#tempted to think about it more

[provincial-charmer]

I'm in the middle of Fallout brainrot.

Why did I just have the most wild, out of left field idea for a Pirates of the Caribbean au? Wha-?

[bacchuschucklefuck]

space sweepers but they're delivery people and are at no point on screen through the entire movie

[shepscapades]

Question abt the xisuma and keralis doodle in the cozy xisuma post;;

Do the hermit's not know what xisuma's face looks like and keralis is one of the only ones/the only one who knows, or do the hermit's know what his face looks like but we as the audience for some reason don't?

I think as far as I’ve decided, Keralis, Cleo, and Doc are the only hermits who have seen Xisuma’s face.

[willowser]

you had only to look at me—

part two.

bakugou x f!reader

wc: 3.3k+

tags: nsfw (18+), childhood best friend bakugou, dry humping, implied virgin bakugou, a tad angsty at the end.

even before i was touched, i belonged to you; you had only to look at me. — the burning heart, louise glück.

this is a repost.

childhood best friend bakugou is probably a wrestler. a lil' rough-houser.

games of tag end with you tackled to the ground, squashed underneath him until you finally agree that he's the king of the world. whenever your hair is long enough to pull back into a pony-tail or little bun, he's yanking on it to get your attention, harsh, especially if you're ignoring him to talk to anyone else. scraped knees and bruised elbows, coming home missing a single shoe, shirt stretched out and wrinkled at the bottom corner: all katsuki's fault.

it makes you a little volatile, too, in turn.

not so much as him, but you grow up defending yourself; the first black eye he gets is from you (if you don't count the time he hit himself in the face by accident, when you'd started a slap-fight because he was trying to hold you down) and you very quickly learn how "unfair" it (apparently) is to kick him in the groin. your parents spend a lot of time separating you, putting you in opposite corners of the room until one of you stops crying and the other is ready to mumble out an apology. you're not allowed to sit next to each other at holiday events. whatsoever. under any circumstances.

he's your best friend. you wouldn't have it any other way.

in middle school, he's just as insufferable, hardly allows you to talk to any of your girl friends without butting in some how, too loud for anyone's own good. he tries to embarrass you in front of other boys, puts you in a headlock even when he's sweaty — which he is a lot at that point, during puberty — and calls you names that make you want to hide in the bathroom.

("why is he such a jerk?" your friends will ask, trying to fix the mess of your hair during lunch. all your butterfly clips are either missing or broken, crunched under bakugou's scrawny arm. "you should tell on him for being such a bully.")

nobody else treats you the way he does, and you don't treat anyone else that way, either; you never make ugly faces at your girl group, never punch them as hard as you can in the arm, aiming to leave a bruise. with all other classmates, you're — normal, trying to discover what that even means in the grand scope of things, who you want to be as the years pass. you avoid bakugou and his little posse of brats like the plague, because detention is what awaits both of you, should your paths ever cross.

things start to change, seriously, in high-school.

bakugou goes to u.a and you — don't; instead you continue on to the shizuoka high-school without him, along with your group of girls. his time at home and in the neighborhood lessens, even moreso when he moves into the dorms on campus, and the only time you see him becomes those few and far in-between family visits he has time to make; some holidays, he doesn't come home at all.

at first you think it's a good thing, because you've never gotten to flourish while trapped in his armpit. yanking at his hair until he finally lets go in the middle of the hallway has always garnered you some weird looks, odd stares, and you finally stop being labeled aggressive, too, with him gone. boys can talk to you without being stalked by your angry, wiry, chihuahua of a best friend, and you go on dates, ride in cars, have your first kiss.

you miss him from time to time, though you'll die before admitting it, and the yearning doesn't last long whenever he does come home. even when you're seventeen, eighteen, he still lays on the couch and puts his stinky feet in your lap and in your face, purposely puts things too high up on your shelves, leans against the front door so you can't get out when it's time to leave.

