#not a single one of them is remotely normal and everyone is insane in a different way. god bless

[beauzos]

i really like the idea of Nahyuta and Bobby Fulbright interacting it'd be so damn funny. Bobby pisses him the fuck off with all his goofiness and lack of focus but he can't argue with the results and he admires the zealousness. Nahyuta threatens to teach him Khurainese to make him help with cases back home and Bobby comes back after watching the entirety of the Plumed Punisher undubbed and reading a Khurainese-English dictionary in a week flat because he took Nahyuta's order seriously and at least attempts a few broken, basic sentences and Nahyuta can't help but be a little impressed by the genuine effort to try and learn something like that. he can't help but have a little soft spot for him, maybe because the goofiness also reminds him a bit of Datz.

and then Nahyuta realizes he has the worst fucking taste in men lol

[pangtasias-atelier]

Dreaming Reality

Was really craving to write something with like my fave characters but individual and like more close to canon. But with still same bullshit indulgent nonsense in snippets, so have this Freyr at a huge size involving Askr and me trying to use the scraps of lore there is lmao so it is mostly like headcanons and whatnot

This also just got insanely long at 14k words so this is now my second longest traditional story. Also title taken from one of the book 4 chapters which I felt fit with this concept I had.

Warning: This is a fetish story!

Tucked away in the very heart of Ljósálfheimr’s vast, bountiful landscape, and further hidden within the equally imposing equally inviting castle —its stark white walls a sharp contrast against the usual warm, bright colors that permeate Ljósálfheimr— is a massively imposing tree, known as Yngvi to a select few, the ancient piece of flora, still as lush as ever. Its roots dig into the very soil underneath it, concrete foregone where it grows, centuries of magic pooled into it and the ground beneath it alike. Yngvi’s looming crown is nestled between the room’s towering ceiling and its own broad trunk. The massive tree trunk comes close to rivaling a manakete in sheer size alone. The entire testament of Ljósálfheimr’s wealth of nature is sprinkled in water, beads of water comfortably perched atop its abundant leaves like dew. And yet, despite the overwhelming size from a lone, singular tree, the room housing it is more than capable in doing so, the room enchanted to grow along with such a delicate creation as they ought to be taken care for. The space tinges with magic permeating the very room, the sheer size of a single ever expanding room is far too much for most people to comprehend.

But not to Freyr, the magic interwoven into the room one of his own creations as Ljósálfheimr’s King. The room itself is mirrored after his own oft forgotten throne room, magic incantation included —said throne room itself modeled after the World of Steel’s architecture from ancient civilizations, back when mortals once believed in their own dreams. The massive rotunda is filled with empty space like his own throne room as well, the only adornments from the land’s natural prosperity itself, vegetation lined across the walls and through the building itself; the openings in the walls also allow for the sun’s beaming rays to envelop the room as well as the light beams directly down onto the tree’s crown from the dome’s oculus. 

Freyr rests against the tree. His back is pressed up against the enormous tree trunk far wider than could be normally expected of a tree. His eyes are as closed as they ever are, the golden hues of his eyes hidden behind closed lids. The vegetation surrounding him is a radiant myriad of colors like Ljósálfheimr’s usual abundant springtime. The beads of water refuse to sully his robes, the dewed tree coated in water all around itself besides where he sits despite the lack of rain in his realm. Freyr holds out his hand. And a single droplet is summoned forth, the bead of water splashing into the very palm of his hand without leaving a trace of water.

And then, Freyr begins to dream.

Freyr wanders the snowy landscape. The blanketing white snow envelops the entire ground and coats most of Talrega’s modest buildings during Daein’s harshest weeks of the year. Only a few people travel along the narrow alleyways and singular main road, snow crushed under eager to move on beorc ready to avoid such a remote area’s tumultuous weathers. Freyr passes by them. Everyone continues walking past him, all ignoring Freyr and even the stout goat horns jutting from his head that plainly mark him as a laguz. None so much as even bother turning to look at his strange attire, the draped white robes something akin to reasonable in the weather if not for his archaic wooden staff or the large bright butterfly wing design jutting from his torso, the bright colors a beacon of light even in the poor weather. 

Freyr enters the inviting tavern —the building the lone, singular tavern Talrega has to offer— its soft beacon of light pouring from the windows. The door chiming as he enters the building, Freyr ignores the raucous laughter from the small band of men taking up a table, each and every one of them wearing the countries’ emblematic black armor. And among them is a dozing off man with an eye patch, the dream Freyr so casually invaded the man’s own. But the food awaiting the men at their table is the cause for Freyr’s visit, the bowls and plates on the table catch his attention much more. And taking a seat on one of the tavern’s empty stools, Freyr conjures up his own copies of the food, a one for one recreation of the still steaming meal now in front of him. 

A hearty warm bowl awaiting him, Freyr digs into the sizable serving of soup first. The soup not something to certainly write home about —the ingredients afforded to such a remote region clearly not the best— the feeling permeating throughout each and every bite radiates with warmth as Freyr indulges in the soup. The somewhat watery soup is as thick and creamy as the person’s old dream he gave himself the liberty of entering imagined; the soup goes easily down his throat, a small contented hum elicited from Freyr as he goes back for another spoonful. And another, the potatoes nicely tender as they melt in his mouth, the potato paired with a small offering of carrots and onions. The bowl itself is nothing special. But Freyr continues to hurriedly eat his soup. He soon finds his spoon scraping the bottom of the bowl; the sound scraped wood only happening once before he simply lifts it and chugs the last remnants of the hearty soup that go down just as easily as Ljósálfheimr’s crystal clear water. He finds his small portion of bread all by its lonesome now in his haste to finish the soup, the humble offering of bread as big as a loaf for the human. But nonetheless, Freyr takes a hearty bite of the dense, slightly stale bread, the bread not too far off from the cold mountainous country of Illia he had the fortune of transporting himself to yesterday. He eagerly applies the small sliver of butter provided — well, conjured; the salty butter is spread as thin as possible, the cheap knife routinely scraping the thick slice of bread. All the while, Freyr keeps his eyes closed in his hurried state, Freyr’s fast pace nothing more than a barely perceptible difference to the few beings that know of his existence. Unlike the mortals who continue to ignore the strange invader, the humans only follow the hazy dream’s memory; all of them are nothing more than a figment of imagination unlike Freyr’s very real self and the sizable portion of food that now contently sits in his flat stomach.

