#as well as all the other times i replayed it

[twinkletfout]

Baby making with 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐍𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢

You both decided to take it easy after marriage before trying for a baby, and kento was perfectly fine with it. But when you finally approached him, telling him that you wanted a baby, with him. He didn't know that it had such an effect on him when it fell from your lips. Of course he did not expect that, you were tying his tie like usual before he leaves for work, a simple routine that he grew to love. "About having a baby.." you started, your eyes anywhere other than his.

Oh but kento couldn't be more happier, a slight smile tugging on the corners of his lips before he hums, "yes..?" He urges you to go on. Your eyes peeked up to face him, to see him already looking at you, intently. Watching every expression flashing across your face, your body language making it clear that you were shy. "Don't you think we should start trying..?" You said, the red tint spreading across your cheeks didn't go unnoticed by him. "Well, yes of course." He leaned in, his hands coming to wrap around your waist to pull you in before he whispered before kissing, The little goodbye kiss you both shared right before he goes to work. "Cant wait, for tonight"

The last dialogue of his was still replaying in your mind all day, your mind seems to wander to what he said, even when you were trying to focus on your work, even when you went up to open the door to him, even when he pushed you on to the wall as he kissed you impatiently like he was waiting for this moment all day, just like you.

He didn't know he was waiting this much for this moment with you, until now. Your nails gently clawed on his back as he entered you, shushing and murmuring sweet nothings and praises in your ear. And when he finally reaches all the way in, you could feel him whole, twitching uncontrollably against your deepest parts, you knew he was just as excited as you were. You whimpers and moans only fueling his desire before he starts moving, he holds you so close, so gently, his big hands wrapping you whole before he increases his pace, "shh, its okay, love, fuck— princess its too much, relax f' me?" He groans, because of the way you are squeezing down on him, cause god, you were feeling too good that you coudnt even control yourself.

Your mind was so full of pleasure, as you were laid on top of him, one of his hands wrapped around your waist and the other one holding your head gently as he rammed inside you. His face cuddled to the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent. "Gon fill you up soo good, hmkay?" And he holds you close to him, when he finally cums, pushing into you deeper as his hips thrust for one last time as he dumps his final load inside. Gosh it feels warm, the way you could feel him pumping you so full. "Fuck- you look so beautiful like this, sweetheart" he whispered as he pulled out, to see your pussy dripping with him. GAHHHH I WANT HIM SO BADD

[practicalgauntlet]

τότε μείνε μαζί μου

"Then stay with me."

Spencer's POV

Synopsis- They say there are 5 stages of grief. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Well, I'd like to add one more- Revenge.

Category- Heavy angst, retribution

Warnings- feral Spencer, angry Spencer, grieving Spencer, beating someone half to death, blood and gore, thoughts of violence, actual violence, Spencer goes ape shit the way Hotch beat Foyet. Vivid details of someone's nose breaking, blood, lots and lots of blood, OOC, I paint a very graphic image of Spencer's snap.

Notes- I love writing angst, I don't know why I just hope you enjoy it. And I'll make good on my promise for something tooth-rottingly sweet, so don't get too angry with me <3 This goes out to @slipk-holy for helping me edit, you're the best!!!

Wordcount- 3,123

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Spencer sits in the middle of his apartment, his last words to your lifeless body still echoing throughout his otherwise empty mind.

"I'll wait for you my darling, you better be waiting for me on the other side."

Spencer was not a religious man. But when it came to you, he believed in miracles. He believed that someone out there plucked you from your divine path and placed you in his life. Spencer prayed to whoever had put you in his life to return you. He pleaded to hold you in his arms once more, but there was no answer.

He never believed in the afterlife. He thought of it as nothingness, a lack of consciousness where one ceases to exist on any plane. The idea of holding you, of seeing you once more clung to the fibers of his mind. It kept him from breaking entirely.

So maybe Spencer was a man of religion if only it meant you awaited him with open arms.

He hadn't moved in such a long time, his back aching from the upright and cross-legged position on his hardwood floors. Spencer lacked the motivation to crawl onto the couch or drag his body into the shower. He hadn't had the motivation to do anything really, other than replay the memories he held so dear to his heart.

But as he looked around his apartment, still teeming with the life you lived there, disdain rose up his throat like bile; burning a path through his body until he was boiling over with it.

Your most recent book was still open on the coffee table, the collection you brought with you still mixed with his on the massive bookshelf. Your slippers were still haphazardly strewn across the floor where you left them that morning, the echo of your halfhearted attempt to convince him to call in sick was still so fresh.

He felt something hot and putrid clawing its way out of him, singing every piece of skin and bone it touched on its way out. It was nasty, and vile, leaving a trail of change in its wake. Spencer could feel the mutation in his soul. He could feel the emptiness devour him whole, chewing on his bones for every last morsel he had to offer.

All that was left was a devastating rage. A fury that threatened the world around him. An indignation that promised singed handprints wherever he touched. A wrath so powerful he was no longer the man he was proud of. He was a stranger, an offensive mockery of what once was.

And the best part?

Spencer didn't care.

Spencer didn't care as he stood up and kicked the coffee table into the wall sending glass shattering all over the floor. He plucked the book out of the pile of carnage, not giving a shit about the splinters of glass embedded into his fingertips.

Spencer didn't care as he ripped the pages out of the book, hurling the empty hardback through the window. He watched with a sick satisfaction as the destruction sparkled around him.

Next was his bookshelf, the stories and words he'd share with you when the two of you couldn't sleep now flung across the room. The bookshelf was toppled, and not a care in the world was given as it crashed to the floor.

Spencer was a whirlwind of devastation, a tornado of obliteration so fierce there wasn't a corner nor cabinet that was untouched by rage.

Wherever you lingered, he destroyed. The chair you'd always sit at was slammed into the wall. The mug you favored was shattered against the floor. Every instance of your memory, of your ghost, was annihilated by his hand.

When he got to the bedroom, his chest heaving with firey vengeance, he paused.

Your side of the bed was still crinkled, the indention of your head imprinted on the pillow. Your Kindle was still charging on your nightstand. Your knickknacks and decorations still hung in every corner and on every shelf.

It was like you were just at the store and he should start dinner so it would be hot for when you got home. Like you were in the shower or on call. Anything but dead.

He couldn't tear apart the last remaining proof that you lived, that you had grasped his heart with your bare hands and allowed him the same privilege.

No, he couldn't bring himself to taint the preserved capsule of the life he shared with you with anger. Or sadness. Or the grief that left him raw and vulnerable. He couldn't even step one foot past the doorway.

He closed the door.

There was no use in even trying.

Before he could move on to the bathroom, the itch in his fist for more destruction too tempting for someone so usually non-violent, his phone rang somewhere in the apartment.

Spencer didn't feel like answering it or talking to someone about his wife and the chokehold her death has on him. He was perfectly content in watching his world crumble around him alone.

But it rang. And it rang. And it rang.

In a sudden burst of energy, Spencer marched right up to the source of the maddening noise. His mobile phone was neatly tucked into his satchel pocket, at fifty percent, just the way he left it after unceremoniously tossing the stupid fucking bag to the floor.

Spencer grabbed the phone in one hand and his heaviest lamp in the other. There was something so twisted about the relief that flooded him every time he brought the base of the lamp down on the phone.