(he becomes an immovable object, much to your annoyance; in the past, you've always stood somewhat of a chance against him, knowing all his weak spots, like the clump of hair at the crown of his skull and how ticklish he is on his thighs, but now, after all the training he's been doing — he's huge, unfortunately.

if he grabs your wrists in one hand — like he's never been able to do — and holds them above your head, you're useless to defend yourself; there is an absolutely zero-percent chance you'll ever manage to overthrow him if he sits on you; tickling him is impossible, because his thighs have gotten so muscular that it's hard to grab him, and even if you do manage it, he can nearly crush your hand if he closes his legs together.

bakugou doesn't even look like your scrawny best friend anymore; he looks like the guy that ate your scrawny best friend.)

you graduate and go to college. bakugou graduates and goes to work for best jeanist, in the heart of tokyo. seeing each other means planning on it, making an effort neither of you have ever had to, and there's a lot of radio silence for months at a time. somehow it always comes full circle, though, and it always ends in violence, because you two don't know any other way to be.

you're twenty the first time his touch becomes tight, bruising, purposeful — for new reasons.

it's one of the few times he's off, and you haven't seen each other since his mom's dinner party four months ago. you only agree to come over because his patrol route had taken him through your campus and you'd spotted him across the street in the early hours of the morning, after you got out of class.

now you're both tired, lazing around despite planning to get lunch once the heat died down. together doing nothing; sometimes it's a little alarming how easily the two of you fall into each other, but you've been doing it for so long that it doesn't take a second thought.

bakugou strolls out of his bathroom with damp hair, in nothing but a loose pair of sweats, and you're laying on his couch half-asleep and he puts his wet towel over your face and you ball it up and throw it at him and then he tries to whip you with it.

"stop," you groan, serious, "you're so annoying." when he only twists it tighter, you stick your arm and leg out, deflecting against the wet smack he tries to leave against your skin.

his sharp teeth flash with his ugly little grin, and you try to grab the towel twice, ending up with an angry, stinging lick up the inside of your arm, before he gets too close and you can finally yank it from his hands. you sit up to get a better angle, but you're not as quick as he is, as adept at being a brat, and when he yanks on the towel, your whole body nearly comes off the couch, arms almost coming out of their sockets.

"bakugou!" you squeal, and he cackles, evil, and grabs your hands when you try to smack him. your massive, stinking, freight train of a best friend deposits his entire body on yours, crushing your lungs with his back as you cough, "get off!"

he doesn't say anything, choosing to pretend he's watching whatever is on tv and that he can't hear you — which you could believe, because bakugou likes trash television more than he lets on — and your hands are trapped at your sides and you can't breathe and so you bite him, right in the neck.

"ow, fuck!"

when he moves, he moves fast, and you're only hope of retaliating before he flips around and grabs your wrists and holds you down is to roll the both of you off the couch. his body thuds, deep and heavy, against the carpet, and you trap his hands beneath your knees as you straddle his hips, adjusting your full weight so you can at least try and keep him down.

beneath you, bakugou sneers. "you've got five seconds t'get off me before—"

"one!" you shout obnoxiously, rolling your eyes just to hear his annoyed snort. "two! three! f—"

his body snaps up into a sitting position, nose bumping yours as he rips his hands from beneath your legs. a scream tears out of your throat as you wiggle, surprised, trying your best to stretch your arms over your head and around your back so he can't grab them; if he does, it's game over for you.

"stop!" you shout, choking out a shock of laughter when he brings his legs up, trapping you in his lap against his chest. a little grunt leaves him as you jostle, but the tension at your back never lets up, not even when his mouth sets in a firm line and a sharp exhale leaves his nose. "let me go," you tell him, squirming again as he reaches for your hands. "i'm not playin' around."

"too bad, y'shitty nerd." he says, gruff, and when you stick your tongue out at him, he buries his face in your neck and bites, too, taking advantage of your shock as his fingers close around your wrists.

"no!" you scream again, trying in earnest just to get away from him completely, but he holds your hands behind your back and keeps you squished so tightly into him that you can only breathe shallowly, and his free hand goes to ball into your shirt at your side and —

— and his face is red, you realize, delayed. you can almost feel the heat from his cheeks with him so close, and you take in the flush of his neck, how it spreads down to his bare chest, crimson and fevered. his tongue darts out to wet his lips, nervous, almost.

"what?" you breathe, quiet, as if speaking too loud will break your playful bubble, and his eyes jump around his living room before landing back on you, narrowed and black.

