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sshadowritestoriess · 1 year

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UH HI TELEPORTS BEHIND YOU.

would u be willing to write reader comforting cassidy. my mind is set on “i can fix him” mode rn i need to hold that man

HAHA certainly, I’ll give this a shot :]

Comforting Cassidy

Mind you, Cole Cassidy is far from being a dependent man. He enjoys his life and how far he’s come, likes what he’s got going. Gets a kick out of being a hero, really, even if that is a bit selfish

But that doesn’t mean things don’t get to him every now and again

A reputation can be a man’s greatest curse, and Cole has quite the ledger dragging behind him.

As much as he leans into the things he does now, figuring himself a better man— though a lot harder than robbing banks, he’d often say. But that just meant the work is worth it— the past never quite lets go, even if he did.

The Deadlock gang was just becoming more of a nuisance every time they happened to find him. He couldn’t help a smile for the nostalgia, but as time ebbs on it starts to get old

His involvement with Blackwatch wasn’t entirely his fault. At least, not in terms of all their wrongdoings. He just wanted to do right, but Reyes turned out to be quite the conflicting role model

And then Overwatch ended up disbanded after he’d already walked out. It’s what the world had wanted, apparently. Every news story preached about the fall of these “terrorists”, something he took to heart a little when his name kept getting used as one of the bad examples.

He knew he hadn’t been the best person. He couldn’t deny the things he did, but that’s why he had come to Overwatch— to try and make up for those things by enacting Justice for others.

So while he’d been doing a whole lot of trying for the last several years, he sure was getting a whole lot of shit for it. Still. Even when he was beginning to believe his good deeds were finally outweighing the bad.

So, yeah, it got to him sometimes. A recent headline, CRIMINAL MISTAKENLY EXPOSES JUNKER HEIST, ESCAPES POLICE SHOOTOUT — which was no accident.

He’d slipped a tip to the head chief when he’d run into the man at a bar, having intercepted a call between some other wanted felons. There was a literal recording of the conversation in the envelope he’d left— what part of that was “mistaken”?

When their troops didn’t arrive, Cassidy took it upon himself to hold them off until they finally realized he wasn’t bullshitting. Yet when help finally came, he was roped in with the bad guys, and he was shot at.

Adrenaline and frustration makes for one hell of a drug. Even through the fray, he didn’t stop taking down the junkers until he was positive the police could handle what was left of them. Then he fled.

He’d had to take off his hat and wrap it carefully into his serape, ducking behind a dumpster just around a building to tie his hair up— then glancing down to realize he’d been shot through his side— and slipped away from the scene through an alley. He held the bundle of red cloth between his arms like a football, covering where he’d been hit.

It was a lousy disguise, but the hat made for a pretty recognizable target when he’s being pursued. Hiding it lowered his chances of being approached, despite the soft clanking of peacekeeper in its holster.

So he’d managed to limp all the way back home, a temporary apartment just in the outskirts of the city. Your car was parked by the curb across the street— home early. Damn.

He came inside and you greeted him as normal, but noticed quickly the hard look in his eyes and the sweat on his brow. There was a scrape in his prosthetic, a dent in the armor of his chest, and a growing dark spot in the bundled serape.

Your worrying was always endearing, he just hates being the cause for your fret.

“I’m alright, pumpkin, just had a bit of a tussle-“ he’d try to tell you gently, a blatant lie that sank like a rock in his throat when you’d spotted the bullet wound.

You hurried him to lay on the couch, fetching some medical supplies you kept under the kitchen sink. Treating bullet wounds was a skill he’d had the misfortune to teach you, this wasn’t anywhere close to the first time he’d been shot since he met you and it absolutely wouldn’t be the last.

He could do it himself, but you had more careful hands than he did.

You demanded to know what happened, and he gave you the rundown. He always made sure to reiterate these encounters as if he were telling an exciting story, glorifying his actions like he were some kind of superhero.

This often lessened your concerns, but you still didn’t like when he gets hurt. You weren’t going to try and convince him to stop, though— you knew he was likely going to remain on this road until something eventually gets in his way

And then you asked a question he most commonly lied about.

“Are you feeling okay?”

Thus his default response, “Course I am, darlin’. Why wouldn’t I be?”

A soft smile, and a kiss. But you always had your suspicions that he didn’t want to be open about what was really going on in his head.

Surface level, he really was okay. He didn’t need to talk about this things, what did it matter if he knew he’d never be deterred?

But a couple hours later, seeing that damned headline from the events of today, you actually caught his solemn sigh from where he sat at the edge of the bed, glaring into the screen of his phone that was far too bright this late into the evening.

You caught sight of the large capital letters and his troubled stare, but the screen went black and his gaze softened the moment your hand touched his back

“You’re allowed to be upset.” You told him, “You’ve got no reason to pretend around me.”

“Caught me, huh?” He offered half of a smile, but it was tired. He couldn’t meet your gaze anymore.

You pulled him to face you, embracing him as tightly as you could, and told him that he was a good man. He hugged you back, though far more gently than the way you tried to squeeze him

He would chuckle to you, “I know, I know,” then wait a couple moments before finally giving in, starting with a defeated, “…it’s just…”

He rambled a bit about his frustrations, and how conflicted he felt about himself at times. He knew he was doing the right thing, but what was most important was if he felt it was worth it— right? Was it worth it?

You would assure him that, yes, he’d done more than enough. He should do what makes him happiest— only to have him make a sappy joke about being with you in response.

“I’m serious.”

Another sigh, he sinks into your hold. “Yeah, yeah… I hear ya.” it was just hard not to deflect.

He felt your hand come up to his head suddenly, and you thread your fingers through his hair to pet him.

He melts. Comically, he pushes all his weight on you until you’re forced back onto your elbows, his face in your chest. He’s happy to hear your laugh

You both get into a more comfortable position, but you keep combing your hand through his hair. He has your waist trapped in his arms, sealed against him, and his eyes are closed.

“Y’always know what to say,” he murmurs eventually, “my lil’ corner of good in the world. How’d you manage that?”

“I know you. It’s not hard to guess.” You tell him, “And… you don’t owe me your thoughts Cole, but I hope you know I’m here for you. You can always talk to me, you know?”

He takes a while to finally nod against you, a grunt being a weak acknowledgment that he understood. “Jus’ hard, a bit. But I gotcha.” He presses a kiss into your jaw.

“We’ll get there.” You say patiently, and he grins.

He wasn’t a dependent man, but damn it all if he didn’t enjoy leaning into you like this sometimes. With you, he knew he’d do better for himself too.

#Cole Cassidy #overwatch #overwatch2 #cassidy x reader #cole cassidy x reader #reader insert #jesse mccree #mccree #fluff #comfort #cuddles #imagines #headcanons

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loolingz · 2 years

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— character: shidou ryusei x readerㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤsmut skit

warning ; public area sex, hatefuck. minors dni (17+ only)

you haven’t seen him since he left blue lock.

but you knew he was still alive. you knew he managed to do the impossible- to leave with his heart still beating. to leave with blood still pumping through his veins. and with a sense of morals to stick by. at first, it was just whispers here and there. rumors around your office. but then it was open and blatant conversations. sighting. images. and suddenly, shidou ryusei was no longer the ghost you thought he’d be. suddenly, he’s just a man standing in front of you on a crowded street. smiling at you as if you were old friends before asking if you wanted to spend some time with him.

you weren’t quite sure how to feel about that. and even now, as you stand facing the brick walls of some random alleyway, with your panties pulled down to your ankles and his dick lining up with your pussy from behind…

“fuck!”

…you’re still not sure how to feel about seeing him after all this time.

you can’t help the deep breaths that escape you as he pushes inside of your cunt. thankfully, he moves slowly as he sinks more and more of his cock into your pulsating hole. but from the get-go, he was determined to get his fill. to treat you as a warm body with an even warmer pussy just for him to enjoy. even if that means pressing himself flush against your back. crowding you between his body and a barrier. as if he didn’t want anyone to see you like this. as if he wanted you all to himself. at least, that’s what you’re trying not to tell yourself.

“god , what a foul mouth you have. all that noise just for a couple of inches of dick, huh?” he but purrs into your ear. his breath is so warm as it fans over your skin. the brush of his long hair against your neck has your body sending shivers down your spine, you can almost hear the way he smirks at your reactions. but you can imagine it perfectly. that stupid, knowing, cocky grin on his face as he presses you harder against the wall. you can picture it so well it feels like he never left. and you hate it. “Be careful now. I might just fall in love with you again. we don’t want that, do we? ”

you hate it, you hate it, you hate him.

but he doesn’t give you time to hate the feeling that he gives you. because no sooner than the words leave his mouth, he’s pulling halfway out. you’re moaning at the feeling of his cock dragging against your walls as he makes his exit. but a second later, he’s hands are creating bruises around your waist as his hips snap back into yours. it causes you to gasp as he somehow manages to hit a spot deep inside of you that makes it hard to think about anything else except for the feeling of him pulling out once more. just to snap his back in again. and again. and again.

the emotion that hits you the hardest is pleasure. it’s a natural response. a human response. but it’s a response that has you going cross-eyed and drooling, and you brace yourself against the wall. a response that has you getting way louder than you should be for being fucked so sloppily in a public place. a response that your body grows warm with a mixture of lust and embarrassment. lust because you like what you feel. and you like it a lot. but embarrassment because you despise the man who’s making you feel this way.

and that you wished he had done this sooner.

“you wanna know what I think?” he muses as his warm palm leaves its place on your waist and lays flat against your lower stomach almost possessively.“I think you haven’t had anyone in here in a long time. didn’t change since high school now, did you?”

it’s with a half-working brain that you realize he’s back to talking again with that velvety finish to everything he says. back to speaking his mind like he always did. at the wrong times. to the wrong people. but is it so wrong that you just wished he could go back to shutting up? is it so bad that you just want him to go back to grunting curses and promises against your skin as you two become closer than you’ve ever been before? no, it couldn’t be wrong. but you never liked him. you never did. that’s what you always told yourself, even if your body reacted differently. even if your thoughts disagreed with you, only thinking of his devilish grin and him in general. so what’s wrong with wanting nothing more than a warm body to get your fill? that’s all he wanted from you.

“at least, i don’t think you’ve had anyone good in here. am i correct?”

and that’s all you wanted from him. at least, at the moment.

“ fuck …fuck you shidou,” your words are coming out in slurs as he speeds up his pace. but you curse his name all the same because fuck him. you hate him. you hate everything about him. the way he looks. the way he talks. the way he carelessly would start fights. the way he was able to walk away from you for soccer. the way that he was right about the fact that you haven’t had a good fuck in what must have been months. you hate- no you despise, you loathe it all. “just… f-fuck…fuck you…shidou.”

“ryusei, doll. ryusei. i’m not the senior you adored anymore as a junior. remember that.” but he’s quick to quip back with something so stupid you can’t help but squeeze your eyes shut in an attempt to pretend it’s not him. in an attempt to pretend that he’s not really here. that you didn’t say yes to going to a second location with him and that his hand isn’t currently reaching down to rub tiny, furious little circles into your clit as lips find your neck. that you didn’t want to sleep with him as badly as he wanted to sleep with you. in an attempt to pretend that you still don’t love him. “now call me that when I fuck you. got it?”

but you can’t.

because ryusei shidou was never a ghost. because ryusei shidou never loses. and because the man right behind you is determined to have you. and maybe you’re not sure about how that makes you feel. maybe you’re still not sure about how any of this makes you feel. but one thing is for certain. It’s that maybe…just maybe…maybe you don’t hate him as much as you think you do. but who can blame you?

“then fuck me, ryusei. and do it right.”

you’re only human.

