fallen and left behind.
Of course, given her present situation, she would likely die anyway, but it chaffed at her that she hadn't fallen in combat outright, left instead to succumb to her wounds after the fact.
"Gods, grant me mercy." She coughed, choking on the words and only then becoming aware that she ached for water, for food, on top of everything else.
"Is someone alive out here?" A voice she'd never heard before- curious, surprised, but speaking a language she knew- called out and drew closer. "Or was I just hearing things?"
Another groan left her lips. Some scavenger picking over the remains of the battlefield. "Leave me be."
"Hey, you don't have to be rude; you just-" She heard shuffling off to her right side as whoever had descended upon the killing field stopped. "Wait. C-can you see me?"
"I can't open my eyes so, no, I can't."
"Uh... your eyes are open."
A frown touched her lips as she tried looking around her, but the action drew a hiss as pain flared across her face, which she couldn't assuage with her arms pinned. "Very well then, I amend my answer. I'm apparently blind so, no, I can't."
A sigh- maybe from exasperation or frustration, considering the circumstances, plus the droll tone adopted by the woman as she approached.
"Gee, are you always this charming?" More shuffling until a shadow fell across her, and she could only tell that much because her face suddenly didn't feel as warm. "You're wedged under a bunch of wood and a dead horse. It's gonna take me a moment, but I think I can move it off you."
"Is the horse white?"
"What?"
"The horse. Is it white?" She could move her head without much pain, though it did make separating the pain a little bit easier now that she could better envision her situation. The agony in her face must be what had blinded her, perhaps one of those vile liquid concoctions the enemy used that would eat away leather if left unattended, and she had a headache that seemed exacerbated when she pressed a particular spot on the back of her head against the ground. Sometime after her helm fell off during the fighting, she must've been dealt a blow that rendered her unconscious and put her in this predicament in the first place. "Well?"
"No, it's brown." It didn't seem like the scavenger was lying but she couldn't be certain. "I don't see a white horse anywhere. Wait, there's a white one with black socks over there."
"That's not mine. Mine was pure white." A little bit of relied settled over her; at least her steed had survived the battle and would live to carry more warriors to the field or sire strong offspring to do it in his stead. The slain one had belonged to an ally and she hoped they’d died, too. Better a warrior’s death than the loss of so vital a companion as one’s warhorse. "Were you here when the battle ended? How long has it been?"
"Honestly, I came when I heard the fighting; made enough noise to echo all through the valley. By the time I got here, one group was retreating while the other chased them, so it's only been a few hours." There's some strange sound, like a low hissing, as she got a bit closer. "This might hurt a bit."
"What are you- ah!" She grimaced as the weight on her suddenly moved, the sound of crashing wood just barely making it over the blood rushing in her ears. Suddenly, she could feel even more pain than before, and it wretched another cry from her lips a moment before something pressed against them, cool and wet.
“Drink this; it’ll numb you to the pain. It’s only temporary though.”
Begrudgingly, she let just a little bit of the liquid spill into her mouth and down her throat, coughing the moment she could breath. “It tastes awful.”
“Of course it does! It’s medicine!” The woman chuckled, carefully slipping an arm beneath her shoulders. “I’m going to help you sit up, okay? Don’t fight me; I want you to drink a little bit more before I get a proper look at your injuries.”
“Just leave me,” she said, though the pain began to ebb from her consciousness, leaving behind a pleasant warmth that calmed her. “Atlas soldiers are honored by death on the battlefield.”
“Are they honored by returning from death on the battlefield?”
If it didn’t hurt her face, she’d probably scowl, so she settled for infecting her tone with enough scorn and incredulity to convey that anyway. “What?”
She hummed thoughtfully. “Here in Mistral, the people have many legends. Stories about warriors plucked from the battlefield, chosen by the gods to become a champion, divinely ordained to fulfill some quest- does Atlas not have tales like that?”
