#his scarf the fit the rendering
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I finished it and it's even funnier than I expected aeofihirufher
Prompt tweet was to throw all your favs together as an "fuckass idol unit" (link).
I ran out of room and had to make some cuts to the lineup and limit the amount of characters from same series (otherwise there would've just been like, entire cast of ffxiv or something).
#neri.txt#pls notice how perfectly g'raha and courier fit next to eachother with their similar poses#and like the scarf and ears too#brothers separated at birth i guess#ren is in there half as a joke and half bc he and sei actually were my favs back when i played dmmd#low voice dog robot would undoubtedly sing well too#we also have 4 actual idols there (rui ai mika and rei) and blade had his own idol event (while being really bad at singing lol)#ignore izaya stabbing fushimi with his knife and ukitake pointing his zanpakuto directly at rui's face efrgefrgthyju#i tried so hard to suffle them around but they were always poking someone 😔#also internet cookie to anyone who actually knows who hakuren is#just finding a render for him was so hard OTL#that's what you get for loving a side character from not that popular series made like 15+ years ago
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ordinary things - s.r
in which; sunshine!reader and season2!spencer grab coffee on their way into work.
content: fluff!! idiots in love ofc, reader loveees autumn, no warnings, gn!reader i’m prettyyy sure, barely any dialogue because i’m far too scared of writing something cringy.
a/n: this is my first fic, i’m being BRAVE posting this ‘cause i am SCARED. i hope whoever reads it enjoys it. i’m also aware it is WINTER, but i felt autumn was more fitting, idk. kisses 💋
Autumn, despite the cold, bitter air and dark mornings it brings to Virginia, is beautiful. In your opinion, anyway. That’s why your face lights up at the first pile of leaves you see outside of your usual coffee shop, the red and orange hues bringing a smile to your face. An even bigger smile than the one you so naturally sport, usually wearing it like a tattoo, almost permanent.
You lightly nudge Spencer’s coat clad arm with your own, pointing at the fiery coloured foliage on the floor, like a child who’s just seen snow for the very first time. Of course, it isn’t your first time seeing autumn leaves, but it excites you the same way nevertheless.
“Oh, Spence, look how pretty they are!” You gush about the leaves, your eyes never leaving the pile on the floor beside the coffee shop door. If they did, you’d have seen that Spencer was already looking at you, your light nudge rendered unnecessary to gain his attention. It was yours the whole time.
A faint chuckle sounds in your ears, soft and breathy, delivered to them by Spencer’s lips.
“Pretty, yeah,” he agrees, his eyes trained on you the whole time, never once dipping to the leaves that you’re so captivated by.
Finally turning your head, gaze diverting from the leaves, to look at Spencer, you see the soft smile adorning his face. With a soft nod of his head towards the door, you both finally enter the coffeehouse, Spencer holding the door for you.
The second you walk in, the warmth from the coffee shop envelops you, a nice contrast from the bitter weather outside, and the smell of freshly ground coffee beans fills your nostrils. Oak tables scatter the small shop, red brick walls complimenting them nicely, and small fairy lights hung to complete the warm atmosphere. It’s like walking into a hug; soothing, pleasant, and warm.
Side by side, you and Spencer stroll over to the counter to order your drinks, pleasantries being exchanged between you and the barista because you frequent the shop almost every morning. Once ordered, the two of you stroll over to the side of the counter to wait patiently for your drinks.
—
Coffee in hand, coat and scarf keeping you warm, and a pep in your step, the pair of you walk side by side over to the FBI building. Cars go past as morning commuters make their way to work, the noise a soothing backdrop to a walk to work with your friend while mid conversation.
“I think autumn’s just so beautiful; the leaves and flowers, how even when they’re dying, parting from their vessel of life, are still so beautiful, y’know?” You ramble, walking in step with Spencer to the BAU.
Another soft chuckle elicits from Spencer’s lip, a similar one to his last chuckle outside of the coffee shop. He doesn’t agree with you this time, though. Turning your head to look at him, a nervous giggle escapes your lips when you see him still laughing.
“What?“
“You have the ability to see beauty in the most ordinary things. It’s endearing.”
“Oh. Thank you.”
Warmth flushes your face, despite the bitter air outside and you quickly avert your gaze to the pavement in front of you instead. Spencer always has the ability to say the most profound things and every single time, they make you blush.
He blushes slightly too, when you look away. Maybe it’s the weight of his words setting in, or maybe it’s how pretty you look with your face tinted pink because of him.
Either way, the rest of the walk is continued in silence, save for the city’s background noise.
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fic#autumn#criminal minds#cm#criminal minds fanfiction#spencer reid fanfiction#season 2 spencer reid#glasses spencer reid#fluff#idiots in love#sunshine reader#spencer reid x sunshine reader#dr spencer reid#reid#spencer#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x self insert#spencer reid x gn!reader#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid x sunshine!reader#fall
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blue — fushiguro megumi.
As you walked hand in hand through the snow, Fushiguro Megumi felt like your warmth and his blended together, refusing to part as you made your way away from the shrine. The thought of that made him feel like the winter was nothing, the biting chill rendered powerless against the steady heat of your presence. It was the kind of moment that made the world feel smaller and quieter. It was as if the universe had decided to go on a pause just for the two of you. It was as if these two hands were meant to fit because destiny said so.
GENRE: Alternate Universe - Canon Convergence;
WARNING/s: AFAB! Reader, Safe For Work (SFW), Long Distance Romance (LDR), Aged Up Characters (Megumi and Reader are 18!), Young Love, Innocent Romance, Established Relationship, Middle School Classmates to Lovers, Teasing, Teenagers, Feelings, Fluff, First Love, Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Flirting, Humor, Domesticity, Slice of Life, Light-Hearted, Confessions, Pining, Holding Hands;
WORD COUNT: 5.3k words.
NOTE: im a bit late, i'm sorry!!! i had a whole list of chores i helped my family with and i met up with some people yesterday, since i might not see them for christmas due to schedules. but i'm here. i always imagined megumi to be the sort of person who loves so wholeheartedly and so innocently. i wanted to capture that for his birthday. happy birthday, megumi!!! you will always be so loved by me <33333 i love you all too!!! thank you for reading!!! see you for yuuji's own fic on 24th <3 (asia time)
addendum: i just want you to know that the exact number of the words are 5302. chinese/cantonese numerology expresses that 53 means my life, 0 means good and 2 means joy and sometimes double joy. it reads as 'my life is good joy' and i think between them reader and megumi, that's genuinely true <333
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THE DARK BLUE SWIRLED AROUND THE SKY TENDERLY TONIGHT. Had there been more time, he would have enjoyed it more. But he knew there wasn’t. He had to get to you, immediately. He bit his lip softly against the cold winter wind.
Fushiguro Megumi tugged the bright tender scarf tighter around his neck as the frigid wind bit at his cheeks. He caught a faint whiff of the fabric, and something about the scent felt... off.
It’s a good scent, don’t get him wrong. But it wasn’t the familiar one he was used to. Had he bought a new perfume and just forgotten about it?
He sighed to himself. He was too busy lately, going off on missions. And now a lot of his life had become footnotes, even if he didn’t want them to be. Megumi knew he had to do better.
He had to do whatever he could to make a better pace for himself. Still, thinking about that right now is impossible. He had to brush the thought aside. There were more pressing things to focus on—like how late he was. Again.
Megumi could only hope that you weren’t waiting too long or that you had arrived late. But now he can’t help but think if you wore that thick Arc'teryx coat he’d gotten you. Or if you wore mittens or had enough hot packs on your body at this moment. Guilt started to echo into his head as easily as it was breathing. But he can’t help but feel that.
He took a moment to breathe, his breath visible in the cold air. He hated being late about absolutely anything. He likes punctuality, after all. But he especially likes it when it comes to you.
Because that meant he’d have more time with you. And more time with you means that he’d have you with him enough to sweep the thought of missing you for a little while.
But being a sorcerer, the job description didn’t care about holidays or plans. Or even the personal, the thoughts and moments that made one happy. It just never stops. Not even when he was supposed to take you out on a date on New Year’s Eve. Megumi absolutely reviled it. If he saw a curse, he had to deal with it, no matter the time.
And somehow, some sort of way, still, he knew you understood. You always did. You always reassured him of that no matter what. No matter how many times his responsibilities pulled him away from you, even just for five minutes.
You never stopped smiling when he finally showed up. You don’t stop having the warmest red on your cheeks when you see him. Your eyes always shone brighter than Sirius when you both stand beside one another.
Even though you weren’t a sorcerer yourself, you tried to understand his world, even the parts that didn’t make sense to you at all. It wasn’t fair to you, and he knew it. Yet, no matter how hard things got, you never gave up on him. You just didn’t want to, even when he had tried to keep you at bay.
That was one of the things he appreciated most about you. Megumi had never had quite a lot of joy in his life, but he was to be honest, you were one of them. You always will be. And even now, you stand by him, even if it’s hard.
You didn’t care for the hard stuff, you always said it was part of it. Because what mattered to you, was having him in your life. And he was certain he felt the same way about you.
Well, it’s obvious.
Why else would he start running in this cold winter weather?
If it’s you, the person he loved most, then he’ll find a way?
After all, he wanted to be with you for as long as possible.
He paused for a moment, staring at the message. The small emoji made something in his chest tighten, as much as it made his body feel the warmest it had ever been. Despite everything, you still cared enough to wait for him, to worry about him. A small, rare smile tugged at his lips.
The faint vibration of his phone snapped him out of his thoughts. He fished it out of his pocket, his cold fingers fumbling slightly as he unlocked it. A text from you lit up his screen:
“Megu, baby, where are you? 🥺”
Megumi stared at his phone after hitting send, watching the little delivered mark appear. Megumi has thought about how many times he’d sent similar texts, always apologizing to you, for more often than he hoped, about being late.
He typed back quickly, his fingers stiff from the cold.
"On my way, babe. Sorry for being late."
Yet, you never seemed to hold it against him. He wished you had. Most romantic partners would be so fed up with such a position.
Hell, most of them would have already left their partners. But not you. You never had thought of it, not even during middle school, when Gojo started to take him on his missions to observe. You were steadfast, because you saw his efforts. You saw how much he loved you.
And that was enough. He never had to doubt that you loved him. And perhaps, that’s why he kept running. He wanted to get to you, as soon as possible. He wanted to see you. He wanted to hold you in his arms. He wanted to love you.
As he slipped his phone back into his pocket, Fushiguro Megumi picked up his pace. He had to. He had to arrive as soon as possible. For once, he hoped the world could hold its chaos at bay. Just for tonight. He owed you that much. He owed you all of the world. And he had to make it possible, even if just for a little while.
His phone buzzed again almost immediately.
“Okay, but you better hurry, baby! It’s cold! Also… why does your scarf smell like my perfume? 🤔”
Megumi stopped in his tracks, his brain processing your words at a glacial pace. Your perfume? His hand instinctively went to the scarf wrapped snugly around his neck. That was the weird smell he’d noticed earlier—the soft, floral notes he’d never associated with his usual scarf. His mind raced. If this was your perfume, then this wasn’t his scarf.
It’s your scarf. The realization hit him like a curse to the chest. Now, his heart was thumping hard on his chest. You must’ve grabbed his scarf by mistake in a rush the last time you visited him and you forgot about it.
And now that left him with your scarf. And he hadn’t noticed at all. His face heated to warm scarlet instantly, the cold air doing nothing to cool it. Ah, this is…..
His grip on the phone tightened as he read your words. Cute. It was hard enough to deal with how much warmth you give him with your scarf, but the thought of you being so tender with him, loving to the point that he can’t take it.
Before he could come up with a reply, another message came through:
“Wait, Megu!… Are you wearing my scarf? 🥺 That’s so cute! Wah!”
He doesn’t know what to do. Everything about his love for you just grows deeper and he can’t help it. His face burned hotter, and he was suddenly hyper-aware of the soft fabric around his neck.
He hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard, before typing back:
"I didn’t realize until now. I must’ve grabbed it by accident. Sorry."
Fushiguro Megumi felt like the temperature had risen ten degrees despite the snow swirling around him. He tried to clear his throat, trying to wick away the scarlet blush spreading across his cheeks. But it was no use. He was never going to win against you. Never.
Your reply came almost instantly, as though you’d been waiting for it.
“Don’t apologize! I think it’s adorable. It’s like you’re carrying a little piece of me with you 🥰.”
"It’s not a big deal." he typed, trying to sound indifferent, but his fingers betrayed him as he hesitated before adding: "It does smell nice, though."
His phone buzzed almost immediately. “You’re so sweet, Megu! You better hurry so I can see you all bundled up in my scarf. I want to take a picture and enjoy the cuteness of my baby!🫶 ”
Fushiguro Megumi let out a soft groan, burying his face in the scarf—your scarf. He takes in the soft smell of your scent, while feeling your words take over him. He could feel the heat radiating from his face as he resumed walking, this time a bit faster.
He can’t run in this case, not when he’s overwhelmed by this, by you. You’ve ruined him for any other romance. This was it for him. You were it for him. And yet still, he couldn’t believe he was blushing over a scarf. Over you.
But that’s how it is. It didn’t need explanation, it didn’t need logic. That’s how it is to love you. And he wouldn’t have it any other way. Not ever. But still, as much as possible, he still wanted to play it cool.
There was a wonderfully warm feeling in his chest that he couldn’t ignore, not when it’s caused by you. Even if it was accidental, wearing your scarf made him feel closer to you, like he was carrying a part of you with him.
"I’ll be there soon, babe." he texted back simply, though his heart was racing as he hit send.
“I look forward to it! 🫶”
“I'll see you soon.”
“Love you, Megu~”
".....love you too."
══════════════════
IT WASN’T THAT LONG NOW WHEN HE MADE THE SHARP TURN TO AND ARRIVED. The faint glow of the shrine came into view, and quite expectedly, Fushiguro Megumi’s pace quickened even more now despite the biting cold.
His own breath puffed in little warm clouds as he rounded the last corner, and there you were, just like always, waiting for him by the warm illumination of the bright red shrine gates.
You seemed to be humming to yourself as you waited for him, all bundled up in the white winter coat he gave you and those bright purple gloves trimmed with faux fur you so dearly loved. You hadn’t noticed him yet when he stopped.
But when you did, your eyes widened almost so excitedly. There was a slightly excited bounce in your step as you waved at him enthusiastically, your beautiful face lighting up like the warm spring flowers blossoming when you started to register his presence. Megumi could feel his chest tightened at the sight.
The stress of trying to get here on time, the hardship of not meeting, the times he missed you — every bit of that started to fade away into nothing. He was here with you. You were here. And nothing can take that away from him, from the two of you. Because he knew it too well. He was home.
“Megu!” you called out, your tender voice cutting through the quiet winter air.
He slowed as he approached, his usual calm demeanor taking over, but the pink sunrise on his cheeks hadn’t faded. Megumi tried to casually stuff his rather cold hands into his coat’s pockets, pretending the cold was the only reason his face felt warm.
“You’re late, Megu!” you teased, though your tone was playful, and that familiar smile spread across your face.
“Sorry.” he said quietly, stopping just a few feet away. “There was a—”
“A curse?” you finished for him, watching him blink. You grinned. “I figured. You always come anyway.”
He nodded, his gaze flickering to the shrine gates. “I told you to wait here for a reason. It’s safer.”
“I know, I know.” you said, rolling your eyes with a laugh. “I always know that I’m always safe, thanks to you. But I’m also freezing, so I hope you don’t plan to keep me standing here much longer! Let’s eat dinner!”
Your grin widened as your bright doe eyes flicked to the scarf around his neck. “Especially since it looks like you’re nice and warm in my scarf.”
Megumi’s hand immediately went to the fabric, his ears turning red. “I told you, it was an accident.” he muttered, avoiding your gaze.
“And I told you, it’s cute.” you said, stepping closer.
“You’re wearing my scarf too.” He mutters under the cold winter air.
You looked down slightly, your cheeks flushing red as you smiled. “Hm! And I love it! It suits me, having a part of you with me always when I’m cold, don’t you think?”
Megumi was taken aback by what you said for a moment. His cheeks turned even redder, even though he wasn’t sure how it was possible. He hums softly, lowering his gaze shyly. “.....It does.”
The soft crunch of snow under your boots was the only sound as you closed the distance between you. You smiled at him as you stopped in front of him. You reached up, on tip toes and gently adjusted your scarf around his neck, your fingers brushing against his skin for just a moment.
“It suits you, don’t you think?” Your soft voice blossomed against the wind. Your gaze met his, as he raised his face. “Being so loved by me in winter cold too.”
He froze, his heart skipping a beat at the gesture. “You’re—you really are…..” he mumbled, though his voice was quieter, almost fond. “How can you say that so easily?”
“And you’re blushing, lover boy!” you teased, stepping back with a playful laugh. “You also said something like that too!”
“Am not.” he replied quickly, though the redness in his cheeks betrayed him.
“Whatever you say, my precious Megu~”
You reached out and took his hand, your gloved fingers curling around his as you tugged him toward the shrine gates. You wanted to keep his hand warm from the cold too. He forgot his gloves, after all. And he knew that, his gaze turning to your tender touch on his, even though the leather.
“Come on, let’s get going before we both turn into icicles.”
For a moment, Fushiguro Megumi hesitated, looking down at your hand wrapped tightly on his own. Years together still hasn’t stopped him from being so awestruck by your touch on his.
