#plucky squawks

[plucky-passerine]

Honestly I think half of the people criticizing “academia” for not representing real world experiences just… aren’t in academia.

Like if you want real world experiences get off social media, read a book written by a queer black woman in the seventies, and talk to your elders in the community. Don’t listen to the anti-intellectuals claiming higher education has no value.

Alison Bechdel and Audre Lorde are taught as major reading material in my university classes. I promise you it’s not all Freud and Shakespeare.

#plucky squawks #anti intellectualism #academia #for context I’m an upperclassman English major in south Florida #but we’ve been reading similar stuff since freshman year #my current honors prof was SO excited to show us Lorde’s ‘The Master’s Tools’ essay #I promise you there’s so much more diversity in academia right now than you think #it’s not perfect but it’s getting better

[blackrabbit111]

The plucky red headed Childe was out at sea aboard a fishing ship currently traveling across the sea. An expedition of study, Childe tagged along on invite of a friend who had to be absent. Childe at the time had been happy for this. He was between jobs and was in need of excitement, life as a security guard only bared so much fruit. Especially when you lacked most other skill sets

But at this moment that kind gesture wasn't so kind….

CRASH

A storm raging so badly that all the crew were in doors on the order of the fishing captain, the ship being thrown back and forth like a rubber duck in the tub. Rain coming down like bullets filling the metal rim of the ship in seconds before that same down pour is tossed out by a wave the sea vessel collided with.

CRASH

Lighting flashes against the sea, Childe shouldn't be out there

CRASH

But he promised that shell to his brother. The one he'd left on the desk like an idiot

CRASH

The darn thing was probably back in the sea by now, but-

CRASH

Another flash of lightning, but this time something….. Someone….. Is illuminated by the mighty strick…. A massive, towering, god like figure was stood knee deep just miles away from the dinky boat that was currently loosing against the oceans trashing.

So huge that these bottomless waves only reach their knees. So huge their short brunette hair scrapes the storm clouds that flash above

Eyes glowing the bight gold of lightning, their sculpted muscled torso socked by the storm that they barely seemed to care about as his gaze looked out further into the ocean then Childe would see on a clear day on the waves. Each flash showing off every hard crevice and curve of his physique.

The only touch of modesty apon this titans figure being the toga, like a tarp draped over their hips that kicked up the waves simply by shifting their owners stance.

Childe starred jaw agap, hands gripped like clamps against the railing that was his only way of staying aboard.

This …. This God! Was moving towards them, each heavy slow movement sending more building sized waves in all directions. The boat barley the size if a mouse to him, not to mention that Childe would be one small enough to ride said mouse to the storming titan

Not seeming to notice, or maybe not carring about their sea vessal- It was coming this way

They were right in his path, the weight of the ocean nothing to their strength. So Childe could only panic when faced with this hot- this disastrous situation!

He didn't remember much after that?

The giant hadn't needed to even get close, To cause destruction…..

The force of his foot hitting the sea floor felt enough that the whole world shook along with it.

Childe was thrown from the deck as the boat was thrown from the sea

He didn't see where it landed, he was sucked under the waves and for a moment …. It was quiet…..

He surfaced and the roars if the storm once again filled his ears

CRASH

He was blinded, another wave sucked him under

He gasped for breath, surfacing again. The titan was in the distance, still slowly moving forward in a moment about to take another world ending step

CRASH

Childe struggled to adjust. To the flash, to the current, to everything coming at him all at once. So much so…. He didn't see the wave over head….

Everything was dark for a while. Was he dead? Had he died at sea? As cool as that was, he worried for his family. What would they think?

It was warm, he felt sticky. Which usually would be a bad thing but the fact he felt anything at all was a good sign. Seagull's squawked in his ears, he could see them soaring over head as he struggled to open his eyes. Having to squint as open blue sky's blinded him.

Everything ached from exhaustion. He say up taking it all in, his dry lips tasted like salt, his stiff hair was blown about by a slight breeze. Where was he?

This surface was soft? Vast and pale… Almost like-

He woke up almost immediately as Childe turned to look around him, his eyes meeting a familiar cliff like torso. His eyes scaled this vast body hoping to god (bad choice of words) this wasn't what he thought it was.

His eyes continued to rise until they met another pair, massive and gold and locked with his. Childe's body went still. To afraid to move or break from the contact that was made with this pair each the size of billboards.

The very same god that simply by taking a step had ship wrecked him, now watched him like an insect perched in his palm. Expression stoic and unreadable and in this scenario- Terrifying!!!

Childe had no idea what to do, once again overwhelmed by what was happening

Once again he felt powerless against this God….

"Are you alright?"

#genshin impact #zhongli #tartaglia #childe #Macro #Giant #Genshin Impact Au #Thunder God AU #G/T #G/T fanfic #genshin fanfic

[pesterloglog]

Vriska Serket, Tavros Nitram

Act 5, page 2172

arachnidsGrip [AG] began trolling adiosToreador [AT]

AG: Wellllllll?

AT: uHH,

AG: Hey 8oy-Skytard, are you going to just stand there all night?

AG: Make your move, make your move, make your move!

AT: i JUST THINK,

AT: tHESE MONSTERS ARE TOO STRONG,

AT: sORRY, bUT, tHEY DON'T SEEM APPROPRIATE FOR THIS CAMPAIGN,

AG: Weak! Weaky weaky weak.

AT: uHH,

AT: wEAKY, iS THAT A REAL,

AT: tHING TO SAY,

AG: Yes. Your 8l8tant excuse making is the weakiest lame that ever shit the coward 8ed.

AG: Roll your dice. Make your move.

AG: Advance or a8scond!

AT: i CAN'T ABSCOND,

AT: tHERE'S NO,

AT: uHH, aBSCONDING PLACE,

AG: 8ut a8sconding is what you do 8est!

AG: I 8n't managed to cloud a scenario yet you couldn't squawk out of in a 8lazing trail of cluck8east feathers.

AG: You cannot hope to 8eat Tavros Nitram in an a8scond-off.

AG: He is simply the 8est there is!

AT: uHH, tHAT SOUNDS FLATTERING, tHEORETICALLY,

AT: bUT, i DON'T THINK,

AG: Hey pipe down!

AG: Make your move!

AG: Advance or a8scond, advance or a8scond!

AG: Roll, Tavros! Roll!!!!!!!!

AT: oKAY,

AT: hOLD ON, fOR ONE MOMENT,

adiosToreador [AT] began trolling apocalypseArisen [AA]

AT: aRADIA,

AT: hEY,

AT: aRE YOU THERE,

AT: uHHH,

AT: hMM,

adiosToreador [AT] began trolling gallowsCalibrator [GC]

AT: hEY,

AT: tEREZI,

AT: i HAVE A PROBLEM,

AT: uHHHHHHH,

arachnidsGrip [AG] began trolling adiosToreador [AT]

AG: No one can help you, Taaaaaaaavros!

AG: ::::)

AT: oKAY,

AG: Time to decide!

AT: wHERE IS EVERYBODY,

AG: What does that have to do with your present cowardice?

AT: i DON'T KNOW,

AT: pROBABLY NOTHING,

AG: Are you going to roll?

AT: hMM,

AT: nO, i CAN'T,

AG: Why not?

AT: bECAUSE, i WAS THINKING ABOUT THE NUMBERS, aND,

AT: iT'S IMPOSSIBLE FOR THERE TO BE A FAVORABLE OUTCOME,

AT: nO MATTER WHAT THE DICE DO,

AG: So, you give up?

AT: yEAH, mAYBE,

AG: Why not roll and make it official?

AG: Why would you want to cheapsk8 me out of 8onuses like that? It's so thoughtless.

AT: uHH,

AG: Am I going to have to take matters into my own hands?

AG: To make your move for you?

AT: i THOUGHT,

AT: yOU COULDN'T USE POWERS,

AT: i MEAN, rEAL LIFE POWERS, nOT GAME ONES,

AT: iT'S AGAINST THE RULES,

AG: 8ut if you are going to 8reak the rules and refuse to roll, what choice do I have!

AG: I h8 that it had to come to this 8ut what can I do!

AG: Tavros, have I mentioned how cute you look in that plucky little outfit?

AG: Why if I didn't know 8etter, I'd say I was playing with Pupa Pan himself!

AG: Isn't that what you want, Tavros? To 8e like Pupa?

AG: Of course you do! What 8oy wouldn't want to 8e like Pupa! So dashing and 8rave.

AG: He is everything you are not!

AG: For one thing, he can flyyyyyyyy.

AG: Do you want to flyyyyyyyy, Tavros?

AG: Have you ever tried to fly? I 8et you haven't!

AG: How a8out we take to the skies, Pupa!

AG: Hahahaha, oh you like that idea, Pupa? Yes, you do. I can feel it in your simple, mallea8le 8rain.

AG: You want to fly so 8ad!

AG: Fly, Pupa!!!!!!!!

AG: Flyyyyyyyy!

AG: Hahahahahahahaha!

AG: Aaaaaaaahahahahahahahaha!

AG: Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!!!!!!

AG: Haaaaaaaahaaaaaaaahaaaaaaaahaaaaaaaahaaaaaaaahaaaaaaaahaaaaaaaahaaaaaaaa!

AG: Adios, Toreadum8ass.

AG: :::;D

arachnidsGrip [AG] ceased trolling adiosToreador [AT]

#homestuck #vriska serket #tavros nitram #homestuck act 5 #page 2172 #homestuck act 5 act 1

[usagirotten]

Get Ready to Fly Again: 'Chicken Run: Dawn of the Nugget' Trailer Revealed

Get ready to flap your wings with excitement as the highly anticipated 'Chicken Run: Dawn of the Nugget' trailer takes flight. Join our feathered friends for a clucking good time as they embark on a brand-new adventure filled with humor, heart, and daring escapes. This sneak peek offers a tantalizing glimpse into the world of this plucky poultry, promising a return to the hilarity and charm that made the original film a beloved classic. Don't miss out on this egg-citing reunion – watch the trailer now and get ready to squawk with delight as the chickens hatch their plans for another unforgettable escape! Aardman Animation has been working away on Chicken Run: Dawn of the Nugget, the sequel to the 2000 animated comedy Chicken Run. We’re keeping track of everything you need to know about Chicken Run: Dawn of the Nugget, including the plot, cast, trailers, and, most importantly, the Netflix release date, which is expected to be in December 2023.  Directed and written by Sam Fell (Flushed Away, ParaNorman), the screenplay for the Chicken Run sequel was written by Karey Kirkpatrick, John O’Farrell, and Rachel Tunnard and is based on the characters created by Peter Lord and Nick Park. Thandiwe Newton leads a new voice cast as Ginger, while Zachary Levi portrays Rocky and The Last of Us star Bella Ramsey plays the couple's daughter, Molly. The trailer meets Ginger and Rocky as Ginger prepares to lead a mission to break into a chicken farm rather than break out of one, as the group did in the original movie. Though some appear to doubt whether or not Ginger can pull off the latest mission, the chickens seem determined as ever to break into the high-security farm — until they re-encounter the villainous Mrs. Tweedy (Miranda Richardson), who returns after attempting to bake the chickens into pies in the original film.     

Read the full article

#AardmanAnimation #animation #ChickenRun

[fragileoracle]

Ⅱ - Idle Hands & The Devil's Work

And that somebody was Birdie Summers.

"Then go on woman! Ain't nobody asking you to stay, you think you can find better go find it, I want no part of it, and I don't want to see your lily white ass crawling back when you can't find it ya hear?"

It was Mr. Elijah Howard shouting, only his tone was far more even and his expression more annoyed than upset. In a way, he always looked friendly, with dark eyes that seemed genuine and a smile so white it could blind you. For a lot of folks in Saint-Denis, he was the only man they trusted to pour their whisky. The real stuff from Scotland. He had a way about him, young and charismatic that made you wonder what the hell he was doing in Saint-Denis pouring drinks. If it weren't for the money that poured in through the front door every night at the Bastille. It was as if no other place in Lemoyne had a drop of liquor when the doors to the Bastille first opened.

"Oh, why thank you for your permission, Mr. Howard. I hope that ugly ole cow Fanny is enough to keep your poker table hot!"

That was Bernadette, known by the regulars as Birdie the Bastille Jewel. All golden blonde curls and eyes carved from blue ice, with skin unmarred by not a single freckle and a generous mouth purring promises that could walk a man off a cliff. Men simply fell over themselves for just a shred of Birdie's attention. Mercy had witnessed more than her fair share of duels for Birdie's "honor" and nearly twice as many angry wives asking for that "no-good blonde trollop". 

To say Mercy and Birdie didn't get along was a serious understatement. Where Birdie was a plucky, obnoxious, heavily perfumed pigeon without a lick of good sense Mercy was her foil. All dark and stormy with a knife for a tongue. In another life they could have made a perfect pair of criminals.

In this life the two women were a match made in the seventh ring of hell.

Seeing the woman all red-faced and angrier than a mule wasn't the worst way to start her work day. Mercy bit her tongue to stop from smirking as she approached, still failing somewhat as her eyes glittered with satisfaction. Mr. Howard was the first to walk off, leaving the two women at the entrance of the Bastille. The jobless Birdie having just realized she had an unwelcome witness to her tantrum, as if the whole of Saint-Denis hadn't heard her squawking.

With a look of unmasked disdain, Birdie placed a hand on her hip giving Mercy a once-over with those pallid blue eyes of hers.

"Speaking of ugly ole cows," She hissed while tossing a few of those golden curls over her shoulder, "Enjoy the show?"

"Naw, I've seen this one before. It's just as boring as the last time I saw it. You quit last week too, remember? It loses its novelty after the first couple-a-times, you know." Mercy responded with just as much venom while she crossed her arms, her unfriendly smirk more plain than before.

Birdie started to respond with another sharp one-liner no doubt, but Mercy wasn't having it. She held up a hand cutting her off while turning on her heel toward the door to the Bastille.

"That was rhetorical. Good luck finding new work, Miss Summers, maybe this time it'll stick." Feeling more than a little victorious, Mercy pushed open the door before letting it swing shut in Birdie's angry, red face. A string of expletives accompanied the fading angry clack of heels against cobblestone as Birdie stomped off.

