#oops I did a little writing

[giltarvek-hours]

Okay. Okay but. In the event that this is not a canon divergence situation where Things are revealed and it changes everything (admittedly that is my absolute jam) and otherwise the rest of the Paris College Arc goes exactly the same then...

Then this is strange unusual information for the both of them but they carry on, just keeping it in mind in case it ever becomes relevant.

So then Gil will meet Agatha and at first he's just "yeah she's cool and interesting" just like canon, only then when she's revealed as the hidden Lady Heterodyne he remembers what he was told before and goes "oh". So he tries to find her and fails but this time there's an undercurrent to it of unfulfilled tragic destiny until he finds out she's alive. Overall Gil towards Agatha is basically the same but being validated by The Future might make him a little bit more.

Then Tarvek meets Agatha, and he knows that's Lucrezia's daughter and then they all find out she's the lost Lady Heterodyne. This affects him emotionally but like, crazy family gonna be crazy family, so things go the same way. Agatha gets possessed and he tries to help her but Lucrezia is going to be Lucrezia. Agatha eventually gets out and away, Tarvek nearly dies and then is taken to Mechanicsburg Hospital, all same as canon.

Agatha, of course, does not know about this message from the future, so she continues on as ever.

No, things only really get interesting when Tarvek hears that the son of Baron Wulfenbach is out there. Same "ah, sounds like a doofus, my lady, probably not worth your time" reaction but in his head he's experiencing some emotions about it. Only then he learns that Gilgamesh Wulfenbach, the Baron's son and heir to the empire, is in fact Gil, the Gil he knew. Some things about Gil's reaction to the incident in Paris click into place for him, but a lot of internal screaming is also happening. Because according to someone from the future, he becomes entangled with not only the Lady Heterodyne, lovely brilliant Agatha, but also the Young Baron, who can only be the current Baron's heir, one Gilgamesh Wulfenbach, a person with whom he has a complicated and fraught history. So like, he's feeling some emotions, maybe some despair, almost certainly tragic yearning, definitely some renewed heartbreak. But things are happening and he has a job to do and also he's dying. That all works out and strangely enough Gil actually like, cares about keeping him alive? is willing to tie their fates together temporarily in order to save him? He doesn't know what to do with that but he doesn't have to because emotions are supposed to be locked down anyway. So that's all just fine and dandy, no worries here. But then, because there's a tense political situation here with machinations all over the place going in different directions, Gil needs to know who Tarvek is so he can explain the details of this political mess and the contradicting schemes running here.

So. Gil now knows that Tarvek, his former best friend, his first betrayal, his college rival, his romantic rival, his long-term obsession, is in fact the Storm King, that person he is supposedly also going to be connected to, which Tarvek knows because he was there and wow there's a lot going on there. It explains a lot about Tarvek's reactions to things back in Paris. It also makes everything else much more confusing. But we don't have time to unpack all of that, because we are being knocked out with gas and imprisoned in Agatha's own castle by her impersonator. So much is going on and there is no time to sort any of this out but despite it all, despite it all, maybe what this means is that they'll all stay together.

Maybe, when Gil finds Tarvek running his empire in his absence and they have a talk, not about this of course, but about the past and what happened to their friendship and that neither of them actually meant to betray the other and it was fundamentally a tragic misunderstanding, well, maybe it means that the two of them will stay together, if only due to their mutual connection to Agatha. Maybe this time they'll get to keep each other.

I think it would be very funny if, during their schooling in Paris, Gil and/or Tarvek encountered an alleged Time Traveler with the stated goal of "Freeing Europa from tyranny be preventing the Young Baron Wulfenbach, the Lady Heterodyne, and the Storm King from having a threesome."

GOD.

The sheer volume of identity shenanigans being put under stress here. Tarvek previously had no inkling the baron has an heir and would assume any Heterodyne is a convincing fake. Gil is like "with Blorbo from my novels and Blorbo from Tarvek's fairy tales? ? ? ?" Both are put on the back foot by how personally invested the other appears to be in the scenario. Chaos.

[andersonfilms]

cowgirl!abby delectably being crushed by the weight of your thighs, on the bed of her truck you lay, a prize to treasure as she laps at the golden nectar slipping on her tongue. her staple hat adorning on your head, looking better than it ever has on hers, abby thought. like an angel ascended from the heavens, you glow underneath the moonlight, the open skies in the privacy of her ranch, she claims what is so rightfully hers. whether you know it or not.

“my precious sweetheart, just can’t get enough of me — need me between these thighs of yours, huh?” her heeled boot digs into the dirt, putting all her weight behind the power of her velvet tongue. “my fingers filling your cunt? my baby can’t stop clenching. need more?” with the pressure in your stomach building, the consistent rocking of her truck, the friction of her tongue against your pussy tugs at a thread she always pulls so effortlessly. a toy she often loves to play with.

further, her two fingers slip into a depth she hasn’t reached with just her fingers, actually not a depth you’ve felt before. she continues to fuck like she was born to, making you see stars. “funny, bet that golden girl, what’s her name…..ellie? the one you parade around town, the one who loves you so deeply, doesn’t hold a candle to my hand, does she? such a small little thing, ain’t she…youneed a real woman to make you feel good.”

all you see is baby blues looking up at you as if she is the last person you’ll ever see; this is the last feeling you’ll ever experience. getting fucked into oblivion on the bed of her truck, one you know you’ll find yourself succumbed to ecstasy a week, a month, maybe even a day from now.

taglist: @plutolovesyou @brackishkittie @cristaliesz @only4theweeknd @tlouloser @marvelwomenarehot0 @grey-jedi12 @r3starttt @bittersu1te @pxgeturner @maxinephobia @marsworldd @aouiaa @mytwoseater @cherrybunny @twopeoplee @i-lov3-w0men @lvlymicha @half-of-a-gay

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[harbingersglory]

hii could i req an soft dom arlecchino x sub/fem reader?? something w a really needy whiny reader n maybe like a mommy kink or thigh riding IDK tysm for ur time !

{☆} characters arlecchino {☆} notes drabble, fem reader, sub reader {☆} warnings 18+ content

"Slowly, doll. We're not in a rush." Arlecchino reprimands lightly, squeezing your hips with just enough force to keep you unmoving on her thigh– she was still being gentle, but the subtle warning in her tone spoke to how easily she could push you against the desk and turn you into such a mess that you couldn't even remember your own name..just that you were hers.

But the barest hint of stimulation from her slacks pressed against your throbbing cunt had you twitching, barely able to form words. All you could think about was the scorching, twisting need building in your stomach, desperation for relief slowly climbing until you'd think she was doing this on purpose to drive you mad.

"Please– 'm a good girl, right? I've been good.." You choked out, only to be met with the rough, husky laugh echoing in your ear that made you feel dizzy with a rush of need, her nails gliding along the skin of your hips as she pressed you down even more firmly– you couldn't see her face but it was easy to imagine the crooked smile twisting her lips at the way you inhaled sharply and tried to buck against her thigh.

"Shh. I know, doll. I've got you, just relax." She murmured in that sickly sweet tone that always had your knees buckling, the raspiness of her voice sending shivers down your spine. It was almost impossible to relax with her so close, the notes of metal lingering on her skin despite how well she presents herself– but you trusted her, despite how you know you shouldn't.

"There we go. Good girl." Arlecchino's grip on your hips loosened just enough for you to move if you so wished, and oh did it take every ounce of restraint to not do just that..she hadn't said you were allowed to, and you weren't about to spoil her good mood by being a brat. Not tonight, anyway. "Do you want to cum, doll?"

The fervent nod you offer in place of words draws a laugh from her lips, one that is almost mocking, making your face flush in embarrassment– but the sudden tap against your hip makes your mind go blank to the point you forget it all together, focused only on the feeling of her thigh rubbing against your cunt as you bucked against her thigh, the fabric slick and wet against your inner thighs. You'd have half the heart to be embarrassed about that, too, if not for the sudden brush of her thumb against your aching, neglected clit. Just that small touch has you speeding up your movements, practically drooling as you whimpered like a dog in heat.