Freyr comfortably rests on the stool; the murmured conversations are muffled, the noise as incoherent as the person’s own dream, most of the dream an incoherent mess besides the intoxicating allure of  company and food if not for Freyr willing the rest into place. He continues to rest in the seat for a moment, taking in the inviting presence as the small group of Daein army converse behind him, and continue to eat well past what they originally did. He takes a couple last sips of his drink, the wine far from anything spectacular next to the eons worth of aged bottles he owns. But the drink suffices for him, the allure of human food far too great to resist and experience for himself. The cup of wine is gently placed back onto the counter once he finishes it, Freyr well and truly satisfied after his meal.

And then, Freyr wakes up.

“Ah, I was wondering how long it’d take you. After all these years, I'm still never too sure about your expeditions,”

And Freyr is met by Askr, the divine being patiently standing directly in front of him. 

Until he kneels down, poking a finger directly into Freyr's gut. “You've certainly been enjoying your expeditions into the dream realm. Though, how does that even work, considering we are currently in Ljósálfheimr itself?” 

Freyr accepts the hand Askr holds out for him, Askr’s defined musculature comes in handy, his biceps tensing as he helps Freyr stand up. “No need to concern yourself over it. Thinking too intently on the laws governing Ljósálfheimr is the mind killer. It is something best left alone,” Freyr opens his eyes. The scant few times he bothers doing so, his golden eyes staring right down at Askr with the few inches of difference between the two men. 

And unlike his avatar within his own miniature dream realm where he relives others dreams, Freyr’s dreamself is a clear depiction of himself back when he was three hundred pounds lighter.

And standing right in front of Askr, Freyr's own differences from enjoying his ventures into people's own dreams are clear unlike the hazy figments of humanities’ imagination. Freyr's newfound belly presses against the flowing, draping white fabric of his attire. The vibrant trims of fringe bulge outward to accommodate his wider gut. A gut that now comfortably slots itself in between his large, plump thighs whenever he sits. So wide and full is his gut that the plush roll for love handles press against the massive adornment of butterfly wings Freyr wears. Said butterfly wings obstruct his newfound meaty tits, the two plush breasts resting atop his large gut as they press up against the stiff material of the wings. His rotund figure is visible through the column like robes he wears, the outline of his figure once as straight as a wall unlike his current obese figure. The outline of his large, portly thighs peak through his robes, the outward curve of his legs bulging against the yards of white fabric. Freyr’s flabby arms are hidden a bit better underneath his clothes, the draped fabric loose enough. The sleeves do show off his arm’s girth, his biceps more akin to cushiony pillows used to aid humans into drifting off into his realm instead of the once svelte, limber arms he used to sport. Freyr’s face is similarly bloated; his puffy cheeks have a barely perceptible jiggle to them as he breathes, Freyr’s visage far softer and more rounded unlike before.

“Alright then,” Askr rests a hand on Freyr’s belly. He gives it a couple of pats, Freyr’s large gut much flabbier than his own little muscle gut. Askr also sports a bit of extra heft on his frame, Askr clearly having been indulging as of late. He still has his usual musculature, all of it accentuated by the extra bit of flab he has. His biceps are rounder and more filled out. His tits look more plump and squishier. His thighs have a bit more heft to them as they rub against each other. And Askr’s once defined six pack is washed away underneath a small pool of lard, the beginning stage of a flabby belly on his figure. “No need for me to stick my nose where it’s not needed. Since you’ve been enjoying human cuisine lately, I thought you might enjoy trying the real thing,” Askr holds out his hand for Freyr to take as he conjures up a portal. The very same one he entered through, the banquet awaiting them is visible through the translucent blue passageway.

“I appreciate the offer, but unfortunately I must relent. There is a certain, ‘fine’ quality to experiencing things through the lens of how mortals perceive them, no matter how untrue they might be. You are welcome to join me whenever you’d like,” Freyr offers as he takes a seat once more. He summons another droplet of water from the tree. But the water remains as it reaches Freyr’s palm. the singular bit of water evaporating into immaterial streams of steam. And the scenery of steep, craggy mountains circled by tamed wyverns fill out the portal Freyr conjures up. Freyr slowly drifts off into Macedon, a weak willed noble’s remembrance of drinking and eating after being reunited with his sister for the second time too compelling to ignore any longer.

“Perhaps some other time then,” Askr waves Freyr a goodbye, heading back to Askr with a small shake of his head despite the smile on his face.

-------------

Choosing to enjoy the limitless possibilities offered to him, Freyr continues to venture through the mortals’ own dreams.

Like most every other venture into a human’s former dream, Freyr had been tempted by the allure of the dream itself, one chosen at random amongst other similarly brilliant dreams. Far from pure like most of the rest, the avaricious fantasy has Freyr enjoying his time amongst the lavish lifestyle of Carcino’s nobility, the merchant’s son turned into a rogue clearly well remembering the more recently founded countries’ extravagance. 

