This is a little overdue but here are links to the works I completed for the Homestuck Rarepair Swap a few weeks ago.
Caught Red-Handed - Jane is trying to bake, but someone keeps eating all the ingredients! >:]
An Acquired Taste - Bored of treasure hunting, Rear Admiral Feferi makes a bet with Captain Vriska that she can't hunt down the biggest whale they've ever seen.
Latula wants Cronus to be her kismesis, but she can't bring herself to admit it to Mituna. Naturally, Cronus being himself isn't helping anything. Mituna doesn't think he can handle the jealousy, but is trying to auspisticize between the two of them worth it?
Inspired by a conversation with kisbe last year about how Mituna would handle Latula feeling caliginous for Cronus.
Margaret keeps her hair Army-regulation-short, wears exclusively plaid, and sports black leather shitkicker rib-cracker motorcycle boots at all times, up to and including Sunday brunch. Margaret's buzzed hair is peach-fuzz soft, her plaid is always pastel, and she slaps smiley-face stickers all over those big leather boots by the dozen. And Margaret, who is all of these things and more, who is Irish-freckled and pale as milk, who has a romantic streak visible from space and a best friend named Chloe, has met a girl.
This is not an entirely novel experience for Margaret. In point of actual fact, Margaret has met The Girl approximately thirty-seven times in her life so far, none of whom have turned out to be (for various reasons including "she pours the milk in the bowl before the cereal" and "ooh, that girl over there is cute") actually The Girl. This is fine with Margaret, who is possessed of an infinite bounty of the greatest of all treasures, which is hope.
Margaret also possesses a much-less-than-infinite bounty of focus, which, combined with her staunch insistence on seeking the perfect romance, means that Margaret has gone on fewer second dates than she has fingers, and has had fewer committed relationships than she has thumbs.
Occasionally, Chloe wishes that Margaret would have slightly less hope and slightly more focus. Or perhaps that she would be a touch less indiscriminate with the enormity of her hope. However, because she has been Margaret's best friend since being demoted (promoted? they debate this when they are drunk, which means they debate it often) from being the eleventh Girl at the tender age of seven, she knows that this will never happen, and it is fine. Chloe is used to listening to Margaret wax poetic about the Girls; she has grown to enjoy it, despite her own personal indifference to romantic entanglements of any kind.
Girl the thirty-seventh works at Starbucks, which Margaret is somewhat defensive about.
"Starbucks, Margaret? Really?" Chloe rolls her eyes and concentrates on the complex braid she is making in her long black hair.
"I know, I know! I know. It's the worst, dumbest, most awful thing. It's like bad fanfiction," Margaret says, flopping down onto the bed and staring at the ceiling. "Go in, ask for coffee, find love instead." Her high, excitable voice, utterly incongruous with her buzzed-hair tough-girl exterior, is one of Chloe's favorite things about her.
"It is exactly like bad fanfiction," Chloe says, fake-gagging, still braiding. They have a shared (and secret) love of terrible romantic fanfiction. Awful coffee shop romances are one of their favorite genres, and it is Chloe's sworn duty to mock Margaret affectionately about the Girls. The fact that the newest Girl works at a Starbucks is a golden opportuntiy like no other, and Chloe intends to milk it for all that it is worth. Margaret understands that this is the price for Chloe's faithful and sympathetic ear.
"But she's so, so, so perfect! She's got a mohawk. Or like, a fro-hawk? I'm not really sure what they call it but it's a mohawk made of afro and it's amazing! Her name is Jacquie," and she spells it happily so Chloe knows how lovely and unique she finds it, "and she's beautiful."
"Did you talk to this one, Mags?" There have been at least a half-dozen Girls who Margaret never even spoke to, including Girls number twenty-three and twenty-four, spotted four hours apart on the same day; one on the bus downtown, one on the bus home. Margaret refused to talk to either of them on the basis that if they were meant to be together, they would be getting off at Margaret and Chloe's stop and she would talk to them then.
Naturally, because the world does not operate like the bad romance fanfiction they so dearly love, neither twenty-three nor twenty-four got off at fate's designated stop, nor were they ever seen again. Chloe has never let Margaret forget the day that destiny failed her twice.
Margaret rolls over and sticks her head off the end of the bed where Chloe is sitting. "Yes, Chloe, of course I did!" she says, petulantly, and sticks her pierced tongue out.