"That's more like it, doll. Such a pretty girl." Arlecchino hummed, her other hand trailing up your stomach, between the valley of your breasts and ghosting across your throat before settling on grabbing your jaw in a firm, yet almost tender touch as she tilted your head to the side just enough for her to pull you into a burning kiss. It left you lightheaded, grinding down against her thigh as she claimed your mouth as her own, her thumb still ghosting over your clit sporadically.

She'd spent so long teasing you, constantly touching you but never where you needed her, that you already felt like you were going to snap like a wire. She must've been in a really good mood, then, when she pulled away from the kiss with an almost predatory lick of her lips, yet she settled on pressing kisses to your skin rather then the usual sharp bite of her teeth as they sunk into the curve of your shoulder.

"Are you close? Go on. I want to see your face when you cum– you look the prettiest when you finally break apart, doll." Arlecchino mused idly– as if she wasn't talking to you while you continued to rub your aching cunt against her thigh, chasing your own release through shaky, strained breaths. Her thumb swiped over your lips, brushing strands of hair stuck to your skin from your face– at the same time as she swiped her thumb more firmly against your clit, creating a vicious contrast that had you both melting at the barest hint of almost softness from her and the touch of her hand between your legs, dragging you into an orgasm that leaves you trembling and, had she not shoved her fingers into your mouth, screaming, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes.

"All done, little doll. Take it easy." She murmured, voice so quiet you almost didn't hear it, thumb swiping across your cheek to wipe away the stray tear, her hands pulling away to settle on your sides. "You did well– good girl. Let me take it from here."

[johnslittlespoon]

Buck + Bucky Timeline Info

For fic writers or just curious readers!

Referencing different archives and articles, I've done my best to compile John and Gale's Air Force timeline pre–England, because I feel like a lot of it gets muddied and sometimes we wanna write pre–MOTA canon events lol. Hope it comes in handy!

They meet (on or around) March 29, 1940 and become Flying Cadets at Randolph Field in Texas until August 30, 1940.

Still Flying Cadets, they move to Kelly Field in San Antonio, Texas from September 9, 1940 to November 14, 1940.

Both promoted to 2nd Lieutenant Air Corp Reserve on Nov 15, 1940. A bit unsure on the events before their next promotion, because Gale seems to have gone to Barksdale Army Air Field in LA in March of 1941 for advanced flying school, but haven't found anything on whether John went too; I'm assuming he did.

Both promoted to 1st Lieutenant, Air Corp on April 25, 1942. Not clear on whether this took place in LA or back in Texas or elsewhere.

Became instructors for the 29th Bombardment Group at McDill Air Force Field in Tampa, Florida on May 25, 1942.

Promoted to Captain and transferred to Gowan Field, Boise Idaho, but possibly at different times? All I can find is that by October they were both for sure there, but Gale was promoted to Captain on July 28, 1942 and transferred then, and John was promoted to Captain in August of 1942, but it doesn't specify when he transferred.

At Gowan Field in October of 1942, Gale was promoted to Commanding Officer for the 350th Bomb Squadron/100th Bomb Group, and John was promoted to Operations Officer for the 100th Bomb Group.

Transferred to Walla Walla Army Air Field in Washington in November of 1942.

Transferred to Wendover Army Air Field in Utah in December of 1942.

Both promoted to Majors in Sioux City, Iowa in January of 1943.

Transferred to Kearny, Nebraska (assuming to Kearney Air Force Base) in February of 1943. Cue P1 of MOTA!

In May of 1943, John traveled with an advance party to Podington, England to prepare the base for the 100th Bomb Group. On May 27 1943, Gale (with the 100th) left for Bangor, Maine. From there, he flew out across the Atlantic and arrived at Thorpe Abbotts on June 9 1943. And we know what happens from then on. :-)

If any of this is incorrect or you have extra information to add to the timeline, please let me know!! I wouldn't be surprised if I've missed things, but this is how their flight school/pre–England timeline went to the best of my knowledge. Hopefully this is helpful for some other writers too! I can throw together a timeline for their missions/events during MOTA as well if that's something anyone's interested in; it's easy enough to find mission dates in comparison to finding these pre–100th dates, but it might be nice to have them all in one place. x

[stevethehairington]

i love you prompts: 98 w/ romantic steddie? 😌

lou!! thank you for sending this in!! ooh this is a good one!!

98. "Take a deep breath"

It’s late when the credits finally start to roll onscreen.

Steve guesses it’s sometime close to midnight, or maybe a little after, but he’d taken his watch off earlier before he’d gotten elbow deep in dirty dish water, cleaning up after the mess they somehow managed to make whipping up a simple dinner of grilled cheese and tomato soup. It sits on the kitchen counter, all the way across the room, and the nearest clock in the Munson trailer hangs beside the phone, too far away for Steve to see from his spot on the couch.

He can’t exactly twist in his place to try and catch a better glimpse of it, or get up to fetch his watch either. Not while Eddie leans up against his side, arms crossed over his chest and neck bent awkwardly so his head can rest against Steve’s shoulder, fast asleep.

When they first put the movie on, the two of them had started off on opposite ends of the already pretty small couch, but as it progressed, they’d gradually shifted closer and closer — in the name of sharing popcorn easier, to whisper their movie commentary directly into each other’s ears rather than speak over the film, and, eventually, so it seems, so that Eddie could use Steve as a pillow. 

Not that Steve minded or anything. He liked it, in fact — likes it. Likes having Eddie so close, likes feeling the warmth of his body pressing up against his own, likes the fact that Eddie is comfortable enough with him to let his guard down like this.

Eddie hasn’t been sleeping all that well as of late, so when his head tipped onto Steve’s shoulder a little over half an hour ago, Steve just slouched a little lower to ease the angle of his neck and reached for the remote to turn down the volume. It had been a little hard for him to hear it after that, but he hadn’t really paid it much attention after that point anyways.

Now, though, the movie is over, and it’s late enough that Steve’s verging on overstaying his welcome. He knows he should probably wake Eddie so he can let him know that he’s going and say his goodbyes and head out.

But Eddie just looks way too peaceful. Steve doesn’t want to wake him.

Instead, he decides that he can just leave a note. In case Eddie does wake up to find him gone. He’ll know nothing bad happened to Steve, just that he went home for the night and that they’ll see each other tomorrow — because chances are they will. They hardly went a day without spinning into each other’s orbits now.

Except, Steve doesn’t want to just leave Eddie on the couch either. He knows from personal experience that the Munson’s sofa is not exactly the most comfortable thing ever. Every time he falls asleep on it, he wakes up with a crick in his neck and an ache in his back. He doesn’t want that for Eddie.

His bedroom isn’t far, just down the hall, and Steve will feel a lot better if he gets Eddie to his bed before he leaves. So, he does his best to maneuver out from beneath Eddie, cradling his head as he removes it from his shoulder and lowers it to the cushion instead.

Steve takes a second to roll out his shoulders, then he slips one arm under Eddie’s back and the other behind his knees, which are curled to his side. As carefully as he can, he lifts Eddie from the couch.

Eddie stirs, but he doesn’t wake, thank god. He just smacks his mouth a little and buries his nose into the collar of Steve’s sweater, and Steve lets out the breath he didn’t even realize he was holding.

Eddie’s lighter than he looks, but still pretty heavy, and Steve doesn’t want to drop him, so he takes it slow as he follows the path towards Eddie’s door at the end of the hall. It’s, thankfully, already open, so all he has to do is kick out a foot to push it wide enough to fit through.

The blinds in Eddie’s room are still fucked up — broken enough that the slats droop down in a way that gives the morning sun the perfect opening to shine right in and wake him up before it’s time. Eddie complains about it constantly, but he hasn’t made any sort of attempt to fix them yet, and right now, Steveis grateful for that. The glow of the moon is bright enough to seep in through the gap, providing just enough gentle light that Steve can see where he’s going.