Freyr enjoys himself all by his lonesome in the corner. Not that anyone pays any mind to him. Every single imaginative recreation of a person simply replays out their roles in the human’s dream. Sitting at one of the smaller tables —what Freyr assumes to be for the more distant, emerging relatives of more powerful merchants. The small table, at least for such a clear display of such vast wealth, had originally been nothing more than a vague, hazy void, this section of the dream clearly not the focal point and forgotten as such. At least until Freyr had rectified that by imbuing the hazy patches with his own will and magic. 

A bevy of dishes await Freyr. Far too many for a regular mortal to realistically enjoy. But Freyr promptly digs into the honey-glazed ham —the vibrantly aromatic meat imported from the Frelian-Carcino border clearly a well remembered smell from the years old dream Freyr visits; the sweet yet salty cured meat that Freyr’s gut had first set its sight on makes for the perfect first entree to taste. So much so that Freyr ignores the abundance of sides provided to him. He simply keeps on enjoying the ham, one bite immediately followed by another, only after swallowing the prior bite, manners not lost on Freyr despite his hunger. And once he finally finishes his first slice does he bother indulging in other things. Like the cheesy, decadent pasta that is as creamy as it looks as well as the finely aged wine; the wine is by far the clearest memory the dream’s owner fondly remembers —not that they currently reflect it with how much the rogue indulges in food unlike the true reality of the dream. The wine is almost comparable to Freyr’s own reserves in Ljósálfheimr when blended with the tantalizing elation of mortal memories, almost. One glass quickly leads to another. And another serving of ham plus a heaping helping of potato gratin alongside it. He eagerly takes a bite of the nicely crisped gratin, the still bubbling pockets of cheese melting in his mouth along with the buttery slices of potato. Unfortunately the dish has little remembrance in the owner’s dream, but that doesn’t detract from the natural flavors of the high cuisine Freyr eats. But it does tempt him straight back into tearing through the ham, the meat all the more delectable from its own exquisite flavors as well as the owner’s faint memories of their own dream, the emotions and desires of one’s own mind a potent effect in the dream realm.  Freyr continues to enjoy the ham, his second and then a third serving finished far faster than is appropriate, and eaten in far larger quantities than what would pass for decorum. But Freyr has little concern to worry about that in the presence of faint dreams. Especially when his still thin avatar has nary a single ounce of pudge.

After finishing his third heaping portion of ham, Freyr indulges in a lighter snack before moving straight to dessert. By helping himself to a hefty serving of salmon and shrimp, the seafood served over a bed of rice and seared, buttery vegetables. And another glass of wine as well, Freyr now on his fifth glass. The rice having sopped up most of the errant drips of sauce, the grain pairs well with the tender cuts of fish, a forkful of vegetables followed after each and every bite of the seafood and rice. Freyr takes quick bites of everything. Not a single drop of sauce ends up misplaced. Every bit of food easily finds its way into his mouth. He finishes the very last bite with a small contented sigh while wiping away at the nonexistent crumbs on his lips. His fingers almost find their way on his flat stomach, delicate, nimble fingers hovering above his stomach for a second before he stops himself from patting it in satisfaction. 

The dessert afterwards comes easily to Freyr. Especially when they’re all clearly well liked by the dream’s owner; the above average slices of cake and pie are nearly the finest treats Freyr has had when dreamt up by someone with such a sweet tooth. He stops himself from lifting the plate off of the table, fingers fiddling with the rim of the plate as he struggles to hold himself back from devouring the rest of the delicate morself in a couple of quick bites. But he does finish it all the same, the decadent red velvet cake eaten in a few minutes slower than his gut craves. But Freyr simply conjures up another slice to enjoy. And another after he promptly devours that one. And then one more to make up for the cravings he still wishes to satisfy. He only stops himself from creating another replica of cake to indulge on the strawberry-rhubarb pie, the tartness of the filling complimented by the flaky buttery crust. And while the bit of tartness isn’t as appreciated by the dreamer’s sweet tooth self, the dessert is just as welcomed to Freyr, a second and a third slice easily stuffed into his still flat stomach. He takes a moment to compose himself, yards of fabric dusted off as he stands up, not a single person reacting to his presence. 

Or to the fading background of the dream, everything washed away back into nothingness as Freyr wakes up and returns to the calming moonlight of Ljósálfheimr after his third dream of the day, Freyr unable to restrain himself to just one like when he first began these voyeurs. 

-------------

And the days continue to drift on in Ljósálfheimr. The dream realm as peacefully quiet to rule as the name might suggest, the picturesque days all mingle together. As do the dreams Freyr continues to indulge in, weeks swiftly turning into months. An all too easy thing to forget when Freyr has lived longer than entire lineages have existed.

In his fourth dream of the day already, Freyr pauses his eating for a brief moment. Only after he finishes his current helping of seafood paella from Solm, Freyr eager to once more partake in the well known Solm’s most famous chef, the former Sentinel having cooked twice as much in Freyr’s version of the dream compared to what actually happened. Freyr quickly nods his head at the tingling sensation in the back of his mind, someone clearly wishing to enter his realm. Which he allows before ending the dream, the sweltering, arid heat of Solm that’s dulled by a citizen’s own accustomation to it much more gladly left behind than the abundance of food. Food that he quickly shovels in his mouth, a serving of tiramisu and nut milk pie left over his now messy face.

The fading remnants of the dream dissolve into nothing, the ostentatious design of Solm immediately replaced with Ljósálfheimr’s own more natural one as Freyr wakes up once more.

