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vvildflowerrr · 1 year

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•°༻Temporary Altar Set-up: Abundance and Prosperity༺°•

(cw // mentions su*cide ideation and pregnancy/child loss as concepts briefly in the "Stones & Crystals" and "Miscellaneous" sections respectively)

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-•ᛉ ⛤ ᚠ•-

Fáilte!

This post will be detailing how I set up my personal (temporary) altar in the place I'm currently staying. Life has been difficult as of late for me personally, and I've been leaning heavy on my spirituality and religion to get through. In doing so, as I'm currently without a solid place to live and am staying in a mattress on the floor of my friends' apartment, I've graciously been allowed to utilize an empty shelf to create this space to welcome abundance and prosperity to all friends and frith who walk through our door.

The altar is tailored to me personally, but feel free to take any inspiration from the things I've chosen to use for it! I initially just grabbed my things and placed stones and items up there on intuition, the following information is notes from my Grimoire I took in researching my choices.

As you read this post, there will be some tiny numbered annotations in some places. There will be a clarification section at the bottom where I'll explain these notes further!

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Gifts & Jars

I first placed an abundance jar on the shelf that I made 2-3 years ago. I built the altar around this, but first cleaned the gunk off of it with olive oil and then soap, it looks brand new! I made sure to smoke cleanse it and shake it well with refreshed intentions. On top of this jar, I placed a seashell given to me by a dear friend and fellow practitioner - of whose the home I'm staying in belongs to. I did this with the gifted shell with the intention of it being a conduit to share any blessings of abundance I receive with them, as some small repayment for all they've done for me.

I then placed two crystal trees with copper trunks given to me by another dear friend. One's leaves are portrayed with green aventurine, while the other is rose quartz. I will get deeper into the meanings for all the aventurine I put up there in the "stones" section below. But in the meantime, these trees were gifted to me with the intentions of the aventurine bringing me luck, fortune, and abundance. While the rose quartz was intended to attract love all encompassing, love for myself, for the people around me, and my romantic prospects.

There are also two green candle holders on the lower shelf, gifted to me by my dearest friend and Druidic mentor on my birthday this year! I placed a large green aventurine on the West¹ candle holder, and a similar sized desert rose on the East¹ candle holder.

There is also a much smaller spell jar gifted to me by aforementioned Druidic mentor's sister, who noticed I was going through a hard time recently. She explained the spell as follows:

"The jar is for spiritual awakening, protection, and helping to connect to your lunar³ side."

Ingredients: Red roses, lemon peels, pink Himalayan salt, and blessed rainwater. It is sealed with white and pink wax. I set a smoky quartz on top of this jar.

I also have another abundance/prosperity jar gifted to me by an old acquaintance set up there too, but only after it was smoke cleansed! I have a small mahogany obsidian sitting on top of this one.

And lastly, with a mushroom-shaped bloodstone sitting atop it, I included a small jar containing my fortune collection - yes the ones from the cookies. Simply for good fortune, even in the smallest things, like tiny strips of paper!

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Stones & Crystals

(Note: Organic minerals and compounds are not a replacement for professional medical/psychiatric care.)

Aventurine - Practical enthusiasm, prosperity, diffusing negative emotion, reinforcing leadership, promoting compassion, and encouraging perseverence.

This stone is represented a few times on this altar. It is sitting on the West candle holder. The West is Water, and where the sun sets. A steady flow of all these properties will wash over me by the end of each day.

In the mid-center of the bottom shelf, I have a tile of it with a gold engraving of my sun sign, Taurus, to represent myself and attract the grounded, Venusian energy of it.

Desert Rose - Protection, prosperity, purification, enhanced psychic abilities, enhanced dreams and past life recall. Raise vibrations, experience white light, open and cleanse the upper chakras, restoring lost balance.

Sitting on the East candle holder. The East is earth, and where the sun rises. I will start my days grounded, buried happily in this stone's properties.

Clear Quartz - Amplification of the entire altar. Neutralizes negative energy, promotes balance and revitalization for the physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual planes. A deep soul cleanser, aiding in concentration and unlocking memory. Balance, harmony, and alignment. The "Master Healer."

Located in the back-center of the bottom shelf.

Citrine - Increases optimism, sunny cheerfulness, alignment, aura cleansing, mental clarity, wealth, prosperity, and success. Reduces anxiety, fear, and depression. Improves motivation and self-expression, establishes inner peace, promotes joy and good luck!

In the center, in front of the clear quartz and Taurus aventurine tile.

Sunstone - Connection to the solar³, and leadership. Encourages openness and benevolence. Willingness to give and bless others.² A stone of joy, to inspire good nature and enjoyment of life.

East of the aventurine Taurus tile.

Moonstone - Inner clarity, cyclical change, connection to the lunar³. Encourages embracing new beginnings, femininity, fertility, balance, softness, and intuition.

West of the aventurine Taurus tile.

Satin Spar/Selenite - Clears low and stagnant energy, invites high and bright vibrations. Raises vibration, fosters mental clarity, repairs holes in the auric field. Reconnects to past lives, and boosts inner power. Dissolves lingering negative energy from long periods of darkness.

I have three sticks of this stone set on the shelves. Two lining the front of the top shelf, and one lining the back of the bottom shelf.

Bloodstone - Carries the purity of blood, inherently speaks of life, birth, vitality, strength, passion, and courage. Protective and nurturing, a talisman for good health and a long life. A gem of noble sacrifice, promotes and rewards altruistic character. (This is also the stone I use when connecting with An Mórrígan!)

This is the aforementioned mushroom-shaped stone sitting atop my fortune jar!

Smoky Quartz - Grounding and detoxifying on all levels. Gently neutralizes negative vibrations. Disperses fear, lifts depression and negativity. Brings emotional calmness, relieving stress and anxiety. Promotes positive thoughts and action. Alleviates suicidal tendencies, dispels nightmares, but manifests your dreams. Aids in concentration and promotes healthy communication.

This is sitting atop the spiritual awakening jar discussed in the above "Gifts & Jars" section.

Mahogany Obsidian - Sacral and root chakras. Protection and grounding, eliminates blockages. A stone of reflection, it helps to show us what needs our attention in this moment, while aiding with self-acceptance and self-confidence. Often used in decision making processes.

Sitting atop my gifted abundance jar from an old acquaintance. I chose this stone specifically because a friend recommended I start healing at my root chakra before working myself up!

-• ᛉ ⛤ ᚠ •-

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Miscellaneous

(Random other things on/attached to my altar.)

I hung my small, angel aura quartz necklace off the West side of the shelf. I lost a pregnancy/child in 2019 and bought this necklace as my connection to them. I keep making jokes that I "put my son on the altar." Very funny to me, my friends don't know how to react when I say it LOL

My first cat's kitten collar. It's rainbow, which gives the full spectrum of colour to the altar. I have it hanging off of the upmost center of the shelf. This was specifically to include my fur babies in my abundance, as we're in a difficult housing situation and they are not staying with me currently. This is an energetic promise to do better by them, and to spoil them with love and abundance as soon as we find stability.

And lastly! As I walk around and/or clean the house I take every bit of loose change I find and fit it onto the lower shelf. This is to promote an anti-lack mindset. If I let go of the little things I do have instead of hoarding them in white knuckles, the universe will return it to me a million times over!

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Fin.

Thank you so much for reading this long-ass post about the ways I'm shifting the energy in my life using my altar. I appreciate you lending your eyes to my ramblings!

I hope this gave you some insight on me and my practice, as well as gave you some inspiration for your own.

Have a wonderful day/afternoon/night/whenever you happen to be reading this!

With all love from the Universe,

Willow Crow Luxx⛤

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Clarification Notes

1 - For the intents and purposes of this post, Left will be referred to as "West" and Right will be referred to as "East."

2 - I personally struggle with people pleasing and giving more than I have to offer. I will not let this part of me go completely, but will only give from excess in love and energy going forward, outside of extranormal circumstances.

3 - Doing away with gendered language in my personal practice as a fluid individual, I refer to 'the feminine' as "lunar" energy and 'the masculine' as "solar" energy.

-•ᛉ ⛤ ᚠ•-

Image of Altar:

Anmórheljave.

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whirlybirbs · 4 years

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✶ — las rosas están cayendo ; j.m.

summary: you're a figurehead in a far-reaching criminal underground operation that's offered jesse mccree haven and work in the last few years. your relationship with the cyberized cowboy is complicated but oh-so lovestruck.

pairing: jesse mccree / reader, est. relationship

tags: fluff, angst, good guy falls for the bad guy who’s not so bad

a/n: i’m simping, it’s fine

( read on archive of our own ! )

Jesse McCree likes the Silkroad's End. Always has.

The place's very namesake pays homage to some dark web marketplace that operated back in the 10s; it's fitting, Jesse thinks, since the entity itself certainly fits what he'd imagine the personification of that very digital market to be. Dark, a bit shady, and always crawling with folks who aren't really who they say they are.

Staff changes every three weeks. Location, too. Lucky for him, the only thing that stays the same is the barkeep. Everything else is rotating, always moving, always changing. It's best that way.

Truth be told nothing in the States offers true anonymity, anymore. All that's long since past. Every damn street corner has a camera watchin'. But, the Silkroad's End is good — and discretion is their business. They offer what people like Jesse McCree need:

Trustworthy resources.

Even still, knowing about the Silkroad's End is one thing.

Getting in is another entirely.

Jesse's learned not to be startled when a stranger ambles up and slips something in his palm — might get 'im killed someday, but for now, he offers a gentle tip of the hat to whatever camera is eyein' his current move in whatever city he's in.

The chips — obsidian colored and round — are few and far between. There's a chain-code implanted in the micro-computer inside that registers a location on his personal data-device; but without that chip, he ain't gettin' inside. It's one use, one time only.

This time, the den is a quiet little place on a side street in New Orleans.

This chip was delivered to Jesse in a seedy bar bathroom — and as he shoved it into his pocket and muscled up his tawny-colored jeans, he was left grimacing. Bastard that gave it to him didn't even wash his hands. Just pissed and dropped it on top of the urinal.

The den is downstairs, and Jesse turns in his chip after finding the little location to a towering omnic who reminds his a little bit too much of a certain butler he once knew.

"Might wanna wash that."

Spurs tinker on the wooden steps, and when the door's eye slot slams open, Jesse is met with the gaze of a human this time — an unknown staff member with a tattoo that crawls up the side of his head. There's a tense silence. Then, the slot slams shut.

With a quick yank of the three-inch durasteel door, Jesse finally steps foot into the Silkroad's End.

And, with an elated sort of smirk, he swaggers right in your direction.

Jesse reckons it's been four months since he's seen you — the ever-present barkeep and present owner of the Silkroad's End — last ; could be that you're one of many owners and operators, as he suspects but... Well, Jesse never had enough to go on that hunch.

There he was, as always, distracted.

You know the sound of his spurs from a million others. In an instant, your lashes are flicking up from the bar and through the crowded back room. Tonight is busy — seems a good few members decided tonight would be the night they cash in their chips. You shouldn't be surprised to see Jesse McCree, but...

He's always had a way of knocking you off your game.

"Have I ever told you," comes the low croon as a set of cyberized knuckles rap on the mahogany bar, "that you make the best drinks around?"

Your smirk settles into your words. You move slowly, reaching for that top-shelf whiskey he likes so much.

"Is that why you keep coming back, then?"

Jesse smirks. His trademark hat finds a spot beside him at the bar, and he leans back to run a hand through his dark, wild hair. "One of a handful of reasons I could list, sure."

The drink that lands in front of him is coupled with your full attention.

Jesse feels awfully big in it.

His fingertip tinker against the glass. The sound is pleasing.

Your elbows meet the bartop. You lean. Your eyes drift across his face, and for a moment you find a rush of relief bloom at the realization that there are no new scars. He looks tired, but well.

Alive.

A lot for a man with a bounty of sixty million on his head.

You work hard to keep that very bounty out of the Silkroad's End 's docket. That ledger of his, deep and relentless, has become harder to ignore in recent months. With word that Overwatch was recalled... Jesse's name had been floating around more than you liked recently.

It made you worry.

Your voice is soft. So is your smile.

Jesse, the sap he is, is glad he's sitting down for the sight of it.

"You look good, Jesse."

He scoffs into the whiskey. His eyes, a dark brown and warm like the run, roll at the remark. You grin.

"M' gettin' old," he rumbles, "And things are changing' faster than I can keep up with."

You don't pry. A habit. A good one, mostly. Jesse has a habit of being an open book. Given the chance, you'll pry later. For now, you opt to air on the side of wistful interest. Fleeting and light.

Your chin finds your palm.

Long ago, you wouldn't have dared to let a soul see you so engaged with a member like this, but... This operation ran on trust. Discretion was a part of the bigger equation and the people in this room? You've known most of them for years now.

Bounty hunters, arms dealers, drug peddlers.

They know better than to bite the hand that feeds.

"You been busy, then?" you ask, watching the way his eyes stick to you, even when he reaches to dig out a cigar from a pocket beneath his serape. In a flash, he's procured a gilded lighter and flicked it open. The flame dances between you both, and you watch as he puffs the cigar. The embers burn red.

He exhales and smoke swirls around his head like horns — Jesse's lips slip into a lopsided sort of look; more playful than anything.

"That lead you gave me," he drawls, "It worked out. Paid good, too."

Your smile is slow.

This song and dance is always fun.

"Been savin' a few for you," you say, "You're one of the few I can trust to actually bring people in alive."

"I haven't even been here fer more than a minute an' you're already talkin' business, pumpkin," Jesse grins, all toothy and scruffy, and takes another puff of his cigar, "That all you ever do?"

"You know me, Jesse," you slide your fingers across the underside of the bar, sending the partition up and allowing you to step around. You shrug your shoulders and hang your hands. The way his eyes flick across your figure isn't lost on you.

You cock your head towards the back office as you speak. "Always scheming."

If that ain't the god damn truth.

You're a smart little thing. All devilish wit and pulled strings. You have enough dirt in your back pocket to bring a few governments down, Jesse supposes. Nothing to bat an eyelash at.

He follows with ease; hat tucked upon his head once more, cigar and whiskey held in his hands. He follows you, looming over your shoulder, as the sea of patrons part with sidewards glances and half-aware nods. Everyone has their own business to attend to. You're simply attending to yours.

The back office isn't really much of an office — if anything, it's a refitted storage room. There's a desk, a handful of monitors, and enough security barring entrance to the windowless room that Jesse's roughed up every time.

The omnic patting him down isn't gentle. He tugs the peacekeeper from his hip holster and grunts. Jesse scowls.

That ain't never been a problem before, though.

You, all poised with your arms crossed, wave it off. The gun is shoved roughly back into Jesse's holster. If both hands weren't preoccupied, maybe the bouncer would get more than the nasty snarl Jesse manages as he's waved through. Maybe.

As the door slips shut behind him, the sound of your heels is all he hears.

"Beefed up security, huh?"

Your sigh is tight. He can see the tension along your shoulders when you round the sleek desk in the middle of the room and unlock a drawer. If you'd thought he'd move past your silence, you're wrong.

Jesse isn't like you.

He has a bad habit of asking plenty of follow up questions.

"What happened, pumpkin?"

That damn nickname is enough to spur you to straighten yourself, to set the datapad down gently on the desk in front of you, and to frown.

"There was an incident."

His worry is palpable.

"Nothing dramatic," you wave it off, shooing him slightly when he nears the desk. You walk around it and lean, settling on the edge, "But it was enough to spook a few staff members into being more mindful of who carries in the establishment. Especially behind closed doors."

You've had enough guns pulled on you in your life to know that one could have been the last — but it wasn't. It was fine. Might have earned you a few restless nights and a few connections to clean up, but the disgruntled member was dealt with. That was a month and a half ago now. Distant.

Jesse frowns. He sets his whiskey down on your desk, then leans and smothers the cigar in a fizzle of ash and smoke in the ashtray there.

His voice goes low, gruff, and serious.

"Pumpkin, I ain't a good man," he breathes, eyes low beneath the brim of his hat, "You're better off not trustin' men like me."

He does this every time.

A glimmer of self-consciousness towards his own character.

You know him better than to believe that shit.

"Jesse, if anyone was to put a bullet between my eyes," you mutter, unlocking the datapad with a flick of your finger, "I'd be honored if you were the one to do it."

That earns you a low grumble.

His weight moves to shift beside you. His hip bumps yours. His shoulder saddles right up against your own. You can smell the cigar on him, the burn of the whiskey on his tongue. Jesse is warm. He laces his own fingers together. You can feel his eyes on you as you sift through the files of bounties — and you try not to seem startled when he says your name soft enough it could pass for a lullaby.

"... You alright?"

It's not often you're asked this question.

You were right before — you were always talking business. Personal matters were kept far from any business dealings you did on a daily basis. It was pertinent. Kept the machine well-oiled.

Things with Jesse, though... They'd been different for a long time.

Things changed when the two of you had forgone professionalism once a handful of years ago now. It wasn't long after the first time you'd met him the cowboy had stolen himself into your well-guarded feelings. You blamed the charm. He believed it was luck. Despite knowing nearly nothing about you, he'd become enamored, and — when you'd initially thought the sex was something to sweeten the deal, Jesse quickly made it plenty clear he intended on keeping the sex and the business separate.

The feelings grew between those two things.

Now, in the center of his attention... Well, you feel small.

You let out a slow exhale.

"I missed you, y'know," you say slowly, eyes still trained on the names staring back at you on the datapad.