His teammates would call it overkill if the phone was a person and the lamp was a knife. They would profile him as someone who was devolving, someone so close to snapping almost entirely that they had to act swiftly. In a way, he was. In a way, he was exactly like the monsters they hunted for the bloodlust that raged through him was for one thing only.

No amount of superficial destruction could keep his need for violence a bay. No, Spencer needed something organic to put his fists through. But for now, the insistent ringing of his phone has stopped, and he felt just a tad bit better.

Until his landline rang.

There was no breaking this phone, the technology old but surprisingly durable. So he only had one choice left if he were to save the last remaining shred of sanity he was clinging to.

"What the fuck is so important that you have to call me every six seconds?!"

He seethes, face hot with ire.

"Woah," J.J, breathes into the phone. "Calm down, Spence. I'm just calling to check up on you."

"Don't call me that."

"Sorry, Spen-. I'm sorry. I just needed to know you were okay."

Spencer was beyond annoyed, beyond aggravated. He could feel himself splitting at the seems with hatred and violence.

And Spencer didn't care if he was taking it out on his friend. Spencer stopped caring a long time ago.

"Oh, I'm fucking fantastic J.J. Just beaming with joy! It's not like my wife died not even twenty four hours ago. No, everything's happy unicorns and God damn rainbows."

J.J. just sighed.

"Spencer, I'm just trying to be there for you."

He could hear the desperation in her voice. But instead of comforting him like it should have, like it had done in the past, it irritated him even more.

"Sure, thanks."

Spencer was ready to hang up, ready to unplug the phone and toss it out of the broken window. But he heard something in the background, and his attention was once again drawn away from his agony.

It sounded as if someone were speaking to J.J., their tone urgent and dead serious. Spencer couldn't make out the words, but he could make out the importance of them.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing. We're just having some problems with an unsub."

He knew exactly who she was talking about, knew why she was purposefully vague with him. And the second it all clicked, the second a plan swiftly formed in his head, he was dead set on a path.

"Okay... just- stop calling me for a while."

He played into the grieving husband shtick, not letting a drop of indignation seep through his voice. Arousing suspicion would nip his brilliant plan in the bud, and Spencer just couldn't have that.

J.J. was hesitant to agree, with her being an amazing friend and all, but ultimately relented. Spencer just needed space is all, at least that's what she told herself.

Spencer gently sat the receiver down, an eerie calm settling over him. It was a rage he'd never felt before, one that guaranteed an end. A retribution.

Revenge.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

It was easy for Spencer to just walk into headquarters.

Too easy.

Maybe it was because of the pallor of his skin, or the dark bags that had become so much darker. Maybe it was even the shabby robe he still wore; his pajamas reeking of depression.

Either way, Spencer didn't linger for long. The faster he was in and out, the less suspicion he'd raise. The less suspicion he arose, the longer he'd have with his ultimate agenda.

It was calculated perfectly, executed just so. Swiftly enter the building, sadly waving to the guards all the while mumbling about friends, and help, and shoulders to cry on. Sympathy was so easy to wrangle, so easy to manipulate.

They let him in, their eyes downcast to avoid the miserable expression on his face. He should be upset at how easy it was to get in. There really should be more security. But then again, he didn't really care, did he?

He breezed passed the main office, passed the badge check, and into the elevator. Now would probably be the point where reality would hit. Was he really planning on interfering with an ongoing investigation, just to get answers he could deduce himself?

But none of that even registered as he watched the numbers slowly click up.

The lobby leading into the bullpen was empty, void of his friends or the others he knew only in passing. He was alone. The perfect environment to enable his downward spiral.

That collected calmness puppeteered him like a marionette, its hooked claws pulling the strings of his limbs towards the hallway that led to the interrogation rooms.

This is where he heard the commotion of the BAU in action. Hushed demands, muffled yelling, the occasional sigh of frustration. They hadn't noticed him yet, his socked feet concealing his footsteps.

He popped his head around the corner, watching as Hotch, Morgan, and Emily whisper to each other in front of the viewing window. J.J. and Rossi were sitting inside the room, their backs towards the window and their undivided attention upon Dimitri Cain.

Just the sight of the man had his blood boiling, his fingers twitching, and his throat closing around a violent burst of every emotion possible.

Anger- because his wife was dead and he was the man responsible.

Sadness- because he was reminded that he could never look upon the love of his life ever again.

Jealousy- because he wasn't the one in the room, demanding answers and getting them.

Joy- because he was closer to scratching that itch than he thought possible.

J.J. and Rossi exit the room, their faces grim and arms crossed with frustration. The five of them move away from the interrogation room.

"We need to form another plan,"

He heard Hotch say, his voice tight and stern.

The team agreed and left the door in the hands of a guard whilst they plotted. Now was the perfect time. He couldn't believe the luck he was having.

Maybe there was such a thing as the divine.

"You're not supposed to be here, Dr. Reid."

The guard said as Spencer approached.

"I was called in to help, you can ask Hotch but I doubt he'd enjoy being second-guessed."

"I just don't think-"

"Please..."

Spencer pleaded, and the tone he used was genuine this time. There was no manipulation nor tactic to persuade, only unadulterated desperation.

"I need something to do."

The words unsaid seemed to be as loud as those spoken, the guard's face falling with sympathy as he hesitated.

I need something to distract me.

Only a brief second did Spencer play with the idea of attacking the guard. He knew of all the pressure points to swiftly and quietly take him down; it wouldn't be hard to get what he needed.

But the guard stepped aside.

"Thank you."

The heavy door was opened.

Spencer stepped through, his body tingling with a blazing fire.

The door clicked shut.

He was alone with the object of his undoing. The breaker of his world. And there was nothing more dangerous than a desperate man with nothing to lose.

Spencer sat across from Dimirti, the man in question eyeing him with a speculating gaze.

"You're gettin' nothin' outta me."

Dimitri leaned back and blatantly challenged Spencer.

"I just have a few questions."

"Are you even a fuckin' fed? You look like shit."

Spencer unconsciously mimicked Dimirti's stance, staring the man down with an unbreaking mask of tranquil fury. He let his silence answer for him, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back in the chair.

"Alright, I see how it is."

"And how is it, Dimitri?"

"It's that reverse psychology shit, not gonna work on me."

Spencer just shook his head.

"Just ask me the stupid fuckin' questions already so I can get this shit over with."

Spencer hummed, clasping his hands in front of him and leaning forward on his elbows.

"Why did you take her?"

"Again with this bitch-"

"Watch your fucking mouth."

Eyes wide, Dimitri stilled. Then, realization glided across his face. A slow smile spread, tainting Spencer with its wickedness.

"You're the husband."

It wasn't a question but a mere statement.

You got what you want, I have a husband-

Please! I don't want to die!

Spencer pounced like a lion, toppling the table with Dimitri still cuffed to it. He was lost in the rage, mind, and body willingly subject to the agonizing fury that was slowly becoming a shield.

He couldn't hear anything, not a thought registered. Only the broken screams of his wife as she pleaded to live.

Spencer straddled Dimitri, completly in control as the man beneath him writhed.

Something sick and twisted bloomed inside him with the first punch. With the second, that evil forged a bond with his soul. Once pure and golden, Spencer Reid was now as dark as the blood that seeped from Dimitri's nose.

On the third punch, Spencer could feel the cartilage break. The splintering of his knuckles was nothing but an afterthought to the satisfaction and relief that plagued him.

Dimitri wiggled under him, trying with all his might to kick him off or slide his hands out of the cuffs. But Spencer kept going.

