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#DONT LET ME GOOOO
taffingspy · 1 year
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You’re stuck on me like a tattoo
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the-kipsabian · 5 months
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its-raining-cats · 5 days
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Having you by my side makes today perfect.
Team Past || Team Future || All Teams
"In a battle, dwelling on old losses or worrying about the next match will just get you splatted. All that matters is crushing the opponent in front of you!" —Vida
"Moments shared with those around you make life worth living. Whether they're strangers, friends, loved ones, being able to enjoy the present with them is irreplaceable." —Theo
"We fought so hard to be standing where we are, enjoying ourselves right now. I'm going to make the most of every second I have, and love the world I'm in right now!" —Aster
"I'm pretty happy with who I am right now, so I'm gonna embrace it and have a good time! Don't wait for a 'perfect moment' to do what you want, just go for it!" —Nym
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Oh me when I'm FUCKING RIGHT
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dangans-ur-ronpas · 2 months
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Chapter 23
ohhh baby we back in it now
SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY
Some pre-chapter notes:
byakuya pov finally
bonus headcanon coming into play here: byakuya being Wasian
shoutout @digitaldollsworld for helping me conceptualize byakuya's mom! both of us are Sick about her
Content warning tags: wall-punching, grieving/mourning, unreality (dreaming)
< previous - from start - next >
There’s a woman standing in his office.
Byakuya stands behind the cracked-open doorway, peeking through - though, part of him does rile up with the indignity of having to spy into his own office - at the intruder, standing in front of his desk, back facing the door.
He can’t see her face. But he can see her flax-yellow hair, tied back with a wrinkled, silken scarf that’s probably the most expensive thing she’s wearing. Her cotton jumpsuit is so stained and faded that hardly any of the original blue is still there. Her canvas shoes are discolored with mud.
She would look more out of place, if the shabbiness of her hadn’t seeped into her surroundings. The carpet is splattered with crusted clay, and shards of stone stick out of the plush threads like thorns. The mahogany surface of his desk is creaking and bent under the weight of a large cube of fleshy, white marble, splintering under the lacquer.
As he watches, she lifts her bare hands - ugly, roughened, thickly muscled fingers, nails cracked and filthy - like a conductor before an orchestra. She pauses, head tilted like a bird, thinking, and Byakuya inexplicably finds himself holding his breath; and then, she places her palms against the stone.
The surface of it warps and distends beneath her touch, first like a swollen balloon, and then like clay, twisting and following her hands like a swimming fish. And he watches, fascinated despite himself, as she bends and shapes it, twisting pieces off, smoothing edges down. She pinches out a piece in the middle for a nose, smoothes down a sharp edge for a sloping curve of a cheek, flicks her nail sharply beneath the brow to pull out a crease for an eyelid.
It’s magic. In seemingly no time at all, there on his desk is a bust; the head of a man brought to life, caught in a soft, gentle expression. The sculptor pauses, and steps backwards to take in her work.
There’s something reverent about it, and Byakuya suddenly has the feeling that he’s witnessing something not meant for him to see.
But he creaks the door open slightly more to get a better look, finding it strange how he was more curious than angry, even despite the intrusion. As he approaches, the bust’s eyes suddenly flick towards him, and immediately the serenity is replaced by a solemn, pinched brow, the smile replaced by a severe slash of a frown. And Byaukuya realizes he recognizes this face.
The marble-wrought head of Kijo Togami is sitting on his desk, scowling at him.
“Byakuya?”
He turns to the woman. She’s facing him now, though she has no face to speak of - it is blurred and unfocused, like a distant background character of an impressionist oil painting, the features mere shifting smears against a flat plane - but he knows her. He knows her.
“Byakuya,” She repeats, the syllables awkward on her tongue. She’s speaking French, and she sounds distant. Muted, underwater. But her voice still has the same, oddly musical quality to it that he remembers, making everything she said sound like a lullaby. “Bijou. Did I not tell you to stay out of my studio?”
Her studio?
“This is my office.” He protests back. He can’t tell if he’s speaking Japanese or not; every word feels clumsy and foreign, like he’s just learned how to talk. “What are you doing here, Mother?”
