#MR RIPPLE ERA HIMSELF

[bonefall]

Ripplestar’s Rot & The Death of the 5th Oak

[Image ID: Ripplestar from warrior cats sits against a harsh red background. He has a trail of ginger blotches across his face and down his arm. His paw is raised. A moon is behind his claws.]

Rest in peace you ferocious bastard you woulda LOVED Fire Alone

Ripplestar had heterochromia- one eye was a dull black-brown, the other was a bright amber. He was a mostly black tom with a distinctive "stripe" of broken orange ember spots on the colorful side of his body, right across the amber eye. He was thick for a WindClan-descended cat, with a very thick, plush pelt.

When SkyClan was exiled, not everyone agreed with the Leader’s decisions to just let them leave. The Clerics argued and staged a strike, lead by Larkstripe of WindClan. In response, a new law was passed to limit their power... and Ripplekit was taken from his vow-breaking mother, raised as a brother to Gorsekit and Spottedkit.

Birdflight, welcomed by ShadowClan, waited for years for her mate to send envoys to bring her and her kits ‘home.‘ They never came-- So she and her children realized something must be very wrong. If SkyClan hadn’t found a safe place to live elsewhere, then Ripplestar vowed he would make room.

These are the events of Ripplestar’s Rot.

Content Warning: Someone gets squished like a tomato by a falling tree and there is blood, but no gore

Ripplekit

Birdflight’s kits were too young to bring along on Cloudstar’s Journey. Dawnstar graciously extended an offer to take any SkyClan cats that wanted to stay behind. ShadowClan would always welcome helping claws.

ALL of the clerics were united in their fury at SkyClan’s exile. They knew better than anyone else the importance of keeping 1/5th of StarClan in place.

They kept arguing long after SkyClan had left that a mistake was made. It was a fearful time, with the cats of all Clans terrified that what befell SkyClan could happen to them.

The Leaders decided that since StarClan did not cover the moon on that fateful day, they had spoken. This was divisive; Clerics were the widely accepted interpreters of StarClan... but the leaders were correct about the moon.

And no one had a good answer as to what would be done if SkyClan DID return. Their territory was gone.

The argument almost died down... and then the 5th Oak Tree developed a spot of blight.

Larkstripe of WindClan (Larkwing FQ) organized a strike. They told their leaders, “Next time you get sick, we’ll just let you go to StarClan, so YOU can see what they say if you think you’re so smart.“

There was panic. Panic about the blight, panic about the infighting, panic about the human destruction.

Swiftstar, on his last life and dying of treatable disease, tested Larkstripe's resolve. She told him, "If you live, StarClan is telling me I am wrong. If you die, they will decide your fate. Listen or gamble, it is your newest choice, we will see if you made the right decision last time."

When deputy Dalerunner took power, he decided he must crush the strike.

So, the leaders took hard action and accused the clerics of hypocrisy.

Larkstripe had violated the “Cleric’s Vow” and taken a mate, nursing a single kit. In those days, it was a personal vow, taboo but not forbidden by law.

The strike fell apart after Larkstripe was made into an example. Dalestar accused her publicly, saying that StarClan was not speaking to her because of her violation.

The Cleric’s Vow was ratified into the Code, allowing the leaders to better control their medics.

Ripplekit, about 4 moons at the time, was taken from Larkstripe. Birdflight agreed to adopt him. He missed his mother terribly... but bonded with Gorsekit and Spottedkit.

The blight spread.

Ripplemoon

Larkstripe never got to reunite with her kitten... she died shortly before he became a warrior. Some say of a broken heart.

He had his eyes on leadership from a young age. Dawnstar was determined to allow the three kits to grow up to be loyal ShadowClan warriors.

His family used to speak about how Cloudstar would send warriors to fetch them... the fact they never came alarmed them.

His whole warriorship, Ripplemoon watched the blight climb up the fifth oak tree. Talking about it was taboo, even though it was visibly getting worse.

Ripplemoon was an honorable, thoughtful cat. NEVER afraid to defend his reputation, never refusing a challenge. This type of chivalry was important, in those days.

There was only one time he brought up the oak at a gathering. It descended into argument immediately, the clouds rolling over the moon. He thought it was fitting; that what remained of StarClan was a bunch of petty cowards who couldn’t handle reality.

Or a fight.

Being chosen for deputy was a matter of course. Dawnstar wanted a noble deputy to succeed her, someone who wasn’t afraid to stand up for himself... perhaps she regretted putting Larkstripe down so harshly for doing the same thing, so many years ago.

Ripplestar

He wasted NO TIME getting his bones in a row. Dawnstar was barely cold before that first gathering.

”Something has to be done. Five trees, five Clans. You will shuffle to make way, or I will carve it out.“

They Did Not Listen

It was BLOODY. Ripplestar pushed ShadowClan past the Thunderpath, crushing ThunderClan. WindClan took advantage of the fight and tried to push into ShadowClan. ThunderClan clawed for Sunningrocks and put pressure on RiverClan.

There were defectors from those Clans. Everyone had eyes; they could see the tree dying. Not everyone was loyal to the Clan of their birth. The conflict escalated.

...Gorseclaw saw this carnage. He couldn’t handle it anymore. He met the other leaders in secret, and told them about Ripplestar’s last plan... in exchange for safety, in ThunderClan.

Ripplestar never saw this betrayal coming. Gorseclaw was his brother.

The Full Moon Battle

Ripplestar planned for it to be a surprise blitz, for every gathered warrior to make their alliance known, for elders and apprentices to scatter from the battle... but the leaders only brought their most loyal supporters.

Three Clans against One.

Ripplestar attacked Dalestar at the top of the highrock, tumbling and threatening to spill over the side

Gorseclaw grappled with Spottedpelt, and with a fateful strike that would begin a cycle that haunts his bloodline to this very day, he ended her life and watched his golden-furred sibling fade away. 

Just then, lightning crackled out of the sky, striking the 5th Oak at its blighted base. It tumbled forward, and Ripplestar kicked Dalestar off him just in time to realize it was coming right for him.

SQUISH

The oak cracked against the stone where it had killed Ripplestar. One snap at the stump, one snap across the trunk, in a distinct lightning-bolt shape. The same shape that would become Brokenstar’s tail.

Blood dripped down the side of the highrock on both sides, more than there should have been. The moon was red above them.

A horrible curse was laid that night.

The Four Clans would pay for what they’d allowed to happen to SkyClan; and ShadowClan would be rewarded for its harboring of Birdflight by becoming the eye of the storm.

No one else was killed by the falling tree. This was taken as a sign... the four Clans were to remain separate. Three more laws were added to the code, to encourage loyalty and prevent a rebellion like this from ever happening again.

[locke-esque-monster]

One of the things I feel like I haven't seen talked about enough is parenting in Bridgerton - specifically the different types of bad parenting portrayed in this show.

(Please note: This is within the realm of the tv show universe only. I'm also sticking primarily to the main Bridgerton seasons, and only referring to the Queen Charlotte show for context.)

Abusive parents - Of course we start with the prior Duke of Hastings, Simon's father. His desire for a perfect male son to carry on his line, and in a way where it's immediate perfection (any slight must be fixed and obeyed instantly), is almost cartoonishly villainous. With the context of the QC show, presumably he had some fear of losing his position in society otherwise, and a fear of insignificance manifesting in his desire for him to live on through his descendants.

Irresponsible Parents - Archibald Featherington falls under this distinction. Any positive traits shown, like letting Penelope wear a dress she prefers, seems to be more from lack of attention than caring for her happiness. And his gambling problem is not only an issue for himself, but is the root of all of the Featheringtons' problems in the 2.5 seasons aired so far. Whether it be addiction to gambling or just poor money management, he puts his own whims first (tobacco, drink, women) over the future of his daughters. Among other things, it nearly jeopardizes Phillipa's and Penelope's happiness. Because he couldn't pay Phillipa's dowry for Mr. Finch. And by bringing Marina in to settle a debt, she then put herself in the path to have Colin court her for a quick marriage. And even his death (due to his mistakes) left rippling effects that have negatively impacted his family seasons later.

Absent parents - Both Violet and Mary Sharma fall under this. After the sudden death of their spouse, they weren't able to continue their duties or fill the role the death of their husbands left due to grief. So it fell to their oldest child to fill in the gaps, which negatively impacted their future relationships, both for themselves and their siblings. Kate and Anthony both struggled with overprotectiveness of their sisters, and while they had small indulgences, they didn't allow themselves larger happiness that might impact the role they felt they needed to fill in their family. While understandable from grief and the loss of a role in the family something might change, even after that grieving period they never really take back the reins of their family after that point, setting the precedent this new dynamic with the kid filling in is the norm, not a short-term solution.

Uncomfortable Parents - Violet also falls under this heading with Daphne. She, even after Daphne's marriage, doesn't feel comfortable discussing certain topics. She'd rather leave Daphne oblivious than have a uncomfortable conversation about where children come from. While that's not uncommon in this era, it actively hurt Daphne because her mother couldn't tell her the information she needed to know. This likely stems in part from how toxic Violet's mother was, that she wanted to have a positive relationship with her kids and struggled to have hard conversations, possibly old habits of trying to avoid conflict.

Critical Parents - Portia falls under this role. She's not like Simon's father, she doesn't expect perfection. But she will constantly critique her daughters, Penelope in particular. And praise only comes when it fits the exact standards of what she wants for her daughters, not what they want for themselves. (Anything from the dresses they like, to the kind of marriage they want, to interests they have, or if they're ready to come out.) From all the instability they've been through so far in the show, and how it's clear Portia married for that kind of stability, it's understandable why she thinks that way. But not how she treats Penelope because of it. To be clear, both Cressida parents, the Cowpers, fall under this role. But they seem to lack the love of their child that Portia has for her girls, as seen in her speech to Jack at the end of season 2.

I find it interesting because most of these dynamics steered the course of the show. so far. And yet, while some of these characters have made bad parenting choices, they're not (all) bad people. It's a variety and complexity you'd hope for in any decent type of drama.

[ladyhallen]

What would Peter be in prison for in the sanctuary snippet?

I was going to say, "Attempted murder," then I realized since Voldemort was non-existent, that backstory would be a bit different, LMAO.

With some thinking, I just realized that without the Voldemort Civil War that happened during the Marauders Era, it would take a long time for the marauders themselves to mature and grow up. I think it would take a really shocking thing to make them wake up that their pranks have gone so far round to cruelty already.

The Sanctuary Kids absolutely dislike them, because no matter how they talked to them individually, united, each of them made the other worse.

I think, and I say this as a personal headcanon, that the first to mature was James, simply because he really loved Lily and he wanted to be a better person for her. He listened to her arguments and took a deep look at himself and realized that he didn't like himself and what he'd become.

Sirius got really angry when James changed, and they argued long and hard about it. The last straw was Remus finally chiming in and saying, "That he's somewhat ashamed of what they do at school because he can't tell his mother about it."

Sirius, who actually loved Remus's mom, flinched like he got slapped. While the Potters took care of Sirius when he ran away from home, it was Mrs. Lupin who wrote him long letters of advice, coming from someone who ran away from home herself.

Peter was different, because he actually enjoyed being cruel and a bully intentionally. His thinking was, if I am mean to them first, they can't hurt me. He drifted away from the group when they grew up, and fell in with a bad crowd. Not quite death eaters, because it would be very difficult for that kind of group to recruit in Hogwarts where the Sanctuary kids are.

I think he gets arrested for muggle baiting. Remember, the Sanctuary-verse I wrote had this kind of problem. Mostly because of the Voldemort Ripple Effect. (I can write a lot more about that if y'all want to know.)

It's not technically illegal, only if you get caught. He got caught and arrested.

[unsociableandtaciturnbarbie]

Here we have a Tik Tok which I randomly scrolled upon two nights ago (whether it got added to my favorites collection is between me and whoever is monitoring my Tik Tok activity). This Tik Tok is fairly simple, but it’s really funny to me. It starts with a picture of a bunch of nurses/doctors running with a stretcher captioned, “she’s losing blood what’s her type?!?”, then the next slide is a collage of nine photos of Matthew Macfayden’s Mr. Darcy from the 2005 Pride and Prejudice movie (1 of the 9 photos being the Hand Flex itself). The joke here is that the doctors were asking about the patient’s blood type and instead we are provided with the patient’s type in men (Type, according to urban dictionary, is “a preference or what you look for in a significant other”). This is accompanied by lyrics from the song Soaked by Shy Smith (feel free to look up the lyrics, but I’m afraid of Tumblr’s moderation). This template with the play on the word “type” is used across Tik Tok for all sorts of characters and celebrities both real and fictional (Please read “all sorts of characters” as “I’ve seen a Simon from Alvin and the Chipmunks one under the same sound”). I’d categorize this template as one of the many varieties of thirst traps which the internet has to offer and just thinking about Mr. Darcy in the context of a thirst trap is incredibly funny to me. This thirst trap in particular was really good, I think, in its use of the song Soaked because two of the included photos are of him obviously having just come out of the rain (part of what I like to call the Wet Darcy Effect) and even though I don’t think that’s what the writer of the song was going for I like to imagine it was. The fact that the Hand Flex got its own picture in the collage also really made this Tik Tok complete for me. Side note: When I first watched the 2005 version I didn’t really care about the hand flex, but my mom pointed out that it’s probably the only time in this era that a man and woman would be making skin to skin contact except for maybe dancing (even then they should technically be wearing gloves). So, the hand flex is meant to be a sort of reaction to sparks Darcy is feeling just by helping her up into a carriage…I was soon converted to a Hand Flex fan. This is a really good example for me though of what we started to get into at the end of class today with “Darcymania”. What is it about Mr. Darcy that makes him such an object of internet fascination? Jane Austen wasn’t exactly writing him to be some sort of incredibly hot heartthrob with crazy sexual appeal; he’s just described as a handsome rich man with a tendency to be incredibly awkward and possibly even proud in social situations (which during regency times made him a catch for sure, but modern standards tend to be raised past money). And yet, the Wet Darcy Effect has spread its ripples of staring at soaking wet regency men through popular media from TikTok thirst traps to Bridgerton (see image below).

I think there’s definitely a level of adaptations having influence here, especially with something like Mr. Darcy in the rain or in a pond that never actually happens in the book. But, there’s also something to be said about Mr. Darcy the book character. As an avid romance consumer, I do think there’s something incredibly romantic about falling in love with someone you’re determined to hate, as Mr. Darcy does in the book. Even in the first few chapters we’re getting lines that are certainly making my heart melt like, “Darcy had never been so bewitched by any woman as he was by her.” Additionally (as we’ll get into later so I don’t want to spoil it too much) he’s willing to accept the consequences of his actions and rectify them for her. If we’re thinking about Mr. Darcy with a sort of “I can fix him mindset”, then I’d argue he does the fixing by himself by the end of the book. I wish I could come to a conclusion on why the internet has made the jump from “Mr. Darcy is a good romantic interest” to “Let’s make thirst traps and put him half-dressed on candles like you would with religious figures (see below)”, but I cannot. As someone who has personally made the jump from “Hey, he’s kind of an intriguing character” to “my roommates buy me things with his face on them”, I can kind of see the appeal, but crossing the line to sexualizing him and making thirst traps has never once occurred to me so there’s definitely still some missing pieces.

Here's the Tik Tok link for crediting purposes:

[salazarslytherin]

happy days (f.w x gn!y/n)

requested: nope! send in your own requests here!

summary: in which fred takes y/n on a special date

cw/tw: like maybe 0.5% angst, 99.5% fluff

word count: 2.9k

🃛 masterlist!

a/n: i'm pretty sure reader is gender neutral in this one! i made sure not to use any pronouns or prominent mentions to y/n's body or anything. i really hope y'all like it, i don't really ever write fluff so i hope it's good! please leave a comment, like or reblog to help boost xx

“Jump!”

“What?! Are you insa-”

⚔︎.

It was probably a bad idea to be doing this. Actually, it was most definitely a bad idea to be doing this. But when has a ‘bad’ idea ever deterred the infamous Fred Weasley? In fact, the thought of anyone calling one of his ideas ‘bad’ just spelt encouragement in Fred’s mind.

You’d learnt that lesson two months into meeting the Weasley twins, and it’s only engrained itself in your mind further since. There’s never been a point to try to dissuade Fred, it’s best to just go along and hope the ride isn’t too bumpy along the way. After dating Fred, these bad ideas had expanded themselves to different categories- risky places to be intimate, weird ways to cheer you up with confessions of love, and dangerously stupid dates.

The last category was where today’s bad idea landed.

⚔︎.

Three days ago, Fred had the “most ingenious, marvellous, uniquely exciting date idea Hogwarts has ever seen!” He’d disappeared in the middle of lunch, dragging George along with him, mumbling to himself, “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this sooner!”, leaving you confused, sat alone in the Great Hall.

“Where are they going?”

Harry, Ron and Hermione popped up behind you, seating themselves down in the twins’ now deserted seats.

“I have absolutely no clue.”

⚔︎.

That’s how you found yourself here, two days later. A Saturday, you were all set to go on a Hogsmeade trip with some of your Ravenclaw friends when Fred ambushed you. Popping up out of a closet and scaring the living lights out of you, he dragged you behind him, laughing as you shouted at him.

“Freddie! What are you doing? I’m supposed to go meet Renee and the others right now!”

Regardless of the fact that Fred was making you miss plans you’d already made, you were beaming from ear to ear.

“Georgie’s already told ‘em you can’t make it. Now hurry up

This being your OWLs year, you’d hardly had the time to see Fred this term, busy studying while he went off doing whatever it was he did when you weren’t around. Being a year younger meant he had already studied everything you’d studied, and while he offered to help you a lot, you’d rather he go have fun than sit around revising old material with you.

Combined with the Triwizard Tournament and the fact that the twins saw this as the golden opportunity to sell products to customers other than Hogwarts student, you’d only had three dates in the almost three months since school had started.

“Where in the name of Merlin are you bringing me, Fred!”

“You’ll see soon enough darling!”

⚔︎.

Soon enough turned out to be ten minutes later, the two of you panting as you’d finally made it all the way across to the other side of the castle and up the stairs to the Astronomy Tower.

The sun was shining brightly down upon the two of you, the tall windows welcoming the late November winds into the room. A chest sat next to one of the ledges, Fred finally letting go of your hand for the first time in ten minutes, reaching down to open it.

He took a piece of cloth out, closing the chest before you could sneak a peek at the contents, tucking the wooden box under his arm.

“Is this the brilliant date idea you were talking about the other day? I’m not going to lie to you Freddie, cloth doesn’t really scream ingenious to me. In fact, it seems like you brought me up here to clean.”

Raising your eyebrows at the ginger, you gestured at the fabric in his hand as he laughed at you, stepping up onto the ledge.

“Fred? What’re you doing?!”

The boy turned towards you, holding out a hand.

“Come up here.”

Your eyes widened.

“No! Are you insane?”

Fred’s hand faltered a bit, arm relaxing against his body as he looked into your eyes.

“Do you trust me?”

Silent, you stepped up next to Fred, clinging onto his hip and arm, knees shaking slightly at the height you were at.

“I trust you with my life.”

Adjusting the chest under his arm, Fred pulled you into his embrace.

“That’s good to hear. Because it’s time.”

He looked down, dropping the piece of cloth, before tilting your head up to look at him, stepping one foot off the ledge and into the skies.

“Jump!”

“What?! Are you insa-”

You were cut off by screams erupting from your mouth as the ground disappeared below you- Fred pulling you with him, laughter bubbling from his chest.

“Oh my God, I’m going to die-”

You reached the ground a lot quicker than you’d thought possible, your eyes squeezed shut, bracing for the imminent death that would come.

Instead, you felt a weird, soft surface, almost like a water bed, rippling under you as you landed on your knees.

“Am I in heaven?”

Your eyes opened slowly, eyes meeting the clouds around you, only for a shadow to cover the sights surrounding you.

“No, but I think I am.”

A kiss landed on your lips as you fell back on the odd surface, Fred falling on top of you.

The kiss was short and sweet, but quickly forgotten as you remembered what had happened moments prior, hitting Fred on the chest as you took in your surroundings.

The surface you had landed on wasn’t a surface at all- in fact it was, a rug? It looked eerily similar to the cloth Fred had thrown off the tower earlier, only, about thirty times bigger, and flying.

You looked at Fred, confused. The tall ginger boy beamed back at you, gesturing grandly.

“Welcome, to your very own magic carpet ride!”

⚔︎.

After lecturing Fred on how incredibly dangerous the start of the date had been, you finally had the chance to process the reality of the date.

“Where are we going, then, on this magic carpet ride?”

The boy hummed, pulling out blankets and a pillow from the, now enlarged, chest, spreading them around the carpet that was hovering near the tip of the Astronomy Tower, awaiting further instruction from the two of you.