Winter puffed out an irritated breath. “We do, but they’re far and few between, and I’m not much of a champion like this. Don’t try to sway me with your customs.”
“I’m from Vale, actually, but even we have those legends. Maybe the Gods brought me here to help you.”
“Leave me be,” she replied, groaning as the liquid began to take effect, the pain ebbing as it morphed into something nebulous and intangible- incense smoke, already dispersed on the wind. “Let me rest.”
“You can rest in my cave- become stronger. Who knows? Maybe the gods will give you back your sight if you have blind faith.” That didn’t sound like any god she’d worship. She knew only of battle, of life and death, of strength and cunning and speed- one could take nothing on faith in the midst of war. “Come on, let me help you.”
Her brows knit together but she smoothed out her expression immediately after, for the pain could still penetrate the veil of medicine. “You’re persistent.”
“It’s one of my better qualities.” More shifting and hissing, soft touches against numbed wounds- she couldn’t place the previous sounds but perhaps it was the woman’s armor. She’d seen many strange things since coming to this land; that could very well be one of them. “Your wounds are pretty bad; I’m not sure if I can heal them... hmmm... so how about a deal? A bet, if you will?”
Seeing as she lacked the strength to drive the stranger away, she gave an inch. “What bet?”
“I take you back to my cave and try to treat your wounds for thirty days. If, by the end of thirty days you’re not any better, I’ll bring you back here and let you die in peace. How’s that?”
“You fool.” With her ability to feel the agony falling away bit by bit, Winter felt herself become tired. If she could stall a little longer, perhaps she’d pass into her eternal watch long before the stranger had a chance to remove her from the field. “Atlesian soldiers do not die in peace. We die in war, in bloody combat.”
“Fine, then I’ll fight and kill you myself.”
She suspected the answer to be obvious but asked the question anyway. “Are you a warrior?”
“No, not really,” the woman replied, though her voice remained strong. “But it’s not hard to hold a sword.”
That made her pause and think. If a warrior survived long enough, they would be expected to train youngsters. It remained the one thing she hadn’t done; she’d fought, she’d forged her own weapons, her own armor, she’d commanded, she’d won, and she’d lost. But she’d yet to train- and her sister didn’t count. If she trained this stranger to at least hold a sword properly, to actually fight... maybe she could still die in battle.
“Is there another alternative?”
“Oh, sure.” A chuckle. “I could paralyze you with a potion and mend your wounds that way, then leave you in some Mistrali city, where you’ll no doubt be imprisoned as an enemy.” A melodramatic sigh. “At least then, you’d live another twenty years before dying in a jail cell.”
As her lips curled into a sour frown, she had to consider the woman rather clever for that; she would expect such cutthroat tactics from a mortal enemy, not a healer. “What do they call you?”
“... many things,” she replied with a sigh. “But my name is Yang Xiao Long.”
“You may call me Warrior,” Winter said, noting how her tongue felt thick and clumsy, sleep beckoning to her. “Do not let me die away from this place, Yang. This is where I should stand my watch.”
An arm hooked beneath her knees as the stranger picked her with ease. “Warrior’s a kinda... weird name. No offense.”
“I didn’t say it was my name.” Although proud, she couldn’t help but rest her head against Yang’s oddly shaped pauldron, careful not to let the wound on her face catch against the armor. “Only my comrades and enemies are fit to know my name and you are neither.”
“Let no one accuse you of being overly grateful.”
“You’re free to drop me now.”
“As stubborn as you are to die, I’m just as stubborn to help you.” The hissing seemed louder for some reason but... weirdly soothing. “Rest, Warrior. You’ll need it.”