"Yeah," he breathes, "I missed you, too. Ain't fun bein' gone so long."

"As if either of us has a choice?"

Another hum. This one a bit sadder. Jesse supposes you're right, that it isn't exactly ideal — and it's not as if he's allowed himself to be vulnerable to anyone else these last few years. Not when he's a wanted man. Not when gettin' someone tangled up in the danger is the last thing he wants.

It was different with you. You knew the danger. You...

Christ alive, he wishes now things were different.

Back then, it was easy.

Coming to terms, now, with the numbing loneliness that hangs itself over the both of you hurts a bit worse. Time is ticking by. He'll be older than he is younger soon.

"You ever wish you could leave it all behind?"

His question is met with a tired scoff. Your cheek finds his shoulder. Your hair falls along his arm.

"And become the world's most wanted woman?"

"What you've got is an empire," Jesse drawls, a hand slowly reaching for your own, "M' sure someone would wanna call it theirs ."

"And then what happens to the tired, old queen? The queen who knows what makes that empire strong?"

Your quirk your brows. Jesse sighs.

"... Point taken."

"I made my bed," you say with a measured sense of finality, "And I've gotta lay in it, Jesse."

His eyes dance alight when something then that's tempered with fire; he blinks down at you through thick lashes as he speaks.

"Wouldn't mind layin' with you..."

It's husky. Drawn out. Nearly a sigh, especially when his fingers slip along the curve of your wrist and draw up to your cheek.

"I'm starting to think you come here," you mumble with an edge of sarcasm as his nose brushes yours, "For more than just business ."

"Oh, sweetpea," Jesse grins as he whispers, "It's been that way for a long time now."

The kiss is bruising — the sort you missed horribly in those months apart. It's lip and teeth and scruff; the brush of his beard is enough to make you smile, enough to make you abandon the datapad on your desk.

Enough to keep you distracted enough that you don't notice Jesse McCree tapping an encrypted data transfer skimmer over your datapad.

You'll notice in the morning.

And by then, he'll be long gone.

#jesse mccree x reader #jesse mccree imagine #jesse mccree x you #jesse mccree fanfic #overwatch imagine #overwatch x reader #WHOOPS #i go radio silent then write a whole FIC FOR. THE COWBOY.

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lady-janes-smut-stash · 4 years

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Under the Mahogany Table- Tokoyami Fumikage

Words: 2400 Characters: Tokoyami Fumikage & Dark Shadow x Reader Spice: Spicy AF Warnings: Filthy Language, Smut, NSFW, Voyeurism

You are in a study group, your long time crush Tokoyami Fumikage sits in front of you- erotic shenanigans ensue. Shall we count how many times i can use the word ‘core’ in reference to a vagina?

Characters are aged up. I don’t write often so don’t spell check me-

You stared down at your book, it could be a trashy erotica novel for all you knew, you couldn't read a word of it.

Your cake sat untouched beside your book, you sat stiffly the elegance of the room setting you on edge. Even the air smelled crisp and clean.

Your fingers gripped the table, you felt the eyes of your crush on you and forced yourself to act natural- or as natural as you could be in a chair that likely cost more than what you spend in a year.

U.A finals were coming up and, as usual, Momo Yaoyorozu organized and hosted a class study session at her home. You didn't need extra study time, but your crush, Tokoyami Fumikage was attending- and here he was, directly across from you.

Your attraction was pitiful, really.

You had been in the same class with Fumikage for years now, training to be a hero alongside him but never having been partnered with him.

Not once.

The way he occupied most of your thoughts- it was almost comical considering only a handful of words were passed between you.

You had given up pursuing the edgy bird boy, but your desire for him burned as hot as always.

You glanced up at the boy in question, allowing yourself only a moment to take him in.

Hot damn.

He had bulked up since you had first seen him but his style remained the same.

Your eyes ate him up, you felt perverted as you stared at him from across the ridiculously long mahogany table.

His strong pale hands gripped his book firmly, his thumb stroking the open page back and forth. How would it feel for him to stroke you like that?

The level of hate you felt for that fucking book was unnatural.

You leaned back knowing that you were more than a little obsessed with Fumikage.

Your eyes moved from his hands to his thick arms, over to the buttons on his chest.

You sighed at how fine he looked in that black vest.

Your gaze crawled up his torso, past that red choker that you’ve always wanted to touch-

Your hand barley managed to muffle a gasp as Fumikage’s garnet eyes locked you in place. He conveyed so much with just a look, you felt your skin heat.

An eternity passed, you could live in his gaze.

“What kind of tea do you all want?” Momo’s generosity cut the moment short. “I have most every kind, and what I don't I can have a maid run out and get it for you!”

You pulled your eyes away first. “Doesn’t matter to me, I’ll drink whatever.”

“Same.” Fumikage echoed in a low voice.

Your blush persisted as you returned your eyes to your book, doubting you would have the courage to glance up again.

You refused to let yourself read into what just happened, content in keeping Tokoyami Fumikage your secret obsession.

Flipping a page you kept up the facade of reading.

The small group seemed engaged as Momo kept up conversation. You smiled and laughed appropriately when Denki or Mina cracked a joke.

You tried to focus, you really did, and almost succeeded-

A feather light touch grazed your knee.

Your body trembled.

You jerked your leg, expecting the touch to disappear- it didn't.

You held your breath as fingers encircled both your legs in a chilly grip.

The touch was firm but not painful, their hands wide around your upper calves as their thumbs rubbed back and forth over your knees.

You cautiously glanced around the table.

Everyone was seated.

Straightening your back, you pressed your thighs together and worried your lower lip. The hands stilled as well, as if sensing an inner struggle going on inside of you.

You could yell out- draw attention to the person under the table. Could it be a perverse maid or manservant of Momo’s?

You glanced up at Fumikage, his gem toned eyes wholly focused on the notes in front of him. You had no doubt about him being your first love, but did you want to pine after him forever?

No.

Loving him from a distance was bittersweet at best, but the time had passed for you to join his inner circle.

This is the closest I will get to him.

The cold fingers gripping your calves squeezed, testing or asking you didn't know. With your untouched body being groped by a stranger while your crush sat not six feet away from you- a sick desire twisted its way around your heart and heated your blood.

Your hands reached under the table cloth, shifting your fingers around the hem of your soft skirt, goosebumps flooded your skin as you eased the fabric up, spreading your knees an inch apart in demur invitation.

The chilly grasp roamed higher, spreading your trembling legs as they crossed to grip the soft swell of your hips. Cold fingers brushed the outline of your panties in a loving caress. You glanced at your lap to see two bulges under your skirt where the table cloth fell short.

Panic bled into pleasure as the fingers dipped under the edges of your underwear to rub the flesh of your hip with a slow back and forth. You closed your eyes and imagined Fumikage’s fingers as he rubbed his book the same way.

Your breath hitched as you opened wider to the stranger, picturing your crush under the table as you willed them to do more.

“You okay Y/N?” Momo turned to you. “Your trembling.”

Air burst from you in a light sigh as the stranger forced your legs wide.

“I’m just a bit chilly.” Your strained smile put her at ease. Instinct urged you to protect your vulnerable place, you tried to close your legs but the stranger was there- resting between your thighs like it was their new home.

“Well, I will have the maid turn up the heat for you, and i'm sure some hot tea will work wonders for you as well.” Warmth seeped from your core as something smooth and chilly nuzzled your inner thigh, tantalizingly close to your center.

Their cock?

No, there was no way.

“Thank you, I- I appreciate that.” You moved your hand over your plate, brushing a fancy fork onto the marble floor.

A clatter echoed across the wide room.

“I’ve got it!” you rushed before Momo could call a maid.

You leaned down, lifting the table cloth.

Glowing yellow orbs stared back at you over your thigh.

You froze.

Fuck.

Dark Shadow’s obsidian fingers dug into your flesh, he shot you a shit-eating grin before shoving his face into the apex of your thighs. His eerie gaze held yours as he latched onto your aching core, his cold tongue flicking out to lap at your cunt through your panties.

You bit your lip to keep from crying out. Trembling, you lifted back into your seat and did your best portrayal of nonchalant as dark shadow contoured you with his tongue.

You dared a glance at Fumikage, surely he had to know…

Nope.

His oblivious expression said otherwise.

Could Dark Shadow even be out without him knowing?

You didn't know.

Dark Shadow had to be one sneaky little shi-

A wave of cold air hit your core as Dark Shadow pulled your panties to the side and melded his mouth to your center. His eager tongue ran circled around your swollen nub, moving down to trace the seam of your entrance.

A tea cup clattered over in the distance, masking the sharp sound of Dark Shadow ripping the crotch of your panties.

Tea bled over the tablecloth in a dark stain, your soft whimper went unheard as people bustled in to clean up the mess.

“I’ll have them change the-”

“No!” Your voice broke as you interupted Momo, “I’m sure it’s fine, it will just get messy again as we eat, we can change it after we study.” You covered. You didn’t want your stranger to get caught, but more than that you didn’t want them to stop.

As if rewarding you Dark shadow brought his mouth back to your soaking pussy. Your swollen clit throbbed as you spread yourself to invite him back home.

“I suppose your right...”

What would Fumicage think?

Your legs tightened around Dark shadow as his tongue teased your entrance, your eyes drifted to Fumikage.

Bird Boy looked at you with such concern, his brow creased with worry as his partner began fucking you with his long cold tongue. All you cared about was the shadowy entity wrecking you under the table.

You bit your lip, nearly drawing blood to compose yourself enough not to moan and alert your classmates.

When you opened them Fumikage was still staring. Your lips parted as you sent him a silent gesture to look under the table.

Your body jerked as Dark Shadow yanked you to the edge of your seat, his fingers dug into your hips. Fumicage’s eyes widened with the movement, your body felt more sensitive under his alert watch.

Your core was dripping wet as dark shadow worked a thick cool finger into your hot untried sex.

Your breath caught with the ache of his invasion, his fingers were thick and stretched you more than you had ever been.

The state of the fancy chair fleeted through your mind as he allowed you to adjust, when he started languidly pumping inside you, his mouth latching onto your sensitive nub-

Fuck the chair.

You rested your head between your arms on the table, no longer able to hide your expression.

The effort to keep quiet was staggering- the effort to keep from grinding onto Dark Shadow for relief was even more so.

“You sure you're okay, Y/N?” Denki asked from the far end of the long table.

“Yeah.” You mumbled as Dark Shadow forced another finger into your soaking hole. “I’m just a little tired.” Your voice broke.

Clink.

The sound of cutlery hitting the floor was unmistakable, you glanced up to find Fumikage with one hand braced on the table as he leaned down.

“HYO!”

Fumikage bolted upright in his seat, eyes wide and feathers standing on end as his fingers curled around his book in a death-grip.

“Everything okay there, Fumikage?”

He nods in silence, his panic filled eyes never leaving yours.

Your face heats, you feel so deliciously dirty.

Your long time crush watching as his partner stretches you with his fingers. Dark Shadow is mildly transparent, did Fumicage see him sucking on your bare pussy?

warmth coils in your belly at the thought.

Your body makes light erotic noises in time with Dark Shadows rhythm.

You lick your lips, Fumikage watches your mouth, his eyes taking all of you in as his breathing becomes labored.

You are nearly there, your hand wanders under the table, curling around Dark Shadow’s head, you wrap a leg around his smooth body as you desperately shove him against your core.

You need more.

Your legs fall open, splayed wide as you imagine Fumikage leaning over you, his cock stretching you as he mercilessly fucks you into oblivion.

Dark Shadow forces another finger into your eager body.

“Tokoyami.” You gasp.

RIPPP!

You glance over to find Fumikage has torn a section of pages out of his book. His hands tremble as his breath comes out in gasps.

His glazed eyes are locked on yours as dark shadow brings you to peak.

You hear a crash as you tumble over a wave of pleasure.

Your head drops into your arms on the table, you bite down hard on your school book to stifle your moan of ecstasy, your nails dig into your arms and pain mingles with your orgasm.

You gasp for air, feeling sated and sticky.

You couldn't move if you wanted too. You had no idea how you were going to explain this, and in the afterglow you really couldn't be brought to care..

“I’m going to take her out for some fresh air, she’s not looking well.” You heard Fumikage say, his voice low and shaky. “I need air as well, it's a bit stifling in here. Please excuse us.”

Momo said something, but in your haze it didn't register.

Fumikage was beside you in an instant.

“I’ve got you now.” He whispered into your ear, his body radiating heat that you missed from Dark Shadow.

He worked one arm behind your back while the other quickly pulled your panties down your legs and off - to be discreetly tucked into his pocket.

He lifted you into his arms like a princess, his limbs and dark shadow strategically placed to preserve your modesty.

The light breeze and sunshine were overstimulating, your arms wrapped around Tokoyami’s neck, you nuzzled your face against his, reveling in his close proximity as much as hiding from the too bright sun.

“I-I…” He sighed, coming to a stop and closing his eyes. “I’m sorry, L/N.”

You stiffened.

He could be sorry for any number of things. Sorry that Dark Shadow took advantage of you, sorry that he doesn't like you the way you like him...You waited for him to clarify but he struggled.

You chose your words carefully.

“I can't say that- well, that I wanted my first time to be in front of my classmates.” your eyes drifted away from his, your voice sounds small even to you. “But I enjoyed it, and I like you. So- I mean…” You blushed hard, his intense gaze turning your small speech into sand in your mouth.

“I-”

“He likes you- has for a long damn time.” Dark shadow opens him mouth for the first time since he was under your skirt.. “I like you too, but I love the taste of your puss-”

“ENOUGH, Dark Shadow!” Dark Shadow withdrew into Fumikage without a word.

“You like me?”

“Yes.” He mumbled, averting his eyes.

A smile broke your face, nothing could dampen this moment.

“Would you want to hang out at my place and watch movies? I’d ask if you want dinner but-” The idea of a repeat in a restaurant was both terrifying and titillating- but also too soon.

“I’d love too.” he grinned, his eyes squinting with the force of it.

“What should I say to everyone about…”

“Dark shadow took care of it.”

“He did? I don't see how when his mouth and hands were-”

He coughed, looking thoroughly embarrassed, “Dark shadow can change shape, he likely made another arm to knock all that stuff over..”

“Oh. That explains a lot.” You didn't elaborate, but now that you knew he liked you, and after this evening, it only felt natural to tease him...

You shifted in his arms, your face now close to his, so close that your breath ruffled his feathers.

“So now that you’ve used your quirk to fuck me, do you want to take me home and try it the old fashion way, or am i going to have to play coy and wait for the third date?”

“Hyo!”

<<< UNDER THE MAHOGANY TABLE PT.2 >>>

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mae-gi-writes · 4 years

Text

Halloween Escapade | Jacob (The Boyz)

You and Jacob both dislike parties, so why not ditch it to get Mcdonald’s?

Genre: fluff

A/N: I KNOW I’M ONE MONTH LATE FOR HALLOWEEN But I saved this in my drafts and forgot to post it. Nothing too intense, just a little cute Jacob. Enjoy <3

-----

“You mind doing my makeup?" Looking up from your makeup palette, your heart does a little stutter at the sight of a dishevelled-looking Jacob decked in what seems to be a skeleton-themed shirt and pants. On the occasion of Halloween, the office had decided to close its doors early to celebrate. It was also a good excuse to order some good assortments of finger-picking foods and expensive cake. Being the artist that you were, you had brought along your entire makeup collection, ready to help out anyone in need of paint or decoration on their face.