He brought his fist down again, Dimitri's face already swollen beyond recognition. The deep burgundy of Dimitri's blood sprayed across Spencer's face, across his chest, and outward into the air.

Unbeknownst to Spencer, he was giddy. His face stretched in a feral grin, every tooth shining with glee as he continued to pummel Dimitri into the stained marble floor.

Someone was screaming, the ragged and unfamiliar sound muffled like it was underwater. His ears were ringing, adrenaline and undiluted grief pushing everything Spencer ever was deep into an iron box and tossing it down the hole you left in his heart.

It wasn't until he was ripped from Dimirti, that he realized he was the one screaming.

"You killed her!"

Spencer thrashed against the strong body behind him, the grip under his arms unmoving despite his best efforts.

"You killed my wife!"

Feebly, Spencer tried to continue the beating, swinging his long legs towards the motionless body lying on the floor. Something wet hit his face, the sensation shocking his senses back into the present.

Derek was behind him, growling his name like Spencer was a rogue unsub who refused to listen.

He was dragged out of the room, his limbs now hanging numbly at his sides. Cold metal was wrapped around his wrists before anyone even tried talking to him.

Spencer welcomed the bite, savoring the only thing he could feel.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

Hotch was in his face, his eyes wide with frustration. The team was behind him, but Spencer didn't even spare them a glance. He just looked past Hotch, unseeing and unfeeling.

"Spencer!"

Finally, he dragged his emotionless gaze towards his boss who was frothing at the mouth with anger.

"I don't know."

"I don't know, I don't know? What do you mean, 'I don't know'? I should fire you!"

"Then do it."

What did he have to live for anyways?

A team that would only look at him with pity? A family that would treat him like he were made of glass, cracked and begging to be shattered.

Hotch huffed a sigh, hands on his hips.

"Listen, kid. I know exactly what you're going through. Vengeance isn't the answer."

"Says the man who did the same exact thing I just did. The only difference between you and me is that you got your retribution immediately."

Spencer hated the look of understanding that creased Hotch's brows, the empathy that threatened to undo all the apathy that was holding him together.

"This anger isn't going to bring her back..."

Spencer knew this. He knew nothing could bring you back. No amount of praying, religious devotion, and possible rituals would bring you back to him.

The simple truth was that he was lost without you.

He didn't know how to live without you by his side.

Something dripped onto his hands clasped in his lap. When he looked up and could see nothing but his swimming vision, he realized he was crying.

An unstoppable sob wracked his body, forcing his shoulders to cave in and his chest to implode. The damn was bursting, his walls cracking with each broken cry.

When he took a deep breath, a feeble attempt to control the crumbling mess that was his mental state, it all crashed around him.

His throat burned with the intensity of his scream. All his grief, all his anger, and sadness, and desolation were unleashed. He curled in on himself, hugging his sides as if he were able to replicate the feeling of your embrace.

The team surrounded him, hushed assurances, and murmured comfort as they all wrapped their arms around him. It still wasn't enough.

It still wasn't you.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

A/N- This was supposed to cure my writer's block, but it still has its claws in me. I keep comparing my writing and my stories to those I see on my feed and I only get discouraged. But comparison is the thief of joy, so please let me know if you enjoy this. Feedback is very much welcome in any form but I need to know if I'm doing something right.

[wisteriasymphony]

Chloe had knocked over Marinette's tray at lunch earlier that day. It wasn't anything new, just like the way Chloe had started making oinking noises to Sabrina when Marinette had bent down to clean it up. Or like the way Chloe had said that Marinette didn't really need the extra calories, so she was actually helping her after all.

Lucky Lucky Ladybug kept replaying the scene in her mind, over and over, thinking about just how stupid Chloe would've felt if Tikki had let Marinette transform and give Chloe a talking-to as Ladybug. She had woven the string of her yo-yo between her fingers into a cat's cradle, and every time her hands would stretch apart, the yo-yo would spin on its track. Then she'd bring her hands back together to catch the yo-yo mid spin, the metal body clacking against the bones in her hands. Spin, then clack. Spin, clack. Spin, clack.

Chat Noir had been talking for the past few minutes, but Ladybug never bothered to listen to him anymore. He had probably just made one of his awful puns again, based on the way he started stammering.

"Oh, uh, s-so the joke is that it's a play on the word—" "Have you ever thought that maybe, if you have to explain all of your jokes, you're not funny?" Chat Noir got quiet, his shoulders falling. Ladybug kept her eyes on her yo-yo. "I'm sorry, milady," Chat Noir apologized. "I just assumed you didn't understand the punchline." "Maybe you should come up with jokes other people understand then. That way people might actually laugh at them." Spin, clack. Spin, clack. Ladybug kept imagining Chloe's face, with her pale blue eyeshadow and her cakey makeup.

Chat Noir started to twist his fingers together, the claws on his thumbs digging into his gloved hands. It wasn't anything new—people having little patience with him, that is. His father had gotten him used to it by now. Chat Noir knew that the right thing to do in such situations was just to acquiesce, and that when you acquiesced people liked you more for it. "I noticed you and Rena were on television the other day. How did that go?" Ladybug hunched over herself, scoffing as she wound the string of her yo-yo tighter around her fingers. She had started bring Renared to press conferences and fan meetups because she could trust that Alya wouldn't act like an idiot or say stupid things. Alya was a good friend like that, willing to pick up Chat Noir's slack. Plus, doing things with Rena instead meant that Marinette and Alya could hang out for the rest of the day, and Marinette would actually enjoy herself. Doing anything of that with Chat Noir... would mean she'd be hanging out with Chat Noir. Bad pickup lines and worse jokes included.

"It was fine," Ladybug huffed, rolling her eyes. "Why do you even care?" "Oh- well, uhm. You just used to take me, and I was wondering if you had a reason that you... well... stopped."

One time during an interview, Chat Noir had derailed the entire conversation talking about the intricacies of whether or not their group of holders counted more as a religious or a political organization, entirely unaware that nobody could even begin to care about such a thing. Spin, clack. Spin, clack.

Ladybug thought about the way Chloe's face had scrunched up when she oinked at Marinette. Ladybug thought of Chat Noir's stupid awkward stammer. Ladybug thought about having to admit to her mother that her grades were getting worse.

Ladybug trapped the yo-yo in her hands for the last time, almost trying to crush it.

"It's because she's better at it than you, and I like you better when I don't have to hear you talk. Does that make you happy?!"

Chat Noir almost answered—No, actually, knowing that people didn't like hearing him talk didn't make him happy at all. But he'd learned by now that when Ladybug asked him questions like that, she wasn't actually asking and a response would only make her angrier.

"I'm sorry. I'll talk less, milady."

"I told you to stop calling me that."

"...I'm sorry."

Maybe Chloe could pick on Chat Noir for a change. He deserved it more than she did.

[darlingdolly-art]

doodles!!!

ranting under this thingy

ranma 1/2

DUDE i grew up on this show its so silly i love ittt, im so happy it got a remake, i havent finished it yet so idk if its good yet but the pacing seems better so far. i was a bit iffy abt the style at first but im warming up to it! the VAs r good too, but i do prefer the original anime.