He makes it to the side of Eddie’s bed without issue, and delicately deposits Eddie onto his mattress. Again, Eddie shifts, rolling slightly onto his side, but he still doesn’t rouse.

The blankets are shoved to the end of Eddie’s bed, and Steve stifles a snort at that as he reaches for them and starts to pull them up and over Eddie’s body. He knows Eddie runs cold, so he takes a moment to tuck the corners in and add an extra blanket to the top so that he’s nice and cozy.

Then, unable to help himself, Steve brushes Eddie’s bangs to the side and leans down to leave a soft ghost of a kiss to his forehead.

He’s just starting to straighten up and pull his hand back when quick fingers dart out to curl around his wrist, trapping him there.

Steve freezes, eyes snapping back open to find Eddie, awake, blinking hazily back up at him.

“Steve?” Eddie asks, groggy, still somewhere halfway in between awake and asleep.

“Hey, yeah, it’s me,” Steve whispers. “You fell asleep, I just brought you to your room so you’d be comfortable,” he tells him.

Eddie smiles then, this sleepy, goopy sort of thing that makes something warm settle in Steve’s chest, and he tugs on Steve’s wrist. “C’mere,” he mumbles, and Steve thinks maybe he has something he wants to tell him.

So he leans in closer.

And closer.

And closer.

Eddie tips his chin up, and Steve thinks he’s going for his ear, so he can whisper his sleepsoft secret. Only, his mouth doesn’t go anywhere near Steve’s ear. Instead, it lands against his own in a—

In a kiss.

It’s chaste, tender, just the sweet press of lips against lips. It catches Steve off guard at first, but the surprise settles, and Steve is about to let himself melt into it.

Then the moment shatters.

Eddie jerks back, bolting upright as he scrambles far enough back in his bed that he hits the headboard. His eyes are wide open now, fully alert and not a single trace of sleepiness anywhere on his face as he stares at Steve. His hand, the one he’d had around Steve’s wrist just seconds ago, hovers over his own mouth, like he can’t quite believe what it has just done.

“Oh, oh, fuck,” Eddie chokes out. “Shit, shit, shit, I’m so— I didn’t mean to— fuck, you have to— please don’t—”

“Woah, hey, it’s… it’s alright, Eddie,” Steve says, holding his hands out in what he hopes is a placating gesture. He doesn’t come closer, doesn’t want to frighten Eddie further, but he wants Eddie to know that there’s no reason for him to be so scared. He’s not… he’s not mad. Or upset. Or anything that Eddie probably thinks he is right now. Not even close.

Eddie’s words start to fail him as his breathing begins to hitch, and Steve can see the rapidfire rise and fall of his chest. His eyes are on Steve, but he’s not looking at him. He’s looking through him, like he’s somewhere else right now. Like he’s spiraling into every single bad place his mind can take him right now.

Steve recognizes it for what it is — a panic attack.

“Eddie,” Steve tries, forgetting politeness as he moves to the edge of Eddie’s bed and kneels against the mattress. He reaches out to rest his hand on Eddie’s shoulder — to give him a point of contact, something to focus on. Something to ground him. It’s what usually helps Steve whenever he’s having a panic attack, finding an anchor, to bring him back down.

Eddie’s hand flies out to grasp at Steve’s wrist, and Steve lets him pull it from his shoulder so that he can curl his fingers around Steve’s palm instead. His grip is tight, nails biting into Steve’s skin, but Steve doesn’t care.

“You’re safe,” Steve reassures. “You’re safe and I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Eddie nods, but Steve isn’t so sure his words have reached him. Not when he still looks so panicked, and his breathing is still coming out too fast.

“Hey,” Steve says softly, rubbing his thumb over the back of Eddie’s hand. “Take a deep breath,” he instructs.

Eddie’s eyes settle onto Steve’s face, still hazy but doing better at focusing. Steve smiles at him, nods encouragingly. “Come on, do it with me, deep breath in.”

Steve makes a show of inhaling again, holding up his fingers to count to three before he starts to let it all back out in an exhale. He goes through it twice before Eddie catches on and starts to mirror him.

They follow the pattern until finally Eddie’s breathing returns to normal and the panic seems to subside.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks, once Eddie’s shoulders slump and his head drops forward, his hair hanging like a curtain around his face. Steve hasn’t let go of Eddie’s hand yet, and he doesn’t plan to.

Eddie lets out a humorless laugh, but he doesn’t look up. “Depends,” he starts. “Are you going to… to fucking… hit me or shout at me or something?”

Steve’s face screws up, mouth tugging down into a hard frown. “What?” He asks. “Why would I do that? Because you had a panic attack?”

Eddie snorts. “No,” he replies, like he can’t believe that’s what Steve thinks this is about. He stays quiet for a second, two, three. Like he can’t quite bring himself to say it. “Because I— because I kissed you,” he finally breathes.

“Oh,” Steve says softly. He watches Eddie for a moment, doesn’t like that he can’t see his face. He wants to see his face. So, with careful fingers, he reaches out to brush Eddie’s hair back, to tuck it behind his ear.

Eddie’s breath catches as he does, and his gaze flickers up to Steve’s, briefly, before fixing firmly on his lap again.

“Eddie,” Steve starts, “I’m not mad that you kissed me.”

It takes a second for his words to sink in.

When they do, Eddie’s head snaps up. His eyes land on Steve’s, wide and surprised and searching. “You’re not?”

Steve shakes his head. Lets a little smile grace his lips. “Nope,” he confirms. “Not one single bit.”

And, well, in for a penny, in for a pound, right? He shuffles a little closer on his knees, presses further into Eddie’s space. “In fact…” he trails off. Does a little searching of his own. “I wouldn’t mind if you did it again,” Steve finishes after he’s sure that Eddie isn’t going to push him away.

Eddie’s eyebrows lift this time, the pull together. Steve wants to smooth out the little wrinkle that forms between them. 

“Are you… you’re serious?” Eddie asks.

“Serious as a heart attack,” Steve replies.

The corner of Eddie’s mouth twitches, then a smile breaks out across his face. “Holy shit, you’re serious,” he says, followed by a breathless little laugh.

Steve can’t help but laugh too, and he nods and starts to tug at Eddie’s hand to pull him in this time. “Yeah,” he says. “Now that that’s been established, you think I could get another one?”

Eddie looks at him like he’s won the lottery. “Jesus christ, yes, yes please,” he says, and the hand not caught in Steve’s comes up to bunch into the front of his sweater as he meets him halfway.

It’s a little offcentered, a little overeager on both of their parts, but it’s perfect.

When they break apart, Eddie presses his forehead against Steve’s. “Were you leaving?” He asks.

“I was,” Steve answers. “I don’t want to now,” he admits.

Eddie chuckles and lets go of Steve only just long enough to peel back the covers Steve had so lovingly tucked around him not too long ago.

“So stay,” Eddie says.

With his welcome so graciously extended like that, who is Steve to say no?

So he stays.

100 ways to say i love you prompts

[xxlady-lunaxx]

Imagine Obanai, before becoming a Hashira, getting accused of murder after being caught by some police when he still had his katana out. Some demon had been killing frequently in the village, the same demon Obanai had just killed, but since it had disappeared, inevitably the police figured Obanai was some cannibal or something. They arrested him, putting him in a jail cell unless he was proven innocent.

When he was thrown in, Obanai began panicking. Which was normal, of course. Because this (so-called)criminal had just been caught and incarcerated! There was no worry of his sporadic breathing. Except���

Except now he was clawing at the bars and hyperventilating to the point he seemed unable to breath, tears streaking down his cheeks and staining that peculiar mask of his. One of the police—a woman—walked towards him, concerned.

One of the other police warned her to leave because, despite the fact that they had taken his sword, he could still be very dangerous. But she assured him that this was only a child, that there was no way he could do anything; he was scared, she needed to console him so he could calm down and answer their questions. And so she knelt by the cell, not quite in arm rage of Obanai if he thought to reach out. But instead, he did the opposite, recoiling at her presence. A small whimper escaped him and he curled up in a ball, a hand reaching up and clawing at his mask subconsciously, an overwhelming amount of terror written in his eyes.