She just sighs. Shakes her head, her featureless face. There’s no anger in it, no loving exasperation either; just a neutral disapproval of his presence. His unwanted existence in her space. “Bijou,” She says again, and the nickname irritates him. A sweet-sounding endearment that was ultimately empty, a placeholder for her to refer to him by, because his own name was too clumsy to speak with her accent. “When did you become so grown? When will you stop being so cold?”
The stone Kijo Togami is still frowning at him. In this instant, both the man he calls ‘Father’ and the woman who had birthed him - one painfully-detailed stone, the other indistinct flesh - stand before him. One silent and forever displeased, the other sweet but hollow-sounding and entirely uncaring that they shared any blood at all.
“How strange it is, that you look so much like me,” She sighs, raising a hand to his face. He flinches away from it, the sandpaper sharpness of her palms, the filth that stains the creases of her skin, the heat that comes off of it like a kiln. “And yet, you are so much like him.”
He wakes up with a gasp, eyes snapping open.
He’s greeted with the pitch darkness of his ceiling, cut through with a thin slash of white from his bathroom light, streaming through the cracked-open door. A reminder he had taken to preparing for himself before he went to bed, that his eyes were still there, and he sighs and presses a palm to his chest as he stares up at it. Feeling his heart pounding beneath his fingertips, then slowing, in time with his breaths.
A dream. He can’t remember the last time he dreamed so vividly, but he had been subjected to some unpleasantly…shocking events the last few days (he won’t call them traumatic, he’s witnessed far worse in his life). The details of the dream are already slipping away as he tries to recall it, like sand between his fingers. It’s hardly important.
He lies in bed a moment longer, trying to see if sleep will come, but even with the adrenaline fading he’s wide-awake. Annoying, but not surprising, considering how he had spent much of the day before napping in short, fitful bursts. He pushes himself upright, reaching under his pillow for his handbook; may as well make use of the time.
The clock on his handbook reads: three AM. His neglected stomach gurgles as he squints at the dim glow of the screen, and he sighs. He hasn’t eaten since Celeste’s little tea party the day before, and he might as well go to the kitchen now. There likely wouldn’t be anyone wandering around to disturb him. And with Ishimaru gone, there was no one left to seriously uphold the nightly curfew; he drags himself out of bed with a grunt, grabbing his bathrobe off the end of his bedpost as he goes.
He’s not expecting the trap that he finds when he opens the door, however. The first step he takes past the threshold is accompanied by a loud, startling crunch, and he jumps backwards, just barely stifling a shriek. He throws his hand against the light switch, digging it into his palm as he flicks in on, and at once the yellow glow streaming from his room illuminates the something round, brown, and somewhat deflated sitting in the hallway.
For a moment, he thinks it's some kind of rodent, dead and trodden under his foot. But closer inspection reveals it to be packaged bread, only slightly crushed in its plastic wrapper. There’s no note, but he can guess who the offering is from.
He sighs, picks it up by the corner, and tosses it behind him towards his trash can as he leaves.
The hallways are dim, and almost silent if not for the dull hum of the school’s inner machinery. The whoosh of air conditioning, the muffled clang of pipes. None of the construction that Hagakure had reported days ago, not even when he strains his ears.
But he does catch the quiet murmur of conversation as he passes the bathhouse, and he pauses, staring at the light that streams from behind the curtain, the quick-flicker of shadows moving from inside.
“It wasn’t your fault!”
He freezes, standing just outside. That was Chihiro’s - no, Alter Ego’s - voice. 
“I know Master wouldn’t resent you.” It continues, earnest and bright. “And based on my data…I don’t think Kiyotaka would blame you either!”
“But it was my fault,” Mondo’s voice is strained and hollow, grieving still. “If I hadn’t left them alone - if I’d tried to just talk to him -”
Byakuya shifts slightly. He doesn’t want to be here, to have to witness Mondo’s continued breakdown. He still hasn’t forgiven the other boy, but having to see him stuck in the depths of misery was…unpleasant. And he’s not so petty to want retribution while the target of his ire was in such a state.