Arcane

this show is fucking peak dude, i cant tell u how many times iv gone threw all 5 stages of grief bc of arcane, the writers r allergic to happiness and i love it, the show is truly beautiful, the way they animated it really makes it feel real, and THE LUCIFER PAINTING REFERENCE??? YES?? HELLO??? when i saw that i was in love brooo, jinx in the finally was amazing i rlly like her outfit, and the show was ended pretty well which made me happy. my top 4 chars r viktor, jinx, silco, ekko. i rlly do recommend watching it if u haven't. I CANT WAIT FOR THE NEW ONE THEY R WORKING ONNNN even if i dont rlly care abt mel and her family im still going to watch it, i rlly didnt care for her after the whole rose thingy.

Metal family

its a pretty good show :3 the first episode threw me off a lil when i started watching it, but i stayed cuz silly lil guy. dee was my favorite while i was watching it but after the last episode it immediately swapped to heavy, their relationship is so cuteeee i love how they show even if they arent on the best terms they still care for each other :333 i want to pet heavy dude, hes so sillyyy RAUGHHH.

mushroom oasis

mushroom oasis is a visual novel not a show like the restttt, but its so silly, i rlly like the writing and art! is very comfy and like cute, even with the yandere tones, rlly recommend it if you like visual novels!

love at the milky way diner

is also a visual novel :3 its rlly good and my rlly glad it got funded! i cnat wait to finish playing it, and i dont even like alien/space/sci-fi themes. i plan to replay it soon so ik whats going on in the next update lol.

[4zahara]

02 | Rocket Science

←Previous. Masterlist. Next→

Word count: 1.7k

A/N: English is not my first language. Shorter chapter because it was a last minute thing. I thought it'll be more interesting showing how things will be going in the future(present)—since the serie is basically Jason and reader's past. I'll be back sooner this time, I promise♡

Few times has Tim Drake felt like he was being played with like when it came down to family.

Actually, scratch that.

More people he cared to count had tried playing him for a fool and failed as to say this is the worse he's felt. This time around was different just to emphasize the absurdity his life was sliding into.

Yes, he was benched until recovering.

No, he couldn't refuse it.

No, he wasn't sulking.

"So bed rest for how long now? Alfred 's gonna breath over your shoulder for a while. Believe me. Been there, done that." Dick Grayson has been here, allegedly, trying to cheer him up. But personally, the acrobat should reconsider his chances as a cheerleader if he thought Tim could laugh off a concussion, bruises all over and his tingling ribs.

"You've been beaten by a 6 ft something dude on bright yellow leggins?" It was only half sardonic. His brother's had an extravagant life.

"The answer will surprise you."

Dick's presence wasn't very comforting under the particular self deprecating light of asking himself 'who he was really here for?'. However, the man actually managed to pull at the corners of his brother's lips to get a scoff. It was better than nothing.

"Well..." Tim said, leaning further back into tiny wall of pillows with a smirk, "We could always just call (Name) and have her deal with The Red Hood," His voice carried a teasing edge with a grin that lingered for a second longer, hanging in the air like a fading echo.

Dick didn’t laugh. Tim hadn't expected him to. But not even a chuckle or eye-roll at the idea of this rather skinny, 5 ft something woman going up to a Crime Lord to whoop his ass?

No sarcastic comeback, no snort of agreement, just that small, almost imperceptible shift: the stiffening of his jaw, the subtle crease between his brows, and the way he suddenly became very interested in side eyeing the floor.

Nothing to match the usual rhythm of their banter.

Something wasn't right already and Tim couldn't catch a break from one drama to the other.

Fuck the weighted, hollow kind of silence that didn’t fit but always followed him.

He could have brushed it off really, chalking it up to stress or whatever. That just wasn't like him though.

Replaying his own words in his head could only do so much, and the kick of the joke got stuck on the tip of his tongue, but was like stone in water regardless.

Eyes drifted to Dick’s hunched shoulders, noticing how his movements were precise but mechanical, like he was trying too hard to stay focused. It wasn’t just annoyance. It wasn’t about the mess. It wasn't about his strained relationship with you—where chats were exchanged probably once every few months.

"Did (Name) block you again or why are you sulking?"

"I'm not sulking." The grin Tim shot back was more habit than genuine amusement, his brain already shifting gears beneath the surface.

Dick’s response was quick, too quick, the kind that snaps out like muscle memory instead of actual thought. His voice had that tight edge to it, the kind that tries to masquerade as casual but doesn’t quite land right.

Okay, Tim thought, narrowing his eyes slightly. Not just weird. This is “something’s definitely up” weird.

"I should be the only one sulking,"

"Who are you? Bruce?"

Dick wasn’t looking at him. Still staring at the floor like it held all the answers to the universe. His fingers drummed absently against his knee, a restless little rhythm that had no business being there if everything was fine.

Tim let the silence stretch, just a little, leaning into it like he was daring Dick to fill it. But when nothing came, he cocked his head.

"Wait," Tim said slowly, voice softer now, like he was testing the shape of the thought forming in real-time. "This isn’t about her blocking you—"

"I wasn't blocked."

"—This is… something else."

Dick shifted then, barely noticeable if Tim hadn’t been watching like a hawk. A quick inhale through the nose, shoulders straightening.

"Don’t overthink it, Tim."

Wrong move. Dick should've known better. Telling Tim not to overthink was like telling water not to be wet.

Fair enough, everyone surrounding him was an overthinker, but that was more his environment's fault than his own. Then, the nagging feeling of a wider picture he was not privy to, creeped in. It was on. There was nothing better to do.

Tim sat up straighter, the teasing grin completely gone now. His mind raced, connecting dots that hadn’t even looked like dots before.

"It’s not about me. It’s about her." His eyes narrowed. "What aren’t you telling me?"

Dick’s jaw clenched. Not enough to be obvious, but enough for Tim to catch it. His gaze flicked to the window, like the skyline outside was suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world.

And that’s when it hit Tim.

It wasn’t the joke itself—it was who he’d joked about. The Red Hood. Jason.

Tim’s breath hitched slightly. Like acknowledging a fact that had always been then, yet pushed aside, the realization creeped in like cold fingers wrapping around his ribs.

"She doesn’t know, does she?" Tim whispered, not a question, more like a statement dragged out of him.

No answer.

Tim’s chest tightened, equal parts disbelief and frustration rising like a tide. "She doesn’t know Jason Da Vinci is alive."

Dick finally looked at him then, and not-quite-guilt-but-almost etched into the lines around his eyes, buried in the tense set of his mouth.

"It’s complicated, Tim."

"Complicated?" Tim’s voice cracked, a bitter laugh escaping him. "Dick. This changed everything."

"I know that!" Dick snapped but not really. Just raised his voice louder than intended, his own frustration bleeding through now. He dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "Of course I know. But it’s not that simple. It's the whole problem, in fact. Jason… he’s not the same. And I didn’t—" He stopped himself, words hitting a wall.

Tim stared at him, heart pounding.

"Yeah," he muttered bitterly. "That much s'obvious." The youngest focused alone on the last word.

Tim let out a slow breath, trying to push past the initial frustration, but it was like trying to wade through knee-deep mud. He couldn't wrap his head around it.

Had he known this a while back he probably wouldn't be struggling right now.

Maybe.

"How—" He stopped, rethinking his words. "How does that even happen, Dick? And, what about Bruce? Shouldn't he have been the one to tell her?"

Dick's lips pressed into a thin line and he shook his head. Something closer to exhaustion, was probably gnawing at him and probably had been long before Tim stumbled into it.

"Bruce has regrets, but he had already made up his mind by the time I heard about it. And Jason was already supposedly death, again. What was I supposed to tell her?" Dick’s gaze was heavy now, meeting Tim’s.