But you had not expected Jacob, of all people, to be standing before you while shuffling his feet like a shy little schoolboy. He is obviously of a higher status than you are in the office, one of the Directors that has a certain percentage of shares, no doubt. You as a mere office worker that looked up to him in admiration, and had to admit that you had developed a little crush throughout the months of noticing his gentle and kind demeanour. "Uh--sure," you quickly stutter out before gesturing towards the seat, "you can sit here." He does so without complaint as you ask, "what kind of makeup do you want?" "Could you do a skull?" "Uhm--" that takes a long time, your brain screams out at you, "s--sure. No promises, though." "That's alright. The uglier the better anyway," he pauses, "not that your drawings are ugly, I--that's not what I meant." You chuckle softly signalling to him that it's all good. Opening up your palette and dabbing your sponge with white powder, you hesitate slightly before you start covering his face; his eyebrows, over his eyes, down the slope of his nose. He's gorgeous, you think to yourself while trying not to giggle at the thought of you two being so close in physical proximity. You hope that he can't hear the way your heart practically beats out of your chest, an excited hummingbird bursting out through your ribcage. "So...did you learn that yourself?" Jacob asks after a bout of silence. "Mostly. But I was always comfortable with painting and all that stuff," you start contouring his face with gray and silently appreciate the flawless texture of his skin, "I used to do makeup for halloween every year when I was still in school." "That's so cool. I wish I could paint like that," his eyes flutter open to momentarily gaze into your eyes, "the only thing I'm good at are numbers." "Well you know, I grew up wishing I was good at numbers." 'We always want something we can't have." "True," you start blending the black with the white, the makeup taking on a grey tone to create a shadow, "but if it makes you feel better, most people admire the ones who know their numbers well." "You sound like you know something about that." You just smile faintly, "I hope I don't sound too whiny. That wasn't my intention." "No, your honesty is...refreshing," he mumbles through closed lips as you brush over his face with the blender, "I mean, I don't really know how it feels because I'ver never faced this kind of problem. But I can understand how frustrating that might be, for people to judge someone based on their jobs." His compliment throws you off, so much so that you can't help the heat from spreading over your cheeks, "oh--uh, I hope that wasn't too rude. I wasn't trying to offend you or anything--" "No no, not offended," Jacob raises his hands in mock surrender, "I'd be frustrated too, in your place." His blunt sweetness makes your heart flutter and it makes you glad that his eyes are closed at this very moment, for it would've probably made you even more embarrassed to be looking at him face to face. Clearing your throat, you move to his eyes, applying soft dark smudges over his lids as he asks,"so, how do you find life here?" That's how it goes, with him sitting patiently and as still as a statue, and you painting the contours of his face while trying your best not to admire the beauty of the man sitting before you, a work of art you simply can't take your eyes off of. But the more you converse, the more you realize how much you have in common. And the result is astounding, to say the least. For starters, you would never have known that your superior hates socials the most, or that despite people at the office drinking their coffee black, Jacob prefers his coffee with lots of milk and sugar that is enough to cause him diabetes. Not that he's proud of it, mind you. It's not until someone coughs loudly behind Jacob that you realize he's been sitting there a lot longer than he's supposed to, jumping before quickly noticing the growing line of impatient people waiting for their makeup. "Oh sorry sorry!" He jumps up, as though startled he's stayed that long, "I'll leave you to it then, Y/N. Thank you so much for the makeup." "Oh no worries," your heart drops slightly at the thought that you'll never get the chance to talk to him like this again. But before you have time to dwell on that fact, another colleague is asking for a vampire kind of look. You lose sight of Jacob for most of the night, though small glimpses of his handsome figure is enough to entertain your little fantasy. You try not to feel so disheartened, knowing full well that there's not even a single strand of hope that he'll even look at you that way. Hell, he doesn' t even look at you. Stop being stupid, you tell yourself sharply. Nothing's never going to happen. He's probably already taken, idiot. "I'm going home," you mutter to your colleague as another song blasts through the stereo hall. The group protests but you shake your head and quietly slip out to leave all the noise behind, the night air welcoming you with its fresh chilly air. A soft sigh falls from your lips when you close your eyes for a brief moment. A car honks in the distance, you pay no mind. Let's go home, you think to yourself, body turning towards the subway station. You walk a few steps, only to hear another honk, closer this time. You stop and turn, a frown stitching your eyebrows together upon noticing a car pull up next to you. You're surprised to see Jacob's face greet you when the window rolls down. You blink at him. "Need a ride?" --------- That is how you find yourself sitting in Mcdonald's parking lot a few minutes later with warm food takeaways in your lap and the smell of fries wafting through the air, chatting with a man whom you'd deemed unapproachable for the past few months and realizing that there is so much more to what you see to him on a daily basis. You'd be lying to say that you don't feel your heart staggering every time he looks at you with those beautiful mahogany orbs that seem to hold galaxies. "I never used to celebrate Halloween," Jacob is saying as he pops a chip into his mouth, "my mother hates it, says it's useless to be celebrating an event that rouses the dead." "Technically, she's right." "Yeah, my five year old self didn't think so though." "You managed to celebrate in college?" He nods before pulling a face, "first and last time I drank till I puked." "That sounds fun," sarcasm drips from your voice before you laugh softly at the tongue he pulls out sat you. It's so easy to talk to him, too easy. It scares you, this foreign uninvited sensation of something fluttering through your ribcage as if you're constantly sitting on a swing that is going too fast for you. You talk about school, about where you come from, about how you sometimes miss your parents dearly and how hard it was at first, to be away from home for so long. And then he tells you about growing up, about his childhood dream of becoming a basketball player, one that broke the moment he realized it'd be much harder to actually get into the professional league. And then it quickly drifts to the troubles of life itself, to the nostalgia of losing friends when you grow up, to discussing multiple theories about what the future holds. "Woah, it's late," Your eyes widen in realization when you spot the time upon his dashboard. 3:30.a.m. "Oh," his own eyes go round, "shit I'm sorry. I didn't want to keep yo--" "No no, it's okay. I had fun," you smile softly at him while recalling yiur conversation, "I'm glad we got to talk." Relief breaks out as a sigh through of his lips, "that's good to know," his eyes find yours then, bathed in the reflection of the cheap streetlight hanging over your car, but you realise that it doesn't matter, for Jacob is ephemerally beautiful and carries that around with him wherever he goes. Your heart tugs when you realise that the night will have to end at some point, watching him pull out of the parking lot while asking you for directions to your house. The night started out with no expectations, with the sense that you can't breathe around the people you're surrounded with. Yet, this moment feels like a gust of oxygen bursting through your lungs. "Can I say something?" Jacob's voice pulls you out of your reverie as he turns onto your street, glancing over at you out of the corner of his eye. You hum for him to continue. He does after a few beats of hesitation. "You know you can talk to me, even if we're at the office," his murmur is so soft you barely catch it. You look at him in surprise, not expecting such words to fall from his lips. But the look he gives you is one that makes heat spread throughout your chest in parallel to the heat covering your cheeks. He continues, "I know that a lot of people are scared of me, because of what they think I might do considering my privileges. But take that title away and I'm just like everyone else." At this point, his vehicle wheels to a stop right before your front door and he turns his head so that your gazes clash, dark obsidian filled with a gentleness that you can't quite explain, though it causes your heartbeat to stutter. You gaze back though, trying to decipher the way his face softens and the tender way his lips are curved into a half-smile, as if you're sharing a private joke. "Well," you clear your throat, head whipping towards your door and hand finding the car handle, "I guess that's my stop." Biting your lip and debating whether to follow through with the aftermath of his words haunting your ears, you quickly turn back to him, "I don't think you're that kind of person. I don't think you could ever go behind someone's back just for the sheer fun of it," you see his gaze widen with surprise, "So don't worry about that." Jacob just stares at you in the pause that follows. You stare back, mentally debating whether you should just throw yourself out of the window for being so stupid or whether to ask the said man himself to run you over, so mortified at the prospect of having said such a thing that your orbs immediately drop to your lap. "I ...thank you," comes Jacob's whisper, "that...nobody has ever said that before." "A--Anyway, I should probably go--" you quickly scramble to open the car door only to be stopped by his hand swinging out to grab yours. "Wait," he says breathlessly, "I--Do you want to--you know maybe do this again? Sometime? I--" a shy smile dances across his lips, "I had fun, Y/N." Your heart swells. Your neck flushes with heat as your eyes drop to the ground, "I had fun too," you mumble, allowing his hand to slide down your arm until it reaches yours. His fingers, as soft as a dove's touch, gently twine around yours like vines and a breath catches in your throat. Jesus, he's perfect. "Yeah," your murmur, "I'd like to do this again." You don't want to look at him. You can't look at him, for you know that once you do there'll be no mistaking the blatant effect he has on you, and that is something you wish to keep to yourself a little longer. But that thought flies out of the window the moment you feel the softest of caresses upon your knuckles. Head shooting up to catch Jacob's lips skimming over the back of your head, a shiver runs through your spine the moment your eyes lock with all the feelings you've been attempting to cast aside for most of the night. "Great," he grins against your hand, "I'll pick you up at seven tomorrow?"

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sleightofsight · 3 years

Text

cw// blood, violence

featuring: berith kensley

——⍟——««»»——⍟——««»»——⍟——««»»——⍟——««»»——⍟——

There's the ruffling of paper to break the terse silence in the meeting hall. The only sound save for the murmurs running through the men seated around the mahogany paneled table, glass-topped with the smooth, handblown material.

Two minutes to one o'clock, two minutes until their weekly meeting.

And yet, their boss was nowhere in sight, a strange event- considering how he was usually the first man to be seated in the glided silver and scarlet throne of sorts.

A piece of decor; as excessive as it was symbolic. A king's throne, for the ruler of the Upper East.

No one would ever tell Kensley it was a stark standout.

But, their 'worries' were all dismissed shortly- the curved wooden doors to one end of the room open easily, light spilling from the hallways beyond to illuminate the figure standing tall in the doorway.

Despite being only slightly-higher than average height, the silhouette against the ground was a more accurate indicator of the kind of effect his presence had on the men.

They'd all fallen silent quickly, eyes either dropping to their laps or the mission files they'd brought with them, providing an example of their continued allegiance and loyalty.

Berith's eyes don't even take the gracious extent of letting his gaze fall to any of them, instead walking with ease- almost striding, fear being stalked in every step- as his eyes pit on the throne residing over the meeting. Turning with a soft whirl of his suit jacket, the demon takes his place, fingertips resting along the curled edge of the chair's armrests below him.

"Mission report."

A smooth voice breaks the newly-hushed room, signaling to the man at the end of the table on the opposite side, starting on the left.

Leather dress shoes brace against the cool tile below foot, obsidian cracked through with beautiful runs of gold leaf. Only donating to the gothic look the antechamber held, each and every item and decoration in this room chosen by the careful hand resting on the table.

The male chosen only gives the leader a glance before going into the details of his report, but before he gets too far, there's a voice breaking the silence.

One of the first, and most basic rules for them all: never speak while anyone else was.

Your words are all of the same importance to Berith; and that doesn't merit your interruption.

However, there's still a man on the opposite end of the table, standing up with sure-set anger in his features. So clearly readable, as though he was making no attempt to disguise the emotion on display.

Forgetting himself, and where he stood.

"How do you know who the right targets are? We aren't even trying to engage the other fuckin' gangs in a battle over our turf! The Upper West just reclaimed the entire god damned business district for themselves!"

Cool hazels lift to face the man, looking nothing short of unimpressed as Berith raises an eyebrow.

With that action, the one who'd previously been speaking sits down in a hurry, not wanting to be a part of the upcoming... talk.

"And who are you to speak up when you haven't been spoken to?"

The tension in the room practically sparks.

"Can't even remember the names of your own fucking me-"

"Take a seat, James."

Berith's eyes lock onto the man's furious black eyes, who, very pointedly, does just.. not that.

Remaining standing, as his hands curl into tight fists resting on the table- but at the way the two men beside him- presumably friends of some sort- murmur under their breath for him to just listen and sit down, he does. Still looking at the man at the head of the table.

"Now, state your concerns."

As though he was even listening to the man's worries, really.

"Were you not listening? There's men of yours being killed trying to earn back the district you lost, and you aren't even doing anything about it! Just sitting here in your fucking chair like you own the entire world, while you're losing territory by the minut-"

James doesn't get the chance to finish.

With a mere sigh and angling of his fingers, Berith has the man's head being lifted back before driven down into the flat surface of the table, a nasty crunch ringing out as the man's nose snapped from the impact.

"This is why you listen. Collins, complete your report."

Hazel eyes drop to the man speaking as the report's finished off, the information that the man had failed to listen to- that Berith's push back into the district had indeed succeeded, and they owned it once more.

Hands tending to the broken nose dripping blood like a leaking faucet shakily move to Berith's eyes, drilling into his own once again as he speaks.

"Had you merely allowed him to speak, and held your comments for after he'd completed the report, we wouldn't be here in this current situation. And you wouldn't be in the situation forthcoming, for breaking the single most important rule during meeting situations."

A delicate lift of the man's fingers has James's head lifting, against his will- as though someone was controlling him, forcing his thoughts and actions with the single thought coming from the man barely moving his lips in the throne ahead-

"Down."

James's head comes down hard on the edge of the table, the impact hard enough to splatter his papers with scarlet and drop to the midnight ground below.

At the emanating sound and sudden spray of blood, it was met with various shocked cries around the table, trying to scramble back and away-

From the twitching figure of the man's body.

From the way he's stilling.

From the growing puddle of blood staining gold leaf webbed tiles a faded orange.

“Let this be a lesson to you all."

#content warning: blood #cw: violence #cw: blood #berith kensley #lily writes!#mafia au #berith is a mafia leader and let's say #he doesn't rule with kindness

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nyctolovian · 4 years

Link

Summary: What if Jon was a Witch and Martin was a Runaway Royalty? Funnily enough, it doesn't make their first meeting any less unfortunate and terrible.

Warning: Since this might be something people are sensitive about, Martin is described as "fat" and "plump" in this fic. But not in a derogatory way? (Please tell me if it comes off as such oh dear.)

"Who the hell gave you the right to eat all my cookies?" Jon hissed, brandishing his broom at the intruder.

The man gulped visibly as his round chocolate eyes wobbled. The crumbs still dusted between the freckles of his pale cheeks irked Jon to no end.

He had been saving those butter cookies, savoring only a couple every few days. So you can imagine the shock and fury that coursed through Jon's veins when he returned to his cottage after a frankly needless travel, and found a large man sitting in his living room with an empty tin on his lap. Before the man could even react, Jon had shoved him to the floor and whipped his broom forward threateningly, demanding an explanation for the cookie thievery. If Jon had given the situation more thought, he might have realised his priorities were slightly out of order, but it was the only tin he had procured from when he last set foot amongst human civilization. And he abhorred the thought of going into a town after just three months for a mere tin of cookies.

"I-I-I'm really sorry… I…" the intruder stammered out. "I, um, stumbled upon this cottage… and no one came back for the past two days so… I thought it was abandoned and, well, stayed…"

"Abandoned?!" Jon shouted. "What part of this–" he gestured towards his numerous possessions with his broom "–looks abandoned to you?"

Sure, the cottage didn't have much furniture, but there was plenty of belongings that served to prove its occupancy. Most obvious was how it was filled wall-to-wall with towering mahogany shelves of well-kept books. No one in their right mind would simply desert such an extensive collection of ancient knowledge. This house was admittedly more library than home, but Jon's point still stood.

"Well," muttered the man, "it is quite messy and dirty to be honest."

Jon narrowed his eyes at the intruder, who hastily muttered an apology. It wasn't as though he was wrong though. If one were to believe Sasha James (whom, in Jon's experience, had never been categorically wrong), his living conditions were dreadful. It was as though a hurricane had swept through the house, throwing his belongings about, but deliberately left the dust and dirt alone. Books were scattered across all surfaces, couch and floor included, as several layers of dirt settled on the floor, shelves and table. Even some articles of clothing strewn on the floor and chairs have gotten jealous, and begun their own collection of dust as well. And maybe the air in this house was… a fair bit mustier than it should be.

Jon had never been much of a cleaner.

"I'm sorry. I really am," the man began again. "You're… not going to kill me, are you?"

"What? No!" Jon scrunched his nose in horror. "Of course not."

"Oh, uh, good." He let out a nervous chuckle. "To be honest, when I first came in and saw all the books and crockery, I thought the owner of the house might be some kind of witch. I'm glad you aren't one. They can be quite creepy, and I frankly don't like the idea of being cursed by one."

Thunk! Jon hit the butt of his broom against the wooden floor, eyes narrowed. Drily, he corrected, "I am a witch."

"Oh." The fat man pursed his lips as he shrunk into himself. "That would explain some stuff."

With a huff, Jon rolled his eyes. It was tiring to constantly have people doubt or assume he wasn't a witch just because of the way he looked. Admittedly, most people in the witchery profession were women. He had only known three men who were witches, only one of whom he had actually met, and maybe one other non-binary witch. At least this time he hadn't been accused of lying. "Don't worry. I won't put a curse on you or anything absurd," he told the now deathly pale intruder.

The man let out a sigh. "Right. Thank you. Sorry," he said nervously as he stood up, hunching into himself apologetically. “ I'll… let myself out now.”

Jon wielded his broom once more and the man yelped pathetically. "Now, hold on. I'm not letting you go after you've treated my house like a hostel for two days and eaten all my cookies."

"I'm really sorry," he muttered. "I don't have a single coin on me…" He pointed at an unfamiliar bag beside the table. "I… I do have some parchment and quill though."

"Parchment and quill?"

"It… has a certain vintage feel to it."

"No need. I can subsist on pen and paper just fine." He jerked his head towards the overflowing mess of a study table.

The man winced. "I'm sorry… I really don't have much else with me."

"Right," Jon said, narrowing his eyes. He couldn't help but doubt those words. The fabric of the man's clothes looked rather expensive, and the garment was skilfully crafted to fit his stocky build. It was unusual to see a man this well-dressed without a single coin in his possession. But an actually well-to-do man wouldn't be stumbling into cottages in a forest and polishing opened cookie tins off, Jon would presume. "What's your name?" he asked.

The man's already big eyes widened further. "Uh, what?"

Impatiently, Jon groaned. "Your name. Do you have one?" he asked, acid practically dripping from his voice.

"Ah, um, yes," the man stammered out. "I'm Martin K- Blackwood."

"Martin K. Blackwood?"

"Uh, yeah?"

"Are you answering or asking a question?" Jon snapped.

"Answering! Answering."

He huffed in annoyance, his eyes sliding across his kitchen. When he had left, unwashed crockery and cutlery were piled up into haphazard towers in the sink and on his tables. However, they were now properly washed, dried, and placed into his cabinets. So this home intrusion hadn't been an entirely unprofitable one.

With a glint in his eyes, Jon said, "I have a proposition."

***

Stupid Martin, he cursed himself. Why are you constantly making things worse for yourself?

First, it was the whole running away from home thing. He didn't regret that in particular, but he probably should have brought along more than 10 silver pieces. It was no wonder how after a mere week, all his money was spent or given to a group of famished scrawny children. Then, he had decided to cut through the woods in hopes that he could sustain himself on wild berries, none of which, he later found, looked convincingly edible. Then, he had stumbled upon a curious cottage in the middle of a dense forest and, upon finding it abandoned, let himself settle in. As was typical of his luck, it wasn't actually abandoned, and its owner was none other than a witch. Thinking back, he should have taken note of the tinge of change in the air when he first stepped foot, evidence of its steady pool of magic, and its otherworldly still-resident.