"what?" he echoes, voice pitched and mocking. "you lose, dumbass." and even though he closes his eyes and grits his teeth, there isn't any hiding from how hard he's breathing. how subtle he's trying to be about spreading his legs.

all at once, everything kind of — falls apart.

bakugou is a man now, much to your horror; it feels like you've closed your eyes and opened them in the lap of someone else wearing your best friend's face. there's serious muscle definition in his shoulders and biceps, and you can feel yourself getting lost in the curves and valleys of him like never before. he's — you're — so close. more than it feels like you've ever been, even though you know that's far from true.

this boy used to pin you down in the yard and threaten to lick your face, the both of you grass-stained and covered in sweat. you've tackled him face first into the ocean on various vacations, running behind him quietly and plunging his scrawny, shirtless body into the waves as they rushed forward, uncaring of what you were wearing or how it twisted when you both came up for air.

saliva is still drying on your neck from where he bit you and, unthinking, your eyes dart down to his lips; plumper than you ever realized and parted, just a bit, enough that you can feel his breath on your cheeks. and you wonder —

bakugou grunts quietly, shuffling himself so that his back is leaned against the couch, and you half-expect him to just let you go because things have — changed. but he doesn't.

instead the new position has his legs a little wider and you've sunk a little further and you're now very aware of exactly what's changed, and how much. you can feel him twitch, just barely, and the hand he has at your side balls tighter into your shirt, jostling you minutely in the process.

and finally he opens his eyes and stares at you — cheeks burning, eyebrows furrowed — and you stare back — heat lighting up your body to an uncomfortable degree as your stomach flips.

you wonder what he would do, if you kissed him. what it would feel like. what he would taste like.

you move your hips with purpose, stuck on the new and foreign change it does to him; bakugou's always been a tough little brat, and you made him cry a handful of times when you were younger, but this weakness is — different. there's so much you know about him and yet even more for you to learn, and you find yourself consumed with the desire to explore this new, enticing territory.

his lashes flutter gently when you grind against him, tentatively, and then his head thumps back against the couch as the muscle in his jaw sets. half-lidded, his red-hot gaze jumps from your face down to where you're seated against him and back, and it's only after you move again that you realize — he's watching you, too. discovering.

the fist he has in your shirt loosens and his fingers burn your bare skin when they slip under the material to grip your hip. at any moment, you're half-expecting him to tell you to cut the shit, to shove you off and ask what the hell is wrong with you. why you're being so weird, doing things friends don't do to each other. but he doesn't.

you're almost certain that if you put your hands on his chest, you would be able to feel the mirrored, nervous pace of his heartbeat; it only takes the faintest tug of your hands for him to let you go, his grip falling to the other side of your hips. you can't tell if he means to hold you in place, or keep you going.

you spread your fingers out and, gently, as if you've never touched him before, run your hands up his chest, watching the bob of his adam's apple when you rest them on the sides of his neck. stabilizing yourself a bit, before testing the waters again.

bakugou's eyes are nearly black and when you don't stop, he looks down to resume watching the movement of your hips, the way his sweatpants bunch up and tug, and you feel a little zing up your spine with his every sharp inhale and sharper exhale. even his jaw falls a little slack and, fuck, you've never seen him like this.

you never thought you'd want to, but now — you don't think you'll ever see him any other way again.

his eyes go a little wide when you lean into him, brushing the tip of your nose against his. neither of you have said anything and maybe you should keep it that way, lest the bubble burst, but you feel like you're going a little insane.

quietly, around your own heavy breath, you ask, "does this — feel good?"

you can feel the temperature of his cheeks spike, but he nods shallowly regardless, and you press your mouth into his throat to bite him again, just lightly. it should be so that he's a little biter; the feel of your teeth makes him jump, has him angling his head so that more of his neck is exposed to you. when you soothe the barely-there indentation with the flat of your tongue, his breath hitches and his shoulders shake on a shudder and he groans, like he's angry.

"hah, fuck."

the friction in his lap isn't doing much for you, realistically, but his reaction is what has you aching, has you drawn tighter than a bow string. you feel yourself growing antsy for something that you won't name, because friends don't do that, though you can't help but to wonder if he's ever done it before.

you've had a few boyfriends. had a few experiences that ended quickly and left you feeling exposed and uncomfortable and a little in pain, and even though your girl friends insist that's normal — it's nothing like this. bakugou might not last much longer, if the grip he has on your hips is any indication, but not a single piece of your clothing has been removed and you're hot and getting sort of desperate and you know your underwear are a little more than damp.

you want to dismantle his long-standing composure. you want to be — maybe — the only one that gets to see him fall apart like this.

