#but then again the fact hes being offered a treat out of the blue might be suspicious and require some finesse

[good-beanswrites]

I have questions about that last fic. How did the prisoners alter their uniforms, and what were the consequences? What did they throw at Es? What did they trick Fuuta into eating and how? How did they try to catch Jackalope?

LMAO murder aside these ten know how to cause problems on purpose 😭 Hehe thank you for your curiosity, I genuinely had visualized some specifics for these while writing >:3 So --

Mahiru started sewing patches and ribbons and things onto her uniform dress. She got very bold very quickly, though, completely replacing whole sections with colorful fabric (like swapping out the entire skirt/bodice/sleeves) so it was pretty obvious. Es replaced all her uniforms with the standard ones and limited her requests to only small amounts of fabric at a time. (Who’s to say she isn’t secreting these away to patch together later, though…)

I was influenced by seeing two “what are the limits of Milgram’s no-violence policy, really” posts very recently. I think if the object could cause absolutely no harm, it’s possible to hit Es with it. I’m thinking basic crumpled paper or even a lightweight food -- something harmless but very sticky and gets in their hair… either way Es is Not Pleased. I feel like this could have been anyone except Haruka and Mahiru, as even the more "mature" prisoners would just be curious about what would happen.

My original thought was cake, but now that I’m fact checking I see that it grows mold pretty quickly… So maybe pudding: the eggs and milk spoil a bit before you see actual mold. Whoever has decided to be a menace (my guess is Yuno or Mikoto) puts up a whole farce about food preferences and whether or not they can identify specific flavors in this special dessert Jackalope secreted away, and unfortunately Fuuta is a hungry boy and it’s not very difficult to get him to take a big bite 😔

Jackalope lounges around the prison, chilling with the prisoners and taking naps in whatever place he finds comfortable. They try sneaking up to where he’s settled in, distracting him with treats and gentle words to see how long they can keep him in place as they give him gradually more noticeable pets. Muu has coaxed him into enough peace to take off his hat and pet his head, but no one’s managed to give him little scritches before he tries to regain his dignity and scurries away. Little do they know, he forces Es to scratch, pet, brush, and cuddle him every single night under the pretense of their official duties.

[ellecdc]

Would you be willing write a Remus fic about that super blue moon that is supposed to be happening?? like maybe it’s so so bad for him and he takes it all out on reader and she’s really sensitive and you can go from there lol

that’d be great love but it’s okay if not, thanks!! <3

thanks for the request! decided to make this with our Black!sister reader since we've been having fun with her <3

Remus Lupin x Black!reader who he takes out his Super Blue Moon frustrations on [1.6k words]

CW: Remus was being mean/rude to reader but we don't really see the angst... just the consequences of the angst, hurt/comfort, big brother Sirius having absolutely NONE of the nonsense!

“Hey moons, have you seen my sister around lately?” Sirius asked nonchalantly as he entered their shared dorm room; noticing immediately the tension in Remus’ shoulders as he positioned his body away from the door. 

“How should I know?” Remus muttered darkly. “I’m not her keeper.”

And though Sirius had tried to be cool when he first realised his baby sister and best friend had less than platonic feelings for each other and vowed to stay out of their relationship, there were unfortunately some things that Sirius couldn’t let slide.

“Did she eat all of your chocolate?” He asked calmly, causing Remus to roll his shoulders in an attempt to pacify himself. 

“No?”

“M’kay.” Sirius agreed as he put his school books in his trunk. “Did she throw your books into the Black lake?” 

“Sirius.” Remus hissed warningly.

“Did she tell Snape to sneak out after curfew to the Whomping Willow one night so that he would come face to face with Moony, only for James to have to fight you off of him as Snape ran for his life? Oh, wait, that was me.”

“Fuck off, Sirius.”

“No thanks.” Sirius huffed as he closed his trunk with a thud. “Well, if she hasn’t done any of those things, why are you treating her like such an arse?” 

“I’m not treating her like anything, Pads. Stay out of it.” Remus nearly growled as he stood abruptly from his desk and moved towards his bed. 

“Shan’t.” Sirius refused, following his friend across the room. “You chose to date my sister, you have to deal with the consequences.” 

“Great bloody choice I made.” Remus muttered petulantly, yelping when a book hit him in the head.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He hissed as he looked at Sirius who was staring him down defiantly. 

“If you know what’s good for you, Rem, you will never speak about my sister like that again, got it?” 

Remus seemed to relent as he laid back on his bed and pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to bring his boiling anger down to a simmer. 

“I’m the first to admit that Black’s are not often a good bunch, but if a Black could be perfect, she’s about as close as they would come. And I don’t like seeing her this terrified.”

Remus sat up at that, narrowing his eyes at his friend in confusion. “She’s not terrified of me.”

Sirius shrugged in disagreement. “She tenses every time you walk into the Great Hall and can’t seem to make eye contact with you, which usually only happens after a crucio or two from mummy dearest.”

Sirius watched the fight leave Remus almost immediately as he looked down at his lap in shame. “She’s…sensitive, Rem. We all are, we-” Sirius cut himself off as he stared unseeingly at the stone wall behind his mates head. “We can’t handle these kinds of moods as well as some other people can; tension and anger always led to pain and punishment growing up.”

“It’s not her, Pads.” Remus whispered. 

“I know it���s not. Somewhere deep down she might know that too but…”

“I know.” Remus offered, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “It’s this…this fucking moon, I- it’s driving me barmy.” 

“I understand that, but you can’t take it out on her; it’s not her fault.” Sirius offered gently before retreating from the dorm to allow his friend to digest what he said; he may not like the fact that his best friend and sister found their way to each other, but he also knew that both of you deserved to be happy. If he could help you both achieve that by being supportive, well, supportive he would be. 

。.。:+* ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:。.。:+* ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:。.。.。:+*ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:。.。:+*ﾟ

Remus felt shame course through his body as he walked through the library in search of you. 

Between his senses being heightened this close to the moon, the additional magic at play with the super blue moon, and the fact that he knew you were a creature of habit and had a table you often frequented, it didn’t take him long to find you. 

“Mind if I join you?” He asked quietly, feeling his heart crack painfully when you did, indeed, flinch at the sound of his voice and sat impossibly straighter in your chair.

“Okay.” You whispered in response, not looking away from your book as he moved to sit across the table from you, though he could tell you were no longer reading as your eyes remained glued to one spot. 

“I’m sorry that I’ve been such an arse, Dove.”

“It’s okay.” You said quickly, still not looking at him.

“No it’s not.” He argued softly.

He watched your jaw tighten as you repositioned yourself in your chair in obvious discomfort. 

“It’s this moon.” You explained breezily. 

“Which isn’t your fault, and I shouldn’t be taking it out on you- dove, can you look at me? Please?” 

He watched your throat constrict as you stole yourself and brought your eyes up to his. They were glossy, but not like you were about to cry - glossy like you were hiding, like you were occluding. 

He hated it; hated that you were hiding from him, hated that you felt like you had to hide from him, hated that he made you feel like you had to hide from him, hated that you even knew how to hide inside your own mind at all. 

“Dovey, look at me.” He repeated gently in hopes that you’d let the walls down, daring to reach a hand across the table in invitation. 

He watched as your eyes flit to his hand and back up again and he tried to keep his face neutral; no pressure or force as he let you decide if you were willing to trust him. 

You placed your hand in his, but kept your gaze pointed at your joined hands. 

“I know better than to let my moods affect you, sweetheart. I’m sorry.” He pressed sincerely.

You scoffed and moved your gaze to one of the rafters above you. “I’m not some delicate flower you need to tiptoe around, Remus; I can handle a bad mood.” You shot back defensively. 

“I know…” He whispered as he rubbed circles on the back of your hand with his thumb.

He knew you weren’t a delicate flower; on the contrary, you were one of the strongest people he’d ever met. 

You gave the entire Hufflepuff house a run for their money on who was the most loyal wix in the castle. You always looked out for your brothers, constantly playing referee, devils advocate, and a surrogate parent for the two young Black boys. You grew up making sure Sirius never acted too outlandishly or brought too much trouble onto himself, making sure Regulus wasn’t completely beaten down into nothing and grew up to be a semi-decent boy, and taking the blame when you were unable to do either of those things. 

And to top it all off, you put up with him; a foul-mouthed, poor, Welsh, anger-issue riddled boy who didn’t deserve you. 

“Baby, look at me, please.” He begged, reaching forward with his other hand so he was holding your one in between both of his.

You turned your gaze to him and it seemed to be taking everything in your power to hold his gaze.

“I’m so sorry, my love.” He whispered, bringing your hand to his lips to press a kiss to your fingers.

Your eyes tracked the movement before flitting back up to his.

You offered him a curt nod and chewed on your bottom lip. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” You whispered, eyes turning glossy for a whole new reason.

Remus made a pitiful sound from the back of his throat and stood to move to the chair beside you, never relinquishing his grasp on your hand. 

“You didn’t upset me, dove, I was just upset. And an arse; don’t forget the part about me being an arse.”

You offered him a wet chuckle at that as you sniffed, returning his hold of your hand and giving it a squeeze. 

“I hate not being able to…help, to take any of the burden off of you, to make it at all less painful for you.”

“You do, sweetheart, you do. By being here, and being with me, and being patient even when I’m an arse, okay?” He insisted, punctuating each reason he was grateful for you with a squeeze of your hand. “I don’t deserve it but I’m so lucky to have you.”

“You do deserve it.” You murmured, bringing your eyes back up to his.

And he couldn’t help himself, really; he had always been powerless against the pull you had on him and this time was no different as he closed the distance between the two of you to press a lingering kiss to your lips. 

“The point of all this,” Remus said as he broke away from you and bumped your nose with his, “is that you didn’t deserve to be treated the way that I treated you this week, and I won’t let it happen again, okay?”

You gave him a sad smile and gave his nose a bump in return.

“How mad was Sirius?”

“Fuming.” Remus admitted immediately.

“Did he throw a pillow at you?”

“A book.” He corrected solemnly, earning him an astonished look from you. 

“Oh…you crossed a line.”

Remus nodded abashedly. “Honestly? I think it might be harder to get him to forgive me than it was to get you to forgive me.”

Remus relished in the surprised laugh that bubbled out of you at that, and he vowed to never ever let another moon cause him to go this long without hearing it again.

[pinkmelodie]

Hopeless Romantic! König <3

Summary: Hopeless Romantic König who meets you at a park and finds love at first sight to be true. You two enjoy a cute date until he takes you home and gives you one last treat ;)

Words: 2342

Warnings: 18+, overstim, König eats F!Reader out, fingering, fluff to smut, praise, cute romance, squirting, certified munch König !!

He feels like an idiot standing there in the scenic park, awkwardly holding a bouquet of fresh pink roses. He’d picked them out specially for her, and took the time to sprinkle glitter onto the beautiful petals, but it was all for nothing. All his effort went to waste as the poor guy got stood up.

Wallowing in his own shame, he barely noticed someone yelling in the distance until it got closer. He finally snapped out of his trance to see a dog running straight at him. He bent down and stopped the panting golden retriever, caught off guard but smiling and petting it.

“Rover! Oh thank gosh…” He thought it might be the angels themselves speaking when he heard that voice, but he looked up to see nothing but a beautiful woman with a relieved expression. Looking at her closely, he figured perhaps he was looking at an angel.

“Thank you for stopping him, he just runs straight off whenever I let him off leash.” You apologized breathlessly.

König smiled, and found himself forgetting the failed date entirely as he got lost in your eyes. “It’s not a problem, he’s quite adorable.” He responded, and he noticed your eyes widen the tiniest bit at his unfamiliar accent.

“C’mere Rovey,” You cooed, and König’s heart pounded in his chest. The dog trotted straight into your arms and sat still while you hooked the leash back onto his collar. Gosh, what König would give for your sweet voice to be directed onto him like that. 

König stood up and you followed suit after making sure your pooch’s collar was secure, and he didn’t miss the way your jaw dropped when you noticed his towering height. Seriously, what are they feeding this man??

You blushed and suddenly felt shy in the presence of this not only polite but incredibly tall man. He was handsome too, with alluring blue eyes that stared at you with such intensity you had to look away. 

Only then did you notice the fallen bouquet.

“Oh! Is this yours? I’m so sorry, did Rover knock it out of your hands-“ you apologized profusely and picked the shimmering bouquet up, handing it back to him. He didn’t give a flying fuck about the fact it fell on the ground tho, he didn’t even notice since he’d been so focused on staring at you.