Most mortifyingly, however, Martin had flushed to a ridiculous shade of pink when the witch smirked and said he had a "proposition" because, holy crap, did Martin have an imagination. The puzzlement on the witch's face at his reaction before clarifying what aforementioned proposition actually was might have been the finishing blow to his dignity.

"You're not in some romantic comedy," he muttered angrily to himself as he scrubbed the study table with all his might.

"Did you say something?"

Martin looked up at the witch, who had retreated to the floor while Martin cleaned his study table. He had built a fortress of books around himself and had to straighten himself to look over its walls. There was genuine confusion on his features as he asked the question.

"Uh, no," Martin said, shooting him a smile and adjusting his spectacles nervously. "Just a rather nasty stain here."

The witch–"Jon, Jonathan Sims," he had been told–shrugged and returned to burying his nose in some spell book, his tousled hair cascading gently with the movement to frame his handsome face with a wavy shoulder-length curtain. His slender fingers flipped the page gently before curling thoughtfully over his stubbly chin.

With a sigh of resignation, Martin got back to removing the stubborn stain on the dining table.

It always were the prickly men that had the prettiest faces, weren't they? So Martin really couldn't be faulted for consistently developing unwise infatuations for them.

The image was still imprinted in his mind's eye, like an afterimage of too-bright light. Falling to the floor had kicked up a cloud of dust and the poet in Martin felt the air tremble with ethereality. And the sight before him was nothing short of divine.

Jon's lustrous greying locks tangled gently with the sunset glow from the ajar front door, and his silhouette was outlined with light. It highlighted how well the black pinstripe suit fit his slender figure and gave him a sort of cool sharpness. His thick eyebrows were tightly knitted in a rather adorable frown on confusion. His eyes were beautiful obsidian that reflected every shimmer of emotions upon its surface. Martin found his gaze slowly trickle down from those eyes to his thin parted lips as though guided by the sureness of gravity. Then, Jon brandished his broomstick and–bloody hell–Martin would be lying if he said that didn't spark an embarrassing warmth in his gut.

Being in close proximity with someone this hot was going to be detrimental to his health. Martin was pretty sure if he spent a second longer around this man, he would have fainted like an anaemic lady in a poorly fitted corset. That or lock himself in the washroom, preferably with the shower on, for a suspiciously long period of time.

Thank god, however, Jon had the fashion sense of a grandmother. When he emerged from his bedroom, he had changed out of his suit, into a dark green cardigan, overstretched beige shirt, and grey tartan trousers. (Tartan? Really?) Every single article of clothing was baggy and oversized beyond what was sensible for someone as small and angular as Jon. Martin had never seen anyone more swallowed up by clothing than Jon was. That was saying a lot since Martin had seen more jesters than the average person in their entire lifetime.

At least, he supposed, the colours of his apparel complemented his dark earthy skin, bringing out the richness in its tone. Martin might go as far as to say that what Jon was wearing now made sense. When Jon first appeared, he was posh and brooding dark colours, oozing with cruelty–a foreboding shadow that obtruded the autumn palette of forest and cottage. However, in his indoor clothes, he was an easy fit in the puzzle that was this house, with its quaint exterior and cosy interior.

There might also be something endearing about seeing such a slight person swaddled in soft fabric. And the smallness of the man as he sat criss-crossed on the floor did no favours for Martin’s sensibilities either.

Martin shook his head, physically objecting to his own train of thought. He couldn't afford to let his imagination run wild like letting loose a golden retriever with cabin fever. After all, if he actually had to clean up the house to compensate for his intrusion, he was going to be staying in this cottage for a long while. Because, despite his unquestionable familiarity with his broom, Jon had clearly not used it (or any cleaning tool for that matter) in the house for at least 4 months, and Martin was now left to deal with the aftermath of such a decision.

With a soft sigh, he went to change the water in the pail before moving on to cleaning the kitchen table, which was honestly worse off than the study table. That was a major understatement given the amounts of stains and bits left on the kitchen table. Martin rolled up his sleeves and began to scrub the stubborn stains.

As he got rid of the last grime on the table, he stood upright and stretched his back, hearing it crack softly. His eyes settled upon the clock above the bookshelves. It was 8.45pm already. Concernedly, he asked Jon, "What time do you usually have dinner?"

The witch looked up from his volume, his dark hooded eyes blinking owlishly. As though just realising what Martin had said, he let out a quiet noise and glanced towards the clock. "Oh," he muttered. "I forgot."

Like a disappointed parent, Martin pursed his lips.

"Now." Jon nodded to himself as he rose from the floor. "Now would be good."

"I could cook."

Jon jerked to a halt, midway to standing upright. "Ah, yes." He plopped to the wooden floor like a stuffed doll before crossing his legs once more. "I should have some potatoes…"

Sheepishly, Martin said, "Actually, um, I ate them. But, uh, I can cook rice."

Jon jutted his chin out. Exasperatedly, he waved his hand and grumbled, "Fine. Do whatever." Grumpily, he returned to reading again.

After clearing the dining table as best as he could, Martin went to work with cooking. After examining the contents of the fridge, he decided on a simple meal with baked beans and some veggies and sausages since there wasn't enough time to defrost any meat.

While Martin was scooping out the uncooked rice, Jon suddenly spoke, "Do you really know how to cook rice? None of that white-people rice-boiling nonsense. I have a rice cooker." Then, in the most condescending voice, he asked, "You do know how to use a rice cooker, right?"

"If it assures you, I've worked in the kitchen of a Mexican restaurant before."

Jon, whom Martin was fairly certain by now had quite the dramatic streak, visibly relaxed with a loud sigh of relief. "That's good." Then, he burrowed into his books again.

Turning around, Martin rolled his eyes and flipped on the tap to wash the rice. After filling the rice cooker with rice and water, he plugged the cooker to a socket and hummed with curiosity. "I wonder where the electricity comes from?"

"Magic."

Martin startled.

Jon's head was peeking out from behind his ever-growing book fort, which now reached just below his chin. There was a proud quirk in his eyebrow as he continued, "I decided living this deep in the forest doesn't mean I have to give up the conveniences of technology. So I've imbued this cottage with magic to keep the electricity running."

"Well, that would explain the lone WiFi network my phone detected."

"It's password protected," Jon said, as he wriggled a smartphone out of his pocket. "Do you need it?"

"No thanks," Martin responded immediately. Then, realising how strange he must sound, he added, "Uh. I have unlimited data."

Despite how ridiculous this must have sounded, Jon didn't seem to pay the blatant lie much attention. Instead, his attention had shifted to his own mobile phone. He typed furiously into the device for a few minutes before his phone began to ring. His expression soured and he muttered under his breath, "God damn it, Tim."

"What?" Martin blurted even though he had heard Jon loud and clear.

"Just a… troublesome friend. It's none of your business." Jon picked up the phone and began the call with the most peeved "Yes, Tim?"

"Right. Yes… Of course." Still, Martin couldn't help but perk his ears.

"Before you begin, the answer is a resounding no," Jon said. "No, I don't. ... It doesn't matter to me what the rewards are. … You can't– Ugh…" He squeezed his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "I really couldn't care less. … I'm not your personal sniffer dog. Or the state's for that matter.” The perpetual small frown on his face deepened with bewilderment. “What do you mean you’re not…?” Then, with a huff, he muttered, “Shocking.” His lips however quirked up by an almost indiscernible centimetre.

Martin felt a pang of curiosity. This might have been the first trace of a smile that he had seen on the crotchety man. Noticing that he was staring, Martin ducked his head and busied himself with cooking the sausages.

Suddenly, Jon shot to his feet. "Don't you dare!" he hissed. "Tim, I'm warning you. … Fine." His tense shoulders relaxed as he folded his arms in front of his chest. "I'll… I'll see what I can do." To Martin's disappointment, Jon stepped over his fort of books and headed into his bedroom, where the conversation continued without eavesdropping ears. Pursing his lips,

Worry was a hungry hound nestled under Martin’s sternum. Perhaps his ribs were particularly sweet in its canine teeth because it frequently gnawed and chewed at his chest. But this might be the biggest and hungriest hound yet, though this time it spared him and merely nibbled.

Stop overthinking things, he told himself. Not every Tim in the world is going to be Tim Stoker.

***

Tim Stoker was unrelenting when he wanted something.

Jon had realised this long before when he had helped search for his brother but this was ridiculous. Threatening to reveal a hermit’s address, much more one that practiced the occult, was to strip a hermit crab of its shell. And revealing it to the Royal Guards of all people was to smash the shell with a massive hammer while the crab was still in it—needlessly cruel and most probably going to get him killed.

But Jon supposed simply helping Tim out would be much less inconvenient than moving house and cutting ties with the man. Besides, he wasn’t entirely a nuisance.

With a grunt, he knelt beside his bag, still unpacked from his previous trip, and grabbed his journal and a pen. "Alright," he said, setting the book on his lap and pinning his phone between his head and shoulder. "Tell me about this prince. Age? Birthday? Height? Weight? Something?"

"Um… 28, I believe? Not sure about his birthday… Height is between 180 and 190, I think? Uh… He's on the fat side… He's got curly brown hair, brown eyes, pale skin, wears glasses, dimples handsomely when he smiles…"

A long-suppressed groan finally escaped Jon. After his draining trip to the Witch's Conference, he really didn't have the energy to listen to Tim describe what was clearly a small crush of sorts. "This is going nowhere. Just send me a photo."

There was a brief sheepish silence. "Haven't got one, actually."

"Alright, hold up," Jon cut him off. "How on earth do you have nothing on this man? He's a prince for god's sake. In fact, I've only been hearing about this whole missing prince debacle from you. How is this not on the news yet? It's as if you people don't even want him back."

"Well," Tim mumbled over the phone, "it's… a tad bit complicated. You know, how I said I'm not doing this for the state?"

"Mm."

"It's 'cause he ran away to avoid getting married off to another kingdom," Tim said. "Specifically the Nebula Kingdom."

Jon raised an eyebrow. The political ties of the Nebula Kingdom and the Kinsley Royal Family would put even the most volatile stock markets to shame. That was to say, they were mercurial at best. Having a marriage between the two nations would likely stabilise their relations, but if the groom scampered off, it wouldn't just look bad. There would have to be either war (fortunately, a non-militaristic one since neither country was physically confrontational), or massive compensations of the monetary sort. And the Kinsley Royal Family was not quite as wealthy as Nebula, so their best bet at the moment would be keep this runaway business on the down-low for now.

From the other end of the phone, Tim sucked in a hiss of breath through his teeth. "Yeah… So, honestly, only the most high ranking officials are aware of his disappearance. To everyone else, he's just caught a bad case of flu."

Curious, Jon pressed, "And how is a mere royal alchemist such as yourself privy to such confidential information?"

"Actually, he's a friend of mine," Tim said. "So you can imagine how worried I am for him right now."

"I take it you're not carting him off to the palace the moment I find him?"

"Of course not," Tim said with an affronted tone.

Jon let out a hum. "And why the lack of photographs?"

"Well," Tim said. "There's the fact that he's pretty camera-shy. But, also, he's sort of… an illegitimate child of the prince. So things were kept on the very down-low when it came to him."

"Good lord." Jon squeezed his nose bridge with a loud sigh. He could imagine it already: keeping the illegitimate child a secret, ensuring no one could recognise him, and then using him as a marriage pawn when the time was ripe. With how notoriously prolific the prince was, no one could ever tell the difference between an illegitimate child and a regular concubine's offspring.

How a man could sustain such a virile lifestyle perplexed Jon, to be honest. But there were a great many things of the sexual nature that had that effect on the witch so he'd much rather think about actually decipherable things such as spells and potions.

Mentally shoving his distaste aside, Jon continued, "So how do you suppose I find this man without any useful information?"

Jon could practically hear the sunshine in Tim's voice. "Not sure to be honest! I was kind of hoping you'd have an idea."

"I'm a witch. Not a… private detective or sniffer dog or whatever you're taking me to be!" Jon grumbled. "Tim, it's not that I don't want to help you, but you have to give me something better than just a general description of the man."

"Right…" Tim sounded genuinely disappointed. "What about his stuff? I'm not sure about witchcraft but you guys use possessions and stuff for curses and such, right? If I manage to find something he left behind… would that work?"

Jon hummed in thought. "Wait a moment."

He scavenged through the books in his bedroom and found a leather-bound journal that was practically falling apart. Gently, he flipped through the pages and finally came across the section he was looking for.

"Well, if we are to use an object, I'd cast a searching spell on the seeker, which I suppose would likely be yourself," he explained, running his forefinger over the squiggles of the page. "There are then several criteria that the object has to fulfill. First, we need it to be of emotional importance. Then, it has to have a connection between the target and the seeker, meaning you should try to find a gift from this man. Not something you took without his permission or something that is borrowed. And even then, there is a chance of it being a dud."

"That's… not ideal," Tim winced out. "I'll see what I can find." His voice was warm and sincere. "Hey, thanks a bunch, dude. You helped me find Danny, and now Martin as well… I was lying about exposing your house address by the way. I'd never do that. "

"Yes, Tim, I know."

Tim bounced back into his cheeky disposition. "Love you too, Jon! Bye!"

Jon rolled his eyes and ended the call.

Martin… The prince had the same name as his unexpected intruder…

A frown settled upon his brow. What if…

There was a quick rap against his bedroom door. Jon got to his feet and opened it.

"Oh!" Martin–the intruder–gasped. "I thought you were… still on your phone… or something. Um, I was just… Dinner's ready?"

"Ah," Jon said with a nod. The two of them sat at the dining table. The food looked good actually, much to Jon's relief. Still, with some frankly warranted skepticism, he fluffed the rice with a scoop, and when he saw that it was nice and soft. He placed it in his bowl and began to eat.

Sitting opposite, the cook took a sigh of relief at the silent approval and dug in as well. Then, his phone began to ring and he swiped the screen absently. "I saw some tea in the cabinets so…" he muttered as he got up and carried two mugs from the kitchen counter to the table.

Jon took a sniff from the cup. Chamomile. Carefully, he took a sip, and his eyebrows yanked upwards with delight.

Martin's plump cheeks dimpled deeply with pride as he hummed and drank from his own mug as well.

Jon supposed he earned that. When he brought the rim of the mug to his lips again, his eyes fluttered half-closed as the fragrance of the tea surrounded his senses like an old but well-kept blanket, warm and soothing.

Wouldn't it be great to keep him around? His mind sponsored. Jon had to beat the thought down with a stick. He was a hermit and he planned to stay as such. Besides, Jon had a niggling feeling about this man's identity...

But this Martin couldn't possibly be a Prince Martin, Jon convinced himself Imagine such excellent tea-brewing skills squandered on royalty.

#magpod #the magnus archives #tma #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #tim stoker #witch au #royalty au #fantasy au #ace jon #nb jon #tma fanfic #my writing

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years

Text

Last Request

When a tall, dark, mysterious man shows up at the funeral of sweet little old Beatrice Davies, speculation abounds about the elderly woman’s possible paramour. (1422 words; Warning for one slightly, mildly suggestive mention)

“Kimberly? Darling?”

“Yes?” The grieving woman sniffs. She blots cry-puffy eyes with a handkerchief, then turns towards the voice. When she sees the woman coming up behind her, her eyes light up for the first time all day. “Oh, Lydia!”

“Kimberly! I am so so sorry for your loss!”

“Thank you.” Kimberly takes her friend’s hand in hers and gives it a squeeze. “And thank you so much for coming out here on such a dreadful day. I know you have your hands full, what with your grandchildren visiting.”

Lydia smiles. “I wouldn’t miss it. Your aunt Beatrice was such a lovely woman. So kind and caring …”

“And lonely.” Kimberly sighs, wiping a warm tear from her cold cheek. “No husband. No children. Such a shame. She had so much love to give, too.”

“Well, she may not have had kids of her own, but she had us lot.” Lydia bumps Kimberly’s shoulder playfully with hers. “Always dropping in unannounced, raiding her pie cupboards and tearing through her garden.”

“Probably why she didn’t have children after all.” Kimberly chuckles but sadly. “I bet we soured her on the idea.”

“Kimber! Lydie!”

The women glance up as a third friend rushes over, stepping into their circle and grasping their arms.

“Bianca! Oh, darling!” Kimberly greets her with a kiss on the cheek. “It’s been a dog’s age! Thank you so much for coming!”

“Absolutely! I loved your aunt Beatrice! Admired her a great deal.”

“That’s so kind of you to say. She would have loved to hear it.”

Bianca sighs, a specter of guilt clouding her grey-green eyes. “I wish I had told her when she was alive.”

“I know what you mean.” Kimberly looks at their joined arms, then over at her aunt’s casket waiting for the mourners to leave so it can be lowered into the ground. “There are so many things I waited too long to say. And now, I won’t ever get the …” She stops, her eyes unfocused as she stares into the distance, through the fine mist falling on the lush green grass, past the grey head stones, around the mourners huddled in groups, paying their respects. Lydia and Bianca watch their friend patiently, waiting for her to finish her sentiment, but when the pause goes on too long, they begin to get concerned.

“Kimber?” Bianca says. “Dearest? Are you alright?”

Kimberly’s eyes narrow, peering hard, peculiar thoughts jumbling about her head. A beat longer and she shakes herself, returning back to the conversation.

“Yes,” she says, oddly winded, breathless in a beguiled sort of way. “I’m fine. I … who is that?”