Bernadette was a cruel, disrespectful bitch of a woman and Mercy was glad to see Mr. Howard treating her as such. It was about time he saw through her cheap façade and started giving her a taste of her own medicine. Even if she did tend to bring in more business than Remedy's meals or the other girls, it didn't give her any right to act as though she owned the damn place. Jewel of the Bastille or not, she was just another working girl with a head too big for her shoulders. This little game of chicken was sure to end in Birdie returning with an untouchable vengeance.

Still, the Bastille would get at least one peaceful night.

"Mercy? Why, I don't think I have ever seen you in the light of the morning sun." Elijah Howard drawled from behind his bar as she crossed the floor over to him, leaning against the counter with a grin.

"You ain't the only one." Mercy laughed, "I can always come back in the light of the moon so I don't confuse you," Mercy replied, propping herself up against the bar top with two fingers proffered.

"Oh no, you're here now and there's plenty-a work to be done." Elijah placed a cigarette between her fingers, striking a match and held it out to her as she placed the stick of tobacco between her lips and allowed him to light it for her. "Birdie won't be making it in today, so it's all hands on deck."

"I heard as much." Mercy made a face which Elijah did her the courtesy of ignoring, never much one for gossip. At least in terms of those he chose to employ at the Bastille. Business came first in every facet, a characteristic Mercy found admirable. Mr. Howard didn't fool around about money.

"Did you now, I suppose you come in right after me. Good, I can tell you directly then," Mr. Howard continued to clean the shot glasses before moving on to a set of mugs. "You'll be working the bathing room starting noon to midnight. Lara, Fanny, and Rosa are on the floor tonight."

So it was going to be one of those nights.

Taking a long drag of her cigarette, Mercy exhaled a cloud of smoke with a heavy sigh realizing she'd been doing her fair share of sighing as of late. Those little notes of discontent echoing the tug that just couldn't be satisfied.

Straightening up, Mercy took another drag of her cigarette. It wasn't as though she wasn't expecting to be reprimanded for the previous night, but a full twelve-hour shift of bathing every dirty body that came through the door? That was a new form of cruel and unusual, even from Elijah.

"So it got back to you, did it," Mercy grumbled, her mood souring once more as though she'd caught a whiff of Eau de Saint-Denis. "I was only defending myself."

It was true, at least in part. One of the wealthier regulars had decided that his winning poker hand wasn't enough to sate his deviancy, instead preferring a hand of flesh. Unfortunately for him, Mercy was in rare form and cracked him across the face with the back of her hand of flesh. The alarming sound of violence and the look of gob-smacked shock on his face was entirely too satisfying, but it quickly escalated ending in a couple of men dragging the offender out of the Bastille with him claiming assault. Of course, Mercy hadn't been too shy with a few colorful insults thrown at him like daggers on the way out making even a few of the men folk blush.

"I barely even left a mark on him, Elijah. Meanwhile, my rear end is going to be bruised for a week." Mercy griped, tapping the end of her cigarette into the ashtray. "Where's the justice in that?"

"Everything gets back to me, and I don't pay you to defend yourself. I pay you to smile and look pretty while my guests play poker and drink this Scottish hooch. If you want justice, go on 'head to the police station meanwhile, you keep that tongue in check, especially tonight. You get an easy shift, all suds and idle chit-chat. Nothing too difficult, right?" Mr. Howard looked at her expecting nothing less than a chipper response while holding out the ashtray.

"Of course Mr. Howard, all smiles and looking pretty." Mercy rolled her eyes, putting out the cigarette with a tight, ingenuine smile. "Anything for you, Mr. Howard."

"That's what I like to hear. Now go on to the kitchen and put those devilish hands of yours to work. Go on."

Remedy had been pleased as punch to put said devilish hands of Mercy's to work, and Mercy had been more than happy to listen to the stories of his life on the islands. She'd heard them all after just a year working at the saloon, but the man had a way of telling stories that each time he retold a tale she learned something new. It was almost as if he did it purposefully so his recounting always felt new and exciting. The two worked well together, well enough that Mercy figured if she was even a little more crude and a lot less pretty Elijah would've just kept her in the kitchen. Especially considering Remedy didn't like anybody the way he seemed to tolerate Mercy.

Mr. Remedy-Antoine Laguerre from the island of Vidriosa was a large man in every sense of the word. Tall and broad-shouldered, he cut an intimidating figure and was much more than simply a fat man. Remedy and Elijah had known each other for some time before the Bastille first opened its doors, and before he was a cook Remedy acted as something of a bouncer to the Saloon. Mercy had seen him act as such only one time before, and it had been the first time she'd ever seen a man's soul leave his body. Under all those layers were muscles tough as forged steel, and a strength that boggled the mind. Only the jagged, angry scar slashed across his proud, russet face told the story of the life he lived before he came to America. Where a warm smile danced in those dark eyes of his you could only guess at the ghosts of his past.

"Heya Mercy, you betta focus on that knife before you take off those pretty ol' fingers ah yours," the cook cut into her reverie as she finished chopping the various root vegetables for the evening's meal. There were two options for the night. Stew and a hearty lobster bisque, the latter being a new recipe Elijah asked Remedy to try his hand at. "we got enough meat foh the pot without em. What's that eatin' at you?"

"You ever been so restless it feels like your bones are going to run off without you?" Mercy asked quietly after a moment of thought, not meeting his gaze as he watched her with his eyes narrowed. Sometimes it felt that gaze of his looked right through her as though she were nothing more than a window.

"Your bones?" Remedy turned his attention back to the prime cut of beef under his knife, expertly slicing with the grain of the muscle. "Well if'n your bones start runnin' I 'spose you gonna start runnin' too, but I wonder now if'n it's your bones or your heart that be tryna run." He replied thoughtfully, still glancing down at her as he began rubbing his specialty mix of seasonings into the slabs of beef on his cutting board.

Mercy was quiet as she continued peeling another batch of potatoes, careful to leave a bit of peel as Remedy always requested. He let her be, humming a familiar little ditty as he pan-fried chunks of steak coated in a fragrant mixture of butter, salt, flour, and rosemary. The scent of which would soon be filling the entire ground floor of the saloon.

Remedy's words struck a nerve. It was her heart that wanted to run from Saint-Denis, reminding her of her life before the fire. Before she was pulled by the very roots and transplanted to a place she knew she had no chance of growing in. There was only routine here, and the feeling that she would die a saloon girl and nothing more rose in from her stomach like bile.

As the despair of her realization came to a head, Mercy's hands began to shake. The paring knife slipped between her trembling fingers into her palm while a thin sound she couldn't place rang over the din of sizzling meat and crackling fire of the woodstove. The phantom ring filled her head and her breath came too short. That traitorous heart of hers pounded against her rib cage as if it were a bird that meant to take flight altogether. All she could see in her mind was an unmarked grave, her body left to rot in the clay-ridden soil of the bayou

I can't die here, I won’t.

Mercy wasn't aware she'd caught the knife, still clinging to the blade until Remedy's large hands covered her own, forcing her to relax her bloody grip. The metallic sound of the knife hitting the floor shook her from the spell of hysterics as she found herself looking into Remedy's eyes. His face masked by an expression of concern.

Once the ringing stopped she took a shaky breath as her head swam. Her pounding heart was unconvinced, still rattling in her chest. All that was left were the familiar sounds of the kitchen and the rush of blood in her head as the fear subsided, and adrenaline pulsed through her in waves.

"It's your heart, ain't it?" Remedy asked, still holding her hands in his much larger palms, with her blood seeping through his fingers. Mercy couldn't help but feel both comforted and foolish as she bled into her friend's hands as if she were nothing more than a clumsy child.

"I don't want to die here, Remedy." Mercy's voice was small, and she hated how scared she sounded.

Furrowing his brow, she wasn't expecting him to laugh but in a way, it was exactly what she needed. Even if the great sound of it caused her a start. His eyes crinkled around the edges as he beamed while patting her wounded hand, the velveteen quality of his chuckles wrapping around her. Grounding her. Rooting her into the present and chasing away the sudden wave of despair.

"Mercy you ain't gon' die here, and neither am I. You ah fool and ah half girl, you got many years 'head ah you I tell you. Don't bring none ah that foolishness into this 'ere kitchen." Remedy chastised her, pulling a clean cotton rag from a shelf above the stove and wrapping it tightly around her hand, staunching the wound.

"Look ah you, paler than ah ghost. Sit down ova der, all that blood gonna have you feelin somethin faint and I don’t need you bleedin' like a pig on dinner. ‘Sides, I don't 'ave to be ah bettin' man to know you ain't ate a lick ah anythin'." Remedy frowned at her, urging her to a chair in the back of the kitchen sat next to an old wooden table covered with various bowls and empty liquor bottles.

"I have a peach," Mercy replied pathetically from her seat. And as if she were making a solid point she pulled the fruit from the pocket of her skirt and held it up as "proof".

"Oh do ya now, go on den. Sit der and eat it, ever' bite." Remedy shook his head and waved her off, "Gonna fry you up some eggs too, you damn fool. And quit ya worryin' ah death, you hearin' me?"

Maybe it had been the hours she'd gone without eating that morning, but Mercy liked to think it was the way Remedy had cooked the eggs. Mercy swore they were the finest fried eggs on bread she'd ever eaten in her life. Tasting faintly of steak fat and butter with the aftertaste of rosemary, Remedy had cracked the two eggs into the same pan he'd been cooking in. Along with the peach, she wolfed down the meal so quickly that she had to take a deep breath once she was done to keep from causing herself a case of indigestion. The sweetness of the peach was still on her tongue as she reclined in her seat feeling quite renewed, sighing with satisfaction.

Maybe it hadn't been her heart or bones or any of that nonsense at all. At least she'd convinced herself it'd been hunger.

The final hours of the afternoon idled by uneventfully as Mercy nursed her wounded hand, hiding in the kitchen from the other girls. First would be Fanny, followed by Rosa and Lara. Mercy was especially avoiding Loretta who would start hunting her down the minute she arrived.

Mercy was not looking forward to the invasive prodding and comments about displaying her "ample bosom" in the tightest corset in the armoire. And the rouge, God the rouge. More was more with Loretta, and no one could escape her brushes and pinching fingers.

Though there was the off-chance she'd go easier on Mercy since she was exiled to the bathing room all night, doubt said it wouldn't matter one way or the other. She was simply biding her last few hours of peace before the night began, and the fading sunlight told Mercy she was on borrowed time.

"Miss Graves! Why I never, what are you doing in here? Last I checked we never hired a scullery maid."

Speak of the Devil and she doth appear.

#chapter two #the fox and the stag #minor edit update

[thebarefootcajunpetiteshistoires]

Roland Bichot, the Bantam Farmer

He was a chicken farmer on the prairie. His parents and grandparents before him had been chicken farmers. Raising Bantams was his thing. It was 1953, and he had been raising the little feisty chickens since he was a kid in fourth grade.

His interest began in fourth grade when his teacher Miss Sirop, (pronounced see row) a very sweet lady who had an interest in Bantam chickens herself suggested it be his 4 H project. She raised a couple of the small chickens for eggs and she enjoyed their company; often they hung out in her house. They were house trained. They squawked when they needed to go out and squawked when they needed to come back in.

Miss Sirop had taught them how to help with the housework. Their specialty was dusting using their feathered wings. She had a lot of little delicate knick knacks and the small wings of the chickens made perfect feather dusters. To her knowledge not one of her knick knacks had been broken by her two Bantams named Knick and Knack!

The man’s name was Roland Bichot (pronounced bee show). Roland’s ancestors had been displaced in the Acadian diaspora in the fall of 1775. They had settled on this same plot of land where THIS family of Bichots now lived.

They had always raised chickens to supplement their income. Roland and his family now raised Bantams as their sole source of income. Not a seasonal business, but Easter was a big boost since people in the area loved to dye the eggs as is the custom on the South Louisiana Cajun Prairie. Eggs were boiled and pocked (butted) against each other to see which egg was stronger. This tradition was called pocking. Bantam eggs were tough little eggs. Bantam chickens are plucky and quite the characters, not to mention mignon (pronounced mee yawn) meaning cute.

The Bichot family was an island in itself, not isolated, but totally self sufficient on their five acres on the prairie. Life was good for the Bichots until tragedy struck. One by one the Bantams begin to die of a strange unknown malady! The first Bantam to die was Hallelujah, found dead one morning still hanging by one leg from the roost, almost like she had died from blood asphyxiation - too much blood gone to her head. Never had Roland ever known of such a bizarre event. Hallelujah was such a delightful Bantam; she had a joy about her and was the caretaker of the whole flock, always watching out for the other birds.

An unusual death for Hallelujah, but life goes on even among a death, a lesson we’ve all learned as we’ve lived our lives. Albeit, seems cruel, but life is for the living is what the Bichots and the flock of Bantams felt Hallelujah would have wanted. She was buried under the shade of her favorite Chicken Tree, an invasive Louisiana native Prairie tree. The Bichots made a nice plaque to remember Hallelujah with her foot print emblazoned onto a cedar marker. Often the other chickens could be found scratching there in honor of Hallelujah.

Life resumed and just when the pain of losing Hallelujah was diminishing, Belinda and Bergman found another Bantam chicken hanging upside down by one foot dead of asphyxiation, again too much blood to the brain. Now Roland was beginning to worry. After approximately two hundred fifty years, never before had this happened and now two chickens dead of the same bizarre death. Hallelujah’s best friend, Hazelton, had succumbed to this tragedy.

Roland decided to sleep out in the poulailler ( chicken house) under the roosting steps. Under the roosting steps meant he would be decorated with chicken poop in the morning since settling into the evening causes chickens to feel just a bit relaxed, and that’s when they poop; also another primary poop time is morning, when the body moves about again and the bowels move, either way as I alluded; it would be a poop show!

Roland crept into the house after all the bantam girls had roosted and and were dreaming of their breakfast mix of yellow corn and cardboard bran in their shared trough. The girls loved their breakfast each morning around 6:30 AM when Roland came out to feed them. It was a love fest each morning as they sat together; Roland drank his sweet in the pot coffee while the girls ate.

