#his scarf the fit the rendering

[neriyon]

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).

[frostiwars]

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.

[gremlins-hotel]

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 ]

[firefly--bright]

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.

[tetraharmonic]

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!

[morievna]

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💖 💖 💖

[lunarsands]

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 Cynthrey. 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 Cynthrey 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~

[praeteritus-memories]

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?"

[cha-melodius]

#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.”

[victoriansvilevictorians]

Follow Victorians, Vile Victorians in Patreon for more original fiction like this for free.

"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.

[pixel1678]

I said 3 posts, BUT IT'S FOUR CHARACTERS BECAUSE THESE TWO ARE SIBLINGS!

First up, the older and much more active one, Ottiline!

As a military personnel of Quadrant 2 (I will explain in a second), she is almost always armed with her spear, but she just finds it fun to mess with. In general she's a nice person, definitely a rough-houser, which is how she got the scar. Ottiline was doing a light-hearted playfight with a friend when she crashed into a weapons rack, resulting in a few cuts around her body, and a large cut at her eye, rendering her blind in that eye. This doesn't discourage her though, she's still as friendly and physical as ever!

Now for her much softer younger brother, Ozzy!

Ozzy, despite the very short stature at around a child's height, is only a few months younger than Ottiline, both being 18. He's one of the most valued members of Quadrant 4 of the military, being a very good spy despite standing out, and possessing excellent memory and critical thinking skills. He can still easily beat the average person in a fight though. Also, the blush and scarf mark his significance in the military as a high-ranking personnel. The pink is personal preference though.

While they aren't biological siblings, they get along great and actually aren't really as opposite as you'd think. It helps that their personalities fit with the other people in the society, with the girls usually being very active and physical, like Ottiline, and the boys being a lot more shy, although not socially awkward. In more simple terms, most guys are femboys by our standards, and most girls are tomboys by our standards.

Now, for the military quadrants. Quadrants 1 and 3 have a good balance between both genders, while the activeness of girls makes most of them go into Quadrant 2, while the more reserved guys go into Quadrant 4, although it's not too rare to see guys in Quadrant 2 and girls in Quadrant 4.

Now, for the Quadrants themselves:

Quadrant 1 deals with all of the firearms, having all the riflemen and snipers, with a pretty even gender ratio between them.

Quadrant 2 deals with all of the melee weapons, such as swords or spears. Despite guns being very popular, this Quadrant is just as effective as the others, with weaponry that out-does the others, if you can get in close. Luckily, that's easy, since the girls that make most of this Quadrant up have fast reflexes and very good training, and of course proper armor to balance defense and mobility.

Quadrant 3 deals with social things, such as treaties or getting allies, and also the various vehicles, from the skies to the sea. Once again, balanced gender ratio.

Quadrant 4 deals with artillery and background support, and oddly enough the spies for some reason. Thanks to most of them thinking quickly, boys take over a lot of this Quadrant, especially since they can be quite serious when it comes to work, which works great for spies. Perhaps the gender ratio is what landed the spies here, the government of this society is mysterious, even if it prioritizes civilian safety above everything.

I know this is a LOT, and I agree, I guarantee I messed up some things here, since I don't write any of this down. So, feel free to ask questions, I'll definitely answer them. Anyways, finally the last post for today, I'm almost nearing the last character(s) and the on-going arc.

seriously how did i think this much about these two characters i hardly use anyways-

Picrew for Ottiline: https://picrew.me/en/image_maker/1873485

Picrew for Ozzy: https://picrew.me/en/image_maker/100365

[snvxiii]

Snow-Centric Merch Haul Part 9: Custom Crochet Amigurumis/Dolls (by Crochet4Love.c4l)

11/21/22 | Bought on Mercari | 80 USD (3.72 shipping)

Welcome to part 9 of my Snow-Centric Merch Haul!

It's the holiday season! Mercari–neat little thing it is–oferred a $20 off $50 coupon if you listed 30 items in a specific timeframe. I had $17.78 in credits left to spend too and decided to splurge on myself!

-

I didn't measure him, but he's about 4" tall. He feels wonderful to hold and fits my palms perfectly! I can't squeeze him, much as I'd like to however. He is not meant for aggressive affection. His head would pop off.

-

The process:

I found Crochet4Love.c4l on Mercari searching for custom yarn dolls. I contacted them for a price quote. They hinted we couldn't chat through Mercari well. I found their account on Instagram.

Because I am a tryhard, I drew up two references to match their art style with written text instructions.*

C4l gave me a price quote for $40 ($35 + $5 to cover Mercari's seller fees).**

They sent me a photo of the colors they planned on using.

Over the course of a week, they send me progress photos.

-

*Some miscommunication occured. I believe my wordy instructions and choice of colors caused confusion. The main issue being LR!Snow's jacket and ribbon of his bandana being a light gray color. I wanted both to be black/dark gray.

However, C4l took my colors literally and made the grey parts grey.

When C4l showed me the different colors, I mistook the grey (left, top right) they showed as the grey being used for his inner vest. From their perspective, they considered that shade of grey "dark" compared to their other light grey (right).

I'd consider both to be light grey... nonetheless, due to Mercari's tight deadline + the fact I ordered two dolls, C4l didn't have time to correct LR!Snow's jacket.

He still turned out cute though. I mean, look at those tiny buttons! I adore them.

I might attempt to dye the jacket darker in the future. Though, I'm unsure of how to remove the jacket at the moment or how to protect the red thread from being dyed black.

And I'm rather fond of the light grey. He looks cozy in his fur-lined winter coat.