“Clearly he's alive.”

“Yeah, but what were the chances?” Another deep breath to calm down. "Listen. B only saw so little of how it impacted (Name) back then," Dick muttered, scrubbing a hand down his face. "And yet he still thought—hell, I agreed—it is for the best not to call across the world if we were just where we started but worse." His voice trailed off, but Tim didn’t need him to finish the sentence.

Tim had only seen glimpses of it, filtered through the distance between them when he took on the mantle of Robin, but even that had been enough. The grief had hollowed you out, twisted something inside your in a way that felt eerily familiar. You lost an anchor in a world that already demanded too much from them.

"We don't want her to spiral. To relapse and cut everyone off again."

"‘Cause that worked so well so far. And mind you, she never cut me off."

And it wasn't completely true. At the time he had had to adapt fast into being Gotham's newest Robin and didn't notice the months in which he heard nothing from you when communication was already low.

"It would break (Name)," Dick admitted, quieter now, like saying it out loud made it harder to carry. "Looking at you and knowing."

There was a sour taste at the back of Tim's throat. "So the plan is just… never telling her while Jason is out there playing vigilante roulette with Gotham’s criminals?"

"She trusted you because you weren’t us. You weren’t tangled in that mess. Not like me. Not like Bruce." He let out a hollow laugh, devoid of any real humor.

Tim saw that statement for what it was. His brother could be very persuasive with undertones alone when he wanted to push.

Jason wasn’t ready.

You weren't ready.

If you hadn't met already, then the only one who search hadn't gone looking for his family ties.

There was more—the truth under all the excuses Tim hadn't asked for. It surprised him if anything how much of a word vomit had a simple joke divulged into.

Just his luck.

Just his family.

Chest tight, fingers twitching at his sides. He wanted to rest, for once, sleep it off. But instead, he exhaled sharply, leaning back against the pillows, feeling even more drained. Feeling less like the original problem mattered anymore.

"I’m not going to tell her," Tim said quietly, and Dick’s head snapped up, relief flashing in his eyes before Tim added, "But we're so dead if she ever finds out."

Dick swallowed hard, nodding slowly like his neck was made of rusted hinges.

Minutes passed in strained silence before Dick finally pulled out his phone, staring at the screen like it was a live grenade. His thumb hovered over the contact name for far too long before he muttered, "You rest, I'll go for something to eat."

Tim didn’t argue. He knew Dick needed an excuse to leave. He was probably gonna call her and this was the best he came up with.

One could only wonder how long has Dick been holding everything related to you to himself.

As Dick exited the room, Tim had already pulled out his own phone, fingers moving almost without thought. He hits sand before second-guessing it.

You may be strained from the family, but not Tim.

Somewhere across the world, a phone buzzed to life in the middle of a starred night.

A message, a call and fifteen after, a flight was booked.

[totallybakedcake]

"Of course!"

You saw your friends, your only family, die in front of you.

It repeated again and again. Their deaths, the blood, the pain, and the trauma.

Everything was too tough, every single thing reminded you of the incident.

How you all crashed out in your home and how they convinced you to become a hunter.

Going on trips, shopping, eating out, being each other's emotional support, and whatnot.

It was terrifying, the monsters coming endlessly and blood being shed every other second. Your mind stopped, your body couldn't move, and everything was in a haze. By the time you were back to your senses.

Everyone dead.

It was pitiful, no one to go to, no one to call, no one to comfort you or get you back up on your feet.

Stomach pain, headache, body ache. It was getting to you, but not an inch did you move from the bed. Just replaying the scene over and over again.

But someone was watching this.

"How is she?" Jinwoo asked as he sat on the couch, he knew you were in pain, after all, he was the one sent to complete the dungeon after things went wrong.

He vividly recalls the scene. You were sitting there, eyes practically dead as there was a sea of blood and lots of bodies scattered everywhere. Jinwoo, at first thought you were dead by how lifelessly you sat there, not blinking or moving an inch.

He had to touch you to see if you were alive.

Beru, Jinwoo's shadow soldier, quickly came out to check. "She is alive, my liege, just unconscious while sitting."

Jinwoo felt angry, mad, upset, and guilty for not arriving earlier. He even can see the image of you having a panic attack over and over again when you woke up and heard everyone was dead. It reminded him of when his mother experienced the same panic attack when his dad went missing.

He wanted to check up on you, but it was weird, you both never talked, and suddenly he pops up to see your condition. Perhaps it was not too odd, but Jinwoo had his shadows, and he would much rather use them instead.

----

"My liege, lady (name) has not done anything but just lie on the bed and look out the window. She does not eat well or drink enough water. Her phone keeps going off, but she never picks it up."

Damnit, the situation is so terrible, and Jinwoo needs to help you. Whatever you think or others think, he just wants to help you.

Huff, you can do this, he encourages himself as he rings the doorbell.

One time

Two times

Three times

Four times

No answer.

"(Name), I know you are in there and are not okay, just let me come home, and I will not be trouble." He yells from outside and continues to ring the doorbell.

A loud groan escapes your lips as you get up lazily to open the door.

"Hunter Sung, please, I am not okay and-"

He barges inside and starts to work, taking out the groceries he has bought to make you a good big meal, his shadow soldiers make you sit on the sofa as they clean the mess your house is in.

"Excuse me, you cannot—" Jinwoo swiftly shushes you up, not letting you say anything as he asks you to go take a nice shower and not argue a single bit with him.

How can you describe this? Being forced to bathe and let a man you've never had a conversation with take care of you like a mom.

Jinwoo made you sit on the couch as you came out, grabbing your chin and making you eat stew.

No words were exchanged between both of you for a good while. Well, words were not needed, so why talk?

Both of you knew that this was great, you liked it how Jinwoo took care of you, and Jinwoo enjoyed taking care of you.

After chewing, you both ask at the same time.

"Do you want to stay?" "Can I stay here for a while?"

"Of course!" Both of you replied energetically.

First of all I want to give credits to @kgymz for the adorable divider. Thank you, I love this.

I actually wanted to do a valentine series (which i mentioned in my other fic) but writer's block hit and i couldnt do it but i had another jinwoo fic planned which now might take a while to upload but anyways this makes me think if im going to do an event, should i start 2 months prior so that i can upload them even if i get a writer's block in between?

[nexiva]

You made me hate you

Part 5

Bucky x reader

Warnings: nothing new yet, just good old swearing and angry reader, sloooow burn

Summary: Reader is training some new recruits :)

A/N: Winter break and I’ve got a loot of free time to write so here you go 😏

Masterlist

Days had passed since the last time I saw him. I didn't even know how many. Days of pretending that conversation never happened. Days of avoiding Bucky Barnes like my life depended on it.

But something was different now.

Before, my hatred burned hot—sharp, raw, consuming. Now? It was still there, but it sat heavier, like a dull ache in my chest. I hated that I kept replaying his words in my head. I hated that I had no clever retort. I hated that, deep down, a part of me wondered if he was right.

Oh well, fuck him.

I shook the thought away and focused on the recruits standing in front of me.

Fresh faces, eager but clueless. Some of them had raw talent, others… well, they needed work. I tightened my wraps and stepped forward, scanning the group with narrowed eyes.

“Alright,” I barked. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Newbies hesitated a bit, glancing at each other like scared little puppies. I rolled my eyes.