About 3:30 AM Roland heard a squawk from HattieLou, another friend of Hallelujah and Hazelton. He looked up and behold right there on top of him was an old white Leghorn hen named RosaLee; she had HattieLou by the leg almost dead of blood asphyxiation when Roland realized there was his culprit.

He captured RosaLee by the wings as they slowed their flapping since she was surprised to find Roland full of chicken poop all over his body, almost like a camouflaged suit! That’s why she never saw him. Roland took her aside to the feed room and set her down gently. Roland noticed RosaLee had grosses larmes (big tears) gently streaming from her two big brown eyes. Roland could tell she was sorry, but what about Hallelujah and Hazelton who were peacefully sleeping under the Chicken Tree.

Roland was stumped about how to handle the situation; but he was spared having to make a ruling. The Bantams decided that RosaLee should be forgiven; would putting her to death bring Hallelujah and Hazelton back to life? Adopting RosaLee into the Bantam fold was what she needed. Her farm had closed up

and RosaLee had been out on her own starving mostly. Now she had a family.

Roland and the Bantam’s created a therapy program for RosaLee and loved her! That’s what she needed! That’s what we all need; therapy and love!

People lose their lives so others can live! That’s exactly what happened to the girls, Hallelujah and Hazelton. Roland and the bantam girls felt the risk for RosaLee was worth the taking.

AND she became an outstanding citizen of the Bichot and the Bantam brood, eventually giving her life saving the flock of Bantams while fighting a South Louisiana prairie coyote so that the flock of chickens could live.

[britishassistant]

Reporter Yuu carrying the villains in a bridal carry just cause they can >:()

Thank you for the ask, dear anon!

Figures that the supervillains would be too excited to notice the fact that the old relic of a death machine from the Great Seven’s time that they dug up and are determined to use in their next scheme is maybe three minutes from blowing up after they’ve powered it on.

Even the henchpeople have had the good sense to run for cover, but noooo, their dumbass bosses are too busy monologuing to actually notice their lives are in danger. So it falls to the plucky reporter to actually get them out of there before they get hurt.

Honestly, if Yuu didn’t lovecare about these supervillains as much as they do...

Royal Flush squeaks as he’s literally swept off his feet, red-faced and half-stuttering incomprehensible protests as he watches the side of the reporter’s face as they run. He can’t help the way his breath hitches when Yuu’s features are backlit by the explosion behind them, barely even cognizing an explosion just went off behind them.

King yelps at the feeling of being scooped up, thrashing in the reporter’s grip with his ears flat on his head as he orders them to put him down, now. His tail starts winding around the reporter’s waist, hips and down one of their thighs in spite of his protests, bringing him even closer to them and hindering their ability to run slightly

Octo Dealer shrieks the moment he feels Yuu’s hand under his thighs. His glasses have been knocked askew, babbling that they need to put him down, he’s too heavy, he doesn’t want them to drop him like he knows they’re going to—only to eep quietly once Yuu pointedly hoists him higher as they run.

Snake Charmer starts sputtering, demanding to know in a cracking voice what Yuu thinks they’re doing, before the explosion hits and he’s left slack-jawed. Ah. Um. He buries his face where their shoulder meets their neck in embarrassment, hoping against hope that Kalim won’t beginning squealing and planning his aide’s wedding once he sees this.

Poison Queen squawks indignantly at the sudden contact, worried that his super suit will be wrinkled beyond repair before the situation hits him. He has to work very hard not to swoon right then and there, not helped by all the intrusive memories of scenes where the rescuer gives the one in their arms a kiss...

Charon.exe has stopped working. Have you tried rebooting the system? If not, try setting the supervillain down in a pile of blankets and plushies and wait for him to uncurl from his “startled anime girl” pose. Be warned, there will be some mild hyperventilation and muttering of ‘secret route CG too strong for my heart!” during the reboot process.

Tsunotaro locks his arms around Yuu’s neck on reflex, mumbling out a confused “child of man...?” at the sensation. How long has it been since anyone has carried him in their arms like this? It’s...it’s not a bad feeling, he reflects, leaning his head on their shoulder as his cheeks flush pink.

#ask #twisted wonderland #twst #supervillain au #riddle x yuu #riddle rosehearts #royal flush #leona x yuu #leona kingscholar #king #azul x yuu #azul ashengrotto #octo dealer #jamil x yuu #jamil viper #snake charmer #vil x yuu #vil schoenheit #poison queen #idia x yuu #idia shroud #charon #malleus x yuu #malleus draconia #tsunotaro

[babyybitchhh]

This is the anon who commented about yami! I didn't like nozel at first but I can't lie, he kinda grew on me and he's fine asf. I couldn't look at magna in anyway until I saw him with his hair down. Now I'm like 👀👀👀. More than anything, I just want yami to ruin me. Spank me and call me a good girl pleaseee

Yessssssss

Yami was BUILT to be daddy. So strong, so rough around the edges but with a big soft heart, so beefy 💗🥴💗

Words: 3937

Warnings: daddy kink, alcohol, drunk fingering, vaginal fingering 

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27172960

❤️❤️❤️❤️

You probably should have known better than to start drinking with them. No, not probably. You definitely should have known better.

Hindsight was always twenty-twenty though, and you could see now just how grievous a mistake it had been to accept Vanessa’s invitation without stopping long enough to consider the consequences but, well ... she was one of the only other women in the squad and she seemed to like you well enough. You wanted her to keep liking you, of course. So you’d foolishly jumped at the chance, far too eager to be included in this decidedly unorthodox team bonding exercise of theirs.

The Black Bulls were, by nature, sufficiently rowdy enough on their own but adding alcohol to the mix only seemed to fan the flames. They were the very definition of unruly. Clothes had been shamelessly discarded, more cigarettes smoked than you would have thought possible, arguments over nothing at all turned heated with alarming frequency only to be immediately forgotten and you, you were stuck in the middle of it. Thoroughly lost in your own world and floating serenely through the hazy bog of consciousness without a second thought to what chaos was going on around you.

It was kind of nice, actually. Liberating.

“Remember, ya’ gotta’ have at least three matching pairs to discard,” Magna reminds the assembled party as he quickly deals out a fresh hand. “Or you can do the same suit if ya’ want, but it has to go in order. No incomplete sets.”

The worse for wear table everyone had initially gathered around started off cramped, a tight fit for so many people and with little elbow room to spare. As the night wore on, however, most of the plucky squadron had gradually called it quits and retired until eventually only four remained. You were proud of yourself for outlasting the others but you also knew just how in over your head you were with this particular group. Yami could likely drink anyone under the table and Magna appeared to keep up with him just fine. While Vanessa didn’t exactly hold her liquor well , she could certainly put it away. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that you were on your last leg here even if you were, for all intents and purposes, having a good time.

“Alright, lets see what ya’ got.”

Feeling simultaneously as light as a feather and sluggish under the weight of heavy, invisible chains, you slowly flip your cards over. It was hard to tell which way was up anymore, especially when your inner vertigo was so off kilter. You were warm, too. Almost unbearably so. Clammy in the worst possible way and you teeter forward in your chair, struggling to focus your swimming vision on the cards spread out in front of you.

It was a shit hand.

Grumbling under your breath, you distractedly tug at your clothes. A soft, fitful whine claws its way up your throat when it does absolutely nothing to alleviate just how stiflingly hot you are and, in fact, only seems to make it worse. You were absolutely burning up and this card game was its own special brand of torture, you decide with nothing short of woozy contempt.

“What the hell’s your problem?” Yami asks mildly from his spot beside you.

He was infuriatingly collected despite having consumed even more alcohol than you had, guzzling down mouthful after mouthful while you’d taken your time sipping on the fruity concoctions Vanessa made special just for you. You’d lost track of how many cups he’d emptied quite some time ago but you were still only on your third. It didn’t make sense. How were you so damn tipsy already?

“Hot.” You groan, not bothering to look up from what was possibly the worst hand you could have been dealt. Letting Magna shuffle the deck was, unsurprisingly, yet another mistake to add to the ever growing list.

Turning his head, Yami glances over at you and you catch the movement from your peripheral but still refuse to divert your attention from the cards. Maybe if you just stared at them long enough, hard enough, they’d morph into something you could actually use. You weren’t a magic knight in name only, right? Surely your grimoire was good for something .

“You’re drunk.” He suddenly announces, loud enough to make Vanessa whip her head around.

“M’not.” You grumble.

“Bullshit.”

The inebriated witch inserts herself into the fray before you can respond, wrapping slender arms around your shoulders and pulling you in against her bosom. “Awww, honey! Did’ju really like my drinks that much?” She coos at you sweetly. “I wasn’t tryin’ to get you drunk. Promise.”

“M’not drunk.” You insist, louder this time, much to Vanessa’s giggling amusement.

Heaving a clipped sigh, Yami leans across the table and taps your cards with a thick finger, slowly drawing your attention back to them. “I’m not saying I don’t believe you,” He says around the cigarette in his mouth. “But someone who isn’t piss drunk would probably know better than to lay their hand out on the table like this. Do you even know what game we’re playing right now?”

Mouth tugging into a frown, you wrack your muddled brain for the answer to that question. “Go fish?”

Magna inelegantly snorts at that. You can feel yourself starting to flush in embarrassment as Vanessa begins fussing over you, softly petting your head with murmured, nonsensical endearments. She definitely wasn’t helping matters and you sincerely hoped none of them could see your fluster.

Yami doesn’t seem to miss it though and he purses his lips, pinning you with an unimpressed glower. “That’s what I thought. Sorry, sweetheart, but you’re officially cut off. No more booze tonight, okay?”

Both you and Vanessa groan in unison. Your head immediately starts to spin in earnest now and you slump against the other woman even as she grabs your drink and holds it up to you as if she were bottle feeding a baby. The notion that she might accidentally dump it all over your head when she was just as intoxicated as you doesn’t even cross your mind and you obediently open your mouth to accept her offering.

“Come on, captain! At least let her finish her dr-drink first! I worked really hard to -”

Yami cuts across her babbling with a huff, standing and grabbing hold of the cup so he can pull it away despite Vanessa’s best attempt to keep it in her fumbling grasp. You watch it go, feeling an odd mix of disappointment and relief. The giddy, jovial mood you’d been imbued with was nice, yes, but realistically your body probably couldn’t handle much more. It was likely for the best.

“Just knock it off.” Pointedly setting the drink down towards the center of the table, Yami turns back with a furrowed brow. “Are you trying to kill her or something? What all did you even put in that?”

Vanessa hums a noncommittal sound of guilt, winding a strand of your hair around her finger.

He scoffs and moves closer with an accompanying shake of his head. Your heart gives a little jolt when you realize he’s coming towards you, not Vanessa, and you can’t help the anxious tinge that sparks in your chest. He was probably mad at you for getting so drunk. He looked mad. You didn’t want to be on the receiving end of one of his lectures though and you lean further into the softly swaying witch next to you in search of protection.

Much to your faltering surprise, however, Yami’s tone sounds closer to exacerbated than angry when he says, “Alright, brat. C’mere. You get to sit with me for the rest of the night so I can keep an eye on you and make sure someone doesn’t try to sneak you anything else.”

You blink, thoroughly confused, and it feels like even something as simple as a muscle twitch takes a small eternity to accomplish. Yami either doesn’t notice or he doesn’t care though.

Shooing Vanessa away, he bends at the waist and curls big hands under your armpits, hauling you straight up out of your seat. You outright squawk, flailing weakly in Yami’s grasp when you suddenly find yourself much further from the ground than you were used to. But your panic lasts only a terrifyingly brief moment and you relax when he draws you close, allowing you to curl your limbs around his thick frame. With a slight jostle, he adjusts his hold and secures you to the front of him. You instinctively nuzzle further into his arms, drunkenly whimpering as you tightly lock your elbows behind his neck.

“You’re no fun …” Vanessa whines on your behalf.

He clicks his tongue. “I’m thinking ahead. You’re not.” He says, those rumbled words reverberating inside your skull and further grounding you by some margin. “But if she gets sick, you’re the one who’s gonna’ clean it up.”

With that admonition, he moves back to his own chair and sits down again. It takes you a moment to get situated on his lap, still unbearably hot and fussy now after forcibly being removed from the fun. The last thing you want is to look like a lightweight in front of your teammates but he finally stills you with a large, mindful hand against your lower back. The silent warning in that innocuous gesture is enough to make you quit while you’re still ahead and, mewling something unintelligible, you press your warm face into his neck so you can settle in to pout.

Magna says something then, successfully distracting Vanessa from the subject, and the game carries on without you. The three of them don’t seem to mind the loss one bit as they seamlessly pick right back up where they’d left off.

It's hard to shake the feeling that your presence at the table was nothing more than an afterthought to them, or maybe a simple nicety, and it stung a little. There was no denying that. But you were much too hazy and disoriented to linger on it for more than a moment, molding yourself to the firm weight against you and going pleasantly slack in Yami’s arms. He was surprisingly comfortable, given his hard physique. A little too warm for your liking when you already felt swelteringly hot, but ultimately comfortable.

The even rise and fall of his broad chest is almost enough to lull you into dozing off right then and there with your head resting on his shoulder. Yami’s rough fingers tracing nonsensical, soothing patterns across your spine is the only thing that keeps you tethered to reality and you sit there, eyes closed, just listening to the slurred conversation going on at your back. It sounded far away now. Muted, as if your ears were stuffed with cotton, but you didn’t mind that too much. Magna was loud enough when sober and even worse when he was drunk.

A long moment later, Yami removes the cigarette from his lips and turns towards you when the other two start bickering about the validity of a certain card sequence. “How you feeling, squirt?” He asks, pressing his mouth against your hair.

“Good.” You murmur dreamily.

He laughs, very quietly, and gives you the briefest squeeze. “Yeah? You’re deadweight, baby girl. Sure you’re not gonna’ pass out on me over there?”

“Mmhmm.”