“No…” Obanai whispered. His voice was raspy, scratching against the walls. The diminutive word was small but seemed to hold so much emotion that the police approaching him physically stumbled back, worry rising.

“It’s okay… We just need to talk to you,” she murmured, trying on a gentle tone. She had been amongst the ones who didn’t believe he had done anything. After all, there were no traces of blood on his katana. He could’ve wiped it, of course, but then why had he been holding it out in such a stance? “It’s… It’s safe here.”

The words had the opposite effect intended; Obanai scampered back, pressing against the far wall. He shook his head quickly, his hair spinning around him, covering his bicolored eyes. He was shaking, and a quiet sob wrecked his body. He could barely breathe now, memories returning in flashes and overwhelming him. He was stiff, gasping pleads muffled by his bandages. He was sorry, he was sorry, he promised not to run away again, he promised, he would stay, he would stay, he would—

But then he was in familiar arms, a Demon Slayer he’d worked with recently carrying him. They were outside, the sky bright and blue and the air blissfully fresh and cool. The Demon Slayer glanced down, his eyebrows furrowed in concern but relaxing slightly when he noticed that Obanai had awoken.

“It’s okay. I got you out. The Master is taking care of everything, I think,” he reassured him. Slowly, carefully, he set Obanai down, helping him sit. “Maybe we shouldn’t go into cities too often, hm?” he remarked, a tired sort of amusement quirking his lips.

Obanai nodded numbly. He was outside. He was safe.

The Demon Slayer sat beside him, resting a comforting hand on his back. “It’s okay,” he repeated quietly. “You’re okay.”

He was okay.

[donuts4evry1]

Quiet i am OVERANALYZING over here

[tarastabz]

Tara tries to get out of every situation by saying "i'm just a little guy"

[self-spaghettification]

Aaravos’s Endless Cold

because of @sthormiiii’s headcanon— I was thinking about how Aaravos has to wear a cloak because he’s cold and. this spawned. Oops

Despite his mastery of both sun and sky, while the powerful archmage could do anything within reason, heating or cool the temperature of the room without a thought, he could not help finding himself freezing regardless. it was the sort of inner chill that soaked you to your bones. that left him shivering and hands trembling with no reason at all, despite the way the fire blazed right in front of him, dancing across his hands, within him. 

he found his body’s involuntary reactions to his solitary confinement an inelegant limitation of his form so he took to wearing a cloak so that as he checked his reflection in the ceaselessly watching mirror, he might not have to look upon the stars that glistened faintly on his skin like the sweat that coated it regardless of his ever constant slight adjustment to temperature. The stars that once shone brightly and winked at him warmly from his skin whispering sweetly of wonders now angrily hummed minor chords and squinted in disdain. It ached in a way more tangible somehow than the constant ache of the inky black tear in the fabric of his ethereal being. He had grown so very, very tired of the pain, and had more important things to attend to. He vaguely wondered what it was like to know temperature, to know love, but with no real commitment to the concept any further. Every time he stretched his mind out to touch the constellations and divine their alignment he was slapped back, his black heartache ate at him and took his stars.

Tears rolled down his face, of no real consequence. He gently touched the black mark making him a mocking example of monstrousness, which he grown used to nonetheless. The days still passed, regardless of the impossibility of knowing. Once, he would have let them take all of him in the darkness, given into the icy cold, the shivering and tears. But withering numb and purposeless into dry tinder,  it was fire he must utilize, dancing across the table, the pit, his hands, burning inside him, and after each bout of those desolate days of darkness—the sun must always rise, mustn’t it—he had grown used to setting fires and burning candles and wearing cloaks to mark his time and burn away his aches. It was enough to believe almost- almost—that the shivers had gone away. So be it, it made no difference if his stars sweat in cold fury or his core shivered in the terrifying icy hunger of a vacuum from the ever open wound. As much as possible, he would cover and neglect them just as the stars taught him—

excommunicated.

[laikaflash]

A Mirror Across Timelines: Mitsurugi

(For the September community prompt. This will also be on Ao3 with notes and stuff later.)

As strange as it had been for Mitsurugi to find himself in Beijing, he was brimming with strength. Not a moment ago, he was in a Spanish port town and what had happened there was far too invigorating to have been a dream. In a flash of white light, he was spirited away to a place lit by a strange fiery glow. All around him floated towers and arches that twisted and broke into rubble, all being pulled into a blue maelstrom. The air itself thrummed with power when he dueled the silver-haired shapeshifter Iska Acht who brought him there. Then came a voice that rumbled through the chaos like distant rapids, but its words were no clearer to him even as the second white light faded. Whatever it was that had awakened there—warrior or demon—Mitsurugi wondered if it was waiting for him in Ming.

Passing shop after shop along the wide street, Mitsurugi looked around to get his bearings. Although he could recognize many characters, his pronunciation of any of them would stand out as much as his armor did. Passersby gave him a wide berth and he caught more than a few uneasy looks from them. Mitsurugi maintained a nonchalant attitude that had served him well in his travels, but there seemed to be something more to their wariness. Was Hideyoshi carrying out his ambitions of conquest?

Amid all the chatter, he caught the word wōkòu—Japanese pirate. Mitsurugi jerked his head to his left and saw two young men hurry into an alley and disappear. He scowled, knowing it would make no difference to them that he had slain pirates on his way back to Japan several years ago. Shading his eyes as the sun glared through a gap in the dark clouds, he hastened his steps. Though the clouds were rolling northward, toward the mountains, the air felt heavy enough to rain at any moment. Much to his relief, ahead was a red-fringed banner that bore the character for wine.

He had not realized just how hungry he was until he walked into the tavern. Mitsurugi had no desire to explain in halting Chinese how he had gotten here from Spain, but the tavern-keeper had noticed the reals among his few wén coins and seemed to give a knowing nod. After a filling meal of fried rice and enough wine to ease his nerves, Mitsurugi bought a night’s stay in a small room upstairs. As he settled in and began to unfasten his armor, thunder rumbled outside and rain followed.

Whoever this new opponent is, he thought to himself, maybe the silver-haired child will lead me to him.

A white flash, like lightning striking nearby, startled him to his feet. But no sound came. A blaze of crimson light filled the room. Mitsurugi grabbed his sword, with only his cuirass remaining to shield him. His heart pounded fiercely as he recognized the power that coursed through him once more as he prepared to draw. The red light vanished as though it had been snuffed, leaving only the soft light of the paper lantern overhead.

Now a swordsman stood before him. His short, black hair was streaked with gray, as was his beard. A katana was tied at his sash, yet the top of his frayed, black kimono hung off his left shoulder like a monk’s robe. The hems of his black hakama were equally tattered. A large necklace of prayer beads hanging from his right shoulder seemed to complete his monkish look. Yet, his bare right arm bore what were almost certainly dueling scars.

“Are you here to fight me?” Mitsurugi challenged.

Sardonically, the swordsman raised a thick eyebrow. “Here?” he asked with a barely suppressed laugh. “Don’t you know who I am?” He pointed to a single, round scar just below his right shoulder.

Mitsurugi sheathed his sword and instinctively touched the same spot on his cuirass. “How…?” he gasped. “How is it possible?”

“You should know.”

There was no mistaking the scar from the tanegashima duel. Mitsurugi remembered how Iska Acht changed her form three times to test him, but it had been nothing like this. If this was a trick, he suspected that his older self would not have bothered to kick off his geta. “I mean… How did you get here?”

“Ah, that. The Astral Chaos brought me here, and there’s no telling where it can take you. I could’ve gotten lost there if it wasn’t for you. Tell me, where are we now?”

“Beijing. The outer city.”

The swordsman took a glance from the lattice window. “So it is. What year is it? You look about twenty years younger than me.”

“Eighteenth year of Tenshō, unless something happened while I was gone. Or, an Earth Ox year.”