“Well? Move!”

That got them going. They launched into drills, throwing punches, dodging, rolling. Some had decent form. Others? Not so much.

I stepped in, adjusting stances, correcting punches, barking out orders. A younger recruit—probably no older than nineteen—kept flinching every time I moved toward him.

“You scared of me, rookie?” I asked, crossing my arms.

He swallowed hard. “No, ma’am.”

I smirked. “Good. Because out there?” I jabbed a finger toward the exit. “Hesitation gets you killed.”

We ran through drills for the next hour, my voice sharp, my patience thin. But despite my frustration, I could see improvement. They were getting better, stronger.

The door creaked open.

Barnes (and Steve but somehow I haven’t noticed him until seconds later.) The trainees momentarily shifted their attention to the two super-soldiers entering the room.

“You think Y/L/N is at least somewhat as strong as they are?” one of them whispered to his friend, grinning foolishly—apparently forgetting that my hearing is far sharper than that of an average person. His mistake.

Without hesitation, I swept his legs out from under him, making sure he hit the ground with force—but safely.

I gritted my teeth and leaned down slightly, whispering, “It’s Agent Y/L/N, by the way.” Then, with a smirk, I winked and him and straightened up. I even heard Steve chuckling in the back.

“Keep going!” I snapped, watching as they scrambled back into position.

Steve and Barnes were training in the other corner of this gigantic room. I barely even saw them from where I was standing, but somehow the tension here was suffocating. I knew Bucky was waiting for something—maybe a glance, maybe a reaction. But I wasn’t going to give it to him.

The training session had finally ended. The recruits were exhausted, dripping with sweat, and eager to get out of here. I dismissed them with a sharp nod and made my way to the showers, relishing the thought of washing away the grime of the day.

The hot water stung against my sore muscles, steam curling around me as I let myself unwind for just a moment. The sounds of the gym faded, leaving only the steady rhythm of water hitting tile.

I didn’t hear the recruits lingering outside. I didn’t hear the whispered insults, the crude remarks.

But someone did.

Barnes and Steve had been gathering their things on the other side of the gym when they overheard one of the recruits snicker to his friend.

"She’s such a bitch."

Bucky froze. His fingers flexed against his duffel bag.

"Yeah," another voice chimed in. "Acts all high and mighty like she’s better than everyone."

"Maybe if she actually got laid, she wouldn’t be such a—"

The recruit didn’t get to finish his sentence.

Before he could even process what was happening, Bucky had him shoved up against the lockers, metal fingers gripping the front of his shirt with terrifying ease.

The other recruits backed away immediately, eyes wide, unsure of whether to intervene or just run.

"Buck, just take it easy—they're just kids," Steve said, his eyes filled with concern.

"You got something more to say?" Bucky’s voice was low, controlled, but deadly.

The recruit swallowed hard, his bravado disappearing in an instant. "I—I didn’t mean—"

Bucky yanked him forward slightly, just enough to make his point. "Say it again. I dare you."

The kid shook his head quickly, eyes darting around for help. None came.

Bucky leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. "You don’t talk about your superior officer like that. Ever." The recruit nodded frantically.

"What the hell is going on here?" My voice sliced through the tension.

Bucky didn’t budge. His chest was rising and falling steadily, jaw clenched. He was furious. I stepped forward, arms crossed, still dripping from the shower. - "Barnes, back the hell off. Now." - He exhaled sharply through his nose, but he let go. The recruit stumbled forward, looking like he wanted to bolt.

I turned to the rest of them. "Out. All of you. Now!.” I never actually heard myself screaming like that. I was furious.

They didn’t hesitate. They all scurried out like frightened rabbits, leaving only me, Steve and Bucky.

I stared at him. "What the hell was that?"

His nostrils flared. "He was talking shit—"

"I don’t fucking care. They’re stupid children who need to learn." My voice was firm. "They’re my recruits. Not yours. You don’t get to throw them around like that."

“Y/N, Buck was really just trying to-” I scoffed, shaking my head. "You’re really defending him? What a surprise Rogers!” I turned my head back to Barnes.

"I’m telling you that you don’t have power over them. Over me." My fingers clenched. "You don’t get to act like some self-appointed protector. I can handle myself."

Bucky mumbled something under his breath and stormed out of the gym. I stared at Steve as if I had just seen a ghost.

"I'm sorry, Y/N, you're right. He shouldn't have reacted that way."

I rolled my eyes at him. "Finally, someone’s on my side—only a few months too late."

This strange day had passed so quickly. It was already evening. God, I was so tired. I really needed some sleep.

But I didn’t get enough sleep that night. Why you may ask? Because for the first time, something so weird was about to happen that would turn my world a biiit upside down.

[vulgrados-best]

OFFSCREEN POST

Angel of Death - Part 1

An inane situation that Miguel can only summarize as ‘some secondary location bullshit.’ A single cell tower ping after Maple had apparently been gone for 2 fucking weeks. Thankfully Z had managed to triangulate it or something, probably to do with satellite handshakes like the pings they got from that missing plane that went into the ocean. Mental tangents everywhere! Yippee! Whatever. Miguel doesn’t pretend to understand cell towers and how it can literally just ping once. Wouldn’t that imply the phone had been intentionally turned on? Or did it just finally get signal for a moment?

The details don’t matter but it was a ping that came from the middle of nowhere and here they are in some fuckass ruins.

They find Maple towards the center of the… fuck what even was this place before it became like this? They’ll have to ask Jaime later. Maple is laying on some ruins and next to her is some… deeply unsettling old man. What catches Miguel’s attention is the fact that Tami is… also there. What is going on?

The old man doesn’t turn to face the group of teens who’ve come to get their friend, instead just continuing to look down at Maple. They give no indication they even realize everyone’s arrived, although Tami is already looking directly at them. 

The absol’s gaze trails across the entire group, stopping to stare at Esper– causing the girl to nervously scooch closer to Victoria— before she softens and turns to look at the unconscious Maple as well. 

It’s hard to tell what Z was thinking behind the grey mask and hexagonal glasses that obscured her face, but the furrow of her brow was unmistakable. Hands shaking, she looked to the others for some sort of reassurance.

Beside her, Jaime caught her hesitation and offered a gloved hand to her. She silently took it into her own and nodded, holding it tightly. 

“So,” Jaime speaks out to the man. His expression seems unwaveringly determined, without a hint of fear in his voice. Miguel wondered how much of that was him suppressing it behind a brave face. “We finally meet face-to-face.”

“I suppose we are face to face, in a sense,” the man says, still not turning to look at the group as they brush some hair off of Maple’s face with a wrinkled hand, causing Miguel to tense. “There is much for us to talk about. Where should I begin?” 

Why was Tami being… So calm? A stirring familiarity blossoms in Miguel’s chest… What does this remind them of?

Esper shifts uncomfortably in place, her hands fiddling with her cane as she piped up, “Pr– Preferably from the beginning? Or where ever would be best for us to... understand whatever you wish to tell us?”

Flynn casts a glance over to Miguel, a deep frown on his face before turning his attention back to the old man.

Miguel catches Flynn’s eyes and gives a small nod, an acknowledgement of the strangeness of the situation. Something is wrong here. Why is there a sinking dread with a taste of home? Why do they feel like they’re 13 all over again?

Aspen swallows, gnawing on his bottom lip for a few moments. His eyes are trained on Maple until he rips his gaze away from her, forcing it to sweep across the rest of their little gang. His foot continues to tap restlessly, and he returns his focus to the old man.