He tiptoes past, giving the bathhouse entrance a wide berth. From inside, he hears more indistinct voices, one low and gravelly from crying, the other electronic and gentle. And then-
“Brother, what are you looking so down for?” This one was new, but chillingly familiar. Loud and overeager and belonging to someone who was supposed to be dead. “You-”
Crash.
The sound of crunching metal. In the quiet of the hallway, it’s as loud as an explosion, and it makes Byakuya jump. Before he can reconsider, he’s sprinting into the bathhouse, throwing aside the curtain.
It takes him a moment to process what he’s seeing. Owada is standing, partly-hunched, one hand punching against the wall of lockers hard enough to warp the thin metal door. Someone is standing beneath him hands raised in self-defense - it takes Byakuya a moment to recognize that it’s Makoto, dressed in the white and dark blue of his pajamas, lacking the signature green of his jacket - and from somewhere behind Makoto, there’s a dim, neon-green glow, and a confused, worried voice.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-!” 
“Don’t do that,” Owada snarls, drowning out Alter Ego’s stuttered apology. The locker door rattles where his fist is pressed into it. “Don’t just- wear his face, don’t you dare-”
“M-Mondo, it didn’t mean to! It was just trying-” Makoto breaks off, apparently noticing Byakuya. “B-Byakuya-?!”
Byakuya was immediately beginning to regret his decision to involve himself in the first place. “What is going on here?” He demands, crossing his arms and glaring imperiously.
Instead of replying, Owada pulls away, withdrawing his hand and retreating to slump over on the bench, despondent and unresponsive once more. Makoto twitches, turning between Owada, then Alter Ego, and back to Byakuya. “Um…”
“It’s not their fault!” Alter Ego pipes up hurriedly, its voice echoing tinnily from inside its locker, and Byakuya could feel a corresponding vibration from the handbook tucked in his shirt pocket. “It seems Mondo wanted to ask me a question, and Makoto was just helping to convey that-”
“I don’t care.” He snaps, and Alter Ego falls silent. “Neither of them are supposed to be here in the first place, and especially not after hours. Are the two of you trying to draw Monokuma’s suspicion? Endanger Alter Ego?” Makoto flinches a bit at that. Owada doesn’t even move. “Don’t you care about getting out of here at all?”
He’s not really expecting a reply, so he’s surprised when Owada speaks up. “ ‘Course not.” He rasps, so low and hollow that it was like he was speaking from the depths of a pit. Or maybe he was the pit, swelling with black-matter misery. “I…don’t care about anything anymore.”
Well. That’s to be expected. But even despite that, he finds himself a bit rattled. He’s been at the receiving end of anger, venom, screaming anguish and even vehement hate at this point. But this emptiness Owada is exhibiting was new; It seems like this school is insistent on teaching me new things, he thinks, and feels his lip curling up with the bitter irony.
“So you’re content to waste away? Throw away that anger that you were so proud of?” He raises a scathing eyebrow. “Go ahead and do that, then. I won’t stop you. But at the very least, spare the rest of us the dramatics of your little episode.”
“Byakuya!”
He twitches a bit, irritated. Makoto’s voice is shrill despite being hushed, and laced with anger; he’s standing stiffly next to Alter Ego’s open locker, hands trembling at his sides.
“What, Makoto.” He snaps, and only belatedly realizes that this was the first time he’s actually spoken to the other boy since the trial; in his irritation, he went and broke his own self-imposed vow of silence against him.
He doesn’t respond immediately, but doesn’t immediately shrink away either at the acidity of Byakuya’s tone. If anything he stands up a little straighter. “It’s only been a day since…you know.” He says, and his words are slow and careful, meticulously chosen. Like he’s in a trial again, trying to soothe skittish tempers - though Byakuya feels the exact opposite of ‘soothed’ by it - “Mondo asked to talk to Alter Ego. I went with him. It got a little heated-”
“A little? Is that what you call this?” He points at the locker next to his head; the one that Mondo had punched, the dent a clear, dark blotch of shadow in the middle of the flat green surface.
“That -” Makoto winces slightly. “We weren’t really expecting-”
“No, clearly not. And not thinking either, I imagine.”