#shidou ryusei #shidou ryusei x reader #blue lock #blue lock smut #bllk #bllk smut #bllk x yn #bllk x reader #hatefuck #enemies to lovers #enemies and lovers #loolingz #shido ryusei #shido ryusei x reader #blue lock x reader

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shynerdwantscuddles · 9 months

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Ok, so I’m going to walk y’all through some of the basics of spotting antisemitism as gently as I can muster, considering a lot of y’all have been ignoring Jews trying to teach you this stuff for years:

Jews controlling the world, banks, or media is rooted in antisemitic conspiracy theories. Another version of this is the idea that Jews are a part of some secret organization.

Jews being stereotyped as greedy, rich, and untrustworthy is an antisemitic trope that has existed since well before the Holocaust.

Anything involving Jews drinking blood, killing babies in rituals, or stealing children is rooted in blood libel, which is old antisemitism and VERY antisemitic.

“Noticing patterns” is an antisemitic dog whistle. Also sometimes spelled “noseticing” to mock Jewish people's noses. It’s tied into the conspiracy theory that Jews control everything.

If you see someone’s name surrounded by parentheses like this ((insert name here)) that’s called the “echo” and is used by neo-Nazis to signal to other Nazis that a person is Jewish.

Saying Jews are in league with Satan is an obvious antisemitic thing, but it can sometimes be snuck into media, statements, and posts in more subtle ways. If someone has the Bible verse John 8:44 in their bio or posts, they’re probably a Nazi. Jews are also sometimes portrayed as having horns or other devil like characteristics. This is also old antisemitism.

Media that portrays characters as having very exaggerated, hooked noses while being stereotypically mean, unattractive, or greedy-looking is often intended to be Jewish caricatures. This one’s a bit harder to explain, but if you want a perfect example of this, look up a Nazi-era propaganda poster and compare it to the goblins in the Harry Potter movies and video game. There’s even a Star of David in the goblin run banks in one of the movies. It’s so blatant.

These are just some common, basic examples of antisemitism. I’ve witnessed almost every single one of these multiple times on Tumblr alone. Some other things to keep in mind are that Jews are only .2% of the population, and I’d be suspicious of anyone trying to make that percentage look bigger to suggest we have more influence and control than we do.

#I don’t know why I even bother trying #just to be dispassionated once again by goyim #but I’m tired as fuck of seeing goyim deny that something is antisemitic when it clearly is just because they’ve never listened to a Jewish #person about antisemitism #my post #antisemitism #tw harry potter

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beemoon17 · 2 months

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My Personal Fox Rankings

I saw @yourleftpinkytoe-blog do this and thought I'd give it a go! These are just my personal rankings and obviously I'd love to talk about why or hear about anyone else's.

Kevin Day (I relate to his mental health struggles and his need for perfection, he's giving gifted kid syndrome, autistic af)

Andrew Minyard (Devoted to his family, enforces his boundaries, relate to his mental health struggles, killing for his brother)

Neil Josten (Most of my love for him is because of his love for other characters, his loyalty and protectiveness over the family he found in the Foxes and his absolute devotion to respecting Andrew's boundaries)

David Wymack ("It's about second chances, Neil. Second, third, fourth, whatever, as long as you get at least one more than what anyone else wanted to give you." I think that covers all my reasoning)

Seth Gordon (We don't get to learn as much about him as the others but Seth hit me a lot harder than I've seen most people feel. He wanted to prove himself, he wanted to be better, he wanted to win. He's the what if. The almost. Every kid who couldn't be saved, Who gave up or was given up on a minute too soon. He was almost there. And then he was gone.)

Aaron Minyard (I have a weak spot for sibling relationships, killing for his brother, the urge to protect your siblings and to stay by your siblings side and at the same time wanting to prove you can be more or different or better than them, not understanding each other completely but knowing you stand and fall together always.)

Matt Boyd (100% projected every urge I've ever had to have a big brother onto him. The way he's always there on the Court to physically protect his teammates, he's big and strong and powerful, but off the Court he is kind and caring and gentle. He loves the Foxes and he has their backs. His relationship with Neil was everything.)

Nicky Hemmick (I loved his blatant and unavoidable queerness, for a character who has canonically been shammed and abused for his sexuality and coming from a world myself where I don't feel safe or brave enough to be unapologetically queer it's so beautiful to read. He took in the twins, he never gave up on them, never walked away. The twins weren't easy, not before the story started and not when we get to arrive in it, but he loves his family and he wants them to have better than he did, and that means something.)

Dan Wilds (Oh Captain my Captain. Dan is an amazing leader and my love for her comes from her devotion to her team. She is tough and she worked her ass off for the role she has, she's more than earned her share of respect. She believes in her team even after years of failing and bullshit.)

Betsy Dobson (The therapist we all dream of having. If Andrew could trust her I can't imagine anyone couldn't with enough time. She is a safe space and a constant, and clearly has patience for days with the twinyards as her clients. The fact that she provides hot chocolate is 100% a huge plus for me.)

Abby Winfield (Always there for the Foxes, whether that's patching them up, giving them a roof to sleep under, or cooking warm meals. She's a safe adult like Bee and Wymack and they are so very important and precious.)

Allison Reynolds (I love Allison, her being this low is NOT Allison hate, I simply did not connect with her as much as other characters, she is still dear to me, all of the Foxes are. She is devoted to the Foxes and found them somewhere safe to run off to and have some fun after shit went down. and even when the worst possible thing happens and she loses the man she loves she comes back ready to fight because she knows it's what he would've wanted.)

Renee Walker (Once again NOT Renee hate, all of those Foxes are dear to me. I had trouble with her "religious angel girl" attitude in a similar way to Neil, I just couldn't trust it. Renee is an amazing force within the Foxes, the bridge before Neil arrived, providing Andrew with an outlet and a friend, protecting the upperclassmen Foxes. I admire her for pulling herself out of darkness, even if I can't connect to the religious aspect, and I admire that she acknowledges and respects her old life, not burying it but not letting it control her future or her present day.

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neetily · 2 months

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Jealous Alex

— ✧ warnings: Size Kink, Public Sex, Exhibitionism, Breeding, Voyeurism, Dirty Talk, Light Sadism — ✧ word count: 1,100

— ✧ A/N: reposting from my old account since i was asked to! formatting might be off, but it's still readable.

“Shut up.” He whisper shouts against your neck, bouncing his knee under the saloon table at your whines of protest - knowing that he’s in turn bouncing you on his fat cock that’s currently shoved inside your tight cunt, throbbing against your walls at the way you selfishly squeeze in return. Has him panting down your ear, his hand gripping a bit too tightly at your hip in an effort you keep you still despite your constant wiggling around. Can’t say he’s complaining though, every roll of your hips drawing thick globs of precum from his angry red tip lodged against your cervix, cock too big for your small cunt. “Y'want attention that bad, huh?” He tuts, tugging at your waist when your cunt gives you away, clenching around him at his harsh words. “Y'wouldn’t be in this position if ya didn’t let Sam buy ya a drink, sweetheart.” His voice more like a hiss, searing against your blushing body as you scan the room for witnesses to his public display of claiming, thankful to see that no one is really paying attention - that is until you spot the knowing smirk from Sam himself, his brow quirking when your eyes meet, your view quickly shifting to Sebastian and the way he nervously fidgets with his hands in his hoodie pocket. Oh they definitely know, Alex makes sure of it.

He’s in love with the way he can completely manhandle you, his large palms effectively pinning you to his cock, humping up into your wet heat in miniscule thrusts just to tease you some more, your slick dripping down his length and leaving him needy for more. Follows your gaze to the offending men at the other side of the saloon, great impatience swelling in his chest that they’ve got your attention rather than him and his rock hard cock splitting you in two. Tiny little cunt begging for him regardless of your insistence of waiting until you got home to take his cock. No, he needs you now, wants to show not only you but the whole town if need be who you belong to, his mouth opening to sink his teeth into your neck. Not harshly, but enough to have you unmistakeably gasping at the sudden sharpness, causing him to groan into the mark when you unintentionally convulse around him. “So small aint'cha? Could bend y'over this table right now if I wanted to, huh? Bet ya’d like that - Shit, quit squeezing s'fuckin’ tight-”

And oh how he wants to do just that, to lift you up by his hips alone seeing as he’s strong enough to, bend your pretty little body over the table and fuck you right against it, just to prove to Sam that you’re his girl, his pretty little baby who has a cunt full of cock and is ready to cream around it if he could only pick up the pace a little. Wants to hear you admit it though, to have you babbling about how much you love him, how much you need him to breed your tiny cunt in front of everyone, a quick glance at Sam and Sebastian only making him harder at how obvious they are in their attraction to you, and he supposes he can’t blame them. You’re so cute when sat on his thick cock like this, so breathless at the stretch alone never mind when he restlessly fucks his hips against you, an obscene moan caught in your throat in your attempt to remain hidden. Making a blatant show of ruining you right in front of your two best friends, rolling his hips in circles to continuously have you on the edge of release without fully sending you over. He can feel how wet his clothing has got, your slick pooling on his shorts that’ll at least serve as a reminder that you belong to him. “Hows ‘bout we put on a show, eh?” He teases, wide smirk heard through his taunting words as one hand keeps your cunt flush against his pelvis, the other adding minor pressure to your upper back to have you leaning ever so slightly over the saloon table for both Sam and Sebastian’s viewing pleasure. Only he can fuck you like this, will show 'em exactly what they’re missing.

He thinks it’s beyond hot how you try your best to keep a straight face when he starts thrusting in almost unnoticeable fast thrusts, leaning back in his chair just enough so as to better hit your sweet spot. Immediately knows when he’s caught it, can hear you choke on the pleasure when he does it again, and again, and as he’s staring directly at your friends he sends them the smuggest wink possible, imagining that what they probably see are your shaking hands covering your lewd mouth, eyes rolled to the back of you head due to his precise fucking. Is too lost in your pussy to actually pay attention to how loud or noticeable he’s being, so focused on having you cum on his cock, breeding you in front of your friends that he’s tuned out to everything else. Can only hear your muffled sobs of forgiveness, the wet squelch every time your cunt suctions his cock back in, balls tight with want to load inside of you.

“Gonna fill ya up right in front of em, yeah? Go an’ show em who makes y'feel this good- Fuck- yer s'dirty, gettin’ off in front of everyone like that.” He mumbles against you, leaning forward to rest his head at the base of your neck, almost as if just hugging you. A bit too tightly, but still! Can’t help the way he starts rutting into you a little faster, cock controlling his movements as he seeks to ruin you, tip pushed as deep as possible to shoot his seed directly against your cervix, hiding a growl against your skin when it sets off your chain reaction orgasm, cunt contracting to swallow up his fat load as he continues to hump into you - fuck his cum deeper into you. Can hear the audible whine you finally let out, long and deep and just for him, peeking out from behind your back to see the two red faces of your best friends. And perhaps a couple of… questionable looks from some other townsfolk. Can’t think to care much about their opinion when you’re milking him dry though, big dopey smile present on his face when he kisses your cheek softly, sighing adoringly while you tremble in his lap.

“Such a good girl. Yer mine, kay?”

#sdv smut #stardew valley smut #sdv alex smut #stardew valley alex smut #alex🏈

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manias-wordcount · 2 years

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Only Human (Osamu Dazai)

Kinktober 2022 Day Five: Hatefuck

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

You haven’t seen him since he left the Port Mafia.

But you knew he was still alive. You knew he managed to do the impossible- to leave with his heart still beating. To leave with blood still pumping through his veins. And with a sense of morals to stick by. At first, it was just whispers here and there. Rumors around your office. But then it was open and blatant conversations. Sighting. Images. And suddenly, Osamu Dazai was no longer the ghost you thought he’d be. Suddenly, he’s just a man standing in front of you on a crowded street. Smiling at you as if you were old friends before asking if you wanted to spend some time with him.

And you weren’t quite sure how to feel about that. And even now, as you stand facing the brick walls of some random alleyway, with your panties pulled down to your ankles and his dick lining up with your hole from behind…

“Fuck!”

