#irish dance problems

[barnbridges]

every time i hear someone be like "im eastern european" and then they never talk about their home country or culture with any sort of pride or belonging im like are you actually an american bot thanks

[oceans-goddess]

Derry Girls-- James Maguire SFW Alphabet

This is the sweetest boy I have ever come across, so I thought it would be fitting to write some fluffy headcannons about him <3

I tried making the reader gender neutral for this post, but please let me know if I should tweak anything that I might not have noticed!

Contains: fluff, brief mention of injury, no smut

Also WARNING: Possible spoilers!!

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A-- Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

James is a pretty nervous boy, and he doesn't have a lot of experience in relationships, so I think he would do a lot of pining instead of being outright with his affection. This doesn't mean that it goes unnoticed, though: you always catch him staring, and he blushes when you make eye contact with him.

He's full of smiles, and any time he's speaking with you, he can't seem to keep from grinning at you.

When you two are alone, he is comfortable holding your hand, and rarely lets it go, which you find to be the cutest thing in the world.

He also often "forgets" his sweaters and jackets at your house in hopes that you'll wear them, which you do, and his head spins when he sees what you look like wearing his clothes.

B-- Best Friend (What would they be like as a best friend?)

We all know James is a Derry girl just like the rest of them, and they get up to some seriously fucked up shit, but I imagine that James is not always on board with the plans the other girls come up with (let's not forget the time they made him fist fight a guy over concert tickets). With that in mind, I think that he would voice his concerns, get shut down by one of the girls (probably Michelle), and wait until the two of you are in private to talk about how ridiculous things can get.

He also just enjoys confiding in you in general, finding you to be a more level-headed and accepting member of the group. He tells you a lot about his struggles with his mom, his trouble as the only boy at school, and feeling like he's caught between his Irish and English identities.

He's also an incredible listener, and often sits quietly with you while you tell him about your own problems. The two of you have built up a lot of trust while confiding in each other.

C-- Cuddling (Do you ever cuddle? What is it like?)

Like I said before, James is more into pining after what he wants than asking for it, so you're usually the one who initiates any physical contact that isn't hand holding. But once you two are touching, he gets a little more comfortable with the situation. He usually pulls you into a sort of loose bear hug, and sometimes he uses one hand to stroke your hair or rub your back.

I'm honestly surprised I'm saying this, but I think he enjoys being the big spoon more than being the little spoon.

He also really enjoys laying his head in your lap and letting you play with his hair.

D-- Dance (Do you ever dance together? How?)

I'd say the Derry Girls are a fairly dance-y group, so you'll catch James dancing all the time in social settings, but if it were just the two of you, there is no doubt in my mind that you two would slow dance to When You're Gone by the The Cranberries (so cute!!!).

Any slow, jazzy or bluesy song would absolutely make him want to dance with you, but only in the safety of your bedroom or his.

He really likes to make you twirl around, and you both collapse in a fit of giggles whenever you try to twirl him back.

E-- Energy (How much energy do they put into the relationship?)

This boy would die for you, I'm sure of it. He's such a sweetheart, and I think he would try so hard to make you happy.

James knows he isn't very suave, but he always tries to compliment you anyway-- he honestly can't hold back from telling you how great you look.

He's a real gift-giver, and he saves up all his money to try and buy things for you. He especially likes bringing you flowers, and his ears are always beet red whenever you open the door to let him in so he can replace the last bouquet he put in your room.

He walks you all the way home from school every day, despite him and Michelle normally splitting off from the rest of the group about half-way between your house and school. For a while, Michelle gave him a lot of shit for it, but now nobody really seems to mind.

F-- Fight (How often do you fight? What do you fight over? How is it usually resolved?)

The two of you rarely fight, but when you do, it never really ends with any yelling. James is a quiet communicator at heart, and he doesn't really like the idea of yelling at you.

Most of your fighting comes from you trying to push James to stand up for himself more, as it can sometimes bother you that he doesn't assert himself. In your mind, he's an equal member of the friend group and doesn't need to put up with anyone's bullshit. But when you push him, he says that he doesn't need help and that he can assert himself whenever he wants, he just chooses to go with the flow.

The spats usually get resolved after a few hours; for example, if something happens in the evening, you both usually just need the night to cool off, and things are fairly back to normal by the time he walks you to school in the morning. Anything longer than that, and one of you shows up to the other's house to apologize.

G-- Gentle (How gentle are they, emotionally and physically?)

MY SWEET BABY JAMES IS THE MOST GENTLE SOUL IN ALL OF DERRY. No but seriously, he moves around very quietly, careful not to stomp or bump into things, and he touches you gently as well. All of his kisses are slow and soft, never harsh or aggressive.

He is soft spoken, and he chooses his words carefully so that you know he cares for you. When he gets frustrated or overwhelmed, he tries to talk things out calmly instead of letting his emotions build into anger.

H-- Happy (What makes them happy? How do they show it?)

James loves receiving attention from you. Any time you give him a smile or compliment his new shirt or something, he can't keep a smile off his face.

I also think he would show his happiness by being a little more chatty. He gets excited talking to you, and he could hold a conversation with you for hours without running out of things to talk about.

I-- Injured (How would they act if you got injured or sick?)

I think if you got sick, James would worry, but he would ultimately know that you are gonna be just fine. He would definitely show up to your house with a can of soup or some chocolate or something once he finds out you're sick. And he would find an excuse to sit in your room and fiddle with your things while the two of you chat, despite you telling him to leave because you don't want him to get sick.

When you're injured, it's a whole different story. Anything bigger than a scrape or a bruise and he's practically lost his mind. If you broke a bone or had a concussion or needed surgery or anything like that, I think he'd be hyperventilating in the hospital waiting room, and you'd never be allowed to go anywhere or do anything alone again. He'd open every door, insist you take the elevator instead of the stairs, etc etc.

J--Jealousy: (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?) 

James can definitely get anxious seeing you around other people he thinks you might be compatible with. He never says anything about it because he trusts you and believes you would never cheat on him, but he's got insecurities about people leaving him because of him mom, and he worries that you'll feel like he isn't important enough to keep around. The feeling never lasts long, though, because as soon as you smile at him or peck him on the cheek, he realizes how secure he feels being with you.

K-- Kisses (Do you ever kiss? How?)

Like I said before, James is very soft and gentle when the two of you kiss, and he never really takes the lead when you two are being intimate in that way. He lets you do what you want and sort of follows along, and he is breathless and blushing the whole time.

Aside from your lips, I think his favorite places to kiss you would be on the forehead or your shoulders while he hugs you.

Though he would never vocalize this, his favorite place for you to kiss him would definitely be the neck. He is super sensitive there, and he immediately starts stuttering and breathing harder when you press your lips there.

L-- Love Language (What is their love language? If their giving different from their receiving?)

I've covered this a little bit in the sections above, but his love language when it comes to giving is gift-giving. You mean a lot to him, and though he is often too embarrassed to say this aloud, his little gifts show you that you are always on his mind.

When it comes to receiving love, I think James enjoys words of affirmation the most. People talk down to him a lot in his life, so hearing someone treat him with kindness and gentleness and respect is a big deal for him. He also loves the reassurance that comes with hearing what you think of him in your own words.

M-- Meeting (How did the two of you meet?)

You were already friends with Michelle and the others when James arrived in Derry, so the introduction came soon enough. The girls were quite judgmental of him in the beginning, but you were very welcoming, so he really relaxed around you, and the two of you became close very quickly.

N-- Night Out (What do y'all do when you go on dates?)

You two are very casual when it comes to dates. Grabbing food, going on walks, seeing a movie, stuff like that is sort of the norm for the both of you. James prefers to do sort of calm, quiet stuff, and he enjoys being somewhere away from a lot of people, so you guys usually end up sitting at the park in the dark, chatting about life.

O-- Oasis (Where is "your" place, the place for just to two of you?)

His bedroom is usually where the two of you end up when you want to be alone. Michelle and her mom are always out of the house, so its usually very quiet, and it's a good place to sort of decompress. His room is full of cds and books, and his bed is extremely comfy, so the two of you cuddle there often.

P-- Protection (how protective are they over you?)

I know I said before that he can be a little jealous sometimes and often gets nervous when you're injured, but other than that, he's not an extremely protective guy.

The only time you see him become more protective is when you're in social settings: if people approach you, he likes to grab your hand or put his hand around your shoulders to send a clear message. He doesn't want to seem possessive because he doesn't want to scare you off, but he wants to be sure that people know you two are together without saying it aloud.

Q-- Quiz (How much do they remember about you?)

He remembers all the important stuff, like your birthday, your parents' names, your middle name, your anniversary, your favorite color, your favorite foods, etc.

He also always makes sure that when you are coming over for dinner, his aunt is cooking something he knows you will like.

He likes to keep track of things you say you like by writing them down when he gets home. For example, you once told him that you wished you had enough money to buy a new bike, and he wrote it down so that he'd remember when your birthday came around.

R-- Rainy Day (What do you guys do when it's raining outside?)

He actually loves when it is raining out, because it gives him an excuse to make you change into his dry clothes after walking to his house in the rain. He insists that you should wear his softest sweaters and a pair of his sweatpants to get warmed up again.

Rainy days are also when the two of you curl up in bed and read, or play games, or watch tv. He thinks you always look so cozy and cute on his rug with a blanket over your lap and a mug of tea in your hands.

S-- Song (What song best represents the relationship the two of you have?)

I already mentioned a song by The Cranberries earlier, which I feel is pretty fitting, but I also think that Kiss Me by Sixpence None The Richer is also a perfect match for the relationship you two share.

There are fast paced parts of the song, which match well with the energy you both have when you're hanging out together with friends, but at the end of the song, there is a very gentle melody, mirroring that at the end of the day, when it's just the two of you, it's a very sweet, soft, and loving feeling. You two just have a quiet and comforting relationship.

T-- Telepathy (Do you guys think alike/agree on most things?)

You two are pretty much always on the same page, and it pisses Michelle off more than anything. You side with him all the time, mostly because her ideas can be bat shit crazy and you want no part of them.

You guys also always want the same two things on the menu when you go to restaurants, so you each order one thing and split both plates. He always leaves you the last bite-- what a sweetheart.

You guys have pretty much the same taste in music and movies, so you never argue about what to listen to or watch.

You can both always tell when the other is a bit down or upset, and you gravitate towards each other to give each other silent support until you are both ready to talk about what is bothering you.

In a way, you truly do kind of have a telepathic connection with each other.

U-- Ugh (What are some bad habits of theirs? Some bad habits of yours that they don't like?)

James can be kind of whiny at times. For good reason, to be sure-- he's often dealing with annoying situations. But, in truth, you feel he could be assertive and solve the problem instead of letting things happen and complaining about the problem.

He can get frustrated with you at times because you are never letting yourself get enough sleep. You never complain about being tired, but he can see on your face in class that you're exhausted, whether it's because you prioritized your homework over sleep or stayed up too late reading or watching tv, he hates to see you not taking care of yourself. Whenever you feel under the weather, he is always the first to remind you that you'd probably feel a lot better if you had slept enough the night before.

V-- Vacation (Where would you two travel together if you got the chance?)

James would absolutely love to take you to England with him for a tour of where he grew up. He knows that people in Ireland are particularly resentful of the English (and for good reason), but his childhood was a good one, and he wants you to see for yourself what it was like. I also think spending a rainy weekend in London with him would be the most romantic thing in the world, just a chance to be very cozy and find lots of book shops and cafes and things like that.

W-- Words (What do the two of say to show that you care? Any nicknames? Any Phrases?)

James absolutely adores when you call him Jamie or Jamesy or Gem, really any nickname. He was never shown a ton of affection, so getting it from you is very validating.

He calls you by your name in public, but in private he'll call you "babe" or "love" (what an Englishman, bwahahaha). Sometimes you tease him for using such an English term of endearment, but deep down you really like that he uses it on you.

X-- Xerox (are there any traits or habits of theirs that you’ve picked up by accident?)

James runs his hands through his hair and tugs at his curls a lot when he's stressed, a habit that has sort of extended to you. You constantly pull at your hair without meaning to, something you never used to do before.

He's also got a different accent than you, so sometimes you accidentally say things in a half-English accent just because you've heard James say it so many times. When he picks up on it, he finds it to be one of his favorite things about you, and he hopes you never stop.

Y-- Yuck: (What are some things they don't like in terms of a relationship?)

In all honesty, despite being proud that you two are together, James hates telling people outright that the two of you are a couple because he worries about letting other people influence your relationship. Couples always seem to experience trouble when other people get involved and start judging when they don't really understand. He'd rather just keep things between the two of you and let people find out naturally instead of saying anything.

Z-- Zzzz (A sleep habit of theirs?)

That boy must fall asleep touching you in some way. He prefers his classic bear hug cuddle or spooning, but if you all fall asleep watching a movie at Erin and Orla's for example, he's ok falling asleep while just holding your hand.

He always wakes up earlier than you. Sometimes, if he's early enough, he can have a cup of tea or hot chocolate ready when you wake up, but he usually just sits in bed and plays with your hair.

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Author's Note: Ugh this was so fun to write, please let me know if I should do an alphabet for another character in any fandom!

[covid-safer-hotties]

Teens and kids with long COVID are showing surprising new symptoms - Published Aug 21, 2024

Rose Lehane Tureen is one busy teenager.

The 16-year-old is class president, an Irish step dance champion, singer, cross-country runner and straight-A student at her high school in Maine.

Her accomplishments belie the reality that she suffers from a debilitating headache that has lasted for more than four years, one of the several long COVID symptoms she's endured since an infection in March 2020.

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At the beginning of her illness, Rose went to the emergency room half a dozen times and was hospitalized twice with dizziness and blinding head pain. She also had red and swollen fingers, toes and ears; peeling skin; joint pain; problems controlling her temperature and terrible dreams.

She lost years of her life to long COVID and is trying to make up for it.

“I had to decide if I wanted to wither away on the couch in the dark or push through and do things that made me happy,” she said. "I'm reclaiming what it's taken and trying to live my life."

Rose is one of the estimated 5.8 million children in the U.S. with long COVID, many of whom have not been diagnosed because doctors, parents and patients fail to recognize the constellation of symptoms, experts say. A new study funded by the National Institutes of Health aims to arm families with information, identifying the most common long COVID symptoms in school-aged children and teenagers.

“Children aren’t just little adults,” said Dr. Melissa Stockwell, the study's coauthor and division chief of child and adolescent health at Columbia University. The more providers understand how long COVID impacts people at different ages, the easier it will be to diagnose children and provide prompt care.

Long COVID symptoms in kids, teens The study included 5,300 younger school-aged children and teens from more than 60 healthcare facilities across the U.S. between March 2022 and December 2023.

Researchers found teenagers between 12 and 17 were more likely to report fatigue, pain and changes in taste and smell, whereas, younger schoolchildren between 6 and 11 were more likely to have difficulty focusing, sleep problems and stomach issues, according to the report published Wednesday in JAMA.

Long COVID symptoms affected almost every organ system, and most patients reported symptoms that affected more than one part of their body.