he's been your best friend your whole life, afterall; this experience should be yours. he should be.

the thought has you shivering a little bit and bakugou bucks up against you, pulling you down hard in his lap. dragging across the thick and solid length of him becomes even more clear and another, stronger zing has you letting out a breathy little sound into his ear. it makes him groan again, this one almost whiny, but he closes his mouth to muffle it and you don't want him to do that so you tighten your fingers in the hair on the crown of his head and — just to see, in a way you've never done before — you quietly whisper,

"katsuki,"

and he loses it.

one of his hands slips up your shirt to splay against your back, forcing you closer to him so he can bury his face in your neck, and his hips become insistent, urgent, rutting up against yours eagerly.

"fuck, oh fuck, fuck," he groans into your skin, fingers gripping you so tightly that you think he might actually leave burns behind, and his shoulders tremble before he goes totally still.

for a little while, you both sit there and let your breathing even out as reality sobers you from whatever lust-drunk haze you'd both been in. distantly, you think you wouldn't mind if he pinned you to the ground the way he always does, only this time to peel all your clothes off, right here on his living room floor. but he doesn't.

doesn't say anything, just shudders every now and again, and you think you're starting to feel the wet spot soaking into the front of his sweatpants.

you pull back just a little to look at him and he lets you, face just as red as he stares back at you, like he's the one waiting for you to freak. a little bit of red has returned to his eyes, though they're still swollen and dark with want.

when you lean in again, to bump your nose against his, bakugou snaps back away from you.

"wh-the fuck are y'doin'?" he shifts his eyes to the ground and they go wide. horrified, maybe. all the blood rushes in your ears and you don't know what to say, so he continues. "i-i don't have time t-to sit around all day, so—" bakugou shakes his head and you think he's going to kick you out, and he must know it, from how stiff you go. "so, you better know what the hell you wanna eat."

your bubble has burst; you nod silently and he glances up at you twice before swallowing.

"well, i can't get dressed with you sitting on me, so get off." when you remain quiet, he finally raises his head to look at you head-on, fisting the edge of your shirt again so that you'll look back. "d'you..." bakugou wets his lips before biting them, "need anything?"

"uh," maybe to shove your head down the drain and drown yourself, so that you can get rid of all the not-so-nice feelings that are creeping up beneath your skin. instead of that, you tell him, "just the bathroom, maybe."

"hurry up then," he mutters and even tries to roll his eyes, though it feels anything but casual. "don't...take for-fuckin'-ever."

and then he's up, quick to stand so that his back is to you as he disappears around the corner to his room, leaving you to yourself, trying to smooth out the wrinkle he's left in the corner of your shirt.

[whilomm]

note: pollmaker is thinking of the USAmerican lottery system (powerball, mega millions, state lottos, scratchoffs, etc), but poll applies to other countries lotteries systems so long as its still the same concept of "big ol state sponsered gambling shit", but not like casino style gambling. u know what i mean, Lottos.

questions for the tags: how regularly, what stuff you play, if you have limits for yourself, if you feel like its a Problem for you, and for funsies the usual 'first thing youd do if you won the lottery' shit

reblog to have absolutely zero effect on your luck either way. just like, absolutely no change in luck whether you reblog this or scroll past. this is the luck neutral post reblog in the next 30 seconds or dont who give a shit

[medi-bee]

isat pokemon au, my liege?

my rambling in tags

[aradia-queen-of-the-sheep]

Saw a poll a while back about which homestuck kid is most likely to be cancelled and it got me thinking. Obviously if we're going for cancelable characters almost every single one of the trolls is easily cancelable. So.

Nepeta and Kanaya are excluded for being unproblematic, murders nonwithstanding. Feferi and Aradia are included for being the dictator in training and the grim reaper, respectively. Tavros included for being cringe. I think the rest speak for themselves.

[julesnichols]

Just noticed during the trial when they stand Madeleine up, and she first looks back at Claudia, Claudia gives her a little nod... and yet she looks so downcast after and surprised when Madeleine declares her loyalty and love for Claudia... was Claudia nodding at her to say "it's okay", expecting not to be chosen? I am unwell

[senselessalchemist]

Bow problems (+ other nonsense)

[nellasbookplanet]

Now that season 2 of good omens is only about a month away and everyone waiting has already watched season 1 and read the book multiple times, may I suggest something to tide you over while waiting:

When the Angels Left the Old Country by Sacha Lamb! Featuring an angel and a demon best-friend pair going on a trip together and being very confused by humans and their weird ways! It is very good!