“I-”
“I suppose safety and logic took second priority over trying to be helpful, hm? Since that’s all that’s important to you?” He’s not sure where these words are coming from, filled with acid. But it feels good to talk, to spit out every miserable thing that he’s feeling, that he’s felt because of Makoto. “You were so very kind to help me during that trial, after all.”
“Okay, that’s not-”
“That must be why you’re here now, I imagine. Sneaking out at this late hour past Kyoko, just so you could babysit this useless mess.” He sneers. “Did you decide to make Mondo your next pet project, trying to be his little assistant like you were mine?”
“Oh, for-” Makoto takes a deep breath, presses his hands to his eyes. “Can you shut the fuck up?! For one second?”
Whatever else Byakuya was about to say, dissipates like smoke out of his slack-jawed mouth. Even Owada seems to twitch up at this, the only sign of surprise he could give, compared to Byakuya’s shock.
Makoto is quiet for a few seconds, and the only sound is the quiet hum of pipes, and the sound of his breathing, shaky but slow. He pulls his hands away from his face after one more shuddering breath. “Okay. I’m okay now.” He says this part quietly, as if it were more for himself than anyone else. Then:
“It’s not fair,” He addresses Byakuya, and his voice is almost steady. “I’m trying my best, I’m trying to keep us all alive.”
“Yes, and you’re doing-”
“No! Shut up! Just listen!” He snaps, and Byakuya’s teeth click as he shuts his mouth, effectively cutting off the rest of his sarcastic remark. “Right now, the best thing we can do is to survive together. We’re just going to play into the mastermind’s hands if we can’t trust each other. Why doesn’t anyone get that?!”
His voice actually cracks on the last syllable, and he sounds close to hysterics. Byakuya simply stares, dumbfounded for a moment, before:
“...You’re going to say that? After what just happened?” It’s so ridiculous he could almost laugh. Trust? In this school, in this game? After everything that’s happened? “We all trusted Ishimaru. Where did that get us? Where did that get Chihiro?”
No sooner has that name left his mouth, does he try to bite it back. Feeling all at once mortified that he would stoop so low, that he would let himself be pushed to such a level. But it’s too late to take it back - at the sound of those names, Owada jerks again, and Makoto actually takes a step backwards, as if struck - so Byakuya keeps going. “This isn’t some-some fairy tale where everyone can learn to get along by talking about our feelings. None of us have any unity left - if even Ishimaru can snap, then there’s no telling who might strike next.”
“Stop,” Makoto grits out. “Taka - it was an accident. Just a stupid accident.” And that was the worst part, wasn’t it? That none of this was supposed to happen at all; if the coincidences hadn’t lined up terribly, horribly perfectly. “He didn’t mean for Chihiro to die!”
And Chihiro didn’t mean to get killed either. But he manages to swallow that thought, bitter and heavy in his throat. “His intentions didn’t change the outcome.” He says instead, cold and flat and utterly, completely empty.
Silence falls on the room. The lights buzz, the pipes hiss; the old, outdated screen of Alter Ego’s computer hums softly, contemplatively. There’s the muted, metallic thump of the water heater, somewhere inside the wall.
And then Owada speaks up.
“What should I do?” He asks hollowly. He’s looking up now, directly at him. His hair is limp, pompadour undone and falling over his face, obscuring it in streaks of dirty yellow. “I…they’re dead. I couldn’t-” He takes a slow, shuddering breath. “It was my fault. But I don’t know what to do.”
His words are pleading and genuine, as if Byakuya could give a proper answer; he hesitates, still uncertain of what to do with this…empty shell of a punk.
He glances towards Makoto, and then the dim green glow still emanating from the open locker. “Do you care what you do with your life at this point?”
“Byakuya…” Makoto starts warningly, but Owada interrupts him.
“No.”
“Then use it to protect Alter Ego.” If Owada has any sort of misgivings or protest about this, Byakuya ignores them. “That’s Chihiro’s last work, after all. It’s the least you can do to guard it.”
“Is…” Owada’s head turns towards the locker, then back. “Is that…okay?”