“Right. The beginning… Well, the beginning of it all was quite a long time ago. Are you sure you’d like to start there?” The old man finally looks out towards the group. His eyes are blue, entirely so except for bright white pupils, an eerie glow illuminating every wrinkle of his aged face. 

It is at that moment where Miguel realizes exactly who this old man is. A scene they have replayed in their head over and over. Maple asleep in her bed, Miguel unable to sleep, a stranger at the window, the wilted flowers, and those goddamn eyes. All of it clicks into place and Miguel feels all at once like they’re going to throw up and like they’re gonna need to break something. That damn spectre.

Sitting in front of the group after so long of existing behind the mask of a screen is Anjo Da Morte.

Esper stumbles over her words as she tries to maintain eye contact with the man, “Ah– Well… Start… Start where you think is best?”

“Why don’t we start with why you’re here.” Miguel growls out, hands curled into fists at their side. “Did you decide to check up on your prey?” 

Victoria eyes the teen at her side. “Calm yourself, Caldeira.”

Miguel’s mind floods with a storm of thoughts, none of them entirely coherent. They figure that Victoria must be able to hear it, the outpour of visceral images. Their nightmares play layered on top of one another. Vullaby, Blue Eyes, Rot. A garden decimated by an unknown disease, a man at the window, the taste of blood. Sensory input with no clear sense that repeats itself in a whirlwind, like a record that keeps skipping, like a scab that is torn open again and again never allowed to heal, like a snake eating its own tail. Where does it stop? Where does it end? Where does it begin? 

“Careful with the demands, Miguel,” Anjo Da Morte says, laughing as if they’re teasing a friend. “You’re always so hostile. Don’t you know that aggressive dogs get muzzled?”

Their mind goes a sharp blinding blank, like a muzzle flare from a gun. “You son of a bitch!” Miguel can’t help themself, not after what happened this last autumn. They launch themself at Anjo Da Morte, even as their instincts tell them that it's a stupid thing to do. Their fist the bullet of the mishandled weapon. 

But when Miguel’s knuckles make contact something is… something is… Within the space of their own head, Miguel collapses. It’s like they shut down. Zacian takes control as a thick feeling of dread chokes them. This is not a man. This is not anything like a man, it feels like punching a bag of sand. And maybe Miguel already knew that this thing wasn’t right, but to have it confirmed like this was… Lach it’s bad.

Anjo Da Morte slumps backwards, almost unnaturally so, like a mannequin left without any support. They don’t move, they don’t even breathe, almost like a humanoid doll. 

Esper slaps her hands over her mouth as she stares at both Miguel and the man in horror, her eyes darting between the two.

Flynn opens his mouth to speak before closing it, opening it, and then closing it again at a loss for words.

Again, it’s hard to tell what Z is thinking behind the mask. The grip on Jaime’s hand tightens.

“Anjo da Morte, it’s an honor.” Zacian’s posture straightens like a swordsman preparing for a duel, as they spit out feigned respect.

Until it's not anymore. 

There’s a moment of silence before Anjo Da Morte sits up. It’s loose, like a stuffed toy being propped up. They don’t move like a person. They still don’t breathe, yet despite that, they laugh. Their lungs don’t move, it doesn’t come out of their body, but Anjo Da Morte still laughs. It echoes impossibly throughout everyone’s skulls.

Anjo Da Morte sits completely still. Completely lifeless. 

The figure of the old man twists and shifts until it’s something entirely new. A new form busting its way through a mockery of human flesh, feathers pushing through skin like a butterfly breaking its cocoon. Finally, in the chaos, a new form slowly emerges, until what stands in the ruins is no longer a man, but the form of a legendary pokemon instead. 

How much difference is there between a god and an angel, anyways? 

“Aw, hell no—” Z squawks out, “We ain’t fuckin’ doin’ this.” She tries to pull Jaime’s arm back, but he doesn’t budge. Keeping her eyes on the legendary Pokemon, she lets go of his hand and begins to slowly back away. 

Jaime, meanwhile, locks eyes with the angel of death, frozen in place in a mix of fear, awe, and reverence.

Flynn audibly swears, his hands shaking as takes a step back, glancing between the others and the being before them.

In the sea of emerging chaos Zacian’s body shakes. Every bit of self preservation tells him that there is no surviving something like this. That pure, unfiltered dread threatens to drowns even him.

Yveltal lets out a loud screech, shaking the ruins and causing small rocks to fall from their walls. As if a command, Maple’s body suddenly shoots up, standing like a soldier in front of the god. Though it is Maple’s body, Yveltal is clearly in control, her eye shines the exact same unnatural blue.

Victoria’s hardened gaze rises from the puppeted Maple to the rearing head of the deity before her. Her brother instinctively steps in front of her, holding out his other arm protectively. 

Esper freezes, her face growing impossibly pale as tears begin to well up in her eyes– her entire body quivering like a leaf.

Should someone do something? What can be done? This feels like the worst outcome.

The Legendary pokemon begins to take to the sky, dust and debris sent flying by each powerful wing beat, yet despite the force of the wind the body of Maple stands completely still. Yveltal lets out another loud screech, and begins to speak through Maple’s voice. 

“Si la violence est votre langage, je le parlerai,” she says, utterly calm, before the stillness is broken as she rushes towards Jaime, dragging the group into a fight. 

Continued in Part 2

[mommymio]

THE REASON WHY SYO'S ASS IS FATTER THAN TOKO'S

Have you ever looked at Toko? Probably. But have you ever really looked at her? Seen her pain, trauma, sadness, character depth...More importantly, have you ever noticed how flat she is compared to the other Danganronpa girls? I have. Many times. How unfortunate. But there might be a reason for this... Because I have also been reading a lot of Chainsaw Man lately and I've noticed the similarities between Asa and Toko, along with Yoru and Syo. While replaying UDG, i've noticed another similarity between the two. Like Yoru's ass compared to Asa's, Syo's ass is fatter than Toko's. This is not a theory, it's a true statement. So in this post I will be explaining why.

Notice anything weird? Well, to start off let's think of the other differences between Toko and Syo. Thicker personality, thicker hair, thicker ass, wanting to kill, thicker tongue...There are many differences. But the one that stands out the most is the fact Syo is a killer and Toko isn't. "B-b-b-b-b-but mommymio! w-what does that have to do with her ass?" Well, to begin think about why men like women with fatter asses besides appearance. BECAUSE WOMEN WITH FAT ASSES HAVE AN EASIER TIME GIVING BIRTH. I saw a post on r/childfree (people, often feminists who don't want children) They were discussing a gross post they saw on not only oversexualization of women, but how fertility is brought up during these conversations. ("child bearing hips" or "it makes easier for the women and baby to be safe".) The second I saw this I knew it would be great to use for this particular post.

Well, we all know Syo is a murderer because I'm assuming you played the game if you're reading this, it's a bit obvious from the photos, and I mentioned it twice in the paragraph above. So, what's a place where tons of people get murdered? WARS. What do you need for wars? PEOPLE. How do people get made? BIRTH. And as I mentioned earlier having a big butt is usually a sign of fertility, therefore, the more babies the younger the population is, meaning more wars. Now let's go back to Toko, when you think of comparisons between Toko and Asa the first thing that comes to your mind is probably "smelly femcel". Toko and Asa both think they're hated by everyone, insecure, depressed, and socially awkward (at the beginning of their stories, anyway.) Yoru is a figment of Asa's imagination and Syo is Toko's alter formed to show her repressed feelings (such as anger) and get rid of her insecurities. This would make sense for both Asa and Toko as to why their other personalities have fatter asses. Because they're both depressed and seek male attention. TLDR; big butt = more murder.