“Well first, I was thinking we could stop by Hogsmeade to get some snacks, maybe buy some of the Christmas gifts you wanted to go get today, then we’re flying off to explore Scotland! Well, the part of Scotland we’re in, anyways. Just for a few hours, then we’ll be back to watch the sunset.”

He looked at you for approval, which you granted with a wide smile.

“That sounds beautiful Fred.”

⚔︎.

Walking around Hogsmeade, Fred had shrunk the rug and tucked it into his pocket, the chest shrunk even smaller than it had been the first time you’d seen it.

“Alright, so I think you’ve gotten enough sugar quills to last you a lifetime. Where to next?”

Chewing on a sugar quill, you scrunched your nose in his direction, pulling him into the quaint little jewellery shop you liked to frequent.

The little old lady who owned the place was one you’d become acquainted with over the past five years, Mrs Kingston never minded that you rarely bought anything, understanding that most of her second-hand jewellery was still quite pricey for a student to afford.

Still, you tried your best to save up and buy the pieces you really liked. Recently, you’d been eyeing a necklace, a simple Celtic knot on a thin chain that shone brightly no matter how much light lit up the room. Mrs Kingston explained to you it was an old betrothal necklace, oft seen in pureblood families back in the Victorian era. It’s now seen worn by a lot of the heirs of these old families- in fact, you’d spotted Draco wearing an heirloom similar to it.

“Mrs Kingston!”

“Hello y/n, how are you?”

Fred nodded at the woman as he shuffled around the shop, looking in the display cabinets with vague interest whilst the two of you made small talk.

Your eyes wandered the familiar glass cabinet, landing on the soft velvet that was empty of the familiar Celtic knot, furrowed brows returning to meet Mrs Kingston's clouded eyes.

“The necklace!”

The woman nodded sadly, looking just as dejected as you felt.

“I'm sorry dearie. A boy came in a while ago to buy it. Might've been one of the ones you came with a few weeks back.”

Your head hung low, muttering out a soft 'oh' as she explained to you, nodding in response.

“It's okay Mrs Kingston. I'll see if there's something else I'd like to save up for instead. Thanks, see you next time!”

Thinking back to the last Hogsmeade trip when you'd come down to the shop, your heart lifted a bit, a smile returning to your face as you turned to face Fred.

“Alright, let's head to the bookstore.”

⚔︎.

The ginger's hand clutched yours tightly, the two of you cuddling under the thick blanket as you flew around mountains, pointing out animals, both magical and non-magical, that you'd seen around the place.

Fred looked at you quizzically. Since leaving Mrs Kingston's, you had seemingly forgotten the necklace. Even more, it seemed like you'd gotten happier since finding out someone had gotten the necklace. During the lunch you two had gotten at the Three Broomsticks, the both of you finding Madam Puddifoot's a bit nauseating, you were practically bouncing on your heels as you spoke to some of your friends about the upcoming Christmas celebrations.

“I thought you'd be more upset that the necklace is gone, I remember you talking about how much you liked it last time.”

You shrugged, a wider smile gracing your lips as you looked at him, nuzzling further into his chest.

“I love it! That's why I'm so happy Cedric got it for me. ”

Fred halted, pushing you away from him.

“I-, what! Why would Diggory be getting you a betrothal necklace?!”

You looked up at your boyfriend, furrowing your brows at his outburst.

“What! You know Ced's one of my best friends. Remember when we came to the shop a few weeks back? You, George and Lee were goofing around and then just bolted while I was telling Ced about the necklace. I guess he just came back to get it for me.”

Fred huffed, rolling his eyes as he heard you talk about Cedric, pulling away from you more.

“How could you be this blind!”

You looked at Fred, a bit hurt that he'd lost his temper at you for no reason.

“Why are you getting so worked up over this? It's not like he's proposing to me!”

The boy scoffed, throwing his hands up into the air.

“Well, it's clear that he'd do it without a thought! The boy's in love with you! That's the only reason why anyone would get you something that expensive!”

You laughed frigidly, shaking your head at how irrational your boyfriend was being, pushing the blanket off of you to move away from him.

“What, he can't just have gotten me the necklace because I'm a good friend? Merlin Fred, he's the only one who's actually been with me to go see the necklace, and is the only one who would logically know to get me the necklace.”

You turned to look him in the eye, your jaw clenching as he turned red.

“Besides, Cedric knows me best.”

Fred let out a frustrated 'ugh!', and grabbed the wooden chest that he'd charmed to stay in one corner, grumbling under his breath.

“You think Diggory's the one who knows you best? You think that he's the only one that could have gotten you the bloody necklace?”

A velvet box was brandished from somewhere deep in the chest, Fred propping it open to reveal a dazzling silver necklace, reflecting the afternoon sun into your eyes.

“The. I don't understand. But how?”

Fred snapped the box shut, moving to kneel in front of you.

“As I said just now, I know you best.”

He popped open the box again, this time moving to remove the necklace from the velvet, lifting it fully into the sunlight.

“I was listening when you were talking to Diggory, and even though I'd run away that day, I knew exactly what you wanted.”

He shuffled behind you, unclasping the necklace to bring it around your front.

“I said that he's in love with you, which I still think is true, by the way, and that's the reason why he would have possibly gotten it for you, is because I love you, and that's why I got it for you.”

The chain clipped around your neck, the cool metal contrasting your warm skin as Fred leaned down to press a kiss above the clasp, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Freddie, I had no idea.”

You spun around to face your boyfriend, pressing a deep kiss to his lips, hands landing on his neck to pull him impossibly closer to yourself.

“Clearly. I had this whole plan! All foiled by your cluelessness. I was going to wait until sunset, with the scenery all around us, then surprise you with it and ask you to be my date to the Yule Ball!”

You looked at Fred, your mouth falling open in shock.

“But you just had to bring up Cedric, and how he 'knows you best'. Maybe you should go with him to the Ball.”

You chuckled at the childishness of the Weasley boy in front of you, the pout framing his lips deepening as you laughed at him.

“Well then maybe you should go with Angie, I'm sure she'd be happy to have you.”

Fred gasped loudly, shocked at the audacity of you bringing up his old crush.

“Don't you even dare suggest that.”

⚔︎.

“How did you think of all this?”

The boy shrugged, opening the chest, to pull out a thermos. You were sat above the Black Lake, watching the setting sun on the horizon ahead, red bleeding into orange and blue.

“Honestly, I’m ashamed it took me so long. Remember this summer when you had me ‘round your place and we watched Aladdin with your parents?”

You nodded, fluffing the pillows to make yourself more comfortable, the setting sun casting shadows on the Weasley boy, making him look even more handsome than usual, if that was even possible.

“At that time, I’d already thought that the magic carpet seemed awfully similar to a broom. Then, that day at lunch some firstie was humming that one song they sang when flying the blasted thing, and I thought, blimey! Why didn’t I think to just recreate the bloody thing! So, here we are.”

While talking, Fred spread the thick blanket to cover more of you, pouring hot chocolate out of the thermos he’d brought into mugs that he’d gotten without you knowing, both shaped in little hearts.

“D’you, um, d’you like it?”

Handing the pink mug to you, a sheen of red descended on your boyfriend’s cheeks, not just from the cold, but also fear and embarrassment, scared you didn’t like the date he’d spent the last three days planning.

“I love it!”

You leaned forward, planting a soft kiss on Fred’s lips, leaving traces of cocoa on them.

“But I didn’t love the part where you made me think I was plunging sixty feet to my death!”

The boy groaned playfully, lying back onto the carpet with his head hanging over the edge.

“I know! I’m sorry! I just thought it’d be exciting! A nice surprise! Besides, did you really think I’d let my lovely little Y/N die? I need you around darling.”

You scoffed, sipping on the hot cocoa as you stared at the Astronomy Tower in the distance, your first and now, final destination of the day, a hand creeping towards Fred’s to hold it in a tight grip, unconsciously afraid he’d fall.

“I don’t know! Maybe this was your ultimate prank! Bring us both to heaven to fight God or something.”

Now it was Fred’s turn to scoff, sitting back up to shove his hands under the blanket, squeezing your hand in return.

“First off, if I ever fought God I’d need George there with me. I don’t think that just the two of us could take him. Secondly,”

Fred cupped your chin with his free hand, bringing you in for a deep kiss, catching you by surprise as you braced yourself on his shoulder with your free hand. His tongue teased your lower lip, making a moan slip out while his tongue entered your mouth. Exploring each other, your entangled hands fell apart- his coming to grasp your neck, bringing you closer to him, yours gripping his hip, drawing circles on the bone.

After what seemed like an hour, but also felt like seconds, the two of you fell apart, breathless as you panted, staring into each other’s eyes.

“I don’t think either of us are making it to heaven darling. Think we’re condemned to hell forever, you and I.”

You looked into his coffee coloured eyes, pupils dilated as he scanned your face, his favourite pastime, memorising every crevice and pore. Your hand found its way to the necklace sitting around your neck, fingering the knot that symbolised eternity in your hands.

“Well if I’m going to burn in hell for an eternity, then I’m glad I’ll be burning with you Freddie.”

[nightswithkookmin]

With the grammy bomb im more than certain that there is a strain between jikook. They do interact but in a way that is so aloof. Their habitual gravitating towards one another doesnt happen anymore. And im talking about all the recent stuff from october onwards. Jk purposefully rear towards other members and i find jimin to be only open towards namjoon. All of his other interactions on cam are to make sure that everything is fine between him and others. And jk purposefully ignores or avoids jimin and doesnt have that unrestrainable affection towards him anymore. I say all this as a longtime jikook supporter. Honestly even if they had their 'fighting' periods i have never seen jk this dismissive. At least jimin isnt as affected as before. I dont understand how no supporter is admitting the obvious distance of jk.

Why are you being mean to me though😭

Please read my blogs. I think I have talked about this topic several times now.

May be I spoke 'too soon' before the loud moments that make these things obvious to most but still, I've addressed it nonetheless.

I feel if I respond to this, I'd just be repeating myself over and over at this point and frankly it gets boring for the people that read me- I think. Lol. I mean, once I start I never shut up. Lmho. So sorry in advance.

I agree with everything you've said, as well as all the observations you've made. I'm with you on it. Except, you made no definitive conclusions I could agree on, rebut, or share an opinion on. There is a strain on their relationship..... therefore? Lol.

I don't mean this in a rude way. I just don't think it's enough to point that out without drawing conclusions- unless you are simply taking notes of those moments? Or are you concluding that the strain is a sign Jikook are fighting, having problems or that they have broken up?

Not every tension between Jikook is a bad thing if you ask me or even as a result of them having issues in their relationship. This is something I keep regurgitating in my blogs. Not to say they don't have issues, they do. Hell, I get dragged by my roots on these streets for saying they fight, or even break up sometimes like any real couple would. They are real and they have real couple's problems sometimes too like any regular joe.

I'm glad you pointed out though, that Jimin doesn't seem as affected by JK's 'dismissive' attitude as before. Shouldn't that tell you that is a sign there is nothing wrong with their relationship this time around? Jikook is not one sided. JK isn't the only party to their relationship, neither is Jimin. They have an equal and sometimes opposite reaction to each other. One person's attitude or change in attitude tends to produce a ripple effect on the other. In my opinion.

If JK were to be 'dismissive' at all, it would emotionally and physically impact Jimin and he would have a reaction to it like he did in run 106. Compared to this, he didn't seem at all affected by JK's 'attitude' just as you've pointed out.

As I said a while ago, I honestly don't think or believe they are fighting or that they are broken up either- not to me anyway. Lol. I mean you could still pretty much see the intimacy between them in that footage. Jikook don't need to engage in skinship or overt and loud interactions to show they are intimate. And most times their overt and loud skinship and interactions are devoid of intimacy. That's the thing about intimacy, you can't fake it or hide it.

Jimin turning towards JK in his fit of excitement is a sign of intimacy between them regardless of whether he actually hugged JK or not. Then later on the couch, you could see him yearning for JK.

There were three people in that room- may be more if you count staff and yet JK was the only one Jimin seemed to want an answer from.

He was the one Jimin was emotionally inclined towards. The one who's comfort and affection he sought after- bless his heart, he hit his head on some solid rock knees and everything trying to pursue his need for physical closeness and affection from JK. If they were broken up or fighting, he wouldn't go to JK for his emotional needs.

He could try and 'interact' with JK, do the fanservice bit with him but he wouldn't go to him with his emotional needs- that would be inappropriate and unfair to JK. Jimin is an emotionally intelligent guy and he has a lot of thoughts and consideration for people's feelings and he is well aware of his limits and just how much he can push or get away with.

And I cite his Log with JK, where he announced he had started developing feelings for JK and then turned to JK to ask if he was ok with him saying that much on camera.

Thus, if he is emotionally 'gravitating' towards JK then it's indication there is a level of intimacy and a mutual understanding between them that JK fulfills an emotional need and ought to fulfill that emotional need for him.

And yes, I agree. Him hesitating when he wanted to hug JK is a sign there is something stressing their dynamics which is something I pointed out when that Grammy reaction video first came out. I knew something was stressing their dynamic but I couldn't figure out what because it was a very short video with not much going on in there.

The behind the scenes however, chilee. Lol.

I mean if you consider the fact JK went from moving a distance to console Jimin when he was crying on stage during the October ON:E concert, and you look at all the moments we've had from their overt flirting in 2021 season's greetings, the sexual innuendos in the BE behind scenes video, JK sniffing Jimin's hair in the Be unboxing video to that moment on the couch when Jimin hit his head on JK's knees- that shit look like it hurt. Damn. JK what is your knees made of! Lmho.

I am uncomfortable discussing a Jikook era or phase when it's on going on. I like to simply take note of certain moments and discuss them in post by reconstructing the timeline to place content in its rightful timeframe.

I can only share with you my working theory on such moments and for the most part, like I said previously I feel Jikook- especially JK is having issues with the company. Perhaps because the company stumbled on something they weren't supposed to see.

As for Jikook's personal development, I think we all saw this development coming, didn't we? After JM's birthday fiasco? I think I hypothesized at the time that whoever was in the 'wrong' in that situation would come swinging hard on their Jikook agenda in the aftermath. And with that whole GCF Tokyo reference, signing his name to JK's name at the pop up, the stealing looks at JK during interviews, checking him out left right left, trying to make Jk 'jealous' with RM at the Be press con red carpet, it's not hard to figure out who did what in that birthday situation.

I plan on writing a blog on this very topic, because I've received quite a few Asks about my thoughts on JK outing Jimin, military service and others that I find intriguing and want to discuss but I also want to discuss Vminkook dynamics, Jikook boundaries and I don't know which one to get into first. When I'm torn between options I end up not making a choice at all. Lol.

All I can say in regards to Jikook and their on going 'situation' is that- I love it. Lol. I love their dynamics, I love where they are at in their love journey, I love where they are heading. Jikook is just beautiful in every sense of the word.

I love what JK is doing. I love where he has gotten my bias to- which is confronting himself and figuring out what he wants from their relationship. Because, honestly you can't have your cake and eat it. It just doesn't work that way.

What you are seeing is just JK asserting himself against Jimin I'm afraid. It's the push and pull thingy all over again.

I keep talking about 'the boy in love with Jungkook' being a facade and persona Jimin hides behind to love JK and most people don't understand.

JK's persona is not the boy in love with Jimin. It's the boy cold and shy who rejects Jimin- well at least that was the persona he had in their early dynamics around debut.

He has since shed that persona and the bold, fearless, assertive JK we see on the screens is him choosing to unapologetically express his love and feelings for Jimin. And jimin enjoys that.

But you take a look at Jimin, and you don't see that drastic change in his persona or the way he expresses himself with JK- I mean let's call a spade a spade.

Do I think Jimin loves JK? Absolutely. Do I think he is being authentic in the way that he expresses those feelings to JK on camera? Only to an extent.

It's obvious who Jimin is to JK or even the way he expresses himself and his love for JK is slightly different off camera than the persona we see on our screens. For one, clearly JK is not used to seeing Jimin prioritize others over him or be overly affectionate with others besides him. I mean it's been seven years. Ten, if you count the periods before. You'd think JK would get used to JM doing skinship with others or showing affection for the others especially since they've lived together over half of the time and yet here we are, frying pans away from the apocalypse whenever any member breaths near Jimin. Damn JK. Lmho.

Do I think his persona is slightly exaggerated? Yes. But I also think JM downplays his love for Jk with his 'Mr I'm available' personality, his Kumbaya attitude, and his I'm just a nice guy on the block character, which often leads to people questioning whether or not he treats JK different from the group. Don't get me wrong JK does this too.

Jimin loves JK. But at this point the question is is he expressing that love in the way that meets JK's emotional needs? Is he allowing JK to love him and express the love he feels for him in the way that makes him happy?

I think that's what the birthday fiasco is all about.

If you don't want JK openly showing and expressing his love for you in a way that he wants to and in a way that holds meaning to him and makes him feel fulfilled as well in the relationship then what is the point of him holding on to the glass closet?

Two can play that game. Lol.

It's JK's needs above the groups and I feel he is putting it right up there next to JM's needs because they are both valid.

You should have seen JK's face when Jimin decided tell the truth about his location on September 1st in that BB press interview.

I remember pointing out that when JM started that narration with the first person pronoun he was going for a well curated narrative perhaps one the group had agreed on prior to avoid confirming his location on the JK's birthday like they had tried to do during the VLive but dropped that and went with the honest truth the moment he started talking about being with Jk and using 'we' instead of 'I' in his speech.

I'm glad the interviewer from his Weverse magazine interview confirmed and pointed out this tell or habit of Jimin when he speaks,

"When he’s talking, Jimin often starts his sentence with phrases like, “I just,” “it just,” “they just …” But then he immediately goes on to open up about his feelings, always providing a sincere response."

At least now we know for sure he wasn't lying about his location- for all those who called him a liar.

Anywho, my point is it makes JK happy when Jimin expresses his love and feelings for him. But it also makes him happy when he is able to show the world just how much JM means to him.

He didn't get those tattoos for nothing. He didn't do the GCFs for nothing. He didn't nibble on his ear in front of thousands of people for nothing- had he posted for Jimin on his birthday, given how he hadn't done that for anyone in a year, it wouldn't have been for nothing either. In my opinion.

When I tell y'all Jimin is gonna wake up one day with JK's ring on his finger and he wouldn't know what hit him. Chilee. Lmho.

Listen, JK is in love LOVE with Jimin. It's my opinion and I'm gonna treat it as fact because I believe it- if you disagree keep it to yourself. I don't wanna hear it. Lol.

That boy is in love with my bias. Ain't nobody gonna tell me nothing. Lol.

Seriously though, JK loves Jimin and he loves expressing those feelings for him. He goes overboard sometimes with it to the point it's borderline outing but we don't talk about that. Lol.

He's progressed through out the years from hiding his feelings for Jimin, whispering I love you's to JM when he thinks JM is alseep, slipping matching plasters onto his finger, all the way to Rosebowl.

If you ask me, he wants to be Jimin's equal in every sense of the word and as much as he loves to be at the recieving end of JM's affections, he enjoys being at the giving end.

And if JM has the cover of 'the boy in love with the Maknae' and it works perfectly for him not just as a persona but the perfect excuse for loving Jk then you gotta wonder what cover JK equally has for loving JM the way that he does. He has none. His every move is questioned by members, by staff, by fans- why do you film Jimin so much, why not put Tae in there for clicks, why are you constantly with Jimin and other invasive questions like that.

Jimin gets away with a lot of things than JK because of his personality and his persona. People would question the things JK does most of the time while dismissing the things Jimin does as either fanservice or as flowing from his personality. Whereas JK cannot get away with those same things.

We paint JK as Jeonlous and possessive but we forget most times he acts that way so Jimin doesn't have to. Jimin has said he doesn't share his friends and yet somehow we think he is ok with sharing his boyfriend with 5 other members or those 5 members with his boyfriend- this is code, let it sink in.

There is a lot of boundaries he instills there and it's equally an expression of possessiveness. Yet it's so subtle you might not even notice.

Jk makes Jimin look cool. He takes the fall so Jimin doesn't have to. When JK takes a step back that's when you see how whipped JM is- the neediness, the clinginess- PJMs give me a break. *rolling my eyes. It needs to be said. I love Jimin too but shit, it is what is. Lol.

I think it's gonna take a while for Jk to open back up to Jimin, to get in the space where he feels safe expressing himself with Jimin the way that he was doing before Jimin's birthday.

It doesn't mean he hates Jimin or doesn't love him or doesn't want him or doesn't care. But I think Jimin needs to step up to show he is on the same page as JK because JK is all about reciprocity. He ain't about to do the one sided unrequited nonsense. Lol.