To hold someone’s hand, it made him feel like he understood what love was like. Ever since that day he met you. You made him understand, with just a touch of your hand. And still, he continues to learn love, because of you.
Megumi shook his head then he let out a soft sigh, his lips curving into the faintest hint of a smile as he followed you.Even if he’d never admit it aloud, your warmth, your wonder, your very existence, it made him whole.
And if this was a dream, he wishes he never wakes up. Because nothing of him would exist without you. He refuses to do so.
“Hm, let’s go.”
As you walked hand in hand through the snow, Fushiguro Megumi felt like your warmth and his blended together, refusing to part as you made your way away from the shrine. The thought of that made him feel like the winter was nothing, the biting chill rendered powerless against the steady heat of your presence.
It was the kind of moment that made the world feel smaller and quieter.
It was as if the universe had decided to go on a pause just for the two of you.
It was as if these two hands were meant to fit because destiny said so.
This, he thought, was more than enough to ground you both in the stillness of the winter night. The two of you ceased to talk for a while, your breaths forming soft clouds in the frosty air.
Neither of you felt the need to fill the silence. The quiet companionship you shared was enough, an unspoken understanding that words could never quite capture.
It was always like this with you. There was a gentle kind of closeness that didn’t demand anything more than your presence. It wasn’t loud or extravagant, but it was steady.
That was more than enough for him, to keep him grounded in a way nothing else could. Megumi didn’t have to explain himself, didn’t have to rush to fill the gaps, because you already understood. It was just like that between the two of you.
He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, noting the way the soft glow of the blue moonlight reflected off your hair and the peaceful expression on your face. A rare warmth bloomed in his chest, spreading slowly but surely, chasing away whatever lingering shadows had tried to follow him here.
Megumi’s grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly, his way of acknowledging what he couldn’t yet say aloud. This, he thought, was the kind of peace he didn’t know he needed. And for tonight, that was more than enough.
When you both arrived at the train station, the warmth of the moment lingered despite the cold metal benches and the faint whistle of the wind echoing through the platform. The faint hum of distant activity surrounded you, but it all felt muted, like the world had softened its edges just for the two of you.
You both sat down to wait for the train, your hands finally parting as you settled beside each other. Fushiguro Megumi shifted slightly, resting his elbows on his knees and looking out at the empty tracks.
The silence between you was comfortable, but you broke it, your voice cutting through the cold like the first hint of sunlight after a long night.
You looked up at him with a soft smile. “Happy birthday, Megu.”
He froze for a moment, blinking as if he hadn’t quite heard you. Slowly, he turned his head to meet your gaze, his brows furrowing slightly. “What?”
You giggled, the sound warm and light as you looked at his astonished face. “Happy birthday, I said.” you repeated, your smile widening.
His expression softened as realization washed over him. He let out a small, almost imperceptible sigh, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. He shook his head, as you looked at his most adorable expressions, reserved only for you.
“I forgot, babe.” he admitted quietly, glancing away.
“I know, baby.” you said, your tone teasing but gentle. “You always forget. That’s why I’m here to remind you.”
He didn’t respond right away, his eyes fixed on the tracks ahead. But the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips, barely there but unmistakable. He turns his blue–green eyes to you, as though you were the most wondrous thing he’d ever set his blue–green eyes on.
“Thanks, babe.” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
You reached into your pocket, pulling out a small, neatly wrapped package. You always were better at wrapping presents. You had the best hands in the world, warmest to touch and the most delicate with care. And perhaps that is what made him freeze for a moment.
“And because I know you’d never ask for anything, I got you this.”
He looked at the gift, his eyes widening slightly. “You didn’t have to—”
“But I wanted to, baby.” you interrupted, holding it out to him. “It’s your birthday, Megu. You deserve to feel special, even if it’s just a little.”
He hesitated before taking the gift from your hands, his fingers brushing against yours for a brief moment. He stared at it for a few seconds, his expression unreadable, before carefully peeling back the wrapping paper.
Inside was a small, leather keychain engraved with his initials on it. Attached to it was a simple charm shaped like a wolf, a perfect reflection of his shikigami. Megumi stared at it for a moment, his fingers brushing over the smooth leather and the delicate charm. It was clear you’d put thought into this, making sure every detail would suit him.
Everything about it was just to his liking. You always knew it better than him sometimes too. Its design is sleek and understated, free from unnecessary embellishments, yet carrying so much meaning.
It was practical, simple, and deeply personal, just like him. And yet, the simplicity is what made it even more special, just like he knew he was to you.
“You… put a lot of thought into this, babe.” he said softly, his voice tinged with something unspoken, something he wasn’t entirely sure how to express.
You smiled, a faint flush rising to your cheeks. “Of course I did. I wanted it to be something you’d actually use. And… well…. I thought the wolf was a nice touch.”
“It is.” he murmured, his eyes lingering on the charm.
His shikigami were a part of him, a symbol of his strength and the weight he carried in his cursed technique. But they were something he loved too. Especially his wolves. And now, here it was, captured in this small but significant token by you. Now it meant even more. Because you gave it to him. Now, it was something he could keep with him no matter where he went.
“Do you like it?” you asked, almost shyly.
Megumi looked up at you, and though his expression remained its usual calm, there was a softness in his gaze that made your heart flutter. “I do, babe.” he said simply, but the quiet sincerity in your boyfriend’s voice spoke volumes. “Thank you.”
“I thought it could keep you company, when you’re away.” you said softly, watching him closely. “You’re always busy helping people and running around. You keep doing so much for everyone else. I wanted to give you something you could keep with you, something to remind you…”
He glanced up at you, his blue–green eyes meeting yours. “Remind me of what?”
“That you’re never really alone.” you said simply, your voice filled with quiet sincerity. “That I’m always there for you, Megu.”
For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his fingers tightening slightly around the keychain. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded. And for a moment, those rare smiles, the smiles he could only show you. You, his most precious person. That smile had trailed on his lips for a moment.
“Thank you, babe.” he said, his voice steady but laced with something deeper—gratitude, maybe, or something even more profound that he didn’t quite know how to put into words. “I’ll treasure this well, I promise.”
You smiled, leaning back against the bench as the distant sound of the approaching train reached your ears. “Happy birthday, Megu.” you said again, your tone warm and light, your words laced with genuine affection. And then, as naturally as breathing, you added, “I love you.”
The words were simple but carried a weight that made Fushiguro Megumi’s heart stutter. He froze for a moment, wide-eyed, his usual composure shattered like glass under the heat of your confession. He’d always heard you say it over and over again. And yet…..it always made him feel like he was going to drown in your wonders.
He couldn’t help but feel himself combust with your words, the warmth spreading from his chest to his ears, and then outward until he was sure he’d melt into this cold blue winter night. Before he could even begin to stammer out a response, you squeezed his hand, your smile never fading.
“Our train’s here! We gotta go!”
Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he blinked, glancing at the train now pulling into the station. You tugged him forward, your fingers laced with his, as if the moment hadn’t just turned his world upside down.
Megumi let out a soft sigh, a mix of exasperation and fondness, as he let you guide him toward the train. His blue–green eyes drifted to the keychain in his hand, its wolf charm catching the dim station light, and then to the scarf around his neck.
The warmth of your scarf, still carrying your faint, comforting scent. For someone who often felt like the weight of the world rested squarely on his shoulders, tonight felt light. For tonight, everything just felt like a gift. The greatest gift in the world.
The train doors slid open with a gentle hiss, and you both stepped inside, settling into a pair of seats by the window. As the train began to move, Megumi finally found the courage to speak, his voice quieter than usual.
“You’re ridiculous, you know?” he muttered, though there was no bite in his tone.
You tilted your head, looking at him curiously. “What do you mean?”
His cheeks flushed again, and he turned his gaze to the window, watching the snow-covered scenery blur past. “You can’t just… say things like that so casually and just….watch me combust.”
“Oh, you mean when I said I love you?” you replied with a grin, clearly enjoying his reaction.
Megumi groaned, pressing a hand to his temple. “Yes. That.”
You laughed softly, leaning your head on his shoulder. “But it’s true, Megu!” you said, your voice softer now. “I do love you, truly! And I don’t see why I shouldn’t tell you over and over again.”
He was silent for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest as your words settled over him like the softest blanket. Finally, he glanced down at you, his blue–green gaze steady despite the pink still dusting his cheeks.
“…I know.” he said quietly, his voice barely audible.
And though he didn’t say it back to you, overwhelmed by the wonders of those words on his soul, you knew that look in his eyes. That look of love, that wonder in the blue–green that said those words without leaving his lips.
It was all in his eyes that said everything you needed to hear. He struggles. But he hopes one day, he could say it to you without the struggle.
You smiled to yourself, your gloves gone. You let your warm fingers still intertwine with his as the train rocked gently beneath you. He squeezed it even more and that had made you smile even more as you looked at him.
You hummed and leaned your head against his shoulder. His breath hitches before a moment later, his head resting on your own. You giggled at that.
Tonight was perfect, you thought. Just the two of you, wrapped in warmth, as the world outside continued its quiet, snowy journey. And all you could see was the tenderness of all those shades of blue. That’s what it felt like when you were with him.
Everything was worth it. The cold was worth it. And so was the parting and the waiting. As long as you get to be with him and have this feeling of blue. As long as you could see those blues in his eyes.
Everything was worth it. Everything was worth experiencing. And you knew from the depths of his heart that he felt the same way too. Blue was the wonder of being with you. And he loves it too.
══════════════════
epilogue
Later that night when you reached your house, the warmth of the entryway light spilling into the snowy night, you turned to Megumi with a thoughtful smile. He noticed the way your bright eyes sparkled.
It was a sign you were about to say something that might throw him off. He was familiar with that look since you were in middle school. But every time, he finds himself learning the depths of that mischief in your eyes.
“So…” you began, glancing up at him with a hint of mischief. “Do you want to stay over tonight?”
Fushiguro Megumi nearly tripped over his own feet. His handsome face turned a shade of red that rivaled the setting sun, and he froze in place, his free hand holding your bag for you. You can see easily that he was clutching it nervously.
“W-What?” he stammered, his voice cracking slightly. “Why—what��why would you even—?”
You couldn’t help but giggle, watching him flounder. “It’s late, Megu!” you said, your tone as calm and reasonable as ever. “The buses aren’t running anymore, and so are the trains, you know! I’d feel bad making you walk all the way back to the dorms in this cold.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but you held up a hand, cutting him off before he could get a word in. You already knew that you had a card up your sleeve. You grinned at him and giggled, taking out your phone from your coat pocket and showing it to him.
“And before you say anything about it being improper or whatever.” you added with a knowing grin, “I already asked Gojo–san if it was okay.”
Megumi’s face somehow turned even redder, and his hand shot to his temple like he was trying to ward off a headache. He looked at your phone for a moment.“You asked Gojo?”
You nodded, looking far too pleased with yourself. “Yup! He said, and I quote, ‘As long as you don’t let Megumi brood in a corner all night, I’m fine with it! Take care of my precious son, daughter in law!’”
Fushiguro Megumi groaned, running a hand down his face. What did Gojo mean precious son? And what did Gojo mean about daughter in law? That was just….
Megumi didn’t know what to do anymore. He can’t even believe Gojo gave his number to you. He couldn’t help but feel his face echo a look of a son embarrassed by his overbearing father.
“Why would you even tell him that? Now he’s never going to let me live this down.”
You laughed, tugging gently on his hand to lead him inside. “Oh, come on. He didn’t care at all. Besides I had to, he’s your guardian! He said he’d rather you stayed somewhere warm and safe than out in the cold. Besides, it’s not like we haven’t hung out late before. We’d have sleep overs before too.”
“That’s different.” he muttered, still flustered as you closed the door behind him.
“How is it different?” you teased, tilting your head at him.
He hesitated, glancing at you and then away, his ears burning. “It just… is. I just…..”
You rolled your bright doe eyes playfully and reached up to unwrap your scarf—now his own scarf—from around his neck. “Relax, Megu. It’s not a big deal. You can have the couch if it makes you feel better. Or the guest room. I don’t think my mom will mind when she comes back! She loves you too!”
He sighed, letting you take the scarf off but avoiding your gaze. “Fine, fine.” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “I’ll….I’ll sleep here tonight.”
You grinned, your victory clear. “Come on, I think I still have some of your old clothes I took from you. I’m sure they still fit you.”
“You never returned that hoodie I used to like.”
You raised a teasing brow at him. “Do you want it back?”
“No.” He says back to you, and looks at his own scarf on your neck too. “You can keep the scarf too.”
“Good. Now come on, I’ll make some hot chocolate. Consider it a bonus birthday gift.”
As you walked toward the kitchen, Fushiguro Megumi stood there for a moment as he watched you start humming, looking for the cocoa. He let out a quiet sigh, the corner of his mouth twitching upward despite himself.
He was definitely going to hear about this from Gojo Satoru later, but for now, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was with you. And that was more than enough for him to not care about the world outside.
#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#jujutsu kaisen x y/n#fushiguro megumi x you#fushiguro megumi x reader#megumi fushiguro x you#megumi fushiguro x reader#megumi x y/n#megumi x reader#megumi x you#fushiguro x y/n#fushiguro x reader#fushiguro x you#jjk megumi fushiguro#megumi fushiguro#jjk megumi#jjk fushiguro megumi#fushiguro megumi#jujutsu megumi#jujutsu kaisen megumi#jjk fushiguro#megumi#jjk fluff#jujutsu kaisen fluff#megumi fluff
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let's pretend i live on the west coast and it's still DAY 5: AU!!
do you think we're gay in every universe?
in which i turn insane and draw 5 different drawings for one prompt. and as a result, the rendering is a lot rougher, but oh well! i hope the designs are fun enough!!
GORE WARNING!!!!! and design ramblings under the cut
Role Swap: i referenced hanyuu from higurashi for king metata because, while dedede has no idea about how to properly dress in traditional voidborn-based royalty attire (because his parents never taught him), metata wears EVEN MORE traditional garb, fancified, and a tiara rather than a crown cap. instead of hiding his wings in his cape, he hides them in his silk scarf. i didn’t even have to change his hime cut. he’s still cocky and arrogant but less traumatized so he’s less serious and more haughty. also his bow tying his hakama is shaped like an M haha. meanwhile, knight dede is far more armored, aiming for bulk over dps, and of course his armor has his classic triangular patterning all over the place. instead of the jaw scar, his eyes are clawed over. i wonder how that happened...
Species Swap: voidborn dedede is shorty mcshort short, even shorter than regular meta. he’s so short he doesn’t even wear hakama cuz he’d just trip over them, so he sticks with just a kimono and obi (once again adding to the androgyny common in most voidborn designs). his geta are less bulky as well. it’s not seen fully because his wings are out but his cloak goes all the way to his ankles instead of his knees. additionally, his wings have a blue gradient that matches the new color of his robe. his hammer is more embellished, like if galaxia was a giant mallet instead of a sword. and to keep with the ‘circular’ feeling for the hair common to my puffball gijinkas, i gave him kinda croissanty hair. meanwhile, avian meta has eschewed much of his armor for the sake of piercing and aerodynamics. he’s much lighter and his sleeves flow out to make room for the wings he can spawn on his arms. and of course his hair is slicked back and feathery like Coo and Vul. even his mask has a few more spikes to imitate bird talons.
dedede is a negatively-to-neutrally charged voidborn. i talked with my sibling @clutzicone-dts and they suggested denial as a birth emotion. i also like @moonmacabre01's idea of using regret. very fitting for a redeemable character
Gender Swap: normal dedede wears his garb in a feminine fashion, wearing the kimono over the hakama, so fem dedede does it in reverse, tucking the kimono inside the hakama. different sandals again, and wearing just the crown while eschewing the cap, mostly so i can have her long flowing braids more visible. at least she has a top knot to resemble the pom pom tho. meta meanwhile is largely unchanged physically (duh, voidborns don't have physical sex) with outfit adjustments. she keeps some design aspects from her younger days to distinguish her from normal meta while still seeming in character. tassels on the shoulder pads, and a hood on the cape instead of the frill. plus her lower body armor is longer and more decorated to give the illusion of a skirt without actually being one and i gave her low double buns to keep the round hair shape without just leaving it as a bowl cut
Mirror Versions: i have a whole ass complicated headcanon for the mirror dimension. i think it would be best described that, in this gijinkaverse, the mirror dimension is less an alternate universe and more an alternate timeline that went wrong at a very specific point. it's led to shadow dedede being much more... in tune, let's say, with the dark matter blade within his heart. and dameta isn't very pleased about that. after all, the two never got the chance to reconcile over Meta Knight's Revenge before things went to shit in that world. so they have a very complicated, somewhat tragic relationship. but i can talk about that more another time. let's just say that all of this is why i made certain slight changes to the two's designs. but i also gave dameta striped legs because stripes are for evil people
Bad Ending:
:)
no spoilers. feel free to theorize about it. i'm sure there are plenty of clues to let you figure it out on your own.
#my art#fanart#art#digital art#kirby#king dedede#meta knight#dark matter swordsman#shadow dedede#dark meta knight#metadede#mtddweek2024
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Uniforms of the Cold War There were many pieces and variations of the uniforms for the emergent post-World War II powers. While they remained mostly styled after yesterday's uniforms, several changes came about to bring us the outerwear that most recognizes today. These renderings are not perfect, but they can hopefully provide a suitable image of the era.