With a soft click of his tongue, Yami focuses back in on the game. The hand resting on your back slips lower, inconspicuously giving your behind a playful tweak that seems to go unnoticed by the table's other occupants given that they keep talking without pause. Magna would more than likely look away, politely pretending he hadn’t seen it, but Vanessa … if she’d caught so much as a glimpse, you’d be hearing about it right now. That was at least one reason (of which there was many) why what you had with Yami, whatever it was, still remained a secret to the rest of the squad even though it was probably a miracle they hadn’t caught on already, especially when he was so damn handsy with you.

Normally you’d err on the side of caution for that reason alone but you felt just daring enough to give him little push back. Emboldened by the liquid courage sitting hot and heavy in your stomach, confident that he wouldn’t have initiated this had it not been safe to do so, you discreetly roll your hips into him. The drag of your pussy across the front of his pants makes your breath hitch and he stiffens underneath you. That’s all the reaction you get for your trouble though, prompting you to lift your head from his shoulder and lean close to Yami’s ear.

“ Daddy …”

It’s nothing more than a tiny, breathless sigh but the effect it has on him is instantly noticeable. Steel chorded arm tightening around you, he breathes out a terse exhale and pulls you more firmly against his chest until you can scarcely breathe. A wavering puff of air slips from you as your thighs flex around his waist, silently trying to urge him on. It doesn’t work though and a shudder works its way down the length of your spine when he turns towards you again, growling right against the outer shell of your ear.

“Watch it.”

You whine, bucking against him more insistently. “ Nooooo .”

Yami snorts and swivels his attention back around to the cards clasped in his other hand. Pressing your face into the crook of his neck, you take a deep breath until the naturally heady scent of him swarms your senses like a fragrant, masculine cocktail. You can taste him in the back of your throat and it just makes you want him all the more.

Another wiggle of your hips is all the incentive he needs, calloused fingers slipping further down to grab a pinching handful of your ass. Roughly nudging you to sit a bit higher up on his thighs, he reaches lower and snakes his hand under your skirt. You squirm at the first touch against your panties, whimpering softly into his skin. Yami merely tightens his arm around you as he ever so carefully pulls the thin layer of cotton aside just enough to slide those sinfully long digits past the flimsy barrier.

“Spoiled brat,” He murmurs fondly, just loud enough for you to hear. “Already so damp and needy for me.”

You bite down on your tongue to keep yourself quiet, shuddering when he casually traces the length of your slit with abrasive fingertips.

Magna abruptly cackles about something and the sudden noise makes you jolt. Yami, to his credit, remains perfectly still though and merely waits a torturously long beat before continuing in rumbling hushed tones. “How long were you sitting over there in your own mess, hmm?”

“I - it’s not a mess.” You warble into his shoulder, your cheeks flushing hot.

“Oh? This certainly feels like a mess to me …” Pausing, Yami dips a finger into the meat of your labia and the slick quality of your pussy suddenly makes itself known. You hadn’t noticed until now, either because you were too caught up in your inebriated stupor or simply too focused on pouting to pay it any mind, but you were absolutely soaked. It wasn’t exactly surprising. Your body always responded eagerly to being manhandled by the captain but even this seemed a bit excessive.

Whining low in your throat, you decide you don’t want to play this game after all and try to angle your defenseless little cunt away from his searching hand. But Yami puts a stop to that quickly enough and shifts his legs further apart, forcibly spreading your thighs until you can’t find the leverage needed to wriggle out of his hold. You lip quivers when he takes advantage of this vulnerable position to worm a finger into the tight, squeezing heat of your body, gummy walls contracting around the intrusion with a pleasant flutter. It takes everything you have not to throw your head back and unabashedly moan up at the ceiling.

“Can’t you feel that, baby? You’re so wet I didn’t even have to work you open.”

Hiccuping, you shove your face against Yami’s neck again. “Dah - daddy … please .”

“Shh.” He warns even as he starts up a slow pace, sedately pumping into you. “Keep quiet or I’ll have to stop.”

As if on cue, Vanessa says something to him then and Yami effortlessly diverts his attention to the slurring witch as if nothing about the situation were out of place. You dig your nails into the broad expanse of his shoulder blades and bite back a groan, suddenly feeling ten times hotter than before. Even with all your concentration focused on keeping as still and quiet as possible, you find yourself imperceptibly arching to give him better access to your sticky cunt. It was certainly a blessing in disguise that she was just as drunk as you were, otherwise she might have given the whole thing a second thought. The way you were sitting on his lap. The smallest twitch of your hips to accompany the shallow quality of your breathing. It was so obvious what you two were doing. How had they not noticed already?

The table.

Neither Magna or Vanessa could see over it unless they came around and stood right next to the chair. You were essentially safe from the waist down and a fresh spark of confidence alights throughout your whole system with this realization, doubling and then tripling your arousal. It was still risky doing something so brazen right in front of them but you were just drunk enough not to care.

Loins twisting and curling, you carefully rear back to meet his shallow thrusts. You’d never felt more uninhibited in your whole life. “Oooh, daddy,” You whisper, choking on it. “Right there.”

Yami doesn’t miss a beat, easily keeping up with the conversation as he allows a second digit to slide in with the first. You feel the stretch in your bones and you quietly seeth, lashes fanning against the apples of your cheeks when it pushes you to just this side of discomfort. Even being as wet as you are, his fingers were just too thick for your eagerly clenching passage to accommodate them without some resistance and you hedonistically bask in the searing burn. It felt good. Almost good enough for you to lose yourself to the pleasure but, somehow, you manage to keep your wits about you instead of shamelessly writhing in his lap.

You may as well have thrown caution to the wind though. Discretion hardly mattered anymore. You already felt like a blatant little slut and the shock of how much that turns you on has your pussy drooling obscenely all over Yami’s hand.

“Hah - harder, daddy … nnghh, harder, please.”

Rather than obliging, he actually pauses his ministrations and you quietly mewl at the loss of friction. You squirm on top of his muscular thighs and desperately try to fuck down on his digits, panting like a bitch in heat against the captains neck. He shifts underneath you, says something to Vanessa that makes her direct a chiding tone at Magna. Their bickering starts up again and with the rise in volume, Yami gives his wrist a good twist that shoves his fingertips into your upper wall. Static electricity shoots through your system at the sudden pressure on that pulsing sweet spot and the tension in your gut immediately starts to toe the line of unbearable.

Your mouth drops open in shellshocked ecstasy but nothing comes out. It’s hard just to draw breath when the dizzyingly sharp jolt of arousal has your toes flexing uselessly in the air and you tremble, quaking in his arms. Unperturbed by the effect this is having on you, Yami takes his time caressing the velvety soft lining of your insides with sedately smooth motions. Those worn fingertips gradually curl up in the general direction of your belly button and press in deeper, harder, making your cunt absolutely gush around him. You weren’t going to last much longer at this rate.

“Oooh god !” You gasp, clutching him in a death grip.

Turning your head, you press your cheek against Yami’s shoulder and fix your gaze to a random spot on the far wall. The room looked like it was tilted on its axis - - spinning, spinning, spinning - - and all you can do is whine and shake when he scissors his fingers, making more room for himself within you.

You weren’t just overheated anymore. It was as if you’d caught flame, burning from the inside out, and it only gets worse when he flexes his hand, jabbing at the spongy soft spot again and again.

A choked off squeal rises in your throat, just barely held back by tightly clenched teeth. You’re almost positive you can hear the greedy, slopping clicks of your pussy sucking him in deeper just below the surface of the enthusiastic argument going on behind you but they don’t seem to notice. They just keep shouting back and forth at each other, oblivious to what was going on at the other end of the table. You have no idea how you’re getting away with this - aren’t even really sure if you will get away with this when all is said and done - but that’s the very last thing on your mind anymore as you haltingly roll your hips into the blinding pressure.

“Ah - ahh - d - dah - ahh - ddyyy !”

“Do it.” Yami murmurs, his mouth pressed tight to your ear. “Come now , baby. Do it while you have the chance. Come on.”

Your eyes roll back in your head and you give your pelvis one good little twist. The drag of your throbbing clit across the front of his rough pants is the last push you need, the resulting friction searing your veins. It sends you spiraling right over the edge into doped out bliss and you squeak, jerking against him when full bodied tremors grip you in earnest and make you shake.

Riding out the cresting waves as discreetly as you can, you blink back an onslaught of reflexive tears. Your pussy squeezes tight, milking your orgasm on his fingers, even though the effort of forcing yourself to remain quiet nearly breaks your resolve. But you manage, somehow, to breathe through it even as your hips weakly buck in unmitigated pleasure, subduedly twisting in his arms. It felt like you were drowning in it, choking on immense, all encompassing relief.

But Yami doesn’t immediately let up on his concerted attack, continuing to work you over until the spasms start to subside and you whine in frazzled distress. Digits finally stilling inside you, he offers a brief kiss to your hair and it makes you breathe out a tired sigh. You immediately slump, going boneless on top of him, now even clammier than when you’d started. The sweat clinging to your skin has you feeling worryingly damp but you were also satiated and comfortable. It was an acceptable tradeoff, as far as you were concerned.

“Such a good girl. You even managed to stay quiet for me. I’m proud of you.”

Smiling at the hushed approval in his tone, you snuggle further into Yami’s musclebound frame. You were floating on cloud nine, no longer concerned about being removed from the card game; not when the pleasant afterglow and the reassuring presence of your captain - your daddy - had you feeling so at peace. There would always be a next time.

#Black Clover #yami sukehiro #yami x reader #self insert bullshit #My writing

[imjeralee]

Comfort in Despair: Chapter 4 - “Have You Seen My Son?”

Leon x F!Reader

Disclaimer: Do not own Pokemon

Summary:

Galar is rich in folklore and tales of the supernatural.

As a Pokemon Researcher who specialises in ghost types, this is a great opportunity for you to investigate and learn more about the paranormal.

Along the way, you meet Leon (in the most awkward way possible) who becomes embroiled in your adventures.

^ Basically this story is about ghosts :/

Rating: General/Teen

Note: So uh, apparently my previous chapter scared one of my readers who was reading it at night. So I changed the warning below -

Warnings: Don’t read this fic at night 

Have You Seen My Son?

...

...

[It is estimated that 8 million children around the world go missing each year]

...

...

When it's almost sunrise, a Vullaby squawks somewhere in the distance and you turn to Leon and give him a little shake. "Leon, wake up."

He's lying on his back and up close you can see his long eyelashes and angular features and you feel bad for waking him up considering how comfortable and peaceful he looks. He begins to stir in his sleeping bag and murmurs and groans under his breath before he opens his eyes wearily and glances up where he sees you looking at him from above. His eyes grow wide.

You notice that he's staring but you turn away to roll your sleeping bag properly. "It's almost time to watch the sunrise. It's freezing, so wear something warm."

"Oh, right," Leon croaks out groggily as he moves to sit up, then he throws a glance to you as you get ready, pulling the straps of your bag over your shoulders and tugging on them firmly. He rolls out of his sleeping bag and you leave the tent, letting him get changed in private.

It's extremely chilly outside as you wait for him and your damaged coat isn't doing very well in the frigid air so you rub your arms in an attempt to keep warm, teeth chattering as you stand shivering on the spot until Charizard creates a fire for you so you thank him, hop over and warm yourself until Leon emerges from the tent in his white, woolly sweats and looking very warm. His long hair is a tangled mess though, sticking up in all possible directions which makes you giggle.

"...Mornin'," Leon greets you rather gruffly; his voice is slightly hoarse.

"Good morning. Here, have some water," you unscrew the lid off a flask and give him it; he accepts it with a mutter of thanks and downs one big gulp.

Then he slips on his shoes and grabs a comb from his bag, using it to quickly tame his unruly hair before he decides to tie it in a low ponytail. "I'll be back in a few minutes..."

He wanders off with a small drawstring bag which he slings over one broad shoulder, possibly to brush his teeth and wash his face which you had done so in the morning. Charizard goes with him, probably to ensure he doesn't get lost along the way. You wait by the fire and Zorua wakes up, stretching on her frontal paws before she looks at you and you feed her some berries and play with her.

Leon returns shortly, looking slightly more awake. "Should we go?"

"Do you want something to eat first?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Okay, let's go then. I know a good spot. Follow me."

Zorua leaps on top of Charizard's head as you and Leon begin your trek. He definitely seems more awake now as he walks with Charizard though your journey is spent in silence. The spot for watching the sunrise is a grassy hill which isn't far away from your campsite at all so in a few minutes down the path and you locate the hill and turn to Leon with a grin.

"Here we are."

Leon offers you a gentle smile and you both head up. It's not steep at all and it's not rocky in the slightest, but Leon gives you his hand just in case. You smile at him awkwardly as you slip your hand in his and he helps pull you up though it's not necessary.

Eventually, you arrive at the top of the hill and head to the edge before you carefully lower yourself to sit cross-legged with Zorua in your lap whilst Leon sits beside you and Charizard plops down beside him.

Though not as stunning as the view from the Meetup Spot, the hill grants a breathtaking view of the Wild Area from the Grove where you can see a huge stretch of grassy pastures below, including various rivers and lakes bathed in darkness.

In the horizon, the sun peeks out from the mountain and the sky is streaked with orange and red hues. The breeze is stronger and colder and you let out a sneeze.

As you mutter a quick 'bless me' under your breath and rub at your nose with a tissue, Leon quickly pulls off his sweater and drapes it around your shoulders and over your back. You go still, wide-eyed.

"This'll keep you warm," Leon says as he tucks the sweater in and loops the arms around your neck.

You end up shrinking away from him which you hope he doesn't notice. "...Thanks, Leon."

"You're welcome."

Leon's sweater is wrapped tightly around you and he is left in this tight, long-sleeved black shirt but the cold doesn't seem to affect him. Charizard watches your interaction with the champion from the corner of his eye before he snickers under his breath in wheezy huffs.

"Were you up all night?" Leon adds when he notices that you appear slightly drained, and you nod. He winces slightly at your response but you shrug.

"I'm used to it. I'm the equivalent of a Noctowl. How about you? Did you sleep okay last night?"

"Yep!" he says cheerfully.

"Good," you reply, as it appears he didn't hear the radio going off last night, and your wristwatch beeps, indicating the sunrise is due to start.