Honestly all this is part of Jikook's dynamics. This not the first time Jk's closed himself off. The last time he did it was because they had gone through a nasty breakup- I said what I said. In my opinion nonetheless. Lol.

In the aftermath of it, he was expressing similar behavior. In Suga's Birthday Vlive this year for example, when Jimin was clinging to him and had his hands on his leg he didn't take the bait either- man was it frustrating to watch. Lol. But you could see JM wanted that physical connection with him. Did you see his smug face when Jimin was all over him?

I think he is just going through a phase where he needs reassurance of Jimin's love. Jimin is a big guy and he knows his man best and I think he knows exactly what he needs to do to get him to come around. Lol.

I mean he flew all the way from Paris to see him on his birthday didn't he?

I think we have to leave them to it. Just observe them. I hate commenting on a phase like this especially when it's on going. I'd rather talk about it after it's ended and a new phase has begun for them.

Part of supporting Jikook is knowing when to give them privacy and room to just unfold their story and be human. They are a living breathing love story after all.

Jk isn't being distant. He is just not interacting with JM the way we are used to seeing him do. But I feel that's part Bighit asking them to cool off and part him just wanting reassurance from Jimin.

At this point, I want to ask why you want people to acknowledge JK is closed off? To what end? I don't think anyone is denying that they are going through this phase- well the Kumbaya tradshippers are but why do you want me to acknowledge this fact? I already pointed out that there is something stressfing their dynamics.

They have their own personal stuff going on but I don't think it's much of an issue and at the same time they seem to be having issues with their company- You have to take all of that into consideration to see how that affects their dynamics as well.

You have to be aware of the timeline too. Because content is not released in chronological order, it may seem like a rollercoaster ride when in actual sense all of this may have happened with a specific time frame.

When it comes to Jikook always assume they are much closer than you think. Jikook is fine, I believe. Just take mental notes of these things for posterity. I wouldn't be worried about them.

As usual, this has been my opinion. Don't take it too seriously. Keep supporting Jikook. Jikook is real.

Signed,

GOLDY

[eyebeastposts]

Patreon Prompt 79

Weekly Prompts Available for $5 and up Patrons

Prompt: (Lois Lane (Superman) Male, Dumb, Slob TF) https://www.deviantart.com/kamackazi/art/Oh-That-Lois-359259202

  “This is it,” Lois said, flourishing her black hair as she stomped towards the ridiculous looking statue. The figure was a recreation of the powerful and playful Mr. Myxlplyx adorned in a 50’s era housewife dress, a blonde wig, and an eerie smile. “No doubt this is the thing that’s turned the employees of the Daily Planet into those…things.”

  “Lois wait!” Jimmy called out. “We should wait for Superman.”

  “If we wait any longer, we might become one of those-“

  A single brush of Lois’s hand against the figure enveloped her in a bright red aura that began to mold and misshape her body. Her torso grew thick with weight, giving her recently gained man boobs quite a bit of heft. The slim fitting dress on her body stretched and tore to accommodate her blubbery belly and chunky rear. Jostling around a new set of male genitalia, Lois’s horrified face turned into one of simplistic bliss to coincide with the stubble around her chin and upper lip, her prominent unibrow, and beehive hairdo.

  “L-lois?” Jimmy asked, staring wide-eyed as he loomed over the four foot man that used to be his partner.

  “Me not Lois, me Lulu,” she replied. Waddling about on his thick legs, the newly deemed Lulu let out a fart that rippled the edges of his skirt. “Duh, nyuk, I farted,” he announced, letting out several more bouts of gas much to the entertainment of both himself and Mr. Myxlplyx.

[theresnosafeharbor4myships]

TITLE: Merry Distractions

A/N: Just a bit of Ichabbie Christmas reading for you. You’ll find lots of longing with a sweet and happy ending and a smidge of Joe, Jenny, and Irving thrown in for good measure.

He'd watched her all night as she'd played hostess, flitting around filling glasses and snack bowls, changing the music when an unloved song sounded through the speakers, ensuring everyone had enough to eat, and making merry with the whole lot of them. Her festive attire, a silken, emerald green dress with gold flecks in it, lent her skin a rosy hue, and she'd pulled her crown of ringlets into a golden clasp at the back of her head, leaving her neck and dangly, Christmas light earrings exposed. The dress's short sleeves showed off her muscular arms, and the square neckline cut low but not so low it distracted him—or anyone else, he was happy to note. Not that it made much of a difference for him though: the woman was a walking distraction as far as he was concerned. Her large, expressive brown eyes twinkled at him in every one of his daydreams. Her hair, so versatile and stylish, begged him to brush it away from her beautiful face. And those full, Christmas-red lips she smiled with now would pleasantly haunt his dreams for weeks to come. Oh yes, most certainly a distraction, but tonight he almost felt safe with it. The handful of people roaming throughout the house gave him a buffer he didn't often have while working alone with her in the Archives or in the field or riding next to her in the car. As such, he freely 'checked her out,' a phrase Miss Jenny had used once that he'd mentally squirreled away. Much to his chagrin, he'd checked her out a bit too much this evening, and it’d left him feeling out of sorts. The new lieutenant on the force made her laugh easily, that wonderful smile of hers breaking across her face at something Mr. Muscular and New had said. The man's eyes twinkled at her, and a white-hot pearl of jealousy burned in Ichabod's chest, blooming large and ugly as Abbie’s new colleague gazed appreciatively at her, pleased and proud at the response his words had elicited from her. Not much of what he and the Lieutenant did as their day job made for amusement, but Ichabod felt ripples of pleasure when he could draw a laugh from her, loved watching the worries ease away from her beautiful face, that gorgeous, full-fledged smile and tinkling laugh filling his heart with gladness and his eyes with nearly more beauty than he could stand. None of her sheriff's department colleagues had acted so freely with her before—and she'd never responded so openly. Until this man. And it concerned him, more than he cared to admit. Seeing Abbie and Mr. Muscular standing next to one another, her hand landing lightly on the man's forearm as she laughed at his joke, raised his hackles. Not because he thought the man ill-willed or a foe to their cause, but precisely because he didn’t think those things. In fact, he couldn’t find a flaw in the man at all. The truth of the matter was...they made a striking pair: Abbie petite, stylish, stunning, and effervescent, and Mr. Muscular broad, powerful, and clearly amusing enough to hold the Lieutenant's unbridled attention. Further, Mr. Muscular exhibited everything he, Ichabod, did not: power, raw strength, position, and a gregarious personality. Gainful employment, modern style, shorn hair, and a tailor-cut suit. Together, the two of them looked like they'd stepped right out of the television box and into one of those yuletide films the Lieutenant indulged in on weekends. He, on the other hand, often drew strange stares and chuckles from strangers and acquaintances alike. He'd thought himself rather dashing this evening though, having traded his normal attire for a dark green shirt in his usual front-laced style with black breeches, his boots, and a fitted black tailcoat. This last piece had caused the Lieutenant to do a double take, and when he'd questioned her about it, she'd nodded with an appreciative eye and mentioned that it looked like a tux jacket. (He'd surreptitiously done an online search before the guests arrived to find out what a tux was and felt satisfied with his choice of finery, if only because Abbie seemed to like it on him.) But now, standing across the room from Mr. Muscular and Abbie, he questioned it all: how he could ever compare with a modern man who didn't need to be assisted with the mundanity of today's world, how he could have begun to think he was fitting in to the here and now, what he'd do without the Lieutenant by his side should she ever pair up with another man, how he'd thought he could have a chance with the beautiful, independent, strong, and wonderful woman who'd wrapped herself so intricately around his heart he'd have to surgically remove her should that pairing occur.

Tamping down his vexation, Ichabod kept a neutral look on his face, though he doubted anyone noticed his clandestine surveillance. He hadn't much cared what people thought of him, of his strange (in this era) manner of speaking and colonial attire and his 'hippie hair-do' (another of Miss Jenny's colloquialisms). From early on but more and more now, he'd hoped someday the two of them might become something more than just 'the two witnesses.' Watching Abbie so carefree with another man, and one that clearly had his sights set on her, made him question whether that had ever or could ever be a possibility. After all, he would always be a man out of time, and the Lieutenant deserved more than he could ever possibly provide for her. No, he seemed a far cry from a good match for her, and the sudden realization soured his mood. The music ringing from the wireless Bose speakers (he hadn’t bothered to ask what that particular moniker meant) certainly didn't help his mood. In his day, Christmas music spoke of the birth of the Christ-child, the peace that accompanied his glorious arrival, and the hope of the world fulfilled. Now, much of the festive music focused on missing one's 'true love,' as every voice ringing around the room seemed to long for a lost or distant lover, crave the attention or presence of 'the one,' or be begging Saint Nicolas for a partner. He simultaneously cringed at the desperate, needy lyrics and felt them resonating in his heart as he watched the Lieutenant and Mr. Muscular continue to chat. Ichabod felt like a giant flaw in the evening’s festivities, suddenly overcome by feelings of inadequacy as the weight of his imperfections wrapped their maudlin tendrils throughout his mind. His reticence to assimilate more bothered him in a way it never had. Not when he'd first ran though the dark streets of Sleepy Hollow just having woken from a centuries’ long sleep, not when the Lieutenant and Captain Irving and Miss Jenny had harangued him about the past, and not even when Abbie had purchased modern day attire for him to wear and he'd handily refused. He believed now that'd been a mistake. He could never compete with the likes of today's men such as he was. A Captain from the Revolution with odd speech, hair, and mannerisms, and a significant (though improving) lack of knowledge of modern phrases, places, and ways? No wonder she laughed with Mr. Muscular: he was nothing less than perfectly suited for her. The melancholy of the moment settled over him, and Ichabod turned away from the happy couple across the room and made his way to the drink table. He downed a few shots of rum—the Lieutenant had bought his favored brand, he noted with a twinge of pain—and let them burn through him before he rejoined the festivities, actively avoiding the Lieutenant and her new friend. He did his best to forget the vision of her—and she was a vision—and Mr. Muscular, instead choosing to make merry with the Captain for a while, then with Miss Jenny and Master Corbin. Though he easily feigned happiness, his insides ached at the sense of loss that had solidified into his heart. Despite his realization that someone else likely held the Lieutenant’s affections, the party had gone well. Lots of laughter and some drinks, talk of family traditions and something called a white elephant gift exchange. (He hadn't had a clue what that was, let alone what to buy, so Abbie, ever his patient guide, had rescued him, purchasing his party gift for him.) He'd walked away from the game with a gift card to a local spa. There'd been jokes about him finally getting a proper haircut or soaking in a sauna, trying a steam room or getting a body wrap, which, to hide his already miserable thoughts about himself, had set him off explaining how his Native American friends, well versed in natural healing properties of steam and mud, had taught him the finer points of self-care. He'd meant it in all solemnity, but it'd left everyone laughing, much to his chagrin. Now, as people began to leave and amidst saying his goodbyes, he downed another shot of rum and slowly started cleaning up, putting the leftover food into smaller containers and throwing away garbage. "Crane." He turned at the sound of Captain Irving's voice to find him and the Lieutenant standing by the front door. Regardless of how he felt after this evening's revelation, his eyes were drawn to her—always. How could he continue to live here, under the same roof as her, and maintain a friendship that he'd hoped would become more, knowing it'd never progress beyond what they had now? How long could he keep pretending he was unaffected by her, knowing his heart nearly beat out of his chest when she stood near him, fell asleep against him while lounging on the couch, lingered in mundane conversations with him over their morning coffee? How could he watch her be with someone else? Abbie's eyes went wide, pulling him into the present as she pointed at the Captain, indicating he should say a proper farewell. Irving lifted a hand in a goodbye wave, and Ichabod swallowed down his heartache, wiped his hands dry on a kitchen towel, and rushed to see the man off. He avoided looking at the Lieutenant as he approached them but put on a smile. "Good night, Captain. I quite hope you enjoyed yourself this evening." Abbie smiled indulgently as Irving glanced at her, the Captain never quite comfortable with his formality but appreciating the man's earnestness all the same. Irving opened the front door. "I did, thanks. You two have a great Christmas." Ichabod dipped his head in military affirmation, the idea of spending the blessed holiday alone with the Lieutenant, mere hours ago an exciting prospect, now beginning to turn his stomach sour. "Merry Christmas, sir," Abbie called out as he headed down the porch steps. A loud whistle rang out as she closed and locked the door, and they turned in tandem to see Joe and Jenny, their last remaining guests, smiling broadly at them. Confused, Ichabod glanced down at Abbie, who returned his questioning look, and they turned back to the duo. "What?" Jenny's smile widened, and she pointed above them. "You're standing under the mistletoe," she sing-songed in response. Abbie peered heavenward as Ichabod's eyebrow arched up. God’s wounds, of all nights… He could’ve wished this a thousand times over, anytime, day or night. Except tonight. How had no one else gotten caught under the vine? He briefly wondered if the duo had set them up. "Go on," Joe encouraged enthusiastically. "It's tradition." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Abbie angle towards him, her expression wondering and... hopeful? Must be the rum, he thought, sure she couldn't be all that interested in dallying with him under the mistletoe. Besides, he'd tried this scheme once before and she'd handily brushed him aside. He didn't think he could handle her rejection tonight. Miss Jenny's eyes bugged wide as she nodded towards Abbie, and Master Joe, still smiling like the proverbial cat that ate the canary, egged him on with a happily condescending "Don't be shy." Ichabod longed to return to the confidence he felt mere hours ago, before he realized the Lieutenant's interest might reside in another. Instead, he felt unsure and afraid of her dismissal, even as he knew he'd be more than willing to fulfill tradition's demand if she were amenable, despite the fact that they had an amused audience. He swallowed hard, steeling himself, and turned to face her. Her eyes danced merrily at him, the fun of the party not yet worn off, and the look on her face nearly took his breath away. She stared at him hopefully, lips parted slightly, the corners of her mouth lifted up in the early stages of one of those smiles that froze him in place. What he wouldn't give... His heart beat wildly, even as it ached and screamed at him to flee. But she looked so pleased at the prospect before them, so beautiful in the soft glow from the lit candles and Christmas lights adorning the room that he could hardly resist. The setting seemed perfect: warm from the rum, frosted lighting setting the mood, the Lieutenant staring at him expectantly and eager and so beautiful it made his heart ache. Why then did he hesitate so? How had witnessing one encounter of her with another man send him into fits of self-doubt? He really would need to revisit that later. At the moment, his Lieutenant stared up at him, and if he didn't know any better, he'd call that longing in her eyes. "Lieutenant?" He asked her permission on a soft exhale, needing her approval before he'd ever make so intimate a move. It didn't matter that he'd dreamed of this moment for years now, that he'd envisioned myriad ways this momentous event would occur. He would never step over boundaries she felt uncomfortable crossing; he loved and respected her too much. "If you're going to kiss me, you might as well call me Abbie," she commanded softly, that playful smile still tugging at her lips. Those lips that'd teased and taunted him nearly every day for years without ceasing looked luscious and full and as red as the blood pounding furiously through his veins. She was stunning, all smooth dark skin, feminine features, sultry gaze, and quiet confidence, anticipating his next move. He absently drummed the fingers of one hand against his thigh, overcome by her proximity, her encouragement, her downright anticipation. Was this actually happening? That after worrying half the night about not living up to what she deserved, he—not some other suitor of hers—stood next to her under the mistletoe with their closest friends encouraging them to lock lips? And she appeared excited about it? He made himself move before the moment passed, doubt and affection warring within him, creating a maelstrom of wanton confusion, even as she gazed at him longingly. "Abbie," he whispered obediently, his gaze flicking down to her perfect lips as he slowly leaned in, his eyes dropping closed as his mouth finally, wonderfully, touched hers. He kissed her tentatively, softly, gentle in his respectful way, and he reveled in the feel of her plump lips against his, the realization of a million dreams sending his mind reeling, his heart free-floating into oblivion. She felt like fire, his lips burning deliciously where they met hers, liquid heat running through his veins as shivers tingled down his spine. Somewhere beyond them he heard a door slam shut, but he couldn't be bothered by it with Abbie's mouth attached to his. He didn't plan on moving for a while, maybe ever. She shuffled closer to him, her hands landing against his ribs and sliding achingly slow up his chest as her mouth pressed more firmly against his. She moved against him, the intensity, her urgency leaving his body thrumming and aflame, and he sunk into the moment, drowning in her. Her tongue slipped between his lips, and he heard a moan escape, though he couldn't be sure if it came from her or himself. Sensations swirled around and inside of him, more than he'd felt in centuries, and he put his hands on Abbie's hips, inviting her closer to him as he settled into the rhythm they'd found. She waited until she was starving for air before slowly easing away from him, her eyelids fluttering open to see him frozen in place, eyes still closed, a look of wonder on his handsome face. "Abbie," he whispered again before slowly opening his eyes to peer down at her in wonder. A satisfied smile graced her face. "I was wondering if you were ever going to do that." "Mmm," he hummed absently, still trying to restart his brain. She'd done a factory reset on him with her lips and tongue. His eyes went wide as her words finally found traction. "You were?" he heard himself murmur breathily above the sound of blood thrumming through his ears. She nodded, the pleased smile on her just-kissed lips nearly making his knees weak. "Wondering...and hoping," she admitted. "But I thought..." He'd started talking before he realized what he was about to say and forced himself into silence before he made a village idiot of himself, sans village. She tilted her head questioningly. "You thought what?" With his head still swimming, he couldn't decipher a way out of the corner he'd walked himself into, so he forged ahead with the God's honest truth. "I thought you might prefer...a more modern gentleman." Her quizzical—and if he wasn't mistaken, curiously amused—look remained, and she stayed silent, waiting for him to continue. He forged again, sure if he’d had all his wits about him this conversation would not be taking place. "You know, more like your friend, the new lieutenant?" He attempted nonchalance but failed, and she smiled knowingly. "Ah, you mean Mark." Though the warmth from her kiss still burned his lips, her use of the man’s given name irked him. "Yes," he agreed with a clipped tone. "Mr. Mu—Mr. Mark." She inhaled a breath. "He does have the modern thing going for him,” she admitted, nodding thoughtfully. “And he’s easy on the eyes. Though I doubt his wife would be too happy if we started something up.”

“His wife,” he murmured in confusion, the notion of Mr. Muscular having a wife never having crossed his mind.

“Not to mention…I don’t make it a habit of dating married men.”

She looked at him pointedly, and the realization that she’d pined for him as long as he’d desired her washed over him like an overwhelming, cleansing tide. At times he’d wondered, hoped that what she’d just admitted could be true, but they hadn’t looked back after he’d returned from Scotland, and so had never spoken of their long-standing feelings towards one another. Though never in her presence, Master Corbin and Miss Jenny often teased him about the Lieutenant and…and where had those two gotten off to anyway?

He looked to where they’d last stood, but he saw no sign of them.

“Do you think they planned this?” he asked distractedly, realizing it was a clumsy attempt to change the subject.

“If they did, we should be thanking them, but nevermind them. If you’re going to get distracted, it should be like this.”

And with that, she took hold of his lapels and pulled him down to kiss her again.

[malethirsty]

Male Crow Eater - Chibs Telford

Summary: Fucking powerful men has taken you far in SAMCRO, but it takes a Scotsman to show you life as a Crow Eater doesn’t have to be sour and sweaty, it can be sweet and sugary as well.

Warnings: M/M smut (21+), Bareback (Wrap Before You Tap!), Daddy Kink

Inspired by: https://twitter.com/malethirst/status/1201782075163996160?s=21

You had settled into your position of Crow Eater very well, having fucked SAMCRO’s President, his best friend & his Sergent At Arms also following up, now all that was left was the Vice President. As luck would have it, you had a thing for accents, so the Scotsman made you very hot under the collar, so when he set you in a motel area for an evening, excitement practically overwhelmed you, especially when you were told you’d be free of charge for the night “How on Earth did he get that for me?” You asked out loud in the clubhouse as Chibs got ready at home “Figure it as your payment for our mattinee for SAMCRO Cinema.” Tig said, which caused the room to burst out laughing, it seemed so chaotic what had been going down with you and SAMCRO but sex with Jax, Opie, Tig & Clay had flowed so perfectly, you hoped you had the same connection with Chibs.

You readied yourself as well, taking your iPhone and speakers along with you, planning a rather sensual night in at first. You made sure to text the group when you left so that Chibs could have a few extra minutes to brush up, it wasn’t that often he donned fancy hair stuff and dressed up. After travelling for a while, you came across Charming Motel, and parking, made your way up to reception “Hello I’m Y/N, I believe Mr. Telford checked me in for a room with him.” The lady at the desk poured over her books “Room #9 is the one, you’re in until Monday morning.” She said crisply, holding out one key, the other reserved for Chibs “Thank you very much.” You responded, taking it and making your way down the walkway, finding Room #9 and letting yourself in. It was a neutral sort of room, bed tucked in one corner, a luggage area, a cooking area and a bathroom tucked round the side. You unpacked, setting the iPhone audio up on the bedside table, you sat on the bed dressed up in a Dressing Gown and waited for your Leather Clad Biker to swoop in.