[ sources ]
Capt Alfred F. Jones // U.S. Air Force After the Air Force was codified as an official military branch in 1947, we find Alfred sporting the 1949-1964 Air Force blue (shade 84*) Field/Service uniform. This version, rather than the McPeak Dress Jacket, is based upon the Eisenhower or 'Ike' Field Jacket (M1943 accompaniment) made famous by General Dwight D. Eisenhower. The Air Force did allow for the tan jacket typical of the time to also be worn - and for fellow Hetalians you will recognize the tan or olive drab Ike jacket as the typical choice for Alfred's Cold War dress - however, in 1949, the release of the Air Force Blue drove a push for a new wave of uniforms. Its accompanying garments should be as follows; shade blue 120 cotton poplin (pictured)/shade 126 cotton oxford undershirt; shade 84 service necktie**. The uniform can be worn with either the Service Dress Cap or the flight cap (pictured above), both required to be shade 84. As an officer, Alfred's flight cap bears a silver cord braid. Last but not least, the required dress shoes shall be black and socks shall be black. *The trousers should be the same shade as the jacket, but they were made darker for artistic reasons. **The necktie - while listed as shade 84 - often ended up darker than the jacket, likely due to material.
- - - - -
Kapitan Ivan Braginsky // Red Army (Artillery)* The uniforms of the immediate post-war Soviet Union, like the United States, closely followed those of the Great Patriotic War. Ivan wears a very short-lived uniform, perhaps misleadingly known as the 'Zhukov' officer dress, despite the fact that then-Minister of Defense Georgy Zhukov was a strong pillar against the naval-styled uniform. This style was produced from 1955-1957; from the death of Stalin until the end of Zhukov's tenure as Minister of Defense. It features the M55 Dress jacket in a stormy, steely blue-gray (listed officially as gray). This jacket may have been worn as a parade, dress, semi-dress, or even service jacket (sources vary) - pictured above is the 'Parade Walking-Out' version of the jacket. Paired with the M55 are the dark blue officer breeches of the time. These would have been upheld by suspenders and paired with no foot or leg wraps. Upon Ivan's uniform is featured red piping and black velvet hat banding denoting his service in the Armored and/or Artillery forces, in contrast to the raspberry of infantry. Ivan is far too large to fit inside a tank, so Artillery became his assignment. The Zhukov-style uniform is easily recognized by the gold cockade and leaves upon the visor of the officer's cap. Hidden by Ivan's scarf are notched lapels and black velvet panels. He wears a ceremonial belt worn in conjunction with the Parade Dress. *I apologize for this section being less detailed. Finding decent sources on Soviet-era uniforms in my region that aren't on apologist forums can be difficult as I do not have access to a more formal library or archive.
[ sources ]
#hetalia#historical hetalia#aph america#aph russia#hws america#hws russia#alfred f jones#ivan braginsky#alpha romeo tango#alfred f. jones // daring to fly#ivan braginsky // Не остаться в этой траве#i forgot to link all the forums i trolled for soviet uniform information because godDAMN i'm telling you#it took me two and a half hours to find what i even did to draw ivan as you see him#and he's so not perfect#but it's 2:40 am
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Hi there! Saw your drabble prompts, and if I may, could I request one for Jean Kirstein using the prompts 2 and 5?
like the movies.
jean kirstein x gender neutral! reader (modern au)
summary : Jean's niece is a sweet handful. thankfully, jean has an extra pair of arms to help him.
prompts : (2) "you do have a stupid face" & (5) "i really do love you"
a/n : hi! again, so sorry for replying so late :/ i didn't know what genre you wanted this to go to, so i decided for fluff :D hope you like it anon! thank you for requesting <3
tagging : @mrsnobodynobody @holding-ishu-and-a-book
masterlist is linked in pinned post! ✿ requests are open! ✿ enter my taglist ✿
! i dont know the credits to the art in the middle so please lmk if you do so i can credit them!! i found it on Pinterest. !
✿
the weekend couldve gone way better than it was going right now - Armin had invited you and jean to the beach as a double date with him and Annie - but no, instead you and jean decided to take on babysitting duties for jean's niece. it was a nice offer from Armin, one that you were currently mourning, but you were also looking forward to babysitting Sophia.
jean wasn't. he whined and begged for you to reconsider, saying that even if he loved Sophia with all his heart, he'd much rather relax and take a swim in the ocean than clean up after a toddler's mess.
but, here he was, cleaning up after a toddler's mess, as the said toddler clung onto his calf, rendering jean's leg useless.
jean sighed, "can you please not treat me like a tree?" he asked, trying to pry Sophia's hands from their death grip on his leg.
she giggled and shook her head, like she knew what she was doing to her uncle.
you tried not to smile at his state, biting back a laugh that would match that of Sophia. jean noticed, because of course he did, and let out an exasperated sigh, rolling his head back. you were sure he said "not you too," but you ignored it, letting a laugh escape from your lips.
taking pity on him, you clapped your hands together, rubbing them as you spoke, "who wants to build a blanket fort?"
the question seemed to get a reaction from Sophia, as she immediately seperated herself from jean and made her way towards you, opting to stick to your legs instead.
you smiled as she chanted "me!" over and over again, scooping her up in your arms. she fit right in your embrace. you straddled her on your hips, and she made herself comfortable against you, resting her head on your shoulder. Julie had warned you as such, that her daughter was affectionate by nature, and seeing as though she somehow immediately took a liking to you, you were no exception to her personality.
you combed your hand through the top of her head, smoothing out her blonde hair; something she took after her father. jean walked towards you with her favourite stuffed toy in hand - a red and white stripped sock bunny that jeans mother had made for her, adorned with a pink scarf and a cute buttoned nose.
"how is it that you like them more than me?" jean asks, but he has a small smile playing at his lips. it's a teasing question, one that Sophia knows too well. she smiles sweetly, lifting her head up to look at him.
"they have a nice face," she says, and while her tone and smile are innocent, her body posseses the type of pride that only the Kirstein siblings have. you guess its genetic as you adjust her on your hip so she sits more comfortably, smiling. you look at jean too, brows raised in a challenge as well, showing him the satisfying win of having his neice on your side.
jean gasps in faux offense, placing a hand on his chest and scrucnhing his face up, "and I don't?"
Sophia laughs and shakes her head, laying her head on your shoulder again. "you have a stupid face." she says, laughing.
you try not to laugh, you really do. Evey nerve in your body is telling you to laugh, but you don't, and your brows raise so high that you're surprised that they hadn't merged into your scalp. your lips are pursed in an attempt to silence your laughter.
jean sports a similar expression, but his lips aren't pressed together. quiet the opposite, his mouth gapes at Sophia, blinking slowly.
all that can be heard are Sophia's laughs, her little body shaking on your shoulder as she does.
"who taught you that?" jean asks, but he's not angry. you don't think he'd ever be angry at her. Sophia had a soft spot in jeans heart, and he fit his role of being a doting uncle perfectly.
"uncle Connie did!" she exclaims from your shoulder, and you can't take it anymore as you, too, burst out laughing. your shoulders shake with Sophia's and jean has to bite back a smile himself, rolling his eyes in annoyance.
"of course he did," you say in between giggles of your own.
jean makes up his mind to never let Connie near sophia ever again. having Connie as a childhood friend meant that for the longest time, jean thought that babies were born from eggs because Connie spewed his nonesense about it. and here he was again, spewing nonesense to his neice, who was now making her demands about how exactly she wanted her blanket fort. you nodded to her plans with the most serious face Jean had ever seen on you.
jean exhaled an affectionate smile.
"I'm going to get a start on lunch," he said, escaping from the scene before his heart would squeeze itself to his death. sure, he'd been in love with you for close to three years now, give or take, but it didn't stop his heart from fluttering like it did from the little things you'd unknowingly do.
and to think he was ever worried about you not loving him. he was so stupid, he thought, as he pulled out a package of pasta from the pantry, setting the water to boil and getting started on the sauce prep, just like his mother taught him before he left for college. it seemed so long ago now, jean as a seventeen year old fumbling over the stove, struggling to make the perfect omlete for his mother. how he grew to make those omletes so perfectly that he could probably do it in his sleep. how he grew to feed it to you that one night you fell sick, how he grew to eat it with you in your shared kitchen as the first meal you'd have in that home.
and how the both of your grew to make the apartment just that - your home. you decorated and personalised the walls and surfaces until you couldn't anymore, all of the unprofessional wall painting mishaps being covered up by some photo frame or landscape painting. he was sure your handprint graced the wall of the master bedroom in the wrong colour, which jean had found and laughed at for hours because how could you make such a noticable mistake in the boldest green paint he'd ever seen?
you ended up covering the mark up with a dresser, but not before jean painted his own hand with a brighter, almost neon, green that jean bought just for this, and printed his neon green hand right next to yours.
you arranged the coffee table and barstool chairs in the most optimal way for a blanket to be draped over top of it, as Sophia skipped to your room and grabbed the fluffiest pillows she could find. after the space had been sufficiently fortified with a layer of blankets, you pulled out the electric fan that was burried deep in your cleaning closet.
"told you I'd find a use for the fan," you said, and jean smiled even though his back was turned to you as he chopped some veggies. you both knew you didn't think you'd find a use for that shitty fan, and you only packed it with you because it had been with you through everything - your childhood room's desk, then your first dorm room's desk, and then on your second dorm room's bedside table.
you dusted your hands off, making an exaggerated action to wipe the sweat off your forehead. Sophia copied your action, mumbling a "whew!" and placing a hand on her hip, and action that you were sure she got from her mother. you smiled at her, "why don't you go check up on if jean needs your help? I'll decorate your castle till then, princess." you say, bowing your head to her as she nodded and skipped off to the kitchen.
you somehow fished out the fairy lights you had stuffed in the depths of your closet, one that you only used for special occasions. snapping the batteries into place, you turned it on to make sure they still worked, which, to your relief, they did. they were a bit old, and the wire that connected the tiny bulbs was thin enough to make you worried that it would break easily.
setting up the fairy lights inside the blanket fort, you fluffed the pillows that were placed on the floor, slipping into the kitchen after placing everything up.
if you weren't smiling before, you were definitely smiling now, seeing the warm scene play out infront of you.
jean was straddling Sophia on his hip like you were doing earlier, one of his arms supporting her weight. the other arm was creating a pretentious artwork in the name of "presentation" with the food. he explained every step he was doing to make the dish look perfect, placing a spoonful of excess sauce, dragging it to create a tail, gloating with a "ta-daa!" after he was done. Sophie clapped at that, making grabby hands for the spoon. jean handed it to her with a smile, using his large hands to guide her much smaller ones to create the perfect swoop for each of the two remaining plates. he then showed her how to sprinkle pre-shred parmesean on the plate in a way that it gracefully fell on the heap of pasta. Sophia did the exact opposite, piling the parmesean instead of sprinkling it, but jean laughed and offered her a celebratory high-five nonetheless.
your heart skipped a beat as you leaned against the kitchen's door frame, smiling softly.
jean most definitely had a soft spot for his niece. his smile was wider, warmer, softer. his eyes shone with pride as he pressed a small, gentle kiss to Sophia's forehead. it made your heart squeeze in your chest affectionately.
jean turned around, finally noticing your presence at the kitchen door. he smirked, "look who's stalking us, soph." he said, nodding at you. you held your hands up in mock surrender, entering the threshold of the kitchen.
"guilty as charged." you said, glancing down at the plates as if your didn't see them being prepared.
"who made our plates look this beautiful?" you asked, looking at Sophia, who raised her hand, "me! i did!"
"they're perfect, Sophie, almost too pretty to eat." you say, booping her nose. she laughed, "but you have to eat it!"
"well if you insist," you say, grabbing the plates and placing them on a tray. "come on, the fort's ready for your highness," you say, and jean let's her down to wander into the living room exitedly.
he pressed a kiss to your temple, and you smile at him as you exit the kitchen, jean following behind with a couple glasses balanced in his hands.
the three of your made yourselves comfortable on the now cushioned ground, and soon enough the food completely disappeared from the plates. Sophia thoroughly enjoyed her food, proven by her now sleeping body that leaned on jean's side. tangled was still playing on the tv, Rapunzel looking at the lake, Eugene looking at her, a scene you recreated in your own way as you looked at jean, his eyes still locked on the tv. tangled was, ironically, his favourite movie, and even if he claimed it was because he looked similar to Eugene, you knew it was because he was a hopeless romantic at heart. he probably had the entire script of the movie memorized by now, considering how many times he had seen it since it got released.
"i can feel you staring," he says in a hushed tone so as to not wake Sophia up.
you hum. "you do have a stupid face." you whisper out.
he looks at you now, abandoning his favourite scene in favour of your face. he scoffs, but smiles right after. "would it kill for you to compliment me?" he asks, a question he already knows the answer to.
you smile back, rolling your eyes. "you didn't let me finish the sentence."
he breathes out a gentle laugh, "there was more to that?"
"yes, you idiot." you say, turning your head to the screen of the tv again, and Rapunzel is pushing the floating lantern towards the sky now. you lean into jean's arm, your head sitting perfectly on his bicep. "i was gonna say you have a stupidly pretty face, but okay, you just hate me." you claim dramatically, shrugging with a smirk.
jean laughs again, "you-" but before he can say anything, Sophia stirs from his side. he gently lays her head on his lap, where she gets comfrtable almost immediately. the song swells, and Rapunzel and Eugene are looking into eachother's eyes, and you understand why Sophia is currently knocked out on jeans lap, snoring cutely. the pasta combined with the movie was making you close your own eyes.
you give into your temptations. the floor is comfortable, and jean's warmth is enough to relax you completely. your head rests on his arm and jean smiles down at you, taking in your closed eyes.
you always fell asleep after the song ended, even though that was when the real suspense started. he smiled gently, placing a kiss at the top of your head.
"i really do love you," he whispers, even though he knows you aren't awake to hear him or coherent enough to reply. "more than you'd ever know."
Julie unlocked the apartment later that night, using the spare key you had given her, and before she could call out to her daughter and cousin brother, she was stopped in her tracks, seeing the three of you sleeping peacefully.,jean's head rested on yours, Sophia cuddled up on her uncle's lap with her sock bunny.
Julie decided she'd tease the hell out of her brother later.
she'd take a picture of this first, she thinks.
#jean kirstein x reader#jean kirschstein x reader#jean kirstein#jean kirstein x you#aot#shingeki no kyojin#attack on titan#jean kirschtein#jean x reader
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Rating the TriStamp Designs based on Suitability for Desert Travel
So, to give this post some context, in my character design class from two semesters ago, it was a super big thing for our professor that characters were dressed to the environment, ie hot weather causing folks to wear short-sleeved clothes, or combat focused characters dressing based on their style of combat and mobility requirements. I was doing some sketches yesterday and realized, man, some of them are actually fucked when it comes to the environment itself. And...well, here's my hotcakes.
Zazzie the Beast: 9/10
Clothing is the loosest out of the group, with the lightest over all colors. The outfit has not just one but two possible ways to cover the face, such as the mask and that scarf thingie. The main reason I'm marking the fit is for the pants, which would give them one weird sunburn. They'd also need more warmth once the suns go down.
Meryl: 8/10
Loose fitting and light clothing is a huge plus. She also has layers, allowing her to adjust better as nightfall hits. However, she has almost no face and eye protection, which would leave her with a nasty case of windburn.
Knives: 7/10
Tight fitting clothes trap the sweat against your skin, increasing the odds of overheating. His feet are also bare, so you know good and well that they're going to get roasted and burnt by the hot sand, causing blisters at best. However, having the cloak could, in theory, keep him cool during the day, and its looseness should allow for more airflow. Would've been a 6, but I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt when it comes to his skintight suit. Who knows, it could be some real damn breathable fabric.
Roberto: 7/10
Light colors, layer potential. He's doing really well in terms of clothing. However, a suit coat would absolutely be too heavy for day wear. Also, he doesn't have any sort of face, eye or ear protection, so fighting the sand would be difficult.
Legato: 7/ 10
Same thought process here as Roberto. His clothing is light on the outer layers, which could help with heat management. However, his under layers are black, which would make him feel a whole lot hotter in the case that he had to remove his jacket, which he probably will need to, because it looks thick as hell. No facial protection.
Wolfwood: 6/10
Dark clothes, not good. But they're at least pretty loose and unbuttoned quite a bit. He has eye protection in the form of sunglasses, which would help with both sand and UV protection. Loafers might be an issue, though. If he can't keep the sand out of them, he could end up with some vile blisters.
Vash: 4/10
Has eye protection. It doesn't look like it would block much sunlight, but it would help for the sand, so that's a massive boost. However, tell me that jacket isn't going to be hot as hell out there. I dare you. He's also wearing very tight-fitting black clothing, which is not going to work out too well for him. He also runs the issue of his prosthetic. There isn't any way for him to keep sand out of the joints, which will, after some time, render his prosthetic unusable or extremely uncomfortable. His undercut gives him an extra point, though, because it'd help with the weight of hair and help keep his head cool.
Livio: 3/10
Dark clothes, not very lose. No eye protection. He'd be absolutely fucked. Keeping his hair out of his eyes will provide a slight advantage when it comes to seeing things, but it's completely irrelevant when compared to the horrible sun exhaustion this poor man is going to face. And he's got a turtle neck so he's just going to have more sweat trapped close to his body with nowhere for all of that to go. Dehydration and heat management would be a horrible issue for him, besides the fact that the metal thing on his face would heat up from the sunlight and begin to scorch his skin or even blind him. His outfit when he was young would've been fantastic, if his shorts were longer, but, yknow, three layers of black suits.... Poor dude. Someone get this man a kool-aid pouch.
Thats all for now folks. Enjoy!