His hesitation is understandable. Even if Alter Ego was nothing more than a clever program, it did still wear the face of the boy who Owada’s friend inadvertently killed, and whose corpse Owada had tried to conceal. And that wasn’t even considering if Alter Ego would be cooperative in being protected by him, though there wasn’t much it could do about it.
But Alter Ego is the one who speaks up. “I hope we get along well, Mondo!” It chirps, a smile clear on its voice. And Mondo simply stares for a moment, before burying his face in his palms, and begins to cry.
__
“Are you going back to your room?”
He stops, and turns. They’ve left the bathhouse, Mondo departing first after sobbing his eyes out, and Makoto insisting he go rest in his room - though he probably would’ve ended up staying in the bathhouse all night if he could’ve gotten away with it - and Byakuya, having ended up spending an hour more than he wanted to dealing with it all, is tired once more..
“Where else would I be going?” He scoffs. Makoto is standing just in front of the bahthouse curtains, his face entirely concealed by shadow.
“I…” He takes a deep breath, as if steeling himself. “I noticed you didn’t really…eat a proper meal yesterday. I could go make you something?”
It’s tempting, for a moment. Byakuya clenches a hand in his robe, pressed against his stomach to stifle any unwarranted growls. “No.” He says firmly. “I’m going to sleep.”
“Oh…are you sure? Because-”
“Makoto.” He falls silent. “I told you that there’s no need for us to uphold the deal we made. Your assistance is no longer needed.”
“...But, this isn’t because of the deal, I just-”
“I’m not so low that I’d need charity from you.”
He goes quiet again. Quiet and still, and there’s something off-putting about how he looks. Outlined by the yellow lights of the bathhouse but otherwise completely in darkness, his silhouette sharpened without his jacket. “...Is it really that hard, trusting someone?”
For as angry as he’d been in the bathhouse, now he’s more like his usual self. Quieter, and unsure. The one person out of place in this school, designated unremarkable and then made remarkable because of that.
An unremarkable life. No wonder he couldn’t understand.
“You’ve never had to worry about it before,” He says. “I imagine your life is like a sheep’s. Completely oblivious to the danger around you, as long as you stay inside the fence.
“But the world isn’t as kind as you think it is. And people can always be swayed, no matter how much you trust them, or how much you think they trust you.” He’s seen it happen. He’s exploited it himself, even. “At this point, it would be safest to stop associating with anyone. If you had any brains at all, you would do the same.”
Makoto lets out a sigh that’s almost a laugh, though it’s bitter and mirthless. “Kyoko said the same thing,” He mutters, half to himself. “So you won’t feel safe unless you’re alone? Even though there’s only ten of us left?” He shakes his head, and the motion is a little dizzying, the messy shape of his hair blurring into a dark mass. “How many more people need to die for you to feel safe?”
He sounds angry again, but it’s a colder kind of anger. Resentful and resigned. When did you become so cold?
“...I won’t be safe until I’m out of here.” Byakuya replies steadily, though the hand clenched in his robe tightens slightly. “Even if I could keep everyone in my sight, it’s not like it’d be easy to tell if they were holding a weapon.”
Silently, he adds: And thanks to you, they know that as well.
Makoto doesn’t say anything in reply, so Byakuya leaves. Quickly, in case his stomach threatens to grumble again; his hand doesn’t leave his robe until he’s safely inside his room, door locked behind him.
He almost treads on the bread again, stepping on a corner of the packaging and jumping at the sharp, crinkling sound. It takes a little bit of fumbling in the dark until he finds it, squeezing it through the plastic.
He’s tempted, for a moment, his fingers already searching for the serrated edge to tear it open. But the image of Makoto standing at the bathhouse entrance jumps to his mind; still and shrouded in darkness. A strange, statuesque parody of his usual self.
He throws the bread across the room and climbs back into bed.
< previous - from start - next >
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drkatfuzzmunchkin · 9 months
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halffoot senshi my beloved
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marimeeko · 4 months
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As a multishipper I'm thinking about something. As a BKDK fan, I am, I guess preparing for a possibility?