…you’re still not sure how to feel about seeing him after all this time.

You can’t help the deep breaths that escape you as he pushes inside of your cunt. Thankfully, he moves slowly as he sinks more and more of his cock into your pulsating hole. But from the get-go, he was determined to get his fill. To treat you as a warm body with an even warmer pussy just for him to enjoy. Even if that means pressing himself flush against your back. Crowding you between his body and a barrier. As if he didn’t want anyone to see you like this. As if he wanted you all to himself. At least, that’s what you’re trying not to tell yourself.

“God, what a foul mouth you have. All that noise just for a couple of inches of dick, huh?” He but purrs into your ear. His breath is so warm as it fans over your skin. The brush of his long hair against your neck has your body sending shivers down your spine. You can almost hear the way he smirks at your reactions. But you can imagine it perfectly. That stupid, knowing, cocky grin on his face as he presses you harder against the wall. You can picture it so well it feels like he never left. And you hate it. “Be careful now. I might just fall in love with you. And we don’t want that, do we?”

You hate it, you hate it, you hate it.

But he doesn’t give you time to hate the feeling that he gives you. Because no sooner than the words leave his mouth, he’s pulling halfway out. You’re moaning at the feeling of his cock dragging against your walls as he makes his exit. But a second later, he’s hands are creating bruises around your waist as his hips snap back into yours. It causes you to gasp as he somehow manages to hit a spot deep inside of you that makes it hard to think about anything else except for the feeling of him pulling out once more. Just to snap his back in again. And again. And again.

The emotion that hits you the hardest is pleasure. It’s a natural response. A human response. But it’s a response that has you going cross-eyed and drooling, and you brace yourself against the wall. A response that has you getting way louder than you should be for being fucked so sloppily in a public place. A response that your body grows warm with a mixture of lust and embarrassment. Lust because you like what you feel. And you like it a lot. But embarrassment because you despise the man who’s making you feel this way.

And that you wished he had done this sooner.

“You wanna know what I think?” He muses as a warm, bandaged palm leaves its place on your waist and lays flat against your lower stomach almost possessively.“I think you haven’t had anyone in here in a long time”

It’s with a half-working brain that you realize he’s back to talking again with that velvety finish to everything he says. Back to speaking his mind like he always did. At the wrong times. To the wrong people. But is it so wrong that you just wished he could go back to shutting up? Is it so bad that you just want him to go back to grunting curses and promises against your skin as you two become closer than you’ve ever been before? No, it couldn’t be wrong. But you never liked him. You never did. Not when you worked for him. And certainly not while he was the enemy. So what’s wrong with wanting nothing more than a warm body to get your fill? That’s all he wanted from you.

“At least, I don’t think you’ve had anyone good in here. Am I correct?”

And that’s all you wanted from him.

“Fuck…fuck you Dazai,” Your words are coming out in slurs as he speeds up his pace. But you curse his name all the same because fuck him. You hate him. You hate everything about him. The way he looks. The way he talks. The way he carries himself. The way he was able to walk away from the cage that binds you to death. The way that he was right about the fact that you haven’t had a good fuck in what must have been months. You hate- no you despise, you loathe it all. “Just…f-fuck…fuck you…Dazai”

“Osamu, sweetheart. Osamu. I’m not your boss anymore. Remember that.” But he’s quick to quip back with something so stupid you can’t help but squeeze your eyes shut in an attempt to pretend it’s not him. In an attempt to pretend that he’s not really here. That you didn’t say yes to going to a second location with an enemy and that his hand isn’t currently reaching down to rub tiny, furious little circles into your clit as lips find your neck. That you didn’t want to sleep with him as badly as he wanted to sleep with you. In an attempt to pretend that you’re not human. “Now call me that when I fuck you. Got it?”

But you can’t.

Because Osamu Dazai was never a ghost. Because Osamu Dazai never dies. And because the man right behind you is as real and as human as you. And maybe you’re not sure about how that makes you feel. Maybe you’re still not sure about how any of this makes you feel. But one thing is for certain. It’s that maybe…just maybe…maybe you don’t hate him as much as you. But who can blame you?

“Then fuck me, Osamu. And do it right.”

You’re only human.

#dazai #dazai x reader #bsd #bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs fanfic #Dazai Osamu #bsd dazai #dazai osamu x reader #bungou stray dogs fanfiction #bungo stray dogs fanfic #bungo stray dogs fanfiction #x reader #xreader #fanfiction #fanfic

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wonderfulworldofmichaelford · 1 year

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Is It Really That Bad?

Disney and Dreamworks have been locked in combat since day one, and honestly, can you blame them? The Katzenberg/Eisner feud is pretty legendary, with both men taking potshots at each other in films, and the drama behind stuff like A Bug’s Life and Antz has been done to death. The thing is, in the early years of Dreamworks, it was pretty clear that no matter how hard they tried, Disney was the one who was taking the Ws when it came to the cinemas. Stuff like Sinbad and The Road to El Dorado were flopping pretty hard, and while The Prince of Egypt was a success, the failure of the former two ended Dreamoworks’s hopes of ever competing with Disney in the 2D animated market. What’s a studio to do in a situation like that? Well, someBODY ONCE TOLD ME...

Shrek didn’t just solidify Dreamworks as a contender, that movie changed the course of animation in the 2000s all on its own. With its snarky humor, pop culture references, awesome pop soundtrack as opposed to musical numbers, and celebrity cast, Shrek codified many trends for animation going forward—for better and for worse. But whatever impact the film had pales in comparison to one simple, unignorable fact: This movie came out on top over Disney. It won the first ever Academy Award for Best Animated Picture, and considering how long Disney was in that game that must have really fucking stung. While Disney spent the early 2000s floundering and releasing flops that would only become cult classics later, Dreamworks was riding that green wave Shrek produced all the way to the bank. What’s a studio to do in a situation like that? Well, someBODY ONCE…

Oh no.

Chicken Little was Disney’s blatant attempt at making their own Shrek (with blackjack! And hookers!), but to say that things didn’t pan out well for Disney there is a vast understatement. Michael Eisner made sure to meddle as much as possible, turning a more straightforward adaptation of the fairy tale into a snarky, self-deprecating comedy about baseball and aliens, which certainly is a choice. This choice had some dire consequences; while not a bomb by any means, the film ruined the already-struggling career of The Emperor’s New Groove director Mark Dindal, producer Randy Fullmer left Disney with Dindal and went into making guitars, and ultimately Eisner himself became a victim of the film as well, with it being the final blow to his tenure at Disney after a decade of failed investments. Eisner ended up passing the torch to Bob Iger, who turned out to be a better leader than Eisner who never did or said anything quite as stupid!

Audience reaction to the movie has always been pretty mixed, to say the least. Reviewers on YouTube such as Schafrillas, Doug Walker, and Mr. Enter have used the film as their punching bag at various points, with the latter in particular helping shape the image of Buck Cluck as Disney’s most vile father figure. Audiences these days aren’t particularly receptive to it either, with most people considering it Disney’s absolute worst film, though there are nostalgic viewers with a soft spot for it. I first watched the film myself a few years back, and I was thoroughly disgusted and unimpressed by what I saw; for the longest time, I had it higher than Doogal on my list of the worst films ever. Fucking Doogal! Can a film really be that bad?!

Well, I decided to give it a second chance and find out if maybe my perception was just colored by all the negative reviews. Is Chicken Little really that bad, or is this just a so-so Shrek ripoff that people overreacted to?

THE GOOD

Most of the characters in this movie are actually decent, even if they’re a little cringe. Chicken Little himself is a likable dork, which only makes all the suffering and setbacks he goes through that much harder to watch; I think they made him too likable, y’know? His friend group is pretty solid as well, with Abby being an okay love interest, Runt being a nice guy (or maybe I should say Nice Guy considering what he does with a bimbofied Foxy Loxy at the end), and Fish Out of Water being a cute “lol so random XD” character. They aren’t the best thing ever, but they’re all pretty decent. I can see why Zach Braff likes voicing the title character so much, and it is cool he got to be in the best Kingdom Hearts game, so that’s something!

Though of, course none of them hold a candle to the absolute Chad that is Morkubine Porcupine, a character so fucking cool that he refuses to give this movie the dignity of more than three single words out of his mouth. If he had more dialogue, the whole movie might collapse under the sheer power of his voice. He’s like Black Bolt, except a porcupine, and in a marginally better piece of Disney media.

There’s a great sequence at the end of the movie that has a Pee-wee’s Big Adventure-esque film within the film about Chicken Little’s exploits… except he’s a ridiculously buff rooster voiced by Adam West in a film that looks like an insane version of Star Fox from the brief clips we see of it. Runt is in there as a hardcore, ugly warthog and Abby is an overly-sexualized space bimbo, but I’m not even particularly bothered by the fact they gave the girl chicken breasts because Adam West’s chicken breasts are so much more massive.

The entire scene, as brief as it is, is delightful thanks to West being West, and it honestly makes you wish that the whole movie was just a ridiculous space battle adventure… And everyone’s wish was granted when they released a pretty good video game based on this silly concept!

Of course, as is typical of any Disney movie, the best part is without a doubt the villain: Buck Cluck, Chicken Little’s own father.

In his youth, he was a strapping sports star, and because of this he feels a deep sense of shame at his son’s wild antics and is completely unable to relate to him. He constantly puts him down in front of others to try and salvage his own reputation, throwing him under the bus at every opportunity and refusing to support him. And even after Chicken Little pushes himself to the limit and becomes a baseball star all so he can earn even the slightest smidgen of his father’s respect, Buck is quick to cast him aside once more all so that he can try and keep the dignity among the townsfolk he mooched off of his son’s victory. Buck Cluck is the proto-Mother Gothel, a distant and absent parent for the ages, and one of the most despicable foes the studio has ever produced. Hell, I might even go as far as to say he’s one of the greatest villains of all ti-

Wait, hold on. I’m being informed that Buck… isn’t intentionally a villain? He’s supposed to be… sympathetic…?

THE BAD

I’VE COME TO MAKE AN ANNOUNCEMENT! BUCK “THE CUCK” CLUCK’S A BITCH-ASS MOTHERFUCKER!

Ok, ok, let’s be serious for a second. I’m gonna get a bit controversial here, but Buck Cluck isn’t nearly as evil as people make him out to be.

Let me explain: While the film’s narrative completely and utterly fails to make his redemption feel earned at all, it’s not like he was ever really intentionally or even physically abusive like Frollo, Gothel, or Lady Tremaine were. Buck Cluck has a very real problem a parent can have, in that he has a hard time relating to his son while being a single parent that is likely still dealing with the loss of his wife. The issue is the movie doesn’t bother trying to flesh him or his feelings out and tries its damndest to make him look like a good guy all while he emotionally neglects his child.

All this being said, his vocal performance from The Princess Diaries director Garry Marshall is actually pretty great, he gets a few good jokes here and there, and it’s actually really endearingly goofy when he overcompensates with loving his son in the third act. While I’m never going to stop treating the character like he’s Chicken Hitler, I want it to be clear that my jabs at him are very much in the same vein as someone like Huey Emmerich. The difference, of course, is that Huey is an intentional case of making a character you love to hate, while Buck is accidental. And that’s why this segment is here, in “The Bad” part of the review: The movie failed this man so bad that he is put alongside characters like Shou Tucker, Ragyo Kiryuin, and Fire Lord Ozai in animated parent rankings. How do you fuck up that badly? Mainly by deleting the scenes where he actually gets development or characterization beyond being a lousy parent, that’s how!