You and Leon grow silent and focus on the magnificent view before your very eyes as the sun begins to creep up over the mountain and light pours into the valley. It dispels the darkness easily, the light growing brighter and brighter until the clouds are dissolved in a tawny, gentle hue. As the sun begins its gradual ascent, the sky brightens up entirely and bathes the landscape with a warm glow. The sunlight becomes so intense that you have to shield your eyes and Leon does the same.

When the light becomes bearable and the atmosphere grows slightly warmer, you lower your arm, close your eyes and inhale a deep breath, holding it in for a few seconds before exhaling with content. The sunlight feels nice on your face.

"Getting to see the sunrise is the best part of my day," you murmur under your breath as you re-open your eyes, curling your fist before you hold it triumphantly in the air, "In the end, light will always conquer darkness."

Leon ponders your words carefully then he says, "I once told myself I would see the sunrise with someone special," Upon realising what he'd just blurted out, he begins to attempt to correct himself.

You let out a loud laugh in response, "It's fine, Leon. You can bring your special someone here next time. Just don't tell them I showed you this place first."

"Ah...y-yeah."

The sunrise is over so it's time to head back. Your trip back to camp is in silence which you don't mind and you return Leon's hoodie to him and he mumbles his thanks. It looks like Leon has not recovered from what he'd unintentionally let slip despite your reassurance.

Although it's time for you to split ways, Leon asks if you want to stay for some breakfast which you agree to after your stomach rumbles loudly in front of him. He laughs (much to your embarrassment) and brings out some food for you and Charizard to start cooking whilst he finishes stowing away the tent and pack the majority of his camping supplies into his bag.

When he's completed his task, he returns to the cooking area where you have all gathered, cooking some beans and slices of toast in the metal pan. Charizard waits with his bowl whilst Zorua sits beside you with her legs folded and her tail wagging in the air, watching. Gengar stays in your shadow, unwilling to come out or be active during the day.

Once you have finished heating the beans and toasting the bread, Charizard hands you his bowl.

"It must suck not having thumbs," you utter as you empty some beans and toast into the bowl, which you then hand to the flame pokemon. You do the same, slipping in some food for Leon which you hand to him.

As you begin to eat, you notice it's actually been a while since you have eaten breakfast with someone who wasn't Sonia or Professor Magnolia. You crunch your toast, musing to yourself. You want to say something to Leon but you discover you are quite nervous though you do spare him a quick sideways glance to see what he is up to every now and then, only to realise that he has been staring at you and when he realises he has been caught, he hastily looks away.

The same tension from last night is returning.

After you finish eating, you wash up quickly and Leon packs the remainder of his belongings before extinguishing the fire. The campsite is now empty. It is as though no-one had stayed here.

Zorua is the first to leave.

She has decided to return to the manor and has assured everyone that she can make her way on her own. She transforms herself into a little rosy-cheeked, pigtailed farm girl so not to draw attention to herself nor does she want to risk being captured by some plucky trainer. You give her an additional helping of Pecha berries in a small ziplock bag to take away and enjoy but she ends up carrying the bag in her mouth and gleefully scampers through the woods on all fours and out of sight.

You and Leon watch before you sigh haplessly.

It's also time to take Leon back to the Dappled Grove where you will split up but the trek will take roughly two or three hours maximum.

You're about to set foot onto the trail until the sounds of wooden wheels rolling over the gritty path coupled with the rhythmic trotting of hooves heading towards your direction forces you and Leon to turn round.

A grizzled-looking Tauros is pulling an old-fashioned wagon towards your direction. A man in a loose flannel shirt, matching slacks, brown jacket and grey flatcap is perched at the front of the carriage with a frail-looking woman by his left, his wife presumably, and once they spot you, they get Tauros to come to a gradual stop.

"Easy there, Toro," the man drawls, before he turns to Leon and tips his hat, "Good mornin'. What're you doin' all the way out here, Mr Champion?"

You recognise the man. He is one of the farmers who works for Turrfield Orchards, a popular supplier of produce. You are aware that this farmer makes regular trips to Motostoke in the early hours of the morning from a farm somewhere in the Rolling Fields and you've seen him various times when you leave the Wild Area at dawn but he never speaks to you.

"Good morning, mister," Leon says cheerily with a grin; he tips his snapback in response, "We're on our way to the Dappled Grove."

"What a coincidence, we’re on our way there too. Ain't that right, dear?" the farmer barks out jovially, turning to his wife with a chuckle. "If you walk, it’s gonna take about three hours tops. Why dontcha hitch a ride wi' us? We'll get you there in no time!"

"Thanks!" Leon replies, and he glances at you with a grin before he heads over to the side of the caravan which is transporting several bales of hay and huge pots of berries. Leon recalls Charizard then throws his bag into the awaiting carriage. You can only smile at him awkwardly as you trail after the champion.

However, the farmer turns to you and you freeze up, hesitant in approaching the wagon. You know something is wrong when the farmer appears to regard you with disdain in his eyes.

He says, "We only got space for one."

A stunned expression appears on Leon's face whilst you blink blankly at the group, before you throw a downtrodden glance to the floor, biting down on your lip.

The farmer leans towards Leon and although he employs a hushed tone, you can hear what he says. "This girl is trouble. She's bad luck round these parts. People say she's cursed. If you know what's good for ya, stay away from her."

You heard everything loud and clear and you're quick to retreat, taking a few steps backwards, knowing all too well that you are not welcome onboard the Tauros wagon.

"It's okay, Leon. Go ahead. I can make it back on my own." You mumble. This farmer doesn't like you and you don't like him very much either.

"You heard the lady. Come on, Mr Champion."

Leon stares intently at you and his expression slowly becomes unreadable. However, he grabs his bag, hauling it out of the caravan. "No, I changed my mind. Thanks for your generous offer, but..." Leon promptly returns to your side with his bag, "We can manage on our own, thank you very much."

Following that is a rather strained silence as you and the farmer stare at Leon with widened eyes.

"Leon...?" you croak out.

Leon turns and smiles warmly at you. "Let's go."

The farmer snorts under his breath at the rejection. "Suit yerselves." With the reigns in his hands, he flicks them with a turn of his wrists and Tauros picks up speed again, galloping down the path and out of your view.

You cannot believe what had just happened and you gawk at the champion beside you. "Leon, why did you do that? You could've gotten a ride."

Leon smiles at you gently. "Well, I'd rather stay and walk with you."

And your heartbeat soars, your stomach doing backflips.

"Are you alright?" Leon asks, "your face is really red."

You snap out of your reverie. "O-oh! Yeah, I-I'm fine.." you stutter, trying to smile in response. "And he's wrong, I'm not bad luck!" you add, until something weighty smacks you in the back and you go stumbling forwards; although Leon grabs your hand, you still drop over the dirt, collapsing on your front.

Lifting your head up, you see a Hoothoot flying above you in a circle before it perches itself in the branch of a tree to your left, crowing with mirth. You wonder if it's the same Hoothoot from last night that had also harassed Leon when he was taking a bath.

"Arceus, you Hoothoot are the worst!!" you moan out before you can help it, cursing the Hoothoot.

Leon steps over you carefully to hoist you up though he ends up lifting your back off the ground and you remain sitting in the mud, feeling somewhat defeated. "You okay?"

You nod weakly.

Leon chuckles as he kneels beside you and helps dusts you down, wiping some flecks of dry mud from your shoulders and back whilst you shake your hair free of earth. "You have some dirt on your face."

"Where?"

"Right here." He says, but before you can move, Leon uses his sleeve to wipe at your cheek gently. His white sweater now has a mud patch but he grins to himself whilst your heart pounds furiously once more. Smiling at you, he says, "Let's go."

"...Okay."

You both continue making your way together through the forest until you reach the familiar landscape of the Dappled Grove. You have finally arrived. As though a stone has dropped in the pit of your gut, you throw your glance down sadly as you realise you will be parting ways with Leon for certain.

"Well, this is it." you say morosely as you gesture to the Dappled Grove's wooden signpost. It contains a few arrows pointing to various locations, outlining the directions to Rolling Fields and West Lake Axwell. "Wherever you're headed to next, you can use this."

Leon joins your side to inspect the sign. "Great! Thanks for all your help."

"No problem."

"It was really nice meeting you," Leon adds, sticking his hand to you and your face falls.

Oh.

A handshake.

Your heart plummets when you realise you were the only one who had been blushing and feeling butterfrees in the stomach the entire duration you had been together and you can't help but feel silly...

Leon has treated you as he would treat anyone, any regular fan. He was just being himself...he is kind and friendly to everyone, fans, friends and foes alike. You're no different than the rest.

It hurts in some sense upon realisation but nevertheless, you steel your nerves and slip your hand into his palm; his hand is so large, your little fingers are bundled up within his and his hand is also extremely warm despite the cold temperature. He proceeds to give you a firm shake and you force yourself to smile. Leon has some serious grip.

"Same. It was very nice to meet you," you reply, when you let go and your fingers are tingling from the contact.

"This is for you," Leon brings out his wallet and pulls out two ten thousand pokedollar bills, "For the coat."

"Ah, right...but um, my coat didn't cost twenty thousand. Let me give you some change for that..." As you fiddle around with your bag and pull out your pulse, Leon chuckles.

"Please, I want you to keep it. I insist," he adds, before he reaches for your hand and presses the money into your palm, forcing your fingers to curl over the money.

You're reduced to a blushing mess again from the contact. "O-oh...well, thanks...I appreciate it."

"What's your blog called? May I have a look?"

"Sure..." you utter the name of your website and also spell it out to him which he saves onto his phone.

"Thanks! I'll be sure to check it out."

You nod, cheeks growing warm, “When's your next match by the way?"

"In a week."

"I'll cheer for you."

His face goes pink and he slides his gaze to the ground. "Thank you. Do you want a ticket? I'll get you one."

"No need, I'll just join the rest of the rabble and sign up, go through the League's official website and try my luck in getting one."

"Usually my matches are sold out in seconds and people resell the tickets at inflated prices..."

"Well, you never know, I might get lucky."

Leon chuckles in response as you shrug, "I'll get a ticket for you," he reaffirms, and he sounds quite adamant in getting you one. "So...what are you planning to do now?"

"Hmm, I'm actually looking for a Grimmsnarl, Dusclops or Dusknoir. I heard there are some in the Stony Wilderness but I can never find one."

"I can help you with that. Let me know when you need assistance."

"Thanks, Leon. That sounds awesome. I'll give you a call, okay?"

He nods, his smile widening.

"Bye, Leon."

"Bye! Good luck with your research!"

"Thanks!"

It feels awkward as you wave at him and Leon and Charizard wave in response as you split up.

You take a few steps before you decide to throw a glimpse over your shoulder and you notice that he has done the same and now he is looking at you; your heart leaps in your throat and you should really look away but Leon grins and waves again. You meekly wave back and you're first to turn away, your breath caught in your throat.

Instead of heading towards the Meetup Spot to get the train that will take you to Wedgehurst, you call for a Corviknight taxi. You wait at least fifteen minutes, sitting on a tree stump and searching online using your Rotom phone on 'signs that a guy likes you'.

You couldn't help yourself.

When the search results load, you click on the first available result that you see on Rotom's search engine, which is an online article detailing ten telltale signs when a guy like a girl.

Sign one: the guy will want to spend his time with the girl and make an effort to contact her. You ponder to yourself but you don't know Leon well enough to fully know if he wants to spend all his time with you so you ignore this one.

Sign two, body language. If a guy like a girl, he's either very nervous, intimidated or shy and he might even make an attempt to touch her. When you read this, you recall how Leon got all flustered and nervous around you on several occasions but you earnestly believed this was because Leon wasn't used to girls. He did seem to touch you a lot though. Unfortunately, you cannot really tell so you move onto the next sign.

Sign three, the guy will ask questions and remember little details. Having only met Leon for one night, it's natural if Leon asked you plenty of questions and it's too early for him to show that he has remembered your every little detail. You will only find out if you ever meet him again. Emphasis on if.

Before you can read the rest of the article, the Corviknight taxi arrives and you bookmark the page to be read later and put Rotom away.

The cabbie opens the carriage door for you and you climb in, poking your head out the window; you ask to be taken to Wyndon which would take twenty or so minutes. The cabbie climbs on the massive bird and you're off. The carriage is lifted high in the air and you buckle up for the bumpy ride. Once you're seated properly, you peer out the window where you see the huge stretch of greenery below you.

You are glad to have left the Wild Area.

It's not a kind place. Although you're prepared, you are thoroughly exhausted, drenched with sweat and caked in dirt. Travelling through the Wild Area really takes a toll on you and challenges one's mental and physical strength.

That being said, you worry about Leon and you wonder if you can see Leon and Charizard down below but ultimately, you can't.

You're too high up.

Sighing, you roll the window down and rest your elbows on the sill to stare at the sky where you see singing Gossifleur and Eldegoss floating in the air and you wave at them and they wave at you in response. Some bird pokemon fly past too and you wave to them. The ride back to civilisation is a soothing and calming one.

Eventually, the barren land of the Wild Area gradually disappears behind you and you see buildings ahead. Corviknight zooms past, heading towards the direction of a huge Ferris wheel that looms in the horizon and grows closer and closer into view, followed by towering skyscrapers. This is your prime indication that you have now arrived at Wyndon.

Corviknight drops you off in front of the fountain. You hop out, pay the cabbie and check Big Bill, the clock tower of Wyndon. It is now almost ten am and the city is very busy.

Your first task is to buy a new coat. The streets are bustling as you make your way to the boutique. You got your coat from here so you're going to buy yourself a new one. Leon's generosity won't be forgotten. You step inside the shop and head over to the outerwear section and you're hoping to get a coat that is identical to your current one but unfortunately the design is no longer for sale and so you settle for a basic but warm and waterproof, black parka that costs eighteen thousand.

You part with your muddy, burnt coat and emerge from the changing room in your new threads.

"Well, it was a good run," you murmur as you fold your ruined coat and slot it inside the clothing recycling bin.

Wyndon Stadium is your next destination so you make your way over, passing the river and the ferris wheel and once you arrive at the enormous, dome-shaped building, you head through the clear glass doors. Although Leon has informed you that he has no matches until a week later, you're stunned to see that it is full of tourists and locals.