"What did you say?"
"She asked if I wanted extra whipped cream and I said yes."
"Margaret!"
"What? She smiled when she asked!" she yelps.
"That's it?"
Margaret sighs, making a face, and looks at her best friend's K-Pop poster-covered walls. Korean pop music is one of the few interests they don't share. Chloe claims facetiously that she is obliged as a young Korean woman to venerate the musicians of her native country. This is a bald-faced lie and they both know it; Chloe simply has exceptionally, indefensibly cheesy taste in music.
Chloe finishes her braid while waiting for Margaret to answer. She doesn't, of course, because she knows Chloe is going to tease her and she knows she deserves it.
"And?" Chloe draws the word out long and pokes her friend in the back of the head.
"And then she went back to work."
"So that was it?"
"Well, for now." A thoughtful pause. "But I'm definitely going to go back in tomorrow. I'll text you how it goes," she says, and grins.
-----
"Chloe, Chloe, Chloe! We're going out again, she called me and asked me to dinner!" Margaret chirps into the phone. "We're gonna go to this place she likes, and..."
Chloe is mildly surprised. Margaret goes on a lot of first dates, but she very rarely goes on second dates. For her to be going on a third date is so unusual as to practically be unprecedented. She reminds Chloe of a city pigeon: flighty and curious and too busy wondering what is going on over here - no, over there! - no, no, over here! - to stay in one place for long, romantically speaking.
(Margaret has been known to decide that the waitress is the next Girl while she is still on her first date with the current Girl; these dates rarely end well.)
She keeps telling Chloe she's waiting for the right kind of spark, but she can never quite articulate what she means by that. She says she'll just know it when she feels it, and she hasn't yet, so it's always been on to the next one. Chloe laughs, and shrugs, and tells her she's trying to make her life into a romance movie, and every time, Margaret says in perfect seriousness that that is exactly what she is trying to do.
This, then, is a change of pace.
"So when are you going?" Chloe asks.
"Tomorrow!" she says cheerfully.
"Oh, but - " Chloe's heart sinks a little. "Tomorrow's Wednesday." Wednesday is their day to drink borderline-garbage whiskey and watch things together and drunkenly dramatically read the best worst romance fanfiction they can find. Sometimes they sing. It's not set in stone, it's not every single week (work gets in the way now and again; Chloe works nights and Margaret's job involves a high risk of getting stuck at the office), but it's their day to spend together when they get it, and until now, it would be unthinkable to bail just for a date.
"Oh, oh no," Margaret gasps, "oh, I wouldn't but it's the only day we're both free this week, and I just - "
"It's okay," Chloe says, softly, but not mean, because Margaret is her best friend and how can she resent her best friend for liking a girl enough to want a third date? The lie sticks in her throat just a little, like swallowing one single grain of sand.
"Are you sure? We'll do next week, I promise. I'll buy the booze," Margaret says, then adds, "and I'll bring double chocolate ice cream with sprinkles." This has been their gesture of apology since the age of seventeen (well, the ice cream, anyhow) when Chloe accidentally told Margaret's mother about the thing with the taxi and got them both grounded for a month. (Margaret was angry about being grounded at the time but now she says it was worth it if only for the look on her mother's face. Chloe has to admit it was certainly a memorable shade of puce).
"Okay, but good booze," Chloe says.
"Good booze, got it boss," Margaret says, "so it'll be the primo expensiv-o box wine for you then, right?"
Chloe makes fake gagging noises and laughs, and everything is fine again, except that she can still taste that little grain of sand.
-----
It has been five months and Margaret is dead sure that Jacquie is Actually The Girl, more sure than Chloe can ever remember her being, and that scares Chloe to death. Chloe wants to love that Margaret is happy, but she misses their old closeness and camaraderie like there's a hole in her heart and she has no idea how to tell her that without sounding like the jealous best friend in love (Chloe is entirely indifferent to romance and Margaret knows that, but still, appearances; nobody ever believes Chloe when she says she's asexual). And if it's like this now, it's only going to get worse if they stay together, and she's not sure what she's going to do if she loses her best friend.
Worse still, Jacquie is genuinely fantastic and Chloe cannot even think of a plausible reason to hate her (and she has tried). It might be easier if she could hate her, if she were mean or boring or even stupid, but she is kind and funny and sharp and Chloe can easily picture her as a friend, if only she weren't dating Margaret.