In the report, younger school children and teens commonly reported back or neck pain, headaches, lightheadedness or dizziness and trouble with memory or focus. The study authors were also surprised to find that shared symptoms among the younger children included phobias, specifically the fear of crowded or enclosed spaces, and refusal to go to school.

The symptoms that showed up in younger children were less likely to overlap with symptoms experienced by adults with long COVID. The authors said this underscored the importance of age-based research.

“The symptoms that make up the research index are not the only symptoms a child may have and they’re not the most severe, but they are most predictive in determining who may have long COVID,” said Dr. Rachel Gross, the study's lead author and associate professor of pediatrics and population health at New York University Grossman School of Medicine.

Rose could have benefited from this research in 2020. It took more than a year to find doctors who would take her cluster of symptoms seriously. She eventually found that team at Boston Children's Hospital.

“I went from running a junior Olympic qualifier to being unable to walk,” Rose said. “It was dramatic and confusing.”

Missing 'whole boat' of data Despite the new research, health experts say a great deal is still unknown about long COVID.

For example, most of the data from the study comes from patients who were infected with earlier COVID-19 variants, not the latest version of omicron, said Dr. Alexandra Yonts, a pediatric infectious disease specialist and director of the post-COVID program at Children’s National Hospital in Washington, D.C.

The study suggests kids infected with omicron are less likely to develop long COVID, however, Yonts argues there isn't enough data to support that theory since omicron hasn't been on the scene long enough to allow for robust long COVID data.

"If we’re looking at kids that have been newly infected (and) what is their risk of becoming long COVID patients?" she said. "We’re missing that whole boat."

Authors of the JAMA study say their next research will be long COVID symptoms in children 5 and under. Yonts said the most urgent need for these patients is access to post-COVID clinics that specialize in identifying and treating lingering symptoms from a COVID-19 infection. She said these types of efforts are beginning to close down across the country due to a lack of funding and support.

"These are such complex patients," Yonts said. "It's hard to find a multidisciplinary team that can define those symptoms and support them."

That's why Rose, a California native, eventually moved with her family to southern Maine so they could be driving distance from Boston Children's Hospital, where she visits the long COVID clinic at least once a month. In addition to doctors at the hospital's specialized COVID clinic, she's seen nearly a dozen specialists including a sleep neurologist, acupuncturist, gastroenterologist, endocrinologist, rheumatologist and cardiologist, among others.

Rose is disheartened that post-COVID clinics are shutting down for patients like her, but not completely surprised. She sees the world moving on from the pandemic, but she's still in pain. She hopes the JAMA study brings renewed attention to the condition.

"There’s this illusion now that lockdown is over, that COVID is gone," she said. "It’s really, really difficult and invalidating for all the people with long COVID – especially children."

[jacevelaryonswife]

After Dark | Part Three

Finan was a pratical man and didn’t carry the same dilemmas and barriers that his two mates had about you.

pairing: modern! Finan x fem!stripper reader

warnings: smut, oral (f receiving), slight praising, swearing. 3k.

after dark masterlist | previous part | the last kingdom masterlist

Finan didn’t carry the same dilemmas and barriers that his two mates had about you.

He was a practical man, mostly, and liked to lead his life with such practicality. It wasn’t a problem for the Irishman to lie down with a lady of the night, in fact, the whole situation was a very simple transaction: he would pay for a service that would be performed deliciously. No blurring, no shyness and no games (not totally, he appreciated certain provocations), just good old fun.

Referring to you on that occasion, it would be considerably expensive fun. Luckily, Uhtred paid well enough for him to enjoy some monthly luxuries in addition to a comfortable life, and that night you would be an extra luxury.

He wasn't stupid to leave the club on the night of Osferth's birthday without your name, asking you directly at the time of the negotiation of Baby Monk's gift. Aura, an interesting stage name.

He also disbursed a significant amount to give a memorable experience to his friend and did not regret it at all when he saw him all red, disconcerted and with a small smile when returning to meet the lads. Obviously the return home was showered by provocations from both Irish and Dane (mainly the first), leaving him blushing more than usual.

It was also obvious that when returning the prop you had thrown in the audience that night to a random employee of the club, Finan took the opportunity to ask if there was any schedule where you would appear again. The man was very enlightening about not having a fixed grid of presentations, but explained that your schedule was mostly nocturnal and that on less busy days you would be in the main hall working with individual dances from 7PM. It made a lot of sense, since with less demand it was necessary to expand the offer to get the money of the degenerates who attended the club at the beginning of the week. A fixed target would be easier. A fixed target like him that Monday night, sitting in a comfortable armchair with a glass of ale in his hand.

It was for a good cause.

The environment seemed more decadent and desperate than Finan remembered and he almost felt like a newly divorced man facing a middle-aged crisis when looking for a younger girl, even though he knew that wasn’t his situation. However, such thoughts dissipated when the music was over and you moved away from the idiot who paid for your attention. About thin heels and satin gloves, you shone in the eyes of the Irish with your lingerie studded with golden stones and a mask that covered the top of your face.

Again, Finan was a very practical man who was not ashamed to call your name before any loser did it. And apparently you didn't see a problem with such an attitude.

"Hey big boy, would you like a dance?" The velvety sound of your voice was very welcome along with the caress over his chin.

"Sure, darling," he pulled a generous note out of his pocket and handed it in your hand, whose assessment of the amount was quite judicious. "How much time do I have?"

“Four minutes,” you massaged his shoulders, swinging your hips to the rhythm of the new song. "I remember you, handsome, friend of the birthday boy and the man with mismatched eyes."

"So in addition to being gorgeous, does the lady have a good memory?"

A goddess on a mountain top

Was burning like a silver flame

"It's hard to forget a man like you," you purred as you sat on his lap.

The summit of beauty and love

And Venus was her name

"With an impressive face and a hot accent," your fingers ran their arms over the shirt, "and those arms. What's your name?"

She's got it

Yeah, baby, she's got it

He was no stranger to the tactics that strippers used to keep the spell on their customers, increasing his egos with compliments. He considered himself smart enough not to fall into your web, but felt a certain satisfaction in having his attributes highlighted.

Well, I'm your Venus

I'm your fire at your desire

He smirked, aware of what you were doing, squeezing his thigh in response. “It's Finan, darling.”

"Hi Finan, did you also come to fuck me like your friends did?" You whispered close to his ear.

That sent sparks along his body and made him widen his eyes to the plural job. Friends? So did Sihtric also seek comfort in your body? That Dane bastard...

Well, I'm your Venus

"Only if it's to your liking," he turned his face to face you.

I'm your fire

“I'd really appreciate it, sweetie. And I think you do too." Oh honey, he was sure of that.

At your desire

He watched closely when you positioned your thighs side by side with his legs and let your back fall back to expose your body to the delight of the Irish, who soon explored your soft skin with thick, callous fingers. One leg climbed over the shoulder and made a brief caress against his hard chest, briefly displaying your inner thigh and pussy covered by thin fabrics, before returning to the old position and facing it again.

Her weapons were her crystal eyes

Making every man mad

Black as the dark night, she was

Got what no one else had

"What big hands you have," you murmured as you provocatively grind over his groin.

The deep grunt he released was the perfect vocal response, followed by the squeeze on your waist "Combined with the package," he replied with a smirk.

“I hope it's a big package,” you purred and fingered his jaw.

She's got it

Yeah, baby, she's got it

Well, I'm your Venus

"Naughty girl," he gently hit your ass (soft enough not to be expelled by security guards).

I'm your fire

At your desire

"I bet you like it, big boy."

Well, I'm your Venus

I'm your fire

At your desire

He liked — he fucking liked it — a sassy and beautiful little thing to piss him off, a little minx to entertain him in bed.

She's got it

Yeah, baby, she's got it

Well, I'm your Venus

I'm your fire

At your desire

He watched your gaze travel to a clock on a nearby side wall. "Mm, after the song is over we can find out about your big package, what do you say?"

Well, I'm your Venus

A smirk outlined his lips, brown eyes shining in your direction. You were a dirty little thing. "If you insist, baby."

I'm your fire

At your desire

When the instrumental came to an end, Finan lost you from the comfort of his lap. With the implicit invite in your hand raised, he agreed to be guided and displayed as a trophy throughout the club (with a beautiful view of your ass). He watched curiously when another dancer interrupted the route to whisper something in your ear with a dirty smile, looking at him before moving away.

"Mmm, I think the girls are jealous of the delicious fish I caught," you purred proudly, receiving a pretentious look and wolf smile from him. Damn it, you played well, there was no way to deny it.

“I hope I can satisfy your hunger,” he replied in a malicious tone, gaining a satisfied look over his shoulder.

Your answer came in the form of a positive buzz, while guiding him through the corridor into where the rooms were located. "You already know the price and the form of payment, but as I made a discount for his friends I feel obliged to do the same for you. What do you think?"

Sweet.

"I think it's a very smart choice."

Approaching like a panther over the neon lighting of the room, you circled his neck and whispered close to your lips: "Now take me, Finan."

He waited all the fucking night to hear that.

When the Irish’s hands grabbed your body it was almost impossible to push them away. He grabbed your waist and circled an arm on your back when your lips collided in a sweeping and demanding kiss, not wasting time sucking and biting your lower lip, tasting the surprisingly sugary taste of your mouth. A fierce fight for domination was fought during almost the entire act, only for you to surrender to his strong arms. His hands began to tread through the soft and warm body, holding and squeezing your ass covered by bold lingerie, climbing to grab the back of your neck and bring you more impossibly close.

You let a soft hand run between the dark strands of the nape of the neck and pull at them gently, making him grunt against your lips.

"I hope you are quite vocal, this voice is too sexy not to be heard," your sweet words caused a short nasal laugh and intensified his look on you.

"You’ll hear it, sweetheart," his tone was seductively serious against your ear. In an agile movement he raised your thighs and lay carefully above you on the bed. “Bad girl.”

His mouth explored the free path of your jaw, throat until it colorized the soft skin with kisses and hickeys. "Mmm, don't leave marks, sweetheart."

He supported his weight on his right forearm while squeezing and massaging your breasts covered with a distinct softness of the large, calloused hands, the same hands that pulled your shoulders up and removed the glamorous bra without difficulty.

“Fucking gorgeous,” he said in a choked voice.

Pushing you back to the soft mattress, Finan grabbed your breasts vigorously, sucking and nibbling on the soft meat and stiff nipples. The wet trail of kisses followed through the silky skin of your stomach, while his hands held your sides possessively until they went down and pulled the beautiful studded lingerie out.

Oh boy, he was not prepared for the sight of the beautiful wet pussy for him.

His mouth was watered with the banquet in front.

You got up with a sly smile and stretched to reach the decorative item similar to a glass vase that kept a large amount of condoms.

“Do you want to eat me out, handsome?” You asked, delivering it.

Tearing the packaging carefully and positioning it, Finan smiled seductively. "I'm going to fucking devour this pretty pussy, darling."

He circled your inner thighs and held your waist before diving in like a hungry man. He loved to smear himself with the nectar and make a big mess before going for the goal, but with the thin plastic protection unfortunately it was not possible. Still, Finan grabbed your pussy greedily, sucking your bundle of nerves while squeezing and massaging your waist. Unfortunately a possessive hand had to let go of your flesh to keep the condom stable on his movements.

“Fuck! Just like that!”

Finan was not oblivious to flattery to captivate customers, but he was quite confident in his skills of eating pussy and humping women up to an abrasive orgasm. He buzzed with satisfaction and kept the pressure on your clit when he felt the thick strands of his hair being held and pulled, fucking loving to have his head packed and buried between your stuffed thighs.

"So good, so greedy," you purred almost out of breath.

"I can say the same, darling," a wolf's smile lit up his face, "such a pretty girl, with such a dirty mouth," he eagerly sucked your clitoris.

“Fuck!” You screamed as you writhed fiercely. "I bet my dirty mouth makes your dick hard?"

"You can bet it does," the slap on your flesh echoed through the room and added to the squeeze around his head. "Bad girl, you should learn a lesson or two," another stronger slap on the same side of the ass, "I bet you’d like that, but I appreciate the beauty of insolence."

Finan intensified the pressure on your nerves until your sounds became louder and more constant. "Don't stop, baby, don't stop!"

He’d never dare. His big brown eyes were positioned on the beautiful face above his to contemplate the reaction of your first orgasm that night. The pretentious smile was a reflection of the Irish’s inflated pride, removing and discarding the condom and looking for a package that fit him.

Finan showed off his impressive body by removing his clothes and shoes before going back to bed and kissing your calf to knee, stopping at seeing your pussy shining with sweet juices of which he almost salivated to taste.

"Damn it, I'm lucky to have a man like you tonight, big and thick," he kneeled lazily on the bed as you explored his chest with both hands and circled his neck to start an aggressive and lustful kiss, receiving nothing less than fire from the Irishman and a big, possessive hand grabbing your ass.

"As much as I wanted to see this beautiful face and tits jumping, I need to hold that ass while I fuck you." His tone was heavy and hoarse, his accent more loaded than usual. He massaged your breasts before you turned slowly and exposed your ass towards him, taking his length and giving it a slight pump. “Slow down, baby,” you warned him.

“Don't worry darling, I'll treat you well,” he massaged your ass affectionately before putting the condom along his length. "Relax and enjoy."

The air was retained in his lungs when he felt the hot and wet squeeze around his cock as he slowly entered your soft walls. One hand rested on your hip for better support and the other held the soft flesh of your ass.

“Fuck!” You cursed out of breath, holding the sheets tightly. “Move.”

"As you wish," he moved superficially, adapting your body to intrusion. Even the smoothest of movements made him grunt with the friction, smoothing your back while deepening into you with each thrust. He let out a hoarse grunt and closed his eyes as he was balls deep in your pussy, feeling the vibrations all over his body and waves of pleasure involving his cock. You squirmed with a slight spasm below him, releasing a long and slightly sharp moan.

"Are you okay?" He interrupted, worried, although desperate to continue.

"I’m fucking fantastic!" You mewled like a sly cat, pushing your hips back. “Fuck me good, baby.”

That's what he wanted to hear.

He hit his hips on yours harder at a steady, almost blunt pace, which partially clouded his sight and involved his senses. There was no time to waste, not when you took him so well and sang sensually, letting him fuck as you wished. He growled when you pushed your ass even more against his groin, giving a firm cap on your soft buttock and grunting when you squeezed it in response. Leaning on your forearm, you looked at him over your shoulder with lascivious desire and face crumpled with pleasure. Finan watched carefully when you sent a hand between your legs, sinking your face back into bed while playing with yourself.

No, you wouldn't hide that beautiful face of yours.

Leaving you, Finan turned your body and took off the mask that covered the top of your face before leaning and an arm supported next to your head. “Eyes on me, beautiful,” he murmured close to your lips, feeling your arms hold his back.

You leveled your face to his, making it more intimate than you should. He held your inner thigh and moved his hips rhythmically, deep into your hot core. "Good girl, so fucking gorgeous," he felt your walls squeeze, which made him laugh satisfied. "You like to be praised, don't you, beautiful?" He plunged his face into the conjuncture between his neck and shoulder and nibbled on sensitive skin.