Once you're inside, Rotom sounds off and you absent-mindedly check the screen. It's a message from an unknown person and it says:

Unknown: Hi, this is Leon. Did you make it out of the Wild Area ok?

You reread the message a second time and your heart starts pounding viciously. You cannot believe your eyes. The Champion of Galar has messaged you! You are so stunned, you completely stop in your tracks. You are about to type a reply though you pause briefly, wondering if you are replying to his message way too quickly. You don't want to come across as an Eager McBeaver nor do you want to look like a sad sport who does nothing but look at their phone every single minute of their day.

Nevertheless, you decide it's best to send a reply since you don't want to leave it too late to reply that it becomes awkward....therefore you quickly type a quick message and hit send.

You: Yep! I made it out alive :')

With the reply sent, you excitedly add Leon to your contacts, thus increasing the number of contacts in your phonebook to a total of five which is a vast improvement compared to two or three years ago and then you put Rotom away, slightly worried about what the Champion's reply would be and how long he might take to reply.

The text from Leon has elevated your mood to an unimaginable extent. Glancing around the stadium lobby, there are plenty of people ogling the glass cabinet displays that contains the many trophies and awards won by past Champions of Galar. Leon's trophies take up two entire rows and there are also tonnes of posters with his face on them decorating the walls of Wyndon Stadium.

He's everywhere you look.

It's inescapable, and a merchandise kiosk that has just opened up grabs your attention and you head over immediately. You're first in line and the clerk is stacking up some stock on the shelves until she spots you, pausing in her activities to head over to the counter.

"Good morning, how may I help you?" she asks with an absurdly cheerful smile on her face.

You look at the random items she was placing on the shelves. As expected, it's all got Leon's face printed on it. There is a Leon mug, a Leon tumbler, a Leon flask, a Leon scarf...even a Leon mousemat too.

There's Leon everything.

"Wow, this must be Leon heaven." you say, incredibly overwhelmed.

"It is! This is the Leon-exclusive merchandise stall."

"Oh really?" you suddenly have the urge to buy something with his face on it so you say, "I'd like to buy a poster of Leon, please."

"Of course! Which one do you want? Leon on his own? Leon with Chairman Rose? Leon holding a beer? Leon with an ultra ball? Leon with Charizard?"

"Just Leon on his own will be fine."

"With or without an ultra ball?"

"Leon with no ultra ball, thanks."

"Got it!" the clerk cheerfully ducks underneath the counter for a split second and quickly stands back up with a rolled canvas under her arm. "This one?"

And she proceeds to unravel it, revealing Leon striking his famous Champion pose; the canvas is also at least one metre long.

"Wow. It's perfect. How much?" you ask, digging a hand into your bag to fetch your purse.

"Five thousand."

You hesitate but this is official merchandise so you suppose it is value for the money so you count your bills and hand over the cash; you want to show that you support Leon in the best way possible and what is the best possible way to do so other than buy overpriced merchandise? The clerk happily hands you the poster which is too big for a bag so you hold the rolled up print under your armpit.

"We also have a Leon action figure for sale! This is the new and improved version of Leon with his signature snapback and fully rotating arms for impressive ball-throwing action!" the clerk grabs the Leon figurine she was describing off a random shelf and holds it up to you, "Charizard and accessories sold separately."

"That's a bit of a ripoff." you utter, rubbing your chin as you take the figurine off her to inspect it further.

The figurine comes with an exact replica of his Champion attire, his snapback (which appears to be inseparable from his head and hair) and he also comes with a red cape lined with fur. You look at his little white Champion booties and laugh.

"But this one is limited edition and it's also the last one in stock!"

"Last one in stock?"

"Correct."

"Limited edition?"

"Indeed."

"Hm. Alright. How much?"

"Usually it's twelve thousand nine hundred but today, I'll give it to you for ten thousand."

"Alright fine, I'll take the action figure too."

"Thank you, young lady, you won't regret it!"

"I just spent fifteen thousand quid on Leon merchandise," you mutter to yourself as you rummage through your bag for your wallet once again, "I have no regrets."

"Spoken like a true Leon fan!"

You're pretty sure the clerk's claims of the Leon figurine being the 'last one in stock' were falsified so you would experience increased pressure to buy it but you vehemently don't care; the Leon figurine looks sturdy, well-made and the resemblance to him is uncanny. The clerk puts the figurine away into the box and carefully eases it into a large bag with the Macro Cosmos logo on it.

"Perhaps you'd be interested in a huggable Leon body pillow too?" she asks, brows wiggling suggestively.

"Uh...I think I'll pass."

"Mm-hmm, suit yourself.....but how about this pair of Leon night slippers?"

"Slippers? Can I have a look?"

Behind you, you suddenly hear a loud groan of frustration.

"Are you finished yet, lady? You're holding up the goddamn queue!" a voice screams behind you and you turn round to see that there is a small line of teenage girls standing behind you.

"Okay, okay, I'm done, geez..."

You leave the kiosk with poster and bag in hand and return to the lobby, glancing at a bunch of kids running up to Ball Guy who stands near the sofas, waving his arms around happily in the air, a perpetual grin on the round mascot mask.

"Hey, hey, hey kids! I'm your friendly neighbourhood Ball Guyl!" he greets them joyfully as they circle him, his voice muffled behind the mask.

"I don't give a Raticate's ass! Give me my free ball, loser!" one of the kids scream.

"Hurry! Make him faint and take his experience points!" another kid yells before he kicks him in the shin.

Ball Guy reels from the impact and emits a pained grunt before he falls to the ground, clutching his knee to his chest. Once he's down, the children scream and yell as they surround and clamber over him; their little hands ransacking his pockets before they run off with a bunch of capsules.

You glance around, wondering if anyone else had witnessed this but it appears no-one had bothered to pay Ball Guy any attention. You walk up to him as he continues rolling around on the floor in agony.

"Yep…children are the future…" you hear him groan weakly.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, thanks for asking..." Ball guy mutters, and you give him your hand. He looks up and then gasps. "Huh? Oh hey, chuck, you're back!"

You grin as he takes your hand, jumps back onto his feet and grabs the rim of the mask, tearing it off with a loud pop to reveal a young man with a mop of messy blonde hair and bright blue eyes. He shakes his hair in the same manner that reminds you of a shampoo commerical before he gives you an affable, friendly smile.

A few customers are shocked to see the true face of Ball Guy whilst some of the younger children with their parents start screaming about Ball Guy's head being ripped off. However, he is oblivious to them and you exchange a brief hug.

"How was it? Did you find the house? Did you perform any exorcisms?" he asks enthusiastically.

"I'm not an exorcist, Jace," you mutter, "But yes, I found the house and I sealed away an evil spirit too."

"And you say you're not an exorcist? Hello?! You sealed an evil spirit."

"Well, yeah, but it was nothing."

Jace pointedly rolls his eyes in response to your laidback reply and crosses his arms. "Pfft. It was 'nothing'. What's that you got there anyway?"

"Oh, these?" you lift up the poster and the Macro Cosmos bag with the Leon figurine, "Just some stuff. Here, hold this for a moment." You give him the poster to clutch so you can put the figurine on the floor and grab the broken radio from your bag. "Unfortunately this happened too."

Swapping your poster for the radio, Jace holds the device limply in his hands, turns it round and raises a brow. "What happened?"

"Gengar threw me into a wall and it broke," you reply nonchalantly with a shrug whilst Jace blinks numbly at you, "Oh yeah. I almost forgot. Hey Gengar, I want you to meet Jace."

Following that, Jace looks up and around until Gengar appears from your shadow on the ground and rises into the air, emitting an evil cackle as he floats high above you and Jace's complexion goes a tad paler than usual as he makes eye contact with the pokemon.

"Oh..." he gulps, knees going weak as Gengar proceeds to circle him, "A ghost pokemon?"

"Yep, and he's decided to stay with me," you say happily, when Gengar stops and returns to float by your side. You and Gengar grin at each other before he decides to jump into someone else's shadow, his red eyes gleaming from within.

"I think he'll be a wonderful pokemon partner. Suits you, too."

"Thanks. We haven't really had the chance to get to know each better yet but that's okay, we can chat later. So... uh, the radio. Can it be fixed?"

"Of course! Give me a few days though."

"Sure. Thanks in advance. Oh, I also met the Champion last night too."

Jace's jaw drops at you revelation. "What? You met the Leon!!! Really? What's he-"

"BALL GUY!"

You and Jace wince under the loud voice and throw your glances to the far end of the lobby to see a red-faced and bloated-looking, blob of a man in a suit that looks like it's far too tight for him, standing at the closed doors that would lead to the pitch. It's the manager of Wyndon stadium. He watches the two of you with his arms crossed over his chest, tapping one foot impatiently over the ground.

"Ball Guy, get over here now! And put the damn mask back on!"

Jace acknowledges his boss with an apologetic nod and fixes the mask back over his head. "Sorry," his voice has gone back to being muffled, "I need to go back to work now but I'll take care of your radio. I'll call you when it's fixed."

"Thanks Jace."

"No problem. See you."

"Bye-bye, have fun at work! Remember, if you hear any voices from the radio, don't respond."

"Yep, I hear ya. Hey duckie, take this before you go," Jace scoops a Dusk Ball from his pocket and plops it into your hand, then gives you a thumb up.

"Thanks!"

Jace returns to his Ball Guy persona, wiggling his arms in the air and entertaining the customers whilst you leave Wyndon Stadium to head home. On the way to the train station, you pass Wyndon Police station, one of the biggest branches of Galar Police.

It's a large building opposite the river with many floor-to-ceiling windows, the walls painted in blue and red to fit in with the majority of Wyndon's more contemporary architecture and design.

Once you near, you spot a small group of women outside the gates, yelling over each other and waving flyers and League cards in their fists. A few policemen with a Herdier and Grapploct in uniform, badge and hat are keeping the noisy crowd at bay.

"Calm down, you lot!" they're doing their best but the women are hysterical, screaming about their missing sons. "They're gym challengers, madam, that's normal-"

The women are unappeased, condemning the officers for their lack of empathy and compassion and that on this occasion, it is abnormal for gym challengers with fully functioning Rotom phones to go missing or unreachable for such a long time.

The policemen sigh heavily. "We've already taken your testimony, and we 'ave officers on the case and patrollin' as we speak. You're all best to go back to yer homes and wait for us to contact you, you hear me?"

As you pass them, an iron grip seizes your arm and you are promptly halted in your path. A crumpled flyer is shoved in your face with the words 'HAVE YOU SEEN THIS YOUNG MAN?' stamped on the front and you blink at the photograph of a random boy. It is slowly lowered, revealing a woman with a peaky face and mousy eyes.

"Have you seen my son?"

"No, ma'am, I haven't," you murmur, though you take the flyer off her to study the face of the missing boy; it's the photo from his league card, a smiling, young face full of freshness and simplicity. He appears to be sixteen years old at least. "...Hmm, where was the last place he was seen? The Giant's Seat, perhaps?"

She looks at you in bewilderment though you had casually uttered those words under your breath. "How did...how did you know???"

"Lots of people have gone missing there," you add, "It's a case I'm working on right now."

Immediately, the group of shrieking women go silent and all heads turn to you. Everyone's staring keenly at your direction all of a sudden, even the policemen and the pokemon. It only takes a matter of seconds for you to become swamped by the women who are now shoving their flyers or League cards of their missing sons in front of your face, demanding if you know anything about their missing whereabouts and if you could help them with this seemingly hopeless situation.

The policemen chat to themselves briefly until you see the group heading towards your direction and this doesn't look very good; you believe they might apprehend you and you might be questioned but you are saved in time when a gentleman in a suit with an Arcanine and Manectric plodding beside him appears at the gates and stops the officers before they can even take one step forwards.

They immediately salute him upon his arrival. "Chief!"

"It's alright, let her go," he drawls, "She knows what's she doing and she's done work for us before."

The policemen have no choice but to oblige and let you off. Chief successfully ushers the officers away and when he turns to you, he gives you a wink. You mouth a 'thank you' and leave the station vicinity with the group of women who have decided to follow you, hoping that you may be able to help them figure out what happened to their children.

...

#leon #dande #leon x reader #Leon x you #comfort in despair #jeralee #archiveofmyown #pokemon #pokemonshield #pokemonsword #pokemon shield and sword #pkmn #fanfic #fic #reader insert

[copiesofme-archive]

      It would mean the beginning of another Blight. The Spymaster reflects on her own words with the send of her agent on his way to help with the gather of the rest of the ravens to the location she had deemed fit to continue operations. The tower was a perfect onlook for the network of spies, the flock of ravens needed to communicate with those spies, while simultaneously looking over the entirety of the hold. On top of which, it is quick access to any threat that might make it passed the front door. Now that this was the time to turn that promise of faith - the words of a rally cry, into action. Leliana lifts her hand to allow Baron Plucky to pluck the remaining fruit from gloved fingers, then when she’s sure he has is read she looks up toward the very rafters above their head and throws her arm up in a beckon into flight.

       Leliana watches him flutter and flap upward with the lone squawking his kind was so infamous for. The darkness of his feathers fading to black as she allows him scope out what would be their new home. It was hard not to reflect on the last Blight as her steps bring her to the center of the hall, gaze turning toward the door as she looks toward the entry. Unable to help her own curiosity when she catches sight of him entering the hearth of shattered windows and broken wooden tiers surrounding an a once empty throne. Varric Tethras. She had a feeling - from the disgruntled look on his face that feeling had been correct, and the Seeker had found him first.

       This anonymous friend was the Champion of Kirkwall - and he had lied to Cassandra. And had lied to all of them this entire time. She remembers that journey, remembers an investigation that Divine Justinia, once Mother Dorothea - had sent the Left Hand on weeks prior. To learn whether her fears had been correct. She also remembers her search for the culprit as Cassandra interrogated the dwarf for answers once the climax of that tale came to pass- for the one who would lead their movement should the Conclave fail. And fail it did, only in ways no one could have ever imagined.

        “You said that Hawke had crossed paths before with Corypheus before.” She spoke as her step fell in line with him. Hands folding behind her just as she continues at his back. 