At this, his older self cracked a wry smile. “Hm. Say, is that Shishi-Oh?”

Mitsurugi hesitated, noticing that the grip on the swordsman’s katana was black. “Yes.”

“May I see it for a moment?” The swordsman’s voice lowered to an almost reverent tone.

Mitsurugi’s heart sank at the thought that his finest sword had been lost. Even so, he unsheathed it. The older Mitsurugi gazed upon Shishi-Oh as though it were a son he had not seen in years. His expression turned somber and wizened.

“Cherish it. Hone it and wield it well.”

“Of course.” Mitsurugi gravely nodded and sheathed his sword. “I need it in top condition. There’s an opponent I’m supposed to meet. He must have something to do with this Astral Chaos. I heard something—”

Surprise flashed in the older swordsman’s eyes. “What did you hear?”

“I couldn’t make it out. That silver-haired child, what’s her name…? Iska Ahha…” He felt his throat catch on what was meant to be a guttural sound, along with slight embarrassment for it. “Acht, that’s it! I thought this Iska Acht would bring me to a worthy opponent, but well, here I am. Whatever that voice was, she had different ideas.”

The older swordsman thoughtfully rubbed his chin. “You’ll meet him, this new opponent.”

“Where did—uh, where might I find him?” Mitsurugi felt as though he had been talking to Edge Master, rather than himself.

“You won’t find him right away, but you will need one thing. Head to the fortress at Xiwei on the western border of Ming, and in time, you’ll meet your greatest opponent yet.”

Mitsurugi grinned. “That’s more like it! But what am I supposed to find there?”

“A shard of the very sword that started this. You’ll know you’ve found it when you feel it.”

With his brow furrowed, Mitsurugi wondered if it was that same power he had felt in the Astral Chaos. “If that’s so, I’ll prepare to set off at once!”

The older swordsman grinned back at him. Then crimson light filled the room once more. A regretful look crossed his face he stepped back into his geta. “I'm afraid I can’t stay much longer.”

Mitsurugi stood transfixed at the glowing portal, half-expecting Iska Acht to appear. He almost wanted to reach out to his older self, but he gratefully bowed.

“Fare well.”

Mitsurugi felt a chill as his older self stepped into the twisting chaos. At once, the crimson light was gone, and in one last flash of white, the room was once again as it should have been. He fell silent as the sounds of people in the tavern, noises of the street, and rain returned all at once to his ears.

“Damn,” he hissed, pressing a hand to his forehead. “I could’ve asked him what changed in his time!” But he knew it would be a long time before he reached Japan again, and he was no stranger to long journeys. Mitsurugi quietly settled on the bed and began to plan. Soul Edge itself seemed nearer than it had ever been.

[happi-tree]

Wipthurs because time is an illusion! 🕰 Anyway. Um. You guys ever think about how Link's time in the life simulation might leave him with some lingering habits or.

Plain text under the cut!

Link’s eyes flutter to half-mast for the briefest of moments, leaning further into Taylor if at all possible. It’s kind of adorable, the way his face screws up against the light. 

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” Link slurs, voice low and lazy and scratchy from sleep, and he shifts a bit more, and suddenly, there’s a warm, pliant pressure against Taylor’s lips, followed by a soft pop as Link breaks the kiss. “Ten m’re minness, mkay?” 

And with that, Link tucks his head into the side of Taylor’s neck, drapes his arm across Taylor’s stomach, and drops back off into slumber. 

What the fuck. 

“What the fuck?” Taylor exclaims aloud, because his best friend just kissed him like he’s been doing it for months on end and they’re very close, but never like that, and what the fuck?

“Link,” Taylor says, prodding him much more urgently than before. “The fuck was that, man?”

Link makes a questioning sort of grumble before propping up his chin on Taylor’s chest (on Taylor’s unbound chest, what the fuck), muttering nonsense as he blinks blearily, squinting without the help of his glasses. 

Then, his eyes widen comically. 

“You’re not Chris,” Link says, voice still thick with sleep but also heavy with a dawning realization. 

“No?” Taylor agrees, though it sounds more like a question. 

Link backs away so quickly that he nearly topples out of Taylor’s king-sized bed.

[liquidstar]

a friend who'd wait :)

[impishtubist]

adventures in teaching

“Sirius Ambrose Black!”

Sirius chokes and drops his cigarette, which he quickly crushes beneath the heel of his boot.

“Oh, hey, Moons,” he says casually, waving a hand to wandlessly clear the cigarette smoke from the air and his clothing. Remus glares at him. 

“You quit.” 

“Yeah, I know, I just.” Sirius rubs the back of his neck. “Harry’s teacher wants to talk to us! Harry’s never been in trouble at school before. What could he possibly have done that requires both of us to be here?”

“Well, we won’t know if we don’t go in, will we?” 

“S’pose not,” Sirius says sullenly. “Wait, Ambrose?”

“Your middle name is shit. I gave you a new one.” 

“Think you can do better than Ambrose, Moony.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Lord Black,” Remus says as Sirius pulls open the door for him. “How about Cosmo?”

“No.”

“Hamish?”

“No.” 

“Zephyr?”

“Let’s just get on with this, shall we?”

---

“Thank you for meeting me,” Miss Coburn says, gesturing for Sirius and Remus to have a seat in two of the child-sized chairs in front of her. 

“We’re happy to,” Sirius says. “To be honest, though, we’re a little surprised to hear that Harry’s done something that requires his teacher having to speak to us.” 

“Harry’s not in trouble,” Miss Coburn assures them. “He’s a smart young man, and generally well-behaved in class.”

“Generally?” Remus asks. 

“Yes, and that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Harry has a tendency to, well, disrespect authority when it doesn’t suit his purposes,” Miss Coburn says. “It doesn’t happen often, but it has happened enough that I wanted it brought to your attention.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Well, for instance, he didn’t approve of today’s snack, so he organized the whole class to go on a snack strike until they were fed something he liked better.”  

Sirius smothers a laugh behind his hand. Next to him, he can feel Remus’s shoulders shake with repressed laughter. 

“I’m…sorry to hear that,” he manages. “Er, did it work?”

Miss Coburn gives him an unimpressed look. “I hardly think that is the point, Lord Black.” 

“No, I suppose not.” Sirius will have to ask Harry about this later tonight. “What else has he done?” 

“He has organized the class in similar fashion over the past few weeks. If he doesn’t approve of the game we’re about to play or the book we’re supposed to read together, he organizes all the children against me. I wonder if you might have a word with him about this behavior?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Sirius says quickly. They need to get out of here, fast, before he bursts into uncontrollable laughter. “We’ll--we’ll definitely speak to him about this. And, er, it won’t happen again.” 

Once outside, they both dissolve into laughter, leaning against the school’s brick wall and wheezing. 

“He gets it from you, you know,” Sirius manages finally. 

“Me?” 

“Yes, you, Mr. Hot Shot Werewolf Activist who has been taking Harry to rallies and protests since he was five months old.” 

“What about you, Lord Black, who takes Harry to Wizengamot sessions and to your shouting matches with the Minister?”

“Right, so this one is on both of us, then.”

“Probably.” Remus nudges his shoulder. “You really do have to quit, you know.”

“Quit what?”

“Smoking. At least for the next, oh, seven months.” 

Sirius’s head snaps up. “You’re--?”

“Yeah.” Remus bites his bottom lip, which doesn’t do much to keep his grin at bay. “We just found out last week.” 

“Moony!” Sirius grabs him around the waist and spins him in a circle. “A whole week! And you didn’t tell me?”

“We wanted to be sure, and--and I don’t know how I’m going to break the news to Harry.” 

Sirius sets him back on his feet. “Hey. We’ll figure that out, okay? You and me, together. Besides, Harry will be thrilled to have a sibling.” 

---

Remus is stretched out on the couch with his feet in Sirius’s lap when an owl swoops into the room. Sirius is busy rubbing Remus’s swollen feet, so Remus takes the letter from the owl and opens it. 

“Bad news?” Sirius asks when Remus groans and throws an arm over his eyes.