These writing issues don’t just affect Buck, though; literally the entire movie is as messy as that Kentucky fried bastard’s characterization. The main issue is with the story itself. Now, when you have a movie called Chicken Little, you kind of expect an adaptation of the fable of the same name. And since this is Disney, you wouldn’t be stupid to assume that’s what they’d do, considering adapting fables, myths, and fairy tales is basically their bread and butter. But that is decidedly not what they did here; instead, they decided to make Jimmy Neutron: Boy Genius by way of Shrek, because movies like that were popular at the time, and what we’re left with is a film populated by mean-spirited jerkasses who do nothing but dump on our likable main character as he takes part in a story to win the love of his dad via baseball that suddenly, out of completely nowhere, turns into an alien invasion movie about halfway through. Absolutely none of these elements work well together, and the film comes off felling like it was stitched together from unrelated scripts and turned into an unholy Frankenstein of bad ideas.

Not helping helping the disjointed story are the desperate attempts to seem cool. I like Morkubine Porcupine, he’s one of the better gags in the film, but he is so plainly a desperate attempt at creating an ensemble darkhorse that it hurts (the fact it actually worked in spite of this is nothing short of miraculous). The humor is very much aping Shrek, with lots of snarky humor and mean-spirited characters which ends up not working because it’s too cruel, and even ignoring that the pop culture references (a staple of Dreamworks at the time) just all come out of nowhere. Why is the fish reenacting King Kong? Why are these animals watching Raiders of the Lost Ark, and why is Indy still a human? Why did Disney think referencing the lemming suicide myth was a good idea when they literally perpetuated that myth by driving lemmings off a cliff for a movie?

Then there’s the animation. It is so blatantly obvious that this is Disney’s first time making a fully computer animated movie without Pixar’s help. A lot of characters look really unpolished, and even worse is that a lot of the characters are extremely overanimated. If you wanna see what I mean, watch Abby at the end of the dodgeball scene when she’s talking to Chicken Little. She just never fucking stops moving! Once you notice it, it becomes really distracting.

But by far the worst thing this movie does is the constant needle drops. This movie would make The Super Mario Bros. Movie blush with its overuse of licensed music, and it sure feels like Suicide Squad took notes from this because they cram so many tracks in here it’s not even funny. Sometimes they even just have thew characters sing them because… who fucking knows. Barenaked Ladies gets a pretty fat W with their song “One Little Slip” playing over our introduction to Chicken Little, but after that we either get the most obvious songs possible for any given seen (“It’s the End of the World as We Know It” plays over the alien invasion at the end, because of course it does) to “what the actual fuck is this doing here in the movie” (“Wannabe” by the Spice Girls is sung by Runt and Abby during a karaoke session, proving that canceling the Spice World review was not enough to save me from this band).

youtube

IS IT REALLY THAT BAD?

Alright guys, here comes my hottest take ever: Chicken Little… isn’t that bad.

Now, don’t get me wrong! This movie is still not really good at all. It’s disjointed, mean-spirited, confused, and stuffed to the brim with the tropes and trappings of every bad animated movie of the 2000s. But all of that is also what helps make this so genuinely fascinating! When Dreamworks did stuff like this, it was whatever, that studio is a rising contender in the animation game… but this is Disney! This is THE animation studio, the biggest around, and they’re making every single mistake possible because they want to try and beat Dreamworks at their own game, and they are failing at it! It’s honestly so funny that they tried to make their own version of Shrek without any sort of understanding of what made Shrek work.

But even beyond that, even though this movie is bad, it’s not really worse than Shark Tale is, and that is a premier so bad it’s good film. Really, this movie is the opposite of that film in many ways. Where that film had a world that was too overly nice and propped up the shittiest main character animated at the time, this movie has an insanely cruel world where the sweet, charming, heavily traumatized child is incessantly beaten down and belittled to the point you half expect him to try and dive headfirst into a deep fryer; where that film had a single generic plot that was at least remarkably consistent, this film has two separate plots that don’t go together at all and just end up making both halves of the film feel stupid and pointless; and where in that film Oscar is desperately seeking love from his peers due to his sheer selfishness, Chicken Little just wants the love and respect of his father. Pile on that the mountain of similarities, from the overuse of lame pop culture references for the sake of pop culture references gags to the bland love interests, and you have the Awesomely Bad Animation Double Feature of your dreams.

So yeah, I think the rating it has is about what it deserves. This is easily one of Disney’s weakest entries for sure, but it’s not without its moments and it has some amusing jokes, charming characters, and Adam West as a buff space chicken. If you go in with lowered expectations, you might be amused, but honestly I get why this film is so absolutely despised. It really isn’t great at all, and is firmly in the “so bad it’s good” category. You can’t really expect much more from a movie that presents a character whose biggest crime was just being an asshole getting their personality overwritten with a girly-girl one that the comic relief fat guy insists is perfect as a hilarious joke and then leads into a dance party ending where the whole cast sings Elton John.

...Or you could expect more if it weren’t for that son of a bitch Buck Cluck. Fuck that guy.

#Is it really that bad #Chicken Little #Disney #review #movie review #Zach Braff #animation #animated movie #Disney animation

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the-bats-who-simp · 5 months

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Blood-Hair and Sin

-A Bat Coven LLC Production-

Written by: @the-bats-who-simp

Summary: Vivian Peterson has been raised by her hyper-religious parents under the belief that she's some type of sin and scourn of the family. They work her harder to make up for it. Although, at some point, a breaking point has to be hit.

Warnings: Religious trauma, abuse, child abuse, burns, brief nudity, very light sexual content, brothels, prostitution, witches.

◇◇◇

"Viv, I'm serious, you have to get out of that house before it literally kills you, or worse." Samuel pressed again, leaning against the Ms. Pac-Man arcade cabinet Vivian was engrossed in. Her eyes darted around the screen, following the round yellow game sprite as it moved around the maze, eating little pellets while outsmarting the little ghosts. Ms. Pac-Man ate the last white dot on the maze before a fresh round of pellets greeted her for the fourth time.

"Samuel, if you keep distracting me, I'll fail before I'm even close to beating this score and you'll embarass me in front of everyone." She replied, not meeting his gaze. Even blinded by the arcade's flashing lights, her peripheral vision saw her friend's blatant eye roll.

"More than that "Little House on the Prairie" dress you have on? That's more embarassing than sporting a six thousand score. You already have the top two spots on this cabinet, you don't need to prove anything." Samuel protested. Vivian jerked the joystick and ran directly into a freshly reactivated Blinky, ending her run with a pathetic electronic whine. Vivian sighed, looking directly at Samuel with a peeved expression.

"Were you even listening to me?" He asked her, his blue eyes boring into her brown ones. Vivian held out a hand, palm up, refusing to dignify him with a response before he compensated her for the loss. Samuel sighed, reaching into his pocket and passing her another of his quarters. She inserted it into the cabinet's coin slot, starting up a fresh round.

"I was listening, by the way, and I don't want to hear it. I have nowhere I could go if I was to run away, or worse get thrown out." Vivian said, her eyes moving around the maze again with practiced concentration.

"You could come with me and we can split our quarters on some McNuggets or something."

"I know nothing about where you live or with whom. For all I know you're trying to lure me away to your hellhole of a house infested with rats and used needles."

"Ouch, Viv. I thought you knew me better than that." Samuel quipped back, earning an eye roll from Vivian.

"And, for the record, my father has a suspiciously keen sense of smell when it comes to fast food. Do you remember when we split that burger a couple months ago?"

"Yeah?"

Vivian just shot Samuel a look, a sad smirk on her face before returning her eyes to the arcade cabinet. Samuel just nodded, watching Vivian finish the round, a new set of pellets illuminating her face. Round cheeks, brown eyes framed by long eyelashes, her lips a perfect dusty rose color, none of which was touched by makeup. Her most discernable feature was, of course, being her bright red tresses cascading down her back, a perfect match to freshly spilled blood.

Vivian's mother harshly straightened it every morning, even the smallest of waves that appeared in it upset her. Vivian accepted it as a way of life, Samuel wondered if it had anything to do with her parents' stick straight hair (had her father grown it out beyond a crop, that is). He never voiced this to her in depth; even if he did, Vivian's understanding of genetics was slim.

"What time is it?" She asked after a while, finishing her third round. Samuel glanced at his watch, pursing his lips.

"Five-oh-three?"

"FUCK!" Vivian swore, once again jerking her joystick harshly, earning her another electronic whine.

"What?" Samuel asked. "We usually stay out for a little longer. Isn't dinner for you at six-thirty?"

"Yeah, but I need to grocery shop, too. I wanted to be at the store by five." Vivian abandoned the machine and grabbed Samuel by his shirt sleeve, running out of the front of the arcade.

"Viv, relax, it's okay, I'll come help, just tell me what you need." Samuel replied, speedwalking next to Vivian. She wasn't much of a runner, both because it made her cough and because she didn't want to get her clothes sweaty.

"Okay, okay, uh... for dinner itself, I need chicken, asparagus, potatoes, I think we need more lemon pepper, too... Peanut butter, the Planters brand, smooth and don't you dare even touch the Peter Pan brand--"

"What do you have against Peter Pan?"

"Nothing, but Peter Pan's a magical boy in a magical land."

"Right... and I thought you liked crunchy peanut butter?"

"I do, but Joseph doesn't and he throws a fit if he doesn't get smooth... God, I never get what I want for food."

The pair burst through the doors of the local general store at about five-sixteen. Vivian grabbed a basket at the same time Samuel did, darting off in different directions of the shop.

Plain Cheerios, one-percent milk-- not two-percent, a block of cheddar cheese, frozen peas and carrots, spaghetti, we still have a jar of tomato sauce at home, don't touch the candy-- you haven't done anything to deserve sweets, you never do, Father needs his toothpaste-- mint, not wintergreen, the freshest beef for the lowest price, broccoli, green beans, and white bread on top-- Father can't stand squished bread.

Vivian and Samuel met back at the till, only slightly out of breath. She roamed her eyes over the selection Samuel had picked out, eyeing the chicken breasts in particular.

"Was that the lowest price?" She asked skeptically.

"By thirteen cents." Samuel replied.

"Chicken gets more expensive by the week." Vivian sighed, passing the baskets to the worker and pulling out her coin purse, praying she had enough. "Good luck to me to explain that to Father..."

Vivian handed over the money as the cashier handed her back her brown paper sacks of groceries and her change, two dollars and fourteen cents. She bid him goodbye and wordlessly nodded to Samuel, parting ways as the sun started to sink behind the distant mountains. It cast a nice orange glow on the surrounding area. Vivian knew, on the other hand, the longer her shadow grew, the less time she had before she had to be home. Hopefully her dinner with her two dollar and extra offering would be enough to please her parents for the night, even if she was cutting it close.

Don't be silly. It's never enough.

The house wasn't very big. It was all one story with a slanted roof, giving the illusion of a second story. Living room, kitchen, dining room, one and a half bathrooms, and three bedrooms. Viv supposed she could count herself lucky that she got one room to herself. Her parents didn't want her sharing with her brothers and her older sister had married and moved out years ago.

Vivian took in a deep breath before pushing the front door open, struggling with her bags while trying to get her shoes off. No dirt should be tracked in. Using her toes, she delicately placed them perfectly in their designated spot and moved through the living room to the kitchen. She set the sacks down and started pulling things out, setting aside the ingredients for dinner near the stove. Her eye caught the price label on the plastic covering the chicken again, silently groaning over the slightly higher than usual price.

"You're a bit later than usual." Vivian's mother said deceptively calmly, sliding into the kitchen. Angela's dark brown hair was tied in a tight bun at the base of her head, very faint gray streaks shooting through it. Vivian had tried buns for a while, trying to avoid the straightener, but her hair always fell out soon after.

"Register was having trouble." Vivian lied evenly through her teeth, carefully moving the bread to the breadbox as if transporting crown jewels.

"Your hair didn't hold as well today." Angela said, her eyes flicking up and down. What had started the morning as straight sticks had turned into waves, the hairs near the top of her head full on curls. Vivian swore silently, knowing sweat and running was the cause. Well respecting ladies don't run, they don't get sticky. She instead shrugged.

