DS Match Fic: Truths Like Gravity
Title: Truths Like Gravity
Author: someone from Team Reality (see, I'm not Whimsy-exclusive!)
Pairing: Fraser/Kowalski (duh)
Rating: R
Length: 3800 words
Why I'm reccing this fic: Because deep, dark secrets of fic preferences don't last long when you're reccing stuff to people, I might as well confess to another: I love kidfic. I love my favorite characters being happy, and I love big, tight-knit, not-necessarily-blood-related families, so a well-done combination of the two gives me the warm fuzzies. Team Reality's last mystery author rocks the kidfic hard: everything about Ray and Fraser flying half-blind through the ordeal of raising their three daughters feels honest, at least to my inexperienced self, and it makes me appreciate my mom even more (which, by this point, is honestly like dumping a glass of water into the ocean to make it wetter). I also got the sense of a lot of family backstory without feeling overwhelmed by exposition, which is always good but especially in shorter stories like this one. Get thee hence to share my warm fuzzies, or check the excerpt if you really need swaying on the whole sentimental parents thing.
He's been collecting things from when the girls were small. Whenever he salvages some bit of their history from the garbage bin or the box destined for Goodwill, he feels like a temple priest. He saves little things, packable things, like tiny baby shoes and old buttons and slightly inept art projects weighed down by old paint, ancient macaroni and limp feathers.
And Jenny's tutu, of course. He's hung on to that. And a variety of Molly's ribbons for first-place science projects. Small trophies from Katie's hockey days. A tiny braided circle of black hair twisted together with a red elastic, which he rescued the day Katie turned fifteen and decided to shave her head.
It's all filed neatly away in a big box he keeps under the bed, and Ray is always on the hunt for more. Last week he was cleaning out his desk at work and found a birthday card Jenny had made for him. The card was a simple crayon drawing of the five of them. Ray recognized himself by the bright shock of blond hair growing straight out of his head in five precise spikes, like a cartoon character. Jenny had chosen to render Fraser in his red serge, complete with brown boots, a belt, and a brown hat that looked more like a bowler than a Stetson. The three girls-tiny brown-haired Jenny; medium-sized Molly; and tall, willowy Katie-wore identical blue triangle-shaped dresses. They all stood beneath a banner that said, We love you, Daddy! and beneath that, Happy Birthday!
When Ray added it to his magpie collection he reminded himself to show it to Jenny later, maybe tease her a little. When he can look at the card without getting teary-eyed, maybe he will.
Truths Like Gravity
Author: someone from Team Reality (see, I'm not Whimsy-exclusive!)
Pairing: Fraser/Kowalski (duh)
Rating: R
Length: 3800 words
Why I'm reccing this fic: Because deep, dark secrets of fic preferences don't last long when you're reccing stuff to people, I might as well confess to another: I love kidfic. I love my favorite characters being happy, and I love big, tight-knit, not-necessarily-blood-related families, so a well-done combination of the two gives me the warm fuzzies. Team Reality's last mystery author rocks the kidfic hard: everything about Ray and Fraser flying half-blind through the ordeal of raising their three daughters feels honest, at least to my inexperienced self, and it makes me appreciate my mom even more (which, by this point, is honestly like dumping a glass of water into the ocean to make it wetter). I also got the sense of a lot of family backstory without feeling overwhelmed by exposition, which is always good but especially in shorter stories like this one. Get thee hence to share my warm fuzzies, or check the excerpt if you really need swaying on the whole sentimental parents thing.
He's been collecting things from when the girls were small. Whenever he salvages some bit of their history from the garbage bin or the box destined for Goodwill, he feels like a temple priest. He saves little things, packable things, like tiny baby shoes and old buttons and slightly inept art projects weighed down by old paint, ancient macaroni and limp feathers.
And Jenny's tutu, of course. He's hung on to that. And a variety of Molly's ribbons for first-place science projects. Small trophies from Katie's hockey days. A tiny braided circle of black hair twisted together with a red elastic, which he rescued the day Katie turned fifteen and decided to shave her head.
It's all filed neatly away in a big box he keeps under the bed, and Ray is always on the hunt for more. Last week he was cleaning out his desk at work and found a birthday card Jenny had made for him. The card was a simple crayon drawing of the five of them. Ray recognized himself by the bright shock of blond hair growing straight out of his head in five precise spikes, like a cartoon character. Jenny had chosen to render Fraser in his red serge, complete with brown boots, a belt, and a brown hat that looked more like a bowler than a Stetson. The three girls-tiny brown-haired Jenny; medium-sized Molly; and tall, willowy Katie-wore identical blue triangle-shaped dresses. They all stood beneath a banner that said, We love you, Daddy! and beneath that, Happy Birthday!
When Ray added it to his magpie collection he reminded himself to show it to Jenny later, maybe tease her a little. When he can look at the card without getting teary-eyed, maybe he will.
Truths Like Gravity