As a child, she felt a certain amount of kinship with her mark. Weiss spent the hours not occupied by schooling, formal events, or performances sitting in her room, staring out the window at the world beyond, desperate for a chance to explore it. Likewise, the black canary that flitted around on her skin, traveling the lengths of her arms and legs before, inevitably, settling on her shoulder displayed the same amount of restlessness. The living tattoo represented her soulmate, someone she’d yet to meet but who seemed to share her drive for something new, something different. Yet, where she at least had the prospect of one day earning her freedom, the canary would be bound to her skin- at least, until the day she met her soulmate, and she would briefly be returned the piece of her soul that had broken off long ago to become the mark adorning someone else’s flesh. He canary would return, though, eventually- or, so she hoped.
As a young teen, she’d read accounts from throughout Remnant’s history about the peculiar habits of some marks. If the soulmate died, the corresponding mark disappeared, and one would either have their own mark return as an unmoving tattoo that would fade with time or- sometimes- the mark would find someone else, a new soulmate. She’d even read accounts of how, upon meeting, soulmates opted to not pursue the relationship for one reason or another, and the familiar mark abandoned them. Some even claimed to have met people with multiple marks- trophies of jilted lovers who still pinned for the heartless person who’d left them.
Weiss resolved to not become any of those stories. While she felt a fierce pride and loyalty to her grandfather, her family name had become stained by her father. Who would want to bear the Schnee name now? No one she would want to be associated with, of that she was certain.
So, while she took a modicum of comfort in her mark, she didn’t think on it too heavily or try to find the person to whom it belonged. No doubt upon their first meeting, the canary would leave her skin and never return, fly elsewhere to find a more suitable soulmate. She shouldn’t grow attached to it.
Yet, on her seventeenth birthday, when Klein brought her a little cupcake with a candle to celebrate- a far more heartfelt gesture than the ludicrous display her father put on- the canary slipped out from beneath her long sleeves to flutter across her palm, as if making an active effort to share the day with her, watching with soft amber eyes.
And that meant the world to her, even as she tried to harden her heart against it.
---
Irony.
She understood the word intrinsically long before she could pronounce it. As she grew up on Menagerie, she watched seagull glide on the winds rolling off the ocean and the mainland birds dart from tree to tree. Blake recognized that none of them looked like the bird that so often hid beneath her shirt, its wings tucked close as it walked across her midsection or her back. Almost as if it didn’t belong here on the island and it wanted to leave.
Well, neither did she; neither did any Faunus. They’d made a home for themselves on Menagerie’s inhospitable lands but they weren’t native to it. And many, like herself, longed to leave it. Just like the falcon that occasionally flew across her skin, white feathers and bright blue eyes. A proud creature but a secretive one that took some coaxing to appear somewhere she could see it without a mirror.
Her parents said to be wary. A shy mark meant that her soulmate would like shy away from her, too. But they didn’t see the way the bird ruffled its feathers or opened its beak in a soundless cry on occasion, as if furious at feeling trapped.
Perhaps that’s why, against her better judgment, she left Menagerie with Adam. She’d thought, for the briefest of moments, that her mark was wrong, that she’d already found her soulmate. The falcon tried to dissuade her a time or two, so she fought back the way she knew best; she took to wearing outfits that exposed her stomach and arms, leaving the mark very little room to move. It didn’t like being seen.
Then, of course, she realized that in trying to ignore the mark, she’d ignored other warnings signs, too. It wasn’t until she was standing on a train with other lives on the line that she realized- she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t continue down this path.
After she parted ways with Adam, she jumped off the train into a forest perpetually frozen in autumn, and looked up to the sky to find a falcon soaring high overhead.
She understood irony. How it seemed to thread through her fate, just around every corner.
Blake didn’t change her clothing options- stubborn enough to keep waging her silent war- but did start paying more attention to the warnings her mark gave her. The phantom scratch of talons along her back, the brief peeks of its head across the outside of her shoulders- it kept watch over her, despite their disagreements.
She could only hope her soulmate would do the same.
---
The closer the airship drew to Beacon, the more restless she became, partly due to the canary flitting around across her skin. She tried to maintain her composure- to the rest of the world, she was just the Schnee heiress and nothing more or less- but on the inside, she felt grateful that her mark could display the excitement she felt herself.