"It comes loose sometimes. You know how it goes." Vivian replied, reaching for her coin purse and passing it to her mother. "Two-fourteen. Prices climbed a bit more today."

Angela took the coin purse silently and left the kicthen soon after. Vivian exhaled and went to preheat the oven before washing her hands. She never really understood why her parents held her in such contempt in particular. They were lenient with the boys and Rebecca wasn't treated nearly as cooly. Though, then again, Rebecca didn't--

Vivian shoved the thought away, rubbing at her arm before grabbing a knife to free the chicken from its packaging.

***

Mashing potatoes by hand always left Vivian with a strong cramp below her right thumb, but she never dared voice it. Everyone took their potatoes with butter except for Joseph, her youngest brother, he took his plain. Angela liked pepper on hers, her father liked garlic. Vivian chose garlic, butter, salt, and cheese. Isaac always jeered her for adding cheese. Vivian always ignored it.

Vivian had made it a habit to eat quickly so she would be the first one done. She was expected to take dishes to the kitchen and wash them as soon as someone was done, regardless if she was finished eating or not. Her food would always be cold by the time she wss able to get back to it. "A wife must drop everything to please her husband," her parents would say. Vivian knew better than to bite back with something sarcastic.

Vivian's oldest brother, David, was the last to finish, so she grabbed his plate the second he ate his last bite, hardly giving her a thank you for the service or complimenting her cooking. David left and before Viv could return to the kitchen to clean it, her father stopped her.

"Vivian, come to the living room once you're done." Silas said tonelessly.

"Yes, sir." Vivian replied, skittering to the kitchen with a racing heart. Odds were good that she was about to be reprimanded, and odds were even better that she'd go to bed crying because of it. Still, it was better to not keep her parents waiting, so she couldn't even take her time with the washing. The sponge still shook in her grasp.

Vivian put the plate on the rack and moved to the living room, finding her parents standing in front of her father's sitting chair. It was one of the nicest things in the house, leather with a nice knitted blanket over the armrest. Viv knew it as the chair she sat in when she was going to get chewed out, as did the other Peterson children. Her parents' logic was that they wouldn't want to sit in Silas' big comfy chair if they associated it with being punished.

Vivian sat in it graciously, her posture perfect and a neutral expression on her face, looking at her parents expectantly.

"I assume you know what this is about?" Silas asked. Vivian swallowed.

"I promise, that was the cheapest chicken by thirteen cents." She blurted.

"Yes, because that store owner is a damned crook. But that's not what this is about."

"It's not?" Vivian blinked. If it wasn't the chicken, then it was only going to get worse. That would have been her getting off easy.

"No. Your mother noticed your hair was stringy and the sweat stains on your dress. It only got to sixty-three degrees today."

"Yes, sir."

"You ran home, didn't you? Because the register was having trouble?"

There was no point in denying it. "Yes, sir."

Silas' lips flattened and curled up slightly. More dangerous of a sign than a poisonous bug flashing their colors to ward off predators.

"How many times must you be told to not lie? I'll give you exactly one chance to correct yourself." He said thinly. Vivian began to sweat.

"I...I lost track of time."

"Why did you tell your mother that it was the register? Someone else's fault?"

"Because... because..."

"Because you were at the arcade again. With that boy we said you couldn't see." Silas spat. Vivian went from sweating to freezing, a chill pumping through her veins that made her heart pound faster than a jackrabbit.

"I-I-I..."

"Entering a place of sin, frivolity, let alone with a boy we forbade you from talking to. Vivian Eve Peterson, what do you even have to say for yourself?" Angela snapped.

"What problem do you even have with Samuel? He's the only person who's ever nice to me." Vivian replied before she could stop herself.

"Because he just waltzed into your life one day and tempts you to do sinful things. How can we even be sure he hasn't desicrated you?"

A shot of anger ran through Vivian, emboldening her. "He has not, I'm still pure. But it's just an arcade, it's not like he takes me to whorehouses."

Silas' eye twitched. "Those places are distractions and full of sin. Shallow, superficial lies, deviations from the word of the Lord, full of gambling, violence, magic, and countless other things."

Vivian had no idea where her courage was coming from.

"Who are you to condemn violence when you beat us raw whenever we disobey?" Vivian hissed, standing up out of the chair. She could see her father getting angrier and she felt a strange satisfaction in it. She continued. "And of course the one time someone is nice to me and doesn't see me as the weird religious girl everyone else does, you forbid me from seeing him. You're setting me up for failure."

"What makes you think you deserve kindness, girl?" Silas spat in her face. Vivian hardly flinched.

"Because it's not my fault you treat me like shit. I was born and you immediately wrote me off as an affront to God. The only reason Joseph exists is because you couldn't let your last child be such a sinful creature. What the fuck made you think your newborn daughter was a crime??" Vivian yelled, pulling out swear words she would have been slapped for on a normal day.

"Your mother believed she saw an angel before you were born, promised you would turn out good if we named you Vivian. It was a false prophet and your hair turned that hideous shade, a sign of your sin." Silas snapped.

"My sin?? How was that my fault? It was Mother's vision and you went along with it. That was your decision that you're punishing me for. Do you realize how fucking insane you sound?"

"Your mother took it as a sign she was forgiven. You're the production of sin. Your mother broke her vows and slept with someone else to get you. You're an unclean child I only allowed in my house because we wanted to keep you from being seduced by Satan. It was our obligation."

Vivian didn't seem as blindsided by the news as one might have expected. Instead, she grinned up at Silas. "You abused and fucked up a child just because of a mistake your wife made. No, you know what, I'm glad she did. That way, my father's not some abusive, narcissistic piece of shit!"

Silas was at that point where he was so beyond angry, he seemed calm. He held out his hand and Angela produced a small bottle, passing it to him. Vivian's eyes widened, suddenly realizing how far over the line she lept. Her brothers and Rebecca had often had the belt as their punishment, maybe some flown fists if they were bad enough. Vivian on the other hand was privy to a special punishment, one her siblings couldn't receive in the same way.

"We do have other ways of proving your sinful ways, girl." Silas said, almost too calmly. He uncorked the bottle of clear liquid and poured some in his hand, a small puddle resting in his palm. Then, he threw it right at Viv.

All poor Vivian could do was scream, feeling the white hot burns splash onto her face. She was lucky it didn't hit her eyes; she went blind in her right eye for a week once. Silas grabbed Vivian by the arm and yanked her dress sleeve so it tore off at the seams. He held her wrist tightly before pouring more of the liquid on her arm. Vivian let out an even louder wail, so loud her voice broke before she took a breath to scream louder. An angry red burn ran down her arm, perfectly matching the shape the holy water had taken when being dripped onto her skin.

"You screamed when you were baptized. One dunk and you wailed louder than you did when you were born. Red as the little devil baby you are."

Vivian sobbed, trying to wrench her arm free from Silas' grasp, begging for it to stop. All he did was pour again, further aggrivating the wound and making Viv's vision go blurry from pain.

"Stop, please! Momma, make him stop!" She sobbed. Angela didn't give a single sound of reply, just watching from behind her husband. Silas then poured the last of the holy water on Vivian's arm, making sure to splash a few more drops on her face to produce more angry welts.

Vivian finally screamed so loud and so potently. The lights in the house flickered and the walls shook, knocking the portrait of Jesus off the wall and causing the glass to shatter. The crosses hung around flew off their mounts, clattering to the ground nearby.

Vivian felt the grip on her arm completely loosten, and she ran for the front door, seeing her parents cowering together as the walls continued to shake. Viv had no idea what she had done, she knew this was her doing, but she felt... proud of herself, empowered almost. Over the roar of the trembling foundation and flickering lights, she yelled.

"If you think of me as a sin, then think of me as a fucking sin. I'm much happier being a devil than whatever box you tried to forge for me through abuse. If I ever fucking see either of you again, I'll do much worse, I assure you."

Vivian threw the door open and ran into the night, leaving the now stilled house behind her.

***

Vivian hadn't exactly thought that far ahead when she ran. She was proud of herself, finally able to breathe for the first time in twenty years. At the same time, all she had on her was a torn dress, socks... and one special item. Guided by the light of the full moon, she sat behind the arcade, closed and locked for the night. She reached into her bra and pulled out a tiny wooden jar labeled in Samuel's oddly clean handwriting: "Burn Cream."

Vivian's burns couldn't be treated with the usual creams the stores sold, so one day Samuel came to her with a special blend he'd created that cleared the wounds up pretty quickly. Burns could happen anytime, so she always kept a jar of it on her person just in case. Before that, they always took weeks to heal and Viv hated constantly having to say they were cooking burns. Nobody ever believed her, but nobody ever pried, either.

She scooped a little of the cream onto her finger and spread it over her arm, the slight sting making her seethe. She applied the rest on her finger to her face, making the welts vanish within a few minutes. Her arm, on the other hand, would probably take a full day to heal.

She took the time to process and try to figure out her next move. Finding out she was the product of adultery should probably have shaken her more than it actually did.

In reality, she almost felt relieved. She didn't have a psychopath as a biological father. It made her curious, wondering what man could have possibly charmed Angela Peterson away from her husband. No wonder her mother's eyes got shifty when sermons would focus on remaining faithful.

The angel was interesting. Vivian wasn't honestly fully convinced of a higher power, but clearly something had visited her mother and had the power to change Vivian's hair color just from giving her the name. It could have been a lie, but nobody's hair could have grown that particular shade of red naturally. Vivian felt proud of her blood red hair, especially now that she knew why it was such a shame to her parents. The straightening made sense now, too. Curly hair wasn't a trait seen in any of her family members. Clearly her mother wanted to try and pass Vivian off as less of a great shame.

All in all, Vivian was quite happy with herself and her decision to run away. She wasn't sure what to make of the house shaking, but it made her curious. Maybe there was something more to her than she thought.

In the meantime, though, Vivian had no money and nowhere to stay. She supposed she could try and track Samuel down, but she had no idea where to start, and word might get out quickly about what happened. Most people would slam the door in her face when asked if they would help at best. Vivian shuddered thinking of the worst. No, she had to flee town, quickly. She'd be leaving Samuel, sure, and it pained her, but he'd probably be better off without her. God only knows he might be forced to cut her off anyways.

Thinking of Samuel reminded her of a conversation they'd once had. Rumors of the old building next to the laundromat with a basement. Password protected. A secret sex speakeasy of sorts, different than most brothels since this one allowed for same sex mingling. Vivian had called Samuel crazy for believing it, but after paying closer attention to the building and the people going near it, it didn't seem so far-fetched. She wouldn't ever admit to Samuel that he was right, though. She hated "I told you so's."

Finding a brothel and... what, working at it? An ultimate sin, selling your body for pleasure, let alone for other women to touch. Vivian's literacy in sex was limited, but what she did know was that asking if it was normal to want to kiss girls had gotten her slapped silly, yet it didn't disuade the thoughts, far from it. Second, she found that the thought excited her. Working in a pleasure house, it made her stomach flutter and her lower regions tingle. Besides... she needed the money and she had no other way to find employment. What a shame.

Vivian dusted off her skirt and slunk behind buildings, paying close attention to the streets and surrounding areas. By now it was probably close to midnight, yet Vivian was the furthest thing from tired. Even after resting, her adrenaline was still pumping.

Forty minutes later, she rounded the back of the laundromat and found her destination. A brick building, two stories high with one singular window blacked out by paint or a curtain. The sign above it advertised as being a secondary entrance for the laundromat, but please use the main entrance.

Vivian studied the door, looking somewhat normal save for a mail slot being close to eye level for her. Hesitantly, she knocked on the door.

The supposed mail slot slid open from the side and a pair of green eyes greeted her, looking her up and down curiously.

"Yes?" A voice asked her. No turning back now.

"I-I... My name is Vivian and I'm... interested in employment... here?" She replied. The eyes narrowed.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty... I've been thrown out of the house and I don't have any means of supporting myself or other options." She said. The eyes looked at her for a moment before the slot slid shut and the door unlocked with a click. Vivian slid inside, finding herself in front of a larger man with a broad build. Handsome, if a little scruffy.