Doughy, flabby arms lifted above his head and past his goat horns, the two meaty hammocks for arms squish against Freyr’s rounded out face. An extra bit of heft on him from even more ventures into others' own dreams —and the subsequent amount of food he ate during every single one— Freyr’s real body clearly shows off all the weight he’s gained. He no longer wears the large butterfly wings attached to his chest, the overflowing white robes he wears now more affixed to his curvaceous, flabby body. And weighing a couple hundred pounds past an entire quarter ton, his flabby body has an abundance of rolls, each and every one of them as soft and supple as the last. A fact Freyr knows all too well during more self-reflective moments, and not of the introspective kind. Freyr’s girth weighs heavily on him despite his own divinity; the deity struggles to stand up, his flab wobbling to and fro as he takes deep, heavy breaths. And despite his apparent struggling with so much bulk in the way, he stands on his own two feet just as easily as his once spry self did.

He starts walking forward, his whole body jiggling as he heads towards the one of many exits of the massive dome. His gut jiggles most of all. The large ponderous gut that clearly matches someone weighing more than seven hundred pounds presses against his engorged, dimpled knees, the gut large enough to smother one of his own subjects audibly slapping against his barrel sized thighs. It also presses against his tight robes, the outline of his sloshing gut shifting with each step. The soft, cushiony bell shape of his lowermost belly roll is pressed prominently against the white robes. Freyr’s gut isn’t the biggest obstacle despite how much the massive belly gets in the way. No, his large adipose riddled thighs give him more trouble with how he’s forced to swing one heavy leg past the other. His legs don’t press up against his clothes, thankfully. Unlike his cushiony rear, his rotund posterior past the point to where it now needs two chairs —that the mortals use at least, Freyr’s furniture massive enough to handle him with Ljósálfheimr’s rules bent by his very whim. His ass wobbles as vigorously as his gut does. And it serves just as well as a shelf as his large breasts which closely resembles his sister’s sizable own. If not for the way they splay and sag, Freyr’s chest splayed to the side just as well as they sag, the two hefty tits pressed up against the sides of his arms that’re bent at an angle.

And yet, despite it all, Freyr continues to walk at a leisurely pace just the same as he used to back before gaining six hundred pounds. He breathes fine; the only issue he struggles with is the sheer amount of his own mass being in the way of itself as he waits for his guest.

“Looks like I’m right on time,” Askr waltzes into Ljósálfheimr, entering through an azure blue portal. He smiles brightly, just as eager to meet Freyr as he always is. And Askr still enjoys human cuisine just as Freyr does, Askr’s own rotund figure a much lighter size with him not even weighing half as much as Frery does. He waits for Freyr to respond, Askr’s prodigious chest fitting for a bull such as himself swollen with lard much like his gut, all sense of musculature now completely washed under a torrent of flab.

“You could have entered on your own if you wished. You needn’t ask permission,”

Askr takes a step closer, flabby belly pressed against rotund gut. Askr’s own stomach looks emaciated next to Freyr’s own grand size, despite his own top heavy figure. “Well, just think of it as a reminder about my visit. I know how long you can take in your dreams,” It takes only a single thought for Askr to summon a large napkin, the cloth wiping away at the crumbs of cake and pudding before disappearing with yet another thought. “And I can tell I was right with how much of a rush you were in, my friend. Good thing I understand the rules well here,” Askr’s pudgy fingers sink into the mass of fat that is Freyr’s gut as he pats it.

“Well enough. What is it that you wished to visit me for then? Since you made it abundantly clear about the secret nature of your plan,” Freyr asks. He makes no motion to remove the hand on his gut.

“Since you still refuse to leave your realm, though you should try it someday, I know you’d enjoy it, I thought that maybe I should bring the food to you. Why don’t I conjure up what I remember from all the offerings the mortals have given me? Or better yet, why don’t we experience one of my dreams together? Though I’d wager you already did so considering how much you enjoyed the offerings I’ve shared with you before,” Askr chuckles to himself, his body jiggling as he waits.

Freyr struggles to hold himself back from immediately agreeing, the sheer elation of Askr’s cuisine mixed with the deity’s own pleasure in receiving such gifts too tantalizing to pass up. “Partaking in the dreams of other divine beings is… difficult to say the least. But, as long as I have your express permission, then we may journey into one of your own dreams together,”

“Perfect. I’ll lead the way,” Askr grabs Freyr’s arm, interlinking the flour bag for an arm with his own flabby bicep. His love handle is squished against the massive wall of flab that is Freyr. But the two of them walk back to Ljósálfheimr’s Yngvi despite their own sizes. “So why is it that you normally can’t view my dreams? Is it because Ljósálfheimr is made up of mortal’s dreams?”

“Very astute. But not quite. Or else I would not be able to enjoy the dreams of dragonkin of other realms, as humans have so called us as well,” The two of them laugh at the mention, neither of them able to transform into dragons. “Think of it as simply the realm’s own defensive measures in denying me the ability to peer into the other rulers of Midgard’s realms,” He continues.

“So then it’s to protect us from any being who manages to attain the ability to view other’s dreams?” Askr helps Freyr sit down, the massive goat gladly accepting the help so as to not crash onto the ground out of laziness. 

Resting against the massive tree, Freyr no longer resembles a mouse next to an elephant. “Correct,” Freyr summons a dream once Askr sits beside him and nods in agreement, a ray of light somehow peaking through the tree’s crown as it envelops the two of them.

And Freyr and Askr begin to dream together, the two of them transported to Askr’s domain not so long ago.  And not much lighter either, the imaginary Askr only a couple pounds slimmer than the very much real one, Askr retaining all his weight like Freyr.

“Didn’t you say you made yourself thinner in these little expeditions of yours?” Askr’s hands grope himself as well as Freyr’s own immense flab. His hands expressly reach towards Freyr’s bulging love handles, both hands required to properly handle all the girth.