The general tone is pretty humorous and light-hearted, the characters are fun, the mythology is fun, it’s all very jewish and very queer but light on romance (there’s an f/f subplot though!). The plot is less apocalyptic than Good Omens (they’re looking for a missing girl, not trying to stop armageddon) but equally as engaging.

In short: read When the Angels Left the Old Country, please, I beg of you, it deserves so much love

[lavenoon]

reblog art, goddamnit

[tswwwit]

I feel like if Dipper were ever reincarnated as a demon, he wouldn't fit in super well with the others. Yes, he's been raised to vie for power and step on everyone in his way using whatever means is necessary - it's the same toxic bizz as when he was a human, appealing to gender norms. He's tougher, scarier, more powerful (than ordinary humans, that is), but when it comes to asserting control - being Evil - he doesn't have it in him. Given enough time, I think he'd grow pretty vocal about leaving living things alone. NOT torturing organisms for the hell of it, or stealing people's souls, or conquering planets. Sure, he's a demon. That's no excuse to be a MONSTER.

It's a VERY unpopular opinion amongst neighboring demons, and rumor spreads fast about the Goody Two-Shoed Activist imp raining on everyone's blood-splattered parade, so much so that it makes it to Bill, who's immediately intrigued. Call it intuition, but only one soul's capable of overriding goddamn demon nature for some preachy bullshit about "Doing Good." Lucky for him, demons occupy the same plane of existence, so all it really takes to verify the guy is a snap of his fingers, and POOF! He's floating right next to him. Sure enough, Dipper's fashioned himself a new and improved demonic form, and it is lovely!

No one likes Dipper's kumbaya "Can't We All Just Get Along" ideology, but Bill's almost instantly smitten with the guy, whoever he is, so he's gotta be at least somewhat powerful. Demons take notice when the all-powerful Bill Cipher starts lending his time (and magic?) to some low-leveler like Dipper. Is he being blackmailed? Are they working together? No. Not possible. Bill doesn't "work" with anyone, save for whatever human catches his eye every few decades. Doesn't look to be doing him any benefit, either. The opposite, even. Lending power to a saint like Dipper only makes it harder to cause chaos, after all. Why would he actively go against his OWN best interest to cater some imp's? It's almost like he's. He's.

A henchmen.

(Bill's also 30% more affectionate the first month they reunite, because he still can't believe that his adorable little human husband came back as the same SPECIES as him! He'd never complain over having a sweet human to squeeze, but one with teeth and claws and cute pointy ears doesn't hurt).

[p1x1x]

[skitskatdacat63]

[chikahoshi]

I commissioned @tikklil from Twitter/Instagram again to draw 42 Miles/42 Gwen based off @bloody-writing's fic Tonight You Belong To Me. This fic is the reason why I ship them so hard, so I think it's only fitting that I commission fanart inspired by this fic as a thank you. Hopefully, I can do some more commissions based on this fic because there are scenes that I really think is worth seeing illustrated. So fingers crossed. (As a disclaimer, I did get permission to post the commission here.)

[caq1e]

i've been trying to rationalize why clay terran's death hits me more than pretty much any other victim, even though the exact intricacies of his character are not the most plot relevant, and i think i finally got it. some of it's that he's the series' first new science freak in a while, yeah, but i think above that it's the emphasis on his ambition.

ace attorney does not like to kill real characters. it doesn't. referring to the main series for the rest of this post, we very rarely get to see a character for one section of one case before they die, with a few notable exceptions. as a result, because we don't get to know the characters very well, we as players are left to pick up the remnants based on the reactions of those still alive. ace attorney creates tragedy and emotional impact through the emotions of those who knew the victims. the victims' personas, therefore, are shaped by others' experiences with them: were they nice or mean, compassionate or abusive, nurturing or strict? while their relationships to others are crucial to their selves, they aren't everything about them.