It had taken years of hard work to reach the Hunter Academy of her choosing and, while Winter might not approve that she’d chosen Beacon over Atlas, the distance from her father validated her decision entirely. Here, she could- perhaps- escape the shadow her father cast. Here, she stood a chance.
Up until a certain dolt in a red cape caused an explosion, at least.
Admittedly, Weiss didn’t handle the situation in... the best manner, but she was too full of so many emotions to have a proper handle on how to react when a stranger sets off red dust right in her face.
Then, she had to contend with the smooth interjection of someone who both recognized her and didn’t fear her, delivering a casual insult in the same breath.
It stunned her. To be acknowledged, derided, and then dismissed all in the same breath. She... didn’t know how to react.
And she especially didn’t know what to do when the canary flitted up, along the side of her neck, and briefly overtook her right eye.
Weiss had read about this. That, when soulmates had crossed each others paths, the marks would affect their senses in some way. Mute all colors, deafen sounds- something, with only their soulmate being the exception.
And through her right eye, she could see the world in grey scale... except for the person walking away from her.
Well... it seemed like her soulmate did, indeed, have some interest in her family and their wealth. Just... not in the manner she expected.
As she turned to walk away with her luggage in tow, Weiss wondered what she was going to do now.
---
Blake was maybe six steps away when she felt the phantom raking of talons along her back. It made her stop, a furrow coming to her brows. Of all times, now the falcon decided to be ornery? It had remained rather quiet the past few weeks as she awaited for the school year to begin, but today it wants her attention?
Suddenly, she felt it fly up the back of her neck, overtaking her eyes, and showing her a dull world of monochrome colors. She looked around, trying to find why the falcon had decided to make a fuss now, only to realize that the only color she could really see was red- but only on the inside of Weiss Schnee’s bolero jacket, the formerly bright red cape of the young woman she was screaming at nothing more than a dull grey.
Her breath caught in her throat as it hit her.
The irony of it all.
”Oh no.”
---
You, right now: “THAT’S THE END?!?!?”
For right now, yes. Sorry, y’all; it’s been a helluva month and it ain’t slowing down any time soon.
The burning in Winter’s lungs and legs begged for a reprieve but one didn’t exist for them, not now. The hallways were awash in glaring red light from the myriad of alarms, the thundering of tromping boots and metal echoing from behind them as they pushed deeper into the facility, and it all bled together, congealing into an oppressive fog that she had to fight through even as they neared their ultimate goal: yet another fight. But that battle didn’t belong to her; it wasn’t her place to join it. She’d accepted that long before the breach.
However, she still had something to fight for, and had found exactly where she’d make her last stand.
Ahead of her, her sister and her friends ran full tilt towards their destiny and ready to tear apart the last vestiges of a bygone world that had long overstayed its welcome.
When they took the last corner and found themselves opposite their goal, Winter finally stopped running and turned, drawing her saber and dagger. Here, she would stand and fight.
The battle beyond, she could offer no help, but she could keep the odds in their favor by preventing any reinforcements.
“Winter!”
She looked over her shoulder, seeing the whole lot of those fools screeching to a halt as Weiss called out, pain twisting her sister’s expression. “Go!”
“But-”
“This isn’t goodbye.” Winter’s voice held an edge as she turned back towards where they’d just come, the same sharpness she often used when speaking to Weiss coming out now. “You have your destiny, to save the world. I have mine, and it’s to help you. It always has been.”
No further argument came. In not so many words, they’d said all they needed, come what may. It soothed her, somewhat, when she heard the footsteps stepping away, returning to their previous hurried pace as the group continued to run headlong towards the battle ahead.