He shook his head and didn’t bother taking it out of your hands. “No no, no worries. I uhm…I don’t even need it anymore anyways, my date didn’t show up.” He admited with a sigh.

He regretted telling you the moment your expression turned upset. “That’s horrible, I’m sorry.” You muttered sadly, and he felt the desperate need to make you smile again.  “Well this is beautifully made, too bad I couldn’t have been your date.” You joked, trying to lighten the mood but being completely honest.

He stared down at you and blushed as well, “You don’t mean that.” He denied.

“but I do! I would give anything for someone to put this much effort into something just for me.” You admitted, smiling up at him and giggling until you noticed his expression seemed serious.

“Anyone who hasn’t already is a mad man.” He said with a genuine smile, and took the bouquet out of your hands only to offer it back to you. “Little—Rover, was it?—seems to want to explore the park. So, why don’t we all go for a stroll Ja? Rover, me, and…..” He trailed off, so you told him your name.

“And you are?”

“König.” He announced, his addicting accent shining through when he said it.

“Well König…..I don’t see why not.” You accepted his offer and the flowers with a gentle smile that he found himself wanting to see for the rest of his life.

His awful day just got a whole lot better. 

You both spent the day walking around the lovely park, with you having to take twice as many steps just to catch up, which only proved to make him cackle. You admired the ponds and threw sticks for Rover, trusting that König and his long legs could catch up to the hound if he ran too far. He told you about how Austrians typically love to walk everywhere, and you followed up with about a hundred questions about his home country. You even got ice cream, which gave König all types of thoughts when he watched you wipe off the dripping white cream from your lips. He assumed you didn’t notice his stare and flushed cheeks, but you definitely did. Not so much of a gentleman now, hm?

Finally, when it was dark and the park became quiet you both decided to head home. When exchanging numbers you mentioned how you had to walk back to your house since you walked here with your pup earlier in the day for exercise, and König was not having any of that.

“Nein, it’s much too dangerous at night.” he shook his head, leaving no room for argument. “I will give you and your golden a ride home, it’s not a problem.” 

“Really König, it’s okay. I don’t want Rovers hair getting all over your seats.” You whined.

“And I don’t want you getting kidnapped off the side of the street Maus, which sounds worse to you?” He asked, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.

You tried to argue but came up with nothing and sighed in defeat. “Fine, I’ll let you be annoyingly nice….” You pouted, and he laughed while opening the door for Rover to jump in the back—probably a sign you need a more protective dog if he didn’t even hesitate going in somewhere unfamiliar—and the passenger door for you. 

You gave him directions like his own little passenger princess, looking tiny in the truck that must’ve been specially made to fit someone as giant as him. You dreaded the moment when he pulled into your driveway meaning you two had to part. You’d only met him a few hours ago, yet it felt like you’ve known him for years.

“Have a good night, liebling.” He got out to help you let Rover out and walk you to your door, but before he could turn around to head back to his truck you stopped him. “Actually, would you like to come in?” You offered, setting down the flowers on your counter and smiling suggestively.

He turned beet red like he did at the ice cream stand, but nodded quickly. You giggled and grabbed his hand to drag him inside, pressing your lips together as soon as the front door was closed and Rover was sleeping further away in the middle of the kitchen floor. (Don’t get nasty infront of your pets guys!! They can get scarred for life too ok 😣)

“Jump.” He ordered, and you did as he said and leaped into the air. He caught you with ease, hands grabbing onto the back of your thighs and squeezing the soft flesh. 

He stumbled around for a moment, overly  caught up in your make out session but eventually finding your bedroom. He dropped you flat on your back on the bed, kissing at your neck and seeing which spots got the biggest reactions out of you to start sucking hickeys into.

You moaned and writhed, begging him to do something, and like the gentleman he is, he decided to help you out and tugged down your bottoms, rubbing circles onto your clit through your panties. 

He grabbed your ankles and tugged you to the edge of the bed, spreading your legs wide for him to fit his broad shoulders between. He bit and sucked deep purple marks into your sensitive thighs, watching them writhe in his grasp. 

“König- fuck, please!” You begged, tho you weren’t even completely sure what you were begging for.

“What is it Maus? Tell me what you need.” He asked while pressing kisses up your thigh, leaving love-bites dangerously close to where you needed his mouth most.

“Want…..want your mouth on me. Or your fingers or- ngh! Anything please König- please!” You cried out, already begging pathetically for his touch.

With a devilish smirk he finally tugged down your panties. You clenched around nothing at the cold air and the look of admiration in his eyes as he stared down your cunt. 

“Such a pretty pussy….” he mumbled, “all this just for me sweetheart?” He asked, gathering your slick on his fingers. 

You turned your neck and buried your face in your pillow in embarrassment but he just reached up to grab your chin and turned you to look at him. “Eyes on me.” 

Finally satisfied with your pretty eyes gazing down at him, König delved into your cunt, gripping your thighs and shoving you impossibly closer like he wanted to devour you whole.

Your moans and choked out whines served as fuel for him while he ate you out like a man starved, his big hooked nose bumping into your clit making you shake and arch your back off the soft sheets.  

He dives his tongue into your entrance to fully taste you, and the satisfied hum he releases vibrates in your core and leaves you a leaking, panting mess as he licks you up like your the last bit of water on the Sahara ground.

 He licks a stripe up your pussy until he gets to your clit and starts sucking on it. He’s shameless to the sloppy wet sounds he’s making while he rolls the engorged bud on his tongue and prods a thick finger at your hole. You squirm at how big just the one is—about the size of at least two of yours, maybe more—but you welcome it in with a loud moan of his name. You were already dangerously close by the time he had his mouth on you, but the feeling of just one of his thick fingers slamming into you while he starts to tease another in has you crying out to the stars and cumming all over his hand. 

“That’s it schatz….just like that, mein gott you look so gorgeous when you’re cumming, Ich möchte für immer zwischen deinen Schenkeln bleiben.” He praised you, still pumping his two fingers into your clenching cunt to ride out your high for as long as possible. 

He pulls his fingers out and licks them clean, leaning down to lick up any of your arousal that spilled onto your thighs. When you finally opened your eyes you noticed him staring at you darkly, and the expression made heat pool in your gut.

“W-what?” You asked, half nervous-half turned on. You went to close your legs but he gripped your marked up thighs and laid your legs over his shoulders to have even better access to your soaked cunny.

“Oh we’re not even close to done prinzessin.” He announced with a smirk before sinking three fingers straight back into your pussy, fully intent on making you squirt for him.

You gasped and nearly choked on your words, “wha-y hah-“ you moaned and twitched in overstimulation until he slowed. 

“Tell me to stop.” It was a question; not an order.

Tears leaked down your flushed cheeks but you gasped out; “keep going” and he smiled, the whole bottom half of his face dripping. He wasted no time diving straight back in, inhaling your scent. “Mit Vergnügen, mein bedürftiges kleines Häschen.” He mumbled into your clit, not even bothering to speak English anymore as he knew your fucked out brain could barely comprehend anything. Four of his large digits split you open, grinding and prodding farther into you than you could ever reach on your own. Without much time he found that sensitive bundle of nerves, and you didn’t fail to let him know when you cried out and scratched at your sheets, chanting his name like a mantra.

“König- ah- KönigKönigKönigKönigpleasefuck- pleasepleaseKönig plea- hah . .!..” You moaned, fisting the sheets desperately.

He relentlessly abused that spot, slamming his fingers into you over and over and teasing your folds with the other hand. He messily sucked on your clit, circling it with his tongue like a lollipop, using every part of himself for your pleasure.

“Come on my gorgeous liebling, mein diamant, mein perfekter Schatz, come for me. Squirt all over my fingers.” He begged, voice whiny and muffled into your pussy while he continued his relentless assault on your puffy cunt. 

“Kö….gonna- fuck m’gonna-“ You managed to stutter out  the warning between moans.

“Go on hase, let go. I’ve got you, go ahead.” He encouraged, ravishing your sweet cunny until you were squirting all over his face with a choked out scream, whole body trembling. You were stuck between running away from the burning pleasure and shoving yourself closer, but luckily you didn’t have to decide as he had you pinned down, groaning into your pussy.

Your vision went blank for a few moments, but you came back when you felt him still lapping lazily at your folds until you were whining and shoving him away. He pouted but stood up to fall onto the bed beside you, pulling your spent body into him and engulfing you like you were a teddy bear.

You giggled and pressed a kiss onto his glistening lips, tasting yourself on them. “Not to sound like a jerk or anything, but I’m glad you got stood up.” You joked.

“Mm, I agree. That was the best, most unplanned date I’ve ever been on.” He bantered back with a cheeky grin. 

You rolled your eyes, but then smiled sincerely. “Yeah, it was. I’m really glad I met you Kö.”

His pupils dilated adorably, like a kid seeing a candy store for the first time. “Me too, schatz.”

The two of you drifted off into a peaceful sleep, but not before you muttered, 

“By the way, that other girl is missing out. You eat pussy like a champ.” 

“You could call me a certified munch.” He bounced back, and your jaw dropped.

. . . Translations:

౨ৎ Ja = Yes, Nein = No

♡ Maus = Mouse 

౨ৎ Liebling = Darling

♡ Schatz = Treasure

౨ৎ Mein gott = My gosh

♡ Ich möchte für immer zwischen deinen Schenkeln bleiben = I want to stay between your thighs forever (goals 😋)

౨ৎ Prinzessin = Princess 

♡ Mit Vergnügen, mein bedürftiges kleines Häschen = With pleasure, bunny

౨ৎ Mein diamant = My diamond

♡ Mein perfekter schatz = My perfect treasure 

౨ৎ Hase = Bunny 

Quick tip: Depending on what device you use, If you highlight the text there should be an option to quickly translate! It’s a lot easier than having to go to Google/Safari/etc to search it up :))

Thank you so much for reading !! It’s 3:00 in the morning rn so I apologize if it’s not very well written :C :C

This is just a sweet little thing to prepare you guys for the FILTHY blurb coming soon 😇😇 get ready!!

[mwahmimi]

you could write a one shot where the reader (who is part of the bau) always acquits or does what Spencer says, letting him talk for hours and Do you also write down facts that you find interesting? I think that's a very nice thing. (also if there is some smut afterwards I don't complain somehow).

p.s. I love your stories<3

Pretty as a vine, sweet as a grape🍇

(Hi! I’m sorry I know I don’t usually add comments onto my fics anymore but I just needed to say that I loved writing this. This concept was so fun to write and I’m quite happy with how it came out.)

“How is everything you say somehow so profound but yet so socially inept?” You chuckle, shaking your head through your laughter as you look up at him. Spencer laughs along with you sarcastically, an unamused fake grin painted on his face. He takes a step closer to you, lifting the umbrella over your head, protecting you from the unforgiving Quantico rain. Spencer leads you forward, guiding you with his hand on your lower back as he rubs his palm against your damp jacket. “Back to my place?” You speak, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “We’ll get sick if we’re out in the rain too long Spence.” Accepting your offer he links his arm around yours and you begin to walk down the street together. “Sickness is not directly caused by rain, but being outside in rainy conditions could increase your exposure to airborne viruses that might be present.” Spencer explains in his trademark, matter of fact tone. Giggling, as you fiddle with your keys, searching for the right one to unlock your apartment door. He sneaks them out of your hand, inspecting the lock on your door and the keys in hand, picks out the correct key and unlocks the door with a timid smile. “Clean towels in the bathroom if you want to dry yourself off.” You recommend him the blue one, it’s new and fluffy and completely unused, knowing he’s more likely to feel comfortable with the knowledge that it’s new. You want him to feel nothing less than comfortable. Spencer nods his head and makes his way to the bathroom. At the loss of his presence you reach into your bag, pulling out your notebook and pen. Scribbling down some nonsense as a scrappy, badly written diary entry as quickly as you can. Your journals were the one thing that held every detail of your life, not even your social media pages held that much information on you. You dot your i’s and cross your t’s, swiftly closing the book and burrowing it inside your handbag again.