#might do a redesign based on my research#rambles#trigun#tristamp#trigun stampede#tetraharmonic#knives trigun#legato trigun#zazie trigun#roberto trigun#meryl trigun#vash tristamp#wolfwood tristamp
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Why Port Mafia will stay as vampires
Hello~~
This time I wanted to broach something different^^
I usually like to check fandom opinions when new chapter drops and there was something that really puzzled me – that lot of fans thinks that vampirism needs to healed and like it is the worst thing that happened to our characters.
I mean I understand feeling protective about characters – ofc, it is bad to lose free will, but from story perspective it is just another trial to test our heroes and help them grow. They will be fine, don’t worry^^
But still, no matter how this arc will conclude I think that PM will stay as vampires and here are my reasons:
PM is coded similarly as vampires from very beginning
You know the basic – both vampires and PM are strongly associated with night and death.
As part of Tripartite Tactic PM stands for night. Moreover, through the story PM is compared to night very often - maybe even almost enough for drinking game xD
“The merciless tyrant of the night and his army of the death – that was what people called Port Mafia”
“It’s time to remind our enemies why we used to be called the terror of the night”
– both from Fifteen
“Mafia takes their role as ‘Wardens of the night’ seriously” – Dazai about PM in ch 46
“Whatever pride they have in their speed, they can’t run from ‘the night’ forever” – Mori in ch 46
There is probably more, but you know the drill.
As for death – mafia rules through power dominance and killing is not a problem to anybody from that group.It is just the way they works.
And visually too – i mean, just look:
Especially in anime, they gave him so much vampire lord aura xD In manga too, his ‘doctor’ attire is just an act and his true self is PM leader in that fitting clothing - black trench coat, red scarf and white gloves – which all are very vampire style. Through this perspective even Elise can be interpreted that way – immortal being in a form of young girl – just like Claudia from Interview with the Vampire.
Speaking of that novel - you know there is also insanely powerful redhead with bad temper xD Though it can be just coincidence as personality-wise Armand and Chuuya are very different and have rather opposite morals xD
Let’s move to Aku:
Whole Akutagawa appearance is much reminiscent of vampire – pale complexion, black coat with white jabot - really give that feel. Also Akutagawa uses a bit of archaic language, which is something often appearing in vampire stories too.
Frankly, imo from the start Asagiri thought of Akutagawa (and maybe whole PM) eventually becoming vampire – after all, our MC Atsushi is were-tiger (as a spin on werewolf) and in pop-culture natural opposite of werewolves are vampires just like Atsushi-Aku are.
Vampire healing as power-up
If you look at it practically – vampire healing can actually be really useful for main PM characters:
Chuuya – healing will help a lot sustaining wounds during Corruption (I am 80% sure we will going to see it in next chapters) and maybe even vampire mind control will help with controlling Arahabaki
Akutagawa – healing as bypassing his incurable illness. Just honestly, I would be very surprised if Asagiri intends Aku to stay dead for good – he is just too important to Atsushi and Dazai character arc
Tachihara – as Hunted dog he needs monthly check-ups to not die. Healing would render that not needed if Asagiri intends for him to stay in PM, which is most likely as he is ‘true mafioso’ at heart
Even for rest of PM like Higuchi, Gin – healing would be strong asset as well.
To sum it up, it is just too good opportunity on too many levels to let it slip
Vampirism and abilities are not bad
It is important to look at it from thematic perspective – abilities are not villains of the story but the people who use them in wrong way.
Vampirism is not the main problem to our protagonist, but the fact that Fukuchi and Fyodor use such methods (vampirism, one order), which robs people of their free will to achieve what they want. Even if their goal is not necessarily malevolent in its nature – still it is very ‘the end justifies the means’ approach which is morally bad one.
Especially it is important that source of vampirism – Bram is just being used by DoA and he personally doesn’t want to create any fledglings. But again, because Fukuchi controls him via sword – he had no choice but to spread the infection or die.
My guess is that we will see Atsushi running into Aya and Bram in next chapters and that after internal struggle he will realize that killing Bram is not a option - that ADA goal should be to free all vampires from mind control. Even it could go how usually vampire stories go – that vampirism as skill will be transferred to someone from PM (probably Mori or Aku, though it can be also Fyodor), who will switch off mind control.
And this would grant happy ending for Bram too – starting to live as normal human - pretty please, poor man has been through a lot T_T
Ofc it is just my theory and story can go other way – but still it makes more sense to me than simply healing everybody from vampirism and returning to status-quo. But we will see~~
Thanks for reading and have a nice day💖 💖 💖
#bsd#bsd manga#bsd theories#bsd meta#bsd opinions#bsd bram#bsd mori#bsd akutagawa#akutagawa#port mafia#bsd analysis
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he makes a dramatic entrance, swinging open the closet doors with a little too much force to render him impossible to disregard. toned arms curl around the long, silken scarf draped over his shoulders, & he slants his hips in a pose similar to that which he’d sported during their first ever encounter, when he strutted down that stone staircase. for the first time since they finished high school, kakyoin is wearing his old uniform, still as vibrant an emerald hue as it had been back then & fitting his 40-year-old body like a glove. “this counts as a costume, right?” he questions, no longer able to keep from breaking into giggles. “do i get a trick or a treat?”
( for jotaro !! pls pretend it’s still halloween lol )
Jotaro was struggling with his own costume a bit. Somehow costumes were just never the right size, were they? Unless this werewolf costume was supposed to have the shirt impossible to button all the way. It would explain why the instructions said to tuck underneath was a little too long.
As he's trying to work with the wolf ear headband, he suddenly turns around as soon as the door was slammed open by his husband. Admittedly, he's used to his dramatic introductions that he doesn't even flinch, what does make him surprised is the sight of his husband still miraculously fitting his school uniform from four decades ago!
Teal eyes widen before he finds himself practically drawn to his husband like magnet when he's already leaning over to kiss his lips. "A treat. You look good. How the hell did you fit that?"
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"But you can't wear the red scarf, ma'am!" But the black scarf, Sarah admits, is still in to soak, having become unbearably frowsty, and the white one, despite Sarah's best attempts, is streaked with dull yellow stains. Why anyone thought of wearing white silk next to their neck is a mystery to her. "You could wear a shawl?" Sarah suggests tentatively, but her mistress doesn't reply. She detests shawls, they remind her of market women.
Sarah is not elevated to the status of a lady's maid, and washing the black scarf had taken its place alongside tasks like cleaning out the fires. Mrs Ampleforth had noted, even as a child, that while her mother professed to be exhausted after a tea party, Sarah and her workmates were banging about the kitchen before it was light, and could be heard still clearing up long after she had gone to bed. It had left her slightly in awe of servants, and the feeling had never quite worn off.
Anyway, she explained to her employee, though the sun is bright there is a chill gusty wind, it is still only February, Pedro needs his walk, and who is she going to meet on the Common at this time in the morning? She opens the front door, then steps smartly back inside. Fumbling under her coat, she releases the strings of her crinoline, steps out of it, and hangs it over the newel post at the foot of the stairs. "Madam!" says Sarah in horror. "You'd best pop that straight upstairs, in case anyone calls" she replies calmly, and steps out into the tail end of the storm, her skirts clutched firmly in her hand.
If she hadn't got out of the house, she says to herself, she would have screamed and, having screamed, started smashing the china. The sandy paths, though still damp, hold no puddles, and progress is far easier (and her legs warmer) without the crinoline swaying and bucking in the wind. The scarf cracks and flaps like a flag, pulling out every time she tucks it in, and she ends up clutching it in her other hand. It's a good job there are no gates to open, she thinks, as she doesn't have a hand free. The broad brimmed hat wasn't the best idea, but it is so firmly pinned to her tight plaits that its efforts to escape are futile.
She was wrong, however, about meeting no-one. She passes several working men, and an old lady collecting firewood blown down overnight, who count, for social purposes as No-one, but then she realises the figure chasing his round hat into a clump of juniper is the vicar. In Westheath, the church is out at the end of a lane, and this must be his short cut to the village.
"A red scarf, Mrs Ampleforth?" he says, instead of the customary how-d'ye-do. As he has started the conversation without the usual grace notes, she will follow suit. "Red is God's colour too, Vicar. I am not aware of the Bible discriminating amongst shades." This is clearly more than he bargained for, and he bows and walks on without anything more. She resists the urge to turn her head and see if he is looking back at her.
Nonetheless, the sermon the next Sunday, taking as its text "Render unto Caesar", seems rather pointed to Mrs Ampleforth, seated in the third row in her clean black scarf. Several working men and an old lady collecting firewood have been quite sufficient to pass the news round the village that Mrs Ampleforth had been seen wearing scarlet, while still in second mourning, although fortunately the collective lack of sartorial acuity had barely noticed that her gown had seemed rather bedraggled, and not identified the actual lack of crinoline.
The vicar expands, at length, on the topic of fitting in with our fellows, conforming with what is expected of us, and generally not outraging public decency. As Mrs Ampleforth is close to the front, everyone else has the luxury of staring at the back of her head, while she has only elderly Major Binks to hide behind, and he is asleep as usual. She holds her gaze with rigid stoicism on the altar cross and refuses to blink.
The rest of the service passes in its normal dreariness, and if the vicar, standing to greet his parishioners in the porch before they step out into the rain awaits Mrs Ampleforth with chagrin, he gives no sign of it. Perhaps he is ready with forgiving compassion for her to step forward, eyes downcast. Not a bit of it. "An interesting sermon, Vicar" she observes sharply "one wonders what Our Lord would make of the suggestion that we should take worldly opinion as our moral guide?" She has had half an hour to sharpen and perfect her barb, and is pleased with her firm delivery.
If the vicar has flinched, if she has hit home, she does not see, for she has stepped out into the drizzle with her nose in the air and her gaze straight ahead. On Monday morning, however, when she walks down to the post office with Pedro at her side, she is wearing the scarlet silk scarf like a flag of war.
Reactions are so varied that she is soon too amused to feel any awkwardness. The better sort of villagers simply pretend they have not seen her. Those below her in the social scale blush, or try to hide a sly smile. The children, of course, are unaware of the depths of her outrage, although some of the older ones gasp open mouthed, vaguely conscious they are witnessing a phenomenon. Does she really hear a low buzz of voices as she ducks to go through the low door of the post office, or is she imagining it?
In the darkened room there is only the postmaster, yet even he leans forward and speaks in low, conspiratorial tones. "Aren't you concerned about what Mr Ampleforth might say, looking down?" His tone is amused, the way he raises his eyes to heaven theatrical rather than pious. "Scarlet was his favourite colour, and it was he who gave me the scarf." she says tight-lipped. It is her prepared speech, but the post-master breaks into a broad grin. "Good for you, ma'am", and she finds herself smiling shyly in return.
The postmaster is a notorious free-thinker, and rumoured socialist: but he is also the village's news-service, and she knows that the fact that the disgraceful scarlet-wearing is a tribute to her tenderness for the late Mr Ampleforth rather than an insult to his memory will be disseminated very quickly. But as she and Pedro make their way back, she is restless and fidgety. She may wear a scarlet scarf every day for a month, but it hardly signifies anything other that a desire to tweak the vicar's nose.
Other women, she vaguely appreciates, experience a dissatisfaction with the ways things are arranged. Not such quibbling and, she trusts now purely temporary, inconveniences such as those affecting property, or education, or the vote: these, she is confident, will sooner or later be swept away by Progress, in this modern age. The Sarahs of this world, she is embarrassingly aware, have good reason to be as dissatisfied with the Mrs Ampleforths as with the law. Does the postmaster's rumoured socialism free the Sarahs from tyranny, or only their fathers and husbands, she wonders. She must ask him next week.
Her sister-in-law Jessica has Turned To Rome, which she feels must only make things worse, not better. As if having a husband wasn't bad enough! she catches herself thinking, which is strange, because she never thought it while Henry was alive.... Her mother recommends Good Works, and her brother says she should marry again, and is rather offended at the response he gets. "You need children" he goes on, undefeated. "No I don't!" she snaps, surprising herself.
Turning to the catalogues of progressive publishers, she embarks on a course of reading, but each new book sways her one way until the next comes along to sway her another. The solution to poverty isn't penwipers, and there is more wrong with women than Rational Dress can solve (though it is very tempting): the postmaster, tentatively consulted, concurs and supplies her with a bundle of pamphlets. She agrees with everything they propose, but finds their suggested methods of achieving it naive in the extreme.
Westheath may be charmingly rural, but the train from the little station beyond the windmill whisks her into the centre of London within half an hour. Sensibly shod and soberly dressed, red scarf apart, she tries every institution and library. She attends lectures with titles like "What is religion?" or "An Examination Of The Proposed Methods For Reforming The Plebiscite" and finds, regardless of the advertisement, regardless of the serious, nodding heads in the auditorium, that the point has been sorely missed somewhere along the way.
The old vicar, his grey hairs no doubt dragged down in sorrow, if not to the grave at least to Bournemouth, retires, and his place is taken by a wiry, nervous man who has earned Westheath by service in the East End. She attends church, which she had not quite given up doing, to hear what he has to say. His first sermon explores an obscure point of theology in Saint Augustine. After the service, at the church porch, she shakes hands. "Did you preach like that in the East End?" she asks with wide-eyed innocence. "Good Lord, no. It was all very Evangelical. Why, do you think it went over their heads?" She cannot resist a smile. "Well, it certainly went over mine!" and leaves him there, blushing slightly.
She is of course, by now, no longer young, and the beauty that turned Mr Ampleforth's head is not there to cause awkwardness between her and the Reverend Hughes. Nevertheless, villages being villages, their conversations are conducted at the church porch, or in front of the post office, and are brief. "You should try the Greeks" he ventures one week, having divined from the ether a need. "Which ones?" she asks, thinking vaguely of heavily-bearded church fathers. "I'll make you a list." he promises, boldly. If Mrs Ampleforth has put on weight, and grown grey: if her teeth are no longer so numerous as they were, she is still an imposing woman. "I don't read Greek..." she adds cautiously. "I never for a moment supposed you did." And they laugh nervously at his temerity.
She orders the books on the list from a publisher specialising in cheap editions for the working man. They are refreshingly small, after some of the books she has waded through. They are also surprisingly hard. If people were at this stage more than two thousand years ago, even before Christianity, how is it the world is still such a muddle? "You must try Marcus Aurelius next" says the Reverend Hughes. "I found him a great solace during my worst times." Somewhat alarmed at this encomium, she orders him too.
Somewhat later, she orders a deluxe edition, bound in green morocco with gold tooling. The Reverend Hughes has moved on to Anglo Saxon poetry, and though she is warmly appreciative of the copy of The Wanderer, beautifully calligraphied in his own handwriting, which falls from her Christmas card, she tells him she is more the Ancient Roman than the Dane. The difference of taste does not sour their friendship.
As the years pass, Mrs Ampleforth gets heavier, and greyer, and more of her teeth fall prey to the dentist, while the Reverend Hughes gets leaner, and wirier, (a difference which may be due to her distinct fondness for cake, and his for long solitary walks) and continues to deliver his baffling sermons. The Reverend Hughes flirts briefly with Kierkegaard, but Mrs Ampleforth, despite her other reading, remains faithful to Marcus Aurelius.
As she had predicted during an argument with her sister, all those injustices of property, and education, and politics which had exercised them so wither progressively with the passing of the years, leaving her nieces and, in time, great-nieces aware only of others, as yet unresolved. People forget there was ever a Mr Ampleforth, regarding her title as an honorific, like that bestowed on cooks. She gains, and keeps into extreme old age, a reputation for not suffering fools gladly, and being a good place to turn in a crisis. She watches her contemporaries decline into complacency or fretfulness - all except the Reverend Hughes, who expires in the fullness of years while wrestling with the Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus.
Mrs Ampleforth lives on, missing him less than she had expected. The older she gets, the fuller her days seem to be. Her maid, Sarah's grand-daughter ("Don't think of it as 'service' " says Granny, "think of it as quite a cushy job with a nice boss. You don't have to stay forever, just till she finds someone else." Which was twenty years ago...) reads the newspaper to her every evening, as the print has got so small these days, a task which is especially bonding during the Great War, when Mrs Ampleforth loses a favourite great-nephew and Sarah's granddaughter loses her sweetheart. She sinks slowly and gently, much comforted by Marcus Aurelius, and eventually passes during the General Strike, her main feeling one of irritation at not knowing how it will end.
She encounters the Reverend Hughes again almost immediately. He is wearing a goatskin, and his wiry limbs are very sunbrowned. She, for her part, seems to be dressed in something soft and loose and pale - bliss after a lifetime of corsets - and her arms, when she glances down at them, are bare and unwrinkled. Looking further, she sees, peeking out from under the creamy wool, feet that have never been forced into tight patent leather boots. Her own dress is expected enough, but his is a puzzle.
"Is this heaven?" she asks tentatively, gazing into a crystalline distance resembling, quite remarkably, that in John Martin's painting at the Tate. "I rather think" says the Reverend Hughes, leaning picturesquely on a staff of rough wood "it must be the Elysian Fields". But just as she no longer cares what happened in the general strike, she meets this observation with quiet calm. "And is everybody here? Or is there ... another place?" The Reverend Hughes observes that this is rather unlikely, as he has met a number of people who would undoubtedly be in it, if there were.