Less than half an hour trailed by when you heard the door open, you turned your head to see Chibs walking through it, leather kutte and all “Hey darlin’” he greeted you “Well hello Chibs, I thought you were doing fancy dress tonight?” He shrugged “Couldn’t work out how the fucking suit went, so I tossed it in the bag.” he gestured to his luggage which he parked with yours “Maybe you could help me get it on so we can go out for the evening or something.” You nodded “That should be fine. Speaking of which, are you sure about paying for everything I’m buying? Isn’t that gonna cause a dip in the club?” Chibs sat across from you “Not at all sweet thing, we’re happy to spend it on you, you’ve taken such good care of us, and in turn, we look out for you, make love to you, make you cum for us, and taking our load all you have to do to make us happy, make me happy.” He finished the last part of his declaration with a lustful tone in his voice, he must have been preparing himself weeks on end for this.

“Well then, I have one request.” You said, steadying yourself up, Chibs cocked his head “Remember the whole Erotica era Madonna put out?” “Aye” Chibs acknoledged “I stumbled across it this week and thought Erotica would be good to put on while we do foreplay.” “Not the entire fucking album, I won’t do foreplay for over a fucking hour, my cock will fucking explode!” Hearing Chibs swear in his delectable accent was hot as you began to laugh “No Chibs, only the title track, it’s five minutes at best and gives you time to warm me up, stoke the beast before you unleash yourself onto me.” “Goddamn, you want me to fuck you like an animal eh?” “I don’t want you to do anything, I only want you to cum in me, anyway you like.” You sent back to him “Fucking hell I’m rock solid, Y/N get that damn song on before I tear your gown off and go to town on ye.” Grinning, you activated your phone, quickly connecting the speakers whilst seeking out the song at the same time, as much as you wanted to tempt Chibs, you also wanted him deep inside you. Finding it quickly, you made sure everything was on and connected, you switched on the song and as the synth began you crossed back over to the bed and spread yourself down, releasing the robe and letting it fall beneath you “Claim me Fillip, I’m yours.” Was all you had to say for the biker to make his way over to you, marvelling at your form as he took your lips into a deep kiss. Whisky was the one defining taste you experiences as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, entangling you both together, hands trailing over your sides, stimulating you, he started to make his way down, his beard trailing over you roughly.

He moved to your neck, leaving nips and bites along with his kisses “Gonna leave hickeys on ye, so everyone can see. Fuck Y/N, you are intoxicating!” Once he was done there, he moved to your nipples, sinking his teeth into one & stimulating the other with his right hand, causing moans to fall from your mouth as Chibs had his way “Oh f-fuck Chibs, Yes! Keep going!” He swapped position, attending to your right nipple with his teeth, your left with his hand, causing your head to fall back, breathless as Chibs continued his trip down. He soon reached your cock and balls “Spread your legs.” He commanded and you obeyed, streching them over Chibs head, before gripping them around his head and flipping over so you were now on top, Chibs moved swiftly up the bed so you both locked eyes “If you’re going to finger me, at least let me give you something in return.” You told him as you descended upon his cock, a moan falling from Chibs mouth “That’s it Y/N, suck my cock deep, wrap your lips round it, slobber all around it, get it wet.” Like a good Crow Eater, you obeyed the instructions, your ass sticking out in Chibs face “Beautiful arse.” He growled before slapping it, causing you to moan round his cock “Oh that’s nice, so good. Keep doing that Y/N. Oh Fuck yeah baby boy, worship daddy” He moaned out as he spat into his hand, spreading it to his fingers, slowly working one in. The vibrations that went through his cock at your moaning reaction was enough to make him buck desperately, he worked a second finger in and began to stretch you “Fuck your walls are tight round my fingers, you’re gonna love it when I shove my cock into ye, you’ll clench around it, plead for more and I’ll give it, all I can give and more, anything to make you cry out as I fuck you so damn hard.” You pulled off his cock, drawing in a massive breath before you descended to suck his balls, making Chibs groan even louder “Fuck, that’s fuckin fantastic! My ol lady never did that for me, Oh! Oh God, I need more Y/N, keep going!” Chibs head fell back as he got a better view as he worked your ass open, moving his fingers around desperately attempting to find your prostate, as you moved onto his other ball. Eventually your hole clenched around Chibs’s fingers as you let out a moan “I’ve found it now, and if that’s how you react to my fingers, then when I hit you with my dick, you’ll be begging for more, in fact we may never leave this room again.” Chibs’s dirty intent made you blush as the song finally finished “At fucking last.” He growled pulling his fingers from you and dragged you to where he was “Now it’s my turn.” He growled, pure lustful passion in his eyes as he spread your legs wide and thrusted his cock deep into your ass your cries mingling with Chibs gasp as your walls tightened around his sensitive cock “Oh this is gonna be good” he said, a gleam in his eyes.

He began to buck into you, setting a rough yet smooth pace. You gripped your hands in his hair as you kissed passionately, eventually drawing your mouth away to lick at his moustache and up his cheek “Fuck, you’re so hot Y/N.” “There’s more where that came from” you told him as you now started to lick his Glasgow Smile scars aligned on the side of his mouth, he rewarded you with an extra sharp pound, sending ripples of ecstasy through you “Oh Chibs! More, Fuck me sir! Fuck me so damn hard!” You cried out, Chibs doing exactly as you asked “Yeah you like daddy fucking you don’t you slut?, love your daddy all horny and dicking you down like you deserve after a long day?” “Yes.” You gasped out, Chibs’s piston hips robbing you of breath “Louder” he growled, slamming in balls deep that the sound of Chibs’s balls slapping against your ass reverberated around the room “YES! FUCK ME CHIBS, FUCK ME SO FUCKING HARD!” Chibs laughed down at you and increased his pace his groans and moans mixing with yours to create quite an erotic sound.

Suddenly he again twisted you around so now you were on top of him “Ride me” he growled out, his sexy accent only adding to the bubbling lustful tension. “Ride me so fucking hard so that when you fuck all the other bikers, you’ll remember how big my cock was in your arse.” Your intent perfectly clear, you resumed Chibs’s previous pace, being stretched out ever further as Chibs’s cock sunk deeper, hitting your prostate now with sharper precision. All that arose from you for a good solid while were wanton moans as Chibs assisted you in riding him, starting up at you with such desire and wonder in his eyes “Oh fuck Y/N, you’re taking it so damn well! You love how my dick fucks your arse?” “Yes Fillip, your cock is perfect, fucking amazing!” “F-Fuck. Go faster, you deserve this dick fucking you so hard.” He growled out in response to your praises and once again, you obeyed without question, the headboard now slamming into the wall as Chibs took you deep.

He took your head in his hands and licked over where you had mapped out his scars. “Now you have a Glasgow Smile as well Y/N, we’re bound by my scar.” You grinned at Chibs “I think I can map out where you’ve been pierced other than your face.” As you trailed down Chibs looked confused “What the hell do you-Oh fuck!” Chibs’s question was stopped with a breathy groan as you licked all over his chest tattoo of a money note, while your hands trailed up and down his arm tatts “Fuck yeah! You like my tattoos Y/N?” “Yes Chibs, I love how dark they are, like I’m safe whenever I’m with you.” “Damn right you are, if anyone ever tried to hurt ya, I’d kill em in cold blood, then I’d fuck ya, with their blood all over us, and you’d moan and cry like a whimpering whore, cause thats how you are in bed, so needy for my cock to fuck you so damn good. You want it, ya got it.”

The end was fast approaching for the both of you, you were both able to tell from the fact his toes were curling and you were shaking “You gonna cum Y/N?” You nodded “Aye, I’m in the same boat with ya.” He grabbed your cock & began to stroke it, causing you to moan even louder “Shoot your load all over me Y/N, do it!” With one final moan of satisfaction, you shot all over Chibs “Fuck, you’re eager as shite.” He groaned out before flipping you over again “Fuck, I’m gonna cum in ya, shoot my load in ya tight fucking arse, and you’re gonna fucking love it!” “I wouldn’t want it any other way.” You returned, causing Chibs to growl out “Good. Fuck Y/N, this is the best sex I’ve ever had, TAKE MY CUM!” He bellowed the last part as he shot deep into your ass, with a string of cursewords falling from his mouth as he collapsed onto the bed.

You looked over at Chibs, grinning as you did so, “I don’t think we’re leaving the room this weekend” Chibs grinned back, responding in a lustful tone “No Darlin, I don’t think we will” 

[404fmdhaon]

creative claims verification — maestro

summary: a song written in 2016. an angry boy says fuck you to the people that doubted his talents, again. warnings: none wc: 1820 (not including lyrics)

he touches a real piano for the first time in years.

the set of ivory keys lined up, sparse increments of black filling the void. eighty-eight keys, fifty two white thirty six black. he’s always favored the b and e from first glance when he realized the onyx keys weren’t the only casualty of a flat or sharp. it takes him all but three seconds to line up the technical keys — first the octave progressions that start with basic fingering. four fingers, spanning eight keys. it starts at octave one, breaches to octave seven.

he remembers the first time he played a piano.

five years old at the mercy of his mother — pianos make pretty hands, and my son will have pretty hands. in hindsight, he doesn’t know what the fuck she meant then, and still doesn’t know when he’s twenty-seven severed ties from a family long gone. yet, he remembers the prosperious beginnings of a formidable boy at age eight — playing along the tunes of chopin, schubert and mendelsson. 

for old times sake, he plays the etudes. and like muscle memory, schubert and the hours invested into each tick on the clock and mark against the practice sheet take its toll — it plays smoothly, and the smirk curved on his face tells otherwise of the distaste that subsides inside his stomach.

he leaves, places his hand on the side arm before folding himself ninety degrees (muscle memory takes him there too).

-

the taste of a grand piano becomes addicting on his fingers like an insatiable itch by the time it’s three days pass. he waits another two.

addiction doesn’t pass, and impulsitivity ensues. his name marked on the reservation sheet placed in the recording room with the grand piano, he marches straight through combatted for war with the lingering ties of his past.

it starts when he mimics the beginnings of beethoven and mozart — the first names he learns when he’s sitting on edge scrawled across the piano with the sheet music at bay. it’s the first of two pieces juxtaposed together, inside the minor keys (he remembers, he hated the minors. too many damn sharps to account for). it starts with a two note combination — flits past two octaves. it’s here it becomes an ode, a death march to the things he’s buried under.

but his creativity ceases when he’s struck at a standstill.

no beethoven or bach — there’s nothing that budges past the iteration of the same baseline he’s concocted. no codas composing one break into the next — instead, it’s a repeat measure when he finds solace inside. clicks of the mouth amassing it, only to string it out past the span of three minutes.

it’s the ode to classics and the greatest: the bare standard he manages when he’s thrown the years of promising futures to a life underground and the classics washed away into the easy floating beats of hip hop and rap. yet, he never loses respect — the morsel of respect left for the era that kept him afloat all those years. and he suspects, it must be an effect of music. the keys that leave him jarred and marred with years of memories he can’t forget nor bury. call him a hypocrite — he doesn’t fall out of love with the classics. not when he’s eight and not when he’s twenty-two on the verge of relenting adulthood.

-

he takes the notes for what it’s worth — the repetition on loop in the background. and if he’s had to guess, he gives it to his favorite period: the romantic era where chopin and brahms take him by storm. 

yet, the contrast takes him when the black screen reflects his own image — the contours of his face, sullen and pulled empty by the ties of schedules. stretched to his core where music no longer hovers along lonely bodies and disassociations. a scandal a dozen, and he’s stripped bare void of any creative freedom or outlet. (this becomes his outlet).

when his pen mars the empty pages, and he’s left with telling the story untold. a history he’s never spoken — the question looms: who is chung gyujeong. like a nightmare, he can’t give the answer. instead, what he knows is that the piano became a life hold when he was five. fawns over his small frame and sways to the movement of his fingers — talent encompassing. now, he makes bodies sway to the shitty rhymes and pop-drenched beats of a sell-out inundating him heavy.

sunbaes, and he has to fold himself over. speak the formalities to same fucking round of people trapped in the vicious cycle. it’s here, he understands. his escape started at fourteen, inside late nights with nothing more than a side lamp and the tawdry note pad — lyrics. sounds of his mother shaking her head, yanking him into obedience inside the four walls of hakwons saying the carbon-printed sayings of ‘there’s no future in lyrics. time for piano.’ 

he shakes his head, laughs. the ripple effect coming inside a wash of memories when he tells her to look at him now — a lost son, cut and tied with a cold shoulder faced to his family inside a marble house. “call me maestro.” his voice whispers out loud.

i played the piano since i was 5, i was a musical genius beethoven, mozart, bach and chopin were my predecessors however at 14, i put them aside and started writing lyrics i quite like this, you can’t make money that way — they all can shove it unlimited refills of versace drink — that was my first movement maserati car, white marble house — that was my second. the mic is my baton, call me maestro

there’s parallelisms he sees in clear sight, visceral and vibrant. the sounds of people telling him that he’d fuck up the second he cut his money string in family roots in tune with the rancid talks of idols pinpointing an inflated ego with no talent. gyujeong huffs a laugh, raises a middle finger in lieu of the words held down without a punch. there’s no gentleness here, no. not when the world opens into clarity — the divide between him and them. he’s not a fucking sell out, not when he’s still put his art on the line. traded in the suit pants of the events for his distressed pants and the years of lessons into amassing his own small empire.

he flicks a middle finger at his family — fuck you all for never seeing me for my work. and fuck you to the underground facades guising themselves as a temporary home only to rip out the benefits the second he stepped onto a big stage. this song becomes his mic drop — a fuck you to everyone because it’s chung gyujeong against the world. a twenty something with his pride tattered, he salvages the remains and puts them right here.

truthfully, distressed pants are way better than suit pants i can’t be gentle, i just scream and the money piles up the wealthy are all on the gentle side mr. geonhee give up your ceo title to me mr. nochang should give me his “genius name”* (천재노창 / genius nochang is a real rapper, but i’m using it as a npc point for gyu for the sake of verifications)

there’s stares inside every hallway he walks across. the scowl permanently engraved along his face when he passes by the hopefuls with innocence drowning their eyes in starry-wide visions. then, the whispers back stage of crude avoidance (he hears them all. hears all the shit, sees all the shit they say). a no-good nothing, spoiled and satiated by the fame handed to him on a silver platter — a talentless nothing, starved by nothing. they call him fucked, he calls them pathetic.

you listen to my line just now and say i’m fucked up.

his family’s pathetic when their on their last lifeline. a stern warning coming in volatile shouts, repeating in steps — you’ll never make it, so stop the act now. teenage rebellion stopped at fourteen, and that’s when he takes a plunge into the risks. by then, he’d been a boy with high hopes and higher expectations, a cesspool of goals and the ambition bursting the seams of his heart. an image with the name ‘haon’, a gentle rich boy nestled inside the heart of han-nam (he tells the underground kids, choke on your words when we’re on different levels).

but rather than being locked up by life i’d rather plunge right into the risks i knew my voice would be my moneymaker i dug a huge pit in the neighborhood ground with music and declared that my confidence was my classic image “to me, a sonata is just a car.” i’ll never think anything like that.

no expectations now, he tells it all to eat the shit he’s sowed. choke on their sacred words and cheap laughs, mocking his state. a sell-out, maybe — but he doesn’t take that to his grave. not when his pen still flows against the paper inside each verse and rhyme matching clear. it’s not da capo, and never the beginning. from here, he crawls his way out — fingers pressed and clawing for the taste of his name for everyone to choke on.

he writes the last few statements in a farewell to the harrowing thoughts that kept him restless for so many nights. the pen, dwindling on the last remains of ink — he stops caring, and lets the imprints carry the words he’ll take to heart.

fuck da capo, ill never go back to the beginning no applause, no, play the second movement, hallelujah the normal kids can fuck off but i don’t give a fuck son here is your tombstone with your name written on it. my art hall is the club, call me maestro.

the loop plays in the back, and he repeats the words written back. it flows, uncertain and heady when he doesn’t get it straight the first time.

frustration comes when he grabs onto his hair, pacing back and forth inside an echoing studio booming only the same chords from the start — beethoven’s madness, he thinks to himself. it’s a taste of mirroring an art form, and here, he must be doing something right.

headphones solidified back into his ears, he goes fueled this time. fueled by each memory and word shot back at him like weaponry, aimed straight for his gut. it comes in the billows of his voice, blaring when he shouts and places a piece of his soul into the chords played. there’s no repercussions here, not when it’s just him and the keys in a dead-eye match of past, present and future.

(he takes this, keeps it till the eighth take fulfills).

and what lacks, he sees when his ears perk up the void that lays subtle inside the track. he doesn’t want the hollowness of the piano — not when he sits upon as a maestro of an orchestra. 

the keyboard comes out — this time fine tuned settings poised towards the deep cellos coming in at the two minute mark. it sets the baseline once more for the breach into the bridge. he sits there, doesn’t want it to linger longer than it’s enough to get the punch of meaning into frame. because he’s no longer the classist perched against the walls of a lonely room with no windows and the piano’s not the only voice he speaks to. instead, it’s the frame of a closing in on an attack he’s ready to dig deep in.

no longer a pianist, he picks up friend through the loose mic. the traverse into hip hop where the kick drum and reverbs become solace (he adds those too). adds in each of beat at the end of each iteration. the chords become hugged by the bellowing arches of the reverb, and he finds — this becomes his new sound of home. the one replayed at the hands of his martyrdom. except, he doesn’t fall at the hands of so many loose words. fragility, it doesn’t exist when he’s built himself a skin of armor like a shell encasing a boy no longer molded or mangled.

he’s been strung thin long enough. heard enough empty words. it’s a lesson learned — fuck everyone who’s ever doubted him. 

[marcuspedersen-nz]

1- Time Crime

(by Christopher Jones)

The year was 2040, nine years after the bust. They had called it the new El Dorado during the boom, but what could they call it now? Greymouth: the open orifice of a corpse humming to the tune of its own death rattle. It was a city trying to hold onto, yet somehow forget, the glory of years gone by; to settle at last to humble death, while the last of its flesh was consumed by collectors, as debtors made a hasty exit, and all those who had come to ride the wave were gone, leaving an overweight economy and too many high-rise buildings to sustain its rotting core.

I arrived during the tumult of a spring storm. There was quite some turbulence but the air hostesses didn’t seem very worried, and that was good enough for me. The one on my aisle was very made up, with tight blonde hair, a sweet chubby face and her skirt came down to just below her knees. They say that when it rains here it really rains, but they also say you get used to it. The pilot had to circle three times waiting for a window of visibility before finally bringing the DC-20 down to land.

I met my rental car agents outside the terminal building. I had ordered a manual four-wheel drive, apparently the only one in town. The mainstream companies which crowded the interior dealt only in the new generation of foolproof automatics, and besides there was a limited supply of large vehicles without prior notice. I knew what I would need, so I looked around on the internet until I hooked up with these guys, Smack Car Rentals, and at the last minute arranged for them to meet me at the airport. Before going outside into the din of the weather I let my local contact, Police Inspector Jack Martin, know that I had arrived. He gave me the address of where to meet him.

The dark day was just coming onto dusk, and I waited there for a moment sheltered from the rain by the large overhead canopy until a small silver Suzuki Swift drove up. A tall, handsome man of about 30 got out, quite a flashy type with black hair and dark brown eyes. He introduced himself as Paul Bartley, “We spoke on the phone, Mr Jones. Sorry about the delay,” he said, putting my cases into the back and opening the passenger’s door for me to enter, “Your Range Rover is at the office. I need to check you in.” It was here that I felt the first inexplicable glitch, like a shudder through my reality that showed I wasn’t there by accident. This was no false alarm.

I got in and he said as the car drove towards the CBD, “I’d apologise for the weather, Mr Jones, but it’s beyond the powers of my control. This is the West Coast, after all.”

“Yes,” I nodded, “It’s a narrow strip of land between the coast and the Southern Alps. When the prevailing westerly comes off the ocean loaded with water, it hits the mountains and dumps its load, leaving the east in drought while the west has more rain than it can handle.” He laughed as though I had told some kind of joke, so I added, “Call me Chris.”

The office on Mackay Street was one of several on the second floor of an old two storey building standing between taller, shakier buildings built during the 2020s. It was accessed by a narrow flight of steps which took us up to a shabby lobby with several doors to various offices. The sign above the door we entered read, “PPS Bartley Real Estate, Smack Car Rentals and P. Bartley Detective Agency”. He indicated for me to stand at a counter which was obviously used for the car rental side of the business, “Would you like tea or coffee?” he offered, and I shook my head.