And this is the problem: Margaret wants them to be friends, so whenever Chloe invites Margaret to hang out, Margaret brings Jacquie, because she wants them to get to know each other. This would be fine if it didn't happen every single time, but it does and Chloe is sick to death of it, just wants to goof off like they used to without having to worry about getting to know Jacquie, and does Jacquie think Chloe is flirting with Margaret, and is it Chloe who's forced and awkward or is it Jacquie?
Chloe starts to bail on their plans with increasing frequency. She brings Margaret double chocolate ice cream with sprinkles to apologize, but it doesn't taste as good when she has to share it with Jacquie, too. She knows that is petty and silly but she does not care. She tunes out when Margaret phones her to gush about her adorable coffee shop romantic comedy life, and she can hear the hurt in her friend's voice and doesn't care. (Yes she does.)
They stop getting drunk on Wednesdays because it isn't the same with Jacquie there, with Margaret trying to explain their inside jokes or their love of coffee shop fanfiction (Jacquie, who actually works in Starbucks and knows that it is nothing like the stories, just does not understand the appeal).
Then they stop hanging out on Wednesdays altogether; Chloe knows it isn't intentional but Margaret's working around Jacquie too and it gets harder when you're wrangling three very awkward schedules and one person keeps bailing out anyway. So it's no one's fault, it just happens, but it's still a weight in Chloe's stomach. Like a pearl, she thinks, a pearl that formed around that one tiny lie.
They still see each other, but it isn't nearly as often or nearly the same, and they don't talk about the difference.
-----
It has been eight months, and she should have said something earlier, but she didn't know how, and now Margaret has invited Jacquie to Chloe's yearly family birthday dinner without even asking her and it is the single last straw and suddenly there is a lot of yelling. Jacquie swipes one of Margaret's cigarettes as an excuse and practically sprints to the deck for cover.
"Not! Cool!" Chloe is shouting, "I don't care that she's your girlfriend, you ask! You ask me first, it's my birthday and my parents and my family, not yours!" She knows it's ridiculous to be this upset about a family birthday barbecue like she's twelve or something, but it's been their thing together every year for their entire lives since age seven, so it's important to her.
Margaret looks stung. Chloe's family has always been hers as well and they both know it. All those nights they slept in the same room and ate breakfast at the same table because Margaret's mom had to work late and Chloe's parents refused to make a single mother hire a sitter when they could just let the girls have a sleepover instead. "Chloe, what the hell, why are you flipping out?" Margaret is yelling this because she is also flipping out, so it is a bit of an unfair question.
"This is our thing, ours together!" Chloe's stabbing both fingers at her own chest to show her, "why does she have to come to it? Why does she have to come to everything?"
"Because she's my girlfriend and I want her to be a part of my life!"
"Well does she have to be such a big huge part of my life, too?" Chloe balls her hands into fists, face red, throat hurting already. Chloe doesn't yell much so she's all kinds of out of practice, but today she needs to.
"Yes, yes! Yes she does! Because she's important to me and you're important to me and I don't fucking see why it's such a big deal!" Margaret has her hands high in the air and she's so short and round compared to Chloe it'd be comical, if it weren't so awful.
"If I'm so important why couldn't you have just asked me first!"
"I didn't think it would be such a big fucking problem, okay?"
"Well it is! Maybe I just fucking wanted to hang out with you, just with you, for once?" And her voice cracks and it's meant to be a shout but it comes out as a question, weak and fragile.
"I thought you liked Jacquie," Margaret says, dropping her hands and her volume alongside.
"I do, Margaret, I just." Chloe takes a deep breath. "Everything is so completely different this year! I miss you, I miss hanging out with you.".
"It's not like we don't hang out, Chloe, come on! Stuff changes but we're still best friends!"
"Then how come you can't hang out with me without her there, like we used to? And how come I never see you anyway, even with her around?"
Margaret looks at her, "That's not... come on. We still hang out all the time. I know it's different..." but she trails off, frowning. "And hey, hey, hey wait, you're the one who started bailing all the time!"
Chloe takes this as her cue to grab her jacket and stomp out the door.