[pixie77x2001]

Here are my answers :D

Giacomo: Giacomo isn’t only my favorite character but also my comfort character Giacomo has helped me mentally when I was having a difficult time of my life due to personal reasons (won’t explain it btw) but if I could speak to Giacomo personally like ever I would thank him for making my days a lot brighter when I was going through a lot and since 2023 back in November I started simping for him since he makes me so happy

Giacomo: (yes again lol) I liked him the first time I saw him and I know his first battle with him is quick but I always enjoyed seeing him and pretty much the same reason why I favorite him as my favorite team star member

Teal Mask DLC: i honestly enjoyed the area and the music too I find it very relaxing yet fun to play and do on there and also got to meet Kieran for the first time and yes my all time favorite character from the DLC

Drayton: I would say Drayton not only he immediately became my all time favorite elite four member but also straight up hilarious and I love his lay back vibe and honestly I don’t see him as a “Jerk” to me he’s just a chill guy after all

Here’s my opinion on the area zero crew: (note: don’t hate on me for my humble opinion) (Penny: I really love her character a lot and I honestly see my younger self in her and yet she reminds me so much of myself probably the most relatable character I relate to my favorite poke girl by far) (Nemona: I do like her character too I especially love her love for Pokémon battles and especially her bubbly personality not my most favorite character but I like her better then other characters) (Arven: I’m not crazy about Arven I do like him quite funny and all but one thing that makes me angry that he literally spams the “rock polish” a while I’m doing all the heavy work like it always makes me so angry I know defensive is good but it can’t completely save you but other then that I do like him not enough to be a love or be a favorite though)

Here’s my opinion on the sibling relationship between Kieran & Carmine: honestly I prefer Kieran over Carmine because not only she treats him horribly and was horrible to him in general but make us lie to Kieran! I won’t ever forgive Carmine for that and no one can make me like her like at all

Here’s my opinion on the BB league members: I find them a fun yet relatable friend group and I love each and every one of them sm

Slither Wing: my god what a cutie I love how fluffy it is and it’s probably my all time favorite and I may use it sometime whenever I replay the game :O

Revavroom: I would say Revavroom not only it’s a cool Pokémon and it’s both my favorite steel and poison type it honestly has the best shiny form I ever seen like a GOLDEN CAR like come on! You can’t tell me that isn’t one of the most prettiest shinys ever and true story I also lost a shiny Revavroom that disappeared before I could get to it I was is upset and still am :’/

Starfall Street: I love the story behind team star and the quest itself not only because I get to see my two favorites Giacomo and Atticus But the story of team star had my attention the most in the game i love coming up with theories about them as for team star’s bullies…whoever they were I’m not forgiving them especially when they hurt my boi Giacomo (may do a post of my theories on team star’s bullies in the future) was such a emotional yet heart warming story and overall probably the most relatable back story because I was bullied as well back in school so if I knew Team star’s sooner I could give them a call lol

Here are my thoughts: I do hope to see a sequel because not only I wanna see who team star bullies were since there off screen characters at the moment but to see flashbacks that we didn’t get to see like see team star’s bullies from there view and figure out where they been all that time after leaving the academy and also see what team star from is up too but like I said I will make a future post on my theory on them soon so stay tuned for that)

Please don’t hate on my opinion on the things I listed

Pokemon Scarvio themed reblog/tag game!

-- ❤️: Favorite character?

-- ⭐️: Favorite Team Star member?

-- 0️⃣: Favorite DLC character?

-- 💥: Favorite Gym leader/Elite four?

-- 📝: Opinion on each of the Zero Crew? (Arven, Penny, Nemona)

-- 🌲: Opinion on the Kitakami siblings?

-- 🫐: Opinion on the BB league members?

-- ⏱️: Favorite Paradox Pokemon?

-- 💛: Favorite Paldean Pokemon?

-- 📖: Favorite storyline? (Ex: Mochi mayhem, Starfall street)

-- 🗣️: Anything you want to say about Scarvio? (Infodump, a rant, or just other thoughts)

Feel free to infodump alongside your answers! Anyone is allowed to reblog :3

[monomonommonn]

WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATTTT

[spitedemon]

i really don’t think it’s “typical dragon age fandom nonsense” for people to be genuinely upset about the world state choices. combat, level design, art direction, gameplay gimmicks, those have all varied across each dragon age game. the one thing that’s remained constant are nods to our previous choices.

i wasn’t expecting my HoF to come riding in on a griffon, but i can’t find a monument dedicated to warden tabris somewhere around the anderfels? lucanis couldn’t have some lines about the time that one arainai boy was stirring up trouble in antiva city? you’re gonna tell me that making a mage the new divine wouldn’t have some impact on nevarra and antiva? on the anderfels, the supposed most devout militant andrastian nation in thedas? you’re saying nobody in the north is paying attention to who rules orlais or ferelden? come on.

[decarabias]

forever thinking about royal’s bad ending. my thing with it is that maruki doesn’t necessarily give anyone what they want most, he gives them what’s most appropriate for them to want within a maruki-approved framework. iirc there’s a really interesting text sequence in the game where he just straight up changes someone’s career because they’re not “good” at it, regardless of whether that’s what they actually want. why struggle at all? ever? right?

and so ultimately i don’t think goro akechi’s greatest wish is necessarily ren. i think it’s a wish for sure, but his greatest wish is his own agency. despite any regrets he has and the fact that shido and yaldabaoth treated him like a pawn, he's generally pretty adamant about owning his choices and their consequences. he doesn't want that erased. and instead, you end up with pleasant boy™ if you take maruki’s deal. maybe maruki (incorrectly) thinks sanding off all of akechi’s rough edges will make him easier for ren to love. but the crux of it is really that maruki has to essentially lobotomize him to preserve the illusion of his perfect reality, because their ideologies are so diametrically opposed that akechi would spend every waking moment fighting back.

this isn’t to undermine ren’s importance to akechi btw — he explicitly acknowledges that he wishes they had met earlier, and there are countless moments throughout their confidant that underscore how much it means to him that they mirror each other so well. he absolutely does want more time with ren, just not under these circumstances.

and that’s also what makes ren’s choice on 2/2 doubly devastating. he knows that either way he loses akechi. and if he takes maruki’s deal, he loses him knowing that his last moments with the real akechi involved the two of them being unforgivably out of sync.

[gummi-ships]

Kingdom Hearts - Halloween Town

[vaguely-concerned]

one thing I have to keep reremembering every time I'm playing a soulslike/similar kind of difficult game -- and that I wish I could internalize elsewhere in my life as well -- is that you always, always have to suffer through the long dark of an inexplicable failcringe era before you can emerge into a fresh new dawn of competence. faceplanting into humiliating failure in ways you hadn't even conceived of before on a loop can sometimes be the herald of great and wondrous things to come soon. don't be so quick to abandon yourself in the early murk of daybreak because you think you just suck!!!

[minweber]

Well, thank you, Veilguard, for supplying me, for the next few years, with something over which to agonize how great it could have been if just about everything about it was different - or, as it is better known, The Essential Dragon Age Experience.