"Really? Anyone interesting?" asks Mrs Ampleforth with excitement, thinking of Ivan the Terrible or Caligula. "Not really..." says the vicar, brushing away an affectionate butterfly "only my Latin tutor and the like. I haven't yet encountered anyone I didn't already know." As she ponders this intriguing peculiarity, a speck in the distant meadow resolves itself into the shape of a bounding, hairy animal with a long pink tongue. "It's Pedro!" she cries, pressing her hands together. "Oh, how awfully, awfully glorious!" Behind the dog labours a figure in an embarrassingly short tunic, carrying a basket. It is the postmaster.
"I say, Emily!" he hails, approaching. Who? My goodness, that will take some getting used to! She hasn't been Emily to anyone since her sister-in-law died. Which is a thought: she wonders what Jessica Ampleforth makes of the present arrangement? The postmaster is breathing a little hard from climbing the hill. "I say!" he repeats "What ho, Fred? Would either of you like a fig? They're awfully good this year Emily. Did you get the vote yet?" The figs are large, a lustrous purple, and wonderfully sweet. "Oh yes, ages ago. Straight after the War." He looks blank. "Which one?" She takes another fig and says "Never mind, eh?" Pedro runs round them in circles, chasing the butterflies.
#19th century#short fiction#victorian era#fiction#short stories#kingdom of heaven#socialism#victorian#mourning#cocker spaniel
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They had done this before. A laughably short time ago, in fact. And it was only because of that previous disaster that Childe recognized the devastating feeling that intensified the longer Scaramouche stared. His pulse raced and stuttered enough that the vibrations threatened to quake his entire frame. That damnable feeling rendered him helpless; seizing control of limbs and lungs alike until his chest was crushed in an iron grip.
Not the explosive heat of anger that he should still be feeling over this ridiculous ordeal, but the opposite. Instead, creeping ice squeezed his heart until it trembled, then ached even more in disgust of itself. Ensnared by the one thing a weapon of war should never feel.
This was... Was this really what fear felt like?
Childe hated it. He hated that he had no idea what Scaramouche was thinking behind that baffled stare. Hated that he had no idea if his presence, his declarations...if he—damn it all!—was enough.
He had no idea what he would do if he wasn't.
The half-smile on his lips nearly buckled beneath the weight of those fears. Sharp and fragile as glass. Heat bloomed across the back of his neck, but it was that of shame instead of anger, and Childe swallowed hard against it. This was still a fight—though one far different from the sort of battles where he was confident and comfortable. He wouldn't back down. He wouldn't lose. He couldn't lose when that meant losing Scaramouche, too.
Before he broke the suffocating silence himself, the Sixth finally found his voice. Such a simple, mild declaration was first met with an astonished blink. But as the words registered...
Slowly, Childe's expression lit up as the tremor in his veins quieted. Between anyone else, those words would be devastating: an ending both solemn and final. Truly, the laughter that bubbled out in response was only fitting.
They weren't like anyone else, were they? They were a joke. An unwanted impossibility to which neither of them had ever agreed.
And yet, here they were. Together again against all odds.
Sudden as his movements were, Scaramouche's eyes betrayed his intent split-seconds before the pounce. The yank at his scarf was only for show, though—for Childe bent to meet him willingly. Eagerly.
The kiss was harsh and bruising as their insults. When they parted that minute distance, Childe's grin was much the same as after he'd won a particularly arduous battle. "How could I ever forget when you're so diligent about reminding me?" he chuckled, his breath fanning against Scaramouche's lips still so tantalizingly close. In spite of both of them, his tone could only be called affectionate.
In one swift motion, an arm snaked around Scaramouche's waist while the opposite hand flicked down on the back brim of his ridiculous hat. Childe's grin sharpened wolfishly as the accessory tumbled to the ground.
"Hate you, too, princess. Though, how 'bout next time you don't make me trek all the way to Sumeru to prove it, huh? Since you always claim to be so smart, and all." But he gave the Sixth no time to respond before closing that distance again. Childe claimed that smart mouth with all the passion of their shared "hatred," drawing his smaller frame into the proper circle of his arms to prevent him from fleeing from this again.
Only natural that the pair of them had reached the point of laughter. Bitter, humorless, devastatingly unsteady laughter as a replacement for whatever other emotions they refused to acknowledge had taken a firm and debilitating hold.
It was always easier like this, wasn’t it? Second nature. Get angry, shout, fight, do whatever it takes to drown out a disgusting reality with which neither of them hoped to contend. This was nothing new for them: some sick and twisted waltz they kept doing time and time again, because at the root of this all, no matter how much Scaramouche hissed his declaration of how different they were… Weren’t they both here right now struggling with the same stupid thing?
Childe wanted to fight. The fool always wanted to fight. But the fire burning in his core, flooding liquid heat through all of his veins and nerves, wasn’t born of the same hearth this time. Oddly enough for one who claimed to feel nothing, to have forsaken his own heart due to its utter uselessness, Scaramouche absorbed something igniting the air between them. Taut threads alight not with anger, not with the animosity that used to sharpen their tongues like blades, but that something that shouldn’t be there.
They knew it shouldn’t. They had acknowledged this already. But accepting it…?
Well, at the very least, they were equally averse to that latter part.
Scaramouche realized—painstakingly and with horrible regret not at the Harbinger in front of him now, but at himself—that Childe wasn’t fighting him, but fighting for him. Even more passionately than all their arguments before, than all the ways they destroyed each other without even trying. Childe was here because he had to be. Because every piece of him was tethered to The Balladeer, somehow strong enough to not snap. And Scaramouche was here, subconsciously waiting for him, because he couldn’t risk even the slight possibility of losing.
Losing him. When had that suddenly become such a guiding principle in this joke of a life?
He was right. Childe was right. Childe was right.
Scaramouche hated nothing more.
Except, maybe…
“I hate you.” Stated not with hatred, but with acceptance. Cold, begrudging acceptance. He forced himself to look away when that characteristic smirk bled through the prior severity on Childe’s face, because Scaramouche had then feared his resilience shattering. His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth, annoyed (but peculiarly teetering into that typical mood of theirs), as he forced a glare into the distance, and he kept resisting. He kept fighting that itch beneath his skin, that thrumming desire: if not to punch the grin right off Childe’s lips, then—
What a sad state of affairs, a voice mocked him. You’ve been reduced to this.
And the part of himself receiving said scolding won out. Swiftly, perhaps before he could continue this witless oscillating, a hand went out to snag the front of the tall idiot’s coat. He yanked him down in such a rush of adrenaline that small sparks of Electro ribboned around his fist, and with his other hand tipping his hat back, Scaramouche planted a kiss right on those infuriating lips. Forceful and rough, he made sure to clean the smirk off of them. His teeth acted much like an admonishment, biting as he pulled away.
But only just enough to pin Childe with a reproachful glare.
“Don’t forget that.”
#balladccr#《⭒✩⭒ || interaction: child of the abyss (childe) 》#《⭒✩⭒ || bond: if i woke up with you in the morning i'd forget all the ways that we're broken (balladccr) 》#AHHH THEY ARE THE BIGGEST FUCKIN DISASTERS#they are both so stubborn and irrational and unwilling to accept the feelings THEY BOTH ARE ALREADY AWARE THAT THEY AND EACH OTHER HAVE#jfc bois#how many times are you gonna have to have meltdowns like this before you just suck it up 8')#BUT THEY STILL GOT THIS FAR IN SPITE OF THEIR IDIOCY AND WE ARE PROUD OF THEMMM TTOTT 🙏#hey man B))) angrily kissing him is the best way to get childe to stfu#childe certainly isn't complaining 👀#I also can't with them casually saying “I hate you” like it means the opposite asdjflskdj wHEEZES#bUT HEY WHATEVER WORKS FOR THEM I GUESS 8'D#they both KNOW what they mean no matter what words they use to express it ;3;#YOU GOOO YOU RIDICULOUS DISASTER BOIS TTOTT ❤️
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Hihi I saw that you opened your Ask I wish to make an ask/request. The chain x (platonic) gn child reader. Who is kinda like a zombie. But not the scary kind? They’re just very forgetful like they forget basically everything they learned the day before. And just have a constant blank expression.
Masterlist
Ok, I think I get it. A bit brain dead....which isn't the nicest thing to say but I can't think of another way to say it. Blank, expressionless, looks like the lights are on but no body's home sort of deal...
I'll do my best Anon!
Content under the cut!
The day was cloudy, wet and cold.
Our group of heroes woke up wanting to curse its existence and return to their bed rolls undisturbed. But it was raining.
With loud groans and a few curses here and there, the group get up, wring what they can and clean up their makeshift camp. Everybody had to be accounted for and a headcount was drawn up.
There was one individual that not only were they unbothered by the rain and the wet cloth that surrounded them, but they happened to still be asleep.
A sigh came from assigned older brother number one and he slumped over himself. “I don’t want to wake them up.”
“You have to.” Four huffed, spitting his hair out of his face. “We’re all going to get sick if we stay here.”
Warriors groaned louder and moved to the little one, still wrapped up. They looked so peaceful. Warrior hated for his next action but in the back of his mind, he doubted they would mind. It was always so hard to read them. He gently shakes their shoulder and the child blinks. A breath is taken in and they look up, raindrop falling from their lashes onto the their pillow.
“Good morning.” Warrior says softly. “We have to leave and get dry. Come on.”
Their resident child takes a moment to look around, slowly, a bit unnaturally before they sit up. They rub their eyes and yawn. They are continuously unbothered by the raining that is pouring around them, and although Warrior attempts to be patient, his scarf is getting heavy around his neck.
The kid looks back at Warrior and reaches out with both arms. The universal signal for up. Warrior is quick to comply. He picks them up with practiced ease and settles them against his back. He has to make some adjustment to his uniform and scarf in order to not get choked on the journey a head of them, but he does it all without complaint.
Twilight doesn’t hesitate to take over the bed roll and blankets the child and Captain left behind. He does his best to get all the water out before putting them away and hitches it to Epona. He looks fondly at their newest and youngest companion. They don’t speak and they don’t sign, so the group knows nothing about them. But they were sick and wounded with no one around for miles.
With a sigh, a little puff of air dances around Twilight, his breath clouding in front of him. He take out a few scraps of cloth from a separate bag entirely. Old clothes that had to be cut down after they were rendered useless reside there, but surely there has to be something big enough to fit the kid.
No such luck. At least nothing that would fix the immediate issue. With time and space, maybe they can stich something together but as it stands....
Twilight takes a larger bit of cloth, one that he has no recollection of getting or who it belongs to and makes his way to the Captain. The child is beginning to fall asleep once more even as they begin to move. Twilight knows that if he does this, it wouldn’t help the Captain at all. He matches Warrior’s pace and drapes the cloth over the child. He tucks in it certain point and wraps it around their shoulder, making a makeshift hooded shawl to keep the rain off them until they can find decent shelter and hopefully keep the chill off of them as well.
Warrior makes no comment but Twilight can feel the annoyed side eyes he’s given before he’s done.
Time watches and the boy all work around each other and help one another to make sure nothing is left behind and that everyone is taken care of. He makes a small check over each and every one of them. They are all tired still, wet and annoyed, but he supposes that it’s inevitable.
He walks past, Warrior as he carries their little bundle on his back and pauses to ruffle their hair. They look up at him blearily, before they smile. It’s small and almost invisible, but Time is trained to view invisible things. He smiles back and drops his hand. “Good morning little one.”
Time doesn’t get a response and the child goes back to resting on Warrior as they had before but Time knows that he’s been heard.
He ruffles Warrior’s hair for good measure and moves on before the young captain can take a swing at him.
Wind bounces up to the duo. “If we’re lucky, the rain won’t turn into a hurricane.”
Warrior scoffs. “We’re about as inland as it gets, I don’t think hurricanes a problem here.”
Wind pouts and looks up to the little one above him. “In my Hyrule, it rained so much that the world was flooded. I’ve only known the Great Sea.”
“Sailor-”
“It’s a reasonable concern, don’t you think?” Wind grins at the child before turning to Warrior. “They agree with me.”
Warrior can’t help it. He laughs. “Uh-huh, I’m sure they do.”
Wild passes pieces of bread to the group, since there wasn’t enough time to cook something substantial and he doesn’t know when he’ll get the chance to start a fire again. The others say their thanks and go back to their own conversations. By the tie he hands Wind and Warrior their shares, he’s beginning to run low.
He splits the last piece in half and eats his in just a few bites. Wild grin at the little one before holding the last piece out for them. They don’t take it- but Wild expected as much. Undeterred, he reaches out with his other hand and pokes their cheek. As if it was a switch, their mouth opens and Wild breaks off a bit of the bread for them to eat. He places it gently in their mouth and they chew.
Sky and Hyrule watch the scene with fluttering hearts. They may not know much about who the child is or where they came from, even less so about why they were alone and hurt, but they both vow to look after them. No words are exchanged between them but they do watch with amusement glittering in their eyes when Twilight dumps some old shirt from Hyrule on to Legend.
“Can you make a shirt for them out of this?” The older hero says and Legend frowns. Studying the cloth with a judgmental glare. “This wont keep out the cold.”
“Layers exist.” Twilight reminds him with a deadpan expression.
Legend scowls and glares up at the sky for good measure. “Fine. But it’s going to be choppy.”
“It just needs to fit.”
Four snickers at Legend’s reaction and rolls his eyes. Taking out an extra tunic from his own bag, he walks over and hands it to Time. He’s not going to stop them from volunteering their own clothes to be tailored, but he is the closest to their size without any extra work.
“When Legend is done, give this to the youngen’. It should fit.” Four hands the cloth over, trying to be mindful of the still falling water from the sky. Time takes it, looks behind him to see Legend already working with a thread and needle and nods towards Four.
“When he’s done, of course.”
“Yup.” Four grins back. “They don’t have much going for them anyway, so every little bit helps.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” The Old Man smirks and pockets the tunic away before anyone else can see.
There isn’t much for them to do except make sure that the child’s wounds heal nicely and that they stay warm and well fed. It’s not easy when the competition is six other growing, teenage boys who eat their weights with in food every three days.
But if Time looks close enough, watching as the child eats the last of the little bread wild gives to them. There’s a warmth behind those otherwise blank eyes.
They’re going to be ok.
#linked universe#linked universe x reader#linkedunivese#this was supposed to be in second person#but i made it third#it was unintentional
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Empires SMP S1 Fanfic: Night of the Winter Stars
Title: Night of the Winter Stars
Characters: Mythical Sausage, Scott Smajor, Xornoth (in elf form not demon), and a small flock of adopted children
Relationships: MythicalSausage/Scott Smajor
Tags: Empires SMP S1 AU, scosage, adoption, wholesome, fluff
WARNINGS: acknowledgement of amputation (not sure how else to tag that but just in case)
Summary: It’s time for the winter festival in Rivendell. Scott and Sausage bring their little growing family to experience the snow and have some fun.
(Also available on Ao3!)
[ A/N: The story of how Scott and Sausage ended up together (and how Sausage came to lose an arm) is currently a WIP by @khyann. The story of how they ended up adopting over a half dozen children is the sequel that I’m currently working on, but I wanted to write a cute little fic for the holidays, so here’s a preview of what life is like for these two as they navigate fatherhood with an adorable mix of children. | Also includes collaborative artwork by Khyann here!]
- - -
Packing for the week-long stay in Rivendell for the winter festival had gotten slightly more complicated with the addition of two now five-year-olds and an infant of indeterminate age but at this point was considered to be about six months old. It would be the human children’s first time visiting, and Sausage was probably worrying too much about making sure everyone stayed warm enough. Xornoth had joked about building a lodge just for his brother’s gaggle of kids when three more had first been added, but now with little Mariposa it was pretty much a necessity to have the space plus anything extra they might need, so there would be spare clothes available waiting for them. The elven children would be fine with their newly acquired color-coordinated hats, scarves, and gloves, and at least the older children could handle most of their own packing.
Now at fourteen, Azahar was helping where he could, providing an example of dressing responsibly for the weather with the striped scarf that matched his amber eyes and short orange dreadlocks, contrasting well with his darker skin. He made sure nine-year-old – well, nine-and-a-half, as she would insist – Liana kept both of her gloves in one coat pocket and her hat in the other. She had requested violet for her set to match her eyes, complaining that dark blue would blend in with her long, sapphire hair. Twelve-year-old Elowen, meanwhile, had asked not for dark green that might go with his shoulder-length hair, but for light blue to go with his eyes and also to match with Scott; this had been quietly agreed by the two fathers as a good idea, since it could work as a comfort for the boy if he became nervous in possible crowds.
Meanwhile, Seren and Rayen, the long-blond-haired and brown-eyed human twins, had been given a similar shade of pink so they could interchange accessories as they were wont to do; Sausage had a backup set of everything in case one glove went missing during that mischief. At nine, their older sibling Ilan was also going to be on the more responsible side. They had green to match their eyes, and the hat fit just right to cover all of their brown hair to avoid assumptions about their identity.
Everyone adored the fact that Mariposa had tiny little boots that stuck out of the bottom of the crossbody baby carrier Scott would be using to transport her around, while the rest of her would be swaddled in a light pink fleece onesie plus as many colorful blankets as necessary. She had a tiny hat in bright turquoise to cover her white-blond hair, the shade perfectly matched to her eyes.
Scott didn’t mind being designated baby holder for most of the trip since Sausage wouldn’t be able to easily use the carrier with his own need for an extra layer of clothes, especially the thick, fleece-lined vest needed so his prosthetic arm wouldn’t be covered by a coat, which would render it almost unusable. A cloak draped over the remaining part of his upper arm worked well enough to stave off the chill on that side during his previous visits to Rivendell in winter, and of course fWhip had designed the prosthetic to resist being affected by the cold in general.