The space was small, mostly consisting of a stool the man likely sat on and a stairwell leading to another door, well lit. She could hear faint sounds coming from the other side. Talking, music, perhaps... moaning? Vivian's pulse quickened again.

"Miss Jenevelle is who you need to talk to. Down the stairs, to your left, door's hard to miss, 's got lilies on it." The man told her. Vivian nodded.

"Th-thank you." She said, running down the stairs and pulling the heavy wooden door open. Immediately all her senses were assaulted. Dim yellow lights illuminated everything, music played from unseen speakers that Vivian could almost feel in her chest. It smelled of perfumes and sweat, and people mingled and chattered with each other. Her eyes flicked around, seeing nearly naked women in red lacy underwear either clinging to poles, dancing sensually, or getting close with patrons. Vivian saw one with blonde hair and brown eyes sit in a ginger woman's lap, licking the side of her face as she guided the woman's hands to her barely covered breasts. The display sent an explosion of feeling in Vivian's core, excitement and... perhaps arousal? She saw a few mostly naked men here and there, wearing red underwear that left little to the imagination. She blushed, turning left and quickly locating the door decorated with lilies.

A woman with dark hair in two braided buns on top of her head sat at a desk, writing on some papers and mumbling to herself. The office wasn't overly decorated, about as bright as the rest of the brothel with plants and a stack of vinyl records on a shelf. The player sat next to it, a record of what Viv somewhat recognized as Phil Collins played. The woman looked up at her, wearing a thin yet warm smile.

"Can I help you, sweetheart?" She asked.

"I-I... I'm Vivian, your... doorman let me in." Vivian stuttered.

"What a pretty name. I'm Miss Jenevelle, I run this place. You must have had a good reason for Damon to let you in." Vivian blushed at the compliment.

"W-well... I've just been thrown out of the house. My parents are... very religious, you see, and I... it's complicated. But I have no way to support myself and no connections... a friend of mine mentioned this place and I was hoping to... seek employment?"

Jenevelle chuckled, standing up. "Quite the leap for you, I see. You're of age, I assume?"

"Twenty as of April."

"This is truly a last resort for you?"

"I don't know where my friend lives and I'd suspect he'd be forced to distance himself from me. It's a small community and my parents have labeled me as a sin, demon spawn..." Vivian's eyes turned down to her still healing arm. Jenevelle seemed to notice, but didn't push the issue. She seemed to understand the whole story then and there.

"I assume you're... untrained in this type of work?"

"I'm a virgin if that's what you're asking. Although I've... heard little bits and pieces. I-I like men, but I find myself more drawn to... women..."

"I figured as much. Most places wouldn't offer that option, so you had to come here."

"Sure."

"You do realize what this line of work entails, right? It's not as glamorous as you may think. Things can happen and I can only protect you from so much of it."

"I know. But I figured this would be better than most of those other places. I just need some... training and then I'll do whatever I need to do."

"Right." Jenevelle pulled out a tape measure from her pocket. "Dress off, please."

Vivian blushed and undid the buttons of her dress, sliding out of it and letting it pool around her ankles. Her underwear was entirely unremarkable, almost embarassing. Jenevelle started taking measurements around various parts of Vivian, waist, torso, thighs, bust (Vivian felt butterflies again at that point), shoulders, neck, among other places.

"No hesistation, huh?"

"No use hesitating in a place like this."

Jenevelle smiled, putting the tape measure away. "Would you need lodgings?"

"Please."

"Any allergies?"

"No... but tomatoes make me squirm."

"Squirm?"

"It's a texture thing." Vivian whispered sheepishly. Jenevelle chuckled.

"I can't handle bananas, it's fine. Any perfumes you like?"

"I never had any, but I like vanilla, lavender, and the smells of a campfire. Wood, fire, smoke... Cigarette smoke is nice, too, although I don't... smoke..."

"I'll see what I can find, maybe I'll let you sample some I have and see what you like. I assume you don't know how to do makeup, so I'll have someone else do it for you." Jenevelle paused, inspecting Vivian's face. "Although you do look pretty without it already, especially with that beautiful hair of yours."

Vivian blushed hard enough that it could have matched her hair.

"I can already tell you'll be a favorite here. Now, you have a smaller bust but wider hips and shoulders, so I'll give you this for now." She passed Vivian a set of red underwear identical to the ones the girls wore outside. It was lacy, decorated with roses and shiny from the satin material underneath. Jenevelle also passed Vivian a red satin robe that went to her knees.

"Go ahead and get changed, sweetheart. Do you want me to turn around?"

"N-no... it's okay. I'll have to get used to this at some point."

"Good girl." Jenevelle purred, making Vivian blush even harder, making her feel even more fluttery and made her lower area even more tingly. As if on autopilot, Vivian stripped out of her underwear and slid the lacy red set on. The cups were slightly too big, but it was comfortable otherwise. Very comfortable. Vivian almost felt even more confident in it, perhaps spiced by a lingering feeling of shame knowing the list of sins she'd comitted in the last ten minutes alone.

She didn't find herself caring anymore.

Vivian slid the robe on and tied it closed, picking up her old clothes and unceremoniously tossing them in the trash by Jenevelle's desk. They spilled over the edge, but neither cared. Jenevelle rested her hand on the small of Vivian's back and guided her back to the office door.

The crowd seemed as lively as ever, the music still beating and the smell only growing thicker. Viv wasn't sure where exactly Jenevelle was taking her, but she did catch a few peoples' eyes as she passed. Two men eyed her with small smirks, three women watched similarly. One of them Viv was close enough to hear call her a pretty little fox. Vivian blushed at the praise, staying close to Jenevelle while hiding her smile. The attention, she liked it. Far more than she expected. She was never considered anything close to cute, let alone pretty or beautiful. She could get drunk on this feeling, she was sure of it.

Jenevelle sat Vivian down in a booth similar to that of a restaurant in tbe back corner, a smile on her face.

"See? Favorite. Let me go get a few things and then introduce you to the other girls." She said, kissing Vivian's forehead and blending back into the crowd. Vivian blushed, observing the crowd eagerly as the fluttery feeling refused to go away. She sighed contentedly, leaning back against the booth's seat.

"Charming place." A new voice said, feminine. Vivian opened her eyes and looked to her right. She was greeted by a pretty young woman with pale skin, glasses, tattoos, and pale purple hair. Viv's heart started thudding again.

"I-I'm... I..."

"It's all right, sweetling, I'm not expecting any services. You're new here."

"Do you come here often?" Vivian asked.

"No. This is my first time. It's a shame, though, I'm sure the others would love it here. Especially Kit."

"Others?"

The purple haired woman smiled. "Vivian, do you believe in witches?"

"You know my name?"

"Yes, and I know you've recently been kicked out of the house after a last straw incident with your hyper religious and controlling parents. You made the house shake and the lights flicker. It was practically a beacon you set off." The fluttering stopped, replaced with disbelief mixed with curiosity.

"How did you know about that?"

"Like I said, that was practically a beacon you shot out. We'd heard that the last witch had been born and we've been waiting for the right time to come and find you."

"Witch? We? What are you talking about?"

"You, Vivian, are a witch. The last of the seven witches in our coven. We live in a village called Paradiso, protecting this world from demons and other dark forces. My name is Nora, and I've been tasked to find you, as I was the others."

"Miss, have you had too much to drink?" Vivian asked, concerned. Nora just laughed.

"No, I promise. I know this sounds insane. It sounded insane to me, too, at first. I was the first witch to be found all the way back in the 1400s."

"You don't look a day over twenty-five."

"We're immortal. So, too, will you be. Vivian, shaking the house was only a fraction of your potential, and so potent so soon, too."

"Are... are you asking me to just drop everything and go with a total stranger to a witch coven several states away?" Vivian asked.

"You have nothing to your name, Vivian. As charming as it would be to be in this line of work, it's not for you. You have potential for greater. Something more than you ever expected to be. Just... please, at least allow me to explain to you on the way there. It's a long journey and it's more comfortable than in here."

Vivian pondered the strange woman, Nora, for a moment. She was by far the most unique woman she'd ever met. In looks and her knowledge. Vivian's outburst was something she was willing to take to her grave, not take as a sign of latent witchcraft abilities...

Then memories started to flicker in her mind. Mixing things like flowers and lotions in bowls, trying to bring home pets she found in the park, mumbling incoherent things that just... came to her. Vivian was punished for these things, of course, but even despite that, she continued to do it.

And, truthfully, she trusted Nora. More than she trusted Jenevelle, certainly. The warmth in her chest here was different than the adrenaline and excitement from earlier. Nora made her feel at ease, calm, like she'd found a missing piece.

And, really, it sounded like fun. Worth a shot; she'e be no worse off than if Nora was lying. Vivian suspected she wasn't, though.

"Miss Jenevelle will be back soon. We'd better go." She said. Nora offered Vivian her hand, which she took eagerly. She felt a spark at the contact, beyond normal static electricity. Vivian smiled as Nora pulled her out of the seat and through the crowd. Out the door, up the stairs (Damon didn't even seem to notice them), and into the abyss of night, guided by the full moon.

#bat coven llc #the bat coven #the bat coven llc

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liyawritesss · 7 months

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ᖴᒪOᗯEᖇᔕ Iᑎ ᗷᒪOOᗰ - ᐯᗩᒪEᑎTIᑎEᔕ ᗪᖇᗩᗷᗷᒪEᔕ

Ｄａｙ２１－ＦｉｒｓｔＫｉｓｓ

－ Better Than A Dream - Milton "MG" Greasley - The Vampire Diaries: Legacies

－ In which MG dreams about the perfect kiss with you, unintentionally manifesting it.

－ Check out more prompts and other activities on the Flowers In Bloom Event Masterlist!

“You’re gonna make your move tonight.”

“No I’m not!”

“Dude, yes you are!”

The hushed argument between MG and Kaleb did little to interrupt the festivities of the evening - a vampire party at the Old Mill that MG definitely didn’t want to go to, but was lured in by the prospect of his longtime crush being in attendance. He knew he shouldn’t have told Kaleb about it, for situations exactly like this. While he was always appreciative of the older’s efforts to increase his self-confidence and boost his esteem, he did not need to be pushed into confessing his crush on you tonight of all nights.

“You’ve been eying this girl since we got to this school, and you’re telling me you’re still chickening out on it?” Kaleb drowns, a bottle of bear in his hand, arms crossed against his chest as he leans against one of the wooden beams which keeps the Old Mill standing.

“It’s not the right time!” MG says defensively. “I have a very exact way I wanna do it, Kaleb, and I’m not rushing it!”

He had dreamt of what he’d like his first kiss to be like with someone he had strong emotions for. MG wasn’t the kind of guy to go into something head first without any planning, and this was no different. He had a plan on how he wanted it to go, and god forbid Kaleb start his antics to get everything messed up!

“There’s no time like the present,” Kaleb counters, “seriously, man. We’re vampires, the present is literally every day for us now.”

He says this while something catches his eye; as you come into view, laughing at some joke that was told in the group you were in, your own hand cradling a wine cooler, Kaleb snickers, slinging himself onto MG, teasing saying “And look at what the present has brought you!”

Before MG can even chastise Kaleb for his blatant attempts at pushing past his boundaries, the older Vampire is gone, and the more timid one of the two is left alone, trying to stutter up some sort of conversation starter as he sees you starting to approach him.

“MG!” You chirp as you bound over to the young vampire. You have a fruity scent to you that, while is most definitely from some sort of liquor you’ve consumed that’s got a buzz going for you, makes him weak in the knees like he’s never felt before; “H-Hey! Hey, (Y/N)...”

“Seeing you at a party? Not something on my bingo calendar.” You joke.