But one set of footsteps came closer, and she looked back, surprised to find Yang striding towards her. For so long, she’d known the woman by reputation only, meeting properly somewhat recently, and she found herself with the single regret that they hadn’t had the chance to know each other better, longer, more deeply- of all her sister’s friends, only Yang had slipped past her own defenses and forged a bond. Winter could admit she was fond of the woman- more than that, if she was brave enough- but had put that aside, considering the stakes.
The encroaching reinforcements were still a ways off and, in the blink of an eye, Winter made the decision- a myopic one, perhaps, but she lived her life without regrets, and would remedy what she could before the chance slipped past entirely- to pivot around, taking one long stride as she flipped both of her weapons around in her hands. She wrapped her left arm around Yang’s shoulders, using the pommel of her dagger to pull the woman close enough that she could dip her head and steal a single kiss, Yang didn’t seem to expect it, halfway to saying something, and Winter didn’t push too far, pulling back a bit quicker than she would’ve liked.
Now, it was her turn to say something- a bid to stay safe, a warrior’s promise to continue fighting, a soldier’s vow of loyalty, she hadn’t decided on the words yet- only to be cut off as Yang reached up, grabbing her by collar of her shirt and pulling her down. Whatever she might’ve said was lost as the woman crashed their lips together and pushed her back until Winter fetched up against the wall of the hallway.
Once, she might’ve made the claim that she had an abundance of self control. In the heat of the moment, though, she conceded, meeting the passion she suddenly found herself receiving with equal heat, nearly dropping both of her weapons in the process. Winter’s knees went weak as her lungs burned for a whole new reason, though she found herself just as reluctant to heed the warning.
Yang pulled back, lilac eyes with red swirling in them boring into her. “You... had better be alive... when I get back... or I’ll drag you back from the dead myself.”
Haltingly, she nodded, trying to catch her breath and find her words. She accomplished neither before the other woman turned and started to catch up with the others. Winter watched her go, chest growing tight as all the words she wanted to say got caught in her throat. Weiss had learned how to open up, to be true to herself, but her elder sister hadn’t, and, now more than ever, she regretted that.
With new resolve, she resumed her position awaiting the reinforcements.
---
Me: “I want to do these prompts because they’re soft.”
Also me: “The first prompt is going to be set just before the climactic final battle to decide the fate of the world.”
Yang paused, looking over the spices in their rack while mentally assessing what the stew happily boiling on the stove needed to complete the taste. Something was missing, something to give it that oomph, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it, reaching for the onion powder before reconsidering and reaching instead for the cumin.
Then, she felt it.
A shift in the air, a sensation that called out to her on a deep and spiritual level, something that she couldn’t deny even without any physical proof right in front of her.
Abandoning the stew for the moment, Yang went searching throughout the house until she came to her wife’s study, cautiously entering.
“Weiss? You doing alright, Snowfall?”
“Hmmm?” The woman turned away from the window, her expression smoothing out from the hard glare that hadn’t seemed directed at anything in particular. “Oh, sorry, were you looking for me?”
“Nah. My ‘someone-special-is-pissed” sense was tingling.” She stepped inside, moving towards her wife and pulling the shorter woman into a loose embrace. “You wanna talk about it?”
“You’ve got to be joking.” Although her word choice indicated annoyance, she leaned into Yang and wrapped her arms around her waist. “You can’t sense when I’m angry.”
“Were you not really angry before I came in here?” Lilac eyes flicked over to the crib tucked beside the desk. “Is it the munchkin?”
“No!” Weiss jolted back, eyes wide, before composing herself. “I mean- yes, I was upset, but it has nothing to do with our baby. She’s an angel.”
“Then… what was it?” Ducking her head, she pressed a kiss to Weiss’ temple, not above using physical affections to achieve a desired outcome. “I’m all ears.”
“Father sent a missive.” Barely concealed venom infected her voice, blue eyes staring off at a crumpled letter lying on the floor. “It’s an official denunciation of any child of mine, barring them from using the Schnee name.”
A frown tugged at her lips. “But… you left your family name behind years ago.”