“Mmm-yes.”

The constant tightening and pulsating of your core made him growling and keeping his pace focused on getting your peak. Your moans became loud and your nails scratched his back when you came strong on his cock, body shaking and sweat accumulated on the top of your forehead. He eagerly waited for the stabilization of your breath and the permission to pursue his own pleasure.

“Move handsome, move, I want to see you cum for me,” you said close to his lips, kissing him eagerly afterwards.

He hit his hips on yours and returned to leave bites and licks in the extension of your neck, his balls weighing with each thrust while his senses seemed to get lost every second.

“Fuck-“

His view became blurred by releasing the load on the condom with a guttural moan, leaning mostly against the bed while feeling his body weigh. All neurons were inert for a short period of time that seemed too long until he came out of you calmly, surprised when you moved to remove the condom and dispose of it in a small trash can away from the bed. A thin layer of sweat lit up his torso when he lay on the bed, watching your hips swing temptingly as he rested next to him.

“Mmm, are you okay, big boy?”

“More than okay, darling, and you?” The wear after sex left him inert for a few seconds, his muscles relaxing and almost anchoring him in bed, he would love a cigarette at that moment.

"Fucking awesome," you purred and turned face down, leaning on your elbows and looking at him. "So... was this planned by you and your friends or did it happen casually?"

That was a really good question.

"When you say friends, do you mean me and Osferth, the birthday boy, or a Dane with different eyes whose name is Sihtric?" He inquired really intrigued.

“The three of you, sugar.”

He couldn't believe it, so that bastard who couldn't stand the idea of paying a woman to have sex kept it a secret all this time about having slept with you? Unbelievable.

"The only plan was Osferth's birthday. I don't know anything else, beautiful," he explained in a deep voice, rolling to leave kisses on your neck and smell your hair.

But then, without him knowing, an interesting plan formed in your mind with the idea of actively fucking those formidable specimens of men at the same time. The sweet Osferth, the serious Sihtric and the nasty Finan. It seemed too delicious to ignore.

"Mmm, how about we plan one more thing, big boy?"

��════════════════════

taglist: @gemini-mama @ireallydontcareanymorebrooo @tssf-imagines @succnfuccubus @arcielee

general: @succnfuccubus @fan-goddess @kravitzwhore @partypoison0

a note: i know i know. I had a huge block and I rewrote this story more often than I would like, sorry for the long delay for this and I hope you liked it

my amazing beta reader: @moris-auri ❤️

[candysugarush]

𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬: part 1

"𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑫𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒓 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒏-𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒅𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒆𝒔"

✧══════•❁❀❁•══════✧

Choi Seungcheol

Character : The first princess

Story : As the first born and oldest prince, a lot of pressure had been on his shoulders the moment he was born. And that, even if he had eleven brothers after him. He had to grow up before he was ready for it to please the expectation of his father, and so, his only pleasure and release from his life was dancing. A secret he thought he would take to the grave of it wasn't for his brothers following after him in his secret passion.

Fortunately, you're here to help him with getting dancing shoes. He doesn't know how he would keep up if you weren't here. Don't you ever think about not coming to the palace anymore. He won't accept it.

Yoon Jeonghan

Character : The second princess

Story : He is part of the mischievous 'angel-devil' duo with his irish twin, and he plays the devil. With a talent for words and manipulation, it's no surprise that everyone is wary of him behind his business smile, but this is also a talent that makes him an excellent negotiator. Especially when he convinced you to take care specially of making dancing shoes for his brothers and himself.

But be careful not to cross him or back out the deal. He is smarter than you and will make you pay the price tenfold for even thinking about it.

Hong Jisoo

Character : The third Princess

Story : He is part of the mischievous 'angel-devil' duo with his irish twin, and he plays the angel. But don't be fooled, behind his deceiving sweet face and manners he is just as bad as his brother. That doesn't mean he is just like him. Joshua likes to think of himself as a gentleman, one that has manners and know how to properly take care of a lady. He is always eager and happy to help you when you come by to deliver their dancing shoes.

What do you mean you don't need help? Don't be silly, just let him help you, he has your best interest at heart.

Wen Junhui

Character : The fourth princess

Story : The firstborn son of the concubine of the king. Junhui, despite not having the same mother as the rest of his brothers, it had never been a problem among them. Despite his quiet and discreet personality, he has a love for dancing, especially the style of his mother's culture. And so this is one of his common points and interest with the rest of his brothers. Otherwise he like to stay in the back and watch things happening.

But you... You've seen him from the start and encouraged him to step forward with his passion. And now you want to leave? Your gaze shined the light on him, you don't get to leave till the end of the performance.

Kwon Soonyoung

Character : The fifth princess

Story : A loud and eccentric prince who is actually an introvert when interacting with people outside his family. Fully believe to be a tiger, even 'a magnificent tiger cursed into a human form'. This causes quite a few sighs and headaches among his brothers. But for a tiger, he is truly talented with dancing and is his favorite pastime when not bouncing around to yapp about being a tiger.

Now you, you are the only one who knew what his tiger feet needed and actually take the time to listen to his words. So bunny don't think about leaving his den now. You're under the tiger prince protection.

Jeon Wonwoo

Character : The sixth princess

Story : A serious and stoic looking prince who just want to live and do his things with getting bothered. Tall and lanky with an affinity more for inside activities than outside, no one would have guessed he is as fanatical about dancing as his brothers. While he loves a good dance, he also loves his books and quiet in the library. His energy stock isn't as high as the rest.

At least you understand him on that point. Everyone else is always busy running around and being too energetic. So take a seat and stay by his side. He doesn't mean it just for now but forever.

Lee Jihoon

Character : The seventh princess

Story : The grumpy cat-looking prince who is also the shortest. But what he lack in heights, he compensate in strength and a passion for music that goes above his brothers interest. He is a musician and composer, truly dedicating himself to music. Dancing is just another layer on the cake for him, even if he has to admit sharing this passion with his brothers isn't unpleasant.

But you're important too! After all nothing would be possible without you. You are his muse, the source of his artistic inspiration. If you were to leave, his mind wouldn't accept it and fall apart in madness.

✧══════•❁❀❁•══════✧

Who will be your dancing partner?

Taglist: @loumin908

[mercurygray]

Blind Dates Fest 2024 - Freda Torvaldsen, ARCS

A few days ago I asked for MOTA prompts, and @junojelli delivered:

A MOTA scene prompt for you: a new arrival is amongst the clubmobile ladies at the local pub one evening. Of course, it would only be right that they give her the lowdown on the men they can see in the bar, and the recent gossip on possible nocturnal escapades of course 😏

So! An extra Blind Date! You can learn more about @blind-dates-fest at their blog.

Fandom: Masters of the Air

It was only a matter of time before the subject came up.

“Can’t say I’ve ever met a Freda before.”

It was always like this, her first day in a new assignment, where you been, where you from, what do you do. And then inevitably someone would work around to the obvious. So... what’s a name like Torvaldsen doing with a name like Freda?

“And neither had my mother,” Freda said with a resigned smile, sitting down heavily and nodding thankfully to one of the other girls for the beer. “After my father and brother were both Peters I think she just wanted something interesting.” She shrugged. “She told me once she found the name in a short story in a woman’s magazine. Never got confused with another girl in class, though! Fred’s just fine, for every day use. It’ll get tossed in eventually, so we may as well start there.”

Fred was easy - approachable, even. A good way to start a conversation, a quick, easy joke to set everyone on the same level. Who’s on shift today, girls? Rose, Laura, and Fred. Wait, Fred? And she’d stick her head out from wherever she was hiding, and the boys would all have a laugh that Fred was really a twenty-six year old blonde from Madison, Wisconsin with a big smile, and not the paunchy driver from Brooklyn they all pictured when they heard the name. She didn’t mind the jokes, really - it made the whole job easier. So what’s your name, solider? You have a nickname, too? Where you from? The whole reason she was there, in three questions or less - to make the average G.I. feel at home, seen, valued and wanted.

“Where’d you say you were, before this?” Helen asked. At least, she thought it was Helen - or was it Ellen? Honestly, Tatty had run through the team of three pretty quickly this morning and she might have misheard. Tatty, of course, was easy to remember - Katherine Spaatz, with a last name the papers wouldn’t soon forget and a face that liked being photographed. Mary Boyle was the other, a sparkling-eyed Irish girl from Des Moines who looked like just the kind the fellows all liked to spin around a dance more than once. She couldn’t remember the name of the girl she was replacing, either - not that that mattered much. She was going home with the one non-communicable disease the Red Cross didn’t want to deal with - pregnant, Mary had mouthed across the table when they’d first met this morning, her fresh off the bus from London and Tatty skating artfully around the subject.

“Did a spell at the canteen in Washington, another couple months in London in a few different spots,” Freda offered. “I guess I’m a professional replacement at this point - which is either a compliment or a curse. You’ll have to tell me which.”

“Well, we’re happy to have you, for as long as we’ve got,” Tatty said with a nod. “Did they tell you what the work would be like? Working a base is different than canteen service.”

“The hours, for a start,” Mary said, rolling her eyes.

“If they’re running a mission, they’re up and at ‘em at 4:30 for a 5 am briefing, which means -”

“Service ready for 4:45,” Freda filled in, nodding along. “Means we’ll be starting about...three thirty, maybe, to have everything hot and ready?”

“Will that be a problem?” Tatty asked, her eyes dark and decisive across the table.

Freda shook her head. “Always was more of a morning person. How long are they usually out for?”

“Longer runs...six, seven, eight hours at a time? Tower will give us a ring when they’re expected back in, and then we rack up donuts and coffee in the interrogation hut. You’ll need to be sharp on that shift,” Tatty warned. “They don’t always come back looking pretty.”

“Doctor’s usually on hand to evaluate anyone who can walk. If they’re still standing he’ll turn ‘em loose on the interrogation team,” Mary explained. “Captain Brennan and her girls run that room - she’s nice, you’ll like her.”

“You’re not there to make small talk for that one - pass out coffee and get ‘em to their table as quick as you can. Each crew runs through the whole mission - what they saw, who they shot at, bombs dropped. The after-action report. Once they’re done, they’re free to leave, and so are we. We’ll do dishes and clean-up, and then get the coffee urns ready to drive ‘round to the crews. Can you drive?”

“Well enough for Wisconsin,” Freda offered with a shrug. “We had a Ford I could grind through.” She didn’t say anything about the last time someone had asked her if she knew how to drive, and how she’d nearly run over the campus mascot trying to muscle a Clubmobile into a turn.

“Sounds like you’ll be driving our Jeep, then. We’ve got one assigned to us.”

Freda nodded, trying to maintain serenity. Well, that’s all right. A Jeep’s not a remodeled London bus, and it sure as hell doesn’t drive like one.

“The planes are parked out on hardstands and the crew basically live out there while they’re working,” Tatty went on, “So we take coffee and sandwiches around once the planes come back in. They’re good guys out there - better than the flyboys, sometimes.”

“Now, Tatty, don’t go turning her head the wrong way,” Mary interjected, before Freda could ask what a hardstand was. “They’re all nice. Just take some getting used to.”

“Anyone I’ll need to watch out for?” Freda asked, glancing around the club, which was gradually beginning to fill for the evening - officers in their Class As, the gilt on their wings like sunshine, laughter like a river. The knucklehead who knocked up your friend, for instance?

Tatty made a gesture across the room towards the biggest group. “The tall one horsing around with the dartboard is John Egan - Major Egan, rather. Or Bucky, if you want nicknames. He’s mostly harmless, but he’ll flirt with anything. Just give as good as you get and you’ll be fine. Man next to him is Major Gale Cleven - also Buck - who you’ll wish was single and isn’t.”

“He’s got a girl back home in Wyoming,” Helen (Ellen?) put in, her smile a little wistful. “Ask him about her sometime.”

“Man with the permanent frown is Major William Veal - Bill, sometimes. He’s all business, you’ll never see him dance, so don’t ask. Tall fellow next to him with the lighter curly hair is Major Jack Kidd, also mostly business.”

Freda’s eyebrows went up. “Mostly?” Now there’s a word with a story.

It was Tatty’s turn to smile. “We think he might be sweet on Mary, when he lets himself.”

Mary rolled her eyes. “Only because the rest of you gang up on him!”

“Those are the squadron commanders, anyway - the other pilots and navigators and crews report to them. It’s a lot of names,” Tatty said, almost dismissive.

Notice how she didn’t say I’d learn them, Freda thought to herself. They’d told her that much in London, when she’d gotten her assignment. Don’t get too attached to your post, or the soldiers there. They can change or leave at any time. It’s a war, not a weekend.

“Ladies! And how are we all on this fine evening, eh?” Here it was - faces up. Freda found her smile and turned to see who it was - a young man with black hair and blue eyes and a smile just this side of mischievous. And this one is named Trouble, I’ll bet. First lieutenant with flying wings - a pilot. “You all over here plottin’ somethin’ we fellas need to be made aware of?”

“Just introducing the new girl around, Curt.” Tatty gestured to Freda, on the other side of the table, who raised a hand and nodded hello.

Trouble (Curt?) smiled a little wider, his hand on Tatty’s shoulder, leaning closer over the table. “Oh, the new girl, eh? And does the new girl have a name?

“New girl answers to Fred,” Freda said with a patient smile, trying not to smile too hard at the patently obvious big-city, big-spender feeling rolling off of the lieutenant in waves. New Yorkers. You could run them off a press like that. It was funny, sometimes, how much they tried not to be types - but she’d known far too many men like him. That was the trouble with canteen service - you saw so many they all started to look the same. “And she’s not looking for another drink, before the lieutenant starts asking.”

“Tough customer!” He laughed at that. “Curtis Biddick, at your service, Fred. Now, if any one of these jokers starts anything or gets fresh, you come find me, alright?” He pointed, for emphasis, and she took note of the knuckles of his hand, the shortness of his nails. “Gotta take care of our girls, you know, since you’re always taking care of us.”

“I’ll certainly keep it in mind, Lieutenant.”

Biddick waved the rank away like it was a fly he were swatting. “Now, none of this lieutenant crap, Fred. My friends call me Curt.” He fixed his eye on her and she smiled, and nodded - heard and acknowledged. Confident they had an understanding, he clapped Tatty’s shoulder again and stood up. “Tatty. Mary. Helen. Fred. Yous all have a good night, now.”

“Well, there you are, Fred. If Biddick likes you you’re set. He was serious about finding him, too - he’s the company boxing champion.”

“Of course he is,” Freda said with a smile, finally able to place where she’d seen hands like that before. And a total sweetheart underneath all of it, if I read him right.

And a soldier, something in her head reminded her. That’s the trouble with working a base - they won’t just be here for a night. You’ll have learn their names, and their girlfriends, see them day in and day out - until one day you don’t.

She took a deep breath and a sip of her beer, still glancing around the room, at the laughing men at the dartboard, the craps game, the piano, everyone alive and free and full of life. Maybe it had been a bad idea to start with names.

---

Eagle-eyed readers will notice that I have name-dropped several new characters in here; one of them, Marion, is my other Blind Date this year. You'll meet her on Saturday!