With nearly everyone waiting at the carriage outside, Sausage and Ilan were grabbing a few last-minute things, which included Seren, who was escaping every attempt to get her nice new hat on. She kept giggling and evading Sausage as he chased her down the hall; naturally, a five-year-old perpetually had more energy and ability to squirm free of anything, particularly a one-armed grown man, prosthetic limb or not.
Fortunately, Ilan was always prepared to wrangle one or both of their younger sisters, so they easily stepped in after the third escape and plopped the hat onto her head while she giggled again.
“Thank you, Ilan,” Sausage said with a bit of huffing and puffing after all the running. “Now we can go.”
“Carry me, Papa!” Seren crowed and held her arms up toward him.
“Okay, give me a moment. Ilan, can you take this bag? There’s a couple of extra things in there for Mariposa.”
“Got it,” they agreed, picking up the straps in both hands, although it was light enough that they didn’t have to struggle with it any.
“All right, let’s go. You know, Rayen went ahead already without a fuss.” Sausage scooped up Seren with his left arm, bracing her on his hip with careful support from his right hand, checking to be sure neither the bottom of her coat or her scarf got caught in any of the struts of his prosthetic before they all headed outside.
Scott had the rest of the children situated inside the carriage by the time they arrived, except for Azahar, who was on the driver’s bench holding the reins while waiting for Sausage. Ilan climbed in first, then Sausage more or less handed Seren to them so they could take over getting her settled. She saw that Liana was hugging her favorite plush bunny, and immediately clamored for her own plushie. Already prepared, Scott handed her a teddy bear. She then swapped with Rayen for a toy sheep.
Sausage got into the driver’s spot and took the reins. “And we’re off!” he announced.
~*~
The trip went smoothly with Mariposa only crying once on the way, but a few rounds of elven lullabies got her to quiet down again. Elowen and Liana joined in; Ilan was gaining more of a grasp of the new language and sang a few words that they knew through repetition, after the past few months of becoming used to Scott singing to the baby. The twins imitated some of the sounds but mostly hummed instead. It was a good way to keep everyone occupied, Scott decided, as he gently patted Mariposa’s back, having turned her around in the carrier toward him since being able to lean her face on his chest seemed the most comforting for her.
Pulling onto the street leading to the apparent location of their assigned lodge, Sausage spotted Xornoth waiting for them. The purple-haired elf waved and Azahar waved back, calling, “Uncle Xornoth! We’re here!” As Sausage halted the carriage, the younger elf hopped down and ran over for a hug.
“Hey, kiddo! You’ve gotten tall.” Xornoth grinned and walked back over with Azahar while Sausage opened the carriage door and started helping the other children climb down. Xornoth nodded to each of them and greeted them with compliments or comments such as, “Oh, that’s a lovely bunny you have, Liana” and “Watch out, Seren, that sheep might eat your arm like it did to your papa.”
When it was Scott’s turn to exit, Xornoth said, “Okay, let me see, where is my newest little niece – you two are utterly ridiculous by the way, have I told you that? – Ah, there she is!” Scott already had Mariposa out of the carrier and was holding her toward his brother. Xornoth took her into his arms and quickly shifted to holding her in a supported cradle position. “Oh, look at you! You’re so tiny! And in one piece! That’s a miracle, with your two hapless dads. Just wait until you’re old enough to notice one of them misplaced an entire arm!”
“Xornoth,” Scott warned through gritted teeth. When he had gotten his brother to agree to the promise of we don’t talk about what happened to Papa’s arm, he should have known there would be endless jokes involved to avoid the truth.
“Uncle Xornoth!” Liana yelled, “Don’t make her scared of sheep!”
Xornoth chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’ll tell her something else. Maybe this time it could be that… hmm… he traded it for a magic spell that would make a tiny flower turn into a tiny princess, because he and Dad wanted a baby for the family.”
Scott couldn’t help casting a soft-hearted look at Sausage. Well, that one was kind of sweet, at least. The children had gotten used to their elven uncle’s habit of telling a different story every time he started joking about Sausage’s prosthetic arm. The mix of redstone technology and magic that made it work had only fascinated them and hadn’t bothered any of them when they had each first been introduced to the fact. He gave perfectly good hugs with it, after all.
“Well,” Xornoth then said, “Let’s get you settled in. Come on, kids, I’ll show you to your rooms! I assume you two can handle your luggage.” He threw a teasing smirk at Scott and Sausage then swept off into the building while a porter held the door for him, still cradling Mariposa and the other children eagerly following him.
Scott blinked and slowly looked down at the empty baby carrier, as if trying to process that his brother had easily made off with an infant with zero fuss.
Sausage, meanwhile, chuckled as he climbed up to reach the bags secured on top of the carriage. “We’ll see how he handles babysitting them all once the novelty of arriving here wears off for them. Last time he saw the twins they were on their best behavior. Just wait until they find out how much they’re allowed to run around in the snow.”
“That could be the deal, then: if he wants to hold Mariposa, he has to help with the other girls.” Scott began to take bags as Sausage handed them down to him, then the porter and a couple of other servants joined to assist getting everything inside. Aside from Seren and Rayen, the other children knew to come back to get their own things, but in the meantime most of the bags were left near the door so Scott and Sausage had a chance to look around, although Sausage made sure to take one of the baby supply bags with him.
There was the main room with a large fireplace with enough seats for a dozen people, and a small kitchen to the left. A hallway to the right led to one set of rooms, while a staircase went up to another floor. They could hear multiple footsteps above them so they assumed everyone was touring the rooms upstairs. The two were just about to go up when Xornoth appeared, chattering away as he led the children back downstairs.
“See, I remembered ahead of time so you don’t all have to have a room each to yourself. Those rooms are just extras, so you can pick from the ones down here. There is one especially set aside for your dads and Mariposa, though, so maybe not that one.” He flashed a look at Sausage and Scott. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
He expertly held the baby with one hand while opening the door to the first room off the hallway. While the other rooms they had already seen contained two double beds, this room had only one so that there was space for a changing table and a very old, but sturdy-looking wooden crib that was decorated with finely carved images of the moon, stars, and planets on the headboard with slightly more crudely painted images of animals along the outside bottom – lower spots where a small child could reach.
“This crib,” Xornoth announced, as he leaned over the side to gently place Mariposa onto the awaiting blankets, then stood with a flourish of one hand, “Is where your dad slept when he was a baby! Believe it or not, he was once even smaller than Mariposa. I don’t call him my little brother for nothing.”
There were some giggles, then Liana asked, “Did he have magic as a baby?”
“Sometimes, when he sneezed, he caused a tiny snow flurry in the crib, but that was it. Magic only really comes to you when you get older.” Here Xornoth cast a warm smile at Elowen, knowing the boy had begun practicing more spells lately for a special reason.
Ilan had been looking at the animal pictures, but then asked, “Uncle Xornoth, do you know any magic?”
“A little bit, and more like general stuff. Sometimes there is one special magic someone can do, like your dad, and the rest of the time there are many different kinds, which I like to learn about even if I can’t actually cast the spells yet.”
Ilan now looked at him, then at Sausage, with a bit of a hopeful smile. The human child had shown interest in learning magic as well, but had been worried when they couldn’t catch on to the ice magic as easily as Elowen had. If an adult elf was still learning, that meant they had a chance, too.
Rayen started tugging at the bottom of Sausage’s vest. “Papa, I’m hungy.”
“Me too me too,” Seren chimed in, then stuck her thumb in her mouth before tugging on the other side. Well, there was one glove unaccounted for already.
Xornoth smiled down at them. “I’ll go see if dinner is ready at the Great Hall, if you can wait just a bit longer, little ones. If not, there are a few snacks in the kitchen, and you can settle in more until then.”
Mariposa chose that moment to start wailing, causing both Scott and Sausage to turn toward the crib. With the latter hindered by the twins, Scott made it there first and picked her up to carry her over to the changing table for a check.
“Wow, you’re both already really good at this,” Xornoth complimented. “Guess you can handle a baby after all. Well, I’ll be on my way! See you in a bit!”
Sausage handed off the supply bag to Scott, then ushered the other children out to assign them specific rooms – mainly so the twins would be right next door in case they had any late-night issues. Liana agreed to share the room with them, and as expected while being in an unfamiliar place Elowen asked to be in Azahar’s room, leaving Ilan to a room all their own, which they were happy with since it gave them a break from their sisters. The younger girls might behave since they were away from home and would have Liana there to tell them things about the elven homeland in winter.
After dinner Xornoth returned to the lodge with them to chat some more with Sausage, holding Mariposa again while the younger children played under Azahar’s supervision. Scott sat separately with Elowen, going over a few spellcasting gestures without fully creating the intended effect. It would be an early bedtime for everyone, though, since the festival began in the morning.
~*~
Despite being woken up twice during the night by Mariposa crying, Scott was awake on time. He quietly walked around the room getting ready, letting Sausage sleep a few extra minutes before finally waking him and helping him put his prosthetic on for the day.
While Sausage tended to Mariposa, Scott went to wake Elowen to help him fix up his hair with braids along each side of his head and tied together at the back, just like Scott’s. After that they gathered up the rest of the children, bundling up as necessary against the extra chill just as the sun was rising. Elowen walked beside Scott with Azahar right behind, while Liana and Ilan held the hand of one twin each, and Sausage at the rear, temporarily carrying a still-sleepy Mariposa facing outward in the carrier.
Although there was already a fair amount of snow around and frost on the gardens they passed, the official start of the festival called for a little something more. As they entered the area where many residents of Rivendell had already begun to gather, they saw Xornoth waiting with a crown of blue crystals on his head and an attendant at his side holding a folded cloth.
When the group stopped, Xornoth bowed to Scott and took off the crown to place it on his brother’s head. From atop the cloth he took a necklace that had a single blue crystal attached to a gold bauble and bestowed it upon Elowen. He then took the cloth itself, holding it up by one edge so that it unfolded into a shimmering dark blue cape, which he put around Scott’s shoulders, signaling that he would be the Summoner of the Sigils for the duration of Winterfest.
There was some light applause from those closest who had watched. More of the crowd parted as Scott walked to the center of the main festival grounds. Elowen remained behind, looking uncertain, but Azahar used the moment to squeeze his hand and give his best friend-turned-brother a reassuring smile.
Seren and Rayen jostled their way between their older brothers to get closer. Azahar gave them a patient look and now put a hand on each’s head to keep them from wandering further away, but they stayed in place now that they had a better view to watch as Scott shaped the spell that would form the snowflake sigils in the sky. He paused just before completing it and looked over at Elowen with a gentle smile.
The boy glanced around nervously, but Azahar whispered an encouraging, “You can do it,” although he refrained from offering a physical push. Elowen kept his eyes downward as he walked over, but he did look up at Scott once he reached him. Scott gave the slightest of nods, and Elowen took a breath then began to trace out the spell they had practiced the night before. He threw his arms upward at the same time as Scott did. The sigils appeared, accompanied by a small flurry of snow that dusted the surrounding area in a fresh layer of white glitter. The attendees applauded louder now, and there were a few exclamations of wonder as frost elementals materialized beyond the gathering and began to wander around at random, adding more layers of snow in their wake.
Elowen grinned; Scott kept his own arms up a few seconds longer even though he wanted to hug him, but then Azahar ran over to catch the younger boy up in a fierce embrace, getting that hug in first. “You did it! I knew you’d be alright!”
Scott smiled and now hugged them both.
Drawn by the excitement, Seren and Rayen came over as well, running in circles around the three of them. Liana skipped over next, proclaiming, “Elowen did it! He’s a winter wizard!”
Xornoth, remaining beside Sausage and Ilan, chuckled warmly. The summoning was usually a more formal affair, but the crowd didn’t seem to mind, already turning toward individual chatter and breaking off into smaller parties to start exploring the food stalls and market offerings spread throughout the town and adjacent valley. He decided he preferred the rambunctiousness of children over stiff ceremony.
He was about to comment as much to Sausage, but the soft look on the man’s face as he watched Scott and the rest of the kids made him chuckle again instead. He put a gentle hand on Ilan’s head and smiled down when they looked up, then put his other hand on Sausage’s shoulder. “A whole bunch of future wizards and knights and caretakers and whatever else they want to be. You two are doing all right.”
“Thank you,” Sausage replied, glancing down at Mariposa as she babbled and waved her tiny hands in Scott’s direction. “Looks like she wants Dad again. If you’ll excuse us, Your Highness, we’ve got some playing to do.” He grinned and took Ilan’s hand to include the still somewhat stoic child in the wintery games, as the others had started to construct figures out of snow in imitation of the frost elementals with Scott helping to shape and keep the forms with a little extra magic.
~*~
There was a break for food along the way, with plenty of offers of free treats for the younger children, but Sausage insisted on paying for everything. The inn offered a space for tending infants during the day, which Scott used as a chance to converse with a few nursing elven mothers there and get advice while feeding Mariposa her scheduled bottles.
A little later on the family went further separate ways when Sausage took the children to go sledding while Scott brought Mariposa back to the lodge for a nap somewhere warmer rather than continuing to carry her around. Xornoth accompanied him and once Mariposa was settled into the crib, they made some hot cider and sat in the main room close to the hallway to be able to hear if she suddenly woke up crying.
“Parenthood seems to be suiting you both well,” Xornoth commented. “Elowen did wonderfully, and I can see that all of them are fond of you. I assume you’re stopping at seven, though. You might start getting in over your head, and I’m going to run out of embarrassing stories soon.”
“Well, going from three to six was a little overwhelming at first, but things worked out for the best for everyone, I think. We have the space at the castle, after all. And Mariposa just sort of happened before we realized it.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask, and well, just to be honest: what possessed you tw— Uh, sorry, wrong choice of word there, ehm. What made you decide to adopt an infant? It’s your business, of course, I’m not saying you shouldn’t have, just kind of curious how that came about.”
“It was an impulse decision, I’ll admit. We could have let her go to a home better able to meet her needs, but with one look she won our hearts and we decided to at least try.” Scott smiled down at his mug of cider. “This is our new adventure and we’re exploring it together. If we can make a difference in their lives, I’d say it was a success.”
Xornoth couldn’t resist reaching over and ruffling Scott’s hair. “My little brother, taking on the biggest adventure of all. So, tell me more of what everyone is up to. Liana is still a little firecracker, I see. I don’t imagine her having the patience to learn magic, but Ilan seems interested…”
~*~
Out on the sledding hills, a game had been set up of three teams to see who could navigate to the bottom of the hill and climb back up the fastest.
Halfway through the second run, Liana and Elowen were trying to race Sausage back to the top, then Liana stopped and yelled, “Papa, you’re cheating! You can carry them and the sled! They should walk like us!”
Sausage looked back at her, a twin balanced on each hip and the ropes of the small sled tied to his belt. “What? I thought that counted to slow me down? Have you picked one of them up lately? They’re getting heavy!”
The twins giggled. Liana huffed. Sausage laughed and set the girls down one at a time, although for a second he regretted not going right-side first because he thought he felt the rig holding his prosthetic in place shift ever so slightly. fWhip had reinforced it the last time he did maintenance specifically in order for Sausage to handle picking up the kids more often, so it shouldn’t be having an issue. He then untied the sled from his belt, acquiescing to her complaint.
Liana waded through the snow and wrapped her arms around Seren, attempting to pick her up. Seren giggled, while Elowen stood holding the ropes of the other sled, wondering if he should point out to his elven sister that Azahar and Ilan were now winning. Then Rayen wanted to get involved and jumped on Liana, knocking all three of them over into the snow. Seren started crying, getting a little too squished under the other two and with cold ice crystals scraping against her face.
Sausage hurried to intervene before someone started kicking. “Easy, girls. You’re okay. It’s just a little snow.” He got Liana back on her feet then picked up Seren again and brushed the icy flakes off her reddened cheeks with his gloved left hand; the metal of his right would be colder to the touch.
Just then Azahar and Ilan came sledding past, calling out how they were going to win because everyone else was being slowpokes. Liana grabbed the sled from Elowen then charged the rest of the way up with him floundering to follow.
“Slowpokes! We’re slowpokes, Papa! Let’s go!” Rayen called out and tried to push him toward the top of the hill. Naturally she couldn’t move him even half a centimeter.
“In a second, Rayen. Let me make sure your sister is okay.” Seren was making sniffling noises but quieted down after another moment. “I think it might be time to go inside and warm up. We can play more tomorrow, alright?” Seren nodded and hugged him around the neck. Rayen emitted a disappointed whine, as kids do, but started trudging up the hill.
Sausage was about to follow, then felt the horizontal strap securing the prosthetic’s rig around his upper arm start to slip. “Uh, Rayen – Rayen, wait a second—” With little choice he dropped himself straight down into the snow, preventing Seren from falling by herself as his prosthetic came clean off. He winced a little at the abrupt cut off of the redstone signal, but he was more concerned that she would begin crying again from the sudden drop.
Instead, she only blinked before laughing. “Papa! Your arm!”
Fortunately, Azahar and Ilan were on their way back again and noticed there was something wrong, what with how Sausage was sitting on the ground now with both twins clamoring for him to get up. He had fished his prosthetic out of the snow but was resigned to having to put it back down in it so he could get up, but then Ilan took it from him with a sheepish smile while Azahar offered to help Sausage up.
“Thank you. Um, Azahar, can you give that a quick look? I don’t think anything broke. All it did was fall off.”