Lydia and Bianca’s heads pop up, turning in the direction Kimberly had been staring. They see the man right away. Amid a sea of black suits and dresses, bowed heads and umbrellas, it’s not hard to tell whom she’s referring to. Both women are privately surprised they hadn’t noticed him before – tall and slim in stature; wearing an expensive suit and shoes being sacrificed to the rain; a black Panama hat shielding his somber face; fire red hair; and sunglasses too stylish for such an occasion, their obsidian lenses hiding his eyes so completely nothing can be seen of their color. He stands beyond the ring of family and friends, lovingly caressing a long-stemmed white rose, the petals so pure in color it glows in his gloved hands.

“Do you recognize him?” Bianca asks, suddenly conscious of her slumped shoulders. She pulls them back, rectifying her posture.

“Not a hair,” Kimberly replies, briefly considering pulling her compact out of her purse and adding a hint of color to her cheeks. “I’ve never seen that man before in my life!”

“Are you certain?” Lydia adjusts her pillbox hat, lifts the veil covering her face.

“Was he a friend of Bea’s?”

“If he knew my aunt, she didn’t mention him. And I definitely didn’t invite him.”

“He’s quite the dish, isn’t he?”

“Bianca!”

“Well, he is!”

Kimberly stares at her friend, blue eyes scolding, but the grin she’s fighting manages to break through. “All right! He is!”

“Shh! Don’t look now, girls! He’s coming this way!”

But they don’t avert their eyes. They can’t stop staring. He has a commanding presence; walks with a strange, sinewy gait; pulls the attention of everyone near and far. The party falls silent, parting as the man walks through. He has an unusual effect on them. The men suck in their stomachs. The women lengthen their necks. But he doesn’t seem to notice them, walking straight to the mahogany casket bathed in flowers without stopping to address anyone or offer his condolences.

He stops at the casket, breathes in poignantly. He reaches out and rests a hand on the wood. He remains quiet for a long time, head bowed as if in prayer. Then his chest shudders.

“Oh, Beatrice,” he whispers in a broken voice. “My beloved Bea. May flights of angels sing thee to thy rest. May the road rise up to meet you, and Heaven open its gates to embrace you. I know they will but … they don’t deserve you.”

Slowly, he brings the rose to his lips. He kisses the bud gently, his lips lingering on it, making a few of the more enchanted mourners swallow hard, then lays it atop the other flowers on the casket. He tarries a moment longer, undeterred by scrutinizing eyes, then straightens, turns, and walks away.

The family watches as he leaves the way he came, without a word to anyone, and with that same exaggerated hip sway, heading to where a vintage car waits, parked beside a distant curb. Regardless of the curiosity eating up their insides, not a soul dares follow him to inquire after his identity. Whoever he is, there’s an air of danger around him, one that demands they keep their distance.

And they do.

Speculating is more fun anyhow.

With any luck, he came to the service and signed the guest book. Once they have his name, the sleuthing can begin.

It seems that they may not have known sweet, conservative Beatrice Davies as well as they previously thought. Could their eighty-nine-year-old relation possibly have taken a younger lover later in life? If so, is there any evidence of him? They’ll have to comb through everything – pictures and letters and journals back at Beatrice’s house to try and find it.

If nothing else, discussing it will be a great diversion from their sadness for the remainder of the afternoon.

***

Crowley opens the driver’s door to his car and slides into the front seat. He takes off his hat and, with a flick of his wrist, miracles it away. Sitting in the seat behind him, a little old lady in a smart black frock beams, gazing at him the same way Icarus once looked at the sun.

“That was beautiful,” she gushes.

“I’m glad you liked it. You deserve it.” He finds her reflection in his rearview and gives her a wink.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Crowley. You are a lovely demon, helping out an old lady like this.”

“My pleasure, Beatrice.”

“Yes. And your eulogy was quite the touch.” Sitting in the passenger seat, Aziraphale rolls his eyes, but he can’t help the soft smile lifting his lips. Crowley acting the part of the mysterious mourner, possibly even a secret paramour, may have been a bit tacky for Aziraphale’s tastes, but no harm done. If anything, the scandal of it all will keep Beatrice’s name on her family’s lips for years to come.

Besides, it made her so happy to finally have this one moment in the spotlight.

“And you, Mr. Fell …” Beatrice puts a hand on the angel’s shoulder, gives it a delicate squeeze “… thank you for letting me hide out in your bookshop. It really is a wonderful place.”

“You’re very welcome.” He places his hand over hers and pats it fondly. Of all the ghosts that wander in and out of his bookshop, Beatrice has been one of the nicest, the most polite. He doesn’t get too many requests from his spiritual visitors. They’re mostly content to haunt passively, maintain some small connection to the living. But Beatrice’s request to see her family gathered together one last time, he couldn’t resist.

Unbeknownst to him, she went to Crowley with the rest.

And he’d been more than happy to oblige.

“But we need to get along now, my dears. Let’s get Miss Beatrice back upstairs where she belongs.”

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #frankie writes

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silverthornwitchery · 4 years

Text

Pick A Pile Reading!

Focus on the card piles below and choose the one that calls to you most! The stones are Rose Quartz, Clear Quartz, and Mahogany Obsidian!

Interpretations under the cut!

Pile 1: Rose Quartz

Overarching Card: Tap/Gaap

Gaap is a demon who formerly was of the order of powers. This card is a sign to focus on your emotions, especially as the times are uncertain. Perhaps your emotional state has been fluctuating between extremes as of late. This is a sign to ground yourself and focus on the things that keep you calm, as well as to take a step back and consider how your emotions may effect others.

The rest of the cards:

The Mountain and Fox cards amplify Gaap's message. These times are tough, and may be getting in the way of plans you had. This shift in plans may be making you consider doing things you normally wouldn't, perhaps it's going behind other's backs to do something, or perhaps your emotions are the obstacle and your current methods of dealing with them only harm others, which is amplified by Queen of Hearts In reverse. Your emotions may be getting way out of hand and your actions may be running on impulse decisions, ones that'll only harm you and others in the end. The card Ebb and Flow serves as a reminder that you can make it through this, just go with the flow of things, focus on the things that bring you joy, keep you grounded, and bring you peace. Queen of Pentacles and Nine of Cups, both reversed, may be an indicator that perhaps financial troubles are causing the brunt of your stress, just take a step back, if you're a witch or magick user, perhaps look into various spells/rituals you can do to attract money in these hard times. Don't be afraid to ask others for help

Pile 2: Clear Quartz

Overarching Card: Lechies/Leshies

Lechies are half-goat/half-man forest spirits from Slavic folklore. They can manifest in any size, from smaller than grass to larger than trees. Though not always evil, the Leshy does tend to lure people, primarily children and women, away into the woods to their demise. This perhaps could represent that you're being tempted to fall back into old, unhealthy, habits.

The Rest Of the Cards:

The thing that stands out to me the most here are the two instances of The Moon appearing. One lenormand, the other tarot and in reverse. This ties in with the message of Lechies. Perhaps you get a short term enjoyment from something, but ultimately its harmful. The Bridge card is a sign of overcoming obstacles, and I feel that the cards Family Matters and Unity are ways of showing you have ways to beat this. Family isnt always blood, so dont be afraid to reach out to your friends and other loved ones, and as for Unity, I feel it's a sign that you may need to get some fresh air, even if its just sitting in a backyard or on a porch for 5 minutes. Page of cups ultimately I feel represents that you can get through this. There are those around you who love and care for you, dont be afraid to be open with others.

Pile 3: Mahogany Obsidian

Overarching Card: Garuda

Now to preface, unlike the other cards in this deck, Garuda is NOT a demon and should not be considered one. However he does appear in this deck, as all cards are from Collin De Plancy's Dictionarrie Infernal. Garuda is the mount of the Hindu god Vishnu. The core meaning of the card in the guidebook is to be patient, as things will sort themselves out eventually.

The rest of the cards:

To start, we have the Broom and the Child. Perhaps as of late, you've been acting in a manner people may see as childish, and this has lead to some disruptions and strife in your life, and with the card Destroying Angel, perhaps this has ties to pursuing a certain goal. Maybe you're dead set on this goal to a point where its harming you and those around you. The next card is Eternal Flame in reverse, this can be a sign that this pursuit will only end in burnout if this attitude towards it continues. Take a step back, be patient, and take some breaths. The next card, Two of Wands, I feel may tie into both the message of patience. The lady on the card peers over a town, waiting patiently. For what, we dont know, but she seems content, she knows things will be ok. The final card is Seven of Wands reversed, I feel that this card represents that you may not want to step back, that you feel being patient will get you nowhere. That's not the case. The more you deny that patience will help, the further you'll drag yourself down. Again, take some breaths, step back, and let things happen on their own.

Interested In A Personalized Reading? Check Here for Prices!

#tarot #oracle #divination #pick a card #pick a pile #witch #witchcraft

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irtza · 4 years

Text

Snowflake | Jeon Jungkook

genres: fluff, drabble, boyfriend! au

word count: 1.3k

"Get up!" A squeal erupted from Jungkook's mouth as he was forcefully pulled of the bed, tumbling off the edge straight into the carpeted floor, tangled in the warm, dusty blankets you'd foraged through the top of your closet for now that winter was beginning to arrive.

"Why would you do that?" While he had hoped his voice would come out threatening and angry, the words came out like a long, drawn out whine.

Your figure, triple its normal size because you'd hidden yourself underneath several layers and a thick padded coat, loomed over him with a dazzling smile nearly splitting your face in half, and he groaned when he saw the twinkle in your eyes and the thick boots you had on.

"It's snowing, isn't it?" He buried his face in his blankets, voice muffled.

"Yes, and you're going to come help me build a snowman!" You said cheerfully, hands circling his waist as you attempted to haul him up.

He now regretted letting you go to the gym with him - for someone practically half his height, you were surprisingly strong.

"I don't want to," Jungkook shook his head as he attempted to scramble out of the death grip you had around him, staring mournfully at the empty bed.

"Kook!" You were pouting, and he knew that, he knew he shouldn't turn to look at you otherwise he would cave, but he did it anyways. Your eyes were wide and your chapped lips were curved downwards, lower one jutting out ever slow slightly, and your hands were clutching at the sleeves of his loose grey sweater. He almost cooed at the sight, opting for bending down and pressing a swift kiss to your forehead.

"Do I really have to?" He asked, nudging his nose against yours. "You're the only snowflake I want to see, you're far prettier than all others."

Much to his dismay, you pulled away with a breathy laugh, but he was satisfied when he noticed your cheeks turning red. Even after dating for three long years, you were still shy with displays of affection, and it made his heart do this weird thing in his chest. Namjoon had told him he was probably going to die, but Jimin had shot the older a nasty look and told him reassuringly it was just love, which sounded way nicer.

"Come on, it doesn't snow often," You whined, tugging at his shirt, dragging him to the bathroom.

"Brush your teeth, I'll get your coat." You instructed, and he groaned, complying. Warm water threaded through his fingers as he ran the tap, and within minutes, he found himself padding through the house grumpily, gloved hands stuffed in his pockets as your smaller frame happily unlocked the front door.

"Lucky you," He eyed the sleeping puppy, Coffee, who was curled up in a bundle of old sweaters and clothing you'd found to decorate her bedding. She looked endearing, a small ball of mahogany and obsidian fur in the midst of bright pink and pastel lilac fabric, and he would've given anything to trade places with her.

The puppy looked up at him, panting slightly. She almost looked like she was laughing at his plight, and he scowled at her, fingers gently scratching her head. "You're lucky I love you." He muttered.

"Kook!" You called over your shoulder, and he sighed. "And you're lucky I love you too." He grumbled in your direction, making you giggle as you ran out.

Now, Jungkook and you agreed on a lot. You both liked cuddles, chill nights in, dogs, had similar taste in music (except when you listened to Euphoria on repeat, he got sick of his own voice eventually), the list went on.

Whatever you differed in were things you both could find a quick compromise to, like clothes and food.

Seasons, however, were different. Jungkook hated the cold. He preferred summer, when the sun was out and the heat was stifling even in the night, but the humidity was welcomed. He could wander around with the bare minimum amount of clothing (and so would you, but that was totally not why he liked summer).

Workouts were more satisfying, cold drinks to soothe his throat were a regular, and he would actually want to get out of bed.

You, on the other hand, loved winter, for some absurd reason. You loved bundling up and drinking hot cocoa while watching movies, you loved sitting by the window sill and watch the thin layer of frost form on the glass, you loved fitting yourself right into your boyfriend's arms because he gave the warmest hugs, you absolutely loved running around and playing in the snow.

Ever since the two of you had begun dating, you'd managed to get Jungkook out to witness the first snow of the year, a wide smile on your lips and a fading frown on his, but it was always worth it.

He stepped out, shaking the long locks that were becoming a tad bit overgrown, and his lips automatically curved into a smile.

There you were, standing in the driveway with your arms spread and your flushed face turned to the sky, as icy winds kissed your cheeks and caressed your hair. Snowflakes swirled around you as you ran around, leaving your footprints behind, giggling like a child as your gloved hands scooped up the snow.

You turned around and attempted to hurl the snowball at him, the snowball hurtling through the air, breaking apart before it could even reach him.

He snickered at the failed attempt, reaching down to gather a bit of the white expanse in his own hands, eyes narrowing as he made his way towards you.

You squealed and attempted to run away, slipping a little over the ice. His heart jumped in his throat, calming down when he saw you steady yourself, snorting when you turned and stuck your tongue out at him.

His aim didn't fall short when you turned away, the snowball hitting your back. "Jungkook!" You gasped, whirling around with your eyes gleaming as you hastily made yourself small balls of ammunition.

Jungkook laughed as you faced towards him, a surge of affection rushing through him when you slipped and dropped your snowballs, crashing straight into his waiting arms.

He looked down at you fondly, ears red and lips turned down in a pout as you stared sadly at the broken mess you'd worked so hard to make. "It's okay," He smiled, "You can make more."

"And I'll beat you up with them." You said grumpily, turning your nose up as you scowled lightly at him. "I thought we were supposed to build a snowman?" He quirked an eyebrow, and your eyes lit up at the reminder. "Oh, yeah!" You gasped, attempted to squirm out of his grip.

Jungkook chuckled, watching as the smallest snowflake fluttered through the air in an elegant twirl, landing right at the tip of your nose, causing you to still as you went cross-eyed trying to look at it.

He swooped down, pressing his lips lightly against your nose, feeling the tiny crystals of ice melt against his lips, heat surging through your face, and when he pulled away, you were as red as the Christmas ornaments you had bought in advance.

"I'm, uh, going to find some sticks," You stumbled back, eyes darting around, and all Jungkook could was laugh, watching as you stopped down, hands grazing over the snow over.

If it was for you, he smiled as he watched your eyebrows furrow in concentration as you carried out your task, turning to him in choosing which sticks were best for the arms.

If it was for you, he could learn to love anything, even winter.

#jeon jungkook #jeongguk #boyfriend au #jungkook imagine #bts x reader #bts #bangtan boys #winter #Snowflake #aesthetic #fluff

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shadydreamerdonut · 4 years

Text

Sweeney Todd Drabble

"I want him to see the flowers in my eyes and hear the songs in my hands."

Mrs. Lovett sat up with a yawn, wiping the drool from her chin with the back of wrist. She swallowed, reaching for the glass of water beside her bed as her mouth tasted dry. Pausing briefly as she recognized the familiar dull ache between her legs. The absent space beside her made the bed feel colder than ever as she pulled the covers up, holding them tight to her body.

Her body hurt to the touch to be honest but not from last night. Instead the drag and haul of each day, they made her limbs feel like lead, sinking into the mattress like deadweight, Mrs. Lovett was tempted to lay back down. Her head was heavy but she knew that she would fall back asleep in seconds if she did. She longed to succumb back into that gentle blackness where there was no pain. The despair was tight in her chest made it difficult to breathe. But when she was asleep, her lungs inflated with as much air as she needed, fatigue fading off. Soon she was as light as a cloud, floating in the sky. Carefree.

Shaking out those ridiculous ideals like cobwebs, she stood and picked up the dress from the floor. Pushing herself up by her hands and throwing herself into another day. With a strength and determination that could not be paralleled. Doing her best to forget that she’d waken up alone. Having been what caused her to shrink back like a frightened child in the first place.

Grunting, the petite baker climbed up to the parlor, her knees protesting each creaking step. Bringing the barber his breakfast on a long slate. She got the door open by pushing with her shoulder and sighing as it swung shut behind her. Placing the meal down carefully on the antique mahogany chest. Wiping her hands on her apron before looking up toward him as he faced the window. Staring outside. She waited with baited breath for any kind of response. There was none even after she’d stood there for minutes. Finally turning on her heel, letting the door slam shut behind her harder than necessary.

Every minute that followed felt like an hour, the whole day feeling like a month that Mrs. Lovett had spent on her feet. Wiping the sweat from her brow with her forearm. That stung enough to make her gasp. Against the little bruises and cuts from utensils and manual labor that littered her skin. But she grew not to mind, the pain reminded her that she was alive. For a fleeting moment, air would fill her lungs and so she could exhale a shaking breath. If only to be brought back under into the endless drowning waters of despair. That suffocated her, she couldn’t breathe, always on the verge of falling to her knees and crying. In giving up. It was all becoming too much. Constantly sweating through the fabric of her dresses, her face sore from smiling all the time at impatient customers. Feet throbbing from hurrying up and down the hell soaked stairs. Digging her meat cleaver into the hard bones of strangers. Hauling the remains of their corpse over her shoulder to be burned in the devil’s maw.