A few days pass and you’re not feeling up to scratch. With the pharmacy not filling your prescription, mixed with the depths of your unrelenting depressing you’re struggling to keep your head above water. The files of paperwork stack up higher than they should on your desk, coffee rings stain the wood on your desk as it wobbles under your writing. Each case seemed to be more emotionally demanding than the last. But there was Spencer. He stumbles over to you, clumsy and un-spatially aware as ever, placing a bag of baked goods in front of you. The smell of cinnamon hits you immediately and you melt into the back of your chair, your lips pin up into a beaming smile. The monster in your head silencing just for a moment under the soft, dulcet act of Reid. “You’ve- you’ve seemed down. I didn’t want to pry incase you didn’t want to share, but sugar stimulates feel-good endorphins associated with reward. So, cinnamon buns!” He announced, his voice airy and angelic as he scratches the back of his head with his left hand; his right fiddling with the buttons on the stomach of his cardigan. He needn’t say anything more, the smile on your face and your back finally resting against the chair, regaining posture, says all the gratitude he needs. Spencer simply taps the bag on your desk with a grin and returns to his desk. Not only did he leave you with a sugary treat, he left with you with more of off the top of his head statistics that you couldn’t get enough of. Each one of them showing he cares, he thinks of you. He puts thought into everything he says, whether or not his words land with the people he speaks to is irrelevant. He shows he cares in his own unique way and you simply cannot get enough of it, you find your journal once more, leaving todays page decorated with his facts about sugar. Reaching into the bag from the local bakery, you take out your bun, wrapping the base with the napkin. With your first bite, you grin. Even if it didn’t ‘stimulate your endorphins’ it still tasted like heaven.

Friday night rolled around eventually, this week had felt never-ending. Slotted next to Spencer on the jet, you reach out and poke his side, demanding his attention. He jerks back with a giggle, you always forget he never grew out of being ticklish. You smirk and tease, “Oh right… ticklish. I forget you’re a little baby.” His cheek gain a new pink blush that reaches all the way to the tips of his ears. “You can’t grow out of your nerve endings in your skin sending electrical signals to the somatosensory cortex. Plus- most adults are t-ticklish.” He stutters over his words, almost as if they are too shy to be spoken. His hands rise to protect himself as your fingers threaten to poke him again, he chuckles in anticipation. “Whatever you say genius, deny it all you want. It’s still adorable.” Your voice soft and teasing as you smirk at him again. “Movie night tomorrow?” You suggest, your hands moving back to your lap as he begins to re-adjust himself and relax. Spencer nods, “Can we watch Star Wars?” He asks, sounding like an excited puppy. You roll your eyes playfully and smile, “Fine. As long as its Revenge of the Sith.” Spence chuckles, shaking his head and rises from his seat, heading to the jet bathroom. As is your new routine, your diary finds its way to the table in front of you. Scrambling to write today’s entry before Spencer returns, you try to remember his every word as you write. As you hear the door unlock you practically throw the book behind you and sit in front of it. Praying that the man with the 187 IQ doesn’t notice, should be fine, right?

Settling the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table, you get the TV set up ready for Spencer’s arrival. Everything is perfect, you’d bought his favourite popcorn, salted obviously. You’d also brewed a pot of the tea you’d made him last time, it was just English Breakfast tea but he’d sworn it was mind-blowing. The door is knocked, three times, Spencer’s lucky number. “It’s open!” You bellow your voice and put your feet up onto the sofa. Spence walks in, lifting your legs and placing them down on his lap when he settles next to you. He places his bag down on the floor beside him, but something bashes against it. Reaching down to find the offending item, you find its your journal. “Hey, y/n. I think you left this book on the floor. Where does it live so I can put it back in its rightful home?” He questions, you feel the blood drain out of your face, you pale immediately. “No- its okay! Just gimmie.” You respond, but he notices your shaking hands reaching out to snatch it. Spencer pulls away, opening the first page. “What are these huh?” He teases uncharacteristically. “You writing little love letters?” He jokes, before looking down at the pages and blushing when he reads his own name. He reads at an alarming speed at the best of times, but when he’s transfixed on text, he can read even faster.

“You’re- you’re writing about me? I said every word here.” Spencer’s eyes widen, the hazel irises expanding as he turns the pages rapidly and skims the text. “Oh you just had to write that. Didn’t you?” He chuckles, reading your interactions from yesterday on the jet. “I. I just find you interesting Spencer. I know everyone teases you and interrupts you when you speak, I know they don’t appreciate you enough. They take your words for granted, even when they’re so profound.” Your pale face begins to blush, it was enough that Spencer had read your private diary, but having to admit your feelings that you’ve been trying to repress and ignore, it was seemingly impossible. “I want to remember the things you say because they’re important, and every time you say something personal to me, I want to treasure it. Bottle it and keep it forever, you know?”

Spencer, for once, is at a loss for words. His cheeks burning under the heat of his blush, he opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. His brain searching for anything to say, its like he’s frantically looking through the filing cabinet of words in his head and still coming up empty. With no vocabulary on his tongue, he leans forward and crashes his lips into yours. They’re soft and ample, featherlight against your own. No concerns of the lip gloss smearing and decorating his lips. Pulling away with a confused expression, “Spencer?” Your one word question is all you can say as you run your fingers through his hair. Your nails scratching against the back of his head softly and he leans into your touch wanting more. “I can’t help myself. I’ll stop if you want, if you didn’t want that I apologise profusely and I take full responsibility of my actions and I’ll do anything to make it up to you…” He gets in his own head about the moment just gone. “No, I definitely wanted that. Definitely.” You smile cheekily, rubbing your thumb against his heated cheeks. Spencer leans in once more, gasping into your mouth trying to dig deeper and deeper into your soul. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this. I just don’t- I don’t know how to get here. You know?” He explains, his hands find the small of your back and pull you closer to him. Your index finger reaches up, shh-ing against his lips. Silencing him to keep him from rambling for the first time ever. You scramble up onto his lap, leaning over him playfully. “You’re perfect Spencer Reid. Without even knowing it you’ve taken care of me for years. Let me take care of you.”

You roll your hips slowly underneath him, smirking as he fiddles with the back of your bra strap. Even with an IQ of 187 he can’t figure out how to unbuckle a bra. You smirk and let out a giggle and he blushes, “So needy already?” You tease, your voice hoarse and desperate. He grips onto your hips as if he’s deprived, pushing into your lips, kissing you like a man starved. Spencer’s breath is shaky and weak, you take his chin into your thumb and forefinger, lifting it up, deepening the kiss. “I want you.” He speaks shakily, “I know. I want you too.” You say, holding his cheeks in the palms of your hands. Rutting your hips against his bulge again, he convulses underneath you. He gasps and rushes his hand over his mouth and you know what’s happened. Not wanting to embarrassed him, you slide off of him. Slotting yourself next to him on the couch, trying to figure out the social expectation is when your crush finishes in his boxers before you’ve even touched him. You settle on pulling him into a cuddle, rubbing your palm up and down his back, feeling his boney spine through his skin. He looks up at you, his eyes wide and full of adoration, looking like pools of honey. “I need a few minutes, and maybe some of your magic tea.” He chuckles and you sigh in relief at the self depreciating humour he responds to the situation with. “Of course pretty boy.” You press your lips on the top of his forehead softly, breathing in his shampoo and cologne. He smells like coconut and sweetness. You jokingly reach out for your journal. “Today Spencer ended up cumming in his boxers.” You giggle together, your bodies rising and falling with each breath and your legs intertwined. The next hour could take a lifetime to arrive and you’d be a-okay with that.

[beanghostprincess]

I just thought of this so you have to, too.

Buggy being genderfluid but the Roger crew not really giving a flying fuck about it. Who cares how you dress so long as you're still you? Yeah, sure, go apeshit, just be loyal, strong, etc. You're one of Us and your pants or lack thereof doesn't impact that.

The crew disbands.

Shanks and Buggy get smth of a culture shock once they are no longer in that protective bubble. Buggy is getting hateful looks, comments, snide remarks. Shanks is at his side, completely taken aback and honestly pretty pissed. Buggy, on more Femme days, faces more animosity, misogyny, and it's astounding to the former apprentices who different men and women are treated. And if you can't tell by a glance, people can get so upset?? What the hell????

Buggy refuses to be anything but themself/himself/herself, depending on the day and vibe. Shanks refuses to comply with this newfound social expectation to be rude and mean for no reason to innocent people.

The Grandline is the most progressive of the seas, due in part to the natural insanity it breeds. The Blues aren't as open, but the East is the more chill of the four. Buggy chooses there for many reasons, but the Big Top and crew is open to any sea. There's an information network, smuggling division, crowdsourcing area, etc.

Shanks will drop tips at places he visits for Buggy to get a foothold if they don't already exist, and Buggy will drop tips for Shanks regarding pertinent information for adventures, expectations, and etiquette.

It's a good dynamic. They go for years like this.

Buggy's stint in Impel Down was.... not fun. Aside from the misgendering, general torture and absolutely overwhelming energy there, it was stifling.

Marineford was a hot mess, but by the end, Shanks offers Buggy a ride to the Big Top's docked location, and on board, he just leads Buggy to this little chest in his cabin. Says, "here, take your pick. You wear whatever is most comfortable for you." There's a dress or two, a few skirts, tops, pants, shirts, and while most of it is in different sizes, there's belts and loops. Buggy bites back tears when they find their old skirt. They'd left that one on the Oro. How did Shanks even get this??

The time skip goes down, and by the time Cross Guild is running, Buggy has had to decide between masquerading as a Cis person or just... being themself. One morning, they wake up and everything feels too TIGHT, too STIFF, too much and she's left eying her leotard, half skirt and thigh highs.

...

Well. If she dies, might as well die authentic.

Crocodile and Mihawk nearly do a spit take when she struts out of her tent or into the announcement hall. She is a bit nervous by this, but she has COMMITTED.

It... also helps that so many of her men are singing her praises and Ritchie is bouncing happily, Mohji and Cabaji are smiling, Alvida is giving an approving nod-

She's happy. She's not going to let fear rule her, even if she can feel the gazes of two very powerful men tracking her every breath.

((They're not mad, they're fighting every urge to swoop her into a kiss and maybe more, but also the fact that WHO GAVE THE CLOWN THE RIGHT TO BE SO HOT??? IT WAS BAD ENOUGH BEFORE, NOW THIS????? they're not good at flirting, they cannot HANDLE this-))

I adore this. Buggy being genderfluid is actually so important to me as a genderfluid person-- My beloved. The concept of cold reality suddenly hitting them both (because they were so, so supportive back at the Oro Jackson) when the crew disbands is so good. Shanks is extremely protective of them when that happens, refusing to let anybody talk shit about Buggy. It's just so sweet of him. Tbh, it hurts so much to think about Buggy having to hide that part of himself,,, But then they come out to Mihawk and Crocodile and it's not only that they support them but they also absolutely love them. These two men are having a whole crisis over a clown again (as usual). But yeah, it's actually really sweet to see Buggy finally being free with them in that way,, Thinking thoughts about Crocodile going full mafioso with money and buying Buggy all the clothes she wants (he does it more for himself and Mihawk but yeah).

[slashingdisneypasta]

Sheriff Of Nottingham x Fem!Reader || Excerpt

Plot: You're the prettiest peasant in Nottingham, and so on carnival day you don't mind offering one simple kiss as a prize to the winner of the archery contest. You figure- what's the harm? You're an engaged woman and this may just be your last opportunity to kiss lips that aren't your husbands.

You aren't expecting a man such as the terrible Sheriff to find out you're the prize and participate. Or win-

Warnings: Its probably a mess because I wrote it while I was at work.

The Sheriff had won! A pathetic smattering of weak applause dies down quickly in the stands, no one being particularly happy he had dained to attend your little carnival. It was for the peasants; a little bright moment to hold onto throughout the dreary, poor Nottingham days. It was certainly not for him. If he had any manners at all, he would've stayed away.

But he didn't have any manners. He was terrible, and dastardly, and gross and impolite-- and now you had to kiss him!

You were seathing!!

You didn't want to do it! You wanted to look him in those beady eyes of his and claim second thoughts; say you didn't want to make your fiance uncomfortable.

... but your fiance was currently out of town on business, so that excuse wouldn't work quite as effectively. The Sheriff would counterargue, and you would end up embarrassed in front of everyone.

"Damnit," You muttered under your breath, eyes ablaze with frustration and hate on the smug, chubby (Ugh, how chubby he got while the rest of you starved infuriated you. He was more robust than even the horrible prince himself) 'law man' accepting forced congratulations from onlookers.

~

"Well well well, here we are!" The Sheriff jeered, all-too-pleased to be alone with you now. The tent was meant for the fortune tellers, deep midnight blue's and lovely maroon's strewn about setting the mood quite nicely. You'd been in here before, and the 'lady' with the fluffy red hair poking out from 'her' robes told you that you would be surprised with something today- well you were surprised. You were hoping that the fortune meant that your fiance would be home early,.. but no. No, that wasn't it. Not with your luck!