Freyr hums for a moment. He takes a couple of ponderous steps before conjuring up a table, complete with its own enormous spread of food much like the rest of the food in the dream. If not for how each plate nearly overflows with food; every single portion comes close to being twice the size of the real thing. “You seem to be enjoying your more plush size. Although…I am… surprised by the amount of humans here,” Freyr plainly admits, glancing around at the abundance of mortals.

“Of course! Food is much more enjoyable when in the company of others,” Askr elbows Freyr, the rounded out flabby limb merely squishing against more flab. “Though I don’t remember this dream,”

“Dreams can be a form of recollection, of one processing their own memories. Or they can be something long forgotten, tucked away in the subconscious,” Freyr answers, not saying more. He instead takes a seat on a chair. Two of them, his ass spilling off both sides of them. Freyr’s ass thankfully has no armrests to deal with to pinch his corpulence. He instead uses his bulging love handles to rest his enormous arms for. His gut does struggle a bit unlike the rest of his girth; his gut spilling forward to take up all the space on his thighs, Freyr’s massive belly presses against the table, his gut spilling on top of it.

“I see. I take it this is something best not thought too deeply about?” A small hypothesis formed, Askr can already feel his brain hurting at the thought, one theory followed by another and another. He takes a seat right in a single chair beside Freyr and he pulls his chair a bit back to give him some breathing room, his flabby little ball of a belly grazing the edge of the table.

“Yes. For now, let us simply enjoy the food you so fondly remembered,” Freyr starts with the roasted duck, dipping it in sauces unknown to both him and Askr.

“When you put it like that,” Askr digs in as well, enjoying the buttery garlic steak first.

And the two begin to eat in earnest once they finally take their first bites. Freyr first sticks to what he likes; he continues to put away more and more of the duck. Chunk after chunk of thinly sliced meat plopped in his mouth as if they were tiny, little finger foods. Duck is only followed by spoonfuls of white rice drenched in sauce. The spoonfuls soon easily resemble near cupfulls as Freyr shovels them into his mouth as if the dream were to end any second. 

Askr follows Freyr’s example in how fast he eats. All it had taken was a single bite of his steak to be convinced. Askr eats at a rapid pace unlike the lenient speed his dream self does. A hunk of steak soon turns into a glass of wine and then a thick, creamy soup with Askr wishing to retaste everything offered to him. He continues to eat everything available to him, a large sampling of the variety of dishes too good to pass up on. Even as he begins to feel himself become comfortably sated, his gut content with the nearly dozens of plates he’s eaten —the cleaned out plates stacked high as if a monument to his indulgence— Askr goes to reach for another plate, mouth still full of food. 

Askr only eats another piece of steak once there is absolutely nothing else to taste, every morsel of food he tried all sitting heavily in his gut like a weight. Askr sits back in his seat. He cradles his taut gut, so much of the flabby give it once had now replaced by stuffed, taut skin. It takes him a few minutes to speak up, one eye lazily closed as sleep begins to draw him in its clutches, the logistics of falling asleep within a dream taking place in the dream realm something Askr forces himself to not think too much about. “You were right. This -oughh- tastes amazing…” Askr takes deep breaths as his gut continues to argue with him.

“You clearly enjoyed eating this the first time.” Finally no longer eating duck —not that Freyr no longer craves it, the hefty dream king forcing himself to at least try everything else lest he keep on eating the duck and nothing else— Freyr’s molehill of plates makes Askr’s look like an inconsequential anthill. “One’s original emotions greatly impact the flavor of dishes,” Freyr tears off and bites into half of an entire loaf of sourdough bread, the loaf littered with holes from its clear craftsmanship.

“Ah…” Askr lazily replies, tiredly nodding his head.

Freyr finishes the half of a loaf of bread, the dry piece of bread helped by the sauce Freyr dunks it into and subsequently chugs down afterwards, bits of sauce dribbling down his bulbous jowls as he responds. “I must say, this was quite an experience. For you as well,” Freyr digs back into the food, his gut squishing further into the table as he leans forward, nothing within arms reach safe from ending up in his gut.

Askr takes a deep breath before responding. “Yes. If anything, all of this was easily twice as good as the first time I ate this,” Askr sits up from his slumped posture, straightening his broad back.

Freyr continues to eat. He only offers a small humm of agreement, the bit of noise practically a moan as he continues to stuff himself, more food conjured up to sate his seemingly endless hunger. And Freyr simply continues to eat in silence, more time passing by without a word said between the two men.

“Well, I -ourrp- think it’s time to call it quits. I don’t even have room for dessert,” Despite having finished eating in full a while ago, Askr still nurses his aching gut, the several plates of food sitting heavily in his gut along with the snacks he enjoyed while waiting for Freyr to finish. He takes deep breaths as he leans back into his chair, his plush backside pressed up against the entire width of the backrest, his flab squeezed past the edges of it. He sits like that for a few moments. One hand rubbing his poor, aching gut, his other rests on his tits. His attention solely devoted to tending to himself at the moment, he can’t help but shift his eyes as he notices the still eating humans in the background. And his still imaginary self still gorging on food well after the small little banquet had ended. Askr says nothing, turning to Freyr instead as he continues to wait.

Freyr shifts his attention over to dessert —after cramming another handful of slices of duck down his mouth and washing it with an entire glass of wine. Two pieces of carrot cake end up devoured in nearly whole bites, the slices crammed into Freyr’s gluttonous maw before he finally stops. “Hmmm. Perhaps so,” He says before reaching for yet another slice, doughy bingo wings for arms struggling to reach past his enormous gut that’s just barely beginning to gain some tautness to it, the ball of a gut pressing up against his robes as if he stuffed a beach ball underneath it. He crams a forkful of the cake into his mouth, a third of the heaping slice of cake forcefully crammed in by himself despite his agreement. He also doesn’t bother rising up. Freyr gladly stays seated in his two too small chairs.