“Hey! I’m not a total buzzkill…” the brownskin boy pouts, and for some reason, his reaction has you cheesing harder than usual, but it wasn’t your fault. The liquor was definitely making MG cuter than what you’d normally allow yourself to admit.

“You’re right,” you hum in response, taking a sip of the wine cooler you opted to drink instead of the harder liquor provided after starting to feel a little too weightless, “you’re just a cute buzzkill.”

The liquid courage buzzing in your veins gives you the incentive to plant a kiss onto MG’s cheek, and given the face he makes, you’re sure that if he were human, a rush of heat would have replaced your lips the second they left his skin.

“See you around?” Was the last thing MG’s brain registered before you had left him to mingle with another group of schoolmates, leaving the poor boy in his spot, speechless.

This definitely wasn’t how the kiss was supposed to go…but he definitely wasn’t complaining either way.

If you enjoyed, please leave a like, comment, and reblog for others to see! And don’t be shy to send in a request!

#flowersinbloom🏵#black reader #black tumblr #legacies #legacies tvd #tvd legacies #tvd universe #tvdu #legacies mg #mg legacies #milton greasley #milton greasley x reader #milton greasley x black!reader #mg x reader #mg x black!reader #milton greasley legacies

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wormbloggign · 8 months

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“I think you’re off target,” I said. “You’re talking about Foil, I get it, and Parian, and now the Chicago Wards and Glenn. But all of the decisions they made were when I wasn’t anywhere near them. Unless you’re implying I have some sort of mind control.”

yeah taylor, about that,, your category of control is attributed to insects but it also includes crustaceans, cephalopods, arachnids, not to mention the microscopic parasites and WORMS. it seems your category of control is a lot more open than you think, possibly even able to expand.

all im saying is mind control isnt that far off.

i dont think taylors ever snap decided someone to be bad just because of how they interpret and summarise her actions, i wonder whats different here

We won, I thought. We beat him, and you’re quibbling over details.

ah, she doesnt consider her actions here wrong.

that's how canary gets out? i had ideas but none of them were endbringer fodder

We won, you bastards. I clenched my fists beneath the table.

this is really getting to her, fuck.

how arent they noticing this? bugs dont go this ignored, especially if someone in the room is a bug master, am i going crazy?

she's been caught from the start, damn.

…He won’t have our assistance, I thought. I heard the words, and my bugs spoke them. Every bug, within the building, repeated him, verbatim. The good, the bad, the details that damned me. It wasn’t a question of finding the right person, or saying the right thing. It was everyone, saying everything.

!!!

whent things go bad, taylor spot checks, when things get worse SHE SPOT CHECKS HARDER

“It’s exactly what Chevalier wanted,” I said. My eyes dropped to the table. I didn’t meet his gaze, didn’t try to engage the visitors. “Open, honest. Exposing the rot at the center.”

YYEEEAAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHH

what does the chief director mean by that... taylors right, they were opposed from the get go.

if chief west was on her side, that would mean very disturbing things for the PRT (cauldron compliant)

“You want me to make a move. Powerful enough to shake them, break the status quo, not powerful or blatant enough to break my probation or give them an excuse to drop the book on me.”

given that she was always going to do the first half, (this is taylor after all) glenns basically just asking her to hold back and be careful

ugly crying.

uglier crying.

UGLIEST CRYING.

okay im back

“This space was for vehicles, but Stardust graduated three years ago, died a year after joining the Protectorate. We’ve been using it for storing paperwork, and your moving in was a good excuse to get some things sorted out. Your workshop.”

yesssss textile manufacturingg :):):)

maybe?? taylor MAYBE????

STOOPPP

oh it was hazing, i was really worried about the direction of the story for a bit there

“Don’t sue me for sexual harassment,” Annex told me. I smiled a little. “I’m not going to sue. I’ve been around people who did worse.”

taylors the kind of person who people apologise to after she talks about stuff shes gone through

i want to like these guys, i really do.

lets hope they get more development and become more distinct

(i've already forgotten who has what powers)

#liveblogging worm #Scarab 25.1

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justahopelessaromantic · 10 months

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In your dreams, kid (Ch. 2: early to rise)

Fandom: Omori Timeline: Post Good Ending Ships: Suntan (Sunny/Kel) Links to First and Next Chapter List of Accompanying Playlists for this Fic Pinterest Moodboard for this Fic Summary: Under Sunny’s hypocritical, well-intentioned advice, Kel puzzled over his mental checklist as the bruised house drifted out of sight, now a grey blur. An assortment of surgery, artery-clogging snacks? Check! Mixtape Sunny made special for him, covered in little red hearts and a doodle of the two of them holding hands? Check (No, actually, he will not read into that, thank you for asking). An 8-pack of Monster so Aubrey wouldn’t fall asleep at the wheel while he drives her mad with alien conspiracies and iSpy all night? Check! (Sunny downed three, the absolute madman, before they even stepped foot in the car, but he figured it still counted) Homework? ...check. An excuse for stealing Ms. Suzuki’s car, running away with her son and "future daughter-in-law", and showing up at his incredibly busy brother’s dorm room? You know, something even remotely better than “You sounded like you were about to cry over the phone last night and you don’t cry and I’m so worried and distracted and madly in love with you, I simply had to come check on you, so...Surprise!” ...He’d check that one off sometime before they got there. Probably.

If Aubrey stuck to her early jogging routine like she once stuck to Mari or Basil’s insomnia didn’t feel like lending itself any rest, there was a good chance they’d spot his widened eyes from the stairs and ask about a supposed morning. Kel, of course, would say no, but he’d take note of the thin hue of light draped over the sky, since that basically meant it was sunrise, which basically meant it was morning.

To him, at least.

Kel was intrinsically aware that “morning” meant going out and getting…something, but putting together mental to-do lists was hard on good days. Harder still with bony arms gingerly wrapped around him in a vain attempt to stop Kel’s trembling, whispering scripted yet sincere sweet nothings. The hands on his back were embarrassingly welcome, yet so hesitant, only daring to brush over the cotton fabric, tickling rather than soothing. The effort, as always, was appreciated. Even his gentle rocking back and forth feels awkward, like Sunny never learned quite how to shift his weight right.

Like he was the one used to being held.

...Oh. Oh, boy.

He was probably about to cross some boundaries today. Maybe even upset Sunny. God, he hoped not. He could hear the signature pitter-patter of a wild Basil from the living room, the clang and clatter of nervous hands finally quieting. They didn’t seem stable enough to handle two friends close to tears.

Still though. He always had questions (Hero used to gush over that. Called it a “learner mindset!” His teachers were less impressed). If he didn’t get an answer today, he’ll be restless all morning, and no one liked a restless Kel besides Kel (and Aubrey, when she was looking to pick a fight).

“Heh,” Kel prayed his sleepy voice didn’t make that sound forced. “Mari teach you all this?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Ah.”

Something anxious and kinda pushy in the back of his head told him to add something about being totally fine now, no worries, man. Maybe some kinda vague, tongue-in-cheek “no homo” joke to make sure Sunny didn’t read any farther into this blatant cuddling. You know, with “ENJOYING HIS WAY TOO MUCH FOR A STRAIGHT MAN” practically stamped in bold red ink on his massive forehead.

The impulsive dumbass with too much control in his head felt it appropriate (for some ungodly reason) to comment on how this was the perfect atmosphere for a first kiss. The nerve-wracking silence made shutting him up difficult, but Kel was always up for a challenge.

Still, his touch-starved ass was taking any distraction from that lingering dream he could get his slick hands on. He buried his nose further into the black shoulder strap instead. Sunny seemed satisfied with that answer, hummed in response. Hummed again, and again, and again, and…

Oh, Kel knew this song!

...Well, not by name, but he knew Mari and Sunny’s songs when he heard it. Their duet, Mari called it. Close enough. Kel had a feeling Sunny would rather he not know the title. He seemed determined to keep it a sibling thing, something he could share with her beyond the grave. Kel could respect that.

Despite the raspy texture of grogginess and selective mutism, he carried each note with such loving precision. Like a musician who loved their job more than their well-being. Kel knew how dangerous dwelling over her memory in public was, (stupid overemotional bullshit, worrying anyone who caught him!), but, hey. It was late (well, it felt late), and the strongest image of her floating around in his head at the moment was too unnerving to really tinker with. So, using a faint memory of their impromptu duet during one of her picnics as reference, he scrunched up his face in thought and tried to picture the implications of that melodic texture.

Just the two of them, snuggled up in her fluffy sheets, shadows cascading over their silhouette (How did they always manage to look so mysterious?). Sunny’s little fingers digging into her sides, like his lifeline could slip through his fingertips at a moment’s notice (the irony is rude and disrespectful, as far as Kel is concerned). His ragged breaths and tightlipped whimpers settling into a steady unison part, intertwining with her voice as he slowly melts into her chest. The dispassionate rigor of their violin and piano playing could never compare to the sound of them mixed up in each other, communicating in a way only they understood. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. I’ll protect you.” without words to bog down the intimacy of its delivery.

The last time he crawled into bed with Hero, he chuckled and said something about Kel being a little too old to deal with nightmares like this, ruffling his hair before draping the covers over him and pecking his forehead. He probably wasn’t being serious.

Kel stayed out of his room anyway.

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whentranslatorscry · 1 year

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Miss Kyouko’s Locked Room Lecture (4/7)

However, how do we get out after sneaking in?

A fitting room is a fitting room, even if not locked.

Without drawing the curtain, you wouldn’t know the situation outside— the design prevents those outside from seeing one inside changing, and vice versa, there’s no way to tell if someone outside is looking this way, impossible to know the right moment to come out without detection. If at this moment a clerk felt this customer was taking unusually long to change and opened the curtain—

“I just did it without thinking too much— anyway, intentional or not, I happened to not be seen by anyone when I came out, that's probably the most reasonable explanation." Kyouko-san's explanation was really quite reasonable.

Not even on the job, her detective reasoning was so reasonable that it approached disbelief. Still, uncanny luck does, in fact, favor some criminals.

A “perfect” crime, it seems, isn’t as complicated as you might think. Making elaborate plans and showing how clever you are tends to leave more clues and make it easier for the police to figure things out. The more obvious the trail of thought, the easier it is to spin a story. Perhaps a chaotic, seemingly contradictory approach is what truly stumps the authorities.

“This so-called ‘locked room’ has many holes, formed as it is by lines of sight. If the killer managed to slip through a blind spot and commit the crime unseen, they could have made a quick escape.”

“But wouldn’t security cameras capture the fugitive? Maybe we can't identify who, but surely we could narrow down the suspects to people who left the store after eleven…”

“Who’s to say the killer fled outdoors? Mingling with customers might even be safer… and if the killer were, say, an employee, they can’t exactly abandon their job on the clock.”

Murder somebody and then go back to folding clothes? Tooasa found it hard to believe there were too many employees that dedicated. Based on the ‘murdered without much thought’ image of the killer he had in mind, they’d probably ignore the cameras and make a panicked escape. On the other hand, we couldn’t rule out the possibility that our bungling culprit might have stayed at the scene simply because they didn’t think things through. Panicked people do the most foolish things.

“All witness testimonies appear reliable without major discrepancies. A little far-fetched as a narrative, but nothing fundamentally implausible has occurred.”

Kyouko-san declared the verdict.

Thus confirming his initial suspicion; if there were glaring inconsistencies or blatant errors in the statements, he wouldn’t feel so troubled. Despite everything appearing logical, something about it felt off-putting still.

“If anything, avoiding detection by numerous individuals and surveillance cameras is highly unusual… but, not entirely inconceivable that they could evade capture, given the existence of blind spots for both parties.”

“So based on your deduction, the culprit didn’t intentionally play tricks on this point?”

The word ‘tricks,’ coming from a policeman, might be somewhat reckless, but he had long since abandoned any pretense of shame. Unfortunately, the reply he received was,

“No, no, no. I don’t do deductions, remember?”