Looking at the real estate display board, I noticed one property stand out from the others. It had a note saying, “Serious Viewers Only. No Tourists!” which piqued my curiosity. I then recognised the red shed on the photo from my research files as being the location of one of the Blondino murders. The thought of that recognition gave me a second inexplicable glitch; a feeling like déjà vu. I asked, “How is the real estate business doing these days?”

“It’s a good time to buy,” he said, “People shy away from a market in a slump, but think about it. You wouldn’t buy your groceries like that, would you? You wouldn’t wait till prices rocketed before you rushed down to the supermarket. No, you’d grab what you could while everything’s on sale. So why treat real estate any different? There are plenty of good bargains to be had around here.”

“What about this one?” I asked.

“That’s the Thompson property; a real bargain. If you’re interested, come back tomorrow when the office is open and we’ll talk business. You honestly could not go wrong.”

He entered my details into the computer, such as driver’s licence and credit card numbers, and printed off some papers for me to sign just in time for a second, younger man to enter. “It’s all fuelled and ready to go. I’ve put your cases on the back seat,” he said, he looked so similar to Paul Bartley that he was obviously his younger brother. He wasn’t quite so flashy and he wore a wedding band. He handed me the key attached to a bright orange key-ring with the Smack logo on it and said, “Diesel only. It’s just outside.” So I looked nonchalantly at the window as the rain came crashing down even harder, and bade them farewell.

I set the navigator to Power Road and pulled out from the curb. The good thing about cars of the era before everything became self-driving was that you felt like you were actually driving, and not simply a passenger in the driver’s seat. Even by 2040 the majority of cars practically drove themselves, but they weren’t fully driverless so it kind of made you feel like you were there but not there. Of course they already had the technology for self-driving but public suspicion had pushed for legislation that prevented its general implementation. Only vehicles that used special lanes such as freight and taxi were permitted to be driverless.

I took a left on Tainui Street, up past the traffic lights at the railway crossing, and turned right at the roundabout. After a few kilometres Tainui Street became High Street, and the rain eased off to a trickle. It was already full night. I passed the Oasis Hotel on my left, which I was booked into but would check in later, and proceeded for another 3.2 kilometres before turning left onto Power Road as the navigator directed. I drove up a steep hill to the house at number 32, where there was a police cordon in place. A modified white Camry and a standard patrol car with flashing lights awaited there for my arrival.

Reaching into my case for the gaga meter I noticed an umbrella on the back seat, so I decided to make use of it. There were four men, two in uniform and two detectives, standing beside the Camry. They took notice of me as I got out, clutching the meter, fumbling about with the umbrella which didn’t seem to want to open. It came up all of a sudden and almost sent me tripping over my own feet. The detectives walked over to greet me, putting out their hands and the older, obviously more senior of the two said, “I’m Police Inspector Jack Martin, this is Police Inspector David Walton. You must be Special Agent Christopher Jones.” I gave him and his partner the firm handshakes they wanted, showed them my badge, and Jack indicated towards the house, “We didn’t expect you would arrive tonight.”

He wore a thick coat and the water ran off his head but he acted as though it was nothing more than a slight inconvenience, which it probably was. He was a well built man of about 40 years, with a trimmed black moustache and a very friendly manner. David Walton was much thinner and younger, with brown hair and ginger moustache. Jack said, “Forensics were here this afternoon. So far, despite the blood being human, there’s no indication that the murder took place here. The bodies of the residents, Janine Hoffstad and her daughter Susan, were found in bush about 20 minutes out of town, and the blood isn’t theirs. They were strangled, and there’s every indication that they were murdered there. Personally, I wouldn’t have alerted you, even if it does look occult. It’s the computer that does it. It’s an algorithm. I hope you haven’t wasted your time. She’s the daughter of a crime boss.”

“It’s better to be safe than sorry,” I said, “And call me Chris,” but I could tell just by looking at the exterior of the yellow weatherboard house that I had already been there. It’s like the glitches. It’s what we call the ripple effect, and you develop a sense for it when you’ve been in the job for long enough. Think of it like a stone being dropped into a pool of water, and the ripples radiate out from the epicentre, repeating the trauma, which brings about the sensation of repetition. Some call it déjà vu, but for most people only the very strong pulses are felt, where they feel the ongoing effect of a great surge through the fabric of their lives.

Inside the house I switched on the meter and took a reading of the hallway with immediate indication of gaga. Jack Martin pointed to a door at the end of the hallway, “The interesting stuff is this way.” I nodded. “What does that thing do exactly?” he asked.

I said, “It measures gaga.” He nodded.

The lounge room at the end of the hallway came up with very strong readings. The light was dim, but at the turn of a dial Jack made it very bright. There was a pentagram painted from blood on the cream carpet of an otherwise fairly ordinary lounge. A black leather sofa and two matching lazy-boy armchairs were set facing a plasma television screen which took up most of the wall they faced. There was a strong scent of very sweet perfume like an overture to the senses with an undertone of musty dampness, and the rancid stench-like odour of rotting meat barely perceptible. At each point of the pentagram were two items, which mostly looked like they belonged to a woman, or a young girl, or both. “What exactly is gaga?” asked Jack as the meter hissed, almost off the scale.

At the closest point of the pentagram were a Barbie doll and a deck of cards with the golden pick logo of Inangahua Resort Casino at Reefton. The next point in a clockwise direction had a red badge with the picture of Daffy Duck on it, and a lady’s smart-watch with a blue strap. The third point had a postcard of a snowy mountain with three serrated peaks, that is, Mt Owen, and a brown felt hat with splotches of mud and a red flowery band. At the end of the fourth point was a CD album Sugar Sweet Candy Water by the Aloe Veras, and a small plastic daffodil of the type they sell to raise money for cancer research. At the final point was a Lenovo tablet with star and flower stickers on it, and a bottle of Le Frais perfume, with the lid not pressed on properly and so most of its contents had spilled onto the carpet.

I said, “To put it simply, gaga measures the difference between what is real and what is unreal. Think of it as the difference between matter and antimatter. The action of matter normally flows in nominal resistance to the reaction of antimatter, like a wave held in balance. When the wave becomes discordant, shadow waves appear, which is what we call a ripple effect, measured in units of gaga. You follow me?” He raised his eyebrows. “Okay, just think of it as telling me that something illegal has taken place here and the sooner that I deal with it the better it will be for everybody, so it’s good I got here when I did.”

“How bad is it? Should we be worried?”

“It’s bad, as bad as it gets. I need to bag these items.”

“What are they for? It is occult then?”

I nodded, and picked up the brown felt hat. There were strands of long blonde hair on the inside. Turning over the postcard there was, “Dear Mummy,” but nothing else written on it. I turned on the tablet and the screen saver was the same photo of Mt Owen as on the postcard. It asked for a pin and I tried a few basic combinations but they didn’t work.

I said, “Certain items become charged with gaga. We call them talismans. It’s occult in as much as ritualistic procedure was used to create the talismans, but occult is just a layman’s term for the process of manipulating the fabric of the space-time continuum, that is, the normal flow of matter and antimatter. Of course it’s highly illegal, but we have our methods. This crime took place here, but not the here as we see it, the here that exists somewhere else. All we see is the exhaust of an event and the only way to fix it is to find the source of the tear and stitch it up.”

“But should we be worried?”

I shrugged, “No, I think we’ve caught it in time. Good work.”

We came away and to my surprise the night had cleared. Everything looked washed, serene, and clean, with a starry sky and the near full moon glowing high above the ranges to the east. To the north the seven towers of Greymouth’s CBD were sparkling like they were something beautiful, to be proud of, but dread filled me because I knew they were more like the embers of a fire that had not quite been extinguished, and just the slightest wind would bring up the flame to consume it all like a dragon’s breath.

The city had been born of gold, and gold had destroyed the city, with a hundred and seventy years between to grow, to languish, and hope for better times. Their motto, “Our time will come again,” seemed like presentiment during the 2020s boom as many believed their time had finally arrived, but the problem with gold is that too much happens all at once, and when the gold is gone everything must collapse back into itself. Back in the 1860s it hadn’t mattered so much because there was only a limited amount that a town could grow with such means as steam ships and sailboats. But it was a different story during the 2020s, as the 2030s proved and the year 2040 was about to conclude; the devastation to be visited upon this city would be more than the sum of its components.

That was “Chapter One” of The Woman in the Brown Hat, a sci-fi fantasy detective novel by Marcus Pedersen.

Available on Amazon as an e-book and paper book: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08RW59M7G

For more information see: https://www.facebook.com/ToroPopularFiction

For reviews see: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/56531729-the-woman-in-the-brown-hat

[unfortunatelysirius]

NURSE LUPIN // REMUS LUPIN [MARAUDERS ERA]

「 ❁ 」PROMPT 「 ❁ 」

It’s a regular day of classes, and you’re sick. Remus is going to get you healed, one way or another!

「 ❁ 」AUTHOR’S NOTE 「 ❁ 」

Over two thousand followers? What the fuck? That’s crazy. Please accept this one-shot as a token of my gratitude, and get ready… FOR A STRING OF IMAGINES! Will Chocolate Frogs / Love Notes be updated? How about Not Your Girlfriend? Stay tuned and send me positive messages in my inbox pls! I feel like my writing is garbage and sometimes I really don’t know if I should continue troubling you all with my garbage :’)

        WHEN YOU CAME INTO BREAKFAST THAT MORNING, Remus Lupin knew something was wrong. Your face was pale, nearly white as a sheet, and Merlin, your eyes. Red and puffy, the space beneath them deeply purpled. The way you walked, all lethargic and clumsy, screamed I’m not feeling well. But when Remus asked…

       “Oh, I’m fine.” And it might have taken all your energy, but just for Remus, you put on your most dazzling smile. So bright and happy, it felt like the sun had finally come to graze the Earth, gleaming at him all ablaze. For half a moment, Remus believed you.

       But you didn’t eat your food. You didn’t join the banter, or attempt anymore smiles. You sat glumly, shoulders tucked inward. It was so bloody obvious, yet only to Remus, who knew all your ticks and mannerisms by heart. Just by watching you, he felt foolish for even momentarily thinking you were fine. That you didn’t need a visit to the Hospital Wing.

       You were lying. This whole I’m alright act was just a farce.

       Remus wanted to demand you go back to your dorm. Right in front of all your friends, ignoring the way you’d blush and fidget under their scrutiny. He didn’t like the way you kept coughing and sneezing, the way you looked a moment away from passing out. The redness in your nose, like all the red in your cheeks had been suctioned away, made it obvious to Remus that you had a cold, at the very least, but…

       But…

       There was a part, a very annoying part, of Remus that doubted. That was uncertain. Even after seeing it all for himself, he didn’t want to be suddenly, hopelessly wrong. He didn’t want to embarrass you all for nothing. This part, the part that made his Gryffindor pride squint in mortification, made Remus’s mouth stay shut.

       And the group of you sat and laughed and ate, all until it was time for Potions.

       On the walk there, you seemed fine. Your smile was less forced, and your legs functioned perfectly. You talked with Remus, telling him about the recent essay grade you got in History of Magic; boy, were you happy. Remus forgot all about his suspicions, caught in the way his heart swelled anytime he was around you.

       Then, the inevitable happened.

       When you and Remus reached the classroom and sat at your assigned seats beside one another, you fell into one of the longest, hardest coughing fits Remus had ever seen. It lasted several seconds, made everyone in the room twist and turn to see whoever it was that was hacking, and when it finally stopped, you looked even worse for the wear.

       Your face was sweaty and ashen. The redness in your nose was gone, replaced by a ghostly sheen. And Merlin, you had to feel miserable. The sorry attempt for a smile you sent Remus afterward, to assure him you were fine, would even make a goblin wince.

       “Y/N,” said Remus. His shoulder twitched, like he wanted to reach out a hand but rethought the action at the very last second—and all he could do was stare at you, anxious and worried. “Are you alright?”

       “I’m fine,” you croaked. “Something in the air, I guess.” A laugh bubbled out of your mouth. You obviously did it to convince Remus you were fine, thinking it would sound normal and not painful, but it did the opposite. Like your voice before, the laugh was nothing more than a croak, cracked with ripples and grated with gravel.

       Remus’s brows drooped, cinching into a frown that spanned his entire face. And your own smile fell.

       Why are you so set on lying? Remus wondered. This all made no visible sense to him; your actions were so unlike you. There’s nothing to be ashamed of in being sick.

       “Y/N, what—”

       Professor Slughorn walked out of his office, cutting off whatever it was that Remus was about to say. The man, a jolly smile beneath his whiskers, threw out an arm; he said, “We’ll be continuing our lesson on Draught of Peace. Take out your quills, make notes—there won’t be any brewing today!”

       The room came alive with the sounds of students taking out their supplies. Maybe the same should have been said for Remus, but he was too preoccupied with looking in your direction, watching for any sudden changes in your mannerisms. It occurred to him, then; how could he be an attentive student when all that mattered to him was the way you were slumped over the tabletop, sniffling with your eyes droopy?

       Trick question. He couldn’t.

       Remus raised his hand. Professor Slughorn was turned, talking to another student, and damn it! The man wasn’t paying attention to this side of the room. Remus grew frustrated, and he opened his mouth to verbalize said frustration—

       There was a loud screech, then a plopping sound as something hit the floor. Everyone flinched.

       “What was that?” said the professor, glancing from one innocent face to the next. While searching for a source he caught Remus’s high-flying hand. “Oh, Mr. Lupin—what did you need?”

       “Uh,” was all Remus could articulate. He glanced beside himself, wanting to get a good read on your face to know what amount of anger to expect later—but. Wait. Where did you go? Your seat was empty. “Y/N?”

       Then Remus saw it. At first he was confused, wondering where you’d gone, assuming the worst, all before he’d glanced down and he saw the start of a human body. Oh Merlin, thought the boy, feeling his heart stumble and sputter. His eyes flickered from your Y/H/C hair to your soft, pallid skin, trailing until he found your eyes. Those beautiful Y/E/C eyes, the very ones that he loved so much, weren’t open. They were closed.

       “Y/N L/N’s in the floor!” said Eric McLaggen. He hit Remus’s shoulder as he jet upwards, for a better angle, and damn if it didn’t take all of Remus’s will-power not to growl. “Is she dead?”

       Remus glared at him. How daft could one person be? “She’s not dead!” he snapped. His inner wolf wanted to bear its fangs, evoke visible fear from the idiot, but… Y/N needed medical attention, now. “Professor, she needs to be taken to Madam Pomfrey.”

       Professor Slughorn’s eyes were wide, like two eggs. He waved a hand. “O-Oh, of course,” said the man, looking relieved to have the problem immediately resolved. “The two of you are excused from today’s lessons, Mr. Lupin.”

       “Thank you,” said Remus quickly. And another screech echoed throughout the room, as he pushed out of his seat. He dropped to his knees beside you. A nimble hand went to your hair-part, tracing its way down your temple then to your jaw, stopping at your chin. His eyes were now on your lips. They were a shade paler than usual, like the moisture had been sucked out of them completely. And there wasn’t a proper term for how pale your face had gone. Pale as a ghost? Ashen like a witch? No. Nothing compared.

       Remus didn’t know the best way to pick you up. He was afraid he’d hit your head on the table, and then he’d have to wallow in self-pity for the rest of his sorry existence. She feels cold, thought Remus, as a hand went to cup the back of your head, another limb slithering around your backside. The rest of your body felt just as cold. What sort of ailment caused such a reaction—going hot, then cold? Going from red to white?  

       He shook his head. He helped your unconscious body up from the hard ground, ignoring the penetrating eyes of his classmates, their burning stares. They didn’t matter, not with you in his arms. Even as Slughorn watched from his position at his desk, as Eric McLaggen’s eyes drilled into the side of your slacken face, all Remus could think—all he could care about—was what Madam Pomfrey would say. What she’d diagnose you with. What she’d give you to help with the effects.

       And Remus left.

       -

       It was hours later, when the sky had turned the color of nightshade, that you awoke.

       You were confused. The room was alight with fluorescence, polka-dotted in different hues of white, brown, black, and blue, and beside you, a familiar sandy-haired bloke was slumped in a chair. This situation, it was strange. You couldn’t think of a reason for being here, unless you’d been knocked in the head by a Death Eater wannabe. Now that you thought about it, that didn’t seem so far from realistic…

       “Y/N?” groaned from the chair. You jumped.

       “Remus!” was your sorry excuse of a response. Like a squeak, really, and if the lights were dimmed, you surely could have been mistaken for a chipmunk. “I didn’t know you were awake.”  

       “You shouldn’t be awake.” Remus looked at you pointedly. He’d finally grasped consciousness, and the fatigue that normally plagued him had vanished. His concern for you made him more alert than usual. “Madam Pomfrey gave you something to help you sleep.”

       You smiled sheepishly. “Oops?” When his expression remained deadpan, void of any amusement, you dropped the smile. Now you could be interrogative without guilt. “What exactly happened? Why am I in the Hospital Wing?”

       “You don’t remember?” Remus looked surprised. “You were sick all morning before you fainted in Potions.”

       The memories rushed back rapidly, faster than you could count them. Regardless, that tiny sliver of information was enough to make you blush in embarrassment. It was shameful you tried to hide your sickness, especially when you ended up making the situation much bigger than being truthful ever would have.

       “I’m sorry,” you said. You didn’t even bother trying to keep the shame out of your voice. “I should have just come out and said I was sick… Merlin, how will I ever face Professor Slughorn? Or McLaggen?”

       Remus, almost unknowingly, put his hand over yours. Your heart went aflutter with nerves, and the worst part of it all was how utterly calm Remus looked. Did he know the effect he had on you? Judging by that smug (read: unreadable) look on his face, he totally did. “I’ll be there. You won’t be alone,” he told you.

       You hugged him. Nerves be damned, you hugged him! “You should be a nurse.” You giggled. Now that your ailment was miraculously (read, again: magically) cured, the rush of redness in your face could only be termed as a blush.

       “A—nurse?” Remus blushed—not that you could see it. “No…”

       “Nurse Lupin,” you said in a sing-song voice, squeezing him real tight. “Has a nice ring to it, huh?”

       “Sh-Shut up, Y/N!”

       Who wouldn’t want Remus Lupin as their designated medic?

[anoutrageousamountofwriting]

Nothing Up My Sleeves (But Aces)

Back when Tied Up With Strings was still in the draft stages (and I was playing around with ideas), I wrote a concept for a Villain!Izuku who used magic tricks in place of a Quirk. It’s unlikely to ever see the light of day, so here’s what Chapter 1 would’ve looked like.

I think I vaguely planned for his villainous mentor to be Mr Compress? Dunno. I’m not much of a note maker. The Heist on Kunioka’s did make it’s way to TUWS, and I hope to use Nobusuma of the Night in something because I like the general concept of his Quirk.

*************************** At the tender age of four, a young boy’s dreams were already crashing down around him. Everyone was very clear. Very very clear. He didn’t have a Quirk. He couldn’t be a Hero. It didn’t matter that Izuku wanted to be a Hero more than anything in the world. It didn’t matter that he would do everything he could to be a Hero.

People without Quirks were not allowed to be Heroes. Those were the rules. And so, faced with the destruction of his dreams, a four year old boy has no other way to deal with it but to cry at the unfairness of it all.

So deep in his grief is he that he doesn’t notice the strange and unfamiliar figure approaching him until they speak. “What bothers you so, my good man?”

Startled out of his sobbing, he turns his head to look up at a tall, kindly-looking man. He was dressed in the fanciest clothes his little mind could fathom, like the kind of people who would be on TV shows. He even had one of those tall hats. “I… I don’t have… I don’t have a Quirk… so everyone says I can’t be a Hero...” He mumbles, sniffling a little and going to wipe his nose.

The man holds out a hand and flicks his wrist, revealing a silken handkerchief he offers to him. The simple, elegant little move has Izuku mesmerised. “My condolences,” the kind man says, although the boy isn’t sure what a condolence is or what it has to do with handkerchiefs.

He’s too busy being impressed with that simple sleight of hand to even care though. “... Cool…” He mumbles, eyes wide and amazed. He slowly looks up at the kind man with the brightest expression he’s had in days, his previous sorrow already pushed aside in favour of this new incredible thing.

The kind man smiles beatifically. “Would you like to see more tricks, my good man?”

He nods so hard his head feels like it’s going to fly off and cause an accident.

Kunioka’s Jewelry Boutique was a deceptively small store, built during the early days of the Meiji era and combining the principles of architecture of the both the East and West to create an elegant little store. But for all it’s deceptive size and modesty, Kunioka’s was the place for jewelry for the rich and selective. Every piece was commissioned and handmade by the master artisan that was Kunioka Takamaru, whose ‘Feathertouch’ Quirk could allow him to detect flaws and imperfections invisible to human eyes.