Askr rolls his eyes. Though he can’t help himself from laughing, a deep, tired chuckle escaping past his messy crumb littered lips. “I guess if you’re still hungry. What kind of friend would I be to not help you?” One hand on the chair for support, Askr stands up. And he shovels the rest of the slice of cake into Freyr’s mouth with zero hesitation. He conjures up more food for the two of them to enjoy, his own creations an even more indulgent, heaping portion of food based off of Freyr’s already excessive sizes.

“Eat up. It’s not every day you get to enter my memories right? So help yourself as much as you want,” Askr bends down, whispering in Freyr’s ears. His pudgy double chin rests on Freyr’s bloated shoulder. 

“Hmpph I still have room to spare,” Freyr says as if he were talking about the weather. Which it might as well be to him, his own insatiable appetite a fact of life to him like everything else in life, the endless possibilities of dreams a window to the future just as much as they are recollections of one’s past gifting Freyr with the ability of minor divination of countless possible futures. And the future looks promising to Freyr as he opens his mouth for another bite of food that Askr happily feeds him.

So much dessert —as much of a spread of it as entrees— the two take their sweet time in exploring each and every single one, despite Freyr’s initial wishes; he reaches for some more carrot cake again.

Askr smacks his portly hand. “Come now. You have all of these to taste, and you still want to try the same old thing? I would have thought someone with your expertise would understand the beauty in trying new things,”

Freyr opens his eyes. He glares at Askr with his half lidded golden eyes. His face is still smeared in frosting, bits of orange crumbs littered over the white cream. “Rest assured, I will try all of them eventually. There is nothing wrong in enjoying the things one likes,”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that you will eat everything. I don’t think anyone doubts your capabilities in gorging yourself. But since I’m here to make sure you do, it’s best to enjoy a little variety on the way to the end. Especially when you have the perfect tour guide right here to help you. Now, let’s see… Ah! Here it is,” Askr reaches down at the table, and grabs a bowl of peach cobbler with one hand, his other hand resting on Freyr’s gut. “This was my favorite dessert of this banquet. 

Freyr eyes the treat. His eyes aren’t quite the same as their former glare. He reaches towards the peach cobbler with a flabby arm. His gut digs further into the table. “Then I shall try it-”

Askr smacks Freyr’s hand as he pulls away the dessert. “Now hold on. Your greedy self will have to wait for it,” 

“Then hurry up with the rest of the food,,” Freyr blows out a strand of hair out of his face with a huff, his glare deepening. 

“What happened to the calm, patient Freyr? You must have eaten him, you beast. And many others to reach a size like yours,” Askr pokes Freyr’s tits, his meaty chest larger than Askr’s own pudgy face. But he relents, giving Freyr the food like he so desires. Freyr is a hair’s breadth away from becoming a mess, eyes drooping down in exhaustion from the oncoming food coma. He breathes through his nose, mouth always filled with food that he can’t help but crave more of. Not when each delectable treat is as buttery and sugary as the last, the fresh. sweet dessert lovingly handmade and lovingly enjoyed by Askr originally, Askr’s excited emotions clinging to every bite as Freyr swallows everything given to him.

Askr starts with the more simple treats, a few cookies dumped into Freyr’s mouth at a time like a waste disposal. Askr starts with the more basic variety, chocolate chip and regular sugar cookies first before moving onto shortbread and gingersnaps, those devoured by Freyr as easily as dreaming comes to him. And Askr continues on, crinkle cookies and butter cookies disposed of into Freyr’s mouth like all the rest. 

“There. I’m sure even someone like you should be satisfied with that,” Askr taunts after giving Freyr several dozens of cookies, all of them as voraciously devoured as when Freyr first started glutting out on duck more than an hour ago. 

“Per- mmmppph!” Askr shoves more food into Freyr’s mouth. 

Askr’s tail flicks behind him, the thin tail barely noticeable behind his bulk. Especially as he leans onto Freyr’s corpulence, his still digesting belly a soccer ball next to Freyr’s beachball of a belly. “Don’t worry about answering. Can’t have you wasting energy, now can we?” Askr winks, giving Freyr more food. He gives him donuts, eclairs, macaroons, and all manner of things, Freyr fed Desserts that hadn’t even been brought to the banquet. Only after Freyr devours everything else, does Askr bring the peach cobbler back to Freyr’s bloated, messy face.

The scent wafts towards his nose. The still warm dessert tantalizingly calls Freyr’s name. The dessert begs, no desires to be devoured by him, Freyr sluggishly moving in his chair as he needs to fill himself with it. His porcine arms jiggle in the air as he reaches for it, hands barely lifted up. “Give it alr- hnghhhh…” Freyr’s lips eagerly close down on the spoonful of food shoved in his mouth. His eyes once again closed in content, Freyr becomes a mess of moans as Askr gives him another and then another.

“Now what did I say earlier?” Askr continues to feed him. First with one nearly spilling over bowl of dessert followed by another exactly the same. But after that, Askr hands him a tube, the metal contraption leading to absolutely nowhere. “Since we’re in a dream, I figured this should help tide you over,” Askr holds the tube right in front of Freyr’s mouth. His light blue eyes peer down at Freyr, one arm sinking into Freyr’s gut as he leans on him. “Well?”

And Freyr eagerly accepts the tube. A torrent of a mess of peach cobbler comes cascading down it, every single ounce of sugary, crumbly dessert dumped into him like Ljósálfheimr’s plentiful picturesque waterfalls. 