“Harry’s teacher wants to talk to us again,” he says, holding up the letter for Sirius to read. 

Sirius skims the letter, his lips thinning. Harry’s practically an angel at home. He doesn’t understand how the boy manages to cause so much trouble at school, especially at only six years old! He expects this behavior when Harry is a teenager at Hogwarts, not right now.

“I’ll go,” he says, but Remus swings his legs off Sirius’s lap and works himself into a sitting position.

“I’m coming, too.”

“Are you sure?” Sirius offers him a hand up. Remus winces, resting one hand on his belly and the other on his lower back. 

“Positive. Just, ah, give me a second to catch my breath.” 

Sirius drives them to the school in his car, since magical methods of transportation are currently off-limits to Remus. Remus has his cane tonight, and he also accepts Sirius’s arm for extra support. His hips have always bothered him, and the added weight of the little one isn’t helping. 

Inside the classroom, Sirius transforms one of the child-sized chairs into a comfortable armchair for Remus, who lowers himself into it gratefully. Miss Coburn gives him a warm smile. 

“I’m sorry to call you both in like this,” she says. “But thank you for coming. Mr. Lupin, how are you feeling?” 

“Let’s just say I’m counting down the days,” Remus says, rubbing his side with a wince. 

“Harry is, too. He tells me he’ll have a little brother in May?”

Remus perks up a bit. “He talks about the baby?”

“He does. He’s very excited.” 

“Well, that’s a relief. He doesn’t talk much about the baby at home. It’s hard to know what he’s thinking.”

“But you didn’t call us here to talk about that,” Sirius says, and Miss Coburn shakes her head.

“No, I’m afraid not. We had show-and-tell today.” 

Sirius’s stomach sinks. “Yes, and Harry brought his toy motorbike to show the class.”

“He didn’t,” Miss Coburn says, and she pulls a box out from under her desk, setting it in front of them. “Harry brought a Boggart.”

“He what?” Sirius exclaims while Remus groans and buries his face in his hands. “He didn’t release it, did he?”

“He opened the box, yes,” Miss Coburn says. “Thankfully, as I was closest to it, it turned into a seal, which all of the children found positively delightful. I cast the Patronus charm and got it back into its box, and then we had a discussion about fear. It turned out well, all things considered, but I’m concerned that one of my students was able to bring a Boggart to school.”

Sirius turns to Remus. “Yes, Da, tell me how Harry got his hands on a Boggart?”

Remus lifts his head from his hands, looking sheepish. “I caught it in the attic last week. I was keeping it in that box on my desk until I had a chance to take it to South America and release it on the reserve down there. Er…sorry.” 

“So we’re going to keep Da’s office locked from now on,” Sirius says, rolling his eyes. “And I need to thoroughly inspect Harry’s backpack every time I bring him to school, apparently.”  

---

Harry has Miss Coburn again the next year, to Harry’s delight and Sirius and Remus’s relief. At least Miss Coburn understands their eccentric child, and has taken everything Harry’s done in class so far in stride. Sirius can’t imagine having a conversation like the Boggart one with any other teacher. 

He’s in his office at the Ministry when his secretary pokes their head into the room and informs him that he has a Floo call from Miss Coburn. All she tells him is that she needs to see him as soon as possible, so Sirius grabs his cloak and rushes off to the school. 

“Is Harry alright?” he asks as he runs into the classroom.

“Yes, Lord Black, of course,” Miss Coburn says, gesturing for him to have a seat. “His grandmother picked him up earlier. But we had an incident that I wanted to discuss with you.”

“Of course you did,” Sirius sighs. “What’s the little menace done now?”

The classroom door opens then, and Remus hurries in with a wailing Teddy in his arms. 

“Sorry,” Remus says as he drops into the seat next to Sirius’s, “sorry, I normally wouldn’t bring him, but we only have the babysitter until three, and my husband is in Bulgaria this week, and Mum’s busy with Harry--”

“Wait,” Miss Coburn says. Her eyes flick between Sirius and Remus. “Husband?”

“Yes,” Remus says absently, bouncing Teddy in a fruitless effort to soothe him. “He’s the director of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and there’s been an incident in Bulgaria that’s--well, I really can’t say, but he can’t get away and the baby’s teething and--” 

“Here,” Sirius says, holding out his hands. “Let me take him for a bit.” 

“You’re a lifesaver,” Remus sighs, transferring Teddy to Sirius.

“I’m--sorry, forgive me, but the two of you aren’t married?”

“To each other? No,” Sirius says. He cradles Teddy to his chest, patting his back as the baby continues to fuss. “Remus has been married to Kingsley for, oh, two years now?” 

“Three,” Remus says, smiling tiredly. “We got married right after Harry’s third birthday.” 

“Remus and I have never been together, Miss Coburn,” Sirius says. “Romantically or otherwise. But we’re best friends, have been since we were eleven, and we were both named Harry’s godfathers. We’re raising him together. We’re both his dads. Rem, have you got a teething ring with you?”

“Oh--yes, here.” 

Soon, Teddy is happily gnawing on the teething ring and drooling all over Sirius’s shirt, and they turn their attention back to Miss Coburn. 

“Has Harry displayed any accidental magic lately?” she asks.

“Er, he has done for about a year now,” Sirius says. “Why?”

“I’m not so sure that it’s accidental,” Miss Coburn says, her lips twitching. “He didn’t want to do maths after snack time, so he kept making my chalk disappear every time I tried to write on the board. Then, during our quiet reading time, he kept turning his classmates’ hair different colors.”

“Just like Jamie,” Sirius says fondly. “Can’t sit still for a moment, that one.” 

“He gets it from you, too,” Remus points out. “I’m sorry, Miss Coburn. We’ll talk to him.” 

---

Harry is happily coloring at the kitchen table while Hope putters around the kitchen, cooking dinner. The tip of his tongue pokes out between his teeth and he swings his legs, humming to himself. 

“Hi Dad, hi Da!” he greets cheerfully when Sirius and Remus enter. “Is Miss Coburn mad at me?”

“No, babe.” Sirius drops a kiss on his head and pulls out the chair next to him. Remus sits on his other side. “But you really need to stop turning the kids’ hair different colors, alright?”

“And you need to let Miss Coburn teach you maths and reading, even if you don’t like them very much,” Remus says, running his fingers through Harry’s hair. “She’s got to prepare you all for Hogwarts, remember?”

“You don’t want to be the only wizard at Hogwarts who can’t read or do maths, do you?” Sirius says, tickling Harry’s side, and the little boy shrieks with laughter.

“Fine,” Harry sighs, pretending to pout, but it doesn’t stick. It never does. 

“You’ll be good?”

“Yes, Dad.”

“And you’ll let your teacher do her job?”

“Yes, Da.”

“Thanks, baby.” 

“Can I take Teddy outside, please?”

“Thank you for saying please,” Remus tells him, “but you can play with him inside. He’s napping right now, so how about after dinner?”

“But Ron says there are Grindylows in the pond, and I wanna see ‘em!” 

Sirius rubs his forehead. “Harry James, you cannot use your baby brother as Grindylow bait!”

“I won’t let ‘em hurt Teddy!” Harry says, sounding aghast. “I just wanna see ‘em! I can kick them, and then they won’t get Teddy. I can run really fast, too. Wanna see?”

Sirius laughs, pressing a kiss to the top of Harry’s head. “How about this? You and I can go flying after dinner, and Remus and Teddy will come out and watch us. You can show Teddy all the new things you’ve been learning in your flying classes.” 

“Okay!” Harry turns back to his drawing. “And when Uncle Kingsley comes home, I’ll show him, too.”  

“He’d love that,” Remus says.