The Sheriff is about to lean in and just plant one on you- but you raise your hand up to his chest as fast lightning and firmly push him back with a careful glare. "... before that, I have something to say."

"Oh- " Either he's surprised to have a lady take such a stern tone with him, or he's surprised to see any peasant treat him so boldly, but he definitely pauses. Looks confused. Then shrugs, straightening up again with a gleaming, toothy grin. "Well, sure, sweetheart! Go right ahead~ "

Taking a deep breath, you straighten your shoulders and try not to squirm looking into his eyes. "... I want you to know, I don't care for you. You give law enforcement a bad name. You're a fiend." You blurt out bluntly, uncaring of the displeased responce you might get. You're expecting it, in fact.

... but he doesn't give that displeased responce. He just gives a jovial chuckle, his belly jiggling with the movement, and shakes his head at you. You're almost dissappinted. "Well, aren't you a bold thing??... "

"I want to be clear you disgust me."

"Oh, I heard~ "

"Good." You huff, put-out by his lacklustre and honestly, kind of amused responce.

After a moment, he tilts his head to the side and his eyes seem to glow in the darkness of the tent as be steps in closer to you once again. "Now, miss, do you think I could take my prize? Hm?~"

He'll have to duck down quite a ways, you think, noting the man's size. But, Sighing a frustrated sigh, you nod. "Yes you may, but I won't enjoy it and I hope you don't either."

"Can't promise that." He just says, before the Sheriff of Nottingham puts his large fat hands on either side of your face, and leans down, and smothers your lips with his.

Immediately you stiffen, giving a squeak against his lips at how he grabbed you so easily and overwhelms you with his sheer size. You were expecting a quick, sweet kiss when you signed up to be the prize for this competition! Mabhe on the cheek! Not- not- whatever vulgar mess this is!-

... and yet you feel yourself melting against the large fabcy pants brute of a man. You love your fiance, you love him dearly, but the Sheriff...

God, you can never think about this again after its over. It's so very horrendous. So appallingly bad that you return the kiss in order to make it go faster (thats the only reason, of course.). You have to make an oath to yourself after this. Never even think about this kiss ever again.

But for right now, it wouldn't be against your oath, to... slide your hands up his chest, would it? After all, you won't be thinking about it ever again (how soft but firm he is, the lovely fabric he wears in red and purple), so you dont see why you shouldn't...

Just as your fingers are cautiously linking around his neck, the Sheriff pulls away. He steals one more quick, greedy kiss, then steps back from you completely; a wolfish grin across his mean face.

Breathless, you struggle to pull yourself together. "Well- " Huff. "I do hope you had a terrible time."

An irritating, smug, grin pulls at one corner of the wolve's mouth. "Oh, dear, did I fail the assignment sweetheart?~ "

"... You ogre!!"

[lucygxybaird]

i've just a seen a face, i can't forget the time or place where we just met. she's just the girl for me, and i want all the world to see we've met. had it been another day, i might have looked the other way, and i'd have never been aware. but as it is, i'll dream of her tonight. (i've just seen a face - the beatles) Billy treats his mother to a night of live music, thinking she deserves to have a little bit of fun. He doesn't expect to meet a sweet, scintillating songbird named Lucy Gray Baird.

“Oh, Billy, I’m not sure about this—”

Kathleen McCarty hesitates on the threshold of the saloon, her hand tucked into the crook of Billy’s arm as though to restrain him from going inside. The double doors are thrown open to catch the hint of spring in the air, musing spilling out into the street along with the lamplight. It’s already crowded, a band going full swing on a makeshift stage at the back of the cavernous room. The dance floor is so packed that Billy can only catch a glimpse of an elbow here, a swirl of a skirt there, a tip of a hat or tap of a boot. 

He desperately wants to go in.

Billy offers his mother an encouraging smile. “Ma, come on, it’ll be fun. Please? Please? We won’t stay for very long, I promise,” he says, unabashedly wheedling. “Just a song or two. You deserve to have some fun.”

God knows that’s true. Between working herself to the bone, taking care of him and Joe, and dealing with Antrim’s special sort of bullshit, Kathleen doesn’t have any time for herself. And Billy remembers well how much she and his father used to love to dance. “I’ll ask the band if they know any Irish folk tunes,” he adds, grinning, and his expression only brightens when Kathleen smiles back at him. 

“Oh, well,” she says. “Alright. But only a song or two, do you hear?” She pauses. “Do you think the band knows Téir Abhaile Riú?”

Billy laughs, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “I’ll ask,” he says again. “Come on.”

He leads his mother inside, just as the band finishes their song. The young woman standing in center stage beams, and Billy thinks he actually feels his heart flutter for a second. She’s tiny — standing in her heeled boots, she may not even come up to his shoulder, although it’s hard to tell with her standing up there — but she exudes a blaze of energy, drawing the eye the way a fork of lightning will steal all eyes from the stars. 

“Thank you, thank you!” She spreads her arms wide as if to embrace the whole room. “My name is Lucy Gray Baird, we’re the Covey, and I promise, we’ll be right back after we wet our whistles for just a minute or two.”

She jumps down with the light, easy grace of a deer bounding through the woods, landing right in front of him. Billy is aware of the other members of the band — there’s a flash of blonde curls, the impossibly sharp angle of an elbow that can only belong to a teenage boy going through a growth spurt, and a young woman hauling a bass at her side — but he can’t take his eyes off Lucy Gray. When she smiles at him, his own smile is tugged from him as naturally as the moon pulling the tides toward shore.

“I think those might be the prettiest blue eyes I’ve ever seen, but it’s hard to tell with that hat hanging over your face,” she says. “Let me check.”

Reaching up, Lucy Gray actually picks his hat up off his head, holding it down by her side like it belongs to her. She tilts her head, wrinkling her nose as though considering the depth of color on his eyes. “Yep,” she says, putting the hat firmly back on for him. “Blue, just like I thought. Maybe the bluest. Definitely the prettiest.”

Billy, trying to cover the fact that he’s now blushing furiously, says: “Why don’t I buy you a drink for getting it right?” 

Lucy Gray smiles at him again. “What would I have gotten for being wrong?”

“A drink,” Billy says, and she laughs. 

She leads the way toward the bar, and slips onto the stool, swinging her booted feet idly. Billy slides onto the stool next to hers, waving down the bartender. “Whiskey,” he says. “And—”

He looks over at Lucy Gray. She raises an eyebrow, grinning up at him. “A whiskey for me, too, sugar.”

As the bartender pours them each a drink, Billy touches the brim of his hat, nodding at her. She giggles. “My name is Billy,” he says. “I brought my ma in to hear the music.”

He looks over at Kathleen, who has found a table near the door. She waves at him, and he waves back. Lucy Gray wiggles her fingers, blowing Kathleen a kiss. “I can see where you get those lovely eyes of yours from,” she says, propping her chin on the heel of her palm. 

She picks up her glass and takes a long sip, closing her eyes as if in pleasure. He watches the way her long, dark eyelashes flutter, how her lips purse on the rim of the glass. All of a sudden, he’s desperately thirsty in a way whiskey won’t fix, but he downs half his own order in one go anyway. 

Before he even has a chance to ask if she knows any Irish tunes, Lucy Gray says: “Does your ma wanna hear anything special?”

When Billy makes his request, she smiles and hops down from her stool. “You bring her right up front,” she says. “We’ll sing just for her.” 

Billy grins at her and crosses the room to his mother, as the band starts to gather up on stage again. “Come on, Ma,” he says, offering her his hand. “Lucy Gray says they’ll play your song.”

“Oh, Lucy Gray’s her name, is it?” Kathleen is smiling at him in the certain way all mothers have when they believe their children to be acting especially endearing. “I could see you two talking over there. She’s rather pretty.”

“Ma,” Billy groans softly, feeling more grateful than he can express in words that Lucy Gray is up on stage, in conversation with the willowy bass player, and she can’t possibly hear this conversation. Otherwise he would just have to hope for a very singular sinkhole to open up at his feet and swallow him whole. “We were just — I mean, I’m sure she has a…”

The words haven’t even left his mouth and already he finds them upsetting. Lucy Gray having a beau has only occurred to him just now, and he finds himself looking around the room, trying to find a a man young enough for her — one sitting alone, maybe, eyes trained on the stage like he can’t bear to look away. But it looks like every man here (apart from Billy himself) is too old, or with someone, or both. He relaxes a little. 

They find a place in front of the stage. Lucy Gray catches his eye, and she winks at him. Billy feels his face flush and wonders if the pink in his cheeks is visible with the lights of the stage shining in her eyes. 

“Oh, no, I saw the way she was looking at you,” Kathleen says, patting his arm. “If she’s seeing someone, she won’t be by the end of the evening, I’ll warrant.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but then music starts to tumble from the stage like a living thing -- drums gamboling and fiddles stepping lightly through the air, the strumming of a guitar twirling after them. Lucy Gray is standing center stage again, keeping time with a hand at her hip. 

“Look how the lights of the town, the lights of the town are shining now — tonight I’ll be dancing around, I’m off on the road to Galway now…” 

She steps lightly forward, arms sweeping in a graceful circle as her feet tap on the boards, the hem of her skirt belling outward as she twirls. He watches her light up from the inside out, beaming, eyes gleaming. 

“Look how she’s off on the town, she’s off on a search for sailors, though. There’s fine fellas here to be found, she’s never been on to stay at home—”

The bass player and the girl with blonde ringlets framing her face like a nimbus of gold lean forward, adding their voices to hers. 

“Home you’ll go and it’s there you’ll stay, and you’ll work to do in the morning. Give up your dreams of going away, forget your sailors in Galway.”

All the members of the band join in for the chorus, stamping their feet to the rhythm of the Irish tune. Kathleen is positively beaming at Billy’s side, clapping her hands in time. He keeps stealing glances at her in between drinking in Lucy Gray’s performance, thinking that he can’t remember the last time he’s seen his mother so happy. 

“Téir abhaile riú, tèir abhaile riu — téir abhaile ríu, Mherai, téir abhaile riú gus fan sa bhaile — mar tá do mhargadh déanta…”

The crowd around them has started to pair off, letting the fast, heady rush of the music carry them around the floor. Billy turns to his mother, grinning and holding out his hand once more — but before he can take it, he hears a light clatter of boots and turns to see Lucy Gray, grinning widely herself. She bobs a curtsey to Kathleen and puts out her own hand, beckoning encouragingly. 

“Come now and follow me down, down to the lights of Galway where there’s fine sailors walking the town, and waiting to meet the ladies there…”

He expects his mother to demure, huddle against him, but instead, she puts her hand in Lucy Gray’s like she’s known the girl all her life. Lucy Gray doesn’t miss a beat as the two girls left on stage carry on the tune. 

“Watch now, he’ll soon be along — he’s finer than any sailor, so, come now and pick up your spoons. He’s waiting to hear you play them, whoo!”

Billy can’t stop himself from laughing from sheer joy and pleasure as he watches the years fall away from his ma, her dark curls flying away from her face, her eyes brightening and her feet just as light as her partner’s twinkling toes. Lucy Gray is laughing even as she sings, the sweetness of her voice warming with ripples of joy. 

“Here today and she’s gone tomorrow, and next she’s going to Galway. Jiggin’ around and off to town, and won’t be back until the morning.”

He’s aware of a flash of yellow from the corner of his eye, and he looks down to see the little blonde singer, putting out her hands to him. Billy bows, one hand over his heart and the other folding behind his back, and the girl smiles up at him. He takes her by the hand and they whirl onto the floor, finding themselves by Lucy Gray and his mother. 

“Téir abhaile riú, tèir abhaile riu — téir abhaile ríu, Mherai, téir abhaile riú gus fan sa bhaile — mar tá do mhargadh déanta…”

He realizes, with a kick to his heart, that his ma is singing along. He can’t remember the last time he’s heard her sing, or even hum. Idly, picking up the girl and spinning around with her in his arms, he thinks he’ll have to ask his mother what the Gaelic chorus means. 

“Off with a spring in my step, the sailors are searching Galway for a young lady such as myself, for reels and jigs and maybe more…”

Lightly, with no signal at all except a flick of Lucy Gray’s dark head, she darts to one side and Billy’s partner to the other, with the blonde taking Kathleen’s hand and twirling under her arm. Kathleen laughs, and Lucy Gray snatches up Billy’s hands, tugging him closer. 