Of course, such incredibly valuable jewelry was well secured against intrepid thieves and thugs. External security was tight beyond belief - electronic locks bound to biometrics secured the entrances, and each door was guarded by a pair of guards at all times. Inside, security cameras tracked every move, and the slightest disturbance detected by the operators would cause them to trigger a call to a local Hero agency and the nearest police department. If, and this was a BIG if, you somehow got past the guards AND bypassed the cameras, then you’d have to deal with the third security measure. No jewelry was on display in Kunioka’s, because one did not browse. One made an appointment, and you had best come in with a design in mind because a master artisan of that level does not care for time wasters. So everything of value - money, jewels, what have you - was located in a safe.

The ‘Iron Mausoleum’ model Safe from OptiSecurity with extreme authentication. First, a ten digit code. Second, a fingerprint scan. Third, a retinal scan. Fourth, all of those things had to be done by two different people simultaneously. If you tried to burn or cut your way in, you’d be in for a tough time as well, as the cutting edge materials had been tested against not only the best tools money could buy, but some of the most powerful Quirks. It was rumoured that even one of All Might’s Smashes couldn’t do more than dent it. Inside was most of the money and jewels. Penetrating it was not impossible, but incredibly time consuming and resource intensive. When such a safe was breached, it was not done so onsite, but first stolen entirely using the aid of powerful Quirks - an unfortunate reality that no Safemaker has yet to overcome.

The last and final defense mechanism against thieves was the exclusive handmade quality of Kunioka’s jewelry itself. Moving such a hot, one of a kind product would be difficult for even the most experienced fences - fences experienced enough to know that even trying to move it could potentially risk their downfall, and thus, be wise enough to avoid it.

These security mechanisms, four pillars of nigh insurmountable difficulty, had forged a reputation for Kunioka’s as an impenetrable fortress from which no villain could pierce and escape.

Until now.

There is an essential weakness in any security mechanism, and that it is ultimately designed to be opened. No door can be locked forever - if you wanted that, you’d build a wall instead. All those locks, all those things, they were meant to keep out people who weren’t supposed to be there. So if you were supposed to be there…

The Guards snapped to attention when Kunioka Takemaru approached his store in the late hours of the night, the distinct pinched face of the elderly miser unmistakeable even now.

Both guards bowed immediately. “Kunioka-sama!” said the woman on the left, her long, lank hair curling in the wind of its own accord, “Forgive me for this impudence, but why have you returned here so late at night?”

The full force of Kunioka Takemaru’s glare was upon her, a look so powerful it was rumoured it was how he cut his diamonds. “Do not presume to question me! Open the door already!”

“Y-yes Kunioka-sama!” She whirled around and punched the keycode in, and allowed it to scan her retina. The door slid open with nary a sound, and the miser brushed through without a second’s pause, leaving the two guards deeply bowing to the air.

The second guard, a doll-like figure with skin just like fine china turned to look at the first. “... You, are in so much shit right now,” they mumbled.

“Don’t remind me,” she said quietly. Neither of them, with their heads lowered in a respectful bow, noticed the figure approaching behind them.

Until it was too late.

***************************

Within the store, Kunioka moved straight towards the backroom workshop and the safe. He glanced at the cameras cursorily, before sliding open the workshop door and stepping out of their view, pausing just at the safe. “Mizutami. Present yourself.”

In the center of the room was a still, stone pond. It’s presence lent an air of tranquility and reflection to the otherwise pragmatic workspace, the stone basin artful and natural compared to the soft tatami mat floors and paper walls (behind which there were a foot of steel). The surface rippled slightly, and a figure rose up out of the water, sleek and shiny, even in their finely tailored suit.

This was the secret fifth pillar of security in Kunioka’s Jewelry Boutique - Mizutami ‘the Kappa’, whose ‘Still Waters’ Quirk allowed him to hide in pools of water, provided they were not disturbed too much. “Kunioka-sama,” He said, silken voice as tranquil as the pond he rose out of, “It is a rare honour to greet you so late in the night.” His was a presence not even the other guards were aware of - but there were no cameras here in the backroom. Kunioka Takemaru was a genius of unparalleled talent, and to have the risk of someone witnessing his technique… or selling those videos to rivals? Unacceptable didn’t even begin to describe it.

“Has anyone been in here?” Kunioka muttered, glancing around.

“... No, Kunioka-sama. I have been watching as always. No intruders. Is something bothering you?”

Kunioka frowned quietly. “I… have had a bad feeling. A terrible feeling. Have you heard of Morgaine?”

“Morgaine?” Mizutami echoed, possibly the only person who could get away with repeating Kunioka’s words to himself. “I must ask… do you mean the thief?”

“Yes. Recently, there’s been a string of robberies, hasn’t there? High profile ones too. Kazuno’s lost that tiara she was making, and then Mikusoki’s was cleaned entirely of their diamonds. Nobody ever saw the thief either. They came in the morning, and found everything gone with only a name behind.”

Mizutami nodded, slipping out of the pond carefully. Despite having emerged from the water, there was not a drop on him. “I see. So Kunioka-sama was worried and came here?”

“Indeed. Let us open the safe, Mizutami, and be sure of it.” Amongst the employees at Kunioka’s Jewelry Boutique, any number of them could provide access codes for the verification side of the safe, but only Kunioka himself could provide the ‘master-level’ authentication needed to open it with their assistance.

Together, they assembled at the safe door. They punched in their codes in perfect synchronicity, pressed their index fingers against the scanners, and then leaned forward to allow their retinas to be scanned.

The door swung open silently, revealing a treasure trove of jewels and already made jewelry waiting for pickup.

“As expected, Kunioka-sama. There is no cause… for…” Mizutami’s eyes widened in alarm, and he glanced over to Kunioka who was already swaying on his feet. Everything was getting foggy, and his grip on his consciousness was growing slippery by the second. A drug? A gas…? But… when…

Mizutami the Kappa slumped on his feet, a fog overtaking his mind.

For a moment, nothing happened. And then a figure stepped through the door, humming thoughtfully to themselves. They were dressed in a dark blue cloak that reached just past their knees, hood drawn up to hide their hair and shadow their face - not that their face was revealed to begin with. A elaborate venetian mask, painted and crafted in an elegant style depicting a gently frowning face hid whatever was behind it. They stepped past the pair of swaying men, and casually began filling a small sack with the contents of the safe.

Gemstones of unparalleled quality, rings and necklaces of gold and silver, intricate earrings and breathtakingly beautiful tiaras - all of it vanished into their cloak. All that emerged from it was a single bone white business card, an artfully inscribed name the only thing on it - ‘Morgaine’. The figure placed it in the centre of the safe, and calmly moved both of the men out of the way of the safe door as they shut it.

“Kunioka-sama. You checked the safe, but found everything in order. You think it was silly of you to worry - your security is unparalleled of course,” They said in a smooth, robotic hush. The telltale sound of a voice changer.

Kunioka smirked slightly, eyes still unfocused and vacant. “Of course. No stupid thief could get past the Five Pillars,” He mumbled.

The figure turned to Mizutami. “You watched all night, and saw nothing. Kunioka-sama came in, and you told him as much. You checked the safe with Kunioka-sama, and you found everything in order as well.”

“... Kunioka-sama should not worry so much. That is what I am paid to do, after all,” the Kappa murmured.

“Yes. That’s true, isn’t it?” The figure added, calmly stepping past both of them. “You’re both going to have a calm talk about security matters - maybe beefing it up a little, because you can never be too careful. The phantom thief, Morgaine, is about, after all. But after say, twenty minutes, go home and have a rest Kunioka-sama. You’re going to have a big day tomorrow.”

And then the figure slipped out of the room, leaving them both to obey the suggestions.

The two front guards were still standing in a mindless haze, and the figure paused to give them some suggestions. And then when they turn around to leave, there’s another cloaked figure in front of them.

Well. It almost went off perfectly.

***************************

“You would be Morgaine, wouldn’t you?” rasped the cloaked figure, leering at them with a pale mouth full of gleaming teeth. “I, am Nobusuma.” He gave the thief a mocking bow, his own black cloak fluttering with the movement..

“The underground Pro Hero, ‘Nobusuma’. I’m honored you came out just for me.” Morgaine spread their cloak out just a bit, eyes narrowed behind the smoky lenses of their mask.

‘Nobusuma’ leered wider. “It was child’s play to predict you’d strike here, Morgaine. I must say, I’m surprised you succeeded as well as you did. A Hypnosis Quirk, is it? You seem to have everyone under your spell.”

“‘Spell’ is right,” said Morgaine, “This isn’t a Quirk. It’s ‘Magic’.” There was a mocking tone to their voice now, bordering on challenging. “So if you’re not careful you’ll fall under the ‘spell’ as well.”

“Ha!” Nobusuma cackled, “Call it whatever you want! But it won’t change a thing!” They rushed forward, goggles gleaming in the night as a hand clad in a fingerless glove reached out for him.

Fingerless gloves - so the power relied on contact? If it was skin contact, they were going to have a fun time trying. Morgaine was covered head to toe. They dodged and weaved artfully between the rapid jabs, nimbly avoiding contact with the fingers.

But then Nobusuma did something unexpected. He took a deep breath, and blew out a thick, black smoke from his mouth, engulfing Morgaine’s head in the cloud. “You fell for my trap!” He crowed, grinning madly, “My ‘Blackout’ doesn’t work through skin contact - but through gas! Once inhaled, you’ll lose all your senses. Sight, smell, touch… hearing. You can’t even hear me, can you? In that pitch blackness where you sense nothing, your concentration is invariably broken! No soul can withstand it!”

Morgaine stumbled around, eyes wide behind the lenses. “I… what?! I can’t hear! My… you… what did you do?!”

Nobusuma cackled, stalking forward. “Another upstart Villain brought down low.” He dodged a wild punch from the stumbling Morgaine and smoothly cuffed the outstretched arm with one part of a gleaming pair of handcuffs. “Pathetic, really. Such a predictable schedule, such a predictable tactic. Magic? Don’t make me laugh.” He pushed the still-fumbling Villain over to the nearby lamp post and cuffed their arm to that. “In the face of the absolute fear of the darkness… even the strongest villain cowers.”

Morgaine paused in their stumbling, tilting their masked face at Nobusuma. It was a gesture too pointed to be done in ignorance but… that was impossible wasn’t it? They breathed in the gas! “It’s kind of funny,” They said, rubbing their wrist with one hand, “Such a gloomy guy is a Hero?”

Nobusuma’s eyes bulged behind his goggles, going to reach out with one arm only to find that it was cuffed to the lamp post instead of Morgaine’s. “What? How?! It’s impossible! Even those with Extra-sensory Quirks are blinded by my ‘Blackout’! Complete deprivation of all the senses! There’s no way you could’ve escaped!” He seethed, “But no matter! Any Pro worth their salt has a backup!” He whipped his second arm out from under the cloak, holding… a bouquet of flowers? “My taser… how?”

“Didn’t I tell you?” the Villain replied, “If you weren’t careful, you’d fall under my ‘spell’ as well. This isn’t a Quirk. It’s ‘Magic’.” They reached into their cloak, and withdrew a handful of… sand? “Goodnight, Nobusuma of the Night. We will not meet again, I think.” And with a puff of their breath, the surprisingly smooth sand-dust rushed past Nobusuma’s face.

A sickly sweet scent filled the Hero’s nostrils, and he felt his eyelids grow heavy. “Damn it… beaten… by a rookie…” He mumbled, slumping down to the ground.

When he was found, hours later, he was stripped half naked with an inky black gothic ‘M’ drawn on his forehead.

***************************

The figure known as Morgaine stumbled into a dingy, badly lit bar and flounced onto a stool. They held up a gloved hand, and the bartender immediately started pouring them a drink - of juice. Apple Mango, to be specific.

“Bad day?” asked the Bartender, sliding the glass over to the thief. “You were supposed to have that big job today. Did it not go as planned?”

The thief caught the drink, swirling it around a little bit before covering the top with their hand. When they lifted it, a long, childish crazy straw was there, and they adjusted the mask slightly to slip the tip underneath and take a long draw. “No, no, Kurogiri-san. Went off pretty much perfectly actually.” With the mask no longer sealed against his skin, his voice came out naturally - soft, and youthful.

“Oh? I’m impressed. Please don’t take this in offense, but I wasn’t sure you could manage.”

Morgaine waved him off. “It’s fine, it’s fine,” He murmured, wiping his mouth under the mask. “Hitting Kunioka’s has to have been the hardest thing I’ve done so far. What a crazy old man.”

“You call him crazy, Morgaine-san, but the one who went to all that effort to bypass the security was you. Studying the guard schedules, the defences. Preparing a hypnotic gas. Going so far as to implanting suggestions in Kunioka’s mind so that he’d go check the safe in the middle of the night…”

The thief huffed again. “It’s not like I made the gas. All I did was exploit an old man’s moment of weakness.” He paused, swirling the straw around a little. “... and handcuff Nobusuma to a lamp post, I guess,” He added after a moment’s consideration.

“Nobusuma of the Night?” the bartender echoed, giving him an amused look. “That’s pretty impressive, Morgaine-san. Nobusuma’s record is quite impressive.”

“It was luck mostly,” Morgaine said, brushing off the praise easily, “Nobusuma’s Quirk is a gas; to protect myself against my own gas, I had Giran fit my mask with a filter. The idiot even explained what the gas was supposed to do to me. Faking it was easy.”

Kurogiri shook his head gently, black wisps moving with the movement. “You’re too modest, Morgaine-san,” He said quietly, wiping down the bartop. “Will you be sticking around much longer? Shigaraki is planning a venture, and he might request your expertise.”

Morgaine frowned at his juice - not that the bartender could see it behind the mask. “Since when does Shigaraki-kun ask for my expertise? I’m a thief.” Despite his attitude to his ‘exploits’, he was fairly fond of Shigaraki Tomura (or as he often referred to him in private, ‘Mr Handsy’). The two occasionally played video games together, but there was a certain… unsettling quality about him. Mostly the hands. If he was honest, it was almost entirely the hands. But Shigaraki mostly dealt with violent crimes, and Morgaine wasn’t really into violence. Sure, sometimes he engaged in it, but only when he thought it was necessary or the target deserved it.

“Mmm. I thought you might say something like that,” He said smoothly, polishing a glass to sparkling perfection. “But I have some information about the venture you might find interesting.”

He looked at Kurogiri for a few moments before sighing. “Alright, I’ll bite. Is he hitting up a Hero Convention? Because I don’t think any of those are happening soon.”

There’s a faint little chuckle out of the mist. “No. We’re targeting the Unforeseen Simulation Joint - a training ground for prospective Heroes to learn the arts of rescuing.” The gold eyes sharpened slightly. “U.A’s Class 1-A will be attending, and with them, the Symbol of Peace.”

Morgaine tapped his mask with a single finger, and then slowly pulled the mask up to the top of their head, coincidentally shifting the hood down. A pale, freckled face slowly revealed itself to the world, forest green eyes sparkling with a sense of mischief and mirth.

“I’ll be there with bells on,” said Midoriya Izuku, grinning a little with anticipation.

[aij-writes]

Quarter Past Wrong, Pt 1

Rating: Teen, Swearing, Mild Fantasy Violence

Pairing: Ignyx (Ignis/Nyx)

Summary: Ignis is fifteen and at the start of his Crownsguard training.  Nyx is twenty-four and a bit of a show-off, already earning his Hero moniker from battles with the Kingsglaive.  Cor Leonis decides Noctis’s retinue might need magic training.  Ignis is eager to show off in the ring. Nyx thinks he’s only helping.  Ignis wants to get away and Nyx doesn’t want him to give up.

Warnings: So...these characters first interact at a questionable age but there’s no romancing (yet).  Age range is nine years because I accidentally bump up Ignis’s age to three years older than Noctis (instead of 2 1/2 of canon) and Gladio a year older than Ignis.  Also, I have a headcanon I’m carrying over that Dragoon is a race and Ignis is a Dragoon.  If I ever write an explanation to this I’ll link it.

Other Tags: Canon compliant, Brotherhood Era, Best friends Gladio & Ignis, Slow burn?, Trying to be your mentor but you just find me annoying

For @ffxvignyxzine using all the prompts on day 1, why not?  “Stay with me”/”Don’t go”, Ring, Help/Rescue

First part of a multi-part fic trying to tie it all together

“Glaives!” Drautos called over his men.  “You see we have a few guests joining us today.”  He spread his arm out.  “The Marshal and two Crownsguard recruits.”

“Sir!” they yelled in acknowledgment.

Cor eyed the men, before turning to Gladiolus Amicitia.  “Recruits, he says,” he said in a carrying voice.

“Well, you look good for your age, Marshal,” Ignis Scientia said in a droll tone.  “Perhaps they have you confused for me.”

Cor shook his head, but there was a slight twitch in his expression.  He ruffled the kid’s grey hair.  “You’re a hoot.”

“Is something funny, Leonis?” Drautos asked.

“No,” he said.  “I leave two of my most promising soldiers to your dexterous hands, Titus.  I have others to babysit.”  He shook his head to Gladio.  “Don’t hold back now,” he said, calmly walking away.

Drautos shook his head, sighing.  “Most Crownsguard don’t fight with magic,” he explained to his battalion in a carrying, commanding voice.  “That’s why the King has so graciously extended his magic to the Kingsglaive.  But these two pipsqueaks are a special exception.  I want you all to meet Ignis Scientia and Gladiolus Amicitia.  You may know them as our dear Prince’s babysitter and manhandler.  As they’ve recently began practicing magic as connection to our future king, they need training the typical Crownsguard does not receive.  Something to say, Furia?”

“How old are they?  Sir?” Tredd, a red-headed Glaive asked, bumping Luche with his elbow.

“Old enough,” Drautos offered.  “Everyone knows us to be war heroes.  Now let’s prove that we know how to play nice.  Exception being they will not being joining us in warp practice.  Now!  To the training yard!”

They were put through the paces, starting with perfectly normal training exercises.  Warm ups that lead to sprints.  Ignis was fast, but he was young so the older Glaives had him beat.  Gladio didn’t even try to compete, comfortable in his stance, but Ignis had a hard enough time proving himself in Crownsguard training to not feel discouraged.

Luche, the unofficial second-in-command, pulled them aside when warp warm ups were announced.  He took an appraisal of their abilities.  Gladio could summon his sword after a few tries, but was hopeless with elemental.  Ignis had his daggers in hand before asked, but only seemed to be able to get a small flame going across them and had no projectile or release abilities.  Luche tried not to come off as condescending, but it was hard.  They were kids.

“How’s it look? Drautos asked, coming up behind them.  “Anything?”  He listened to Luche’s summery and frowned.  “Alright,” he said with an annoyed sigh.  He eyed them.  “Alright,” he repeated.  “Okay, so how old are either of you?”

“Fifteen, Sir,” Ignis answered respectfully while Gladio answered over him a gruff and defensive, “Sixteen.”

“How long have you been tapped into Prince Noctis’s magic?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

“Uh...about a year,” Gladio answered.  “Since he turned thirteen I guess?”

“For eight days now,” Ignis said.

Drautos’s eyebrows raised further.  “Let me see you summon fire.”

Ignis looked at him with a calm expression, but argued quietly, “With all due respect Sir, I can’t--”

“I want to see you do it so you’ll do it.”

Ignis, the picture of control and respect, gave him an icy look.  “I can only enchant things.”

“Fine,” he said, hand waving.  “Wouldn’t want to burn the little adviser's hands now.”  He turned his back on Ignis, smirking at his crew.

Ignis frowned, throwing his hand out.  Though he’d not managed to do it before, Ignis’s hand sparked briefly with fire.

Luche nudged Drautos, speaking in an undertone about what Ignis had managed to do.  Turning back to him, Drautos gave him a grim look.  “Be careful being motivated by anger, no matter how checked you keep it.  You’ll have to dig deeper and deeper for your fuel.  Finding out how deep the vein runs is dangerous.”  He eyed Gladiolus.  “Alright, Shield-in-Waiting.  You focus on getting a little more graceful and Scientia, you go with Altius.  She’s my best mage.  Maybe she can teach you a thing or two.”

---

“You ever get tired, Iggy?” Gladio asked, doing squats in front of their tutor’s office.

Ignis looked up from placing a tab on the report.  “All the time,” he said, tilting his head.  “I require sleep like everyone.”

Gladio laughed, huffing and falling down on the bench next to him.  He shared a smile with his best friend.  “Wiseass.”

“Better than being a dumbass,” Ignis shot back.  He took his binder and bopped Gladio on the head.  “Of course I’m tired.  But I worry that if I don’t attend to it, it won’t get done.”