With his own hands now free —and his own appetite whet after the hedonistic display in front of him— Askr tries a spoonful of the cobbler, his first taste of dessert in his own dream. “Mmm…” Askr’s ears droop. As do his eyes. Suddenly weak, both physically and mentally, he digs into the dessert despite his still sated stomach. His stomach only allows him to enjoy a second plate before he can physically take no more. He takes a seat once again while he waits for Freyr to finish devouring to his heart’s content, Freyr’s eyes closed as his moans come out muffled past his feeding tube. “Well, looks like I’ll be here for a while,” 

It takes far too long for Askr to keep track of for Freyr to the feeding tube to finally dissipate back into nothing, the tube gone just as easily as it had been created. “booOUUUurrrp…” Freyr belches, both hands caressing his gut in the meanwhile. Askr goes to join him, a smile plastered on his face as he tends to his fellow god.

“Perhaps it’s time we returned,” Askr whispers in Freyr’s ear, one hand resting on his horns. HIs cow tail lazily flicks in the air behind him, the thin wispy tail even smaller next to his engorged self. His own gut still bubbles and churns from all of the imaginary food. But it no longer nearly kicks at him in frustration, his gut now a more manageable level as it digests the last remnants of his meal. And it fails to compare to the battlefield going on in Freyr’s gut, the deity’s gut resembling the primordial ocean as it churns away to digest the countless pounds of food stuffed inside it.

��Indeed,” And the dream dematerliazes just as swiftly as it once appeared with a simple flick of Freyr’s fingers. The two of them wake up underneath Yngvi just as they dozed away under it.

“Well. It’s time I return to my realm. Though, we should do this again sometime soon,” It takes him a short while, Askr nursing his own gut, and Freyr giving it a couple of pats as well, but eventually, Askr disappears through a portal much like the one he emerged from. And back in his domain —the real one— he easily forgets about all concerns and worries about the accidental consequences of Freyr’s expeditions as he gazes upon the plump mortals in his country, all of them clearly visited by the morbidly obese dream king. And all of them clearly enjoying themselves as well.

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Freyr finds himself trudging down the busy roads of Hoshido’s capital. How can it not be with its newly crowned King walking amongst his people after a treacherous war and the unexpected and prosperous hope of peace between three countries on the horizon? The entire capital in clear celebration, Freyr finds little space for him amongst the largest throes of people closer to the King’s congregation, trying to fit his enormous girth into the small gaps of Hoshidans like trying to fit the towering, looming Dream Gate into a mortal’s home. So Freyr stays far back, where the crowd of people is much less dense, Freyr’s body a boulder next to pebbles. Freyr still retains his weight from his true self; all of his bloated corpulence wobbles whenever he moves. And he moves a lot, Freyr walking to all of the food stands littered throughout the procession’s path. Currently seated at his eighth stand, the single wooden stool underneath Freyr is nearly nonexistent underneath his swaddled under several multiple hundreds of pounds, his ass obscuring it from sight. And yet, the stool expertly holds Freyr up without a single complaint as he crams a third serving of takoyaki into his mouth. Though he has much more care this time, not a single bit of the mayonnaise or fish shavings gone to waste. And after another two quick servings, Freyr slowly stands up —not before conjuring up two handfuls of the takoyaki he tried from the third stand, his favorite so far, for him to snack on— and he makes his way to the next stand, not a single mortal batting an eye at the enormous walking sack of lard among them.

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Freyr enjoys the accompaniment of music with his food, the delicate strings of the lyre plucked while in one of Tarrah’s numerous taverns. Though Freyr barely registers the bard’s tale, the Thracian saga one Freyr has seen through other’s dreams many times over, even if it comes from the original creator's own mouth, Freyr well accustomed to hearing it as well. The booth Freyr sits at is all taken up. By all of Freyr’s own enormity, the sides of his thighs and ass seeping off one edge while the other end is crammed against the wall. His gut is wedged against the table itself despite how pushed back it is. But Freyr worries little about it, instead simply enjoying his meal in the dream like he does everyday, the well respected inn a known name with Tarrah so close to Miletos’ border.

He instead focuses on enjoying his third serving of dessert. His table is littered with emptied out plates; a vast majority of them patatas bravas, the crispy chunks of potato even more enjoyable to Freyr than the bard remembers in his dreams. That and the croquetas made up most of Freyr’s meal, the excessive amount of fried food followed by at least a single serving of the rest of the menu’s sampling, the bard’s frequent stops at the inn throughout his travels a great dreamhost for Freyr to try everything. And currently on his dessert, Freyr takes great care in not getting sugar or the warm chocolate sauce all over himself while he takes large bites of the churros. He has to eat somewhat slowly —his near competitive eater pace he goes at now an extra few seconds slower as he holds a napkin to his doughy triple chin, a fourth not far away. And after eating a fourth serving of them, Freyr begins moving onto the numerous other desserts, the fine playing of the lyre ever continuing.

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Freyr never once stops venturing into the mortals’ dreams. Not even for a single day as he continues to discover and enjoy all manners of food. Even as he waits for Askr, he can’t help but indulge in them, Freyr woken up by all manners of his corpulence being shaken. The stone walls of Garrag Mach wash away, a certain professor’s reminiscences of the countless dishes offered through the dining hall as exquisitely delightful as Freyr had expected. 

“I guess it was to be expected that you’d be dreaming still,” Askr waits for Freyr, a smile on his face as he peers up at him. 

