#snowhareshipping

punk velv

punk velv putting her jacket on her gf weiss

im so out of touch with rw/by but like………………… anything with fake dating? i still love those two so much

It’s the start~ of something new~

-0-

Weiss spots some boy leaning into Velvet’s space when she turns from the bar with her drink, and she decides, that won’t do at all. So she pushes her body in between him and Velvet, shooting him a dismissive look before handing Velvet the glass in hand. “For you, dear.”

Velvet, bless her, goes from surprise to relief and understanding in an instant. She murmurs, “Thank you,” before she leans and kisses Weiss’ cheek. “And I didn’t even have to ask.”

Weiss scratches her nose, pushes at the surprise and, everything else, that simple brush of lips brought forth. “I know what you like.”

Crow feet step into place by Velvet’s eyes, but the boy still stands there, an unpleasant distraction from the sight. Indignancy and disbelief contort his face. “You two are dating?”

Weiss snaps, with a twist of head and body and words. “Yes. So get. Out. Before I decide to rake your name across the coals and render it ash.”

His chest puffs, his mouth blusters, but Weiss forges herself into steel and steps toward him. His resolve tatters. It falls with the dust as he leaves.

It’s only when there’s a chuckle behind her that Weiss’ shoulders fall back down in surprise, sharpened edge sheathed. Velvet smiles at her, and Weiss cannot help but smile back. “That's some imagery, Weiss...thank you.”

“It was the least I could do. I wish I’d gotten a name, though.”

“I remember his face,” Velvet reassures, motioning for her to come closer. “I’ll pass it along to campus security. And buy you a few drinks–I insist. You’re stuck here with me now, after all, if we’re going to be believed.”

celebrating a wedding anniversary or (holiday of your choice) together?

So you stack your semi-obscure AU on top of your headcanon, and bake for an hour at 225°C, and there you go, a new ficlet!

-0-

It’s still dark when Weiss wakes and finds Velvet looking quite pleased. The god sits on the floor, but her head rests on two wooden chests. They look like they were carved straight from the tree, bark still in their possession.

Weiss touches a small burl on the closest, a blackened brown. “And what are these for?”

Velvet laughs; the sound mantles Weiss, resounds in her bones, leaves her warm. “It’s the solstice, little one.” She bumps her snout against Weiss’ temple. “And that’s all... to most.”

The mageling blinks, then flusters, her gaze falling to her lap. “You didn’t have to get two.”

“Your words are contrary to your emotions.” There’s the lilt of a tease to her words, black eyes spark with amusement. “You know I know, that you’ve mourned the closeness to Yule for some time.”

“Gods,” Weiss mutters, an-oh-so eloquent retort and cry of exasperation.

Fantastic! Brilliant!

-0-

It is as close as anyone will come, Weiss thinks, to fighting themselves outside of an outright cloning Semblance. Velvet with her--or maybe, their? She has shared it, now--Myrtenaster, tests Weiss. Fighting another left-handed, fighting someone who, to some unknown extent, knows her next move. Velvet cultivates creativity, spontaneity.

Weiss loves it.

They engage in their dance every other day (and that was after Velvet put her foot down), even when class loads increase and Weiss needs to catch her breath after sprinting in. They start some days tired. They slip.

Which is how they end up sprawled out, Weiss barely avoiding smashing her head against Velvet’s chin. 

When she manages to lift herself up to her elbows, catch sight of amused eyes and amused mouth clearly about to comment on whether Weiss has had enough of ‘simulating strain’, she decides to keep Velvet quiet.

Patreon request for Yash, who asked for me to continue with the ‘werewolf in the backyard’ au, with the prompt of longing.

-0-

The time Weiss spends with her side pressed against Velvet’s becomes the best part of her week. She sets down every expectation and fear, all that weighs on her mind, and rests.

She can tell that Velvet enjoys it as much, always waiting at the edge of her gradually improving porch—Weiss admittedly can’t tell what the new colour is, but the new boards are much less likely to break through under foot or paw—with a bowl of meat and bones. All very tasty to Weiss. Her gratefulness manifests in a wagging tail and muzzle pressed to Velvet’s cheek.…Politely so, thank you very much.

The only difficulty is when Velvet wanders away from the things a ‘dog’ can offer full comfort for, talking of the lack of open arms for her, the resulting homesickness…and the wariness of Weiss herself, as she is outside the askew fences.

Weiss aches to tell her. To reassure she isn’t alone, to show her care is honest.

But she knows how loud her name must be to Velvet’s ears, the bells’ trepidation. The wolf at Velvet’s door visits and is welcomed, the disowned heir at work is still a stranger. Differences in distance herald both acceptance and rejection as possibility, and to lose everything is not a risk Weiss would ever take. Her heart’s bound up in Velvet’s home now, and making it better.

Patreon request by @yashkonu, who is as predictable as all hell. In which Velvet has a dog(?) friend.

-

Every Friday, Velvet sets aside a bowl of ground meat and waits in her backyard for the highlight of her week.

She comes with a waving banner of a tail as she trots up, the dog. Sits before her waiting all hopeful for a good scratch before it digs in, side against Velvet’s knee. Away from family and most of her friends, it’s a welcome reprieve from the anxiety of a new town where most eyes focus on her ears. At some point, Velvet thinks, the dog must’ve lived inside a house, to trust a person so, come so close. She’s free to talk on all that’s on her mind, and the dog is good enough to sit and listen, so long as she continues to scratch.

Velvet teaching Weiss how to bake?

As it turns out, the need for exacting measurements suits her little heart well.  Velvet’s smile is more than just indulgent when she gives a satisfied look over the kitchen island, up to her elbows in flour and rolled-out dough cut into neat strips, ready to be rolled and slid into the oven.

Velvet walks away, dropping Schnee from her name over the sea, and returns to her family, the Menagerie. 

She does not cry then, not even when her things come packed in boxes, the woven gold of her birthright folded neatly on top. 

But Coco comes, serious but trying to joke, asks if she’s doing okay, scroll with an image of Weiss and a sleeping, beautiful, long-eared baby–