“Are you doubting me?” Gladio asked, throwing an arm around him.  At sixteen, he was already larger than many men.  “I’m here to kick the princess into shape and you’re...well, what are you supposed to be doing?”

“Right now I’m making sure he has all the required--”

“Nah, Iggy, right now, you’re doing stuff you’re not supposed to be doing but do anyway to coddle him.  You’re his adviser, not his--”

“I’m his chamberlain,” he pointed out.  “I manage His Highness, too.”

“No one can manage him,” a new voice spoke up.  Nyx Ulric slid against the wall rounding the corner still leaning against the new wall.  He was a tall Galahdian with bright blue eyes.  “I commend you both for trying.”

Ignis scowled and Gladio glared.

“Alright, alright, protective to a fault.”  Nyx put his hands up in defense.  “But you know, the Shield’s got a point, kid.”  Nyx was in his twenties, already a veteran of so many battles against Nifleheim and Tenebrae forces.  He had seen battles Gladio and Ignis had only simulated.  He was the Hero of Insomnia.  He leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest and smiling.  “I mean, you have to admit, Scientia.  No one’s expecting a servant to take on actual battle duty.”

Gladio stood up so fast he nearly bowled Ignis over.  He got into Nyx’s face.  “Ignis isn’t a servant.  He’s smarter, sharper, and ten times the tactician than most Crownsguard and he’s already nipping on the heels of any Glaive in magic.”

Nyx laughed.  “Sure, big guy.  I bet he’s juggling that along with the rest of everything he does, but honestly, who’s he to lay down his life for the Kingdom?  That’s what I do.  That’s what you might have to do if not the Prince himself.  But Ignis Scientia?  No one’s going to expect more out of him than a spare pen.  So honestly?  You’re both wasting your time.  Maybe go act like teenagers for a minute while you still can.  You’re going to hate it when there’s nothing left but full time duty.”

“Thank you for the unsolicited advice, Mr. Ulric.  If I wanted to know what you thought about my ability to balance my work, I’d have asked.”  Ignis raised his eyebrows, shooting him a sharp look learned from raising his own kid since he was six.

Nyx shrugged.  “Only trying to help.”

---

Drautos yelled commands before finally giving up.  He fell back, frowning.  That disappointment rippled through the practicing Glaives until one by one they stopped, settling their gaze on him.  He raised his eyebrows.  “Oh, now you stop?” he asked, shaking his head.  “Alright, well, I didn’t know this was an exposition and not a practice.  Someone else must have ordered it.”

“Sorry!  Sir!” they called in unison.

“Are we here to help the Prince’s retinue or make asses of ourselves showing them our flashy moves?  What if they go back to the King and Shield, reporting the waste of magic?  Enough!  One-on-one sparing.  I want you all practicing form and observing, so two in a ring a time.  No warping!  Practice knives only!”  He eyed Gladio.  “Good luck.”

Drautos moved through the group, jostling people together and pairing them off.  He gave each of them two minutes to knock one of them out of the ring.  But as Gladio approached, he glared.  “I thought I put Ulric with you.”

Libertus eyed Drautos warily.  “Well, uh, Sir...we switched.”

“Did you now?” he asked, unimpressed by the initiative.  “Why?”

“I thought it’d be helpful if the bureaucrat didn’t get crushed so soon,” Nyx offered.  “Motivate him to keep trying.”

Ignis scowled but didn’t voice his displeasure.  Gladio wasn’t quite so tactful.

“That’s bullshit!”  Gladio jabbed a finger towards Ignis.  “Ignis has been training with the Crownsguard and he’s not merely a show piece!”

Nyx shrugged.  He was flipping a practice dagger in his hand.  “You can be quick and still lack any strength behind it.  He needs to work on his physique to be any good.  Otherwise, he needs to stay on the books and let the men battle.”

Drautos stared at Nyx, but allowed a faint smirk.  “Alright, Nyx, maybe you’re right.  Maybe Ignis doesn’t belong here.”

“That’s--” Gladio started.

“You know, I think maybe my authority here wasn’t properly explained by the Marshal, since now I got everyone telling me how to train these Crownguards.  Okay, Nyx...you run practice with Ignis and I’ll observe.  Make it a real show.”

Ignis let his daggers appear with a blue flash.  “Real weapons then,” he said, unable to more than set the wooden knife on fire rather than enchant them.

“Alright,” Nyx agreed, pulling out his set of kukri.  “No time limit.  No out of the ring BS.  First person to yield.”

“Feel free to warp,” Ignis offered, taking his glasses off and handing them to Gladio for safe keeping.

Nyx raised his eyebrows.  “Oh boy...skinny, blind, and turned around.  Make sure you say uncle before I kill you, kid.”

“I don’t need anymore of your help, thank you,” Ignis replied crisply.  He joined Nyx into the ring, offering him a handshake as was custom in the Crownsguard.

Nyx took it and bowed as was custom in the Kingsglaive.

Ignis darted back as soon as he released.  He was quick.  Rapid and smooth with movements, but as Nyx soon critiqued, “You waste energy staying on the move.”  He dove towards Ignis, not quite aiming with his knife.  He did grin though as Ignis swept and turned, rolling his back against Nyx’s and catching him on the side with a well-placed slice.

The Kingsglaive as a collective let out a groan.

“Alright, teasing?” Nyx asked.  He caught Ignis as he swung around, blades clashing.  They traded quick swipes, each catching the other.  Nyx pushed out with his hand, knocking the much smaller kid back easily.  “See, you can’t possibly--”

Nyx’s advice was cut off as Ignis had performed a handstand only to flip back and kick him in the mouth.  He fell back, but caught himself.  He stayed crouched, eyeing Ignis as he wiped blood off his mouth.

“Sir?” Pelna spoke up.

Drautos raised a silencing hand.  “Let Nyx learn his lesson.”

“Sir!” Libertus and Crowe insisted.

Ignis darted around Nyx, avoiding his furry of swipes.  He was as quick on his feet as suspected and left Nyx little time to offer his brand of help.  He finally took the chance he saw in Ignis’s opening, throwing his kukri at one of the looming stone pillars.  He warped to catch it before releasing it and diving at Ignis.

Raising his head, Ignis watched Nyx’s falling form, the Galadian all smiles and him a frowning concentration.  Gladio tried to shout a warning for Ignis to Wake up! but he waited for the last possible moment.  His knives disappeared with a flash and in their place was his polearm.  Not quite as practiced and with admittedly all the problems of lacking core strength, Ignis relied on whatever reserves he had in magic to get more lift in his Jump.

Now Nyx was the one looking up, stunned.  It wasn’t a warp technique, that was for sure.  He didn’t even respond, just letting Ignis land on him, kicking him onto his ass and standing over him.  His staff was stabbed into the mats right next to his head at the crock of his neck.

“Wow...” he said unabashedly.

Ignis was heaving his breath, though.  That’s taken all of it out of him.  He slid down the pole only to sink to one knee.  He huffed before tapping the mat.  Using the leverage again, he stood up and started to walk away.  “You’re right,” he said over his shoulder as he let the polearm fade into the Armiger.  “I have to get stronger.”

“Hey wait!” Nyx called, looking devastated.  “Hey...come on!  Don’t go!”  He watched Ignis pick up his pace as he scurried away but for some reason couldn’t move after him.  Gladio glanced at Nyx and didn’t wait to be dismissed by Drautos before going after him.

Nyx glanced at Drautos, frowning.  “I think he won fair and square.”

[mythicamagic]

Swimming in Silk - Chapter 12

Training in front of her, engaging her in conversation and now lending her his clothes…Kagome is starting to suspect that Sesshoumaru is trying to gain her attention.

Sesskag - Romance, Humour, Drama, Angst

Rated M - As always you can read this story on Ao3, fanfiction.net or Dokuga

Chapter One - here       Chapter Three - here    Chapter Five - here

Chapter Two - here        Chapter Four - here       Chapter Six - here  

Chapter Seven - here    Chapter Eight - here    Chapter Nine - here          Chapter Ten  - here    Chapter Eleven - here   Chapter Thirteen - here

AN: So I hear that fire axes might not be a thing available to the public everywhere but ehhh. If it bothers people I'll take that bit out, let me know!~ Thank you so much for all your comments guys, they've really cheered me up as I've been struggling recently with a few things. So thank you!

Searching for Shoji ~

Routine felt like a sorely missed friend to Kagome. She'd give almost anything for her days to regain some semblance of structure. It felt entirely surreal when Mama Higurashi wandered into the living room, offering the grown version of Shippo a drink or bite to eat.

When he politely declined, Kagome took the opportunity to observe him. He appeared to be in his late 20's, with only a few slim echoes of the child she'd known hiding in his features. The rest of him looked grown, from the line of his jaw to his slim build. He wore an open plaid shirt, giving a casual appearance. Dishellved red hair curled into his disarmingly warm eyes that held an undercurrent of sharpness in their depths. Cunning.

"Kagome?"

She jumped, brought out of her musings by her mother's soft voice. She looked concerned.

"You've been gone for a little while. We were all starting to worry…"

"I-I'm sorry, mom. I'll explain later," she murmured.

Mama Higurashi nodded, before patting her damp shoulder. "For now, how about you get changed into some fresh clothes?" She gently suggested.

Kagome nodded, hurrying upstairs and towelling her hair. Unfortunately, since she hadn't gotten a hair dryer to it sooner the ends were starting to kink, but that was the least of her concerns. She smiled sardonically in the mirror, wondering why she felt a little nervous. It was just Shippo right?

Then why did he feel like a stranger in a familiar body? It felt different to seeing Rin or Kohaku. The kit had been her closest friend at times during the warring states era- snuggling with her at night and whining when she didn't give him sweets. He'd come to her defence and played dumb games with her, all the while grinning mischievously.

She'd loved that boy. Whether as a weird son or little brother, she hadn't exactly pinned down, but affection couldn't really be examined.

Getting changed, she wandered back downstairs, steps laden with awkwardness.

Sitting in her place again and fiddling with her hands, blue eyes glanced up. "It…it's good to see you, Shippo." She murmured.

He chuckled good-naturedly, "this is a bit of a shock, right? I get it."

"Just a tad," Kagome muttered, shoulders dropping with relief as he smiled at her almost boyishly. There he is, she thought dimly. There's the Shippo I knew.

With a sigh, she brushed her hair behind her shoulder. "It's been hard to adjust to um…anywhere. But that's not important right now," she stood, wandering over to him. Reaching out, she placed her hand on his own and smiled with open relief. "I'm so, so glad you made it to this time. I knew you would. My little squirt outfoxed everyone, I bet."

Shippo's eyes widened and he scratched his cheek, some colour lighting them. He stood and placed his hand on her shoulder with a nostalgic grin.

"You aren't anything like how I remember last seeing you," he muttered, fondness colouring his tone.

She blinked, tilting her head. "Really?"

"Yeah. More fresh-faced and wide-eyed. Don't worry, you'll get used to the jumps."

Kagome wasn't sure if she should be comforted by that. She smiled anyway, glancing at the hand on her shoulder, before gasping. Seizing his fingers, she bounced on her tiptoes, emotions doing a 180. Pride and elation rose up in her chest, blurting wildly out into a stream of words. "OhhhhmigoshShippoyou'remarried!" She squealed.

The Hanyou in the room groaned, ears laying flat as he listened to the miko gush. Laughing sheepishly, Shippo rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand while Kagome clutched onto his ring finger. "Mhm, got myself a mate a few centuries ago. We have kids too~"

"Kids!" Kagome began to feel faint. "Kids as in plural. As in m-more than one?!" She reeled from the thought, staring up at him. Husband was one thing but- a father? The information wouldn't stick in her mind. He still looked so young.

"Last I checked we have five," Shippo chuckled, grinning toothily. "It'd be great if you met them."

"I'd love to!"

Inuyasha loudly cleared his throat, making Kagome aware of his presence in the room once more. She dropped her hands, looking down as she slowly sobered. "Right, er- Shippo…I'm guessing you came here to explain things to Inuyasha, which I'm super grateful for. But how did you know where to find him? And where is…"

"Sesshoumaru?"

She nodded slowly, eyes widening.

Green eyes shifted away, and he squeezed her shoulder. "Not coming. It's complicated but-"

"But he's safe?" Kagome checked, heart thundering in her chest. The question had leapt from her throat without warning, thoughts refusing to quiet. Shippo gazed down at her, something in his features gentling.

"Obviously. It's pretty difficult to kill the 'Killing Perfection,' though attempts were made!" He chuckled, slowly noticing she didn't share his humour. "Look, he won't be visiting you until you've made a few more jumps. If I remember right, the next ones are important."

"Feh, if they're so important why ain't he here to explain them himself?"

"The Boss just doesn't want to interfere with time too much," Shippo shrugged it off. Kagome got the distinct feeling he was omitting a few important details. She arched a brow, the Boss?

Inuyasha shifted to stand, tapping Tetsusaiga in an irritated fashion against his shoulder. "And it doesn't piss you off that the bastard is putting her in danger?" Golden eyes fixed on the kit, glaring fiercely. "Tell her what you told me."

When faced with Kagome's questioning look, Shippo seemed to quiet, as though not wanting to disappoint her. "Sesshoumaru...isn't sure how many time jumps there are left. Could be less than 10, could be more."

"Why wouldn't he be sure?"

He winced. "Let's just say he wasn't himself for a while and may have lost track of your er- visits."

"Not himself? Shippo, you're not making any sense."

The Hanyou snarled, sweeping his hand out and balling it into a fist. "Maybe this would make damn sense if that fucking bastard got off his ass and came here personally!"

"Inuyasha!-"

"Don't call him that!" Shippo growled.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Mrs Higurashi's calm voice cut in gently. "But dinner is ready."

The three stopped, instantly quieting. Inuyasha's ears lay flat and he folded his arms, surprising Kagome by trudging moodily into the kitchen. She'd expected him to run off. Mrs Higurashi smiled warmly, turning to usher the Hanyou to his seat.

Turning back to the kit, Kagome bit her lip. "Sorry..."

"Don't, it's cool. I'll just wait outside, I need to make a few calls anyways. Join me outside when you're ready."

Nodding, she watched as he turned, padding to the front door. Relaxing her eyes a little, she could make out a vague ripple in his image. Just for a moment, the kit looked like he had four tails, before he disappeared from sight.

After eating and washing the dishes, Kagome stepped outside, holding her arms. Noticing the moonlight catch on red hair, she smiled and joined the kit at the top of the shrine steps, taking a seat next to him. Shippo finished his conversation and lowered the phone from his ear.

"Was that him?" Kagome murmured.

He tucked the phone away in his pocket, lips curving up. "Nah just the Mrs."

"Inuyasha still seems upset. I-I don't really know how to help."

"You should have seen him earlier, cursing up a storm. Don't worry though, he mostly seems angry at Sesshoumaru."

That really doesn't give me the warm fuzzies. Smoothing her skirt over her tights with a sigh, her voice dipped into a casual tone. "So…wife, huh? Do I know her?"

"Heh, I can't give you spoilers."

"Oooh that's a yes," she grinned impishly.

Shippo returned it, flashing sharp fangs as he bumped her shoulder with his own. "I swear you've got kitsune blood in you somewhere," inhuman eyes danced. Slowly however, he seemed to sober while gazing at the city lights. "Chatting about my Mrs isn't what you really wanted to talk about though, was it?"

"I-I'd like to know more, honestly. I want to meet her-"

"Kagome." Green eyes pinned her with an almost reproachful look, before dissolving into worry. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Are you good?" He asked quietly. "Tell me honestly."

Shifting to gaze out at the vast stretch of lights, Kagome's lips thinned. He really is still my ally. "No Shippo, I'm not," she confessed in a subdued voice.

A beat of silence permeated the air while she held her arms, trying to fight the chill in the air. The phantom sensation of mokomoko brushing her skin glided over her collarbone, whispering goosebumps over her flesh.

"I feel like I've been no help at all to anyone recently. Maybe I've been a comfort to Sesshoumaru a few days while in the feudal era, but it's…difficult. Difficult to feel like I've really impacted him for the better. If he hadn't mated me, he could've had someone at his side during those 50 years at the Western Stronghold- hell he could've had someone right now in the past." Kagome let it all pour out of her like a faucet, the truth loosening her tongue. The kit sat quietly, and she glanced at his profile, slightly amazed by how much he'd changed.

Shippo noticed her stare and quirked his lips, gaze softening. "You've been struggling with heavy stuff, huh?"

"Yeah," Kagome gave a self-deprecating smile.

He hummed and gestured to come closer. "Alright, c'mere a sec."

"Hm? What are you- gah!"

Kagome felt herself be tugged closer- a palm closing over her eyes. She held onto Shippo's arm in confusion. "Um- what are you doing, kiddo?"

A chuckle sounded near her ear, "I'm making you see better."

"This is the opposite of-"

Shippo hushed her, clearing his throat. "Now concentrate. Clear your mind of all the other crap going on and just ask yourself one thing: Would you be feeling this way if you weren't being tugged back in time to random events?"

Kagome paused for a moment, her silence speaking volumes about her puzzlement.

The kit huffed, "okay imagine if after the Bone Eaters Well had closed, Present Sesshoumaru had come waltzing up to your door. He says something like-" Shippo cleared his throat, deepening his voice into an admittedly good impression of the Daiyoukai's velvet tones. "Kagome, this one has waited 500 to be with you, and now here I am. True your friends are dead and my lands are gone but that is in the past. Fall into my arms, miko~"

Kagome burst into a laugh, "present Sesshoumaru sounds like a smooth operator."

His amiable chuckle sounded boyish and charming. "Do you see my point though? If it weren't for the items pulling you back and forth you wouldn't be feeling so crappy right now." His voice gentled, trailing into something almost concerned. "You wouldn't feel like all the stuff in the past…was your responsibility to fix."

Kagome sighed, leaning against him slightly as her hands tightened on his arm. "I guess I'm just used to-"

"Playing superhero in the Feudal Era? Yeah I get that."

"But…I still don't feel any better about Sesshoumaru being alone for so long."

She could hear the shrug in his voice, "it was his choice to mate you and extend your life-span."

Kagome opened her mouth but Shippo cut her off.

"No buts. If he had a problem with the long stretches of time between seeing you, do you think he'd pout and be afraid of telling you? He'd be honest and break it off, am I right?"

She huffed, finally tugging his hand away. "Sesshoumaru told me once that you can't just break a mating, but you have a point. It just hurts…knowing I can't be there to help him." Kagome peered up at him worriedly. "I'm guessing you don't know anything about why the items are carrying back into the past?"

"Nope fraid not. You'll just have to ask the Boss once you finally see him, he might know." Shippo set his hand on her head, giving a fond little rustle of her hair. "You're a lot younger than I remember you being," he said gently, hand lingering in the long locks.

She frowned and huffed, poking him in the ribs. "And you're a heck of a lot taller."

He laughed jovially, bringing her in for a hug. Kagome squeezed her eyes shut, wrapping her arms around him and remembering all the times he'd been small enough to ride on her shoulder.

"Ah! Almost forgot this- it's for Mrs Higurashi." He exclaimed, pulling away to reach into his pocket, bringing out a crisp white envelope. Kagome accepted it, mildly perplexed. But the handwriting was instantly recognisable.

"Is this from him?"

Shippo nodded, "technically you're married. Pretty sure that's something to help out."

She wasn't entirely sure how to feel about that. Kagome weighed the paper in her hand, brow furrowing.

His lips quirked, reading her expression. "Grandpa's funeral took a toll on your money, just think of this as a gift."

"He didn't need to do that," she swallowed a lump in her throat. With a sudden gasp, her eyes widened. "Oh no! I haven't even told Mama about getting engaged- let alone married!" Her shoulders slumped. Daughter of the year.

Shippo burst into laughter, clapping her on the back. "I'll leave that in your capable hands. Speaking of, here's my number," he waved his hand- a leaf sliding from his sleeve and popping in a burst of smoke into a business card. Though the font looked a little unprofessional.

He grinned, "you've probably got tons more questions but the Boss won't let me say too much yet. Just keep searching for the items and things will fall into place, promise!~"

The kitsune stood, seemingly heedless of her silence. He slid his hands into his pockets and turned with a cheery expression. Kagome quickly stood, heart constricting painfully in her chest. "Can I…write to him? I'd like to ask how he's doing- or where the elixir is."

Shippo didn't react, but he did not turn to face her. Kagome's grip tightened on the envelope. "There must be a reason he doesn't want any contact with me."

The fox kit shifted to look at her, features illuminated by a nearby streetlight. He seemed far older then, hiding multitudes of secrets. Kagome couldn't remember a time he'd ever hidden something from her before.

"It's not what you think. He really doesn't want to mess up the timelines, but- it's also something else. I reckon he's got it in his head that you're not his yet. Not until the time jumps stop."