The crimson-haired demoness was exhausted.

That night she collapsed into her bed, falling face first into the pillows. Not even bothering to change out of her dress as she fisted her hands in the sheet. Sleep washed over her, an enormous wave, drowning into the blue depths and arriving in a safe haven. She could almost taste the salty air on her tongue.

Jumping when she was jostled awake by a shake of her shoulder. Lurching herself upright, blinking away the blackness. Eyes adjusting to the dim lighting and meeting a dark obsidian stare. Void of emotion. Burning holes into her forehead. She frowned and swatted him away like a mosquito. Ignoring the longing that melted inside her like candlewax.

“I’m not in the mood.”

He paused, not moving away from her bedside. But didn’t try to touch her again either.

“Are you ailing?”

Mrs. Lovett snorted, of course, a woman would have to be suffering from the plague to not want sex.

“No. Just don’t feel like it.”

He didn’t push the issue further. Turning on his heel, leaving without another word. With a click of her bedroom door closing. Mrs. Lovett let out a breath that she didn’t realizing she had been holding in. Rolling over onto her side and finding it frustratingly difficult to fall back asleep. She reached out her hand toward the empty side of her bed and felt a single tear roll down her cheek.

It was just another morning, the sky gray as usual. The air was cold against her cheeks as she brought him his breakfast the next day as if nothing had happened the night before. Which also fell neatly into the routine as they never spoke about what took place when the sun went down and all was silent around them.

“Good morning, Mistah T. Did you sleep well?” She tried to sound unaffected. She waited only to just to be greeted by the birds chipping outside. Adverting her eyes to stare absently at the breakfast that now sat on his chest and would probably still be untouched when she came for it in the afternoon. She balled her tiny hands into fists. He’d moved to sit in his chair, his hands folded neatly in front of him as he fixed his attention solely to the wall opposite him.

She, Mrs. Lovett picked the tray back up with everything still on it. The freshly brewed tea, steam clouding from it. The piece of toast with a spread of marmalade and half of a sliced apple. Furiously raging toward the indifferent barber. Originally she was going to force it into his lap but seeing that even still standing right fucking next to him, he ignored her. She raised the slate above him. Then smashed it over his head with a thunderous clang. The sound echoed in for miles, the room shook as if there had been an earthquake. Everything was sent flying. The hot tea scalded his leg and the glass shattered. The slate split in half with the force of impact. The food haphazardly decorated the immaculate floor.

“FUCKING ANSWER WHEN SOMEBODY TALKS TO YOU!”

Sweeney was breathless with pain and shock. Silence was deafening. It was one, two, thirty seconds before he was standing and turning to Mrs. Lovett, shoving her to the floor without hardly having to use any force. Falling back onto her hands and feet. Eyes wide. The petite redhead looked up at him. Hissing when she felt the hot liquid burn her through the fabric of her skirts.

Growling, he pulled her back up by the front of her dress and corralled her into the wall. Her knees were weak so that if he wasn’t holding her, the grief-stricken widow would still be a puddle of mush on the floor. He brought his razor to her throat, so that she could feel the cold silver against her warm skin. The sharp edge barely digging into her skin.. Struggling to catch her breath already. Both of her gloved hands flat against the wall. She stared at him with doe eyes. Her rage having deflated from her like a popped balloon. She could feel her heart ache again, feel it throbbing loud between her ears only for him.

“If you were not so indispensable to my revenge, I would kill you where you stand, Mrs. Lovett.” He hissed every syllable of her name.

His breath hot against her cheek as the longest moment of her life passed. Soon as he was there, he wasn’t. Pacing back to the window, standing astute. Brushing off the mess of the confrontation like dust from his sleeves. Meanwhile, Mrs. Lovett couldn’t move. Everything hurt, she clutched her chest and dry-heaved several times, nearly lurching forward. Tears fell from her eyes and she brought her knees up and began to sob into her lap. Letting out loud, heart-wrenching wails that were barely muffled from her curled up position.

Uncomfortable, Sweeney barked. “Leave me. And I expect you to come back to clean up this mess.” Truthfully, lacking the threatening tone he had intended. He rocked on the heels of his feet. Hoping she didn’t notice the slight hesitation.

Mrs. Lovett didn’t notice, instead she moved to stand up. Beginning to crawl like an injured animal. Soon using the wall to hoist herself onto her feet, head still bowed. Limping down the stairs like she had been beaten within an inch of her life. She did her best to wipe away her tearstained face with her sleeve before stepping back inside her home, the warmth surrounding her instantly.

When Toby peaked his head from the kitchen and asked what had happened, she shrugged. Then he asked about preparing for the dinner rush, Mrs. Lovett rasped with a weak smile. “I’m sorry, son. We’re not opening tonight. Nothing to fret over, just do whatever you’d fancy instead.” Toby wanted to protest but gave a respectful nod. Not bothering his Mother any further.

Stepping into her bedroom, Mrs. Lovett winced at the light that poured in from her window. Drawing the curtains shut and sitting onto her bed. Still trembling like mad, as she did her best to calm herself. Reaching for the cold mug of tea beside her but found her hands shook too much to take hold of it. Sitting unmoving for how long, the heartbroken baker didn’t know. But when she finally came to she was filled with grief. And found her spirit had shattered like glass, just the same as the glass against the floor above her. Moving from the edge of her bed, she went to her cupboard and pulled from it a bottle of painkillers. From when Albert had gout in his leg. They were probably out of date now but that didn’t matter for her purposes.

Moving to sit back on her bed she popped off the cap and poured the remaining capsules out onto her open hand. Every beat of her heart hurt and soon she realized that more tears had begun to fall, tasting the salt on her lips. Before she could change her mind brought the handful of pills to her mouth and swallowed them all down with a large gulp of tea. Gasping. Then taking another drink of the tangy beverage to wash away the bitter aftertaste of the pills. Laying down onto her bed, the sheets were cool against her skin. The petite baker ignored that her skirt was still damp and she smelled heavy of sweat. Instead she was lulled to sleep, peacefully by the heavy weight of the pills. Quickly metabolized by the sheer heat of her being.

There were eight seashells on the table beside Mrs. Lovett’s hospital bed. One for every day that she had been asleep. One for every morning that Sweeney had visited. He would only ever buy one at a time, hoping that he wouldn’t need to come back for another. Sometimes, he’d stay from breakfast until visiting hours were over. Other times, he was forced to return to his parlor so that he could continue to have an income. He wanted to make sure that they were still comfortable financially when she woke up so that she wouldn’t feel the need to push too hard, she would either way. That was just her nature, he thought with a frown. He hadn’t ever noticed, he hadn’t paid mind to anything about her. Even though she was what made it possible not only for him to complete his revenge, but to have a place to stay and meals to eat and live a somewhat functioning life. He owed her his life. And he had threatened to kill her.

He deserved the pain that her death would cause him. For all the grief he’d brought upon her. It would only be fitting that the last part of his former life be so cruelly torn away from him. Then, he really would have nothing left. And the judge wouldn’t be to blame this time. He held her cold hand in his own and rubbed little circles in the inside of her wrist.

Now he knew what it was like to have loved someone and be met with silence. Surprised she didn’t smash a slate over his head sooner, he thought with a sad smirk. He even started to notice little things. Her long lashes, the curve of her cheekbone, full lips and red hair that shined like fire under the sunlight. How small she was in comparison to him, which made him wince internally for every time that he was rough with her. When she woke up, he would treat her more carefully. With tenderness and gentle touches. He would make things right when she woke up. If she ever did.

#sweeney todd #sweenett #drabble #angst #unrequited love #tw maybe #flowers #by the sea

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empyreal-irrationality · 4 years

Text

a bittersweet taste

<>o<>o<>o<>

The near-silent hum of the air conditioner filled the air as the man pressed the button of a small, white remote. A content sigh fell from his lips, and he set the remote down on the glass counter, right behind a quaint little bell.

The counter-top was filled with all kinds of what you considered toppings—nuts, chocolate chips, sprinkles, cashews, and there was even a whole can of whipped cream sitting there. Inside it, were some premade cupcakes and slices of some tasty-looking pastries placed on simple white dishes.

It was early, and the morning sun’s rays filtered in through the loosely curtained glass. It gave the little café a bit of a homely look—from its earthy tones and colors to the faint scent of sugary sweets and coffee wafting through the air. The natural light cast a light-yellow glow throughout the whole thing, and the slightly dim lights made it so that everything looked easy on the eyes.

A Japanese-styled glass wind chime rang at the opening of the glass door, and the sight of a short girl entered the building. Her obsidian hair was a bit messy, dark as the bags under her eyes. She looked extremely tired, and with the look of her slightly crumpled working uniform, she looked as if she had rushed out of her home in a hurry for work.

But well, if you ever got to know her, this isn’t exactly true.

Walking sluggishly towards the counter, she made her way around and behind the counter, nudging the male out of the way lightly. When he moved out of the way, she pulled a high chair from near the marble counter, or where the coffee machines and other things where at, and placed it down in front of her. She sat down, loosely tucking a stray strand of hair to her ear.

The mahogany eyes of the other twinkled, like the brightly shining sun, “Good morning, Darlene!” he placed a thing of very strong black coffee in front of her, “Did you get some sleep?”

Knowing his ‘friend’ well enough, it’s likely that she did, though less than the normal amount of sleep a human being needs. Most likely, she didn’t get any. Although he didn’t like that fact, he couldn’t exactly stop her from doing so.

“Yeah, yeah,” Darlene answered curtly, swiped the coffee from the counter, then immediately brought it up to her lips. She sipped at the coffee for a moment, feeling the warm bitter taste hit her mouth and partially wake her up. When she brought it back down, almost half of it was already gone. It was a huge cup, mind you.

“So,” she started, absentmindedly tapping her fingers on the counter, “How’re you, dear ol’ Takoyaki—er—Takihiko?”

For some reason, he’d always felt giddy whenever she asked how he was—or well, ask anything about him, really. She made his heart soar.

“I’m fine, thank you!” Takihiko exclaimed, happiness tracing his voice. Of course he was happy. She was here, after all, and it always felt wonderful being in her presence. To him, at least, it did. The customers, however, did not.

She nodded, and proceeded to lay her head on her arms on the counter, presumably to get a few more minutes of sleep. She knew Takihiko wouldn’t mind, he always seemed to love doing things for her. Ever since she entered his life again, it was always like this now. She felt like an idiot, but the deed has been done.

Oh, how she wished that she knew how to turn back time, but she couldn’t exactly leave him miserable there… right?

A grin stretched his lips wide, and a shake of his head ruffled his fluffy ebony hair. He adjusted his glasses, and went to work at wiping some stains off the counter behind them.

Just another normal day at the dessert café, it seemed.

#nicadani writes #original work #dessert cafe #short fic #coffee #i relate to darlene #she is from a friend #takihiko and darlene were originally from a friend #might make some more snippets of these two #heehee

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askyancy · 4 years

Text

Yancy’s Trial

OOC: The following is the ENTIRE court room scenario that took place on the discord. Hey if you ain’t on there look how much you’re missing! https://discord.gg/VRayPQs Better hop aboard huh! This Court case was between myself and my partner @markimoojackaboi who was in charge of the whole event with myself as: Mr Wallaby/Wilford, Yancy, Dr Parker, Bambam, Sparkles and him as : Mr D. Iplier/Dark and our wonderful Warden @thegayneighborhoodcannibal A lot of Wilford’s case was assisted by the theorists of the server who spent from 5:30pm - 1am EST trying to corral Wilford into actually being a lawyer. Needless to say that didn’t go well but at least someone has that ability. Please forgive any typos, mistakes, formatting as tumblr is a bitch. Consider this the transcript of the case. Enjoy the read! It’s a long one! -Mort

Saturday 30th November at 5:30 PM

Officials have started arriving, board members, District attorneys and the sort, all filling into the spectator seats. No jury, seems no one showed up for duty, or rather this was a prison case and not necessarily in need of one. This was at the hands of officials. Stepping through the doors you get the scent of the mahogany wood lining the entire facility, the traces of perfume and cologne from the officials and the scent of something..candy? The two lawyers directing the case are up front at the main two tables, a rather colorful suit on Mr Wallaby, but he looked most certainly charming, save for the fake mustache... on top of a mustache.. Whatever, you choose not to question it. You take a moment to linger in the stands listening a little to what Wallaby might be saying. Something about pancakes and syrup? Taking your seat at the front on an end seat, a notepad sits in hand. Taking notes on this case may be important to assist and who knows, maybe you'll even get called as a witness... A friendly face approaches, patting you on the shoulder, they seem to have familiarity with you and sit to your left. "Hey you remember me right? Arnie Velmont? We went to law school together?" You nod. "Yeah yeah! You don’t mind me sittin here? Don't really know anyone else here" A wave of the hand. He's fine. Your silence holds strong. As everyone takes their positions, a certain inmate is brought into the room a little roughly by Officer Rex, and made to stand to the side, he's heavily cuffed and clearly shaking. Even the Warden is shown to where he can sit. "All rise for the honorable Judge Bagel Noface-Noname." Rex announces, the crowd stand and so do you. The judge rolls onto the high seat and onto the table, settling there. The crowd sits and you follow suit. The court was now in session.

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 6:08 PM

The prosecution waited in his seat for the Judges opening. Familiarize everyone with the case number, that sort of thing. He waited a little uncomfortably long, as the judge didn't actually have a visible mouth. The Man in the charcoal jacket and grey tie to match and thinly rimmed glasses, a mister D. Ipliére rose to his feet, rubbing his hands together and clapping them together. "Your honor this case is as open and shut as a bad book," He looked up at the judge, "What we have here is bloodstained hands... And we will punish those responsible for this heinous act." He moves back behind his table and sits down, tucking his seat in so he was close to the desk. He'd make a perfect bureaucrat the way he prepared to take notes. But then his eyes snapped towards Yancy, irises like obsidian. He had the composure of a statue, but he had the presence of a coiled scorpion... ready to strike if you looked away for too long.(edited)

WallabyYesterday at 6:14 PM

Wilfor-Wallaby blinked as he watched, a quick mutter to himself over something before he stood. He didn’t have pants on. Looked like heart boxers... but oddly somehow he still looked good. "Your honnnooor~ What we reaaally have is an innocent sugarmuffin of a man who has done no wrong by anyone.. look at his widdle baby faaaceee" Yancy blinked, looking up, confused, taken aback and shook his head. Fuck.... This was gonna go horrible. "And I'll prove it!" he smirks, a smug lil fluffball as he sits back down "I’m doomed" runs across Yancy's mouth silently.

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 6:27 PM

The DA was firm man, imposing in a different way than say the Warden for example. He rose again so the.. Judge.. Wonderful... "The Prosecution would like to call prisoner 6247 of Happy Trails Penitentiary to the stand for cross examination." he was a rock in a river."

YancyYesterday at 6:32 PM

Yancy's stomach dropped and he started shaking again. oh god. oh fuck ok. deep breaths. done this before. He let Rex man handle him up to the stand, settling in the seat. Poor Yancy... he looked ready to cry. Wallaby frowned. This wasn't good. Calling his client up immediately. Hm.... Well.. If Yancy did as good as he had been maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Yancy's eyes passed over the prosecutor. A handsome man with an intimidating look. This man wasn't just his prosecutor... but his executioner if things didnt go well. Rex huffed putting a bible in front of Yancy. Yancy pulled a face at it. "m'not..er..religious type ya know.. uh...." Wallaby paused, dug around in his small brief case and held up something small, hurried over to put it on the desk then scuttled back. "..... yer kiddin" Rex raised an eyebrow and shrugged as Yancy obediently placed his hand on the pudding cup and then his other up...as best the cuffs allowed anyway. "Ye swear to tell the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you...pudding cup" "I swears..." Yancy fidgeted a bit. Nervous.

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 6:47 PM

The Prosecution's lip twitched slightly at the sight of the pudding cup. "Mr Yancy, is it?" He asked, moving again to the side of his desk, a couple pieces of paper in his hand. He made eye contact with the defendant.

YancyYesterday at 6:48 PM

Yancy tensed as the intimidating man came forward to question him, immediately flustering. "Ah wh- Well yeah but uh.. I er.. I go by Yancy." His cuff chains rattled a lot, a lot of hand fussing.

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 6:51 PM

The man leaned back a little to move his long dark locks off his face and adjusting his glasses with the free hand. He touched the thinned rims just with the tips of his fingers with the confidence of a man who would never leave a fingerprint o n the glass. "My apologies, I forgot about prison names. If you would please make your statement for the record." He leaned his hip a little on the desk, looking at the paper.

YancyYesterday at 6:54 PM

Yancy shivered but lowered his gaze to the wood in front of him "I... I d-dont hav-.. I mean I dunno where youse.. want me to start I-..." His voice was barely audible, just loud enough for the prosecutor.

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 6:55 PM

The prosecutor looked up at him. "I'm sorry did... did your defense not prepare you for this?" He asked, a smooth cold voice like a polished stone as he glanced over at Mr. Wallaby...His lip twitched subtlety.