-----
Chloe's doorbell rings on Wednesday that week, and she opens it to find Margaret, alone, on her doorstep. She is holding up a container of the cheapest filthiest box wine you can get in this city (the kind they used to drink in college before they started drinking anything worth calling booze) and a container of double chocolate ice cream.
"Hi," Margaret says, awkwardly cheerful. Chloe flinches. They stare at each other.
Eventually, Chloe points at the box wine. "That had better be filled with finest single malt. Like, a gallon of it or something. Otherwise I'm still mad at you."
"Nope." Margaret has the faintest shadow of a hopeful smile on her face. "This is all you get, 'cause I'm mad at you, too."
Chloe stares at her friend, wants to be angry at her like she's been all week, gets ready to yell and chase her off the doorstep, but she smiles back instead, and that's better.
They sit down inside over bowls of ice cream and red plastic cups of box wine, and they both say they're sorry at the same time, and laugh, and look at each other strangely, not sure if it's okay to laugh right now.
Margaret takes a deep breath instead, runs a hand through her peach-fuzz hair and says, "I mean it, Chloe. I'm sorry. I fucked up."
Chloe goes to interrupt but Margaret holds up a hand, "just wait, please?"
And Chloe nods. "Okay."
"I'm new to this, Chloe. Relationships, I mean. Like actual real ones, not just like, dating whatever cute girls come along, you know?" Margaret only rambles like this when she's really nervous. "So I'm scared that, like, you know, I'm going to mess it up by not spending enough time with her or like, making her jealous spending time with you. And I kind of also got, um, I guess, swept up in the whole thing. The spark thing," she says, gesturing vaguely, eyes shining. "Cause I found it, you know? At least I think I did."
"Yeah," Chloe says.
"And, and, and I wanted to spend all my time with her but I didn't want to stop spending time with you so I tried to put the two together and I shouldn't have."
Chloe shrugs. "I should've said something sooner."
"Yeah." Margaret pauses. "You kind of clam up, Chloe. But I should've noticed."
"Does Jacquie know you're here?" Chloe asks, out of the blue.
Margaret laughs, "Yeah, she um, she's the one who told me to come. Actually she, uh, told me I had to or she was going to yell at me."
Chloe digests this information, decides she likes Jacquie for real now, no reservations. "I really do like her, you know," she says, and means it. "She wouldn't have said to come if she wasn't good for you."
Margaret smiles and it's like turning on the lights. "Yeah."
"I'm sorry I yelled at you. And that I didn't listen, and that I didn't say something sooner."
"You're my best friend, Chloe, I would have understood."
"I know," she says, looking at the floor, "but I didn't want to mess it up either by saying something stupid. I was scared."
"Of?"
"If I came out and said it, that maybe you would've come out and said you would rather have her around than me. Or something like that. I was scared to lose you."
"Oh, Chloe," Margaret says, "no, no, no. That's why I kept trying to hang out all together, because I didn't want to lose you either."
Chloe wipes her eye, pretending it's just itchy but she knows Margaret knows better. "God, are we dumb or what?"
"We're pretty dumb," Margaret laughs, and Chloe can hear the catch in her voice. "I miss Wednesdays," she adds.
"Me too."
"I miss watching our show and reading those ridiculous fanfics. I love Jacquie but she just does not get them like you do."
"Well," Chloe says, slowly, "today is Wednesday."
"There's a new episode on tonight," Margaret offers.
"Jacquie won't - "
Margaret cuts her off. "I explained about Wednesdays. She's cool with it."
Chloe smiles what Margaret's mother would call a wobby smile; it's the kind of pathetic smile you wear when you're crying or trying not to cry and someone makes you happy anyway and then they are in a big pile of hug and they're both crying so it doesn't matter.
They spend the night getting drunk on cheap filthy box wine and laughing together about terrible fanfiction and Chloe teases Margaret as she talks about a Girl, because that's what they do together, and it is just like it always was.
[[I am sorry this took so long, hope you like. Original post was asking for fluff prompts and trying to do blackrom as fluff was challenging but I think I did okay considering :) Enjoy!]]
Vriska wrinkled her nose suspiciously at the gift box that had been left in front of her hive. Obviously it was from Eridan, as he occupied her only filled quadrant, but what? And why? She toed it gently, and when it did not explode, she opened it with care.