        “What exactly did you mean by that?”

        @immobiliter​ / Varric Tethras - Gets 1 of 2 Starters from Leliana

#immobiliter #immobiliter / varric #people are desperate for a sign of hope. for some people you're that sign. [ inquisitions 001 / leliana ] #the righteous stand before the darkness. and the maker shall guide their hand. [ ic interactions / leliana ] #(hi i hope this works!! eeee! im excited!! josie is next!) #(lemme know if not!) #(i had to take a moment to remember where varric was camped out in skyhold a;ljdsa)

[plucky-passerine]

People on this website will be like “okay this is a stretch but” and provide genuinely good narrative analysis with more than sufficient textual evidence and thematic precedent to back up their claims in a rant post for funsies

#this is positive btw #I fucking love this website #plucky squawks

[agentdagonet]

Eggsy’s time in the military? Was actually as a high ranking Torchwood agent. And he gets called upon for his expertise by MI5(or the queen or whoever). Kingsman is like ??????

(so, I went and read the top 5 fics in the Torchwood archive, rated by Kudos, to try and get into this mindset. I’ve never written for Torchwoood, and it’s been years since I’ve watched it, so thank you for reminding me of  this brilliant ‘verse. I don’t know what it is, honestly, but I hope I did okay!)

Eggsy was looking at the file in front of him a bit angrily. 

Harry couldn’t understand why, considering the mission at hand- find the source of the missing persons, perform a rescue operation, and return to HQ. It wasn’t a particularly difficult mission as it was a strange one; there were no commonalities between the missing persons that they could identify outside of living in the same city which was truly nothing at all. But the other intelligence agencies were in an uproar about this particular set of missing and reappearing and missing-again people, and therefore Kingsman took an interest.

There were few things that the rest of their neighbouring agencies knew of that Kingsman did not as opposed to the other way around, so this was a gap they were eager to bridge.

But none of that explained Eggsy’s clenched fist and pursed lips. It was certainly not a frustration at the seeming simplicity of the mission, Eggsy had done far simpler with not even a huff of indignation, but something about this had him immediately at odds.

‘Are you comfortable with this mission, Galahad?’ Harry asked, eyes kind but not soft, and Eggsy seemed to deflate like a balloon before giving the file a resigned look.

‘Yeah, ‘s fine. I’ll leave tomorrow.’ Eggsy picked it up and left the room, and Harry watched as he pressed his still-clenched fist into his pocket as the door swung shut behind him.

Curious.

Eggsy loosened his hand, noting the half-moon indents from his fingernails, as he settled himself into the bullet train. It wouldn’t do to start on the wrong foot.

Or pick back up, as it were; he had to jump into the dance as if he’d never left.

Harkness’ presence in even one of those pictures was enough to attest to that.

—

‘You know, kid, as much as I liked you plucky and adventury,’ Gwen Cooper was stood in the doorjamb as if she often frequented pubs in the middle of London, eyeing Eggsy from oxfords to specs with an amusement in her eyes that couldn’t be missed, ‘seeing you all done up has me impressed.’ Eggsy rolled his eyes, but smiled from one side before indicating the other seat at his table, which Gwen took after motioning for a drink from the barkeep.

‘Long time no see- I left, what, four years ago? And the world hasn’t ended for it.’ Eggsy raised his pint as one would to toast, if Gwen had had anything to reply with, and finished half of it in one go.

‘Not for lack of trying, I assure you,’ Gwen lifted her glass in turn, once it arrived, and they exchanged a commiserating look that could only be borne from years of familiarity.

‘Who wanted my attention, guv; cos lemme tell you, they got it.’ Eggsy ignored the ungentlemanly squawk from his specs, easily ignoring Merlin’s confused spluttering in favor of glaring Gwen into submission. She’d been the one to tell him that his family was enough of a reason to leave. That their world was dangerous and based on what he’d said of his stepdad he needed to be there for his sister. She’d looked resigned, at that, and Eggsy knew she’d been thinking of the impossible choices she’d had to make between her family and her career.

If one could call being the not-so-subtle alien-police could be called a career; and honestly Kingsman’s being unaware of them was more baffling than anything. Their names were plastered all over everything.

Actually, wait a tick, that explained a lot- Kingsman was certainly a fan of emblazoning their insignia on fucking everything as if discretion were a forgotten language. Of course they wouldn’t think anything of such an organisation.

‘Who else?’ Gwen’s voice pulled him back to the present, ‘Jack’s got it in his head that you’re the only one he could make this work with, since Ianto-’ The two shared a grimace and took a pause before continuing.

‘What’s he got, then? I’m guessin’ the missin’ people everyone’s going mad about are actually fine?’

‘Not exactly- they just aren’t fully human.’ Gwen shrugged and Merlin’s spluttering returned after a scoff- he’d barely said what could she possibly- before Eggsy tuned him out.

‘Rift?’ It was said self-deprecatingly, as if they could somehow control or predict what was spat out, but Eggsy’s utter lack of surprise (his vitals hadn’t jumped, he hadn’t so much as blinked after the statement) and quick conclusion had shut Merlin up quite nicely.

‘Rift. Jack wants to get them back home, but you know how difficult that shit is with his pheromones and his attention span.’ They grinned, and Eggsy finished his pint before sitting up proper with both hands splayed on the table.

‘You already knew I was in when I called you up, but thanks for playin’ along- tell Jack I’ll play nice and see him Tuesday.’ Eggsy leant back and made to get up from the booth, but paused, ‘You an’ yours- you make it through V-Day okay?’

‘Lucky for me I was with Jack at the time- he wasn’t affected,’ the obviously was implied and Eggsy bobbed his head in agreement, ‘but I managed to focus on him- no real risk there.’ She shrugged as if unaffected, but he could see the tension in her frame.

‘You keep score? Signal wasn’t running very long b’fore I managed to shut it down.’ Eggsy that is classified information you-

‘Well, he wasn’t fighting back so I don’t feel like it was fair- but I managed it 4 times, by his count.’ Jack’s blase attitude about his inability to die like a normal being had rubbed off on them at some point, and once that happened it wasn’t really something you could unlearn. So they’d just learnt to enjoy it, added it to their catalogue of ridiculous things that happened with alarming frequency in their line of work.

Even now that Eggsy was a Kingsman it was always going to be his line of work, it seemed. Once you learned about the Other you never stop seeing it, or wanting to help- like fucking Men In Black shite.

‘That tips you over me by half- drink’s on me, then.’ Eggsy winked, Gwen rolled her eyes, and Eggsy left the pub with a swagger he’d fought hard to erase after leaving Torchwood.

But, fuck it, what was the point of hiding?

---

‘So, you’re saying that your time in the Marines-’

‘Sham; ‘d been with Torchwood. You think I kept up parkour for shits and giggles? Sometimes all you c’n do is some fancy jumping to make it out alive, yeah- especially if they’re shootin’ lasers at you and y’don’t know what they do.’ Eggsy picked up his coffee and shot Jack a grin. It’d been easy to finish the task, like riding a bike he’d just started and it had all worked out. A few bruises, mostly to Jack’s ego, and they’d gotten everyone back where they belonged.

Overall, Kingsman’s reaction to alien life being not only a reality but a common occurrence had gone over well. The tales they’d spun about world- and universe- ending catastrophes that had been averted in the same chaotic manner as the Valentine fiasco had not done much to ease Harry’s concerns. But the promise of full access to their records, though only if Eggsy was assigned as their point of official contact, had done a lot to settle Merlin’s doubts, at least.

Merlin was deep in conversation with a handful of Archive staff, excitedly gesturing and accent deepening in the way it only did when he was excited. Harry was sat beside him, body a warm weight along where they were pressed together, and Eggsy allowed himself a giggle at the flush Harry sported after Jack’s assessment of his *ahem* assets. 

Eggsy hadn’t wanted to be sucked back in to Torchwood after he’d left, too many memories, and had figured the normal kind of espionage was exciting enough. But now that he’d had a taste of what it was like... he knew he wasn’t going to be leaving again. 

taking Kingsman prompts! I will take a stab at anything, but cannot promise posting speed!

#Anonymous #dagonet writes #kingsman #torchwood #kingsman fanfiction

[timeisacephalopod]

First Contact

Have a random soulmate AU with Tony/T’Challa and a small dash of Carol/Rhodey!

Rhodey frowns, “what the hell even is this?” he asks, looking at what kind of looks like fire up his arm. Its bright against his dark skin too, looks pretty cool. Tony’s almost jealous except his tattoo is way better.

“Dunno, but my soulmate must be a badass,” he says, lifting his sleeve to reveal a large watercolor panther surrounded by blues and purples. Its awesome. Even Rhodey must think so because he looks upset.

“How’d you get such a cool tattoo?” he asks, dismayed. “I don’t even know what mine is,” he mumbles.

Tony shrugs, he just lucked out.

*

T’Challa, when he’s young, has no idea what the gears and wires are, not really given that the technology is old to Wakanda. When he gets older he assumes his soulmate has an interest in old technology but when he’s studying at Oxford he realizes the technology is Western and advanced for Western societies too. the specific design is unique, so much so that T’Challa happens to track it down to one specific person.

Tony Stark, a plucky American he doesn’t want to love but can’t much help it when he watches an interview or two hundred. Nakia thinks he’s ridiculous but she’s got a tattoo that obviously references the Dora Milaje so its not like she has to worry about what he dubs the Foreigner Problem.

*

When Tony meets T’Challa its kind of an accident and he’s heard all the ‘you just know’ stories but never really believed them until he happens to run straight into someone he would have immediately dismissed as a diplomat if not for the feeling.

“Tony,” the man says and he lifts an eyebrow, unfamiliar with his accent.

“Uh. How’d you know my name?” he asks stupidly.

The man frowns, “you’re a celebrity. A loud one. I’m T’Challa,” he says and oh okay, cool.

“Hey. What’s with the panther?” he asks, confusing T’Challa more.

“Panther?” he asks.

Tony nods, “you know. The tattoo. Its a panther, so what’s with the panther?”

The knowledge clicks and he sighs, “that... is a long discussion of culture and tradition, but mostly it likely references a Wakandan god named Bast. She’s a panther.”

Tony snorts. “Oh Rhodey is going to love a staunch atheist having a tattoo of some random god on him. Wait, Wakanda?” he asks, clueing in way too late.

*

Rhodey is annoyed alright. How the hell did he get a cool soul mate from Wakanda and he’s got some weird fire shit? His soul mate better be cool because it turns out that T’Challa is really cool and his sister is a joy. Rhodey has never liked kids, but he will make an exception for this one because Shuri is hilarious. Tony loves her instantly but he’s a kid person so that’s not shocking.

T’Challa is clearly smitten even if Wakanda isn’t much happy about the pairing and Rhodey doesn’t know how he’s going to out do an actual ass prince for cool soulmates. And Tony is a pretty cool soulmate too, how’s he going to top that?

*

Tony is curled up with T’Challa reading with the news playing in the background when for weather repots when first contact happens to occur. At first Tony doesn’t even notice the news people freaking out because he’s eyebrows deep in a design with T’Challa’s arm around him and that’s all he needs but then T’Challa shakes him a little, pulling him out of his trance. “Hmm?” he asks, looking up.

T’Challa shakes his head at him fondly. “Only you could be so wrapped up in your work that you’d miss aliens on the TV,” he says in such a blasé tone that he assumes he’s not talking about actual aliens until he looks over at the TV and then he drops his work out of surprise.

Its not even the fact that an actual ass alien landed in New York, its that the fiery... stuff around her is clearly what Rhodey’s tattoo references.

*

Rhodey looks so damn pleased with himself and Tony is mad okay. “Yeah, you’re a Disney prince and all with a soulmate who’s a prince and whatever but my soulmate is the most powerful person in the universe,” he says, pride in his tone.

“Yeah, but imagine being Carol. Her soulmate is a boring ass human,” he says, earning an offended noise from Rhodey. He pushes Tony off the couch and he lets out a dignified squawk thank you, as he lands on his ass.

“I am not boring!” Rhodey says.

“Compared to her you are. You can’t do any cool shit, you can’t even catch popcorn in your mouth,” Tony says. Rhodey flips him off and that’s rude alright, its not his fault Carol got stuck with the Zune of species.

#ironpanther #tony x t'challa #soulmate au #fanfiction

[tryingtowhisper]

So I've been thinking lately of like, a canon divergence or AU or whatever, that leads to the cast being essentially handcuffed or bound or just stuck with one other person. And I know this has been done to death, but one interesting combo I haven't seen yet is Kokichi and Maki. Once I started thinking about it I couldn't stop - hell I may even end up making a short excerpt of a specific scene I have in mind between the two of them, because with how much the two hate each other and my own headcanons abound it's a really fun scenario to me.

I don't know how everyone else is paired up, I just wanted these two stuck together because I'm weak for their interactions and how for as much as they may deny it, they do share many similarities.

Quick little writing of what I'm thinking of, two parts that are completely separate, the second one ended up being much longer lol, it's just a headcanon that I'm attached to, and I'm no author so it's more of a base than anything else:

(EDIT: Sorry for any weird formatting errors on Mobile, trust me there are two separate scenes below, one starting with “Do you wanna die.” and the other starting with "That's real fucking rich.” Sorry about that!)

"Do you wanna die." Maki spat more than questioned, eyes narrowed and face severe.

This didn't seem to deter Kokichi however, as he merely grinned cheekily in response, "You'd like that, huh? Well, unfortunately for you-" he held up his fist, and as a result, hers as well, "that's not exactly much of an option for you right now, is it?"

Maki grit her teeth, nails biting into the palms of her hands. 'Why' her voice echoed through her mind, 'did I have to be stuck with HIM?'

"If it makes you feel better, I don't wanna be stuck with you either," Kokichi continued, an unneeded answer to her thoughts, "After all, there's not much worse you could get than being forced to be with a heartless killer and all."

"Shut up." She bit back reflexively. Truthfully, she had stopped being affected by such comments a long, long time ago, especially from assholes like Kokichi who she knew was saying these things purely to rile her up. There was something about this situation though, the frustration and lack of any escape route cornering her and making her feel the need to lash out.