The miko bit her lip. "I don't really get it- if we worked together we could probably find the items much faster, but I won't push," she forced a smile.

Shippo's brows drew together, scratching his nose. "You probably will soon…" he glances at her hair, before starting as something brushes against his leg. Buyo meows, tail flicking. "Ah, hey there Kirara," he grinned, leaning down to pet the cat's head.

"Wait what?" Kagome choked. "You're kidding right?!"

He flashed sharp teeth at her, "hmm I wonder~" he winked.

Kagome stared, bewildered as he padded down the stone stairs with a spring in his step.

"Jerk," she mumbled fondly, unable to stop the gentle smile on her face while she watched him go. Leaning down, she picked up her cat. "Kirara?" She asked carefully.

Buyo blinked up at her, mouth opening- yawning widely. Rolling her eyes, Kagome carried the fluff ball inside.

After hesitantly passing the envelope over to her mother, she'd been on the receiving end of many questions. Apparently, Sesshoumaru had handed over a sizable check. Kagome had come clean but declined any offer to share the money.

"But he's your husband, sweetheart."

"I know Mama, but...I'd feel strange taking it from him like this. You use it."

Feeling despicable about not confiding in her mother earlier, Kagome had set out to try and do something nice to make up for it. Using her own money. So that was partly why she'd decided to wrestle her best friend out of his early signs of agoraphobia.

Inuyasha had been against the idea, but Kagome had dragged him out to the mall for a shopping spree. He couldn't keep running around in bare feet and robes all the time, and no- a cap was not enough to 'blend in.'

Shippo had helpfully offered a spell to turn his hair black, but the Hanyou had hated that idea even more.

Kagome dragged him from store to store, having to estimate his clothes size since he wouldn't let anyone come near him with a tape measure.

"I told ya, I don't like any of them!" Inuyasha glowered. His shadowed eyes remained stormy under the rim of his cap.

"Inuyasha, I know you've probably gone centuries in the same outfit but some co-operation here would be appreciated. Wearing this kind of stuff is necessary." She deadpanned, sorting through a clothing rack. Grabbing a dark jacket, she held it up to his chest, appraising him. "Fancy," she snickered.

"It looks dumb," he grumbled.

Kagome gestured to the folded t-shirt stand on their left. "Then how about these? See, this one is v-neck and this one is crew neck. Which one do you like better?"

He stared, utterly bewildered. Seeing no response forthcoming, Kagome forced a smile.

"A couple each then. I'll get you a regular shirt too," she picked them up, deciding not to be too experimental with colour since he glared at every yellow and green one as if they'd personally offended him. "I'm starting to think the only fashion that's going to appeal to you is the rebel kind," Kagome muttered under her breath, putting the clothing in her basket.

Inuyasha followed her along miserably as she gravitated toward the shoe aisle. He stopped dead the moment she started to peruse the sneakers, shooting him a hopeful look.

"No." He said firmly.

Kagome took a breath, turning to him and setting her hands on her hips. "Look," she said in a measured tone. "Do you see anyone else walking around in bare feet?"

"Feh, who cares?"

"I care!" She growled, leaning down and grabbing his ankle. Lifting it up with a yank, she sent him off balance.

"Kagome!" He barked, grabbing onto a display unit and making it shake precariously, sending some items flying. Other customers looked over in confusion.

"Aha! Just as I thought," Kagome nodded, inspecting the black soles of his feet. She gestured to them with exasperation. "This is a city. You can't just walk around as you normally would. See here, you're bleeding! Probably from that glass outside..." she sighed, brows drawing together. "You could step in chewing gum or who knows what else. We're getting shoes. It's not like we know how long you're staying in my time. This is good insurance in case-" she cut herself off. In case his stay was permanent.

Inuyasha tossed his head, "I still don't wanna. Shoes feel weird as hell."

Kagome grabbed a foot measuring scale and set it down. "Just stand on this, you don't have to try them on right now."

In fact, it's probably best you don't, Kagome thought, glancing at his dirty feet. Inuyasha huffed, ears flattening beneath his hat as he reluctantly placed one foot on the measuring scale. Kagome checked from heel to toe, humming and measuring the other.

"Okay! Good! Thanks," she grinned up at him. "See that wasn't so bad was it?"

Inuyasha's expression remained sour, grimly following her to the checkout. She grabbed some red sneakers in his size on the way, deciding he could try them at home...after washing. She'd keep the receipt just in case.

She winced when the total flashed up on the till screen, glancing at the amount of clothing she'd ended up buying for him. Inuyasha tilted his head, "what's that mean?"

"It's the price, but that's not important," she waved it off with a breezy laugh. Inuyasha blinked, brows furrowing. As they exited the store, Kagome released a breath. So buying men's boxers had been an experience. She wished Inuyasha had at least checked out a few of the clothes out of his own interest.

I wonder what modern Sesshoumaru wears. Probably a lot of white shirts. He'd look nice in a suit...

Kagome blushed a little at the thought. "Want something to eat?" She asked out of the blue as they padded up the street. Inuyasha glanced at a nearby food vendor.

"Oi. When did you start shitting money?"

"Excuse me?" She squeaked.

"Keh, you've been buyin' me stuff all day. I don't see how you got enough to pay for it. Your family ain't exactly rolling in it."

Kagome glanced away, "I'm just helping out a friend. Don't worry about it," she turned, only to feel a hand on her arm.

Slightly narrow gold eyes peered at her while a bushy brow raised. "What's going on with you?"

The miko stopped, biting her lip. "Let's...talk about it over food. You haven't eaten since breakfast," she mumbled.

They were sat at a table outside a quaint café soon enough. Inuyasha sniffed suspiciously at the food while Kagome fiddled with her hands. Summoning her courage, she looked up.

"Aren't you... Upset?"

"I mean, I ain't happy with it but all your food tastes weird to me."

"N-no, not that. I mean about Sango and Miroku."

Inuyasha tensed across from her, quickly taking a bite out of his foot long sandwich. "Don't wanna talk about it," he grumbled.

Kagome glanced away, fixing her attention on the busy crowds. "Okay."

He stopped and swallowed, guilt flashing over his face, "hah? Why aren't you angry?"

"Why would I be? I don't know how to help...Or even make you feel better about it. I guess... that's why I've been buying you so much," she confessed quietly. "I'm sorry."

Pausing, Inuyasha lowered his food, golden eyes shifting to the table. "It ain't somethin' you can fix, idiot."

"I know, just-" she took a breath. "I'm here if you want to talk."

It's not his style to just blurt his feelings but he considered them family. The village was his home…

"You're not alone," she mumbled. "Souta, Mama and I are still here."

His eyes widened, and Inuyasha took another bite of his food, uncomfortable. "Keh, except you might get pulled away by time every so often."

Kagome's heart dimmed and she glanced away, unable to protest that. Hearing her silence, the Hanyou noticed her quiet demeanour, claws twitching as his nostrils flared.

"H-hey, you know those socks you bought? The ones with the ninja food on them?"

"Hm? Yeah?"

"…I guess they weren't so bad," he shrugged, taking a bite of his food again. "Might wear them."

Kagome brightened, hiding a smile. She'd actually thought they were tacky at the time. "Thank you," she said gently.

"I told ya not to spend any more on me!"

Kagome shushed him, glancing around with paranoia as his booming voice echoed around the spacious room. "This is a museum, Inuyasha. You don't have to pay to get in, I was just giving a donation!" She whisper-hissed.

"Oh my, look at how high the ceilings are," Mama Higurashi smiled, apparently quite satisfied with just the look of the building and not the displays. "Souta, isn't this cool?"

Blaster noises sounded off from Souta's game console in reply.

"Guys, you didn't have to come with me," Kagome gave a weak smile.

"Nonsense, we want to support you. Besides I haven't been to a museum in a while," her mother beamed, pausing to coo at a stuffed lion on display. "Grandpa would have enjoyed it here."

Kagome gave a smile tinged with nostalgia, "yeah. He would have." She somewhat wished they could have just a normal outing together instead of her having an alternative motive for being there. At least Mama didn't seem to mind.

As they wandered around inside the large, ornate building, drifting from room to room, Inuyasha kept tugging at his red sweater, scuffing his sneakers on the marble floor.

"Inuyasha," Kagome nagged quietly, gritting her teeth.

"They feel weird!" He snarled back, voice sounding too loud in the quiet space.

"Yeah but you look super cool," Souta gave him a thumbs up, pausing his game. The younger boy grinned, tugging at Inuyasha's sleeve. "Hey, let's go look at the dinosaurs!"

The Hanyou blinked, "what's a…dino-saur?"

He was soon dragged away into the next exhibit, Kagome grinning after them. Mrs Higurashi ventured into the arts section to peruse the paintings.

With no one to accompany her, Kagome found herself free to wander, naturally gravitating to the old Japanese exhibit. With hope in her heart, she stuck like glue to the Sengoku period.

It was definitely a long shot that anything would be there that she could use to time travel. But after searching for a few weeks in corner shops and antique stores dotted all over Tokyo and coming up with nothing, Kagome had decided to try since Shippo remained frustratingly vague.

Blue eyes scanned over the wears, looking closely at the beautiful kimonos, tea sets, vases- the intricate scrolls and kamon crests. Weathered, tattered armour stood on display next to swords and various weapons from battles long since passed.

Kagome hesitated. A shoji screen stood behind a glass wall. Her heart quickened, blood racing through her veins. She didn't exactly understand how the time travel thing worked, but now she felt almost certain. The items must be calling to her in some way.

"It's too much of a coincidence," she murmured, staring at the white inuyoukais printed across the screen. Her fingers itched to touch.

Stepping closer to the glass, she glanced around. Great, now what? Do I smash it?

She squinted, catching sight of something at the top right-hand corner. It bruised the screen with a dark mark, as though the corner had been singed. Had there been a fire at the Western Stronghold? Fear and worry slammed into her chest, thinning her breath.

Was Sesshoumaru hurt? Just a minor fire? O-or something worse?

Kagome jumped when a loud noise pierced her hearing. The fire alarm blared loudly, filling up the rooms of the museum. She lifted her head when the sprinklers came on, dousing her in a light shower. Vague concern skittered through her. She wanted to know what the hell had happened of course, but…

Glancing at the shoji screen, Kagome's lips thinned. She probably wouldn't get this opportunity again. Slamming her foot into the display glass, Kagome grunted, drawing away. Of course it didn't budge. What was I expecting?

Looking around desperately, her gaze landed on a red axe. It was held in a container, meant to be used in the event of a fire.

"I don't see any flames, but it'll do!" Kagome breathed, feeling her hair get thoroughly soaked as she dashed across the room. Breaking the thinner glass container with her fist, she grabbed the axe, pulling it free from the brackets and hesitantly shaking the shards away. Hurrying over to the shoji screen once more, Kagome lifted the handle up.

Holding her breath- she slammed the axe down. A crack appeared in the glass. Kagome grunted, trying again. She'd become soaked by the downpour by now but the miko didn't stop- bringing the axe down one more time. The impact sent the glass flying as it caved in. Shards spilled everywhere.

Kagome could hear voices approaching from the hallway. Desperately reaching forward- she discarded the axe and placed her palms down on the screen. The inuyoukai seemed to ripple and dance beneath her fingers. Solid material gave way to water.

Kagome dipped forward, falling through the screen. The waters swallowed her whole, until the blaring room was left empty.

Steam curled from the large tub that had been placed in the centre of the room. Sesshoumaru sat behind his shoji screen at his low desk, pouring over various scrolls. He'd been working nonstop for who knew how long, double checking battle plans and negotiations for alliances- scrapping the few that wouldn't comply with his demands.

He'd been heedless of the servants as they'd prepared a bath for him despite the hot-springs readily available on the property. Sesshoumaru simply wasn't interested in relaxing. Bathing in the tub meant he could wash and organise at the same time. Much more convenient. Unfolding his legs, the demon rose, sighing as he ran a clawed hand through his hair. His muscles cried out- stiff from remaining in one position for so long.

Loosening his obi, Sesshoumaru stilled when a loud splash caught his attention. Water sloshed over the side of his tub, spilling onto his immaculate wooden floor. Narrow golden eyes swung to the silhouette that had appeared behind the screen. Sharp claws lengthened, and his lips tilted up- quite pleased at the prospect of killing the intruder- before his muscles locked.

"Did I make it?" A woman coughed, her voice achingly familiar.

His heart quickened. Suddenly everything zeroed in on the new presence.

Sesshoumaru padded to the edge of the screen with measured steps, folding it back with treacle immediacy to reveal the miko that had haunted his dreams.

She rubbed the moisture from her eyes, her soaked hair further obscuring her eyes. Dark strands clung to her cheeks, full mouth slightly parted.

He couldn't help but reach out- nails skimming her forehead while he lifted her bangs aside, brushing them away. Kagome blinked owlishly up at him as she slowly gave a warm smile, her relief palpable.

"Hi."

Sesshoumaru stared, drinking in her image. He knelt beside the tub. Sliding a hand into her hair, his breath caught.

"You're back."

His mate nodded, touching his striped wrist. She gently brushed her thumb over the magenta markings. "I'm back."

Firm lips crashed to hers a moment later. The touch of her mouth scattered battle plans, strategies and army tactics to the wind, and if only for a moment, Sesshoumaru lost himself completely in her.

Curiously however, the water stirred. It then lurched up with a loud thrash as a figure broke the surface. Droplets spilled into the air as Kagome screamed in surprise.

"Ach! W-what the fuck, Kagome! Where the hell are we?"

And that was how Sesshoumaru almost succeeded in killing his half brother.

[my-insanity-is-an-artform]

Time Travel Fix-It, Star Trekish, Time Travel, and Winnie the Pooh?

Time Travel Fix-It:

This one was one of my first Fix-It fics where a descendant of Anakin travels back in time to fix it. Medeia hasn’t really developed much as my other Skywalker OC’s but she is unique in the fact she’s the only one who time-travelled alone and went back the furthest to the TPM era, freed Anakin and Shmi and basically steamrolled over any of the council’s objections. It’s pretty indulgent.

Excerpt:

“Match my breathing like I taught you, Anakin. In through the nose. Quietly out through the mouth. Focus on what you can feel through the Force. Let the sensation of everything physical around you fade away. Like the wind over the desert, be like the bedrock beneath. Quiet and stable, unaffected by the wind above. Very good. Keep going.”

Anakin’s bright presence in the Force slowly became less energetic with each minute. It still glowed brightly and rippled with Emotion and Self and Power. His presence reached out a few times, slipping over his mother and Qui-Gon as if to reassure himself they were still there. He reached further out and found Padmè, gently nudging against her for a moment. He sent a trail out and entwined himself around Medeia’s presence, adding another layer to their bond.

Medeia was still Eye-Of-The-Storm-Calm but he noticed something else about her. Light and Dark twirling inside her in near perfect harmony. Neither ever overwhelmed the other. There was no internal struggle. They just mixed and unmixed and mixed again to create a soft glow of Grey in the Force.

Obi-wan nearly jolted when Anakin’s bright presence turned to him. At first it was a nudge which turned into curious gentle prodding.

“Easy, Ani.” Medeia murmured from far away even as her own presence curled around Anakin’s to guide him away from Obi-Wan.

He would never know why he did what he did but it felt right to reach out and brush his own presence against both in acceptance.

Medeia’s presence brushed against his for a moment then released Anakin’s who immediately curled against Obi-Wan’s like a small tooka kit seeking warmth from its mother.

Obi-Wan reached out to Medeia’s presence who followed sedately like a gentle shower of rain and rested against both presences.

The Force seemed to rise in Light at the occurrence and became clearer than it had been before. The Universe seemed to sing and for one moment, Obi-Wan felt complete and utter peace.

They stayed like that for what seemed like eternity. Obi-Wan’s gentle sunshine Light resting against Medeia’s calm-before-the-storm Grey as Anakin’s Supernova brushed around them, occasionally prodding at them and being tugged back gently by Medeia before he went too far.

Star Trekish:

This idea came around when I was watching some Star Trek and figured that what if the galaxy eventually evolved into a Star Trekish culture rather than the pit of corruption primed for an angry white man to take over every other half a century. So Four ships from that kind of era time travel back (I like my time travel fics) to the Clone Wars and revolutionise the galaxy mostly by accident. I also have another Skywalker who is the Captain of one of the ships. (Mostly so I could make Captain Rex and Captain Skywalker jokes.)

Time Travel:

Oooooh, this one! This one was inspired by Chapter 62 of No Love is Greater than that of a Father For His Son by Geekygirl24. I’ll try not to spoil it but my idea was what if they didn’t go back? I had a great time chatting about it on the Ani5 Discord and it basically evolved into Anakin gets all the love and care he needs and winds up married to like the entire 501st again. (He seems to do that a lot in a few of my au’s)

Excerpt (does contain a few spoilers)

“When my mother died in my arms, the people who did it were damn lucky I was nowhere near them and that Padme had the foresight to stun me. It was only thanks to the fact I had the Master-Padawan bond with Obi-Wan,” here the younger version of his master startled and flickered wide eyes between him and the younger version “that stopped me from going completely darkside. Even then it’s left its mark on me. I have mental scarring. Scarring I will never recover from. The healers thought it was a miracle I’m still functioning!”

“Anakin?” The quiet voice of Obi-Wan piped up and Anakin took a deep breath before facing his master who looked devastated. He’d never told him what the healers had found in the aftermath of Geonosis. It had been hard enough speaking about how he’d felt his mother die and to feel the healer’s horror at missing something so integral to his health.

The distance and time that had been put between Anakin and his mother had done it damage even before she had died. It explained a lot apparently.

“It’s not your fault. You never knew. No one did, not even the Healers figured out I need Force bonds to remain healthy.”

“But, if we’d just…”

Winnie The Pooh:

Oh, this au is like my baby! It’s just crack. I’d just seen Christopher Robin (10/10 would recommend) and my thought was what if Anakin made friends with Pooh when he was younger? It kind of exploded and became Shmi Lives (and makes friends with Kanga after moving into the Hundred Acre Woods), Eeyore’s tail is the reason Sidious is revealed and Pooh wins 4 arguments against Yoda’s Line about Attachments.

Winnie the Pooh, accidental Social Revolutionist, is also a thing in this au.

The Tree to access the Hundred Acre Woods somehow relocates from England to Tatooine (sshhh just go with it) to the Room of a Thousand Fountains.

 Anakin is doing so much better since Pooh is amazing and it’s very hard to be angry at him or about things when Pooh phrases it differently and basically forces you to talk it through. He and the 501st also do the morning exercise routine with Pooh. (The mental image is hilarious since it’s basically Space Yoga with Pooh leading.) The Tigger song is a staple. 

Mace Windu is conned into fighting off Heffalumps and Roo decides Commander Wolffe is the coolest thing in existence. Commander Wolffe has no idea what to think about this. (Plo thinks it’s hilarious)

Just pure mayhem and fluff. No angst allowed.

Excerpt from the Discord Discussion I had

Me: On yet another note, Kanga. Kanga has SO much stuff in her pouch. Kanga managed to outfit all of the 212th Attack Battalion with scarves. 

Kanga once kicked a droid through a wall.

The clones are in AWE of Kanga.

The clones take after Tigger and start referring to her as Mrs Kanga, ma'am.

Shmi is referred to as Ms Skywalker, ma'am.

You do not cross either mom since they will mom you into submission or you get glared at by at least 20+ clones and a jedi knight.

Obi-Wan is mom'ed into submission 

The council would argue against Shmi’s presence but that would mean loosing access to Kanga and Shmi’s cookie recipe.

@serenityharkness​ : Akemi will lead a Youngling and Healer REVOLT before she allows access to the cookie recipe to be lost.

Me:

Adi Gailla would revolt before allowing the cookie access to be lost. It’s the only thing that gets her through some of those meetings.

Yoda has lost all control over the Order ever since he lost the argument about attachments with Pooh. (Several people are honestly wondering HOW but that is a thing that happened.)

@lylilunapotter​:Everything, EVERYTHING, about this is precious and amazing and I love it. What kind of cookies are they?

Me:Depends on the person. Some are choc chip, others are oatmeal, a really popular one is kelp.

Kit Fisto would go to war for those kelp cookies

Kit Fisto would take on the entire Separatist Confederacy, shirtless and with one hand tied behind his back

Lylilunapotter:Kit, you are so completely valid

Me:Anakin isn’t sure if Fisto is trying to woo his mom or just get more cookies. Shmi finds this hilarious

Lylilunapotter:Anakin’s just praying it’s the latter. He likes Kit just fine, but as a father-in-law?!

Me:Neither of them will tell him which is the case. Kanga just takes pity and plies him with hot coco and bisuits. She also pats his hair

Ask me about my Star Wars WIP from this list or any of the other fandoms I have!