Sirius meets Remus’s eyes over Harry’s head, and sees reflected in them the immense love he has for their little cobbled-together family. It might be unusual, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

[candyriku]

sometimes i respond to comments on Ao3 and realize in hindsight I sound like a little wet pathetic cat. Um. Thank you for commenting I truly I feel I owe you my life but also not in a weird way!!!!!!!! Just a super casual way (I would take a bullet for people that comment on fics)

[domoz]

Or, alternate funny version to the previous: any combination of Uchiha watching Tobirama fight and discussing their observations (gossiping/oogling shamelessly), after peace exists and they SHOULD technically probably help him, but... Tobirama can clearly handle it, no need to get in his way

I once read that a drabble is 200 words or less. I will never beat those allegations.

The ability to share memories with the sharingan really isn't meant to be used this way, but that's never actually stopped anyone.

"I swear to you," Says Madara with a snicker, "He slapped himself in the face with a water whip. Acted like it never happened, but I saw it."

The scene is a bit more endearing than that, when Madara shows it. Tobirama is sparring with his students and one of them can't quite dodge in time. That jutsu can break skin and cut through muscle if it hits right, but rather than hurt one of his students that badly, Tobirama jerks it back. He breaking the whip's momentum but loses a good portion of control and,  indeed, slaps himself in the fact with it. He looks rather akin to a wet cat.

Madara and Izuna both break out into another fit of laughter, but Hikaku just shakes his head fondly.

"I've seen him do that on purpose, actually." He says after the laughter has died down a bit. It's not exactly the same -- the memory he calls up had been recorded on accident. It had been in those early days of peace, when seeing Tobirama move water about had made him call up the sharingan on instinct, back when they'd be so concerned that he'd break peace that he wasn't allowed to go off on missions alone.

I'd been rather rote mission -- dealing with bandits who had thought they could take advanced of the disorganization of a new village. It had had been hot, the summer temperatures soaring high and uncomfortable, and they'd both been sweat soaked and sticky by the end of it.

"Excuse me" Tobirama had said the moment he'd cause sight of a source of water. He'd let himself jump in ankle deep instead of standing on top, raised an arm, and proceeded to dump an honestly excessive amount of water over himself. Of course, his mastery over water let him pull water out of his clothes until he was just the right amount of damp without any effort-- Hikaku had been and still is jealous over it -- and even back then, eyes lingered on where wet clothes stuck to well-defined muscle.

Thankfully no one comments. The sharingan's tendency to show the exactly what was seen means they've all shared unintentionally embarrassing moments. Plus, Hikaku knows he's not the only one who's done that exact thing.

"Oh, sensei will do that for us, if we ask!" Chimes in Kagami, thankfully too young and oblivious to understand why his cousins are giving Hikaku the side eye. He launches into a memory of his team begging and pleading to be allowed to train on the water on another hot day. His sensei had crossed his arms, unimpressed, and said he knew that the lot of them had all mastered water walking already…

…But that if the lot of them managed to prove they could do their D-rank mission without complaining, he would think of a way to cool them all off. In Kagami's young memory, the cool mist Tobirama had raised from the pond of the garden they'd been weeding had been the most refreshing thing he'd ever felt.

"…He's too soft on you." Madara says, without any real heat.

"He's something." Izuna responds dryly. "Sometimes I forget, none of you have ever seen what it's like when he really wants to get something done."

Without warning, Izuna calls up the memory of a fight. No… A spar, but a bloodthirsty one. Probably one of the first ones they'd had since they were allowed to again, after peace was called. A mixture of pent up frustration and the fact that they were no longer supposed to kill each other had both of them showing off -- Izuna was prone to do it, regardless, but this was the first time he'd seen Tobirama opt for techniques that were more flashy than practical. A water dragon with mutliple heads split apart into multiple, chasing Izuna through the trees, each one eating one of the multi-fireballs Izuna hurls out to counter them.

Tobirama did not hesitate, leaping out from the steam and twisting his fingers. The droplets of water in the air shimmered and twisted until everything was an indistinct haze.

Not that it stops a sharingan. But something about the scene -- the way the light hit the mist, haloing Tobirama with a sort of rainbow -- or maybe the way he's smirking -- makes Izuna pause.

Oh, he thinks.

Oh, thinks everyone else.

[gentil-minou]

Gosh I need to edit this more before I actually start posting but I'm just so excited so here's a preview of my wangxian OUAT au, featuring wwx as emma, lwj as regina, and ayuan as henry (though are veering far away from both canon in both cases so no need to be familiar with the show to enjoy)

----

The doorbell rings.

He blinks once, then twice. Wei Wuxian isn’t normally one to get visitors, especially at this time of night. He tries to remember if there’s a no-candle policy in his lease his landlord might nag him about when the doorbell rings again.

He scrambles to his feet and stumbles to the door, already preparing an apology for something he probably didn’t know he wasn’t supposed to do and another apology in case he did know. He opens the door and sees….nothing.

Until he hears a quiet cough and looks down to see a little boy.

At first, he thinks maybe he’s a trick-or-treater who got a bit lost, but Wei Wuxian’s building is secured with a key and callbox entry. Plus, although he’s been wandering streets alone since forever, he’s pretty sure a kid this young would have a chaperone with him. He looks behind the kid and doesn’t see anyone else there.

But instead of asking something sensible like where his chaperone may be or even if the kid’s lost, he blurts, “How did you get in?”

The boy tilts his head and replies, “The front door. It wasn’t locked, I just walked in.”

So much for secured entry. But that doesn’t really answer why there is a human child at his door at nearly midnight. There’s definitely a law somewhere that says that’s illegal, probably.

The kid, who can’t be more than ten years old and really should have learned about stranger danger by now, beams up at him, as if technical breaking and entering is something to be proud of. Which, okay, maybe Wei Wuxian is kind of impressed by that.

“Aren’t you going to let me in?” the boy asks, his smile so sweet and unassuming that before Wei Wuxian even realizes it, he’s turned to the side and let the boy in.

The kid is wearing a blue puffy coat and carrying a white backpack that has homemade floppy ears made of felt that make it look like a bunny. They bounce up and down as the boy walks inside and slips his shoes off. Wei Wuxian very maturely resists the urge to tug on those floppy bunny ears, though only just.

Shoes off, his socks patterned with fluffy white clouds, the boy turns back around to look up at Wei Wuxian. His entire face beams up at him as if he were a sunflower facing the sun, which wow what an ego-boost. He’s got dimples, little baby dimples that are very cute and look very pinchable but that doesn’t matter because there is a baby in his house! And okay he’s at least ten years old but regardless why is there a whole entire child in his apartment? What is one supposed to do when some random kid shows up at their doorstep and invites themselves in?

“Oh shit uh, wait not shit,” Wei Wuxian stammers. “Shit, sorry. Um. A drink, you want a drink?”

Ask the random child if they want something to drink, apparently. Perfect.

The kid nods, still giving him that doe-eyed look. Wei Wuxian doesn’t have much by way of child-friendly beverage options, but he wasn’t exactly expecting something like this tonight. He settles on milk that looks like it hasn't gone too bad yet. Besides, expired milk builds immunity and character in children, that's how it works, right? He pours a glass for the kid, making sure to give him the cleanest one even though there’s a tiny crack on the surface.

He guides the kid over to the coffee table and hands him the milk. The kid takes the glass and sinks onto the deflated beanbag while Wei Wuxian perches on the edge of the couch. He grabs a can of beer from the six-pack still on the floor beside the table and takes a sip. Wait, is that allowed? Can he drink alcohol in front of children?

The kid doesn’t seem to care. He takes a tentative sip of his milk and makes a very polite face that fails to mask his disgust, before putting the glass down on the table next to the forgotten cupcake. Fair, it’s nice to see him asserting boundaries and all that.

"Okay," Wei Wuxian says, amused despite the situation. "Who are you and why are you in my house at—" he checks his phone for the time"—five minutes to midnight on a Friday night?"

The kid doesn't answer right away. His eyes are still focused on the cupcake, but in a way he probably thinks is sneaky. Wei Wuxian tilts his head to get a better look and sure enough, there’s a furrow between his eyebrows like the kid is trying really hard to ask a difficult question. After a minute, it becomes clear he hasn’t worked out a nice enough way to ask, but it’s a good thing Wei Wuxian knows enough about being a hungry child to recognize one.