[calamity-calliope]

OC SMASH OR PASS

(jumping on this bandwagon just because) [Thanks @zeebreezin ]

Middle image by @feivelynart. Seriously, go check them out!

Name: Johnathan Morholt Certsey

Age: 40

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Honestly who even knows

☘ Propaganda for:

He is a pawnbroker

Accomplished calliopist - loves playing with and for others

Very lively fellow, and you can count on that day or night.

Just generally spirited and joyful, hardly seen without a smile or a positive attitude

Catfish-shaped <3

Calls you "deary"

Knows many a good zee-ztory, as has no objections to telling them

excellent cook!

Lives and breathes the zee, loves a good adventure on-board with 90-foot flash schooner Calamity!

Fun uncle energy all day every day

Protective of his friends (he would kick ass for you)

Made to cuddle. Loves to give warm hugs.

Whistles jaunty little tunes when he's busy, and you bet he loves to dance

Likes holding hands (his hands are warm)

Embraces eccentricity, and likewise embraces fellow eccentrics

Bookworm

WILL share his big coat you if you are cold

Wouldn't be caught dead being unfaithful in a relationship and works with his other to keep it healthy and meaningful - respecting boundaries when needed.

🤔 ??? propaganda:

Bataireacht practitioner, and he carries his shillelagh with him everywhere. It's his version of a bedside spear.

Sometimes irritatingly curious. If you have antiques and/or a unique, expect that he'll ask about them

He snores 💀

Notable for inadvertently getting himself into troublesome situations. He is generally good at escaping these, but it's a bad habit.

Whatever the Victorian England equivalent of that one family member who disappears into a Yankee Candle and emerges four hours later with $150 worth of candles is.

Sweet-looking for sure but he has one hell of a sailor mouth.

🧨 Propaganda against:

He is a pawnbroker

Has a communication issue - and not in the relational sense. New English speaker who has spoken Gaeilge (Irish) his entire life and you would probably have an easier time reading Finnegan's Wake. To fix this he's learning German!!

Has never been in a full-commitment romantic relationship before

For all of his cheerfulness, he's undeniably suspicious

It's the sun-cult stuff

Carries about him all the faux innocence of a man who has killed, and is bound to kill again

Often out on unspecified business. Several of his clients happen to be located at various places across the zee. It's no whaling journey, but expect him to be gone for months at a time

Not a quick problem solver- the bigger the problem, the more time he needs to think on it, during which the issue tends to worsen.

Sometimes the nightmares get to him.

Very minor but he smells a tad bit like bilgewater

Postage enthusiast, but in an accidentally creepy way. Known for sending vaguely threatening packages to strangers.

Very serious about his religion. Sometimes becomes lost in the bliss of it, and you wonder if this is the same man you knew before.

Straight-up serial killer vibes sometimes

Tagging those willing who haven't done it yet :)

[lcdrarry]

LCDrarry 2024 Round-Up Post | Week 2

On Sundays during our posting period, we won't post a new work, instead you have time to catch up with the works that posted during the week and hopefully leave lovely comments for our creators.

Happy reading, commenting and sharing! ;)

~Your LCDrarry Mods

PS: Please have a look at the author notes and tags on AO3 for additional information. Thank you!

PPS: Please share far and wide! Thank you!!

***

Podfic

***

"As You Wish" by Pineau_noir

Prompt: "The Princess Bride", 1987, Rob Reiner Written by: Pineau_noir Narrated by: Anonymous Podfic Length: 02:31:28 Rating: Teen and up Warnings: None

Summary: Draco was raised on a farm in the small country of Witshire; his favourite pastimes were flying on his broom and tormenting the hired farm boy. Though his name was Harry, Draco never called him that. On Harry's forehead there was a scar shaped like a lightning bolt, so Draco called him Scarhead.

Nothing gave Draco as much pleasure as ordering Harry around.

Or a story about fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, True Love, and miracles.

Listen to it now on AO3.

***

Fic

***

first, she fell

Prompt: "Anatomy of a Fall", 2023, Justine Triet Prompted by: @wolfpants Author: Anonymous Word Count: 1,648 words Rating: Mature Warnings: angst, referenced character death, open ending, referenced adultery, speculated murder

Summary: Harry's wife is dead. No one knows quite what that means.

Read it now on AO3.

***

Caribou Garden

Prompt: Nature Documentaries (genre, any year) Prompted by: @meandminniemcg Author: Anonymous Word Count: 2,641 words Rating: Teen and up Warnings: None

Summary: Alone with his swotty, posh, nemesis-turned-colleague on an uninhabited island in the far north, cinematographer Harry Potter grapples with his inconvenient crush. A nature documentary-inspired fic with magical caribou migrations, dramatic landscapes, and only one tent.

Read it now on AO3.

***

Twin Blades

Prompt: “Star Wars: Episode III - Revenge of the Sith”, 2005, George Lucas Author: Anonymous Word Count: 3,525 words Rating: Teen and up Warnings: lightsaber combat, nightmares

Summary: Harry advances a few steps toward Draco, who doesn’t move, only watches him approach with narrowed eyes. “If you’re so sure the Jedi have no power, duel me. If you win, your master will be proud of you.” Draco’s eyes glitter. “And if you win?” “We’ll find out, won’t we?” Harry raises his lightsaber, readies himself. “Come on.” Without another word, Draco lunges at him.

Or, a Drarry-flavored reskin of the battle on Mustafar.

Read it now on AO3.

***

Slipping through my fingers all the time

Prompt: "Mamma Mia", 2008, Phyllida Lloyd Prompted by: @Azulaschild Author: Anonymous Word Count: 11,378 words Rating: Teen and Up Warnings: sex while on drugs, drinking

Summary: Recently-divorced Harry returns to Serenity Commune, site of his wildest youthful romps and the beginning of his recovery from trauma, to get out of a rut (and because Hermione made him). Unfortunately, sex, drugs, and dancing aren't all that await - he'll have to confront his past and what life might have been.

Read it now on AO3.

***

Leap Year

Prompt: "Leap Year", 2010, Anand Tucker Prompted by: @DrarryMyHeart Author: Anonymous Word Count: 29,064 words Rating: Mature Warnings: None apply.

Summary: Draco Malfoy has come a long way. He has a successful business and a muggle-born high-flyer boyfriend.

One tiny thing - it's been four years and he has no ring. No matter, he'll take things into his own hands. Feb 29th is an Irish muggle tradition that he'll happily jump on. Archie (boyfriend) is in Ireland - he'll simply portkey over and pop the question.

One (LARGE) problem. The portkey office messed up and he's landed outside Harry Potter's pub.

The same Harry Potter that hasn't been seen for ten years.

*Big sigh.

Read it now on AO3.

***

Runaway Groom

Prompt: "Runaway Bride," 1999, Garry Marshall Prompted by: @elskanellis Author: Anonymous Word Count: 30,044 words Rating: Teen and up Warnings: Arranged marriage (not between Harry and Draco), Infidelity if you squint (not between Harry and Draco)

Summary: OK, so Draco's feeling so nervous about his upcoming wedding to his fiancée Astoria Greengrass that he could faint. That's one of the pitfalls of an arranged marriage, right? Just because he's run out of his past three weddings, doesn't mean this one won't go ahead. He just has to keep his eyes on the finishing line, and ignore the sudden reappearance of Harry Potter, who seems to be determined to turn his world upside down. Again.

Read it now on AO3.

***

Hope Is A Thing With Feathers

Prompt: "Thelma and Louise", 1991, Ridley Scott Author: Anonymous Word Count: 33,335 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator chose not to use Archive Warnings

Summary: Harry is disillusioned with the Aurors, his relationship with Ginny, and is tired of all the hero worship but feels trapped. Draco, still hated by the Wizarding world, decides to get away and shares his plan with Harry, his only friend. Harry jumps at the chance to go with him.

They share in the freedom of their adventure, but things don’t go according to plan. Amidst their misfortunes, they discover new talents, courage in the face of tragedy, and above all, love.

Read it now on AO3.

***

Romancing the Dragon

Prompt: "Romancing the Stone", 1984, Robert Zemeckis Prompted by: Anonymous Author: Anonymous Word Count: 34,382 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: Action movie typical violence

Summary: Harry Potter writes romance novels from the comfort of his London townhouse, with the assistance of his beloved cat, Juliet. He does not engage in rescue missions, talk to dragons, or develop feelings for Draco Malfoy. That would be absurd.

Read it now on AO3.

***

Please help promote the fest by sharing your favourite submissions, so more people can enjoy all the amazing new Drarry works of LCDrarry. Thank you!

Creator reveals are on 15 June.

[myalgicencephalomyelitiscfstom]

A published Irish writer with ME writes eloquently about her first year dealing with ME (she's ill over a decade now)

Some extracts: —- I didn’t go about my day boxing and hitting Myalgic Encephalomyelitis, to do so would have been wasting precious energy. Instead, I danced around her, pacing myself, doing what I could. Attempting to be clever – the way in which a farmer tactically approaches a tumultuous bull -. —- That said, everything I did took energy. Washing my teeth, energy. Dressing, energy. And there was no bank to run to asking for a loan. No friend with a basket of extras.

—- Realising the energy saved undressing and dressing could be used toward cooking my meals, I stopped getting dressed altogether. Resulting in PJ days.

The only problem with this were the moments I forgot I wasn’t dressed.

—- Returning home from our weekly food shop meant my day was done, this one task utilising my entire energy source, sometimes I was luckier and managed a second small task later in the day after resting but forgetting my husband D didn’t live with the same battery I did, I often queried his ability to play a few holes of golf later in the day. His abundance of energy a strange phenomenon to my brain deadened mind. —- Returning from adventures away from my home always induced days of a crash. And sometimes this crash was delayed by up to 48 hours, just when you thought “yey, I got away with it… BAM”. —-

[agentem]

It's that time of year when you are going to see some "Irish" t-shirts in stores and can get your Shamrock Shake at Mickey D's. There will be St. Patrick's Day parades this weekend and next.

And I just want to be a nerdy know-it-all for a second. St Patrick's Day was originally a religious holiday (as most holidays were, holy + day = holiday); it still is in some places, like some actual Irish people from Ireland who believe in God--though the American parade/festival mentality seems to be gaining steam in some parts of Ireland, I am told.

St Patrick's Day as we know it is deeply rooted in the United States. Though it's been celebrated here since 1600 in the territory that became Florida, the tenor of the holiday greatly changed after the Great Famine of Ireland.

You may have been told in school that the famine occurred because a blight wiped out potato crops in Ireland. This is true but doesn't address the crux of the matter.

The blight started in North America and travelled to Ireland and into much of Europe. But we only think of it as an Irish problem because the Irish were too poor to eat other foods.

Some scholars have said it was a "man made crisis" and I agree that is true. Other crops in Ireland were not affected by the blight, in fact, this time was considered one of "plenty", but all that food was used to feed the English. Not the Irish.

Nor were the English quick on providing aid, "There is such a tendency to exaggeration and inaccuracy in Irish reports that delay in acting on them is always desirable," said Prime Minister Sir Robert Peel after initial reports of the catastrophe.

Workhouses designed to assist the poor and starving were closed prematurely. "The only way to prevent the people from becoming habitually dependent on Government is to bring the food depots to a close," said Charles Trevelyan, the man who was literally in charge of famine relief. He also said some gems like, Sure the famine is bad but "the moral evil of the selfish, perverse and turbulent character of the people" was the real problem. Great guy; he became a Baronet.

The soup kitchens, which replaced the workhouses were also closed prematurely, were widely believed to serve portions too small even for children and lacking any nutritional value due to them being watered down to feed more people than anticipated by the brilliant British government.

A million people died in Ireland from famine and disease and nearly 2 million left Ireland for other parts of the world. Including my father's family. (If they survived the "Coffin Ships" leaving their home.)

So when I said above that the tenor of the holiday changed, it was because of increasing Irish Nationalism and anger at Britain. Now, Ireland is a Republic (though it's not unified, yet) and we are proud of those who stayed and fought to make that happen.

We are also proud just to still be alive anywhere. The population of Ireland is 6.9 million now--slowly nearing the 8.5 million it was home to before the famine--but people with Irish ancestry across the world has been measured to be about 80 million people. Take that, Sir Robert Peel.

The English actively tried to kill us. Nevertheless, we persisted. A lot.

I hope you have a Happy St. Paddy's Day (it's Paddy not Patty). Drink some Guinness. Dance some jigs. Definitely eat some potatoes (Boil 'em! Mash 'em! Stick 'em in a stew!) But please remember that when people are starving, you should feed them. Don't be like the English government.

In fact, as I write this there is a crisis in Turkey and Syria. It just so happens that the Sultan of Turkey wanted to donate money to Ireland (10,000 pounds) but since Queen Victoria donated just 2,000, he was told it would be against protocol.

[jerrylewis-thekid]

Barbara Sinatra: “One of the best things about my husband was: if something went wrong in your life, boom, he was there. And if you had him on your side, it was like having an army at your disposal. Furthermore, he was on your side if you were right or wrong, and that is something very special in a friend; you don't find that so often.

Gregory Peck and Frank had always been close, and Frank called him Ahab after his character in Moby Dick. When Greg's son Jonathan died, in 1975, Frank was one of the first at his side. He did the same for Dean Martin twelve years later when his son Dino was killed in a plane crash. When Sammy Davis, Jr. lost an eye in a car accident; Frank went to see Sammy in the hospital and then brought him back to Palm Springs to recuperate. Sammy loved Frank, so even though he was depressed, just being with his hero helped get him through that terrible time.

Frank took friendship and loyalty very seriously and believed that true friendship could only be tested in times of need. People just had to get word to him and he'd drop what he was doing and go spend time with them. He'd travel long distances to brighten someone's day, and I went with him to numerous hospitals and homes for retired singers and actors to cheer up old friends. He took me to see Gene Kelly in Santa Monica when he was first sick and to the bedside of John Wayne when he was dying. ‘The Duke’ and Frank had been friends for years and were as close as brothers, even though they were diametrically opposed politically and kidded each other constantly about it.

Frank and Gene Kelly had been in several films together, and for Anchors Aweigh Gene taught Frank how to dance outside studio hours. Frank called Gene ‘the Irish taskmaster’ but he never forgot that kindness. Thanks to Gene, Frank could really move. He could even jump up in the air and click his heels together, and he loved to do that. He was also a terrific ballroom dancer, which was terribly romantic.

As Burt Lancaster once said, ‘If you say to Frank “I'm having a problem,” then it becomes his problem.’ Frank really had a calling for that

[endlessly-cursed]

Next Gen- Yasemin Battersea-Parsons

“𝑰𝒇 𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒄𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆, 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒂 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒖𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒂𝒄𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔, 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒏𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕, 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒕.”

Name: Yasemin Neeru Battersea Parsons

Nicknames: Yas

Birthdate: 16th of December 2004

Zodiac Sign: Saggitarius (i think??)