“That’s not the point.” Gently pulling away, Weiss went over to the crib and picked up their child, her voice turning soft as she carefully brought the little girl back over. “It’s that he’s trying, even now, to exert his power over her. He has no right but he’s always been good with paperwork. I broke away, but the idea that he might get even one figurative finger close to her…”
“We’ll never let that happen.” With a knuckle, she lightly tilted her wife’s chin up, pulling her into a sweet, reassuring kiss. “He’s gonna keep trying to ruffle your feathers, which means…”
“I… should… duck?”
A surprised laugh bubbled up from her chest, genuinely surprised by the, well, attempt at a pun. “Eh, close enough.”
At that, their daughter began squirming, apparently roused by the sound of her momma’s laughter. Weiss quickly set about calming her back down, having taken to motherhood like… well, a duck to water. The thought made Yang smile softly and lean over, pressing a kiss to both of their faces.
“Is lunch almost ready?”
“Yeah. I’ll go get back to it.” She started for the door. “Oh, and, remember…”
Without saying the words, she looked at her wife and thought ‘fuck that guy’ with enough force that the woman appeared to understand it easily, gasping.
“Language!”
“I didn’t say it!”
“You have loud thoughts, Yang Xiao Long!”
“And you have a loud voice, Weiss Xiao Long!” At her retort, they both smirked and went back to their tasks, Weiss hushing the baby by beginning to sing while Yang went to finish the stew.
For the mini-fic: Ruby and Penny - A stolen kiss (I'll be honest there are a load I want to suggest, because this list has a lot of good prompts). ~Anonarat
Ruby looked up at the imposing building with wide eyes, anxiety mounting. When it came to schematics or complex mechanical contraptions, she could tackle any problem, no matter how daunting. But presenting her ideas to a person posed a totally different problem, one she had far less experience dealing with alone. Usually, Yang would be close by to help with any awkward social interactions. Her gregarious nature smoothed over everything, even that time Ruby accidentally caused unstable chemicals to explode, nearly starting a war with the woman who would become her best friend. Weiss still teased her about the incident, of course, but in a friendly way.
In her hand, she clutched the briefcase- a gift from Weiss to celebrate her ‘official’ entry into the adult world. Apparently, founding her own business was the real milestone, not being twenty or graduating two years ahead of her peers. Then again, considering Weiss’ background, she could understand the sentiment.
It didn’t help her in the moment, though. Her pressed suit with a modest skirt didn’t imbue her with the confidence to walk into the building in front of her, present her idea, then ask for investors, despite how much work Weiss and her elder sister put into networking and setting up the whole meeting. In fact, she should probably just call Weiss now, apologize, and go back home. Just- call it a mulligan.
“Ruby?”
She turned her head, noting Penny’s pinched, worried expression. “Y-yeah?”
“You know it’s gonna be okay, right?” Green eyes shone brightly, the light breeze ruffling her ginger hair. “It’s just talking. You’re really good at talking.”
“Not to, like... business people, though.” She reached up, running a hand through her bangs. “I don’t like talking money and investments and interest... that’s not who I am.”
“I thought Weiss helped you with all that.” Reaching over, she slipped a hand into Ruby’s, squeezing reassuringly. “You’re prepared for this. You’ve been practicing all week.”
“But that’s not this!” With a whine, she shifted her weight, leaning her head on Penny’s shoulder. “I don’t want to do this part. I just want to build things!”
“Well, why don’t you ask Weiss to be your business partner?”
“Because...” She mumbled, a bit of a blush coming to her cheeks. “Weiss said running a business with someone is like a marriage. You have to have something connecting you, or the tough times are going to be hell.”
“Oh.” Penny tilted her head, resting it against Ruby’s. “ That sounds like a pretty serious commitment.”
“Yeah.” A small sigh. “There’s not a lot of people I wanna be, like, ‘work married’ to, ya know?”
“... but there are some people, right?”