Having three years of experience watching fWhip tinker with the arm during maintenance visits, the elven teen had a basic idea of how the struts and plates looked in the correct condition. There wasn’t any sparking from any wires and Sausage did a quick test by making the fingers curl; even though it was controlled by remote signal anyway, it was slightly disconcerting to see it move when it wasn’t attached.
At least watching all this unfold kept the twins’ attention rapt, more fascinated than weirded out by the arm seeming to move by itself. A minute later Elowen and Liana caught up to the group as well, stopping to see what had happened.
Sausage clasped his left hand over the exposed stub of his arm, the fabric cuff designed to resist chaffing, not the cold. “Okay, everybody, time to go find Dad and get inside. Let’s go, let’s go.” He waved his left hand to encourage them all to get in front of him, but Liana held back and stared up at his right side.
“Papa,” she said in a scolding tone, “You’re gonna get cold.”
“It’s okay, Liana, let’s just get going.”
“No, Papa. You’re gonna get cold! C’mere.” She waved him down to her level.
He gave an accepting smile and knelt on one knee. She pulled off her scarf and wrapped it around, under, and over his right shoulder, managing to cover that entire part of his arm. He helped tuck in the ends so it wouldn’t come loose. “Thank you. Now I’ll stay good and warm until we get back.”
Liana went skipping off – as much as the snow allowed for skipping – and he followed, catching up to the others in time to hear Seren demand to carry the prosthetic because it was her fault it came off so she should get to help. As she made several attempts to jump and take it from Ilan, Azahar’s answer was to take it instead and hold it up higher out of her reach.
They left their sleds in a corral at the top of the hill for others to use later, then headed in the direction of the lodge. On the way they met up with Xornoth and Scott, chatting together as they strolled around town. Scott was cradling Mariposa in his arms instead of using the baby carrier, perhaps to allow for a thicker layer of swaddling blankets, but once he caught sight of the purple scarf around Sausage’s upper arm, he handed off the entire bundle of quietly murmuring baby to Xornoth so he could go and inspect the prosthetic for himself.
Azahar held it out for him to see. “I didn’t notice any damage. I think the strap got loosened, and… maybe the rig isn’t as cold-proof as Uncle fWhip thought?” the boy suggested.
“That’s possible. Winter in Mythland and the Grimlands is milder, plus you’ve all been out here for a while.” Scott removed his own scarf and put it on Liana despite her claiming that she was fine, then they all headed back to the lodge.
~*~
A clothes line was already strung up across the width of the room in front of the fireplace for all the hats and gloves to be hung up. Armor stands had been made into improvised coat racks, and soon the children had changed into dryer clothes. Scott helped Sausage out of his vest and into a change of clothes of his own while Xornoth kept an eye on everyone, then they sat down together to inspect his prosthetic a little more.
The rig was designed to fit snugly with the strap as more of a backup to keep it in place. As Scott slid it up over the end of Sausage’s arm, it seemed to be fitting correctly, but he kept a thought toward what their eldest son had said. “I think Azahar is right. It might be because it’s just that much colder here and it’s affecting the metal. You might have to take it easy on the extra lifting and carrying we have this time.”
“But that’s not fair to you,” Sausage protested. “You’re already handling most of the things for Mariposa. I’ll just, umm… Well, I’ll find a regular coat to wear and that will be some insulation, at least.”
As their conversation went on, Xornoth listened in while pretending to have his own conversation with Mariposa as she happily gurgled and mumbled, laying on a blanket on the seat beside him so she was free to wave her hands and kick her little legs. He made sure to rest his hands on her so she didn’t make any sudden moves that might make her fall before he snuck a glance at his brother. It was difficult to plan for everything when traveling with kids, but with one extra thing that could become an inconvenience when this was meant to be a simple holiday trip…
Xornoth picked up the baby and started toward the bedrooms, calling back, “Scott, the extra diapers are in that one bag, right? I think Mariposa needs a change. I’ll take care of that then we’ll figure out dinner.”
He only pretended once he got to the room, however, knowing she would fuss if she did need a change. Instead, he pulled on the carrier and placed her in it, then picked up the supply bag and casually walked out. “Grab your coats and hats, kids, we’re going over to the Great Hall now to see what’s cooking. I know they were baking cookies earlier. You two stay here, Papa needs time to warm up some more, I think. I’ll send someone over with a delivery so you can eat right here.”
Of course, with the mention of cookies, the children were happy to follow him without questioning, although Azahar had an amused expression, sensing this was a scheme to distract them from the fact that their fathers were being told to stay put.
Sausage also smiled and subtly made a little shrug that caused his prosthetic to slide off again, and Scott was distracted from potentially stopping his brother when it fell into his lap. “Oops. Maybe just leave it off for now?” He gave his elven husband a soft smile. A few hours without the kids would be fine, and they knew they could trust Xornoth with them.
.
As promised, a dinner for two was brought to the lodge, and they sat in the kitchen enjoying a calm, quiet meal. Afterward they sat by the large window in the main room, watching the sky begin to darken and the occasional bit of snow drifting off the roof in the breeze. Sausage leaned back against Scott’s chest while the elf draped his arms around him, gently resting a hand on the remainder of his right arm, prosthetic already put away for the night.
“Feels weird not jumping up to see why Mariposa might be crying,” Sausage murmured.
“Or getting the girls to stop running around and come to dinner,” Scott put in.
“It’s almost too quiet.”
“Yeah.”
Sausage sighed. “I don’t mind having a moment to ourselves, but… the room feels too empty.”
“Yeah.”
“I can’t tell if you’re really agreeing or not.”
“Well, I’m kind of thinking how it is a bit nice to have my husband in my arms right now.”
Sausage tilted his head to share a smile, then they kissed and went back to peacefully watching the sun set.
~*~
Everyone slept in a little later the next morning. With no other official ceremonies taking place until the end of the week, Scott was free to relax a little more, and now with the slight hiccup of Sausage’s prosthetic not being as snow day-proof as they had thought, there was some rearranging of the system they had previously planned out. It was also the children who woke their fathers first, asking if they could go sledding again after breakfast.
Sausage was in the midst of seeing them off with a comment to Scott warning him to not cheat, when Xornoth arrived at the door. “Hello again, I’m here to help with baby duties. I know you can always use an extra hand with that.” He winked at Sausage.
Scott groaned quietly. “Please, don’t start with the jokes again. I hear enough of those at home, I don’t need them from both of you.”
Xornoth and Sausage traded conspiratorial looks, and the elf said, “Oh, no, I would never subject you to so much torment, my dear brother. The offer goes to Sausage, after all. I know you can handle Mariposa fine by yourself, but he needs an arm to lean on sometimes. Although, I probably should have faith he can do it all single-handedly. Hands down, you both are doing a very good job with all of this—”
While Sausage cracked up at all the puns, Xornoth was hit in the face with a snowball that Scott had conjured from thin air. “Keep it up and you’ll become one with the frost elementals. We’re leaving now. I hate both of you.”
Sausage laughed again. “Okay, see you in a bit! Have f—” He was promptly struck in the chest by a less cohesive clump of snow and there was a round of giggles from outside the doorway. Azahar pointed down at Liana, although the gesture was unnecessary since she was already gathering up more snow from the nearby flower box for another attempt.
Scott conjured a smaller, more loosely packed snowball and tossed it at her. “Keep the snow outside please!”
Liana threw the new clump she had collected at him, then ran off around the side of the lodge to avoid retaliation. Scott glanced at Azahar, and at the unspoken signal the teen ran after her, flinging a snowball he had secretly made. The rest of the children followed and with a little bit of strategic herding, Scott managed to move the snowball fight behind the lodge so they wouldn’t accidentally involve anyone walking on the street.
He provided a few gentle bursts of extra snow, laughing and cheering along with them, and occasionally helping (or limiting) the twins with their enthusiasm. Rayen decided to once again get involved when Elowen and Azahar began to tussle in a snow drift. Scott mentally noted that they should probably keep tabs on how feisty she turned out as she got older. He scooped her up to move her out of the way, lightly swinging her around in the air to distract her.
She laughed and, after he set her down, returned to flinging bits of snow at her sisters and Ilan. Sausage and Xornoth watched from the bedroom window, the latter holding Mariposa up so she could watch while keeping safe and warm where she was. She babbled and giggled, seeing the motion outside and following the various colors as her older siblings happened to pass by the window.
At one point, Azahar stopped and waved at her. She babbled louder and made grabby hands toward him. Sausage opened the window a little and Azahar reached in with a little bit of snow on his glove. Mariposa automatically caught hold of one of his fingers but seemed to rethink it, not sure what to make of the cold and then the wet when the snowflakes melted under her warm touch. She made the baby noise equivalent of confusion and Azahar gently pulled his finger free with a smile and another wave.
Mariposa wiggled and kicked her legs. Xornoth kept a good hold on her, while Sausage went to get a cloth to dry her hand off; it never hurt to be overly cautious when she couldn’t say it might be bothering her.
The request for sledding was forgotten as the snowball fight turned from building small snow fortifications to throw from behind into a group effort to build several snowmen. Sausage put Mariposa down for a nap but remained inside to keep an eye on her while Xornoth went out to join the snow-sculpting. He and Scott worked on the higher parts and would smile warmly at each other from around the figures taking shape, both of them thinking about how they hadn’t played in the snow together since they were children, and rekindled their own brotherly bond – which included things like Xornoth pretending to accidentally dump a large handful of snow on Scott when it was meant to go on the biggest of the snowmen.
Naturally Scott responded by conjuring a tiny, localized snow flurry directly above his brother’s head. Xornoth made an exaggerated annoyed face, much to the amusement of the children; all except Liana, who was extremely focused on trying to weave some sticks together to make a right arm for one of the snowmen. At last, she held up her creation and called out, “Look! It’s just like Papa’s!”
“Oh no!” Xornoth cried dramatically. “Could it be? A frost elemental stole his arm the first time, now another is going to steal his new one?”
Liana emitted an indignant noise. “Uncle Xornoth! Stop changing the story or I’m gonna steal your arm an’ give it to Papa!”
This time the amusement was shared by everyone except Scott and Sausage, who glanced at each other from either side of the open window, until Sausage gave the elf a weak smile then turned away to check on Mariposa. Xornoth noticed the exchange and a realization about his joke hit him; he turned an apologetic wince toward his brother.
“It looks very good, Liana,” Scott interjected, moving to take the stick creation from her and carefully adding it to the tallest of the snowmen. “Everyone did a great job. I think it’s past lunchtime, though, so we should go inside for a while. We can play some more later this afternoon.”
~*~
The week continued on with various snowy activities, and Xornoth made up for his gaffe by babysitting Mariposa so Scott and Sausage could both spend time out with the other children at the same time, although they were just as happy to have everyone gathered by the fire in the main room before bedtime.
On the final evening of the festival everyone bundled up again to go out and join the crowd on the plateau. Scott, wearing the crown of crystals and shimmering cloak, dismissed the sigils, then placed the crown on Xornoth’s head and removed the cloak, folding it up neatly and handing it to his brother to finalize the ceremony, passing the power back to Rivendell’s ruler. Then, as the sun fully set, he found a comfortable spot to sit with Sausage and the children as a fireworks show started.
Sausage handed Mariposa to him then got the twins settled on his lap to keep them still for the show. Liana leaned on him from behind, arms around his neck in a loose hug. Elowen sat beside Scott, fidgeting with the crystal necklace he had worn again despite not contributing to the spellcasting this time, a gift to keep. Behind them Azahar and Ilan sat with Xornoth between them, having joined the family group after sending an attendant off with the ceremonial items.
The fireworks first appeared in the shape of the snow sigils, then, with a little extra magic, became more complex figures representing the frost elementals that appeared to move around, creating more sigils in the next round of colorful bursts. With the kids enchanted by the show, Scott leaned toward Sausage with a soft smile. “Happy Winterfest, love.”
There was the start of an attempt to kiss, but at that moment Mariposa let out a loud, happy squeal of her own and laughed, bright eyes on the sky as she kicked her feet. Sausage chuckled and settled for leaning his head against Scott’s with an answering fond smile.
~End~
#empires smp#empires smp fanfic#empiresshipping#MythicalSausage#scott smajor#dangthatsalongname#empires xornoth#scosage#empires smp s1#champions au: garden path#lunar yarns
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Explosive Invention
Summary: Grian’s an alchemist, and Mumbo is, you know, a vampire-ish guy. Grian has an idea, a mind-blowing one, and Mumbo doesn’t know about it. Also Scar gets worried and serious. It’s just fluff? I think?
Relationship: None, though could be slightly there if you squint. It’s all platonic and could be just friends being friends. (I mean Mumbo harvest Grian’s soul in S8, man knows what he is doing...)
Character: Scar, Grian, Mumbo Jumbo, Xisumavoid (mentioned), Stressmonster101 (mentioned)
Notes: This is strictly just about their MC personas. Do not take this seriously! Do not harass them with these works.
-
They are chatting under a tree Scar built, then Grian gets quieter and quieter, until Mumbo feels the air kind of just- stops.
“Grian, what are you doing?” He turns to look at Grian.
“Uh, nothing!”
“You just- you literally just tried to pluck my hair, dude!” Mumbo leans away from Grian’s hand, which is now once again reaching for his head.
“Well, not ‘tried’…”
Mumbo yelps. Grian stands up while giggling uncontrollably, a lock of hair in his hand, “I’ll make it up for you! Promise! Now BYEEEE!”
And just like that, Grian fires his rocket and flies away. Mumbo stares at Grian until he disappear from the render distance, and sighs. The sigh it’s almost fond, but mostly just annoyed.
Well, Grian always get what he wants anyway, even it’s a part of him. It’s not like Grian doesn’t know he is a vampire.
-
“So G, what exactly requires my hair?”
“Oh, nah, it’s for an explosive potion I was making. It failed and…well. It exploded, so it worked, just not in my favor. I think Iskall did something to that book I was researching.”
“…You sure that’s not a witch’s recipe?”
“Does that really matter now?”
“I don’t understand how- like seriously, how did you not suspect a thing when you saw…whatever you saw that demanded my hair?”
“Well, it’s always funny to troll you anyway, so it’s a win for me.”
“…You do realize I can kill things this season, right?”
Grian stops his stirring and looks up at Mumbo. He searches Mumbo’s face for a while, chuckles, then resumes his work.
“You won’t. You like me too much.”
Mumbo fumbles for a word to reply. He manages, “We can always go to kill Scar. Are you up for it?”
Grian laughs, “Am I?! Who needs potion when you can just mess with Scar?”
-
Mumbo is reading a book when Grian walks in. He smells something before he sees Grian, and when he sees Grian- the smell makes so much sense when he sees Grian.
He’s at Grian’s side immediately, “Grian!”
“Hi, Mumbo.” Grian’s voice is weak. Mumbo’s starting to panic.
“Why are you- why is your sweater singed? Did you get burned? What happened?!”
“The potion works. I think it does, anyway. I need you to-“ A cough fit interrupt his words.
“What potion- Grian, do I get Stress now? Or Xisuma? I- this is madness, how do you get burned so badly?!”
“Stop mother-henning me. Try the potion so I can rest.”
Grian take a potion bottle out from his inventory and hands it to Mumbo
Mumbo hesitates, “Grian, we should seriously call someone in, it looks painful-“
“JUST DRINK IT!”
Mumbo, startled, drinks all the potion in one go, “Okay- there, I did it. Now can we call the others?”
“Take me to Xisuma.”
“Take you to- Grian, I can’t carry you while flying, the burn-“
“Well you better be quick, ‘cuz I…”
“Grian? Grian! Don’t- Wake up!”
-
Grian wakes up to an unhappy face.
“Good morning, Scar.” He rasps.
Scar put down the scarf he is working on, “Yeah, morning to you, G. It’s nighttime, but, yeah. Glad to see you awake. How are you feeling? Xisuma spent quite a while fixing you, you know.”
Scar is surprisingly serious today, Grian doesn’t quite know what to respond to that.
Scar goes on, “It wouldn’t have been so bad if you went through the healing potion quick enough, but you didn’t.” That’s a harsh tone from Scar. “You gotta take care of yourself, G-man. People worries about you.”
The door clicks, saving Grian from Scar’s lecturing.
“Hey. Uh. Did- is this the right time?”
“No, yeah, I was just…trying to tell Grian to take care of himself a little bit more.” Scar pauses. “Well don’t just stand there, Mumbo, come on in!”
Grian watches Mumbo taking the seat beside Scar. He looks like he has something to say but doesn’t know how to. Huh.
The silence goes on.
Scar observes them both. Amused, he goes back to work on his scarf. Oh Grian doesn’t like that smug smile, not at all.
“Grian, how are you feeling?”
“I feel alright.” He thinks for a second. “Was it you that took me to Xisuma, Mumbo?”
“Yeah, it was me.”
“How was that?”
Mumbo quietly chuckles, “Scariest experience of my life, dude.”
“Did it- did it hurt? Did the potion not work?”
“It worked, I flew all the way to Xisuma’s base, but don’t- Grian, I mean this, don’t ever do that again, okay?”
“To be fair, I thought I would be fine-“
“Grian, don’t do that again, seriously. You scared the pants off of me.”
“Woah ho ho okay, if we are talking about pants now-“ Scar throws up his hands.
“Scar!” Mumbo exclaims.
“I’ll leave you guys to it! See you!” Scar slips out of the door with a click.
The silence falls, once again. Mumbo breaks the silence.
“Thank you, G. Is that why you pluck my hair though? To make the sun-proof potion?”