Personality Type (MBTI): TBD

Blood Status: Pureblood

Nationality: Turkish-Indian-Irish

Physical Appearance

Hair: Black, curly

Eyes: Black

Height: 1.57m

Weight: 64kg

Body Type: Medium-size

Skin Tone: Dark brown

Distinguishing Marks (scars, birthmarks, etc.): One birthmark on her neck

Background

Hometowns

Kolkata, India- The rich and ancient city was the place of birth for Yasemin, and where she spent much of her winter in the Bengali equivalent of Christmas and even participated in religious rites, despite following the Muslim religion more.

Antakya, Turkey- Her other hometown, she lived in a rustic yet wealthy house with her grandmother, where she spent many summers and even visited many mosques and started on her Muslim faith

Dublin, Ireland- Her main residence, living outside the center, she loved how carefree and busy they were and many of her friends lived near, and her formative years were spent there

Family

Mother: Esmanur Zeynep Battersea

The only living Battersea that directly descended from Simon by then, she was raised as a hanimsultan and was treated like Middle-Eastern royalty despite being long gone. She did not expect to have children after Shreya, and was delighted to have one more child. Despite being fond of Yasemin, her favouritism was never noticed by her daughters

Father: Mahmoud Ismail Parsons

A Bengali businessman, he married Esmanur to enforce his monopoly on the industry and expand his growing empire. When Esmanur was pregnant again, he was surprised and worried, because his wife have had fertility problems years prior and didn't want to risk her life. Nevertheless, Yasemin was born healthy and without much fuss, and he spoiled her

Older sister: Shreya Humashah Battersea Parsons

Although she was first angry at Yasemin's birth, the moment she held her, she knew she loved her. Shreya loved to take care of her and talk about girl stuff, going shopping and having silly moments. Shreya was like a second mother and role model to Yasemin and are very close, even after Shreya marries Kevin Farrell and forms her family with him

Distant cousin: Luke Battersea

A bit closer in age, despite him being prickly and reserved, Yasemin approached him slowly, allowing him to come to her, actively listening to whatever he talked about and giving surprisingly helpful advice and thoughtful gestures, such as baking him his favourite cake for his birthday or when he had a bad day, or ensure that the cook cooks his comfort food once a week, and include him in the family trips

Hogwarts

House: Hufflepuff

Best Class: Herbology

Worst Class: Potions

Boggart: Everybody diminishes her efforts, throwing them and shouting at her that she'll never be enough

Riddikulus: The papers get up and start dancing cha-cha-cha

Patronus: A hare

Patronus Memory: Dancing in the rain when she was eight with her father and Shreya as her mother film

Mirror of Erised: (before turning 19) Achieving peace and stability in her hometowns (after turning 20) having stability, peace and a family with Scott by her side

Amortentia (what she smells like): Victoria's Secret perfume 'shimmer', strawberry bubblegum, henna

Amortentia (what she smells): Ice, cologne, something related to Scott

Career

11-18: Hogwarts student

21-35: Philantropist

36-65: President of the Battersea company

Personality & Attitude

Priorities: Making some good in the world, her family's wellbeing

Strengths: Kind, empathetic, insightful, caring and generous

Weaknesses: Naive, clueless, innocent during her adolescence, way too trusting, a people pleaser and can't say anything bad about anyone

Stressed: During social gatherings and during exams, feeling stupid all the time

Calm/Comforted: Watching her comfort show (FRIENDS), spending time with Shreya, in her bed

Favorites

Colors: PINK, burgundy red, navy blue and lilac

Weather: Sunny

Hobbies: Reading, knitting, baking and creating skincare and makeup routines

Fashion: Yasemin is far more fashionable than her sister Shreya, often wearing heels and short skirts and tops, all in the palette of pink, black and white. She also has curly hair and has a rigorous routine that she always asks not to be interrupted when performing it

Relationships

Significant Other/Love Interest: Scott Morris ( @potionboy3 )

Both friends from the moment they met, unlike her peers, Scott seemed to get her, and Yasemin always felt seen with him. What she didn't know is that Scott had a huge crush on her. A crush that everybody save her seemed to notice. For years, he dropped subtle hints here and there, but the clueless Yasemin didn't seem to see it.

Until, on a party, after sharing a meaningful moment, Scott surprised Yasemin by kissing her and declaring his feelings for her. What was more surprising to Yasemin is that she felt the same. Even though Yasemin was a year ahead of Scott, they saw each other often and even gave him the keys to her house once they became serious.

[MORE TBA]

Friends: Noor Verma Dhendron ( @legilimenace )

Even though they were different, Noor and Yasemin got along and suprisingly complimented one another. Shreya soon befriended Mansi, Noor's sister, and became inseparable, becoming almost members of the family

Mia Morris ( @gaygryffindorgal )

Scott's older sister, Yasemin liked her from the beginning and she was key in setting her up with her brother

[MORE TBA]

Jude Cozens ( @unfortunate-arrow )

Both with similar natures, she met him through Scott and also reminded her of Luke. She was shocked when she learned that he and Noor started dating

Yasemin is looking for friends! I'll favour those born in 2004-5! Hmu or send me an ask if you're interested!

Rivals: TBA (why would you want to antagonize this angel?!)

Trivia

She doesn't drink alcohol due to religious and personal reasons

Her drink of choice is a lime Aquarius

Always has a red velvet cake for her birthday

She hates green peas

Is surprisingly good at breakdance, salsa and dabke, and often does it in heels

Used to hate her curly hair and tried to straighten it like Shreya for most of her teens

While Shreya inherits her father's businesses, Yasemin inherits her mother's legacy

Is medium sized and was always made fun of by her parents' peers and went on crazy diets and developed body dysmorphia due to early development

Almost never went to parties because of people getting drunk and being invasive towards her

Cries easily for everything, yet can be calm in dire circusmtances

Picked up baking thanks to her therapist and often shows up to classes and gatherings with Turkish and Bengali sweets when she feels her friends are feeling down or stressed or wants to celebrate

Has the cutest and most elegant handwriting in Hogwarts (it was voted)

[darkmaga-returns]

By John F. Di Leo

Many are dancing an Irish jig – even non-Irishmen whom one would not expect to know such dances – over the prospect of Elon Musk and Vivek Ramaswamy heading up a new “Grace Commission 2.0” of sorts, cheerfully nicknamed a Department of Government Efficiency, or DOGE.

They intend an 18-month project, hopefully to conclude by our nation’s 250th anniversary, in which they will apply standard American manufacturing cost-cutting techniques such as LEAN and Six Sigma tools, to find out how much fat is in every federal department, bureau and agency, and cut it out as fast as possible.

Such fat might be identified in surplus personnel, surplus office costs, unnecessary perks, redundant systems, and more.  It is assumed they can cut ten percent of the federal workforce without it even being noticed; with such diligent chiefs as these at the helm, there’s no telling how much more money they will be able to save the taxpayer.

In preparation for this project, Mr. Musk has been reminding the public of our massive national debt, and of the fact that interest on the debt alone already exceeds our military spending.  To say this situation is unsustainable is putting it mildly. All Americans should wish the DOGE team well.

There is no need, incidentally, to feel sorry for the people to be cut in this process.  The DOGE team knows the law, and fully understands the rules about terminating civil servants.  These people will likely get an enviable mix of cash buyouts and federal pensions that reward them more handsomely than they deserve for their years of bureaucratic pencil pushing.

We can expect the DOGE team to save an enormous amount of money for the American taxpayer, which will provide a noticeable bump to the economy.

[talenlee]

The Three Repeat Cheats of Twenty Twenty Threet

For some reason, there were three completely different, categorically unrelated cheating scandals that earned enough attention to escape their specific niche interests in 2023. There were other kinds of cheating going on, in other industries but these were funny and stupid and I’ve wanted to talk about them for like, a year and like, this is my blog, so just handle it.

Also, I guess, some content warning? There’s discussion of blowjobs and buttplugs and a bit of animal cruelty. Fish, if that matters.

Irish Dancing (The Blowjob Exchange)

Let’s start with the one you’re least likely to have heard of.

[In July 2022,] the Irish Dancing Commission, or An Coimisiún Le Rincí Gaelacha (CLRG), the oldest and largest governing body for competitive Irish dancing, was informed of allegations that at least 12 Irish dancing teachers in Ireland and overseas were involved in the “fixing” of competitions by promising to award higher marks to competitors at Irish dancing events run by the commission in Ireland, the UK and the United States.

Irish dancing: Claims of competition fixes, sexual favours detailed in court challenge

The details about this one are pretty licentious, and I’m not going to replicate them, though I will note it’s interesting the way coverage asserted that male teachers were offering blowjobs (to other teachers) as a form of incentive to other judges. It seems that without going too in depth, the extremely competitive space of International Irish Dancing was revealed to have a collection of judges who were rigging scores amongst one another in exchange for favours both sexual and in-kind cheating allowances. The initial scandal drew in twelve judges, with forty-four judges being captured in the overall swirl of it. Notably, though, it’s very important to say (for litigious reasons) that there is no evidence that this influenced the results of the world championships that year.

Fun stuff, huh?

This kind of cheating is a sort of ‘top down’ cheat. The cheat here requires a collaboration between multiple people, in positions of trust, to be abusing that trust. This isn’t a really good way to cheat things, until you are doing it at which point it becomes enormously fruitful as a cheating form. Corrupting a judge is hard, but if a bunch of the judges are already corrupted somehow, that makes any given corruption something you can do over time, often very easily. It’s even notable that any given individual cheating behaviour in this space is easy to ‘hide’ in the majority of the types of cheating. After all, if it comes out that 15 tournaments were run by corrupt judges, the fact that you won one of those tournaments is in doubt but not necessarily going to be treated as the result of a cheater.

The challenge of a top-down cheat like this is that you need judges who are corruptible. That typically means that you have a mismatch between incentives and values. There are people who have zero stakes in zero value situations, like say, D&D games, who are adamantly against the idea of ‘fudging’ dice rolls – that is, the idea of ever changing the results of a system in the game are fundamentally wrong – and that kind of person obviously has a high value on the integrity of the game regardless of the stakes. On the other hand, there are people who don’t care about the integrity of the game but who value other things too highly for that to be useful – how do you bribe a billionaire, for example?

(Easily, billionaires are incredibly petty, venal and stupid people who will try to scab for pennies out of their friends)

To that end you need someone who can be assigned as a judge but not actually given enough reason to treat the integrity of the game seriously, but also not be in a position where their level of corruption is something they can trade. If the actual values are large enough you hit a problem. What this says to me is that this is an example of a cheating scandal where the judges don’t care that much about the thing they’re judging, and are therefore more interested in secondary social incentives.

Great scam, if you can get it, but getting it is incredibly difficult.

Fishing (That Sinking Feeling)

Next up we have the shockingly well documented scandal in the field of competitive walleye bass fishing. And you may think ‘that’s a weirdly specific niche’ but it turns out that no it’s not weirdly specific, fishing contests in the United States are just that particular for any given competition. It’s not that there’s only wall-eyed bash fishing, it’s that there are contests for every individual species of fish you can find in the United States, organised under the umbrella of the Federal Department of Fishing and Game’s regulations to ensure that the competitions are done in compliance with rules about ethical engagement with the wildlife.

In September 2022, a Cleveland Walleye Bass Fishing competition, at the Lake Erie Walleye Trail, two competitors were caught, in shocking scenes caught on multiple phone cameras, as their catch was pulled out of the investigation in the weigh-in and given further inspection. These fish were found to have massive lead sinkers, the size of a child’s fist, stuffed inside the fish, wrapped in meat (possibly to dilute the feeling of a big metal object inside the fish). This is, as you may not be surprised, against the rules, leading to these two men being disqualified from the tournament.

This is a scandal of particular significance because of the scale of the consequences. For a start, the actual tournament prizes included a boat and other miscellaneous sundry that totalled up $30,000 USD, which is $31,679.10 in today’s money. Also, it was a form of animal cruelty, cheating, and included a dash of ‘unlawful ownership of a wild animal,’ all of which totals up into having their fishing licenses suspended for three years, the impounding of their boats, large fines, and twelve days in jail.

And I don’t know much about jail but lemme tell you, that sounds like exactly the wrong amount of jail for anything that’s actually important.

Thing is, and this is the thing I find fascinating about this cheat, is that there are ways to design the game such that this cheat is not possible. This isn’t my expertise, but commentators at the time were prone to recommend that live catch, live release fishing competitions meant that this kind of thing couldn’t be done any more – if it’s a requirement of the event that any caught fish have to be able to released live means that it’s just categorically not doable to load the fish like that. I find this kind of thing interesting because it shows that you can design games to prevent inappropriate play.

Chess (The Buttplug Thing)

Alright now this is probably the one people know.

In mid 2023, Magnus Carlsen, who is, no jokes, probably the best chess player who has ever lived, and even if he’s not, he’s certainly in the conversation, resigned unexpectedly playing against Hans Niemann in the sixth round of a tournament. This is to say, in a tournament he basically gave up some games out of nowhere, and that’s not a thing you normally do if you’re the best at anything. At the time, this created a sudden void of information, a void in which Magnus reported he wasn’t in a position to talk about it, for fear of saying something he shouldn’t. There’s more to the context, sure, but that’s the core of it. Magnus retires against Niemann and in another match shortly after, he did it again, seemingly refusing to play against him.

Now, we know with the benefit of hindsight why he might say it that way, but, in the absence of information, people began to speculate on what the hell Magnus meant. At this point someone pointed out the host of ways to cheat in chess given the immensely complicated way that information could be processed and even tiny hints could be useful to manage an enormous advantage given the way that computers are specialised in beating chess. But while things like toe pinches, nose signals, ear pieces, and knee punches were all in the conversation, those things aren’t as funny or interesting as the idea of using a teledildonically enabled buttplug to communicate the simple signals the game state requires.

This is funny because, well, it was an excuse to talk about teledildonics, and yeah, absolutely, this is a viable way to transmit information across a space that a practiced person can handle. It’s not the best or most convenient way, it’s certainly not a way with meaningful advantages over so many other things, but it is funny to talk about, and like, people just get weird over the idea that butts exist. Especially the butts of boys. Those aren’t for putting things in, right? ha ha ha! How funny!

Anyway, turns out the reason that Carlsen didn’t want to play against Niemann is because he knew that Niemann had a history of cheating, which Carlsen knew because Niemann was cheating. A lot. Throughout his history. He was cheating on a website called Chess Dot Com, though, and they were investigating Niemann and that report wasn’t out yet. This means that Carlsen was kind of telling tales out of school, and the very mundane kind of ‘dude on a computer gets another computer to play chess for him’ cheating, rather than you know.

The butt stuff.

There you go. Three different cheating scandals, three totally different types of cheating.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

[missfortuneisblue]

Miss Fortune a.k.a. Allison “Alice” Morrigan: [28] Born into a traveling circus and carnival, Alice was the life of her beloved parents, who were aerobatic performers who often did amazing feats on the tightrope suspended above the audience. The famous duo, “Lewy & Suzy” (Lewis and Susan Morrigan) an Irish and Japanese couple, husband and wife respectively. At the age of ten, tragedy struck in Alice’s life when her parents were brutally murdered by an “unsatisfied” patron after a show. She was the first to find their bodies on the floor in their trailer. After that, her life was a spiral downhill.