“Stay here and never you mind the lights of the town are blinding you. The sailors, they come and they go, but listen to what’s reminding you — handsome men surrounding you, dancing a reel around you…”

Singing of handsome men, Lucy Gray leans up on her toes, her lips at his ear, as if the words are just for him. He turns his head to hide his grin, but he catches a glimpse of her dark eyes, and he knows that she saw. It doesn’t really burn him, this idea. It doesn’t burn him at all, actually. 

“Home you’ll go and it’s there you’ll stay, and you’ve got work to do in the morning. Give up your dream of going away, forget your sailors in Galway…”

Billy knows most of the people on the dance floor, by sight if not by name — the old woman who works at the inn where they stayed when they first arrived in town; the owner of the Chinese laundry and his wife, neither of whom he’s seen smile this wide before; his mother’s friend Hattie, who is clasped in the arms of—

“Mr. Upson, is that you?” Billy calls to him over the music, unable to keep from laughing again. 

Mr. Upson just grins at him and frees a hand from Hattie’s waist to tip his hat toward Billy. 

“Téir abhaile riú, tèir abhaile riu — téir abhaile ríu, Mherai, téir abhaile riú gus fan sa bhaile — mar tá do mhargadh déanta…”

As Billy turns again, Lucy Gray still grasping his hands like she’ll never let go, she leans back on her heels. He whirls her around, easy as you please; she’s light as a feather, and in any case, he would sooner drop an anvil on his foot than drop this girl right now. 

“Listen to the music flow, I’m falling for the flow of home. I’m home to dance til dawning…”

Her voice warms him from the inside out, song flowing from her lips like the finest of wines, and he knows he’s not the only one getting drunk on the sound of her. Everyone, his mother included, is flushed with exertion and a giddy happiness that drives the years and their troubles away like the gentle mornings of spring driving away all thought of winter’s chill. 

“Téir abhaile riú, tèir abhaile riu — téir abhaile ríu, Mherai, téir abhaile riú gus fan sa bhaile — mar tá do mhargadh déanta…”

Lucy Gray keeps one of his hands in hers and reaches for other for Kathleen, who is still dancing with the tiny blonde singer. Kathleen grabs onto Lucy Gray’s hand, looking up at Billy with starlight still caught in her eyes; Billy, for the first time in his life, understands how one can cry for joy. It’s like he’s so happy that he can’t contain it, a sweet ache that starts in his chest and spreads upwards, until his throat is tight and the corners of his eyes sting. Still, he wouldn’t trade the decision to come in here tonight for anything in the world. 

For more reason than one. 

“Stay a while and we’ll dance together now, as the light is falling. We’ll reel away til the break of day, and dance together till morning…”

The blonde girl reaches for Mr. Upson’s hand, and on his other side, Hattie reaches for someone else. Soon the dancers on the floor have formed a ring, whirling around in a feverish, excited circle, as the song plunges toward the chorus one last time. 

“Téir abhaile riú, tèir abhaile riu — téir abhaile ríu, Mherai, téir abhaile riú gus fan sa bhaile — mar tá do mhargadh déanta…”

As the Covey members still up onstage bring the song to an end with a flourish, Lucy Gray jumps nimbly back onto the boards, twirling around and spreading her hands. Kathleen ends up pressed against Billy’s side, giggling like a girl, her hair a mess and her smile firmly fixed on her face. Billy puts an arm around his mother’s shoulders to steady her as the crowd collects itself enough to burst into rapturous applause.

“Thank you! Thank you for comin’ out tonight, and joinin’ me in our final song—!”

The crowd groans, Billy included. Kathleen digs an elbow into his ribs. 

“—for tonight!” Lucy Gray insists. “For tonight. I promise y’all, we’re not goin’ anywhere just yet. In case you forgot, I’m Lucy Gray Baird, we’re the Covey, and I swear, we’ll be back to sing for you soon!”

Billy guides his mother over to the bar, the better to escape the crush of people as they start to leave. It seems that with the Covey done for the evening, most of the crowd is done, too. A few stragglers follow them to the bar and occupy the stools, but a few moments later, the place is nearly empty. 

“Ready to go?” Billy says, putting a hand on the small of Kathleen’s back, ready to guide her out. 

Instead of answering him, she flicks her dark blue gaze to the side of him, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’ll wait for you at the door,” she says, and Billy turns to see Lucy Gray standing at his side, looking up at him with a scrap of paper peeking between her fingertips.  

“Your ma is quite the dancer,” she says, and Billy chuckles. “So are you.”

“Oh, well, thank you.” He tips his hat to her again, and she bobs her head in response. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen Ma like that. It’s been…” He falters, thinking of how she used to be, before Pa died. He pulls a smile onto his face from somewhere deep. “It’s been a while.”

Lucy Gray surprises him by taking his hand and squeezing it lightly, once, before letting go. She doesn’t pry, but she says, “Well, you two should come back sometime.” 

Before he can say they (sure as hell) will, a voice calls out from the back room: “Lucy Gray! We’ve leaving!”

She smiles and leans up to kiss his cheek. “Maude Ivory,” she says. “Your little dance partner.” She puts a hand to her mouth and adds in a stage whisper, “She thinks you’re cute. So do I.”

With Billy befuddled and blushing, she turns to go, crossing the room in light, graceful strides. As she disappears through a curtained door by the bar, Billy feels the whisper of paper against his palm and turns his hand over. He smiles at the note she’s passed him. 

If you want to see me before our next show (Thursday, 8 p.m.), meet me at the meadow by the old Willow Ford farm tomorrow night. I like to watch the stars come out. 

- Lucy Gray Baird.

He isn’t sure what compels to do it, but he finds himself lifting the scrap of paper to his lips and kissing her signature on the page, before slipping it into his pocket. Billy goes to join his mother at the door, and he barely registers the way she’s looking at him with that indulgent little smile on her face. He walks her home in a sort of daze, thinking that the sun has only just now set, and he can’t wait for it to do it again tomorrow. 

The next time the sun goes down, and the stars start to twinkle in their sea of indigo velvet, he knows that’s when he’ll see her again. 

[mqverick]

Walking On Air || chapter 2

The following day was indeed rough. You woke up with a light migraine — you hadn’t even drank that much last night — carefully sliding Tom’s arm off your middle and tried your best not to wake him up. Your steps to the kitchen felt heavy, and so did your head. Vivid memories of Maverick at the bar last night flooded your mind as you felt the water in your glass touch the tip of your lips.

Your relationship with Tom had always been sort of messy and fast. Since the moment the two of you met, there was a mutual attraction and interest, he was sweet with you, spoiled you and completely dropped the Iceman façade when it’d be just the two of you. With you, he was Tom Kazansky and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t love the caring side of him, but at the same time you didn’t know how exactly you loved it.

Undoubtedly, Tom had reached that stage a few weeks after dating you, but on the other hand, you’ve let quite a few uncertainties slip in between your relationship. He’d get jealous, possessive in a non-violent way, sometimes subconsciously treating you like you were his and his only, which had led to numerous arguments.

You still found it in your heart to forgive him, though, after all, the majority of the men who approached you at bars or restaurants were arseholes and had no hint of respect in their body.

With Maverick, though… it just wasn’t like that.

Sure, he was a ginormous brat and he screams at it — might as well tattoo it on his big stubborn head — with his domineering behavior, always flaunting his achievements, using big words, acting like he owned every room he walked in and never letting anyone or anything wipe that maddening lazy smirk off his face. As badly as you wanted to deny it, there was a part of your body that desired Maverick. You liked his determination, you’d love to get to know more about him, you were getting trapped under the Mitchell charm and it was more than you could handle.

Your headache seemed to only worsen at the thoughts of the dark haired pilot, but thankfully it seemed like your attempts at keeping it down were not very successful, since your peripheral vision caught Tom rubbing his eyes open while holding back a yawn. He came up to you and kissed the top of your head, offering to make you some coffee, before getting ready to take off.

Meeting up with Goose again throughout awaiting for the civilian contractor instructor to come was the most fun you’d experienced within all the 8 hours after your takeoff from the bar last night and you were so grateful for him. That was, until Maverick came up behind you, whispering good morning in your ear. You jumped a little — you couldn’t tell if it was because of how he appeared out of the blue or of how you felt a warm puff of air hit your neck, which signaled how close to you he’d actually been.

“Your boyfriend’s blood is boiling,” he commented, earning a weird look from Goose. You looked over to Tom to see that he was in fact seemingly picking up anger at the sight of you and Maverick conversating. Neither of you spoke of it when you returned to your seat.

_

Iceman and Slider were up in the air, training. The buzz inside your brain was still hurting (a little less now) and you knew that with Maverick around and your boyfriend being unable to kill him just by shooting him a look, your head would be bound to spin for the rest of the day. You were proved right the moment you heard the screech of a chair’s leg next to you against the stone floor.

“Hey there.”

You opted not to look at him. “Need anything?”

“Just wanted to talk.”

You didn’t want any company, especially not him, but then again, you had a feeling that it wouldn’t really matter to Maverick anyway. You decided to finally acknowledge him, turning around with a pretentious smile on your face that screamed ‘leave me alone’ from miles away. Apparently, he found your silent cries of despair somewhat funny, letting out a chuckle at the grimace you were making. He thought you looked cute with a pissed attitude (it’s not like he’d seen you with any other attitude whatsoever).

“Fine, you’ve got my attention. What’s up?”

“I’ve got your attention?” he repeated and you shortly regretted the words that came out of your mouth previously. Should’ve predicted he wouldn’t let the phrase slide like that. “Well, that’s pretty much what I wanted all along.”

Your body was torn; half of it wanted to scream at him to let you fucking alone just for one second, ask him what his problem was and why he was so obviously trying to hit it off with you — was it because he wanted to get Iceman angry, because after all everybody knew that the two of them did not get along very well — and the other… The other was fighting back brutally the blush that wanted to creep up your cheeks.

“I don’t get you,” you spoke out of the blue, noticing how he knitted his eyebrows together in confusion, “I don’t get what’s the fuss about you.”

Maverick scooted his chair closer to yours, pushing the bridge of his ridiculously big Ray-Ban sunglasses further up his nose as he gave you a genuine smile — not a smirk (for once).

“I don’t have any fuss about me. I’m just very good at what I do. Trust me, unlike your boring boyfriend, which you can’t even bring yourself to watch, you’ll know when I’m up there. You’ll know that it’s me who’s flying.”

You wanted to deny everything he replied to you, maybe throw a sarcastic comment or snarky remark, because the man was so full of himself, you just wanted to punch the confidence out of him — but the way he phrased it — god, you knew he’d be right. From what Goose had filled you in earlier in the morning, Maverick was reckless, had a bad family name and kept chasing danger after danger, suspension after suspension, but you were suddenly very aware of the fact that if you watched him fly, you’d know it’d be him.

“You’re not the only one who can fly here, Lieutenant.”

“I know, Lieutenant. Never said I’m the only good pilot. For example, I’d love to see you fly. How are you when you’re up there, huh?” he asked, ocean eyes shining with interest, drawing you in. You didn’t want to admit it to him — or even Tom — but there had been times when your flying had been dangerously similar to Maverick’s. There had been times when you owned the aircraft, the sky and clouds around you, times when people would look up and say ‘damn, that’s Roger in that F-14’. Just as you were about to open your mouth, Tom cleared his throat behind you, hand wiping the sweat off of his forehead.

“We haven’t finished this conversation yet,” Maverick whispered in your ear for the second time that day and each one of these times, you found yourself getting a tad more breathless.

You chose not to spend the rest of the day at Tom’s place; you were already too exhausted and there was the slightest hint that he wouldn’t be so pleased with you after seeing you chatting with Maverick again. You needed to sort things out. The radio was faintly playing from the kitchen but no sound could enter through your ears as you were too busy sitting on the couch, head down on the arm, arms wrapped around your knees, trying to drift off just for a little bit. Your stomach made a noise and you realized you had barely eaten all day — God, were you craving a grilled cheese with a salad — but your body was too numb to move.

A couple of unexpected knocks on your door shook you out of your growing misery. You rubbed your eyes open, sliding your feet into your sleepers, hoping it’d be no one so that you could go back to torturing yourself with thoughts of Maverick and the stupid ghost of his breath still very much alive on your neck. Without bothering to ask who it was, you opened the door only to see Maverick tiptoeing back and forth with a smile pursing through his lips. He wasn’t wearing his usual white tee, just a dark blue shirt with a few buttons undone and his signature leather bomber hanging lazily over his shoulder.