Grian nods slightly. “Do you like it? It literally exploded in my face, I tell you. It’s not an easy one.”
Mumbo looks incredulous, and he laughs. “I felt the sun for the first time. It’s so weird when it doesn’t burn.”
“So do you like it or not?”
“…Yeah, I do. Thank you, G.”
-
“Oh, the potion can last about ten hours and that’s it.”
“Yeah, I noticed that when I was heading back. You are not making this just so you can pluck my hair, right?”
Grian smiles.
“You are not, RIGHT?”
-
Inspirations:
Alchemist Grian and Vampire Mumbo’s design by @ink-ghoul
The artwork that also floods my brain by @homiu-l
Like I said, I can’t get alchemist Grian and Mumbo out of my brain. Mumbo’s holding an umbrella, so the sun probably burns him, and I imagine that being a huge problem.
No one beta for me so, feel free to point things out. Also, English is not my first language, so if there’s weird phrases and stuff, your comment is always welcome!
Thank you ink-ghoul and homiu-l for the wonderful artworks!!!!
I might revisit this and see if I can fix some fluency problems...
#hermitcraft#gtwscar#mumbo jumbo#grian#mumbo and grian#ink-ghoul#homiu-l#hermit fanfics#fanfics#short fanfic#they are friends#just suspicious that's all#why am i doing this to myself
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#14 with lokius!
(You were so fast with this one! 14. “Are you telling me we’re stranded?” and this is actually canon-verse and Christmas-themed. Ah, the joys of the multiverse.)
Got My Love to Keep Me Warm
Read it on AO3 (G, 1.3k)
As soon as they step through the time door, Mobius knows something’s wrong. Perhaps it’s the way that they’re supposed to be arrive in the middle of summer, and the temperatures they’ve walked into are currently sub-freezing. Maybe it’s the sad chirp his tempad gives before it displays an ominous message he's seen only once before, then shuts down.
“What do you mean, we can’t leave?” Loki says, his voice high and strained, when Mobius explains the situation. Bugs happen in any code, and his tempad just needs to undergo a hard reset and it’ll be good to go. Too bad that usually takes a minimum of six hours. “We’re stranded?”
“Well, that’s putting it a little dramatically,” Mobius tries. “It’s more like a… temporary setback. Anyway, there are worse places to get stuck for a few hours.” He looks around at the surroundings in which they find themselves: a small city, somewhere in southern Germany by the locals’ vernacular, approximately the mid-1990s, and apparently midwinter. Well, not just midwinter. Mobius smiles. “Kinda festive, really.”
“I’ve no interest in frivolous Midgardian religious festivals,” Loki sneers dismissively.
“Why, ‘cause they’re not worshipping you?” Mobius counters.
“If they were, they’d throw a better party than this.” Loki frowns at the little wooden huts, each festooned in lights and garland, peddling food and handcrafted gifts. “Where’s the wine? Where’s the orgy?”
Mobius splutters through a laugh, feeling his face heat despite himself. It’s not like he hasn’t seen what Loki used to get up to when he’d deign to grace some Norse bacchanal, but honestly, some days it’s hard to believe this is the same man. God. Whatever. It’s different now that he really knows Loki, is all.
“Can’t help you with the latter, but former…” Mobius gestures with his head down the first aisle of the Christkindlmarkt. “Follow me.”
Loki does follow, but not without further protest. Much protest. Can’t they go somewhere else, why can’t someone from the TVA come get them, it’s getting dark out, it’s snowing, and most of all, it’s freezing.
“You know, I never understood that. Shouldn’t you be immune to the cold?” Mobius asks as they walk.
“Not in this form,” Loki huffs, cupping his hands in front of his face and blowing on them.
“Well it’s not going to get warmer any time soon, so you better conjure yourself something.”
Loki harrumphs at that, but a moment later, after eyeing a group of bundled up Germans, he shrugs a massive puffy coat in an eye-searing shade of green into existence around his shoulders. About the nicest thing Mobius can say about it is that it does fit in with the fashion of the time pretty well.
“What about you?” Loki asks suddenly, his eyebrows knitting together in the middle.
“I’m touched it occurred to you, but I’m fine,” Mobius answers. “I run warm.”
“Hmm,” Loki hums skeptically, then holds one hand out in front of him and twirls the other over the top of it, conjuring a thick, wooly scarf. He reaches out, tugging Mobius to a stop by the arm, and loops the scarf around Mobius’s neck before stepping close to weave the ends together securely.
“Uh, thanks,” Mobius says, relieved that the cold has already rendered his cheeks quite pink. “C’mon, the wine will help too.”
As predicted, it doesn’t take long for them to come to a stand selling steaming mugs of glühwein. Mobius fishes around in his pocket until he finds some TVA-issued AllCash—guaranteed to take on the appearance of the local currency where you find yourself in the timeline—and hands over some of what are now Deutschmarks to the vendor. When he turns back, Loki is cradling the mug in both hands and taking a tentative sip. For a moment he looks utterly delighted, until he sees Mobius looking and tries to school his expression back to something a lot more indifferent. It’s too late, though, Mobius saw him, and he can’t help but laugh.
“That good, huh?”
“It’s adequate,” Loki sniffs.
They kill a fair amount of time just wandering around the market. Despite his professed lack of interest, Loki has a lot of opinions on the various shops, predictably favoring those offering shiny baubles and glittering jewels. As the evening goes on he starts running off for stretches of time, distracted by this and that, sometimes returning with some kind of snack; Mobius doesn’t ask how he’s paying for them. He should probably be more concerned about the disappearing act, but Loki has proven himself time and time again, and Mobius trusts him even if he shouldn’t. This break might have been instigated by external forces, but he’s going to enjoy it nonetheless.
On one of Loki’s excursions to who knows where, Mobius comes across a little snake tie pin with emerald eyes, finely wrought in gold. He barely stops to think before he’s buying it, even though it certainly does not qualify as a justified use of AllCash, even though he has no idea when he might give him such a thing, even though it’s probably highly inappropriate. He must be smiling to himself as he slips it into his pocket, because Loki notices when he returns a few minutes later.
“What are you grinning about?” Loki asks suspiciously.
“Nothing,” Mobius says quickly. He narrows his eyes at Loki in turn, who’s sipping yet another mug of glühwein. “How many of those have you had, anyway?”
Loki shrugs. “Does it matter?”
Mobius wants to say yes, but he’s hard pressed to care at the moment. Especially when they stroll down another lane of the market and Loki loops an arm through Mobius’s seemingly without thinking about it. It’s fine. It’s just the wine, loosening him up and making him a little more affectionate than he’d normally be. That doesn’t mean Mobius isn’t going to enjoy it while it lasts, as questionably selfish as it might be. That goes double when they end up standing by the massive Christmas tree at the central square, admiring the twinkling lights and shining garland. The wind has picked up now that the night has finally settled in, and Mobius can’t quite suppress the shiver that works its way down his spine. Loki notices that, too, though Mobius hadn’t really expected him to.
“Stubborn man,” Loki mutters from behind him, and then abruptly Mobius is being enveloped in Loki’s massive coat, with Loki still inside it. Loki hooks his chin over Mobius’s shoulder as he wraps his arms around his waist, pressing against Mobius’s back, and the sudden warmth is so welcome that Mobius briefly forgets to feel overwhelmed by the physical contact and the fact that Loki is currently wrapped around him like a blanket.
“How are you so warm?” he mutters.
“I’ve been wearing a coat,” Loki retorts. “Maybe you’ve heard of them? They’re quite useful in winter environments.”
“Quiet, you.”
Loki laughs quietly, his warm, wine-spiced breath washing over Mobius’s cheek, and Mobius tries very hard not to feel entirely too much about all of this. That’s a lost cause when he turns his head, which is definitely a mistake, because it brings their faces entirely too close together. This is definitely inappropriate, especially when Loki’s eyes drop to his lips and he somehow manages to sway even closer.
Then the tempad chirps in his pocket, and Loki jerks away, taking his tempting lips, his coat, and all his warmth with him. Mobius sighs. “Reset’s done.”
“Oh,” Loki breathes. “Already?” Mobius might have laughed at his 180 in attitude not long ago, but now it’s just kind of depressing. He forces a smile and makes sure their destination is input properly into the device before he manages to look up at Loki again. “We’re back in business,” he confirms. “You ready to get out of here?”
He must be imagining that Loki looks like he wants to say no, because a moment later he dissolves his coat into the ether again and tugs on the front of his TVA-issued jacket to straighten it. “Of course.” He pauses, like he wants to say something else, then shakes his head. “Back to work?” “Back to work.”
#lokius#loki x mobius#loki laufeyson#mobius m. mobius#mobius x loki#loki tv#loki series#loki fanfic#lokius fanfic#lokius fic#my fic#1 million words challenge
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England has a run-in with something magical. Warnings for tickle torture without plot and some sexual themes.
Flailing limbs. Rapid heartbeat. Wildly incoherent howls and screams that somehow, no matter the volume and pitch, did not shatter glass.
Arthur gripped the cloth of his shirt over his stomach, rolling on the ground in absolute hysterics. His free fist pounded the wooden floor beneath him. Breakfast was threatening to come back up the way it went down. He tugged at and ripped his shirt open, a few buttons popped off, and it still did nothing to stop the ticklish onslaught that had tortured him for hours. A peal of guffaws were forced from his throat as the evil magic used his own opened dress shirt to tickle his sides and ribs, soft material that made him squeal too, and he quickly removed the traitorous clothing and threw it across the room. Tears flowed too heavily for him to even inspect his sensitive skin after as he flopped back to the ground.
All thought had left his mind regardless of his ability to look at anything. He did not know where the ticklish attack came from - voodoo or some evil magical folk, he figured - but it had rendered him such a helpless, squirming mess that he had stopped fighting long ago. Invisible tentacles, feathers, fingers, brushes, all manners of ticklish torment slithered over his body in changing cycles. The tools changed depending on his reactions and possible boredom on the entity's part, if there was in fact an entity.
Now that his shirt was removed on his own accord (and how he berated himself for that), one could possibly see the indents of invisible fingers tapping away at his toned belly. Something slimy slipped its way into his navel, and Arthur screeched. He rolled onto his back and hit his own stomach with his palms, but it did nothing but render the skin pink and ripe for softer tickling that feathery sensations took care of.
He had not been able to touch whatever was torturing him, he couldn't see it, he couldn't hear anything beyond himself, but he sure as shit felt every. Single. Touch. Nothing that he had done, or tried to do, stopped the tickle torture something had forced upon him today - and it had started like any other. The World Meeting was last week (not the European Union of course, but the meeting of the human representations), so perhaps he had caught the attention of something evil then. Or, someone. It was held in New York though, the United States only had voodoo in the south right? He was aware that other nations stayed longer. Arthur had perhaps angered someone who was capable of traveling and discovering the American voodoo rituals to produce…this. He couldn't recall if he had outright angered anyone though, or if it was merely by chance that he happened to be the guinea pig for someone else. Either way, he was here now.
The first tickle came during breakfast. A soft, fine tickle like the strand of a long hair on the back of Arthur's neck was his first sign, but he only assumed that it was time for a haircut. But it only continued after his attempts at brushing his shoulders off and picked up the teasing pace. The tickle kept circling his neck like a fluffy tail, and he had asked the magical being to stop with a giggle. Or, what he thought was a magical being.
It...did not stop.
Arthur had scrunched his shoulders in a fit of giggles as the fluffy tickles spread around his neck like a scarf. It at least let him put his mug down before the feeling changed, and a swarm of fingers scurried down his spine. He had stood up with a yelp and did the ticklish dance, reaching around and trying to grab the ungrabbable in a series of hopping circles, before he realized that this was more than a trickster fae. Up and down the fingers wiggled, tapping, poking, swiping, and never before had Arthur received such a ferocious back tickling. Or, knew that he was so ticklish there. It sent him into his first uncontrollable fit of giggles for the day ahead.
And then, well, suddenly it was one giant electric ticklish jolt directly on his spine that had caused the first shriek. His arms snapped to his back and under his shirt to stop the torture, but the entirety of the tickling changed again. The invisible tentacles made their first appearance in spreading from his spine, wrapping and wiggling their way over his ribs. Then sides.
When they wriggled in his armpits, Arthur had screamed with laughter and stumbled towards his bedroom to find a way to protect himself. He was extremely thankful for the lack of servants in the cottage house, and even more so for the privacy. If he had neighbors they would have surely called the police for his delirium.
Whatever magic had a hold of him, it did not allow it's newest victim to protect himself. As soon as Arthur stepped foot in his bedroom the tentacles spread further from his spine like a pair of wings, wriggling all over his most terribly ticklish spots on his upper body. He was hysterical within moments and crumpled like a paper doll to the floor. The magical entity toyed with him from there, tickling in its odd patterns that somehow kept Arthur awake and suffering without his lungs hurting too badly.
It had been this way for what felt like hours. He had moved beyond begging, beyond bargaining, beyond words and actions, because nothing stopped the tickling.
Arthur screamed and clawed at the ground as something - a hand? Vine? - wrapped around his ankle and dragged his body so it stretched out, and a vicious scribbling over his socked sole broke him into screechy giggles. He kicked his other foot out and it too was caught in the grasp, subject to toe pulling and scratching at random. This was the first time it had held him, compared to letting him thrash every which way earlier. Now that his ankles were being held, he was trapped on his belly.
Feathery sensations brushed over the edge of his ears on top of the foot torture, and he pushed against his left ear as the feather went inside of it. This was light compared to earlier, all part of the pattern. Something wet slithered up his leg next, drilling into the back of Arthur's exposed knee and thigh.
"PLEHAHAHAHA! NAHA, AHAHA, WAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA! CANAAAAHAHAHAHA! C-CAHAHAHAHAN'T!"
It showed mercy in slowing down, allowing his hysterics to die down into breathless giggles. His throat felt raw. He was exhausted.
Arthur was allowed this softer tickle break for a few more minutes before it let go of his ankles fully so he could curl into a ball. His ears and legs both were left alone. The cycle then restarted: his spine was alight with the electric tickles again, and he arched it on the ground with a desperate plea for mercy.
"No, no NO NOT AGAIN PLEHEHEASE! GAHAHAAAAA!"
And like before, it did not listen. He was filled with a renewed energy and was no longer tired. His body did not ache, even though he had been laughing and crying for...well, however long it had been by now. His skin was still insanely sensitive from the torture though, and something akin to a hand pulled his left arm out to the side in a half T-pose. His fingers were forcefully opened from a balled fist and spread, and Arthur squeaked and squirmed as feathers tickled his palm.
At the same time, his right leg was again pulled downwards and held there, limiting his movements further. It began to play with his toes again, this time with what felt like a very wet tongue, licking between and biting the undersides of the ticklish joints. Arthur could not stop giggling, nor had power of thought returned. He could only stare up at the ceiling and breathe while he could. His left leg and right arm thumped the ground uselessly, trying to move his stretched body every which way to protect himself somehow. He knew that it would get worse, and it did:
The familiar vibrations of a raspberry blew into the very center of his exposed left armpit, and his giggles turned into a squealing scream. But the raspberry did not stop, like it's cause could blow forever, and he threw his head back in desperate guffaws. His right arm shot into the attacked pit to protect it, but that did not stop anything. In fact, whatever was controlling this onslaught chose to attack his other one as well. Both arms were held down, and both armpits attacked with changing vibrations of raspberries or something akin to them.
Arthur's most ticklish spot was right there, where it was not letting up, and it seemed to know that.
He howled with insane laughter and tossed his head back in ticklish agony as the raspberries were replaced with thumbs. They dug in deep into his pits, sending jolt after ticklish jolt deep into Arthur's nervous system and overriding his every thought. Unlike the times it would move on before, the harsh tickling stayed in this area and added a new level of desperation.
"GOH-HAAAAA! AAAHAHAHAHA! KTH, AHA, PLEHEHAHAHA! NAHAHAHA!"
Arthur had never before been tickled for so long at one go. It was entirely unbearable and he could only take it until it stopped or he was rescued. Perhaps, if he escaped this hell, he would call up his beloved partner to be held. At least his brothers knew when to stop when they were ganging up on him.
But for now, he hollered until he was hoarse. The fingers were now padding over every part of his body. Every. Fucking. Inch. Soft taps up his ribs. Lobster claws grabbing his thighs and ass. Tip-toeing fingers walking their way around his armpits and biceps. Index fingers flicking over his nipples in a ticklish way. Swirling nails were going over his belly, delving in and out of his navel, tapping all around it and up and down his sides and simply everywhere.
Arthur's wildly kicking feet were again locked in place, and something scratchy tickled their way from his heels to his toes and back down again. His arms were still raised above his head. He was on his bedroom floor, being killed with tickle torture while eagle spread. The Englishman could simply not laugh hard or loud enough to make up for the new attack, so intense it was actually tickling him to death.
Then, finally, it stopped at once when Arthur's wheezes were becoming weak. It allowed him to openly sob with mad laughter, ghost tickles torturing his skin and fogging his mind. They were still everywhere. His arms and legs were released, and he curled into a tight ball and massaged his aching sides. Being tickled to insanity had its effect.
He waited, but nothing came after. Without the renewing energy of his torturer, Arthur wasn't strong enough to stand, move, or even comprehend what just happened. Not wanting it to start again if he moved, the englishman simply stayed on the floor and fell asleep.
#tickling hetalia#hetalia#tickling#ticklish!england#hwsuk#hwsbritain#hetaliaworldstars#tickling without plot
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