Even after improving on her knife throwing, sword swallowing, and acrobatics, and showing her excellent grades from her online courses, the ringleader and the circus management forced her to become one of the clowns in fear that she might become a hazard to others. And despite her attempts to prove that she wouldn’t be a problem, she ended up proving their point when she was on the tightrope wire trying a new act when she saw her parents performing in front of her, causing her to go into shock and falling backwards. Thankfully there was a net placed to catch her. She permanently became a clown afterwards.

Taking on the stage name “Mad Alice” for her clown persona at age 16, Alice became one of the most beloved characters at the circus due to her expressive and wild personality. All the young children would come up to her to get a hug or autograph, telling her she reminded them of Alice from “Alice in Wonderland”. The rest of the clowns absolutely despised the attention Alice was receiving, despite her being the one that brings more and more people every show. It also didn’t help that her mental state was becoming more deteriorated after being diagnosed with schizophrenia, pseudobulbar affect (PBA), PTSD, Anosognosia, and Atypical depression.

At 17, Alice started sneaking into the lion and tiger cages to feed them their daily meals, slowly befriending them. Every day, Alice would speak to them as if they are having a conversation—and they were, in her head. The lions and tigers would tell her about all of the abuse they endured during their time in captivity, and how much they wish to rip into the animal tamers’ guts to show them a lesson.

During aftershows, Alice would display creepy behavior such as staring and smiling at others for a long period of time, random fits of laughter, walking into the kitchen to steal a knife, talking to herself, and spontaneously bursting into dance whenever hearing music. But one of the clowns, a 40 year old woman named Ruby, who lost her son in a car accident, always looked after Alice and had her best interests in heart. She doted on Alice as if she was her own baby girl, ever since the troubled girl was little. Ruby was the reality anchor Alice needed and the grandmother she never had.

Before one of the grand shows, Ruby took Alice to a tattoo parlor to grant the girl her wish: blue roses on her shoulders and left ribs in memory of her mother’s affectionate nickname given to Alice, “my little blue rose”.

By the age of 28, Alice was a fully grown psychopath under the guise of being the overworked star of the circus, dedicated to her craft and career as a clown. She is now more dangerous than before, almost killing her co-workers by throwing knives near their heads, leaving disturbing gifts in their trailers (after somehow breaking in), would create crazy and nightmarish paintings and drawings, would be found singing grimly lullabies and songs, spend hours listening to her mother’s music box that was an anniversary gift from her father, and most concerning of all, using razors and knives to cut herself and watch blood drip down her skin, reveling in the pleasure from the pain.

After a night show spoiled by a scheming Joker dressed in the former ringleader’s uniform, Alice was used as a hostage by the laughing clown and dragged down into a secret escape latch. She didn’t realize she was a hostage after they entered the sewers and struck up a conversation. Joker led her to another one of his hidden hideouts, an abandoned novelty factory. After a bit of more talking, Joker decided to make Alice his new henchwoman and gave her variety of outfits and gadgets to choose. After some “fooling around”—and learning more things about Alice that Joker wasn’t ready for—he had her join his goons. He gave her a variety of outfits to choose from, and she settled on what is now her iconic look.

Theme song: “It’s Bad Luck, Babe!”

Playlist :)

[spartanguard]

cryptid chaos (A Tall Tail)

Summary: It's almost Halloween, and the recently freed Author has decided to make Storybrooke into the setting of a horror novel. Emma suddenly has actual swan wings; Killian is even more of a mer-creature than usual. But how do they undo all the changes when no one knows how the Author's power works? Can they figure it out--or are they stuck? a/n: Welcome back to the A Tall Tail verse! So I definitely meant to have this done for Halloween, but…it's still spooky season, right? Hope you enjoy some silliniess! rated T | 8.7k words | AO3 | A Tall Tail

Emma let out a long sigh as she stared across the water of the harbor, the full moon’s dappled reflection dancing in the waves. What a freakin’ week. In all the chaos of the so-called Queens of Darkness and locking Gold away, they’d kind of forgotten about one of the bigger things they’d been trying to do: tracking down the mysterious author of Henry’s storybook in search of Regina’s happy ending. 

Once things had settled down a bit, they got back into it—kind of literally; it turned out the Author (whose name was Isaac, apparently) had actually been trapped inside the book. She was becoming more and more used to (or jaded by) magical bullshit, so to see a man emerge from the pages of a gigantic tome from a key inserted to an illustration of a door wasn’t the oddest thing she’d seen, but it was still weird.

Although now it’s just a headache, she complained to herself.

Since his arrival—or, rather, escape—the squirrelly man had been causing all sorts of drama across town; I guess that’s what a writer does, huh? It had all been petty nonsense, or people with bones to pick about how their life had gone (and really with no one to blame for it but themselves), but everyone had been demanding her help in dealing with it and she needed a damn break.

Which was why she was waiting for Killian on the deck of the Jolly Roger; he’d gone out for one of his usual swims to calm his magic, but they had plans to spend the night together. Alone. And very close, with few clothes. (Maybe with some rum in there, too.) Technically, Emma was early, but her little brother was teething and, though she felt bad leaving her parents to deal with that, she’d needed to get away from the chaos of the loft.

Being by the water was definitely calming her down, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off; maybe it was just Isaac, and the psychological upheaval he seemed to be inducing in most of the town; or maybe it was just the fact that it was a full moon and they were a few days away from Halloween—gods only know what kind of trouble that can bring to a town like this.

That was a problem for future Emma, though; current Emma smiled when she heard footsteps fall on the gangplank and began to turn around to greet her True Love. 

“Was wondering when you’d…oh.” Her face fell; it was Isaac. “Can I help you?” (...Get out of town, preferably.)

“Actually, I was hoping it’d be the other way around,” he said, in a way that reminded her of an appliance store salesman.

“Beg your pardon?”

“Have you ever heard of the legend of swan maidens?” he asked, moving closer to her; she wanted to yell at him about setting foot on deck without the captain’s permission, but she was too confused. 

“Uh, some of it, I guess?”

He pulled out a pad of paper and an antique-looking pen from his coat pocket as he went on. “Well, there’s a few, but I’ve always been a fan of some of the Irish stories—the ones where their goddesses choose to take on the form of a swan, only identifiable by a chain around their neck,” he said, nodding at Emma’s own silver necklace. Instinctively, her hand went to it—to hide it, she guessed, even though her old swan pendant was long gone and the necklace she’d fashioned for her magic seashell was made of leather. What the hell is he getting at?

He looked down at his notepad and started to scribble something down. “I imagine that would come with a lot of freedom—especially from some unwanted burdens,” he continued. Oh, like your presence? Emma quipped in her head. “Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“I guess,” she said, unconvinced. Her phone then vibrated in her pocket; hopefully, Isaac was almost done here. 

“Good,” he replied, with a smile on his face that she couldn’t quite read. Then he tore the page off his notebook and handed it to her.

Not thinking, she took it. She tried to read the drying ink on the paper, but only managed to recognize the word “wings” before a blast of magic sent her falling backwards—and over the railing of the ship into the water below. 

Please let Killian be here, she hoped; but no such luck. Instead, she fell into the sea with a splash and the cold water stole her breath. She tried to move her arms up and down to ascend, but it felt like they were made of lead. Still, she pushed through, and finally broke through the surface. 

She gave herself a minute to float and catch her breath before swimming back over to the ship (and punching the crap out of Isaac). 

It was odd, though—usually, she needed more lower-body effort to tread water, but her arms alone were keeping her above surface-level.

So that’s when she looked at her arms—and screamed. “What the fuck? What the FUCK?” She didn’t care who heard her swear—but, on second thought, she did care who saw her. 

Because she now had freaking wings where her arms had been. Not, like, angel wings coming from her back or something—literal long, feathered appendages where her much-shorter arms had been a minute ago. In fact, they looked like…”A swan,” she realized on a breath. Just what the hell did Isaac do?

She glanced around for the piece of paper he’d given her, but it was floating ahead of her, completely soaked—and illegible. But it had to be him, right?

Well, first thing first: she had to get out of the water. Can I fly? She flapped her arms—wings—whatever they were, if only to see what would happen. Astonishingly, she did rise out of the water a bit, before falling back even farther in.

Undeterred (and starting to feel self-conscious), she did again, and again, until, somehow, she was in the air. She had absolutely no idea what she was doing, but some new sort of muscle memory took over and all too soon, she was soaring around the harbor. This is actually kind of cool, she acknowledged, but definitely not something I want permanently.

Isaac was no longer on the ship; she should probably try to track him down, but she had no clue how to counter…whatever it was he was doing. She was still pretty fuzzy on his powers and how they worked. Regina was the most likely person to find, but for some reason, she didn’t want to bother her just yet; nor did she want to terrify her parents by turning up at the loft like this.

And she definitely didn’t want Killian to see her. So she headed to the only place she could think of—the cove; he wouldn’t think to look for her there, and she could stay away from prying eyes. And gods only know what this wind is doing to my hair.

Somehow, she managed to land on her feet on the rocky shore, though she wouldn’t call it graceful. Her wings instinctively folded in on themselves; that’s gonna take some getting used to. And she paced the beach while thinking of what to do—and coming up with no ideas.

She was the Savior and the Sheriff; shouldn’t I be out there trying to stop him? But how could she when she didn’t know how? And was this a targeted attack, or was he going to do this again? Is this why I can’t shake this weird feeling about him?

Her thoughts were interrupted by splashing near Killian’s rock. Oh crap; that better not be him. Cautiously, she stepped closer, but extended her wings in case she needed to make a hasty escape.

Something reached up from the water—but it wasn’t her True Love. It had webbed fingers, and blue-toned skin covered in scales, like some creature out of a horror film. 

Nope. Not dealing with monsters, too. Before whatever-it-was could climb out of the water and terrify her further, she took flight (much faster this time) and flew off into the night. She didn’t know where she was headed, but she was getting as far away from the water as possible.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killian broke through the surface at the cove to see something flying away. Bloody hell; I bet that was her. Given what had just happened to him—and comments that bloody author fellow had made—he had to assume something similar happened to Emma. And whatever that creature was looked particularly like a swan.

He’d been out for his regular swim, with plans to meet Emma at his ship for a much-needed evening alone. There were times when he was under water that he lost track of time, but tonight was not one of them—not when he knew he’d be having much more fun above the surface. 

But when he ascended to the deck of the Jolly Roger, he was shocked to see Isaac there. Alone. When he asked if he could assist him, the man instead returned the offer, then pointed to Killian’s tail, on full display as he perched on the railing. “What a plot twist,” the man commented. “I never could have anticipated that. Makes for an excellent story.”

“Aye; I suppose,” Killian had responded, confused. Isaac continued on, though, talking about other creatures of the deep; honestly, Killian was distracted, and starting to get worried about Emma, when he mindlessly agreed to something Isaac had said—perhaps about truly embracing his powers? 

The author had written something with a queer-looking quill on a notepad, then tore it off and came closer to Killian. “I’m glad you agree; Emma did, too.” Then he handed the sheet over.

“What did Emma—” Killian started to ask as he took the slip of paper, but he didn’t get to finish his question before a wave of magic came from nowhere and toppled him off his seat.

He was distinctly aware of the way some odd magic was wrapping around him as he fell back into the ocean—it was definitely transformation magic, but unlike the kind he usually felt, which focused on his lower half, this went all over. It’s like when the Dark One cursed me…but at least not painful.

Once he regained his orientation underwater, he gave himself a checkover; for starters, he could see much clearer than he should have been able to at this time of night. He definitely had gills on his neck again—but also a few along his ribcage as well. He ran his fingers over them, which when he noticed that the webbing between them had returned—but rather than his usual pallor, his skin seemed to have taken on a bluish hue and was covered with even more scales. And he took my bloody chest hair again.

The real question was if it had the same effect on his ability to breathe out of the water; thankfully, when he broke the surface, he didn’t suffocate. That will at least make this easier—whatever this is. He hated to make a retreat, but he didn’t want to draw any undue attention by his odd appearance now, so he dove back under and made for the cove; he had to hope Emma would understand—and prayed she wasn’t dealing with a similar transformation of some sort.

But seeing the winged creature fleeing the beach seemed to confirm his fears; and knowing Emma, despite everything, she’d want to deal with it on her own. Like hell I’ll let her, though.

But he’d give her a moment to calm down, and took one of his own to assess if this new spell had altered his powers; thankfully, as a whirlpool formed in the water in front of him where he sat on the edge of the rock, he seemed to be alright on that front. He wasn’t sure what was ahead, but had a feeling those would be necessary.

Then he reached for the shell necklace that always hung around his neck.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emma was trying to live up to the bird stereotype by perching in a tree in the middle of the forest. Trying being the operative word; oh right—swans are waterfowl. But she eventually managed to find her balance high up in a birch. It was only a temporary solution, but it was the one she felt most confident about right now. She just wished her unexpected dive hadn’t fried her phone so she could let her parents or Killian know she was fine; not like I could really use it now anyway, what with the lack of fingers and all.

Of course, that’s when her other means of communication made itself known. “Swan?”

She cringed for a moment; normally, she loved the way Killian said her chosen surname, but it was a little too on the nose right now. (At least I don’t have a beak too, I guess?)

Taking hold of the shell was a whole other thing, though; it worked best when held in a hand, but she wasn’t sure how it would work with—gods, what even was her bone structure right now? She’d never had an ornithology class like Henry did. 

Regardless, she had to figure out how to get some sort of grip on the shell hanging around her neck; it took a fair amount of fumbling, but she somehow managed to bend her wings just enough to prop the shell on her elbows(?) and bring it closer to her mouth.

“Hey, I’m here,” she finally answered, though her tone was far from casual.

“Are you…okay, love?” He sounded like he already knew the answer; it wasn’t her thing to stand him up without a word.

“I…don’t really know,” she answered.

“Something happened,” he said more than asked.

“Yeah.”

“Isaac?”

Uh-oh. “Yeah,” she replied, a bit more confidently. 

“Me too.” He at least sounded less morose than she did, but this—this wasn’t good. “I’m at the cove; meet me here?”

“I, uh,” she stammered. “I don’t know if you’d, ah, want to see me right now.”

“Emma, you know I always want to see you. Besides, I likely have more reason to say that—although I dare say you’ve seen me looking less than ideal before.”

Gods, what had happened to him? He was right, though; he always freaking is. “Yeah, okay; just—give me a few.”

“I can’t wait.” She smiled; regardless of—whatever was going on, she knew he was telling the truth.

Flying was getting easier; she wasn’t sure if that was good or not, but was really just concerned about what kinds of phone calls were coming into the station about some giant bird flying over Storybrooke. Not a problem for tonight though.

Landing, however, was still hit or miss; in this instance, a miss: she didn’t quite slow down enough as she came into the cove and ended up rolling across the pebbled shore. “Owww,” she moaned as she stood and shook the sand from her feathers—then froze when she heard a gasp come from behind her.

She turned—and her own breath stilled. It was definitely Killian seated on the rock (who was definitely the owner of the hand that had scared her earlier, she was embarrassed to admit). His whole upper body was that blue color, made all the more apparent by his lack of body or facial hair (goddammit, Isaac took his beard?)—like when he was under that weird merrow curse, but apparently without the confinement to the water.