I had a thought with this last chapter, and how this battle is literally about to end. That we are indeed at the very end of the line.
And I am thinking of the "Do your best, Izuku" theme and how everyone started chiming in on it, how it has become basically the closing motif to the battle. And how Tenya brought up the OG, ochako, who said the "Deku" seemed to her like "Do your best", and of course, ochako is seen saying the same.
So my thought is, if Hori is going for a Izu Ocha ending, this might be how it comes about.
(I am not saying it's one hundred percent satisfying, bc once again, Izuku has shown virtually no interest in her beyond friendship, and the relationship, to me, is still thematically and developmentally, one sided.)
So I don't know if hori is going to go with the idea that "do your best" bringing the relationship of Izu Ocha to the forefront after kicking it to the side for so long...but I guess I can see the thematic possibility he MAY be going for if that is the case.
Once again, I am hoping it's not a blatant thing, if anything I'd like no pairing to be outright "canon". Realistically I think that may be the case. Simply bc izu ocha just doesn't have enough reciprocity behind it and, bakudeku...well, obviously is highly unlikely due to the nature of Shonen/cultural precedence by very reason of it being Queer.
I am just thinking about the whole thing and it may be where Izu Ocha enters the Chat again.
As always I am letting Hori cook, and tempering expectations. I don't dislike Izu Ocha so I won't be terribly bummed out, I just wish there was a little more developed into it(namely, on izukus side)
As I always disclaim, it's Horis story to tell, and I am here to read it, and I'm not stopping now.
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eerna · 2 years
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MAL TELLING ALINA TO GO THROUGH WITH THE POLITICAL MARRIAGE SO TRUE
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saltynsassy31 · 10 months
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LET'S GO FRYERS
LET'S TAKE THIS WIN HOME!
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blistering-typhoons · 2 months
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elephant memories
It was rather like having a cat. A very large, very stubborn cat who also smoked a great deal and occasionally shot holes into her walls.
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triglycercule · 25 days
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killer should know about dumb video game meta stuff ike i-frames and animation cancels and critting amd breaking out of bounds and use it to his advantage in fights. maybe he learned it from chara in something new as a silly little thing to try out because theyre already teaching him all this bullshit on killing so whos to say a video game character cant learn a player's cheats?? he's already interacted and collaborated with a player before i think its fair he knows tricks on how to cheat undertale's fighting system
everything's all fine and dandy in a fight against killer (no it isn't) until you see him glitching around and somehow phasing through your attacks. he looks ridiculous but it gets the job done
#i have no idea if any of these mechanics are actually IN undertale#theyre just some ones i came up with in games i play#i mean if they don't exist in the ut fighting just like. pretend they do idk????#i just think it would be cool if killer could do that. he fights dirty and when i mean dirty i mean totally cheating#SANS UNDERTALE CHEATS WHY CANT HE!!!! but he gets to cheat in a more game breaking way#when you fight killer there is no YOUR turn and HIS turn its ALWAYS his turn. and youre just helplessly attacking during it#guys in this one im not talking about meta awareness im talking about loser META strats. most effective tactics available#stage 4 chara wins ahh acting like a goddamn sweaty gamer. because what am i supposed to interpret with chara wins????#chara wins means NOTHING to me??? i can only assume that it means killer either acts like chara or fully listens to whatever chara wans#boo boo boring im a VIDEO GAME PLAYER not a goddamn psychiatrist. i will always choose the more fun option#killer becoming like chara/player is infinitely more cool than him and all the psychological stuff going on in stage 4 to b obeying orders#yeahhhh like sure there probably IS a bunch of crazy stuff in stage 4 related to psychology but also#unga booga character act like YOU cool idea. besides stage 4 is almost never elaborated on#so to me that's up to personal interpretation. everything is personal interpretation if not brought up#i say as i make the most ridiculous unfathomable headcanons for the mtt just because the topics aren't mentioned#I HAVE FREE WILL I HAVE FREE WILL MY MIND HAS FREEDOM I CAN POST ANYTHING I THINK ABOUT#ok thank god because i hate having to worry about my posts#ok i dont have anything left to say about this hc so im bringing up SOMETHING NEW (haha)#killer reminds me of I'm High!!! by maretu. except replace all mentions of a girl with w a person for chara#and somehow manage to work around the mentions of love and romance. because i really really dont wanna make killer into a kid diddler#but aside from the mentions of love and specific gende??? i think it fits!!#ugh so many songs fit killer ITS NOT FAIR!!!! i can NEVER find songs for horror.... am i not looking hard enough ☹️☹️☹️#im hard#actually i found a song that fits horror lets GOOOO maretu coming in clutch with NAMIDA ‼️‼️#dokuhaku does too :3 maretu my glorious king how many great songs of yours fit the murder time trio#killer sans#murder time trio#sans au#utmv#tricule hc