-

**Since I wanted to use up my coupon and remaining credits, I asked C4l to complete the transaction via Mercari rather than Paypal. I offered to pay for the additional fees.

-

Lessons learned:

I would love to commission C4l again to complete the trio. I didn't commission XIII-2!Snow, because of his more complex hair style. I wasn't sure how to translate his hair in drawing.

That said...

Definitely going to commission them outside of Mercari. The tight deadline left no time for any large adjustments on top of ordering two dolls. I'd like to give them and myself more time next time.

I haven't commissioned anyone in years (double digits). I need to be more proactive in asking questions and confirming the creator's intentions. I'm sure I caused them stress for my lack of communication skills!

I rushed my references admittedly. Next time, I'll include side-by-side comparisons with the renderings and prepare them far in advance. I'll also simplify my wording.

I also forgot that Snow's jacket splits in the back AH! I don't know if it's the same for LR!Snow however.

-

LOOK AT HIM:

I'm such a fan of C4l's style of doing eyes! You can see a faint pink blush under the buttons, with a thin white line to outline the outer edge.

His stubble: adorable. He's a little baby with depression.

His hair: I love how XIII!Snow's hair curls! He looks younger, wilder (in a cute way), and makes me nostalgic.

I'm especially impressed by the small buttons and detail of his vest! Better than what I imagined. Though, I'm disappointed the smaller details of his belt-scarf didn't come through. I should've asked.

Yes, his hat IS removable. XIII!Snow also has a bigger head, hahaha.

If you stare at the center of their faces, you can see a nose. It made me laugh. Such a charming little detail.

The color of XIII!Snow's jacket is perfect. Such a pretty sand color.

-

Final thoughts:

I want a bigger one. I want a little army. Big man squeezed down to tiny baby.

I might sew some additional details on XIII!Snow. I don't know how to sew. I might not dye LR!Snow's jacket (I spent $10 on vinegar and black dye; I don't make wise decisions). I don't know what material the yarn is made from. I don't want to melt the fibers.

I might re-commission them both in the future. There are so many little details I want added. Big brain idea, but what if I pinned one of my Wild Bear charms onto XIII!Snow's back? The charms I own are too big, so maybe I'll order 1" versions in the future...

Maybe I'll add Serah and Estelle to my little collection... make them smooch...

[howthesleeplesswander]

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.”

[wu-kongs]

You think they can rip the scarf? Macaque has placed so many protections around the scarf and so many mending spells that even by some miracle it ripped it would repair itself. The arkward part would be wukong realizing macaque has poured so much of his soul on the scarf

RRRRRIP.

wukong stares with a profound kind of horror as the red fabric tears jagged and violently. the newly-made two pieces fall limply in each of their holds, and wukong looks at his then quickly at the one in macaque's hands. it rumples and crinkles in macaque's rapidly tightening grip, and parallel images flash intrusively through his mind, straight from thousands of years ago.

macaque holding the red fabric. fingers gentle and ginger like it was finest piece of silk in the three realms, a swath of red so elegant and royal that even the queen mother would envy it. he pulls it close and buries his face into it, seeming to hide a matching, charming glow encroaching on his mask.

"you didn't have to." the fabric almost mutes his soft, embarrassed tone. wukong's heart swells. he places a featherweight hand over the fabric too, feeling macaque's under the created ruffles.

"i wanted to." he quirks a smile, unable to see it, unable to tell just how in love he is, the sun in his eyes, the blooms on his cheeks.

macaque peers up at him with unusual vulnerability. "put it on?"

wukong softens impossibly more and grasps the scarf. it easily slips from macaque's hands though he'd been holding it before like it was the most precious object in the three realms, and now he was entrusting it to wukong, rendering the air between them all the more sacred.

wukong gently adjusts it until it's equal length in his paws and then steps even closer, their breath mixing in the same space. he purposefully doesn't look at macaque because he knows macaque is watching him, can feel those eyes roam every sliver of his being. it burns in the best way.

"here," he murmurs, flicking the scarf over the back of macaque's neck. macaque ducks his head in just slightly, but it's enough for wukong's lips to nearly press against his hairline. they tingle. he doesn't press closer.

he folds the red fabric again and again until it hangs long and thick down macaque's back. he fluffs it up around his neck until his hands grace the underside of macaque's jawline. it feels like watching himself from the outside, unable to control his actions, as his hands tenderly cup macaque's jaw. it fits perfectly in his hold like macaque had been shaped for the very purpose.

his heart dangerously skips a beat when his eyes meet macaque's, hands burning with their skin meeting. he leans in, and—

wukong flinches when macaque rips his half of the scarf out of his his hands.

"hey!" he snaps on instinct, but falters at macaque's terrible, terrible expression: something hurt and frightened as he pulls the two halves together. an apology surges up his throat, but it catches on his adam's apple as the scarf begins to undulate.

the tears begin to reach for each other, their frazzled, frayed fibers beginning to twist and melt together. the ripped seam glows like the glue serving to sew the two halves back. wukong watches, stunned, as before his very eyes, it recompletes itself. his view darts to macaque, expression newly closed off as he throws the newly-repaired red back around his neck roughly.

it... fixed itself. with enchantments weaved into it beforehand. like it was important. like it ripping would be the greatest tragedy to strike the three realms. wukong stares at it. stares at macaque. stares at it and stares at macaque. macaque won't look back at him.

"i forfeit today." like the memory, the fabric mutes his tone; still that softness, still that embarrassment.

his heart bangs against his ribcage as macaque melts into the shadows without warning, and he's gone—thankfully before he can see wukong reaching out to hold him back. the last thing he sees is the red fabric flicking out of existence.

[luimagines]

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.

[creationofacentury]

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...