Slowly, she moved closer, noticing other new features and—was it just her, or were his eyes an even brighter blue? Or did they just seem like that with how much younger he always looked without his scruff? She wanted to touch his skin, to see what it felt like; she started to reach for him until she remembered—she couldn’t.

Killian, for his part, couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her; his expression was unusually unreadable. “What?” she had to ask, feeling even more self conscious.

He smiled, his dimples even more visible. “Still so beautiful, Swan.”

She scoffed. “Yeah, emphasis on the swan part.”

“I dare say you ‘rock it’, as Henry says.”

Well, that made her laugh. “Okay, fine, but they shouldn’t be here at all,” she complained, her subsequent huff even more visible now.

“Nor should this,” he countered, waving his now-webbed fingers at her. “And we’ll figure out how to get back to normal. But perhaps we'll leave it for tomorrow?” He stroked the edge of her wing with the back of his hand, sending a chill up her spine—a good feeling for the first time since…has it only been an hour? Damn.

She knelt down next to him and, awkwardly, wrapped her wings around him in the best approximation of a hug she could manage. He slipped his arms around her waist to pull her close; he was even colder than usual, but it was the closest she’d felt to normal since this all started, and she rested her head on his shoulder.

It certainly wasn’t how she planned on spending their night, but it’d have to do for now; with any luck, they’d at least be able to go without interruption for a bit.

“Mom? Hook?” Spoke too soon. She didn’t move away from Killian, but she did sit up and look over her shoulder; Henry was standing not far from them, looking confused and concerned. “Something weird is going on.”

Obviously. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What’s the matter, lad?” It was obvious to Killian that Henry was avoiding eye contact, and he didn’t blame him—he was sure they were quite the sight. But hopefully if he remained somewhat calm, Henry would, too. 

“Well, I…uh, I was going to say that Isaac has been going around and changing things, but I think you might kinda know?”

“What else has he done?” Emma asked, stiffening in Killian’s arms. 

“A bunch of things,” Henry explained. “It started with my mom—I don’t know exactly what he did, but she ran off to her vault, and was covering her face. So I went to see Grandma & Grandpa, but they didn’t answer—I just heard some weird noises behind the door. No one was at Granny’s but I think she’s a wolf again, because there was a big silver one hanging out with Ruby. And I think I saw a swarm of fairies or something? I’ve never seen them small like that.”

Bloody hell; what a mess. It would have been naive to assume he and Emma were Isaac’s only targets, but he’d thought the man was trying to help Regina; why had he attacked her, too?

“What the hell is he doing—making his own little circus sideshow?” Emma complained; that’s certainly what it felt like. “I didn’t think he could even do that.”

“I’ve been working with Belle to figure out how his powers work, but we haven’t gotten very far,” Henry said. “And he won’t say.”

“To the library, then?” Killian posited; one of the best things about regaining his legs was his ability to help out there again. But, speaking of— 

“How can we get you there?” Emma wondered, reading his mind. “I can barely fly myself, let alone both of us.” 

“Maybe my cuff still works? It’s still on the ship.”

“I’ll go get it.”

Watching Emma take flight was somewhat amusing, but also somewhat beautiful, particularly when she opened her wings fully to lift her off the ground. And much like how quickly he adapted to a lack of legs, there was something almost natural about her flying. 

“Wow,” Henry gasped as she took to the air. “That’s…wow.”

“Aye,” Killian sighed. “Obviously none of this is ideal, but I don’t think anyone would complain if you managed to get some pictures with your talking device?”

Henry smirked. “I’ll try.” But his face quickly fell. 

“Hey—we’ll figure this out,” Killian assured him. “We always do.”

“I know,” the boy answered. “It was just—the way my mom looked at me before she left. It was Ike she was scared…of me.”

No wonder he’s shaken; poor kid. “Whatever it was, I’m sure she was just trying to keep you safe; I’ve never known her to have any other motivation,” Killian told him, hoping that comforted him. 

“Yeah; I’m just worried.”

“Understandable. But let’s try to channel that into focus, aye?” He’d had many an anxious deckhand over the years, not to mention his time spent with Henry’s father, so coaching a nervous young man was nothing new. 

Henry nodded just as Emma returned; damn, that was quick. Her land was much more graceful this time around (still far from perfect, but just as endearing). 

She had the cuff in her mouth and nearly spat it at him. “Sorry; wasn’t sure how else to hold it,” she explained, before opening her mouth to stretch her jaw. 

“It’s fine,” he waved off, ignoring the new teeth marks in the leather. “Here’s hoping this works.” He slipped it on and felt the familiar transformation magic take hold; at least it’s welcome this time.

It worked—mostly. “Huh,” was all he could manage to say when he pulled his legs from the water. He had them, at least, but they had the same pallor and texture as the rest of his skin. (At least, for Henry’s sake, my briefs returned, too.)

“Well? How do you feel?” Emma asked as he stood up. 

“Parched,” he answered honestly. Despite being able to breathe out of the water, he immediately felt dehydrated. 

“Yeah, you look a little…dull,” Henry confirmed. 

He mused for a second, then called up some water from the sea. It swirled around his legs and waist, creating a sort of aquatic garment. It likely looked strange, but he immediately felt better. 

“Shall we?”

The three of them surely made an odd sight as they walked through town—of all the weird things Storybrooke had seen, a harpy and a creature from the depths traipsing down Main Street was definitely up there. Despite knowing he wasn’t the only one in a new form tonight, Killian couldn’t help but feel rather like a fish out of water, quite literally; he didn’t often feel self conscious, but the sooner he stopped dripping water down the sidewalk, the better. He just hoped that idiot author hadn't done anything too drastic to anyone else. 

The library was unlocked—unsurprising, given the unusually late hours Belle kept it open (typically for situations just like this)—but the mess that greeted them in the foyer was a shock. What in Poseidon’s name happened here?

“Belle, love? You here?” he called out; the worry in his voice was obvious. It wasn’t like her to leave things like this unless something was wrong.

“Back here,” Belle’s voice said, but—why is she so loud?

The three of them made their way to the back part of the library—he was careful not to drip on any of the strewn books—to where it looked like even more of a disaster area. Shelves were knocked down domino-style and ceiling tiles were scattered over them. A few lights had been knocked out, too, making the farthest part of the library dark—but not so dark they couldn’t still see Belle.

It would be hard for her to hide—she was probably 20 feet tall now, if not more, but she’d somehow managed to curl up along the back wall.

“Well, you’re finally taller than me,” Killian eventually quipped, once he found his voice again. What else was he supposed to say? Emma tried to slap him with the back of her hand, but only ended up smacking his chest with the end of her wing and making him stumble backwards.

Belle chuckled—making the whole building vibrate—but then admonished, “Don’t you dare drip on any of these books?”

I’m bloody trying! Regardless, he acknowledged the order with a salute, but Henry got down to business. “What happened?”

“Isaac,” Belle spat. Now that they were closer to her, though, her voice boomed in the comparatively smaller space, making them all wince. “Oh, sorry,” she said softer—but that just brought her back to normal volume. “Something tells me you lot have seen him too?”

“Yup,” Emma confirmed, concurrent with Killian’s “aye”.

“He was commenting on my height,” she started—throwing a pointed look at Killian— “and how impressive it was that someone so small had such power over the Dark One.” The roll of her eyes was almost audible. “Then he said something about my stature matching my personality; I thought he was joking so I said ‘sure’, then he handed me a piece of paper and—this happened.”

“Yeah, that’s what he did to us, too,” Emma said; evidently, Isaac could alter things by writing them—but how?

“Do you have the paper?” Henry asked.

“Um,” Belle hummed, glancing around at the debris surrounding her. “Yeah, here it is,” she said when she found it, placing her (massive) finger on it and sliding it across the tile to them.

Henry picked it up and read aloud: “A giantess: so your stature matches your spirit.” His brow furrowed. “He’s turning people into cryptids?”

“At least, various kinds of mythical beasts,” Killian concurred; if there were actually any beasts out there that resembled him at the moment, he’d have likely encountered them by now. “But you had to agree with him first, right, Belle?”

“I guess so; was it the same with you?”

“He can only change our fate if we want him to,” Emma concluded; he agreed with the hypothesis. “Isn’t that why he was working with Regina?”

“Yeah,” Henry confirmed. “But he did something to her, too.”

“Do you know anything about how his powers work?” Killian wondered, turning back to Belle.

“Only what I saw firsthand,” she supplied. “It’s definitely connected to writing, but I don’t know yet if it’s his own magic or if there’s a conduit, like the pen or the ink. Regina might; or…” She chewed on her bottom lip and ducked her head. “Or Rumple would.”

Of bloody course he would. But they all cast their eyes downward, knowing the Dark One was still locked up in a cell a hundred feet below them. 

Before he could start to steel himself to face the Crocodile again, Emma decided. “Regina first,” she stated. “Before we go, do you need anything? Like, can we help you get out or anything?”

“No; I’m fine for now; but I might need some food if this goes on much longer.”

“We’ll do our best to get it worked out,” Killian assured her; there was no way he was going to let his best friend essentially become a prisoner in her favorite place. And who’d have thought it’d be an author that put her there?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After saying goodbye, they hustled across town to the cemetery. Along the way, they were startled by the two wolves prowling the patio at Granny’s, and it felt like there was something lurking down every alley, hiding in the shadows. 

A stream of colored, bobbing lights flew overhead—the fairies, in their true form, Emma had to assume. Farther up the street, it looked like the dwarves had gathered together, too. Oh gods—what did he do to them?

Surprisingly: nothing. “That weirdo tried to ‘revert us to normal’ or something, but whatever he did, it didn’t work. Probably because we’re already technically ‘magical’ creatures,” Leroy explained, using plenty of finger quotes. “So we’ve just been patrolling for trouble since it seems like we’re the only ones not dealing with shit.” He heavily glanced at Emma’s wings then. 

“Uh, thanks,” she said, studying the pavement. “If anything happens, text Henry or Regina, okay?”

“Will do, sister; think we filled up the answering machine at the station anyways.” Yeah, that checks out; she sighed and carried on. 

The vault door was open once they got there, but the crypt was closed over the hidden door; that was easy enough to move, though. 

“Mom?” Henry called out as he descended the steps ahead of her. “Are you okay?”

Regina was nowhere to be seen in the first room at the foot of the stairs, so Emma called out for her, too—while being careful to keep her wings tucked in and not knock anything over. 

“You shouldn’t be here!” Regina’s voice came from…somewhere farther back in the vault—a part Emma had never been to.

“Wait here,” she told Henry, then crept off in the direction it sounded like Regina was hiding in. It was dusty and, weirdly, she felt it settle on her feathers in a way that itched. But down a passage and behind some shelves, she saw a huddled form. “Regina? You alright?”

“Why are you here, Miss Swan?” she bit back, hiding in the shadows. “And why did you bring our son?”

“Because he’s worried about you,” she tossed back. “And honestly, I am, too; what’s going on?”

“That stupid author—that’s what,” Regina spat. “Supposedly, this is how he’s helping me get my ‘happy ending’.”

“...By making everyone else something out of a horror movie?”

“And by making me an immortal, apparently.” Regina stepped into what little light there was. She looked a bit pale, but not a lot more than usual. If anything, she was somehow more gorgeous. (Yes, despite their past issues, Emma could still admit that Regina was an impossibly beautiful woman.)

“Immortal how?”

Regina smiled—kind of; more like bared her teeth. But that’s when Emma saw it: she had fangs. Like a… “Vampire?” she whispered.

“Yeah,” Regina said sadly. “I didn’t even know what he was getting at when he started writing it down; he just went on about ‘getting away from my problems someday’. I didn’t think he meant outliving them.”

Who on earth would think that was a good idea? “Is that why you ran away from Henry?”

Regina nodded. “This is going to sound awful, but…his blood smelled amazing.”

“Shit.” I’d run away, too. “Uh, do you need me to leave, too?”

“No; apparently, I don’t have the palate for bird blood.”

“Hopefully you don’t want fish, either,” she quipped back.

Brow furrowing (in a way that absolutely made her look like something out of Buffy), Regina sniffed the air. “Hook? What did he do to him?”

“Did you ever see The Shape of Water?”

“Oh, wow. Well, uh, have fun with that.”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

“No—and definitely not in front of Henry.”

They both giggled, but it was only a brief moment of levity. “So can you tell me anything about how this happened—like, how the author powers work? So we can undo it?”

“Some, but he hasn’t been very forthcoming with the details,” Regina answered; she confirmed that his powers were tied to his pen and ink, as well as their theory that it has to be something they want. “He can change things but he still needs some level of consent from at least one party. We should be glad he didn’t write us into an entirely new reality.”

Emma shuddered. “So, what—we just track him down and force him to change it?”

“Maybe? It’s a good theory, but Rumpelstiltskin knows far more about this than I do.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

“Sorry. Just…don’t bring Henry down there, okay?”

Emma was about to protest—where the hell else am I going to take him to keep him safe from Isaac?—when Regina’s phone rang. 

“Crap—what did he do to them?” the mayor complained when she saw who was calling—Snow. She answered the call with a snarky “And what shape are you in?”

Except—she didn’t get a response. Normally, Snow would huff at Regina’s sass, but the only thing that came across was just a series of grunts and grumbles.

“Snow?” The grunting seemed to make a noise of affirmation. “What is going on over there? This better not be the world’s worst butt dial.” (“They don’t sound like that,” Emma quipped, cringing.) But then crying came over the speaker—definitely Neal.

“He’s still teething?” Regina winced. “That was the worst.”

“Yeah—but who’s there with him?” If her parents were fine, nothing would be stopping them from trying to soothe him; Neal pretty much only wanted to be held by her dad right now. “We better check that out first.”

“Absolutely. And let me know how everything else goes.”

“Will do. Do you need anything before we go?”

Regina chewed on her lip, her fangs even more apparent. “Did you see any squirrels up there? I’m starving.” Emma bit back a giggle. “Don’t laugh! I’m serious. And if you ever bring this up again, I can make sure those wings are permanent.”

Emma definitely laughed to herself all the way to the loft, though. Until she heard the sound of her brother crying and her motherly instincts kicked in. “Wait here; let me see what’s going on first,” she told the boys, then knocked on the door with one of her elbows (or whatever those joints were). The same grunting she heard on the phone came from the other side, but somehow more urgent.

Henry ended up having to turn the knob for her, but then she slipped in—and, yet again, her jaw dropped.

“Well, Mom does always say you have big feet,” she said, once she regained something resembling her faculties.

The sandy-blond sasquatch that had David’s eyes huffed in annoyance. Meanwhile, the snow-white yeti that vaguely looked like her mom wasn’t hesitating to take her by the wing and drag her to the bassinet, where Neal was inconsolable.

“He’s scared of you?” Emma guessed; Snow nodded sadly.

(Seriously—Snow, a yeti? At least Isaac has a sense of humor.)

“Okay, but I can’t do much either,” she said, flapping her wings. “Henry? It’s okay; can you come in?”