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randomness-for-life · 4 months
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Before leaving work last Monday, I overheard my coworker say today "I'm sooo excited to watch Eurovision today 💅💅" and I was so TORN and CONFLICTED
I did not confront him, a Swiftie, about how he should NOT watch Eurovision cause Israel's competing, and the ESC banned Palestinian flags from being shown (just as they did in 2019, quickly moving the cameras away from Iceland - btw Hatari my beloved!!). And I regret not confronting him about that, even tho it might've been rough
I was also very tempted to go up to him and tell him how I've been hyper fixated with Eurovision for the last five years and even wrote a full on 15 page essay on it for my previous history class
But I'm glad I didn't do that. As someone who's been obsessed with Eurovision, I will say for all the fans out there one more time:
DO NOT WATCH, SUPPORT, OR EVEN INTERACT WITH EUROVISION!!! ESPECIALLY FOR TONIGHT’S FINALE
The lives of Palestine and Gaza are far FAR more important than a European song competition and that should not be hard to comprehend.
On that note, here's also some ways to support the Palestinian people:
Donate to: CARE For Gaza
Donate to: GoFundMe for displaced families in Gaza
Click for free to provide funds for Gaza: Arab.org
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celestie0 · 4 months
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this is such an unreasonable pet peeve but when guys that are into sports always say stuff like “oh yeah we were up against them blah blah” “yeah we played a tough game but we blah blah” “oof they cooked us last szn when blah blah” im like??? why r u saying we this we that like i didnt know u were on the court playing defense when all that shit went down 😭😭😭
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hermioneswifeee · 7 months
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okay people and also witches/demons/dragons/goddesses/and other mythical creatures that i hope follow me, it’s fucking go time. i have put off being a person for enough of today. i need to finish work for today, clean up, walk my dog, shower, do laundry, cook dinner, and then i can relax.
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toksikk · 3 months
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@retriibutions gets a starter based off things :))
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Zoe was outside taking the trash to the trash can when she saw exactly who she was hoping to. "Morning Hotch!" She said with a warm smile and a wave. She hadnt been living in the neighborhood more than a couple months but she had definitely made her presence known to him. How could she not? He was beautiful but also there were walls up that Zoe just knew hid so much and she wanted to be the one to know his secrets. She had plenty of her own so who better to understand him? "Hows Jack doing? Oh! speaking of. I wanted to bring dinner over to you guys!" Zoe's special skill was cooking. Something she taught herself as a child. If she wanted to eat, she had to figure it out for herself so now over the years she really had developed a talent for it. "Anyways sorry. Im sure you have a case to get to and im talking your ear off."
Zoe's borderline symptoms flared around Hotch. She idolized him, putting him on a pedestal and though she didnt know him well, he was absolutely her favorite person. She had been skipping her medication and therapy lately and that was starting make her less stable. She played it off as normal as possible and no one really knew her well enough to know she wasnt okay. She never had friends growing up and that kind a stuck in her adult years but she was determined to get Hotch to at least be that. She had to worm her way in carefully and she had it all planned out. So far she was pretty sure Hotch hadnt noticed her crush past her being sweet and mildly flirty when they spoke. "Anyways good luck on your case."
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verflares · 4 months
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the other thing abt shipping they'll never tell you is that its funny and Engaging when theyre messy. YOU think its a problem they're exhibiting symptoms of toxic codependency or have communication problems. not me though
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