“Hi,” he greeted with a soft voice. You found yourself unable to utter a word back. What was he doing at your house at night? How did he even know where you live? Was he following you? Why weren’t you concerned even though you should’ve been?

“Hi.”

“Can I come in?”

Aware of the fact that he would’ve found a way to come in even if you refused at first, you stepped aside, letting him walk inside as you shut the door. He scanned your place with his eyes just for a second, then returned his full attention to you. You suddenly grew very conscious about your appearance; your hair wasn’t tied up as usual, you were wearing a larger shirt you had borrowed from Tom and a pair of black female boxers — overall you looked like a nightmare. If only you knew that Maverick had never felt so breathless before in his life at the sight of you (truth is, he himself had no idea how he managed to keep his breathing in control every time you were around.)

“Did I wake you up?”

“I hope not. I’m too young to start having noon dinners and be falling asleep at 8pm,” you cringed at your own joke, silently praying that he wouldn’t notice how nervous he was making you. “How did you even know that I live here. I don’t exactly recall trusting you with that information.”

“Let’s just leave it to the fact that Goose is a very good friend,” Maverick replied with a small laugh.

“I’m going to bomb that bastard, I swear,” you laughed too — there was something so contagious about the way he chuckled, his big white teeth forming the most wholesome smile you’d ever seen on a human being. “So, was that your way of letting me know you’ve been asking about me?”

“Sort of,” he said with honesty. You tried to hide the fact that your stomach reacted in the same way it did when Tom and you shared your first kiss as you walked in the living room, hearing his footsteps follow yours. You sat on the couch again (this time not as if you were a half asleep dying wreck), patting on the seat next to you for Maverick to sit.

“What’s going on, Lieutenant Mitchell?”

“You drive me crazy.” The moment the statement fell out of his lips, you swore you felt felt a heatwave rush through your system, legs crossing just an inch. Was he urging you to act on whatever had been forming between you two? Did he even know? “It’s just insane when you refuse to call me just Maverick like everybody else does, it won’t activate the curse of the pharaohs, you know.”

Oh. So that’s what he meant. You couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed — wait, what the hell? “What are you here for, Pete?” you asked again, this time more impatiently, trying to shake off whatever was happening to you.

“I want to see how you fly.”

Was he mental? He came all the way to your house just so you could continue a conversation that happened about nine hours ago?

“You’ll see when it’s my time to train. Is that all?”

“I’m afraid I can’t really wait until then.”

“Pete,” you started, but he leaned in closer to you, accidentally bumping his knee into yours. You hoped the room was dark enough to conceal the blush on your cheeks. “What do you want?”

The young aviator sighed, nudging you softly with a smirk before getting up from the couch and throwing his jacket, which he had discarded on some chair in the kitchen, back over his shoulder.

“Tomorrow at night, around 10 at the park right behind the cliff tops at the beach. See you there.”

Chapter 3

[giggly-squiggily]

hellooo miss squiggles :D how have you been? i hope the universe treats you kindly ♡ (also i got your request and i'm so excites to write it thank you sm!!)

i'm here to bring you more modern demon slayer because i wanna get back into it and also my car has decided to be difficult these past few days so i thought about how the kny peeps would deal with that.

not affected by car troubles: gyomei (for obvious reasons), douma (failed his driver's license four times so there's that), rengoku (something tells me he doesn't drive)

that might as well happen: giyuu (long sigh, then he calls sabito to pick him up and lets the mechanic deal with it), obanai ("that's just another bad thing on the long list of bad things that life has thrown at me." - "dude shut up")

OMG WE'RE STUCK IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE: mitsuri (not cut out for this)

THERE'S LITERALLY A MCDONALDS DOWN THE ROAD CALM DOWN AND LET ME DO MY SHIT: sanemi (learned how to fix his motorcycle on his own after he saw what the mechanics charged)

gets so mad that they scare the car into working again: shinobu (she just taps the wheel twice and clears her throat and the car runs as smoothly as ever), akaza (the good old trick of kicking the car into submission never disappoints)

the best possible person to deal with car troubles: kanae (keep calm and call someone who can fix this), sabito (this man works with elementary school children, if his car broke down in the middle of the desert with no water on board that wouldn't even make his top 10 list of most stressful events of his life)

oh the car broke down? don't worry baby we'll buy a new one: tengen.

Rey! It's great to hear from you again! :D I've been well- some ups and downs IRL but generally speaking I feel great! I hope the same to you! The universe so far has been tame- let's hope it stays that way lols. (YESH! I'm so glad akrekjjrkaejj :D Congrats again on your milestone!)

(Ah crap! I'm sorry about your car- hopefully everything works out!)

KJERKJEKRJKEJR The fact they're all in the same car (sans Sabito I'd imagine cause someone's gotta come pick them up) reacting to this is hilarious akljeajkerjkaejr Road trip gone wrong?

Giyu and Obanai being the "Hello darkness my old friend" people of the group is so canon kjaraekrkejajkraejkrjkejr Obanai probably wouldn't be so bad if Mitsuri was there but when she does go off with Tengen and Rengoku to get her food he gets all blue and gloomy about everything akerjakrjearje (The "Dude, shut up" took me out! I can see Sanemi rolling his eyes behind the hood over it akerkjaerjkej)

NOT SHINOBU HELP KJEJREJRKJEJKRJK Like you said, a single throat clear- BOOM the car is back up and running. She probably scares the mechanics out of overcharging her too- a single one of her scary smiles and their offering discounts and additions for free (everyone brings her to the shop with them when they can- she's outwardly so over it but internally pleased with the chaos she creates). And Akaza kicking it into submission karjeajklrkjeawkjrjke I can see Douma lounging in the backseat slurping on a gas station slushie watching Akaza beat his car up. "Go between the headlights- it'll blind them Za!" "Give them that one move you showed me the other day!" "You're winning-" "DOUMA IF YOU DON'T-"

Kanae and Sabito being team "We've got this" is honestly such canon events! Kanae and Sanemi might have some mild tension ("Baby, it's not your bike, it's your car. It's too different." "Don't worry about it- I can fix it!" But after Sanemi stares at things long enough he just kinda peers around the hood all sheepish like: "So uh....you still got that mechanic on speed dial?" Sabito's so chill like: "A kid got 2 markers stuck up one nostril- this is EASY!" He has snacks when he gets there for Mitsuri, a car big enough for everyone if it's a road trip (might bring Makomo and her car in case they got EVERYONE), the tow truck on speed dial and several ideal spots to stop and get dinner if they're hungry akejajrekreakj

TENGEN!!! God, if only kjakakrjejkrejkjre He's got the money for it sure! Honestly he probably hates driving (Big guy + Tiny seats = Screw it I'm walking everywhere) but will gladly get any of his girlfriends/wives a new car if needed. Another one to bring to the mechanic to prevent being screwed over- he's got that unintentional intimidation factor (and the money to cover it lols) He's also such a troll: One time he told Obanai he'd get him so new wheels and pulled up with a toy barbie car. (They ended up regifting it to Mitsuri's younger sister as a christmas present)

For your consideration: Rengoku doesn't drive but he does bike! He's got two: one for personal use to go everywhere ("I'll catch up with you guys! *bike jingle noises*) and one with two seats for when he and Akaza go out (He was absolutely FLOORED when he discovered it and called up Akaza mid purchase like: "Guess what I'm bringing home??? :D") He probably got them matching helmets and protective padding so they'd be the talk of the town when they went out (Akaza doesn't have the heart to tell him they look like that one elderly couple without the years- though it was kinda funny the time said couple challenged them to a race.) He'd have a little basket too filled with snacks and other little things. :D

Thank you for sharing, these are GLORIOUS!

[ask-kooparadio]

Koopa Radio AU - general information

Darklands used to be a faction of the Mushroom Kingdom region, back when Mushroom Kingdom was called Mushroomland, or Toadstooland if we want to be specific, along with Grassland, Desertland, Waterland, Giantland, Skyland, Iceland and Pipeland. However, one day the Darkland had gained autonomy (got estranged), setting up the most dangerous castle for koopas to occupy safely.

However, this doesn't mean that they can't live in the other parts of the region, just that the Darklands are the only best option. Despite their mixed reputation, they generally lived in peace. King Bowser Von Koopa wasn't buying that generous offer however, and decided to try to convince Princess Peach Toadstool to maybe not treat his castle and his kind as some sort of dangerous monsters.

He thought that it worked. Not just that - he thought that he was developing something more with the Toadstool princess, her working day and night to ensure the safety of the region, her kind heart, her sweet smile, it was all getting to him. And it seems to have gotten into her too.

However, a tragedy struck. Princess Peach got pregnant from their seemingly blooming relationship, and suddenly had cut ties. It was all a SHAM. She rejected him, disowned their child, and doubled down on the racist "safety measures", all of his hard work to initially soften down the tension, perhaps even develop something new and pure, free of prejudices, in ruin.

The two sides are now at odds with each other, stuck in a broken loop of King Bowser seeing how fake she was, getting heartbroken and angry, getting reckless, and Princess Peach using it as an excuse to label his kind as nothing more than monsters, intensifying "safety measures", breaking Bowser's heart again and angering him. Over. And over.

In amidst of such tensions, Bowser's beloved brother and scientist Mortimer Von Koopa Sr., or "Bruce", had disappeared, pronounced dead but it never quite clicked right for the King, already wary of his once-life partner.

Mortimer's children had been scattered amongst different foster care systems. Bowser didn't even knew he was an uncle, reasonably so - Bruce was aware of the tensions, so he ensured that his family was as private as possible. However, his magic proficiency and genius got inherited by them which had help Bowser uncover their identities, one by one.

First one was a young prodigy, whose mere presence made Bruce's wand react in the old magic store. A VERY talkative boy with unruly prussian blue hair and a misplaced fang that he was mocked for, unaware that his magic was so powerful to cause it

The next two were a pair of hooligans, causing a level 5 avalanche merely by goofing around in Pipeland. The accident had hurt the younger one, making him develop aphasia, however the duo got even closer. Their strength, both in magic and friendship knows no bounds, even if they may not know how to use it correctly.

The next one was actually a girl. By accident she had frozen the entire capital of Waterland, just wanting to create an ice mirror. She was rude and cold, tired of being overlooked, ensuring that her fashion and confidence stands out. Even she had no idea how much she was underestimating herself.

The next boy was known for being the "aggressive" one. He got discovered during a meltdown, that had burnt a quarter of Grassland forests..in the whole country.

His best friend had begged to join to ensure he's safe, and reluctantly the group had agreed, despite the mild annoyance of a civilian in the castle, the tall green haired boy felt his best with him present. The mere fact that in all of the castle safety measures, the short and might kid managed to sneak by without any magic, purely relying on wit and agility, made him count as a valuable asset. He had proven himself to stay, truly shining amongst others.

The last one had it the worst. He got sent all the way back to the now Mushroom Kingdom back when he was a toddler. To him that was his normal, and until King Bowser had discovered him, he was convinced he was just some sort of weird Yoshi that could talk. He accidentally had stopped time in his school, tapping to the rhythm of his phone radio, unaware he had any magic. In the new environment, he's striving to become more and more like who he truly is - a koopa, and a powerful one. He could work on his work ethic a little, though..

All seven of them had formed a clan, initially by the two hooligans and the bluehead. Initially, Roy was the one leading the group, but with age and puberty, the small yapper had matured into being a doer. Ludwig still has an "I'm better than you" attitude, but at least it's well deserved now..

In spite of the pains Bowser had witnessed and participated in, his newfound family is stronger than ever. His biggest fear was forcing Bowser Jr. to be raised alone, without a "mom", and it have had been answered in the form of the Koopaling clan, which he can't get thankful enough for. He loves all of his children, treating all eight of them as a blessing

[the-fiction-witch]

Seventeen p12-14

Media The Maze Runner AU

Character Newt

Couple Newt X Reader

Rating Sweet AF

Seventeen Series

I sat in the office and the discussion began

"So what brings you in this morning Mr. Newton? I assume about Isaac given" she says looking at me

"Yes, it is. You see his many injuries"

"I do, has he had an accident at home?"

"No, as a matter of fact, these were caused here. By one of your students yesterday."

"AHH yes the janitors did leave me an email so I have been partially briefed on the situation"

"I'd like to know why there was no intervention firstly"

"Well we don't often step into altercations between students unless absolutely necessary We find it helps their social skills and of course, this was after final bell and clubs so really hours is not our jurisdiction"

"Regardless it was on school property if your janitors knew enough to tell you why didn't they intervene?"