Unfortunately for her, Kokichi seemed to pick up on this, "Oooh, someone's more prickly than usual, huh? You angry now that the space idiot isn't around for you to use as a morality pet?"

"I said, shut up. I'm not going to entertain your bullshit." Then, just to spite him and allow herself a bit of childish revenge, she aruptly began to walk away, taking as long strides as she could and feeling a bit of satisfaction as Kokichi squawked and tripped over himself attempting to keep up as he was tugged along.

"That's real fucking rich, coming from someone who became an assassin!"

"I didn't have a choice!"

"There is always a choice! You agreed to do this!!"

"How do you even know?! Were you listening in when I told Kaito and Shuichi-"

"Mayu."

She stared at him, the icy inferno of her eyes going out in one fell swoop. "What?" She croaked, her voice tight in her throat, because how- how did-

How did Kokichi know that name?

"You did it for her." He ground out, "You decided to take the option of killing away from her and do it yourself."

She wanted to say something, anything back, but she was still reeling, still questioning, how? How? How?

Kokichi continued, ignoring her shocked silence, "Not surprised you don't remember me, you always did hang around the younger kids more than your peers aside from Mayu. It's not like I stayed there most of the time, either."

Maki racked her brain, searching desperately for any semblance of memory, to either prove that what Kokichi was saying was a lie, or-

"You're from...the orphanage?"

"I've technically lived there, if that's what you mean. I was a bit different from my current plucky self though!"

With that detail given, a memory surfaced in Maki's head, an old one from a time before she lost so much of herself, back when she still could be considered human. A small figure with long, scruffy black hair and dull lilac eyes that she's seen only a handful of times before, trading glances with her for but a moment before the figure slipped out a window and into the night. She wasn't responsible for the discipline in the orphanage, so she thought nothing of it at the time, but now...

What was she supposed to think? She couldn't even get away to be alone and process this information, still being stuck with Kokichi like she was. She felt trapped, cornered, the emotional intensity of their earlier fight leaving her terrifyingly vulnerable, and the whiplash she received over hearing a name that hasn't been spoken in years left a crack in her mask.

Even if a miniscule part in her was almost relieved to find a connection to a better time in her past, this was still Kokichi, an awful, distrustful brat who was more than willing to deliberately antagonize her to get a reaction, who hated her for her profession and announced it to the rest of their classmates without her consent.

'Wait...'

"I've known Maki's true identity all along!"

She'd thought it was a bluff at the time, another lie to add to his repertoire, and that he'd just learned it from her motive video the same way Hoshi did.

But with this new knowledge, she realized that she had been mistaken.

"You really knew who I was all along, didn't you?" She asked, voice raspy from her earlier shouting, throat unused to such volumes.

He grinned at her, sharp and dark, and said nothing.

So there we have it! I don't know if anyone has done this yet with Maki and Kokichi specifically, as I know there's many "stuck together fics" (most are romantic while this is purely platonic) and I know I'm not the only one who likes to headcanon Maki and Kokichi knowing/knowing of each other before the game, especially headcanoning them being from the same orphanage. If someone has done this, then wow how did I miss that. If not, well then here ya go all seven other people who really like Maki and Kokichi's dynamic!

Hope this is a cool concept to anyone!

#ndrv3 #kokichi ouma #maki harukawa #new danganronpa v3 #v3 writing #v3 ideas #i have no idea when this is held #could be after the killing game in a virtual reality scenario where the cast gets captured again for something else maybe not dr related #it could also be a simple canon divergence probably after chapter three #this could also simply be an AU where the killing game never happens and theyre just HPA studens who get stuck together #idk this was fun lol #also i used a random name for Maki's friend idk if she has a canon one or not #but yeah one of my favorite headcanons is that Maki and Kokichi come from the same orphanage and thats how he initially knew what she was #i mostly go off of how he mentioned she looked like she could kill someone even back in chapter one #but yeah! these two are my favorite characters so i die for any interactions between them #and no this isnt romantic idek if thisll end up even in the friendship category #i just love seeing them interact haha #sorry for the many many tags rip #anyway hope this sounds interesting to someone!

[thebarefootcajunpetiteshistoires]

Roland Bichot, Bantam Hunter

He was a chicken farmer on the prairie. His parents and grandparents before him had been chicken farmers. Raising Bantams was his thing. It was 1953, and he had been raising the little feisty chickens since he was a kid in fourth grade.

His interest began in fourth grade when his teacher Miss Sirop, (pronounced see row) a very sweet lady who had an interest in Bantam chickens herself suggested it be his 4 H project. She raised a couple of the small chickens for eggs and she enjoyed their company; often they hung out in her house. They were house trained. They squawked when they needed to go out and squawked when they needed to come back in.

Miss Sirop had taught them how to help with the housework. Their specialty was dusting using their feathered wings. She had a lot of little delicate knick knacks and the small wings of the chickens made perfect feather dusters. To her knowledge not one of her knick knacks had been broken by her two Bantams named Knick and Knack!

The man’s name was Roland Bichot (pronounced bee show). Roland’s ancestors had been displaced in the Acadian diaspora in the fall of 1775. They had settled on this same plot of land where THIS family of Bichots now lived.

They had always raised chickens to supplement their income. Roland and his family now raised Bantams as their sole source of income. Not a seasonal business, but Easter was a big boost since people in the area loved to dye the eggs as is the custom on the South Louisiana Cajun Prairie. Eggs were boiled and pocked (butted) against each other to see which egg was stronger. This tradition was called pocking. Bantam eggs were tough little eggs. Bantam chickens are plucky and quite the characters, not to mention mignon (pronounced mee yawn) meaning cute.

The Bichot family was an island in itself, not isolated, but totally self sufficient on their five acres on the prairie. Life was good for the Bichots until tragedy struck. One by one the Bantams begin to die of a strange unknown malady! The first Bantam to die was Hallelujah, found dead one morning still hanging by one leg from the roost, almost like she had died from blood asphyxiation - too much blood gone to her head. Never had Roland ever known of such a bizarre event. Hallelujah was such a delightful Bantam; she had a joy about her and was the caretaker of the whole flock, always watching out for the other birds.

An unusual death for Hallelujah, but life goes on even among a death, a lesson we’ve all learned as we’ve lived our lives. Albeit, seems cruel, but life is for the living is what the Bichots and the flock of Bantams felt Hallelujah would have wanted. She was buried under the shade of her favorite Chicken Tree, an invasive Louisiana native Prairie tree. The Bichots made a nice plaque to remember Hallelujah with her foot print emblazoned onto a cedar marker. Often the other chickens could be found scratching there in honor of Hallelujah.

Life resumed and just when the pain of losing Hallelujah was diminishing, Belinda and Bergman found another Bantam chicken hanging upside down by one foot dead of asphyxiation, again too much blood to the brain. Now Roland was beginning to worry. After approximately two hundred fifty years, never before had this happened and now two chickens dead of the same bizarre death. Hallelujah’s best friend, Hazelton, had succumbed to this tragedy.

Roland decided to sleep out in the poulailler ( chicken house) under the roosting steps. Under the roosting steps meant he would be decorated with chicken poop in the morning since settling into the evening causes chickens to feel just a bit relaxed, and that’s when they poop; also another primary poop time is morning, when the body moves about again and the bowels move, either way as I alluded; it would be a poop show!

Roland crept into the house after all the bantam girls had roosted and and were dreaming of their breakfast mix of yellow corn and cardboard bran in their shared trough. The girls loved their breakfast each morning around 6:30 AM when Roland came out to feed them. It was a love fest each morning as they sat together; Roland drank his sweet in the pot coffee while the girls ate.

About 3:30 AM Roland heard a squawk from HattieLou, another friend of Hallelujah and Hazelton. He looked up and behold right there on top of him was an old white Leghorn hen named RosaLee; she had HattieLou by the leg almost dead of blood asphyxiation when Roland realized there was his culprit.

He captured RosaLee by the wings as they slowed their flapping since she was surprised to find Roland full of chicken poop all over his body, almost like a camouflaged suit! That’s why she never saw him. Roland took her aside to the feed room and set her down gently. Roland noticed RosaLee had grosses larmes (big tears) gently streaming from her two big brown eyes. Roland could tell she was sorry, but what about Hallelujah and Hazelton who were peacefully sleeping under the Chicken Tree.

Roland was stumped about how to handle the situation; but he was spared having to make a ruling. The Bantams decided that RosaLee should be forgiven; would putting her to death bring Hallelujah and Hazelton back to life? Adopting RosaLee into the Bantam fold was what she needed. Her farm had closed up and RosaLee had been out on her own starving mostly. Now she had a family.

Roland and the Bantam’s created a therapy program for RosaLee and loved her! That’s what she needed! That’s what we all need; therapy and love!

People lose their lives so others can live! That’s exactly what happened to the girls, Hallelujah and Hazelton. Roland and the bantam girls felt the risk for RosaLee was worth the taking.

AND she became an outstanding citizen of the Bichot and the Bantam brood, eventually giving her life saving the flock of Bantams while fighting a South Louisiana prairie coyote so that the flock of chickens could live.

[johnnymundano]

Habit (2017)

Directed by Simeon Halligan

Screenplay by Simeon Halligan

Based on the novel by Stephen McGeagh

Music by Claude Foisy

Country: United Kingdom

Running Time: 96 minutes

CAST

Jessica Barden as Lee

Elliot James Langridge as Michael

William Ash as Ian

Roxanne Pallett as Alex

Sally Carman as Mand

Andrew Ellis as Dig

Louis Emerick as Dave

Joanne Mitchell as Katie

Nina Johnston as Mother 

Robert Beck as Grant

Emmanuel Ighodaro as Sean

Nigel Travis as Ray

Sally Bankes as Nurse

Mark Sheals as Chuck

Tom Wells as News Reporter

Hayley Thomas as Girl

Garth Maunders as Eddie

Natalie Ferrigno as Employment Agency Advisor

(I nicked the pics offa that there IMDB; don’t tell me parole officer, awright? Wink’s as good as a nod, eh? Sorted.)

Habit is very nearly a very good horror movie; unfortunately a careless ending unwisely opts to lean on clichés from a different genre. Which is a crying shame because until then you could easily think Habit is really onto something. C’mon, you plucky fucker, c’mon….but, no, in the end it craps out. Habit is based on a novel I haven’t read, so maybe the failure was baked in, I don’t know; I only know it flops frustratingly in the final act. The good news, though, is that there are two very good acts before that happens, and the final act isn’t all that bad; it just doesn’t carry the canny groundwork of the first two to a suitable conclusion. Basically, it suddenly and inexplicably forgets its core metaphor, which is highly peculiar because it’s such a strong one. See if you can spot it. Clue: the title.

Michael is a young scrote in Manchester, pubbing it, and, when the meagre dole allows, clubbing it. He’s a nice enough lad, but a bit easily led; usually by Dig, the typical mate who causes trouble and scarpers, leaving you in the lurch. Not a lot of oomph about Michael, maybe because of a traumatic incident in his past. Strike that; definitely because of a traumatic incident in his past, and it’s done a more obvious number on his sister, Mand, who is trying to live the straight life but is only just clinging on by her fingernails. Getting pissed, getting into trouble, driving his overprotective sister to distraction; it’s life as Michael knows it. But Michael’s comfortably numb life changes when elfin but pushy Lee barges her way into his life. Lee has a bit more about her and a few more connections to boot. Soon Michael is minding the door at a massage club as Lee and the owner, Ian, draw him into an even deeper underworld, where Michael gets a taste of something that makes life feel fookin’ magic, but is definitely illegal. Can Michael cope with the new knowledge the habit brings about himself, and can he help poor Mand, or will circumstances conspire to force an escalation in the horror and birth a climactic eruption of violence. It’s a horror movie, so no prizes for guessing, pal.

One area where Habit wins and wins big is in its authenticity. The characters feel like real people. I recognise these people from my own somewhat less than gilded past. Well, most of them; I’ve never been in a massage parlour so I’ll take the portrayal of “the girls” on trust. Elliot James Langridge is way too buff for a doley subsisting on Pot Noodles and lager, but he gives Michael a nicely reluctant air about, well, everything in the early stages. And, given what happens later, the fact he retains a very human, very sympathetic air throughout is quite remarkable. It’s important for Habit to work as well as it does, that both Michael and Lee never lose their appeal, and Jessica Barden as Lee holds her end up by never taking bolshy to an irritating extreme. Andrew Ellis as Dig is purely irritating; but that’s his whole point, that’s his character. What a dickhead, is precisely the reaction Andrew Ellis is after; and he gets it. William Ash as Ian is well good as the kind of dodgy geezer who is always seductive company; bit of a lad, inne? But Sally Carman as Mand deserves special mention. Her character could quite easily have come off as shrill and needy, a proper horrorshow, a bit of a mare, yeah? But instead we have a quite affecting display of mental illness in action, particularly that terrible bit where unfounded optimism leads to a horrible unravelling. I felt for Mand, you know. Hell, I felt for all of them. Except Dig; what a twat.

Habit builds these characters up well, and the actors give them sprightly life and it’s all very believable, all very kitchen sink. For a horror set in the mundanity of the everyday its vital that nothing rings false. A lot of Habit’s success in this is also down to a pitch perfect portrayal of Manchester after dark. It’s been a long while since I soiled the streets of Manny (you could smoke in pubs; and we did, we did) but I still recall the vibe, the weak neon glare off wet stone, the squawking of drunk lasses and the muffled thump of the lads kicking someone’s head in down an alley. Habit does a lovely job with Manchester, does it proud. Habit has characters, atmosphere and pacing, and for much of the run time it controls them adroitly. But having thought of a new way to consider an old subject, it suddenly finds it has nothing to say and decides to end like a 1970s Paul Schrader movie.  It’s not an altogether terrible ending, but Habit needed a better one. But so does Michael. And Lee. And Mand. And all of us. Except Dig. Christ, what a twat.

#Habit #Movies #Horror #United Kingdom #The 2010s #2017 #Simeon Halligan #Jessica Barden #William Ash #Sally Carman #Elliot James Langridge