When she put it on, she realized it was tailored to her measurements exactly. She skipped around her respiteblock for twenty minutes, grinning like a fool and dreaming of stomping Eridan's FLARP fleet into the ground in a proper Mindfang outfit.
It was a wonderful fantasy, until every inch of her started to itch.
Shrieking, she flung the costume off. Only then did she find Eridan's note, which she had missed in her haste.
wwas thinkin of you vvris
an how much of a rotten bitch you alwways are
so i thought id get you somethin to remind you of howw you make me feel
fuckin pissed off
hate you alwways
eridan
Pissed off? Please. It'd take more than that to get under her skin, she thought, scrubbing fiercely under the harsh spray of her shower, trying to get the itch off. She could one-up that without even trying.
-----
Eridan strode out of his hive, all geared up for a long day of slaughtering lusii and plotting against landdwellers, and fell-face first over a heavy box on his doorstep. Snarling, he dusted himself off, glancing around to make sure no one had seen. When he was certain he was alone, he picked up the box. It was long, and heavy, and wrapped with a cerulean ribbon. He tore it open, scowling, half-expecting a trap: but no, it was much worse.
I thought your gun (if you can even call it that!) could use an upd8. May8e now you'll 8e a8le to hit something smaller than the 8road side of a moo8easthive. It's no legendary rifle 8ut until you find one it'll have to do!
Hate you always,
Vriska :::;)
There was, in fact, a gun inside; all sleek and sweet in a matte charcoal alloy, practically purring at him. He wanted to break it over his knee. Instead, he slung it up on his shoulder and sighted along the scope, fired a shot, and fell spitefully in love. The first thing he was going to do with it, he decided, was shoot Vriska's little bathtub of a boat full of holes.
-----
There was a brand-new ship anchored in Vriska's personal, private harbour. Just the very fact that it was there made her upset! She'd thought the little inlet was so well-hidden behind all that spiderweb she'd had her lusus spin up just for her, but apparently not.
The ship had tall masts and wide cobalt sails and an intricately-carved spider for a figurehead. It was enormous. It was magnificent. It was a mighty galley fit for the mightiest of pirate queens and Vriska hated it on sight. The ship had a note pinned to the bow.
bought you a neww ship
cant fuckin wwait to send it to the bottom of the sea with the last one
thanks again for the new gun
hate you alwways
eridan
Vriska ground her sharp teeth and shredded the note, stamping angrily on the pieces. How dare he buy her such a perfect ship! He was going to pay for this one, but how? She thought about sinking the damn thing in the bay out of sheer spite, but no. Her eyes widened, grin following. She was going to do much better.
-----
Eridan leapt off Seahorsedad's back and gaped in disbelief at the state of his hive.
It was gone.
Marooned on the rocks where his beloved shipwreck home had been was a much larger ship. A magnificent ship. A ship he recognized, in fact, even though it had been painted over in teal and purple, stripped of its sails and thoroughly wrecked. It was the very same one he had so recently given to Vriska. There was a note, of course, nailed to the door.
Couldn't dream of letting you live in squalor in that tiny little 8athtu8 of a 8oat for a home when you were generous enough to 8uy me such a pretty ship! So I decided to do you a good turn and give it 8ack, only 8etter, of course.
Hate you always,
Vriska :::;)
PS. I deep-sixed your old place since I didn't think you'd need it anymore. It's shark 88 now! 8est luck getting it back.
Seething, Eridan decided to do just that. Squalor, eh? Like he wasn't the highest of noble seadweller blood? He'd show her good and proper.
-----
Vriska awoke to a strange golden light gleaming through her respiteblock window. At first, she thought she'd woken too early and caught the last of the daylight, but no, it was clearly nighttime. So what the hell could it be?
She looked out the window into the face of a giant golden statue of Eridan, its gem-encrusted surface gleaming obnoxiously in the glare of a dozen mounted spotlights. Rolling her eyes, she slammed her curtains shut. If he wanted to waste all his treasure on that, that was his problem. She'd just have it cut up and add it to her hoard. What a bounty! He'd actually done her a favor, even if he was too dumb to realize.
She wandered downstairs, already working out how to dismantle it, and found a note speared on the tip of his old rifle, buried standing upwards in the sand. Nice touch, she thought, with a spiteful admiration.
wwanted to get you somethin so youd nevver forget me
but since you sunk all my treasure to the bottom of the fuckin ocean
i had to improvvise a little
hate you alwways
eridan
ps i didnt use the wwhole hoard for the statue dont wworry
The hoard? Did he mean her hoard? What had he done with her hoard?