"Well, it could have risked injury"

"Injury? My son has a black eye and a thousand other cuts after being slapped and kicked into the wall. I'm sure insurance can cover whatever damage that seventeen-year-old could have done to your janitor"

"Yes but I meant Injury to him"

"Him? The other boy involved!"

"Yes you see the other half of this altercation was student Ben Smith and you see-"

"Let me guess. His parents are on the board?'

"They do add a lot of funds to the school, but it's mainly due to him being one of the stars of our track team a real example of the school and if he were to get hurt that could cause Issues in upcoming competitions"

"Okay, I see. So because the track team is the shining example of the school, all the kids are treated like gold stars are shinning out their asses and can do whatever they want. The rest of the kids namely my son who I will mention is captain of the scholastic decathlon team which has won more trophies, wins and subsequent funding in the last two years than in the last fifteen of your previous track team. These kids have to stiffen their lips and deal with the assholes who can run fast. I have that right?" He asks and she is completely stunned "I expect an apology from the boy, from his parents and from you by the end of class today or I call the police on that little thug. Have a nice day Miss Paige"

I was admitted pretty damn impressed. 

Go, dad!

I followed him out and by now people were busy so I walked him out

"Have a good day okay"

"I'll try"

"Anything happens let me know"

"I will do Dad. Thanks for everything"

"No problem. Hey, what's this Ben Smith drive anyhow?"

"Blue Corsa why?"

"I'm gonna key his car on my way out" he smirked "Hey, talk to y/n today"

"I told you I can't -"

"Just give it a go, maybe the whole Florence Nightingale effect might kick in with that eye. But you actually grow some balls and talk to her today we'll get pizza for dinner"

"I'll try"

"Alright, see you at home" 

I felt a lot safer but I still kept my head down just trying to get through the day without getting beat up again when the bell went for lunch I scampered too the haunted boy's bathroom so I could put some cream that my mum gave me on my eye "Owww... Owww... owww" I whined as every time I put pressure on my skin it hurt and honestly the cream kind of burnt Once I was done I headed out to the usual bench Alby was off elsewhere likely had a class president meeting or something so the table was a passed out zart, fry working on adding cheese to his cafeteria supplied fries and.. some dust I don't know what, Thomas who was sat clearly texting Teresa as he had a wide smile and his backpack over his crotch, And jack sat at the table in his jeans and blue button down.

Jack Hampton, was one of the younger kids, I think he is in my maths class I'm not sure, but he was well known as the tech kid, he is who the teachers call when the smart boards fuck up, he is the one you bring your glitching phone, and the one who offered a complimentary walkthrough service for any videogame issue you could bring him. 

I sat down at the table and ran my hand through my hair 

"You okay man?" Fry asks

"I mean... I can't completely see, it hurts to breathe and walk, I'll keep you updated on my system later if you want"

"I'm good, Ben really took it out of you" he laughs 

"That's why I'm here," Jack says

"Right, Hi Jack" I smiled 

 "I am here to offer my services" He says grabbing a card from his jacket and handing it over, it was a literal business card with his name, number and email address 

"Services?"

"I offer many different services for any price range, I can go from mild to intense cyberbullying, I can do hacking, docking, and if you have the cash I can do my full destroy life package he'll have his life destroyed, get cancelled and have to move away" He explained

"Uhhh I'm good thanks Jack"

"You sure?" 

"Yeah, I'm good no cyberbullying" I told him going to hand back the card

"Keep it, my services are always available," he says before heading off elsewhere 

"I'm scared of that kid," Thomas says

"Yeah, I think we all should be" I nodded 

I didn't have much lunch left so I went to my locket threw my lunch in grabbed the books I'd need for this afternoon, I heard a gentle tap on my locker door and I didn't even bother to look.

"I told you Tommy, I don't have tomorrow's test answers," I said

"Ohh that's okay" Her voice spoke up

I know that voice! 

I looked through the small vents in my locker door and saw her sweet face immediately I fixed my hair and shut my locker door 

"Y/n! Hi" 

"Hi" she smiled as she stood in her sneakers, little cheerleader's uniform her books close to her chest 

"You... uhhh you wanna talk to me?"

"Of course" she smiled "I...I wanted to apologize"

"Apologize?"

"I felt awful when I heard what happened last night, It broke my heart that you got hurt because of me," She says looking into my eye, her face making it clear she is upset "Are you're eye okay?" she asks trying to reach my eye but I moved back

"It's okay it stings a little is all,"

"I've spoken to Ben he was such an ass for what he did. I promise it won't happen again"

"Thank you, I didn't think -"

"I hate to think I caused you so much trouble over a slushie" she says getting something from her pocket and offering me some money enough to cover the slushie

"No, please don't worry about it. It's not your fault Ben was just being a dick it's okay really" I told her folding her hand back in around the money and pushing it close to her 

"Still I feel terrible about it. Here, I made you something to say sorry for everything that happened, and to make you feel better" she says getting a little black box from her bag 

"For- for me?"

"Umm humm" she nods 

"Y-you're sure?"

"Of course" 

"This- this isn't some prank from the cheer squad?" 

"No, they don't know. I was worried they'd stop me" she says "Here take it"

I happily took the little box "Thank you, so much y/n"

"You're welcome" she smiled "Are uhh are you coming to the track meet tonight?"

"Oh, No. I have a meeting with the scholastic team" 

"Oh, that's okay I'll see you around then"

"Yeah, see you around. Thanks again"

"You're welcome"

"Good luck with the track Meet tonight"

"Thank you" she giggled "Good luck with the scholastic team" she smiled waving as she headed down the corridor 

"Thanks" I waved until she disappeared 

She spoke to me! I touched her hand! She gave me a present! She all but asked me on a date! She wished me luck on my team... I think I might faint. 

Fuck! I locked my key in my locker... 

Well, Guess I'm off to the office. 

[lingshanhermit]

Ling Shan Hermit: When you become accustomed to a certain lifestyle, you become vulnerable.

When you become accustomed to a stable life, you become vulnerable. You become dependent on it, and any minor change can easily knock you down. One of the best fruits of modern civilization is that it has made us incredibly weak. If you were thrown into the wilderness now, what could you do? You are accustomed to driving, to elevators, to food delivery, to the idea that a blue flame will burst out like a lotus just by flipping a switch. You have almost become unable to walk (climbing two floors would leave you panting), unable to cook, and in the wild, you may not even be able to start a fire. Not to mention fighting with wild beasts.

In the Ming Dynasty, the cavalrymen who had once defeated the Mongolian iron riders also began to lose their fighting power under the comfortable life.

Perhaps you have guessed what I am going to say. What I want to say is, if you are a Buddhist practitioner, you better not let your life be too comfortable, otherwise, you may become very vulnerable. You better not get used to anything. Some things are easy to possess, but it is very difficult to get rid of them. You can try to get rid of one of your habits. You might be able to get rid of it for a moment, but within a minute you find it's come back again.

In Buddhism, some practitioners are encouraged to practice "dhutanga" (ascetic practices), which has many specific requirements, such as not always sitting in one fixed place. This makes a lot of sense. I remember once when we were practicing the Dharma, I saw someone sitting on my cushion - the one I always use for meditation - and this made me very upset. We all think that things we use regularly are ours, and this is one of the sources of our suffering. If you sit here today and there tomorrow, you are less likely to think that this place or that place is yours, and therefore, you will not be upset if someone else takes your place. This is very important. In fact, no place belongs to you. In Tibetan Buddhism, there are similar rules, yogis are not allowed to stay in one place for too long, because that can lead to attachment and obsession. Even if you do not intend to practice asceticism, I do not think that knowing these things is meaningless to you.

I know that many practitioners, at the beginning, when conditions were not that affluent, practiced very well. They could almost eat any food, but because they practiced well, they began to receive offerings. Then, they might want to improve their lives a bit. They ate better than in the past, and then they began to dislike some foods and like other foods. That's how they became vulnerable. In the past, food would not bother them, but now, if they cannot get a certain food, they are almost unable to meditate. This is the problem we are facing.

Without a doubt, practice will rapidly increase your blessings, but whether the gradually increasing blessings are good or bad for you depends on yourself. You might gradually become picky and easy to hurt, if you do not know how to use the blessings. For example, I am very fragile now because I have become accustomed to people's respect. Almost in all situations, I am treated as a very important person. You don't have to go too far, just showing that you don't care about me in particular can hurt me. Of course, I will disguise this very well. You will only see me smiling, not me being angry. But I know I am upset.

Most importantly, you cannot hide from yourself, you need to always know your own state. It's very good if you know and admit that you are upset because of others' disregard. But most people don't want to admit this. I think I understand very well why people become corrupt when they gain power. Even if he is a very good practitioner, as long as he has not reached the point of non-retrogression, he cannot guarantee that his mind will not change under such circumstances, let alone ordinary people. Of course, I'm not saying that we should forgive them. Generally, the changes in our hearts are very subtle, and by the time you notice them, it may already be difficult to reverse.

My intention is to remind practitioners of what can make you vulnerable. This way, you can try to avoid it. But the most important thing is not to deceive yourself. If you deceive yourself, you will help cover up your own weaknesses, you will think you have no weaknesses. This way, your weaknesses will become more and more serious until they are irreparable. Do not try to cover up your own problems, that will only make the problems worse, open up to yourself.

This article was first posted on the Ling Shan Hermit blog on March 16, 2010. All rights reserved, please do not infringe.

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灵山居士：当你习惯了某种生活，你会变得脆弱

[longsightmyth]

Weeeeelllll...

Gil-Galad rushed out of the tent in time to see Laeriel handed down from a horse by the elf she rode double with. He fully expected Laeriel’s reaction – to turn and offer to hand the elf down once her feet were on the ground – but he did not expect the elf to laugh and accept. He also did not expect him to stand and continue talking to Laeriel. Laeriel, he had heard Círdan say once, very dryly and more than a little irritably, was best in small doses; Gil-Galad had never agreed, but he had noticed that most seemed to. “Lairë!” he called, striding over before he - or Laeriel - could see the inevitable traces of panic in the face of an elf who had suddenly realized he was in over his head with a noldorin lady who did not seem to care for feelings or niceties. She waved – absently? When had Laeriel ever treated him absently? – and returned to conversing with the elf that Gil-Galad had probably been introduced to but whose name he could not remember. “Lairë?” he heard the other elf ask. Laeriel shrugged. “My parents spoke Quenya despite Thingol’s edict – well. My grandmother spoke Quenya at home, and so they did too.” “Your grandmother was strong-willed then?” “Very,” Laeriel said. “Lairë,” Gil-Galad said again. “You are unhurt?” She straightened. “As you see, Lord. Though I admit we would not be, had Thranduil and his warriors not helped us.” “Then I thank him,” Gil-Galad said, turning to this Thranduil. He could, he supposed, understand why Laeriel might enjoy spending time in sight of him: Thranduil was spear-slim and tall, if not quite as tall as Laeriel or Gil-Galad himself, with golden hair made more so by the sunlight glinting off of it, and his eyes were a pretty blue that called to mind the sea on a calm day. Strong brows and heavy lashes suited the high cheekbones and planes of his face. But Laeriel had never curbed her tongue for a pretty face – had, in fact, never seemed to notice how pretty a face was. There was something else here, maybe in the way Thranduil leaned ever so slightly towards her, as if focused exclusively on what she said even if it was directed at Gil-Galad. He decided that he did not like the smile Thranduil turned from Laeriel to him: something tucked around the corners suggested that he knew something Gil-Galad did not. “Thranduil,” Gil-Galad said. “I know that name.” “I have the honor of being Prince of the Greenwood,” Thranduil said with a bow. “It is an honor to meet you, my lord Gil-Galad.” One of her soldiers called Laeriel away, leaving Gil-Galad and Thranduil alone with barely a goodbye. “Laeriel is not always one for niceties,” Gil-Galad said. “She never was – do not be offended.” “I am not offended,” Thranduil said, smile fading into a look of calculation. Gil-Galad remembered abruptly that he had responsibilities that did not involve talking to an upstart prince. “As you are not offended by Laeriel’s abruptness, so I am sure you will excuse mine. Good day.” “Good day,” Thranduil replied. Gil-Galad glanced over his shoulder once as he left; Thranduil, with a clap on the shoulder and a word for one of his people, went after Laeriel.

[sapphireginger]

Mr. Loki!

