Temari and her family, before and after the demon.

They’d been back in time for less than a month when their father forced Klaus back into the mausoleum. But maybe this time his family can do the right thing.

“It’s not wrong if you write it down,” Mo Xuanyu muttered to himself like a mantra as he scribbled down a rough explanation of what he was going to do. “If you write it down, it’s just an experiment, and that makes it okay.” That’s what they used to say back at Koi Tower, back when they were doing all those bad things. They also said that you’re supposed to try stuff out before you do the real thing, because practice makes perfect. And anyway, surely it wouldn't hurt to put the cat in the middle of the body-sacrificing array before he put himself in - the array ran on resentment, on revenge, and how much resentment could a cat possibly have?

A post-canon twitfic (now cross-posted to AO3) in which Jin Ling, with help from Lan Sizhui, Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji, Jiang Cheng, & Wen Ning, cleans out Jin Guangyao's old treasure chamber, and makes some unexpected discoveries.

It wasn’t that Jiang Cheng hadn’t liked Nie Huaisang well enough, when they were all learning together in the Cloud Recesses. Anyone who had the energy to keep up with Wei Wuxian – and just enough good sense to help veer him off the really bad ideas, even if he did keep egging him on in regards to the medium-grade bad ones – was good news in his books. But liking him didn’t mean respecting him, and the fact that Nie Huaisang hadn’t participated much in the war – couldn’t participate much – had led Jiang Cheng to discount him more or less entirely. That’s what made it all the more surprising when Nie Huaisang ended up being the unofficial leader of the three remaining Great Sects in opposing Jin Guangshan after the war.

The light overhead isn't from Minion island's overcast sky but instead a steel plated ceiling shining down fluorescence, glass and plastic bottles rattling on shelves against the walls. Everywhere there's monitors and familiar machinery and the distinct tang of antiseptic, sharp beyond the memory sense of blood and snow. For half a second Law looks at it all very blankly and thinks, What The Hell. Is he dreaming. Is he hallucinating. Is he just plain dead. His sight-line completes the rotation of this impossibility to fall upon speckled jeans and a long sweeping coat. And the man standing in front of Law has the blankest expression Law's ever seen. And the man standing in front of Law has Law's father's face. Underneath Law's blood-slicked fingers, Cora-san's pulse shudders. (This is a story where the past and the present collide. Wherein thirteen year old Trafalgar Law and twenty-six year old Rocinante tumble sideways through time-space via the blue desperation of a newly eaten devil fruit, from Minion island to a future distant. Right, unwittingly, onto the submarine deck of a another Law shortly after Doflamingo’s fall.)

In one world, the members of Class 1A, for the most part, had support systems and ways to cope that let them take things in stride. In another, they are left far more vulnerable to the traumas inflicted on them over and over. It all started with Todoroki Shouto seeing bruises on Yaoyorozu Momo's arm. The members of Class 1A begin to realize they are all far more alike than they thought, and the insecurities, fears, and pain they are facing are too much to handle- and so they decide to run as far away from them as they can, because if the world won't give them family, they'll be each other's family.

Aizawa and Vlad King bet that they can handle each other’s home rooms better. Vlad doesn’t understand why Aizawa’s had so many rules. Or Vlad is traumatized by 1-A.

“Luffy.” “Yeah?” “Please tell me I’m hallucinating.” Fear. The smell of it, the sound of it. Luffy’s never felt fear like this come from Sanji before. He hates it. “He’s real. And I think he’s you,” Luffy says. __ A reunion. A camping trip on an uninhabited island. A question. And a gift, or perhaps, an answer. Wherein a Sanji straight from the dungeons of Germa appears in their midst and no one, least of all Sanji, knows what to do about it.

The clones were supposed to be identical soldiers, flawless and efficient products. Instead, they were friction, disorientation, nonconformity. Or, As Kafer writes, ‘Disability too often serves as the agreed upon limit to our projected futures.’ This is me imagining different.

“Are you familiar with the custom of the sea?” Robin asked. “The one among shipwreck survivors.” Sanji was the cook. It was his job to feed the crew.