YancyYesterday at 7:03 PM

Yancy went wide eyed and withdrew into his seat. Wallaby glanced over huh... poor Yancy. Didn't look too good "Ah.. just tell em what ya told me!" He gave a beckoning motion with his hand and a thumbs up. Yancy stared and sank a bit more in his seat "E...er... o-okay... " Yancy glanced up at the judge then the room "I er.... " Yancy cleared his throat. Deep breath. It's ok. "It kinda started with er... these t'ree inmates deys... sendin me messages. t'ought nottin of it a foirst and then t'ings escalated. Dey's called me out I called dem's out.... We agreed to meet up... I er.. we met up in de hallway and deys got the drop on me. T'ought I was meeting just one alone and dere was t'ree o dems... " he swallowed "Deys stabbed me..... I was in medical fer a whiles and... while I was dere deys attacked my friends.. set my cell on fire.. all my..belongins.... a-and den I heard em down the hall... deys was tryna hurt my friends..." he ran his hands together "I-.. I remember going forward t'.. t' Frank and... I.. I dunno I- I dont remember what happened next but I wokes up on the floor with my friends holdin me away .... I-.. den d' ward'n came in and I-........ " he trailed off his voice shaking.

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 7:11 PM

The man's face softened in what looked like pity. "It's alright, you don't have to go further than that. Thank you for sharing." He full on faced Walllaby... He breathed sharply through his nose to compose himself a little, clearly annoyed at the candy-coated defense lawyer. But he maintained himself, his voice never raised in volume from what he started with. He turned back to face Yancy. His face softened. "You've been through so much in this last week, haven't you?" He said, peering over his glasses a little. As non threatening as such an imposing figure could possibly be.

YancyYesterday at 7:13 PM

Yancy slowly nodded before he croaked out a more audible for court "y-yes" Wallaby leaned back in his chair feet up and a phone in his hands, grumpily swatting at that mosquito... gonna get it... you just wait... Yancy pinched his eyes shut "oh god..." whispered from him, just loud enough for Mr. Ipliére to hear it. Poor guy was terrified.

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 7:17 PM

The lawyer looked at him with a slight head tilt... the poor thing.. "Are you alright? Do you need a moment?" he asked almost... sweetly.

YancyYesterday at 7:20 PM

Yancy shook his head. He shifted in the seat, bracing himself, deep breath. 4....7....8..... 4....7.....8.... "N-no I'm okay.... I-..... Just brings back some memories o d' last time I was in here... ya know?" he smiled bitterly but sat up, seemed he was capable of taking care of himself despite his lawyer being a useless mindless doofus. "You had questions, sir?"

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 7:29 PM

The prosecutor nodded. "Any time you need stop, alright?... I know this is a heavy burden to ask of you..." A strange and seemingly indirect way of thanking him for his bravery. "Would you mind telling us, for the record, when did these messages start?" He leaned away from his desk.

YancyYesterday at 7:35 PM

Yancy took a deep inhale and sat straight. Be honest. Be short. "About 2 weeks ago? I'm not sure on de exact date, but it's been about 2 weeks." The more the prosecutor spoke the more Yancy seemed to relax a little. Wallaby had sat up again and was now digging through his bag, pulling out a large pieces of paper with crayon.

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 7:44 PM

The Prosecutor looked down at his sheet, cross referencing something unseen. He nodded and moved over to the box. "Your honour, I hold in my hands Exhibit A, the direct messages received." He looked down at his sheet. "Yes it's.. quite colourful language..." He traced the lines with his fingers... looking for something specific.

YancyYesterday at 7:47 PM

The judge makes no movement, its a bagel. But the honorable judge does seem to approve. It seems the prosecutor is permitted to continue. Yancy looks away. God.... this is gonna show he had a phone... he could get the Warden in a lot of trouble if he wasn't careful..... Deep breath... Just a stage. Just another performance. A court room performance. He was just playing the criminal. Nothing wrong. Just..... why'd the prosecutor have to be so damned handsome! Wallaby finally digs something else out of his bag. a large wooden letter A. That's his exhibit A... yup...

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 7:54 PM

The prosecutor straightened his spine. "Such texts as and I quote, "What a boring game, let's make it interesting., a knife emoticon- Favorite stab wound," end quote. That's quite frightening.." He didn't leave room for pause. "Or this one, I quote, 'Tell our dear friend BB that Sparkles is next. I'll make sure to leave a bedazzled finger under their pillow, Heart Emoji' end quote." He moved teh hand with the paper in it down to his side, quickly. He spoke loud enough to make someones ears ring. "Lastly and -i- quote Starlings are aggressive. Reckless. They pick fights at any chance they get. But enough of them. It's good to see you, mockingbird. -' End. Quote."

WallabyYesterday at 7:57 PM

Wallaby raised an eyebrow as he listened this time and stood up "Awbjection your honor. Relevance. How is this reveleleelephant to the matter at hand?" he waggled his stache a bit. He'd taken his pants off again. "Yancy sank a bit, bit his tongue. Well of course it was.. relevant... that was Frank and-... Or was it? Maybe he should trust his lawyer? God.. he didn't know anymore.

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 8:01 PM

The prosecutor raised his hands defensively, waiting the judges ruling. ..... A tap of the gavel. "My point, if it please the court, is his response to that very last message sent, A text message back... I quote. "y-youse…. All o youse is fuckin DEAD" end quote.

WallabyYesterday at 8:04 PM

Wallaby huffed, fake mustache atop his mustache hanging off a bit "Awbjection your honor! My client was very angwee. Those kinds of messages would make anyone mad! Doesn't mean that he'd hurt them! Sayin n doin are very different!" and yet here they where. Yancy bit his lip. shut up. stop talking. sit down youse dumb mustached fuck.

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 8:12 PM

The Prosecutor backed up, hands up a little. "Withdrawn, your honour." He turned back, waved a hand a little, and faced him again, the man of someone commanding a stage. "The messages were sent to a cellular device in your posession, Yancy. Sorry... Yancy." He corrected himself. "How long have you, a convicted murderer with a wrap sheet to boot had a waterproof, shockproof, cellphone?"

YancyYesterday at 8:17 PM

Yancy went pale, like he'd just seen a ghost, but slowly he knew being honest was key here. Then again if he answered he could get the warden, Hawk, Scarlet, a lot of others in trouble. He looked up at Wallaby. Wallaby was frantically waving his hand in front of his throat, shaking his head, giving zip lips and shushy gestures. "I... uh.......... I plead... fifth... your honor" he bit his tongue discretely inside his mouth. fuckfckfuck. He had to trust his lawyer.. shit.

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 8:19 PM

The Prosecutor froze for a minute...

The Fifth Amendment, or Amendment V of the United States Constitution is the section of the Bill of Rights that protects you from being held for committing a crime unless you have been indicted correctly by the police.

He nodded. "... No further questions, your honour." He went and sat down... pen to paper and ready.

YancyYesterday at 8:26 PM

Yancy let out a sigh of relief. Welp that was one frying pan to deal with later.... His stomach twisted as he saw Wallaby wriggle back into his pants and hop his way to standing and wobbled his way over "Hey buddy!" ".....the heck are youse doing?" Yancy hiss whispered. "I'll assk the questionssss!" he smirked and Yancy went pale again. "Now .... Getting to the reaal grit o the situaaation! You mentioned in your stawry that you dont remember what happened between sneakin up on Frankie and waking up next to his dead bawdy. Correct?" "...Correct" Yancy was shaking again, it was audible in the chains as his leg bounced. "Do you get black outs often?" "I-er..... no" "Hm ok. Would you say you lose time? Or memories? any memory lawss that kinda thing?" he waved his hand around, rather sure of himself there. "Er... n-no...." Wallaby paused, turned "really? ah ok" welp there went that defense.

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 8:30 PM

The prosecution takes notes. His rival sounded like he had just been plopped into this without warning! Meanwhile he himself had been studying the ins and outs of this case. He almost felt bad for the kid. But you'd never know by the looks on his face. He imagined this would be over quickly.

WallabyYesterday at 8:36 PM

Wallaby continued after a little waggle of the stache that was now fully falling off his face. One more of those and it was a goner. "Awlright. Would you saaaaay.... that this black out may have been connect to any mental health issues you may suffer from?" Yancy paused. Oh ..aha.. that's where this was going ok. "I er.. maybe... I was.. seein Doctah pahrkah fer a lotta stuffs." "So you would say that Doctah Pahrkah... i say dat right? Ah.. Would you say they were a credible source of informaaation on your mental health status that could have been the causes of this black out?" "... Yes?" He didnt sound sure but went with it. "Awlright. Next question. What were you doing before the incident? Before all the rawr rawr stabby stabby murder?" Yancy winced at that bit but hoped everyone would ignore the phrasing "I was... asleep. I was in my cell asleep on... confinement after a fight broke out with different inmates earlier. Er... dats another longer story though. Not related" "The bagel will be the judge of that!" Wilford huffed at him "So you were asleep!" "Yes" "Then how did you get in the cell?" "I.. I gets nightmares. Deys wake me up..keep me up a lot... I dont get a lot o sleep" "Ahuuuuuuuuhh.... Do you think this lack of sleep could contribute to your black out?"

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 8:38 PM

Prosecutor raises his hand a little, barely looking up from his paper. "Objection, your honour, what's the point of all this speculation?"

WallabyYesterday at 8:43 PM

Wallaby paused "W- weeeellll... My poinntttt if ya let me get to it mister bawsy pants!" no regard for court ettiquette but that was a Warfstache for ya. "Is that if the boys sleep walkin he cant be accountable for his actions" He huffed, turned around "Where ya?" "I..... no? I dont know I dont remember but I do remember waking up and hurrying over" "Why the hurrry" "I heard my friends yelling sounded like they were in trouble.... then I saw..them and I-... Next thing I knew I was... being dragged away" "Sounds like sleep walking" Wallaby huffed and wandered back to the table "Your witness" he smirked at the prosecutor and Yancy put his face in his hands.

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 8:46 PM

The Procecution rolled his shoulders back a little, rising to his feet. "Your honour may I approach the bench?" He asked. ...... He began the walk, but stopped, waiting for Wallaby to follow. This was more so he could talk to him in the middle of this.

WallabyYesterday at 8:50 PM

Wallaby linked and hopped up to join him, a hushed conversation...There's a lot of faff and fuss from Wallaby before he hugs the prosecutor with a squeaky noise then shuffled on back to his desk to sit back down, a smug look on his face

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 8:58 PM

The prosecutor straightened his tie and moved back... seemed his opposition was trying to plead insanity. “The court would like to call Dr Aiden Parker to the stand.”

YancyYesterday at 9:00 PM

Yancy relaxed and hopped out of the chair letting Rex man handle him again, nothing h wasnt used to. Dr Parker stood, fixed his suit jacket and wandered over. He set a small stone on the table

"I'm also Agnostic but this is a truth stone."

He let Rex give the speech. "

“I swear.”

On to questioning. He set his hands neatly in his lap.

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 9:01 PM

The prosecution is now limited to three questions each.”Dr Parker, you are a psychiatrist, correct? You’ve got an astounding CV. He said tapping his finger down onto the table next to him.”

Dr. ParkerYesterday at 9:04 PM

Parker keep a professional look to him. "I am the on site psychiatrist for Happy Trails Penitentiary, yes. .... and thank you" Wallaby raised an eyebrow, watching curiously. Seems at least his focus is in the right place now...(edited)

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 9:07 PM

*Two professionals back and forth with equal composure. “What’s it like working with some of the most dangerous people ever convicted?”

Dr.ParkerYesterday at 9:09 PM

Parker raised an eyebrow then put it down again.

"No different to the rest of my field. Danger only comes from those who feel it necessary to be a threat. I have yet to find anyone who is to be dubbed "dangerous" in my books"

His voice was odd... so were his eyes but they didn't hold much distraction.

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 9:16 PM

The prosecutor mentally thanked the doctor for his easy manner and setting the foundation. “And yet within hours of being discharged from their medical bay, he was setting off small explosive devices, he manages to get re-armed, and now there he sits..” he points to Yancy, “having stabbed another human being 73 times. That’s more times than a human should naturally be able to do on their own by almost double.” He scuffed his heel and paced. “How many times will this happen again before a professional such as yourself considers them Dangerous.”

WallabyYesterday at 9:22 PM

Wallaby piped up "Awbjection! The bawmb was Bambams" Bambam went wide eyed and looked ready to bolt but stayed put. Yeah ok...they'd take that hit for Yancy. IT was their idea.... Parker waited for them to finish "

“Yancy was recently put in my care as per the Warden's request on regards of rehabilitation. The Warden believed that Yancy was capable of full rehabilitation and chances for Parole that Yancy was hoping to achieve. Called it Vacation."

He offered a small twitch of a fond smile

"However. Yancy has been unable to sleep. Myself and Dr Rothgott have discussed this and recently prescribed him medication to take to assist this, two days prior to the event occurring. While I agree 73 is ..excessive by any means, I also believe that Mr. Iplier was not in control of his actions at the time. Mr Iplier suffers from a great deal of what could potentially be Post Traumatic Stress. This in turn could be triggered by the sight of his attacker, bringing back the memories of his father of which he currently serves sentence for."

Parker sounded like he could have been a lawyer if he wanted to. How many court cases in his time as a doctor? "

“This being said, I would like to repeat that Yancy is new in my care and currently under going treatment. His sessions were recently pushed to daily one hour sessions.”

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 9:26 PM

The prosecutor put a hand on his desk and leaned back against it for a moment as if to think... He paused... “...One final question. Do you think, in your professional opinion, that this Post Traumatic Stress response, violent as it may be.... let me rephrase..” .... “Do you think he would do something like this again?”

Dr.ParkerYesterday at 9:27 PM

Parker leaned back a little confidently. "

“No. With the proper treatment he is now getting and the medication he is now receiving, I believe given the time for those medications to take effect and with a detective now on the case of what has been going on at the prison, the chances of Yancy having another episode are incredibly slim."

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 9:33 PM

The prosecutor looked down, nodding slightly. Unfortunately he was running out of time. “No further questions.”

WallabyYesterday at 9:35 PM

Wallaby hopped up "Defense would like to call Warden Murder'Slawghter to the stand" He waggled his stache with a smirk. Gonna get em so good oh yeah! @The Sandwich was in for it! Look at this handsome fella- wait....... Abe?.. wait... no.. hang on.... OH! how about that! Abe had a brother! Wait what was Abe’s last name again? didnt matter!

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 9:37 PM

the prosecution looked a little confused. Didn’t he have any questions?... oh well he’s made his choice... time was slowly ticking away.

The WardenYesterday at 9:40 PM

Mr. Murder-Slaughter stood when his name was called, looking down at himself to ensure his attire was in order before making his way to the stand. He wasn't the religious type, but he swore on the bible anyways. He wasn't about to swear on a pudding cup. He licks his lips and makes sure his mouth wasn't too dry before he spoke. His expression was stern.

WallabyYesterday at 9:44 PM

Wallaby wanders over to the warden and smiles "You look a lawt like a friend o mine! ah anyway! Warden you over see everythin at the prison correct?"

The WardenYesterday at 9:46 PM

The warden nods slowly, hands folded neatly in his lap. He tried to ignore how his palms were starting to become sweaty. "I do."

WallabyYesterday at 9:46 PM

He nods and continues "And would you say you were close with your inmates, or rather Yancy?" he keeps his questions short n sweet

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 9:47 PM

Prosecution scribbles something down.

The WardenYesterday at 9:47 PM

Another nod. "Yes." His voice is steady and calm as if he had done this before.

WallabyYesterday at 9:48 PM

He continues "Alright, if you know Yancy so well, is this something that happens awften with him? Would you say he was a dangerous inmate?"

The WardenYesterday at 9:50 PM

The warden suddenly sits up straighter. "Yancy is rarely ever, if not never, a violent individual. From what I've seen before the incident has been a rather tender and kind person; I do not think he is a dangerous inmate."

WallabyYesterday at 9:51 PM

Wallaby nods. "You walked in on the scene right? Can ya describe to us what you saw, specifically Yancy?"

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 9:53 PM

Pen was at the ready, so far so good from the prosecutor view

The WardenYesterday at 9:55 PM

Mr. Murder-Slaughter is silent for a moment as he ponders over the question. "I...." He clears his throat and shifts where he sat. "When I arrived on the seen I saw Yancy, accompanied by Michael Gregory, Andrew Gregory, Jason Campell, Henry Valmer, and Tamara Rose, over the body of Frank Wallace. Yancy looked... Scared, to say the least, like he was shell-shocked. He didn't seem aware of his surroundings at the time." He looks at Wallaby the entire time he spoke.

WallabyYesterday at 9:57 PM

Wallaby nodded along, his back to th warden and more facing the crowd. "But can you describe to us the scene itself. The gruesome details the wounds the murder! ahuh" he turned to face him now. "What about the murder weapon, who had it?"

The WardenYesterday at 10:02 PM

"There was a lot of blood, and glitter. At the time of the scene I was not aware of who the victim was, only that he was clearly dead. Yancy and the other inmates I named were covered in Frank's blood." He starts to narrow his eyes as he wracks through the memory for details. "I believe the murder weapon was on the ground next to the body."

WallabyYesterday at 10:03 PM

Wallaby wafts a hand and wanders away "No more questions your honor. Your witness" He smiles to Mr Ipliére and takes his seat. Yancy is glaring at the pink mustache on Wallabys face with a look that could kill. He was doing so good dammit!

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 10:06 PM

The prosecution took a few minutes, writing something down before repeating. Standing up and beginning the walk. “Mr. Murderslaughter. You boast a safe place for rehabilitation over punishment. But surely your establishment has punishments In place.”

The WardenYesterday at 10:06 PM

"We do." He curtly nods in confirmation, watching the other closely.

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 10:07 PM

The man stopped in his tracks and adjusted his glasses. “For the court, would you please go into detail?” He had to make this case solid.