She bolted to the basement, footsteps echoing ominously as she clattered down the stairs. Her hoard had been raided. Empty. He'd stolen everything, down to the very last gold coin! The only thing left in the room was a second note. Of course.
took the rest to replace wwhat you sank
i knoww you wwouldnt wwant me to livve lowwer than my station
so i figured youd be okay wwith it
hate you alwways
eridan
Ohh, she was so angry! As soon as she had enough treasure to buy a new boat, she was going to sail it right up to his hive and set it on fire. Fortunately, she had a whole hoard of secret treasure maps he hadn't known about stashed away in her respiteblock. If she spent all of today raiding, she was sure she could find something valuable enough to trade for a ship.
In fact, today was the perfect day to investigate the clues in Mindfang's old journal. She'd been saving them for just the right time, and Eridan's raid was just the excuse she'd been waiting for. She smiled and headed back upstairs to get the journal. It was a good thing she had a kismesis like Eridan to keep her motivated. Today was going to be a very lucky day.
Either Pocahontas/Nakoma or one of the three blondes in the background of Beauty and the Beast secretly pining for Belle.
[[I went with the Bimbettes since I think they’re cute. Enjoy! Also whoa first non-Homestuck fanfiction.]]
"What’s wrong with her?" Claudia snaps, eyeing Belle as she turns Gaston down for the fourth time this week.
"She’s crazy," Laura says, green eyes flashing, jealous.
"He’s gorgeous," Paula adds, lamely. She’s supposed to hate Belle the way her sisters do, for the dual crimes of stealing Gaston’s attention and being utterly disinterested in it; lately she can’t summon the venom. What’s the point of hating a girl for not wanting someone? Even if she is so carelessly beautiful and so beautifully careless it makes Paula want to scream.
Maybe she learned it in one of those books she’s always reading. Paula wishes she could ask her, but Claudia and Laura would never be interested, and it’s not as though she could go without them. Claudia would never let her live it down, fraternizing with the enemy (well, Claudia wouldn’t use that word, but Belle said it once and Paula relishes the sound).
Like the rest of the town, her sisters, Claudia particularly, disapprove of women reading, learning. It isn’t the point of women, they say, the point of women is to find a husband and have children. Paula would have agreed with them, used to laugh at the idea of being anything but a housewife until Belle came, wandering the cobblestones with a different book every day, talking about adventure and excitement and romance.Paula bites her lip. Thinking about adventure and excitement and romance and Belle all at once is enough to get her pulse racing, and she shakes her head to get rid of it because girls and romance aren’t supposed to go together like that.
In her reverie she’s missed most of what is going on, including whatever Gaston says to provoke Belle this time.
"Gaston, you are positively primeval," Belle says.
Primeval: she likes the sound of that one, too. She snuck off to the bookstore last week (and wasn’t that terrifying, just the thought that her sisters would realize a stop at the bakery didn’t normally take that long) and bought a dictionary, keeps it under her bed and looks up the words Belle throws around like grain to hens. Gaston takes it like a compliment but it’s obvious from her tone that it’s anything but. Paula wonders what it means, and looks forward to checking her dictionary later. She wishes she had the courage to ask Belle herself, but a dictionary will have to do for now.
"That crazy old loon, he needs all the help he can get," Gaston says dismissively, and laughs with LeFou (as if LeFou should be laughing at anyone).
Paula likes the way Belle freezes when Gaston insults her father, likes the way her fists ball up like they are doing now, wonders if one day she will dare to strike him and what will happen when she does. Once she woke sweating from a dream of it, Belle slapping Gaston and turning around to kiss Paula in celebration. She tried half-heartedly to forget about it but she knows she never will.
This is the other reason she won’t talk to Belle, even if she could get away from her sisters; girls don’t kiss other girls, not in this little town. Belle is different but that doesn’t mean she’s different like that, and Paula’s terrified to find out one way or the other.
For now, it makes her happy to watch Belle when she can with her nose in her book and her head in the clouds, to listen when she talks and relish the sound of the words she uses, to learn what they mean like they’re a language only Paula and Belle share. For now, it’s enough.