Her blush increased in intensity. “I mean... one person springs to mind... but I don’t think she’d like meetings and being formal and all that.”
“Maybe you should ask her.”
For a moment, she closed her eyes while summoning her courage. “Okay. Penny, will you be my work wife?”
“Absolutely.”
“Really?” She pulled away, noting the bright smile on the woman’s face as she nodded.
“Of course!” A short giggle. “I’ve already done all the necessary calculations. I have a knack for numbers, remember?”
“Well, yeah, but, why didn’t you say anything before?”
At that, Penny smirked that looked a bit too much like the expression worn by both Schnee sisters. “Because I wanted you to be the one to ask.” Then, she leaned forward and placed a kiss on Ruby’s lips, giggling as she pulled away. “Try not to wait too long before asking me to be your wife wife, okay?”
Blinking, she watched as the woman start towards the building, a bit dumbfounded until she managed to process everything that had just happened. Then, she smiled, hurrying to catch up after Penny and grabbing her hand. “So, does that mean we’re dating now?”
“I’d like to think so!”
“Great!” And just like that, all her anxiety seemed to evaporate. “I mean, yeah, this is perfect! Really!”
“Let’s try to get this meeting over with quickly; I have a feeling someone’s about to go into an inventing frenzy.”
“I’m just excited!”
“I know! I love it when you’re excited.” Penny laughed. “Just, try to wait until after we make the pitch, okay?”
For the ask meme: X(A flash of Anger(Yang-er?)), Pregnant Yang and Winter? If you want, I'm honestly trying to get inspired for a bit of my own writing.
She heard the glass hitting the ground. It didn’t shatter, didn’t break, by some unknown miracle but that didn’t seem to be the most important detail in the moment. No, the pinch to her pregnant wife’s features held a higher priority, lilac eyes flashing red as she glared down at the glass jar slowly rolling away from her. Yang tried to bend down and snatch it up but, already nine months pregnant, she had difficulty reaching down due to her swollen belly, and the anger quickly morphed into something else entirely.
“Yang?” Winter got to her feet, leaving behind her scroll on the dining room table. She was just checking up on the local news while waiting for Yang to fix their tea- something the woman simply wouldn’t let her do herself for whatever reason. They used to joke it was because a Schnee couldn’t be expected to boil water without something terrible going wrong but, after many carefully observed trials, Winter had managed to make tea without setting anything on fire a number of times. “Let me get that.”
“I can do it,” Yang said with a wavering voice but her simple protest was ignored for the moment as her wife bent down and collected the jar filled with tea leaves. “I could’ve done it.”
“Don’t pout, Sundrop.” She offered a small, soft smile as she tried to reassure her wife. “It’s okay-”
“I know!” At that, Yang burst into tears, and Winter briefly panicked as she struggled to react appropriately.
Ultimately, she had to settle for her instant reaction, which was to pull her wife into a loose embrace and try to offer comfort. “Hush, now, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”
“It’s- it’s just…” She sniffled. “Stupid fucking hormones!”
“I believe the proper response is ‘wow, what a mood’,” Winter replied, rubbing her hands up and down the woman’s back, listening to how her crying turned to laughter.
“Don’t meme at me when I’m being serious.” Although a bit difficult at first- on account of her belly- the two shifted until Yang could tuck her head under Winter’s chin and soak up the contact. “I’m just… so done with being pregnant.”
One of her hands drifted down to the swell of her wife’s stomach, feeling the light thumps from within. “You say that now but this was our little miracle a few months ago.”
“And that’ll be true again when I’m not the size of a house.” A soft whine. “Just… not right now.”
As the teapot began to whistle, the water within boiling, Winter pressed a kiss to the top of Yang’s head. “That’s perfectly fine. I’ll love you then just as much as I do now, as much as I always have. Angry, sad, anxious, glad- I’ll be right here.”
Her wife’s hand covered hers as they stood holding each other in the kitchen, ignoring the whistling teapot a while longer.