clay is an astronaut. and unlike pretty much every victim in this series, that's not just his job, it's his life's purpose. the majority of clay's character is shaped through apollo's perception of him, sure, but what's also emphasized is his dream of being an astronaut. he wanted to be an astronaut since he was a child. he went to cosmos, became acquaintances and friends with the employees, surrounded himself with space. and he got the job. i know ace attorney ages can be taken with a grain of salt, but he was going to go into space at twenty-three, where the youngest astronaut in real life was twenty-five. any sizable gap in age below the norm tends to get lawyers deemed prodigies, excluding most themis students, so clay could probably be considered one as well. he was brilliant and remarkably hardworking and dedicated his entire life to reaching this goal, and he... didn't. he died with his dream ten steps in front of him.

when a character is an exception in one way, they tend to be in many, and they also tend to be defense attorneys, for some reason. the two victims with the most ambition at time of death, from my perspective, also have the most pre-death screen time: mia fey and dhurke sahdmadhi. their ambition may be on different scales, but they both died with tasks unfinished. mia had yet to reveal the corruption of redd white and the truth to dl-6, and dhurke had yet to restore stability to his country's legal system. they were both incredibly committed to fulfilling these goals and died while actively pursuing them.

the contrast between these two and clay is the individualism factor. dhurke wanted to see his revolution through, but he wanted a better future regardless of whether he was its leader or not. mia's connection was due to her familial involvement, but she also just wanted to uncover the truth behind redd white's obscurations and reduce corruption in the legal system. these goals are personal, but they aren't limited to them. they are goals that these two aspire to achieve, but they themselves don't need to be the ones to achieve them; in fact, they aren't. phoenix apprehends white, exposes manfred von karma, and discovers misty fey's disappearance for mia, while nahyuta and apollo work to reform khura'in's courts for dhurke. clay wanted to go to space. while a less noble goal than those i'm comparing him to, it's also more intrinsic to himself. he was supposed to be the one in space. there's no one to take over his dream because it's his alone. when he dies, that's it. it'll never be done. while his compassion definitely implies that he would be proud as long as sol starbuck touched the stars again, that isn't his dream. it's not the same as him doing it himself.

another similarity between mia and dhurke is that they are also the victims with the most post-death screen time. mia is channeled constantly through the first trilogy, to the point where she's almost as constant as any living character. dhurke lives for days, concealing his death while being channeled and not revealing the secret until almost the end of 6-5. as a result, these two get front row seats to their goals being fulfilled by their successors. mia's there to help phoenix take down white in 1-2, is certainly made aware of the results in 1-4, and even reunites with diego and re-defeats dahlia in 3-5. dhurke assists apollo leading up to the final court case, and his presence sticks with apollo as he develops his defense office.

clay does not get post-death screen time. he's only mentioned, like any other victim, after his death, and the large bulk of it is regarding the minutes before he's killed. not only is his dream unable to be fulfilled, but he wouldn't get the chance to see anything come of it, if that was even possible. he's not aura, staring out of a prison cell as part of her life's work flies off without her input. he's dead. no seeing the future, no willing on a successor to continue for him, no closure. dead and gone.

i'm not going to go crazy in depth right now, but, considering all major victims, the final truth of clay's death is done pretty poorly. as the successor to investigations, a duology that deals with international affairs in incredible detail, dual destinies is notably lacking. the organization behind the phantom isn't explored in the slightest; what was the point in making them a part of something bigger in the first place? there's no inciting event, no motive, not even a name, and from my point of view it just makes dual destinies feel unfinished, like there were plans that couldn't be made reality. there aren't any hints towards what the organization is doing, no legs to theorize on besides real life events, and it's not portrayed in a way that leaves it as a clever mystery. some international organization wants to sabotage the rocket launches for an unknown reason, so people die. that's all. clay dies due to reasons completely unknown to players, which is just so unsatisfying. not only does he not get closure, but we don't either. it makes me desperate for any new information to justify his death, to make his murder mean something, just like others who are integral to plot. this isn't entirely the point i was trying to make, but i think it's significant enough to mention. or maybe i just wanted to talk about it. not too sure.

clay terran suffers the awful fate of too much ambition and too little closure. this alone made his death have the greatest lasting impact on me. i'm not sure how it is for others, but the sadness of those left behind didn't usually trigger a large emotional reaction in me. however, the way clay's extraordinary dedication, implied intelligence, and nigh inevitable success were ripped from him right at the very end, with no possibility of a successor due to his own personal stake in the goal, made his death hit me through the heart like no other ace attorney victim. and also, just a little bit, because he's a new science freak.