He nudges the cupcake over to him and says, "Help yourself." Immediately, the kid grabs the cupcake with all the care in the world, like it’s a priceless artifact and promptly devours it. Wei Wuxian can’t help but smile as he eats. Suddenly the cheap cupcake feels like an excellent choice.

When the kid finishes licking the last bits of frosting and crumbs off his fingers, he sits politely with his hands in his lap and looks longingly toward the kitchen. He’s still too nice to ask forthright, but Wei Wuxian knows better and he isn't a monster.

Wei Wuxian gets up and opens one of the cabinets to look for something that’s probably child-appropriate, pulling out a bag of his least spicy chips. Chips are made of potatoes which are vegetables which means it’s probably not that bad for kids. Either way, the kid takes the bag gratefully and eats the chips with relish, even though they’re definitely way too spicy for someone his age.

“Alright, alright. You’ve been fed. Now tell me, who are you?” he asks again, though he can’t stop the tiniest bit of fondness from creeping into his tone. It’s just that everything this kid does is so cute! He can’t help himself!

The kid stops eating and tries to speak, but what comes out instead are the quietest little coughs Wei Wuxian’s ever heard. He’s been eating these spicy snacks and slowly turning as red as they are, but he’s so polite he hasn’t said a thing about them.

All at once, Wei Wuxian realizes he likes this kid, despite knowing practically nothing about him. It’s strange. He hates the kids the customers at his job will bring sometimes, especially when their parents just let them loose like it's a daycare and not a coffee shop. Wei Wuxian isn’t mean or anything, it’s just that wrangling kids is way above his pay grade. He didn’t even get along with other kids when he was a kid. All the other foster kids stood clear of him pretty much as soon as the social worker told his foster parents he was known for being “emotionally dysregulated” and labeling him a problem child.

But this kid is different from all the others, even though Wei Wuxian can’t quite put his finger on what’s so special about him. He seems like the kind of kid who would politely ask for steamed oat milk and say thank you, then ask his parents to let him give Wei Wuxian the tip. When he finishes, he’d probably throw his trash out without anyone asking and call goodbye to him one last time before he leaves. Even just imagining it makes Wei Wuxian feel wistful for something he’s never really wanted before.

It doesn’t help that this kid’s got what must be the fluffiest hair he's ever seen, and those dimples! It takes all of Wei Wuxian’s self-control to keep himself from pinching those chubby cheeks.

He doesn’t quite succeed and leans forward anyway to ruffle the kid's hair. "Ask for water, you silly,” he says, already standing and heading back to the kitchen.

When he hands him the glass, the kid just looks up at Wei Wuxian with his big, bright brown eyes filled with wonder. He’s looking at Wei Wuxian like he has the answer to everything. Wei Wuxian doesn't, but it's nice to feel like someone thinks he knows what he's doing.

The kid drinks half the glass before clearing his throat and finally answering Wei Wuxian’s question. “I’m Sizhui, but you can call me A-Yuan. Or even Little Radish, if you want! You called me that before.” He says it all in one breath, practically vibrating with energy by the end.

Wei Wuxian pauses in the middle of taking a sip of his beer. He’s not sure why he would ever call anyone a radish, and he’s pretty sure he’s never met this kid before. Does A-Yuan have mistaken him for someone else? Could this kid have some weird memory loss, except one where he gains fake memories instead of losing them? It’s definitely not the strangest thing about this whole situation.

Like all problems Wei Wuxian doesn’t know how to deal with, he decides to ignore that for now and asks, “Okay, A-Yuan then, why are you here?”

“Because,” A-Yuan starts, leaning forward and looking at Wei Wuxian with all the seriousness someone pre-puberty could possibly possess. “I need your help.”

“…Okay…” Wei Wuxian replies. The world must truly be fucked if someone is coming to him for help. He hasn’t had a vegetable in a week, unless pizza actually does count. “What do you need help with?”

He’s expecting the kid to say something normal like “my homework” or “getting to the train station”, you know, normal things a kid would ask a stranger to help him with.

He’s not expecting A-Yuan to respond gravely, “To save the world and everyone we love.”

Wei Wuxian blinks, speechless. A-Yuan doesn’t seem to notice, continuing to speak as he lifts his backpack onto his lap and rummages through its contents. “My family’s in trouble, our family. Everyone we know is, and you’re the only one who can fix it. Look here, see, I’ve got this book, it’s all written here. There’s a curse that’s affecting everyone and we need to break it.”

He plops the book down on the coffee table. It’s not at all what Wei Wuxian expects. It’s hand-bound, with a simple red fabric cover that’s blank except for the title that’s written in Chinese calligraphy. It’s written entirely in Chinese, in fact, completely by hand with the same impeccable calligraphy. Inside are what appear to be a bunch of stories or folktales. There are beautiful gongbi illustrations on every other page, inked in bright colors with an incredible level of detail.

Wei Wuxian can’t help but be impressed. The book is something he would expect to see at a museum or in a period drama, not on his coffee table with its chipped surface and water stains.  

A-Yuan flips to a picture of a man with long hair dressed in black and red robes. He’s playing a flute as shadows dance and twist around his frame. Then tendrils lift high into the sky and block out the sun. He’s standing on a pile of human bones, to really sell the whole villain energy this guy’s got.

A-Yuan points at the guy. “That’s you, you see?”

Wei Wuxian does not see, he’s pretty sure he would have noticed if his body was covered in shadows. Also, he would need way more conditioner for that length of hair.

The kid continues, interpreting Wei Wuxian’s stunned silence as something else entirely. “You’re the only one who can help them, who can save us all.” A-Yuan thrusts the scroll out to Wei Wuxian, who’s too floored to do much more than take it from him. “So, I’m here to bring you back.”

Wei Wuxian has to admit, the guy in the picture does look pretty badass. But it’s still just a drawing, and there’s little to suggest this looks anything like him at all.

He glances up. A-Yuan smile is so bright and excited that Wei Wuxian wishes he could feel his excitement too. The guy in the picture does look super cool, like someone he’d want to dress up as when he was A-Yuan’s age.

But all he feels is concern and confusion. Before, he was actually starting to enjoy spending time with this kid, but something is wrong, though it’s not what A-Yuan thinks. There’s a random kid in his apartment late at night, making up stories. And whether he likes it or not, Wei Wuxian is the adult here. He has to remember that.

“I’m sorry, kid,” he says, and the smile slowly drops from A-Yuan’s face and Wei Wuxian feels like the absolute worst person on the planet for doing that to him. “But I don’t know what this is, or who you are. I want to help, you’ve just gotta give me some actual answers. Where are your parents? Do they know where you are?”

A-Yuan looks down and mumbles, “I was so sure you’d remember if you saw this, if you held it.” He tightens the hands on his knees into fists and looks up at him with a startling conviction. “But that doesn’t matter. I know it, I know who you are. You’re Wei Wuxian. This is you. And you’re the only person who can save us.”

Wei Wuxian rubs his temples and contemplates chugging the remainder of his beer. He holds it in his hand, wishing he’d gotten another pack. “Look, I don’t know how you know my name, maybe you saw it on some mail outside or something, but—"

"You're my dad!” A-Yuan hastily interrupts. “That’s why, that’s how I know!"

Wei Wuxian drops the can. There's a splash of something spilling all over the carpet and he should probably make sure it’s not too bad. He's too busy trying to figure out how he could have a ten-year-old at twenty-five when he was definitely still a virgin at fifteen.

The initial shock slips away, leaving him only more confused. He raises an eyebrow at A-Yuan, willing him to explain.

"Not my real dad," A-Yuan says, rolling his eyes like somehow Wei Wuxian is the one claiming something impossible. "But you're my dad in every way that counts."

Wei Wuxian wishes he hadn't dropped his drink. He'd really like to take a sip of it now. And several more, maybe the rest of the cans, too.

This day needs to end. He should have stayed home and drank his way to oblivion, so he’d have been too far gone to answer the door in the first place.

TBC