Summary:

Stiles ended up selecting three pairs to start with. The first pair was ruby red silk, the second pair a stunning sapphire blue lace, and the third pair was emerald green satin though he would never admit to another soul exactly why he chose that last pair in that color. That was between him and his fantasy man.

Stiles was absolutely not embarrassed at all as his eyes alighted upon his current desire. In fact, he was quite excited and why shouldn’t he be? Anyone who had a problem could shove it. He just got fucking promoted, AGAIN! So, this was his treat. Plus, should anyone ask why he, Stiles Gajos, was perusing the lingerie, well Stiles had the perfect response ready. His fingers trailed over silk, lace, satin and cotton with reverence. He’d always had a thing for texture. Was there such a thing as a texture kink?

He had been waiting for his day off to treat himself after successfully impressing his boss. Said boss might have been the recurring star of Stiles’s fantasies but of course that was all it would ever be, a fantasy. 

Stiles ended up selecting three pairs to start with. The first pair was ruby red silk, the second pair a stunning sapphire blue lace, and the third pair was emerald green satin though he would never admit to another soul exactly why he chose that last pair in that color. That was between him and his fantasy man.

He collected his goodies and went to try them on. His eyes were blown wide with heat and desire as he surveyed his body in the floor length mirror. It was easy to decide that he’d get all three pairs. He loved the dark ruby red ones and they paired perfectly with his skin, but he couldn’t deny that his favorites were the emerald green pair. Yeah, he would definitely be getting two extra pairs of the emerald green ones.

As he checked out, his gaze couldn’t help but linger on a pair of pastel lavender ones. The salesgirl noticed and told him it would be half off with what he already bought. He snagged a pair. 

Stiles was so excited about his goodies that he wasn’t paying attention to what was in front of him and accidentally barreled into someone on his way out. The mystery person caught his arm to steady him, but Stiles still ended up flat on his ass on the concrete. He was mortified but thankfully nothing was broken and Stiles breathed out a sigh of relief. “Shit!” he cursed. “I’m so sor—” 

His eyes widened when he looked up to see who had tried to rescue him, to just who hadn’t been able to with the mess that he still seemed to be every now and then. The first thing he noticed was two emerald green eyes watching him. His vision cleared a bit more and his breath hitched. 

He swallowed thickly when his eyes alighted on none other than Mr. Mischiefson. This man was the CEO of Mischief International Communications and Intelligence. A man also known as Stiles's boss, the boss he had impressed just the day before. A man also known as Loki in keeping with his mischievous nature and to those who were given the privilege of calling him such, he was known as Tom. Stiles had dreamt of being one of the latter, but he was barely settling into his second promotion which still had him a few pegs down from Mr. Mischiefson. 

Said man offered his hand to help Stiles up. “Mr. Gajos, are you all right?”

Stiles took it with a small grateful smile, reeling a bit that he knew Stiles’s name, his last name. Well, perhaps the boss knew everyone’s name that worked for him? Then again maybe he recognized Stiles only because of the recent promotion announcement and his impressive performance in the meeting yesterday. Perhaps it was all a load of poppycock and Stiles’s imagination running away with him again. 

Yeah. It was probably just because he got a promotion, his second one but still. “Yes, sir,” he squeaked out. Then Stiles cleared his throat and spoke as calmly as possible in a clearer voice. “Yes, sir, Mr. Mischiefson. I’m fine. My apologies for running into you.” He grimaced at his sore rear end and not for the reason he wished it was sore. “A-An-Anyway!” Stiles exclaimed, wincing at the unnecessary volume at which he said it. “Than—”

The rest of his thanks got lodged in his throat as it was only then that he noticed his bags had dropped and the contents, while not damaged, were visible. He squeaked, his cheeks flushing a crimson red, his mind idly aware that they’d pair well with the Ruby red ones. Shoving that thought aside and averting his gaze, Stiles quickly gathered the bags. He bit his tongue to keep from blurting out a very unprofessional and inappropriate offer for his boss to see what he bought and give his opinion. 

He turned on his heel, “Get it together, Stiles!” he hissed at himself under his breath.

His muttered scolding meant he missed the whispered groaning gasp of, “Bloody fuck!” from his boss behind him. 

Stiles reached his car and hollered over his shoulder, “See you on Monday morning bright and early, Mr. Mischiefson!” His cheeks were too red to give a face to face goodbye for fear of his boss seeing every dirty thought Stiles had ever had about said boss written all over his face. 

As Stiles drove away, he glanced back in the rear view mirror and saw emerald green eyes watching him. He was suddenly glad he had gotten three pairs of that same shade. It looked like his time would be spent deep in his fantasies and after that encounter, Stiles had a feeling he’d ruin one pair tonight alone. 

He idly wondered if the heat in Mr. Mischiefson’s eyes was a figment of his imagination or something that was very very real. He kind of hoped it was the latter. 

Stiles’s mother used to call him Mischief and sometimes Stiles found himself thinking of all the mischief he and Mr. Mischiefson could get up to together. This meant by the time Stiles arrived home he barely got his clothes off and into the emerald green lingerie before his imagination ran wild and he spent the rest of the evening imagining all the ways it may be, possibly, perhaps could actually come true. He imagined all the things they could do, and Stiles wondered if he would be able to face his boss again.

Had Mr. Mischiefson seen the contents of the bags? If so, what did he think? If he truly was looking after Stiles with heat and desire, maybe Stiles should wear them to work and let them slip out just enough to tease without getting caught. 

If he could instigate it, then maybe he’d be able to bring his fantasies to life. Who knew but with a mind like Stiles’s, the possibilities were endless, and he fell asleep prepared to dream of all of them. 

[hadit93]

I might be wrong, but it seems like most of the famous occultists died broke or sick or an early death. Do you think that's a coincidence or something to do with magic or just their frivolous lifestyles?

I think it is largely a coincidence. I also don't believe it is true.

Crowley was ill, but he had been ill since being a child. They prescribed him heroin because that's how they treated asthma back in the day. He certainly wasn't wealthy but the idea he died broke and in a hovel is fictional. He did not. He was also in his 70s which for a man who suffered ill health since being a child wasn't exactly bad!

Kenneth Anger died recently, he was 96.

Kenneth Grant was pretty wealthy and he lived until 86.

Scott Cunningham was unfortunate, but the reality in his death was that HIV/AIDS was a serious issue at the time and he happened to be homosexual.

Chumbley was also unfortunate, but he suffered an asthma attack. Some say he performed the toad bone work incorrectly and that his death was a consequence of this. I say sometimes bad shit happens out of the blue!

Donald Michael Kraig is perhaps one of the most recent early deaths that comes to mind, but again, people get cancer. It is a sad fact of life.

My point is I can think of many more occultists who lived long lives in comfortable levels of wealth than the opposite being true.

Magic can offer many benefits, but the course of nature cannot be changed.

[thevoyageurmoteplass-writing]

Fox settled back on the bed, turning the key over in her hands, trying to glean any clues about it that she could. The others, with the exception of Lion, had been eager to leave it well alone, noting that they had had enough adventure to last them a lifetime, and beyond as Badger had piped up. But Lion was off trying to help Cam and while Fox had tried to force them to let her go, Collie had all but frogmarched her back to the tent, claiming that she wasn’t going anywhere until Amelia had given her the all clear. Fox was many things, but even she wasn’t stupid enough to argue with Tessie once she’d made up her mind.

With a sigh, Fox ran her finger along the teeth of the key. There was something wrong about them but for the life of her she couldn’t pinpoint it.

A quick knocking from the makeshift bathroom door startled her into action. She was up in an instant, the key brandished like a weapon in her right hand while her left hovered by the handle of her knife.

Slowly, she took a step forwards.

The knocking paused, long enough for her to almost fool herself into thinking it was simply her imagination. Too long drawing after so long without it, surely –

Knock, knock, knock.

Fox stumbled backwards slightly before mentally cursing herself and moving forwards once more.

‘Swift, if that’s you…’ she said, her voice fading as she reached the door. It couldn’t be him though. Swift had headed with The Antibody and Snake to try and make more of The Antidote. It also couldn’t be Hyena, all pranks on her went through Badger, and he was still treating her like she was made of glass.

‘If you don’t come out here –’

‘Use the key.’

The voice froze her. It was low and unfamiliar. The softness seemed wrong with the sense of authority behind it. A quiet assurance, a person used to getting their own way, having orders followed.

Every pragmatic fibre of her being told Fox to ignore it. To head out to camp, grab Atlas as back up, and deal with it together. But curiosity always won out, and she wasn’t going to give the person the opportunity to slip away.

‘Whatever,’ she murmured, left hand tightly gripping her knife as she eased the key into the lock. She didn’t expect much, but oddly it seemed to fit, to turn easily.

Any hash words or sarcastic comments Fox might have thought to make died as soon as the door swung open. Her attention was assaulted with movement and new things. None of it looked remotely like the bathroom she had been expecting.

It looked like a bustling café. Tables were filled with chatting customers, some speaking merrily over steaming cups while others mumbled things, looking at the middle distance. Soft music floated underneath it all, something classical and easy to ignore. Despite the hour, sunlight streamed in through large windows, dousing everything with a golden hue.

And yet, the longer she looked, the more Fox noticed was wrong with the image. A couple were drinking a smoothie with an eye in place of a decorative strawberry. There was a man with bright blue skin, dancing around near one of the windows. A Victorian woman seemed eager to inspect the television remote that a young boy with a cheeky smile had handed her.

‘It’s a lot to take in,’ a low voce said, snapping her from her reverie.

She took an instinctive step away from it, knocking her elbow with the doorframe. With a hiss of pain she clamped her other hand against it, instantly regretting the fact she was no longer so readily prepared to attack.

The large man who had spoken hastily held his hands up in a gesture of peace. ‘It’s all right, you’re safe.’ Fox scoffed, and was surprised that he offered her a small smile. ‘I know that’s hard to believe.’

‘Where am I?’ she demanded, really not wanting to go through all this again. At least this time, however, she still had all her memories.

‘Perhaps we should grab a table, Fox,’ he said, motioning to one nearby. ‘This may take some explaining.’

‘I’ll stand, thanks,’ she said, slowly removing her hand from her elbow. She didn’t like this, not one bit. Even less now the guy had shown that he knew her name.

He nodded, with irritating understanding. ‘My name,’ he began, hands moving to fiddle with his apron, ‘is Darius Kilvert. I own this place: The Voyageurs Möteplass. It’s a kind of… Um… haven for weary travellers once their stories are over.’

He paused, and Fox swallowed a lump that had managed to lodge itself in her throat.

‘I was at camp,’ she said, attention skittering around at the other customers, trying to read something off them. ‘How’d I get here?’ She looked steadily back at Darius. Her mind was reeling with questions, but she’d come to expect that they would go unanswered. There was little point in voicing them, she’d just have to investigate for herself.

‘Magic,’ he said earnestly. ‘No time passes in your world while you’re here either, so you can bombard me with as many questions as you desire.’ He let out a soft chuckle, an amicable sound that oddly brought a smile to Fox’s face.

‘Magic?’ she echoed disbelievingly, trying to wrap her head around it all. Darius nodded encouragingly. ‘But why did I find the key? Everyone has their own stories in the end.’

‘Aha,’ said Darius, his smirk widening and pride seemed to all but radiate off him. ‘There are some stories that force themselves to be known. They shoulder their way into the limelight with their chosen protagonist at the heart. Now, said protagonist might come kicking and screaming with it, or boldly face it head on. It doesn’t matter which, just that they are forced to have their story shared.’ He paused, allowing the words to sink in.

‘You know,’ she said carefully, glancing around the café, ‘everyone’s the protagonist of their own story. What if they’re the antagonist of someone else’s?’

Darius shrugged. ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted, a flicker of regret an undertone to his voice. ‘I don’t make those calls. But by all means, stay and puzzle it out.’

While Fox ached to try, and the idea of no time passing back home made it all the more appealing, she couldn’t.

‘I’d best be off,’ she said, shifting to start out the door, half expecting him to stop her.

‘All righty then,’ he said cheerfully instead, causing her to falter momentarily. ‘Well, you know where to find us, Fox. That key’ll work with any door.’ When she looked at him sharply he grinned. ‘Magic.’

Fox barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes as she opened the door, took in the sight of her ever familiar room. She stepped over the threshold and looked back into The Voyageurs Möteplass. ‘Thank you.’

Darius shot her a warm smile. ‘See you soon, Fox,’ he said, just before she shut the door.