The WardenYesterday at 10:11 PM

Mr. Murder-Slaughter huffs a bit. "Depending on the degree of the misbehavior, inmates may be confined to their cell; made to work janitorial duties while monitored by a guard; sent to solitary; or loose certain privileges such as un-timed showers, extra dessert, and ability to participate in monitored group activities."

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 10:14 PM

Mr D. Ipliére remained like a brick wall in terms of comfort to be around. He paced a little with long slow strides. “Really? It almost sounds like you’re running a summer camp rather than a maximum security prison.… how can you expect to rehabilitate those with a 25-to-life sentence?”

The WardenYesterday at 10:19 PM

"It is rare I'm required to use any other form of punishment. Most inmates, including Yancy, show upstanding behavior and a sound ability to adhere and obey prison rules." The warden speaks up almost immediately.(edited)

WallabyYesterday at 10:20 PM

Wallaby takes out the banana....

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 10:23 PM

The prosecutor brought his hand up a little, coiling it into a loose fist. “And yet within the days leading up to this, there was another violent incident wasn’t there? And somehow it was only just out of view of the cameras. A lot of stuff seems to get missed....” his pacing sped a little. “Just how well do you know your inmates, Warden?”

WallabyYesterday at 10:25 PM

Wallaby slowly starts squeezing the banana

The WardenYesterday at 10:29 PM

Mr. Murder-Slaughter's eyes flickered over to the loose fist the prosecutor held up. "The violent behavior comes from the three inmates. I believe-" He pauses, staring past Mr. Ipliére and at Mr. Wallaby. He watches him squeeze the banana, his brows furrowing. "Er- I know some inmates more than others."(edited)

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 10:32 PM

The prosecutor steps towards him... deep in thought but yes never moving from him. “... one final question for you warden. Would it be safe to assume that a prison with divided gangs, literal tunnels between cells, and that such violations that make Alcatraz look like a country fair... such a prison can hardly call itself maximum security, wouldn’t you agree?

WallabyYesterday at 10:33 PM

Wallaby squeezed the banana so it spluttered everywhere "Awbjection! Leading the witness!" ((Edit: It’s against prison rules to squeeze the bananas. An intimidation tactic by Wallaby))

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 10:34 PM

”Withdrawn your honour... no further questions.”

WallabyYesterday at 10:36 PM

Wallaby grins. Got em! "No further questions."

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 10:38 PM

”The prosecution would like to call prisoner 112113 to the stand.”

BambamYesterday at 10:39 PM

Bambam's chest sank. Shit... shitshitshit ok.. They slowly stood, letting Rex shift them over to the stand. They'd swear on the bible. Carefully leaning back, glasses nudged back up their nose and fixed the Prosecutor with as big a fuck you stare as they could manage.

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 10:41 PM

The prosecutor was as phased as a stone. “You’ll have to forgive me, they seemed to have submitted your papers wrong I can’t seem to figure out your pronouns. Would you state for the record what you would like to be called?”

BambamYesterday at 10:43 PM

Bambam raised an eyebrow "They them.... Though I guess he/him is fine for like.. legal shit, just prefer they them... Agender." they didnt care about announcing it. Proud and comfortable in what they were. Their eyes flashed over to Yancy, then back again.

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 10:45 PM

The Prosecution offered them the first genuine smile. “Mx Bambam. Would you state your relation to the Accused?”

BambamYesterday at 10:46 PM

Bambam set their hands in their lap. "He's my best friend. Known him for 4 years now. "

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 10:48 PM

”And in the four years you’ve known him, has he ever behaved like this before?”

BambamYesterday at 10:49 PM

Bambam frowned. He'd sworn to truth. "No.... I er.... Didn't know that was..even in him. Wasn't like him at all"

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 10:51 PM

The prosecution furrowed his brow slightly. “And you were there for the incidents both inciting and the crime were trying the Accused for?”

BambamYesterday at 10:52 PM

"I was attacked by one of the assholes responsible for all this mess, and was there for them trying to kill my friend Hank, of which Yancy prevented yes." Bambam fed a little more information out. Get that shit into court early. They sneered a little, desperate to do everything they could to help Yancy.

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 11:00 PM

Mr. D.Ipliére faced them head on. "And how did he prevent this attempted murder on.. Hank." Making sure he got the names right.

BambamYesterday at 11:05 PM

Bambam fidgeted a bit, growing annoyed. This was bring back bad memories. Court. Cuffs. Questions. Judge bagel. They wrung their hands together. Picking at the edges of their nails. "He protected us.... Yes it was excessive. But he kinda..snapped ya know? Wasnt himself. Me n Tiny had to pull him off but hes a strong guy. Took us a bit. Second he came to he completely shut down inside, didnt say a word just starin.... I’ve never seen him like that. But I dont blame him.... If he didnt do it ... those three bastards would just keep hurting us. Two of em are still at fucking large. And instead of trying to follow the trail of glitter we left on em, we're stuckin in court over stupid shit that wasn't Yancys fault! Meanwhile those two remaining dick heads are plotting a new way to get us all killed." they growled a little and settled back down. "Sorry just... Yancy got hurt because Warden told him not to hurt anyone. If we stuck by that we'd all be dead. What Yancy did was self defense and protecting us..."

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 11:11 PM

The Prosecution stood and watched him spill. "It's alright, I understand that you all care for each other." His eyes were fixed on the witness. For a few moments he didn't look like he would say anything and would force them to be in silence for hours. "I know this is difficult, so.. in your own time. What do you think would be the reason as to why these three individuals are so easily able to slip out of the grasp of the guards seemingly unnoticed? What sparked the firecracker" He asked, tucking a hand in his pocket.

BambamYesterday at 11:12 PM

Bambam fidgeted their hands again, and yet unlike Yancy didn't make a sound with the chains. "Wish I knew. I've suspicions of my own on why they're attacking us, mainly him. ... but they’re speculations."

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 11:14 PM

Mr. D.Ipliére nodded and turned on his heel, moving to the box and taking something out. He got closer to the stand. "Can you tell me what this is?" He said, holding up a photograph of a shiv. But there was a bunch more sheets of paper in his hand here."

BambamYesterday at 11:18 PM

Bambam leaned in to see the more minute details. "...27. Gave that one for Tiny to borrow. Defensive. It's a shiv. One of mine. I make them, I've a stash, Warden knows of this as I confessed and they have been arranging a cell search to confiscate em" Honesty. Yancy appreciated that. His face was in his hands again, his stomach churning, he felt sick.

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 11:20 PM

Mr. D.Ipliére smirked and tucked a couple pages back. "These are all you're work, correct?" He said, "Let the record show I am submitting evidence found at the crime scene."

BambamYesterday at 11:21 PM

Bambam nodded "All mine. If they've a little B notched in the bottom they're mine. Some are a bit less specific but I can identify them."

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 11:24 PM

He put most of them back... but held onto one.. He brought it back over. "This one in particular... did you make this one? Just confirming." ... He knew the answer. He gave them enough time to answer. .... "So how is it then... That Yancy came to acquire not one but two of your shivs and use them against this group of people twice? Did he say anything to you when he got them?"

BambamYesterday at 11:26 PM

Bambam gave the confirm. "Every single one of my friends has a shiv made by me. For defensive purposes. I fail to see how this is relevant. We had weapons. Yes. That's nothing new here."

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 11:30 PM

The Prosecutor was sharp tongued.... but he softened. "Lets take it elsewhere then. You were there when he was discharged from medical. Did he in any way indicate that he would retaliate against the group that put him in there in the first place?"

BambamYesterday at 11:32 PM

Bambam licked their bottom lip. Irritated. "no. He was more worried about our safety since while he was in medical both me and my sibling were sent to medical as well. One for a cell invasion that I tried to tackle and unmask the bastard doing it, and then my sibling for when they set Yancy's cell on fire. We have the next cell over and my sibling got smoke inhalation." they grumbled a bit. "The real culprit needed to be in this court are the bastards running around dressed like a burger and a swan."

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 11:33 PM

The Prosecutor nodded. "Thank you, Mx. Gregory. No further questions." He said, swooping back behind the desk."

WallabyYesterday at 11:39 PM

Wallaby waggled his stache, the fake one falling off revealing a pink one. Abe nearly jumped out of his seat. SON OF A BITCH! He stayed seated. Had to behave. Shit.. Oh ho ho! Got him this time! He'd wait outside and arrest em! "Mx Bambam can you pleaaaseee explain to the court. If you make shivs for all of the inmates. Was it one of yours that killed the victim?" ".... Yes." "Was it one of yours that did the damage to Mr Yancy prior to the murder?" "......... Yes" "Ahuh. So in a seeeenseee this is more your fault?" "wh- What!? No? I mean... Yancy asked to borrow one. He never used it when he was confronted. It got stolen by Frank. We still havent found it." "Yeah huh." Wallaby spun his hand gesturing to continue. "Er... plead the ..fifth..." Wallaby rolled his eyes. "Question dropped. Next question." Wallaby rounded on Bambam

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 11:41 PM

The prosecution suddenly looked... confused. Objection on the grounds of leading the witness, but at least he caught himself.

WallabyYesterday at 11:48 PM

"You mentioned that you and Mr Yancy were close friends? Besties! Do you have bracelets?" Bambam gave the biggest wtf face imaginable. "Would you say that in those 4 years Yancy has shown any strings of violent acts at all?" "Wh-....." Bambam's face dropped. Yes... yes there was. The friendly shivvings to rookie guards, the fist fights with newbies. Not to mention that fight with Y/N..... "Yes..." "Ahuh. Can you list a few instances?" "....... Couple of fist fights with other inmates. Kinda... dominance thing ya know? He's got a reputation to uphold. Nothing more than a black eye or anythin' nothing big. Served solitary for it each time" "What about those shivs of yours? Any violent tendencies?" "....... " fuck. What could he do. Pleading the fifth wouldnt work cos it wasnt about them here. Couldnt lie. Likely wallaby had the answer already. "We er.... contrary to popular belief we like it at Happy Trails.... We er.. sometimes have to ensure that we don't land up in parole. We dont want to leave. So..... Sometimes.. we have to er... Prod a couple guards or fellow inmates to ensure that doesnt happen...bu-..." no buts "Though we make sure not to aim anywhere lethal, or permanently harmful." "So what youre saying is that Yancy has a history of stabbing fellow inmates?" "Wh-. I" Wallaby raised a brow "How does that help his case? I-.... Youre gonna get him killed!" "Answer the quessstion" Wallaby waggled his stache at Bambam who shifted abruptly "What? No! He doesn't go around killing people! HE's a sweetheart!">>Wallaby frowned "He has 3 prior murder charges" "We all do" Bambam sneered "Doesnt mean were gonna go ape shit for no fuckin reason!" "And yet he did" "He wasn't himself!" Bambam stood up and Yancy did everything he could to keep his own composure. Sparkles shifting to stand and try to tell Bambam to sit down but Jimmy caught them. "But theres chance he could do it again?" "No! He had a trauma reaction to someone who tried to kill him and wasn't himself! Disassociated afterwards and just f-" he paused and looked to the prosecutor, then the bagel judge "This is fucking bullshit!!"/e

Mr. D.IpliéreYesterday at 11:57 PM

The judge seemed to warn the witness to watch his temper and language with another tap from the gavel, however it might've just fallen off of it.. It was for not though. Bambam's sudden outburst would get them held in contempt. The prosecutor didn't seem to mind the case practically making itself. Like he said. Open and shut. He began putting some papers into an organized pile to put back in the evidence box.

BambamYesterday at 11:58 PM

Bambam kicked up a fuss as they were dragged out by Rex, tossed out of the room and given to some other guards to take care of. Sparkles could be heard jingling as they started shaking. This was bad. "No more questions~" Wallaby smirked and wandered back to his desk, leaning back and opened his snickers. omnomnom~

December 1, 2019

Mr. D.IpliéreToday at 12:08 AM

The prosecution Put the rest of the file back into his briefcase and waited for the judge's word... Again longer than necessary. Closing remarks.

"Your honour what should have been a cut and dry case was dragged through the mud and hung out to dry. But we all know who's responsible for these horrendous actions. And we have to keep in mind the safety of not only the Accused, but the people he spends his time with and around. Therefore, I surmise that if the appropriate punishment as dictated by this our court was followed then the real problem - no - the real threat... would remain in place." He adjusted the rims of his glasses. "You've heard it here today that the prisoners don't wish to leave Happy Trails. That suggests not only that rehabilitation is not working, but that it is fostering this kind of environment where behaviour like this thrives. Gangs growing, crime rising. Fifteen years the prison goes without a fight. And now, suddenly, it's all growing. And it's all... Surrounding... The Warden." He paused. "But we're not here discussing the misdeeds of a prison warden, if we were we would be here for a very long time your honour." He chuckled. "But what the accused isn't the chair, isn't one death on our hands enough? Isn't this suffering enough? Daily one hour sessions aren't enough for a prisoner with PTSD. Real security measures must be put in place to protect everyone. These crimes cannot go unanswered. I hope you'll make the right decision, your honour. Think about what's best for the state, for the prison.... for the world."*

WallabyToday at 12:20 AM

Wallaby stood. "What we clearly have is a ruthless psychopathic murderer on our hands! One that can't be controlled! If not the chair then clearly the padded cells are what waits them!" Wallaby huffed. "While they are most certainly a sweetheart, inside lies a beast waiting to jump owut! I hope you make the right decision your honor!"

Mr. D.IpliéreToday at 12:20 AM

There is a feeling in the air... like an old tube tv being left on all night.. there seems to be a red static effect around him for a few moments.

The bagel contemplated this for quite some time.........The room was silent... tense as it awaited a verdict.

In the case of Mr. Y. "Yancy" Iplier for the murder of Mr. Frank "Tooth Wallace in this the year of our lord 20biteen... We the carbed find the defendant...

The door to the back of the courtroom swings open and loudly shuts behind as a woman in white storms in . She walks all the way from one end of the room to the other, storming like a man on a mission. "Your honour, this court room is in serious violation and has grounds to be dismissed as Mistrial."(edited)The prosecution looked mortified. "On what grounds?" "FOR ONE THING THE DEFENSE IS EATING THE JUDGE" "You're being ridiculous." "No! This whole thing makes no sense at all! Why does he have a giant letter A? Why does he have a GUN?" This woman was not pleased.*

WallabyToday at 12:34 AM

Wallaby goes wide eyed, quickly putting the half eaten judge down "wh- n-noooooo! It's a perfectly respectable cowurt room!" Wilford started to protest, gun wafting in the air

Mr. D.IpliéreToday at 12:36 AM

The womans eyes lit up like fire behind her glasses. The Prosecution's demeanor cracked a little. She turned on her heel and just... walked behind the judge counter... Taking a piece of paper from in front of where the bagel used to be and reading it out loud. "Mr Y. Yancy. On the grounds of improper legal council proceedings and a seemingly under prepared lawyer defending you, I have no choice but to dismiss this case. You're free to go." She says firmly, taking the gavel and tapping it with a loud solid crack.

WallabyToday at 12:40 AM

Wilford fidgeted and wandered closer to Mr. Ipliére ..... "I-............." He fidgeted his hands together "Are we fired?"

Mr. D.IpliéreToday at 12:45 AM

Mr. Ipliére smirked. "Probably won't be allowed to run another court show, ol' boy." He said with a little smirk. "Now... you should go celebrate with your client. Enjoy the rest of your night, Mr... Wallaby." He gave a slight smile... And watched the woman put the courtroom back in order. The trial would go through an evaluation and, most likely, completely be appealed. She marched over to them both. "YOU! What in HELL where you thinking?" She asked loudly. "Kathryn please-" "NO! Don't you Kathryn please me! you were COMPLETELY unprofessional and nearly cost this man his life." There was a loud popping sound and the red around the man got a little brighter. He tried to walk away from her and his silhouette seemed.. delayed behind him. "Hey Get back here!" She shouted. He was leading the hurricane away from Wil and Yancy. No more shouting for one day...

WilfordToday at 12:47 AM

Wilford jumped back a bit "ah... probably nawt... ah but a good defense case from you! Sawry if my prosecution was a bit har-!!!" He jumped back and looked to Mr Ipliére. choosing to run with him instead. Heh this would be fun! More fn than a boring court room! "You still want that smoothie?" He chuckled as he ran with Dark away from the hurricane that was Kathryn.

DarkiplierToday at 12:51 AM

Dark shook his head. “....sure fine. Your treat though. I did so much research for thi-“ “GET BACK HERE” Power walking faster thank you fuck

WilfordToday at 12:52 AM

Wilford laughs, taking Dark's ring hand and suddenly they were gone with a little waggle of a pink mustache... left his pants behind. Yancy stared in...absolute disbelief. He was certain he was going to get the chair. Ba-bambam... they'd done so much to protect him. And the doctor too! And-..... Mr Dark... He glanced down to his right hand, thumb running over the letters. ....... Thank you.... both o you.... He kept his head down, just waiting. His body was still shaking, his back hurt it was so tense, his ribs hurt from hunching forward, his eyes were burning as tears fell down his face. Slowly his eyes passed tot he Warden........ Slowly but surely the officials obeyed the ruling of the angry woman and eaten bagel.... They filed out. Rex came to grab Yancy and the other inmates, dragging them all back to Solitary. Yancy, to the wardens office to discuss further with him. Court was no longer in session....

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#ooc #ooc post #ask yancy #official-alex-stuff #markimoojackaboi #thegayneighboroodcannibal #yancys trial

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