Stubbornly frustrating.

“It's merely hypothesis. I deliberately avoid deep thought as it leads me to verbalize my ideas excessively. When an interpreter starts inserting their own interpretations, communication becomes harder, does it not?”

She was right.

On the other hand, Officer Tooasa typically enjoyed watching foreign films with subtitles since he appreciated how interpreters simplify and complement dialogue. Therefore, listening to Kyouko-san’s interpretation shouldn’t be problematic despite its non-literal nature.

“Being a responsible adult, I cannot allow myself to be so unlucrative… Oops, be so disruptive to others’ work.”

“……”

“To get into the specifics anyhow, Yanei-san was reportedly a regular patron— but it seems she wasn’t a dear guest.”

She put it delicately, but agreed with him on this regard. The Nashorn staff who knew her did not outright insult a regular, especially one now deceased, but the nuance in their choice of words was apparent enough that it didn’t need interpreting for Officer Tooasa.

Although a regular, she was not a guest of honor.

“She would shamelessly haggle to lower prices, often complain about the goods, try to make unreasonable returns… Well customers are only human, you know.”

As somebody who ran her own agency, Kyouko-san could perhaps understand. Thinking of the outrageous requests the chief made of the Okitegami Detective Agency on a regular basis, Officer Tooasa could only bow his head in apology as part of the force—He would assume the forgetful detective did not remember every single one of them, but it must have left some impression. Maybe her memories reset day to day but experiences remain in a corner somewhere— maybe.

Being often mocked as a civil servant paid by tax, Officer Tooasa understood very well, if you didn’t acknowledge that “the customer is God,” you could hardly do this job.

"Annoying though she may have been, she wasn’t so bad as to drive people to wish for her to cease to exist…still there was a reason that necessitated her death,”

Kyouko-san said, tapping her pen.

She'd been filling the empty space on the timetable with information about the victim's identity, but by now, the whiteboard that was her arm was nearly out of space.

“Necessitating… her death?”

It may be a so-called motive, but people are killed for reasons so trivial they couldn’t conjure them up in their wildest dreams, so digging too deep here may prove to be a futile exercise— Some are killed for being wicked, some for being good— it’s impossible to generalize. There may even be those who are killed simply because they are ‘impossible to generalize’.

Besides, if only a few hours of hearing from a limited number of people were enough to judge her character and personality, the deceased would not be able to rest in peace.

As expected, Officer Tooasa’s men were in the process of filtering through the victim’s interpersonal relationships at home and work, and with this thought, he felt a twinge of guilt, as though he were slacking dining elegantly with Kyouko-san this evening. As part of his job, he realized anew that good progress had to be made from these talks.

“It could be a murder without motive, or it could be that the murderer did not mean to kill but the victim died as a result.”

Kyouko-san further listed the possibilities.

“Yes… Or maybe a case of mistaken identity?”

Officer Tooasa ventured a hypothesis that he himself found unlikely, merely to pass the time— and after reacting to it with a “Mistaken identity?”, Kyouko-san went on to say,

“Killed by mistake— interesting, it could be.”

“Oh, could it be? Mixing up who to murder…"

“It's quite possible. She was said to have worn unusually large flat-framed glasses— and in the heat of emotion, it’s possible they couldn’t quite make out who it was.”

She said and touched her own glasses.

“Anybody would be tremendously nervous when murdering. When human life is on the line, people are prone to astonishing errors.”

She spoke as if standing in the killer’s shoes, something very difficult for Officer Tooasa as a policeman to do— the sole province of a private detective.

Remaining calm and rational was not easy when you can't afford to fail— though being wrongly killed would be the last thing anybody would want.

“But Kyouko-san. No matter what the motive was, you wouldn't want to commit murder in a busy store.”

The conversation had come full circle, but this was still the bottleneck— it's easy to understand if it were an ad hoc crime in which somebody was struck while walking alone on a street at night.

“Particularly, assuming the reason for killing Yanei-san was her being a troublesome regular— which is to say, if we assume the murderer to be an employee, it makes even less sense. Few with any sense at all would think for a second to plot murder in their own territory.”

Almost like the murderer saying, “Suspect me.”

Even discounting that, when viewed as a matter of simple cost and benefit, the fact that a person met their demise within a high-end boutique, where the brand image is of paramount importance, could potentially deter the flow of customers. Should rumors circulate that somebody was bludgeoned to death with a hanger in the shop’s fitting room (and they will), it could lead to the worst: bankruptcy. At minimum, it would simply feel unsettling to have your workspace become the scene of murder.

All harm and no gain.

If we were to, rather forcefully, entertain the idea that there might be a benefit in committing murder within one’s own territory, the only conceivable upside might be a slight easing of nerves when embarking on such a grave endeavor.

Nevertheless, in Officer Tooasa’s gut feeling it would still be more convincing if the culprit acted impulsively, without any thought, considering neither gains nor losses, merely that they ended up bludgeoning the victim.

“If there were other advantages to committing a crime in a familiar place,”

Kyouko-san said, offering a capped pen— from the look of it, she had already written down as much information as she could. She had indeed roughly reviewed what they had heard today— he took the pen, put it back in his breast pocket.

“Could it have been because meticulous preparations can be made in advance? Setting up mechanisms, making arrangements— creating traps to kill the victim.”

“Mechanisms… Locked-room shenanigans, huh?”

However, with regard to this particular murder, it was really difficult to imagine there being any large-scale contraptions behind it. It still gets hung up on there being too many witnesses. Somebody would have surely seen, what with eyewitnesses and ceiling cameras. Avoiding all was virtually impossible. Unnatural to leave to chance and impossible to do systematically—

The Little Prince says, “What is essential is invisible to the eyes.” Yet Kyouko-san says, “What is visible to the eyes is also equally essential.” If we were to extrapolate a “third rule of essentials” by analogy, it might be, “even unessential things can be invisible.” Now if only someone had eyed the despicable villain—

“Even unessential things can be invisible to the eye— such a profound thought indeed. We often miss the crucial in crucial moments,”

Kyouko-san praised this strange thing.

“Speaking of which, a locked room featured at the beginning of The Little Prince, too. The sheep in the box…”

“Oh… now you mention it.”

But Officer Tooasa did not nod in agreement as much as to say “now you mention it.” In fact, interpreting that as a locked room was where his mystery-loving mind had led him.

“The sheep in the box though, is just like Schrödinger’s cat, isn’t it?”

Trying not to reveal his mild trepidation, he joined in the conversation so casually. At least Schrödinger’s cat was a term more compatible with mysteries than The Little Prince.

‘Haha. The Prince would cry if the sheep were dead—oh!’

Just when Kyouko-san looked to be laughing warmly along with their casual chitchat, she exclaimed an ‘oh!’ She clamped a hand over her mouth and, in the process, knocked over the demitasse of espresso she had been about to sip after the meal, in evidently the reaction of somebody who had just realized something.

“Wha— what just happened, Kyouko-san?”

“It, it’s nothing.”

“Nothing? That sure didn’t seem like nothing.”

“I said it’s nothing,”

She repeated, taking another sip of her espresso, the first person he’d ever seen drinking a double-shot, black, no less.

“Erm… Kyouko-san. If you, you know, noticed something…”

“I noticed nothing. Nothing’s come to mind, nor have I deduced anything. The mystery of the case is far from solved, and not one doubt or inconsistency has been cleared up.”

She declared with certainty.

Declared with too much certainty, in fact, that it was hard to believe a word she said. It was baffling how she could lie so blatantly.

“You’ve… solved the mystery?”

“I said I haven’t. Ugh, I just can't make any sense of it. Now, it’s getting late, about time to go home. Thank you for today, Officer Tooasa, the meal was delicious. I’ll be looking forward to your future accomplishments.”

Kyouko-san wiped the meticulously written timetable clean with a wet wipe, rolled down her sleeves swiftly, and made an all-too-obvious move to call it a night. She couldn’t just leave like that.

It appears that she, who was only supposed to act as an interpreter, somehow ended up putting the pieces together due to Officer Tooasa's offhand remark. The relationship between the detective and the policeman, as embodied in detective novels, was unfolding— an unexpected turn of events, especially for the professional detective that Kyouko was.

If, however, she had indeed uncovered some truth, Officer Tooasa was in no standing to let that go unasked.

This was no battle of wits.

He wasn’t that far gone to lose sight of his responsibilities.

He needed to hear her deduction as soon as possible to react appropriately— no matter how popular terms from detective novels such as ‘locked room mystery’ or 'impossible case’ may become, such words are powerless in the face of the reality of ‘a murderer at large’.

“Oh dear, I’m in a pickle now, aren’t I?”

Kyouko-san crossed her arms, showing a truly troubled expression.

“It is so very unfortunate I can’t be of any help. This time I was only requested as an interpreter. I may discover the truth yet cannot grandstand with my deduction.”

As apologetically as she said it, the underlying message screamed ‘if you don’t pay, the machine won’t work’ so stubbornly.

Or, considering her respect for professional ethics, perhaps this should be respected just the same.

In the first place then, it was Officer Tooasa who wanted to send Kyouko-san back home. He could have insisted on solving the case all on his own and turned away the detective. Unfortunately for him, these developments were unwelcome as well.

Had that detective been any other than Kyouko he would have seen them off here— But.

“Erm, how about we head to another place next? There’s a quiet bar where we can sit down and talk things through.”

He had no knowledge of any such quiet bar (that would be another one owed to his colleagues), and never in his life had he been so forward with a lady.

“Well for my part, I’d like to proceed directly to the station to receive my compensation, hurry home to bed, and completely forget about the truth I happened to piece together.”

As if he would let her forget so easily.

But she could do just that. The forgetful detective had that ability. To reset any deduction or culprit profile, erasing them from her mind— by tomorrow morning, she would have forgotten it all. If he did not ask her tonight, her deductions would vanish into oblivion.

“But then again, it is difficult to say no when you’re so insistently invited. I will accompany you then. But— I will only provide some hints; if you could, based on these hints, make your own deductions, please do.”

“Hints… huh?”

“Correct. Hints distilled from the information that anybody listening to witness accounts would know.

Hint number one: Numerous eyewitnesses saw the victim, Yanei-san, approaching the store about eleven AM. But when you organize the testimonies you find all the eyewitnesses were customers who came to shop at the time. Why do you think that is?

Hint number two: Because Yanei-san never left the fitting room, staff suspected something was amiss, opened the curtain and discovered the body. But how did that staff determine Yanei-san had been in the fitting room all the time?

Hint number three: You cannot see inside the fitting room from outside, but can we say for certain you cannot see out from inside?”

“Err, uh, um…”

Kyouko-san talked so much and so fast that he wasn't able to catch the three at first, and had to count them off on his fingers to confirm what they were.

Hint #1: The biased eyewitness accounts— all who had seen Yanei Sashiko were customers.

Hint #2: Why did the first person to discover her notice something was strange in the fitting room?

Hint #3: You can't see outside from inside the fitting room— is this really true?

The first hint he hadn't realized until he'd been told, but looking back on it, it seemed to be accurate— we can’t say for absolute certainty without listing the eyewitness testimony of all questioned. However, since the detective-turned-translator said so, well, it's probably the case.

As for hints number two and three, he already had some ideas. Staff had noticed after Yanei had been in the fitting room for a considerable amount of time. And you couldn't see outside from inside as you couldn't see inside from outside, right?

That would be all there was to it.

Officer Tooasa, who understood neither the mystery of the case nor the meaning of these hints, was hoping for a fourth hint, but it seemed to end at three.

“Now then, shall we be off?” Kyouko-san stood up to leave her seat. “Try unraveling these hints yourself, officer. Ideally by the time we arrive at the next venue— so that we may enjoy some light mystery discussion over drinks.”

Contrary to her smile, he, alas, utterly failed to meet her expectations.

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#boukyaku tantei #okitegami kyouko

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