Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kid: 98, Lyra Mista

Prompt: MY FIVE YEAR PLAN IS TO MAYBE GO OUT FOR ICE CREAM THIS AFTERNOON? (LIVE EVERY DAY LIKE THE ICE CREAM STORE IS CLOSING.)

"Orion," Cassiopeia Mista's exasperated groan comes much to the expectation of her older triplet sister, Lyra, who lounges across her lap, "can you, like, be any slower?"

"I can be a shit ton slower," Orion says from where he's leaned over the bathroom sink, applying eyeliner for the fiftieth time (more like, the tenth, but it feels like fifty).

"Dad says we're not supposed to curse," Lyra says, dropping her voice low to imitate her older father, Guido Mista's voice for a moment at the end.

"Dad doesn't really care as long as we don't do it 'round Mela or Lorenzo, 'cause they're, like, babies," Orion mutters. "If ya wanna be such a goody two-shoes, go ask Dad to go with ya for ice cream."

"I wanted to go with you, dummy," Lyra huffs, blowing hair out of her eyes. "For a reason. Can't a girl get to spend time with her fam?"

"We went out for ice cream yesterday afternoon, s' not like you haven't seen us in years or something weird," Cassiopeia says again. She presses her fingertips into the soft skin of Lyra's cheeks, making her older triplet sister squirm. Orion's just glad he's not caught in the middle for once.

"Live every day like the ice cream store is closing!" Lyra announces, wiggling out of Cassiopeia's grip and jumping up suddenly on the tile floor of the bathroom. "I'm runnin' down there. Last one there pays!"

Her two shrieking siblings follow her, and Lyra gets her ice cream without having to pay. It's a good day.

Chapter Text

Kid: 47, Honoka Tachibana (Wamuu + OC Kuro Tachibana)

Prompt: I KNOW YOUR WEAKNESS. IT’S KISSES. YOU ARE DOOMED. (DON’T WORRY. WE’RE ALL DOOMED EVENTUALLY.)

Five years is not enough time.

The Nekomata never thought that would be something he ever admitted, not to himself, and not to anyone else. When you have an immortal lifespan, staying forever young while those around you age, move on, and die, time has little meaning. It's one of the ways he was able to bond with Wamuu, back when they were... courting, he supposes one could say.

But now, they both have something to occupy their time, and help them keep track of it.

Kuro flicks his tail, allowing their fluffy half-Nekomata, half-Pillarman offspring, Honoka, to chase it across the floor while Wamuu busies himself with cleaning the kitchen. It's the only way to keep Honoka occupied and from going in there to bother her other father while he works.

She's five years old. It's hard to believe.

Pillarmen don't reproduce that often for a reason, and that coupled with Kuro not even being sure if he was capable of fathering offspring made the chance unlikely to begin with.

But five years ago, Honoka Tachibana entered the world with what her father would describe as "a true warrior's cry", and all of that didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered, except for the tiny fluffy bundle neither Wamuu nor Kuro would leave for more than five minutes at any given time.

Kuro is startled back into reality when the aforementioned daughter catches his tail in her sharp little teeth, bats it with her clawed hands, then leaps onto his back all in the span of about ten seconds. Kuro turns his head to look at her, no emotion crossing his face despite the stinging pain in his tail from where he's been bitten. Similarly, Honoka allows no emotion to cross her own tiny face, before she leans in and kisses her father's cheek. Kuro can't stop the small grin from spreading, his lips twitching upwards as the sound of heavy footsteps alerts him to Wamuu's approaching presence.

"I know your weakness," Honoka announces. "It's kisses. You are doomed. Tahtil says that you always need to find your enemy's weakness."

"Ah... I wouldn't worry about being doomed," Kuro says. A purr rumbles in his chest as Wamuu sits on the couch next to his family. "After all, if that's a weakness, we're all doomed eventually."

They are at peace.

Chapter Text

"You're mad, aren't you, Papa?"

Gallinacci's voice, strangely quiet, comes from beside Formaggio in the car. He tilts his head a little to look at his son. They're sitting in the driveway of their home, where they've been sitting for the past five minutes while the young boy sniffles in the passenger seat. He's still nursing a few bruises and cuts on his face and arms from his afterschool fight, which his father has just picked him up from. Tears shine in the ten-year-old's eyes.

Formaggio sighs, then leans over the gap between the two seats and puts his arms around Gallinacci, pressing his lips to his scalp in a soft, fatherly kiss. He runs his hand through it -- bright red as his had been in his youth before it darkened -- and says to him gently:

"I'm not mad at you. Don't worry, baby. I know you did good today. You did good today."

He'd been able to pick up information from the surrounding kids when gathering his son from the scene. Something had been said, apparently regarding his fathers themselves. No one would own up to exactly what it was, but Formaggio can take quite a few guesses.

Gallinacci whimpers, presses his face into Formaggio's chest and sniffles. "But - but I hurt somebody."

"Not for no reason," Formaggio says. "That's what matters. I don't want you gettin' into fights for your dads and me anymore, but I get it. 's okay."

The tears spill over onto Gallinacci's cheeks as he cries freely, held by his father.