She saw his phone come through the door before he did, no doubt taking plenty of photos and videos for them to look back on. “That’s just wrong,” he concluded at the sight of his (much hairier) grandparents; Killian was clearly holding back a quip, no doubt in response to David’s many jokes in the past about his chest hair (especially given the current reversal of that situation). 

“Kid, think you can take care of your uncle while we figure the rest of this out?”

He pocketed his phone and quickly scooped up Neal. “Sure thing. We got this, right, little dude?” Neal quieted for a little bit, but then let out another ear-piercing scream. Everyone cringed.

“Okay; good luck with that—bye!” she called over her shoulder as she shoved Killian ahead of her in a hasty escape. 

“Will they be okay?” Killian asked as they headed back down the stairs.

“Oh yeah, they’ll be fine. My ears will not be, though.” They shared a laugh. “Alright; let’s get this over with.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Back again?” Belle greeted them at the library, having moved slightly from her cramped spot in the back to a no more comfortable, but at least larger spot, having shoved the ruined shelves aside and laying across the whole room.

“Aye; into the belly of the beast, as it were,” Killian replied as they headed to the elevator.

“Good luck,” she said, sounding more bored than anything; despite the public’s requests, the library had yet to seriously invest in any large-print books that might help her pass the time.

As they descended in the creaky elevator, he wasn’t sure if the creeping chill he felt slipping up his spine was due to the inherent cool temperature of the caverns below, or his own emotions at facing his longtime foe for the first time in a long while—since Rumple nearly killed him that day on the docks. 

Emma’s feathers brushed against his hand, startling him from his thoughts. “Sorry; I was trying to grab your hand, until I forgot I can’t. You gonna be okay?”

“I will,” he answered, hoping he could convince himself as much as her. There was nothing the Crocodile could do to them, he knew; but despite thinking he’d moved past what he’d experienced at the Dark One’s hands, his anxieties were creeping up.

“I’ll take the lead, though, okay?”

“I appreciate that, love,” he thanked, and squeezed the edge of her wing.

The caves below the library were little changed from his last trip down here, even if he was on the opposite side of things now—with the heroes, rather than against. However, this was the first time he’d seen the cage that had been fabricated to hold the imp. It was set deep into the wall, not unlike the one that had once held him back in the Enchanted Forest, but with solid metal bars clearly from this realm. It wasn’t hard to feel the magic radiating off them, though. 

“Rumple? You there?” Emma called out; this cell went farther back than the light could reach, so it was easy for the man to hide. For the first time, Killian wondered what his mental state might be, given his brief insanity after being held hostage by Zelena (body sharing with his son notwithstanding). 

“No,” the Crocodile’s voice called out from the shadows. “Come back later and I might be, though.”

“Ha. We found the Author.” She stood in front of the far edge of the cell.

She’s wise not to ask for help, he noticed. Handing Rumpelstiltskin any cards was a terrible idea.

“Good for you; what does that have to do with me?” 

Emma had been fiddling with something on the wall with one of the joints of her wings; all of a sudden, light flooded the cell, revealing a rather dusty but otherwise normal-looking Dark One, still wearing the same (stylish, he hated to admit) suit as the day they locked him up.

Rumple blinked his eyes at the sudden brightness, but once his sight had adjusted, he skimmed over Emma and then Killian. “I see,” he said. “I’d be happy to undo it, if you let me out.”

“Nice try, but no. We’ve just been trying to figure out how his powers work. We know his pen and ink are involved. Trying to figure out if it’s worth it to steal it back.”

Killian had to school his features; he was genuinely impressed at Emma’s negotiation tactics here. Obviously, they wouldn’t be here if they didn’t need help, but outright asking would get them nowhere. As such, it was taking more effort than expected to keep a proud (or smug) look off his face.

“It’s not,” Rumple replied. “That’s only half of it.”

“Really? Regina seemed to think that’s all we needed.”

“Regina is wrong. But the only person who can actually help you is currently locked away.”

“Again, you’re not getting out.”

“Not me,” he hissed. “But the pirate knows who.”

Emma turned to Killian, confused. “Huh?”

For a brief second, he was also unsure—until he glanced over at the Dark One, who was smirking—and wiggling the fingers of his left hand. 

Oh, bloody hell. Killian sighed and curled in on himself a bit. “The old man.”

“Otherwise known as the Sorcerer's Apprentice—and a thorn in my side for quite a few years, until I finally had some assistance locking him away.”

Shame flushed hot on Killian’s unusually cold cheeks. “He’s in the hat box, love,” he said quietly. 

“Ah, crap,” she cursed. “Does Regina know how to get anyone else out of there, or was that a one-time thing?”

“I’ll tell you if you let me—” Rumple started, only to be cut off.

“No!” Emma interjected. “C’mon; I bet Belle knows.”

“How…how is she?” the Dark One asked, suddenly sounding rather genuine.

“She’s a bloody giantess and stuck in the library right now, thanks to that idiot author,” Killian jumped in. “But otherwise fine.”

The Crocodile opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it and slumped in on himself. “The fairies,” he said, resigned. “They’ll know how to get him out by now.”

“Thanks,” Killian said quickly, then grabbed Emma by the wingtip and practically dragged her back to the elevator.

What little adrenaline he had faded on the slow ride up, and he simply wrapped himself around Emma. “Hey—this doesn’t feel like okay,” she said softly as she folded her wings around him—a feeling he was coming to quite enjoy, odd as it was.

“Just—being reminded of the man I used to be, even not that long ago,” he admitted. “I’m so sorry, Emma.”

“Hey—we’ll figure it out. And remember: that was way more Rumpelstiltskin than you.”

“I don’t think you’re giving me enough credit, love.”

“This is the one time you should just accept less of the blame, alright?”

He chuckled a bit; she knows my tendency towards self-flagellation well. “I’ll try.”

“Okay. So now, we find the hat, and then the fairies. And then maybe it’ll all be done?”

“Let’s hope.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Is this night fucking over yet? Emma took a moment to breathe after Killian left to retrieve the Sorcerer’s hat box thing from Gold’s shop, per Belle’s instructions. The fact that their to-do list kept growing was really annoying, and gods only knew what else Isaac had done in the last few hours.

There was a light at the end of the tunnel, but it still seemed like it was incredibly far away.

And she was craving fish sticks. Is that a swan thing? Or is that an I-never-had-dinner thing?

She gave herself one more minute to brood before starting the search for the fairies. On the bright side, they literally were—bright; she just had to be on the look out for a cloud of multicolored lights (giving off far more Christmas vibes than Halloween). But they weren’t in the middle of town, so that meant actually looking, and she did not have the energy to go traipsing around on her own right now. 

Might as well use these while I have them. For hopefully the last time, she took to the sky, hoping a (literal) birds-eye view would help her locate the swarm of fairies faster. Sure enough, once she was fairly high above Main Street, she saw the floating baubles—near the convent, unsurprisingly.

They were a little miffed when she accidentally flew through the middle of them, but when she explained what was going on and what they needed, they practically carried her back downtown on their breeze.

Killian was already standing outside the library with the golden box, looking visibly uncomfortable with it. Don’t blame him. Before she even had a chance to (try to) properly land, Blue was buzzing in front of him, conducting a few other fairies to take the box and hold it in front of her.

She stood next to Killian and watched as the head fairy went to work quickly, waving her wand and muttering something over the cylinder. The starry blue top began to swirl, like it had when they released the fairies, and glowed as it became something more resembling a portal.

All of a sudden, it stopped, and an old man that Emma had seen around town a couple times was seated on the pavement, looking rather bedraggled (though I think he kind of always did).

Killian didn’t hesitate to rush forward and help the man up, no doubt uttering profuse apologies as he did. The Apprentice was trying to get his bearings, it seemed, but was at least appreciative for his freedom. 

“Hi,” Emma jumped in, not wanting to delay things any longer. “I know you just got out of that hellhole, but we were kind of hoping you could help us with something.”

He looked her up and down, and then Killian. “I can see that,” he said gruffly. “I don’t recall the Savior having wings.”

“Uh, yeah, recent addition. What can you tell us about the Author?”

She didn’t think it was possible for the man’s bushy brow to furrow further, but it did. “That blasted fool…this was Isaac’s doing?”

Everyone nodded—and that was a lot of everyones; at some point, more and more townsfolk had converged on the main intersection, and it was apparent that all manner of mythical creature and cryptid were now among its citizens.

The Apprentice looked around at everyone, then tutted. “Shameful, shameful—abusing his powers like that. That’s why I banished him in the first place. Whose brilliant idea was it to free him?”

“Uh, mine,” Regina said, stepping forward (with a scarf wrapped around her face, likely to block the smell of…everyone). 

“Yeah, that checks out,” the Apprentice huffed. “Well, on the bright side, he’s probably ran out of power by now. He can no longer do harm, but he also won’t be able to undo what he’s done.”

“Can’t you just give him a magical eraser or something?” Emma wondered. (Regina smirked, even under the scarf.)

The Apprentice chuckled. “No; I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that. However, if Isaac has lost his powers, then a new Author needs to be chosen, and I have a feeling we’ll find one here.”

“Where?” Killian practically demanded. 

“The Author has to believe in the stories, truly—in their heart,” he said dramatically, placing his hand on his chest.

She and Regina exchanged a look; we know someone who fits that description exactly.

Emma called up to Blue, asking them to find Isaac and bring him there, while she took off in the direction of the loft.

In the time it took her to get her son (and her parents, because they should really be there for whatever was about to happen, too), something resembling chaos broke out in the scene that she had left. An angry mob formed in the crossroad, surrounding Isaac, who lay prone on the pavement, being held down by an irate Regina, baring her fangs.

“You did this to me,” she hissed. “Why shouldn’t I use it against you?”

The man looked terrified; serves him right. The crowd was shouting for him to fix what he’d done (her parents grumbling incoherently in agreement), several voices demanding he undo it.

“I can’t!” he shouted back. “The pen doesn’t work for me anymore!” To underline his point, he tossed the enchanted quill away.

“I warned you not to abuse your power this way,” the Apprentice said, his voice deafening even the most frantic shouts around him. “You deserve everything these people might do to you.”

Isaac glanced at Granny and Ruby, who were snarling at him, and whimpered.

Emma was distracted, though, by Henry. He had something of a faraway look in his eyes, and almost mindlessly passed Neal off to Snow (at least the kid was asleep). His focus narrowed on something ahead of him, on the ground: the pen.

She watched as he carefully moved forward, almost as if he was drawn to it. Emma’s gaze darted briefly, first to Regina, who was also watching; then to the Apprentice, who almost seemed to be smiling where he stood next to Killian. 

The crowd also realized what was going on and a hushed silence fell as Henry neared the object. 

He knelt in front of it, reached out, and carefully picked it up. It glowed as soon as his fingers touched the enchanted instrument. 

“I thought so,” the Apprentice said warmly. Emma couldn’t help but beam with pride and ruffle her feathers; Regina grinned too, not bothering to hide her fangs. 

Henry blinked and stood. “Wait, what?”

“You, young sir, are the new Author,” the Apprentice explained, approaching Henry. From thin air, he produced a vial of ink. “And I dare say far more worthy than your predecessor.” He threw a dirty look at Isaac, who was still cowering. 

Cautiously, Henry took the ink. “Thanks, but…what does that mean?”

The Apprentice chuckled. “I’ll explain it all; don’t worry. But right now, I believe there’s some unnecessary plot twists that need to be straightened. 

“Right!” Henry felt around his pockets for—something, but came up empty. “Crap, I don’t have any paper.”

“Over here!” Belle called out from an open window in the library, her face taking up most of it. “Henry—here!” A few pieces of paper looked no bigger than a Post-it in her fingers as she reached through the window. Henry ran over and grabbed it, but wasn’t sure what to do when he returned. 

“I can help you with this first one,” the Apprentice offered. “Start with the ink.”

A few people chuckled as Henry struggled with getting ink from the bottle to the quill tip, Killian included; assholes—ballpoint pens were invented for a reason. 

“Now, you’re not supposed to change or influence things, but undoing an abuse of power like this—that’s okay. Try writing…this: ‘those whose physical forms had been affected by the previous author’s changes that night were reverted back to their original forms.’”

“To…their…original…forms,” Henry repeated, writing the words, then ended it with a forceful period. No sooner had the pen left the paper than a burst of magic rippled through the crowd. 

Emma curled in on herself as what had been done was undone; she’d been too distracted when Isaac first came after her to really pay attention to the magic happening, but now that it was being reversed—ugh, it’s like my feathers are being plucked. (She wished she’d been standing closer to Killian so she could lean on him, but he’s probably going through something similar.)

Thankfully, it didn’t last long. Once the odd sensation passed, she stood up straight, rolled her shoulders back, and stretched her arms—just arms once more—above her head. “Thank frick,” she sighed. 

Behind her, her parents laughed; she turned to see that they were back to normal (and Neal was clamoring for David). All around, everyone was standing and stretching as they shook off the effects of what they’d just been through. Regina was hugging Henry tightly in the middle of it all. 

To little surprise, Granny and Ruby were still fierce, and were dragging Isaac in the direction of the cells below the hospital. Well, he’s still gonna be a headache—but one that could wait a day or so. 

Across the way, Killian was talking to a normal-sized Belle while standing in a puddle; his skin was back to its normal pallor and the gills were gone. (His beard and chest hair had also returned, thank the gods.)

He caught her gaze and appeared to excuse himself from Belle, then headed her way. “That looks better, Swan.”

“Not literally, thankfully,” she quipped back. “You look much improved yourself,” she added, resting her hands on his chest. 

“Certainly feel more like myself,” he answered. “Although—I’m not generally this exposed around so many people.” He was only wearing his usual swimming briefs—and a blush that was creeping up his cheeks. 

“Mm, then perhaps we should find somewhere private to be half naked.” 

“I like the way you think, love.”

“Too bad I can’t fly us away anymore, though.”

He hummed, then pulled his hand between them, where a white feather was twirling in his fingers. “Maybe you can channel that?”

She giggled, and transported them back to his ship. Placing a kiss against his (scruffy) cheek, she grabbed his hand (finally!) and pulled him toward the stairs. “Let’s get to what we were going to do earlier.”

“Gladly,” he sighed, and followed her to his cabin…

…where they promptly fell asleep. (But got to the fun stuff the next morning.)

Cryptid Night, as it came to be known, went down in Storybrooke legend; and thankfully, no one experienced any long-lasting effects. (Well, other than David complaining about finding fur around the loft for a few weeks after.)

Emma did notice, though, that the pure white feather Killian had picked up was displayed prominently on a shelf in his cabin. As much as she never wished to relive that night, she always smiled when she saw it—and was glad Henry had taken plenty of pictures.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

thanks for reading! tagging some mermates: @cocohook38 @kat2609 @mryddinwilt​ @xpumpkindumplingx​ @optomisticgirl @shipsxahoy​ @clockadile​ @kmomof4​ @initiala​ @snowbellewells​ @word-bug​ @idristardis​ @wingedlioness​ @theonceoverthinker​ @annytecture​ and I can’t remember who else was into this