Which is a feat with Freyr sitting down, his own unabashed corpulence raising him off the ground with so much of it to go around. Not that Askr himself has done any real better, the bull’s body showing off all of the extra weight he’s gained. All seven hundred pounds of them, Askr’s size reminiscent of Freyr’s own enormity he once considered absurd back when they first dreamt together. His body clearly favors storing most of the weight in his upper body with how his gut juts out several feet in front of him, the wobbling belly unable to be contained by his shirt, the lower half of his hairy belly exposed past his deep navel; the sagging blubbery mass of flab for a stomach reaches all the way down to his engorged ankles, his calves melding into his ankles now. And his tits that are easily larger than people’s entire torsos are exposed as well from the plunging neckline of his shirt. Most of them are visible, the inner portions of Askr’s plump, over swollen tits which sit on top of his mountainous gut like two boulders on the edge of a cliff. His breasts manage to have some shape to them still despite their size. Askr forgoes his cape now, not that the adornment would help cover him in any meaningful capacity without wasting several yards of fabric —far too much already needed for his shirt and pants— to partially cover his flabby back that’s broad enough to smother a chair. Similarly, Askr no longer wears the strip of fabric tied around his waist with his own waistline more than tripled in size, and his gut would cover most of the white fabric. His pants do their best in clothing Askr; not a single tear in them or a bit of flab from his tree trunk sized thighs escapes through the stark white pants. But the upper sliver of fat from his large rear escapes the back of his pants. 

And yet, Askr’s gained weight still looks petite next to Freyr’s wanton display of gluttony for a body, Freyr’s own heft leaving him looking like a whale more than anything else. Unbothered in trying to weigh himself or even figure some estimate —despite the ease of achieving such a task in the dream realm— Freyr’s stupendous size is a marvel to all, his weight as great a mystery. The easily an entire ton of lard swathed all over him has all of Freyr’s nearly indistinguishable from itself to those not used to seeing him in all of his splendor, one needing to stand a good few feet away from him to do so. At the very center of all his enormity are his barely perceptible horns, the significant length of the two protruding goat horns small in comparison to the rest of himself. Even Freyr’s near floor length hair seems like a tertiary fact about him, the strands of cascading white hair tinged with light blue lost and sunken into his too many to count rolls of lard. His green tinged bangs frame his bulbous face, the strands of hair resting atop the porcine jowls that jiggle and jostle simply from breathing. Freyr’s neck seems nonexistent with it buried in between several hefty chins that meld into the blubbery neck rolls. Freyr’s outfit is a cheap imitation of his former outfit, all of the embroidery and additional fringe gone; the white tarp for clothing lacks any of its former ornamentation. The yards upon yards of silky fabric seems almost suctioned to him with how tightly it clings to him. It does at least manage to do its job in covering up his enormity. Even Freyr’s mattress crushing ass is clothed —his ass able to crush the bed needed to usually gain an audience with him in the dream realm. His ass juts out a few feet behind him, his ass similarly splayed out the side as it takes up as much space as the ground it occupies. Freyr’s ass presses up against Yngvi despite how far he sits away from it. Freyr’s thighs meld together, the two enormous limbs the largest aspect of him. Freyr’s thighs are wider than he is tall now; the couch crushing legs are made up of too many rolls to count. His thighs make for the softest pillow if not for his gut getting in the way since it takes up most of the surface area of his legs. The cascading belly rests on the floor still from it being longer than his limbs though the sides of it only just barely manage to not reach the outer edges of his thighs. And Freyr’s tits splay down onto his gut, the two mortal crushing tits the finest pillow in Ljósálfheimr and even Midgard, his stomach the finest bed. Freyr’s breasts press up against his arms. The two bulging limbs have only the barest semblance of flexibility. The same as his hands, Freyr’s hands barely poking out the wall of flab for arms, just like his legs do to his feet.

Freyr eventually opens his eyes. The usual harsh angular look from his golden eyes are softened by his bulging, ovular visage. “It’s time then?” He slowly starts to stand up, his magic aiding him despite having no leverage. And standing up, Freyr is a wobbling wall of lard, Freyr taking the slowest steps known to anyone despite all of his girth in the way.

“It is. And you did promise to enjoy a meal in my realm. A promise I presume you intend to keep,” Askr takes a step back as the mound of mass trembles before him. His portal still open behind him, the blue aura swirls behind him in anticipation. He enlarges the already massive portal needed to transport all of his own heft. And he takes a step inside after making sure Freyr is following him, no matter the slower than a snail’s pace he moves at.

Back in Askr, in his own domain with humans already waiting, Askr has to wait an extra few minutes for Freyr to appear. The portal prepared specifically for Freyr is an exaggerated portrayal of his usual ones; the ethereal blue haze of the portal fills up a large portion of the landscape, a necessity to allow Freyr passageway when the usual width needed for Askr’s humans would be incapable of allowing even Freyr’s flabby, bulging bicep through. But eventually, Freyr comes through. His gut enters the portal far before he does, the wobbling mass of fat immediately dragging against the floor. His gut nearly fills up the entire expanse of the portal’s width. Only a sliver of inches of extra space are visible on the sides of Freyr’s gut. His draped in white gut continues to slowly trudge forward, the wobbling belly struggling as it scrapes against the plush grass.

 “No need to be alarmed, Everything should already be set for him,” Askr’s arm raised up, he quells the stem of husky humans rushing over to help. Which Freyr looks close to needing after his face finally is visible through the portal, several feet of lard pushed through first. Freyr’s face is bloated, his blobular face red as his sagging porcine jowls jostle against his own bulk while he takes lumbering steps. Though his rounded face pales next to his plush chest. The two massive tits resemble guts in their sheer size; the two clothed breasts use Freyr’s gut as a table, the two jiggling tits managing to stay atop his enormous belly. Eventually his now huffed breathing and tired face make it through the portal, after his tits. It takes even longer for his ass to make it through the portal. The humans continue to wait for Freyr to walk through the portal despite it looking like he’s done. His ass juts out behind him, his immense ass gets wedged, the width of it too big for the portal before Askr hurriedly widens it. But Freyr does make it through the portal after making the humans wait long enough, all of them quiet as Freyr does indeed make Askr look thin like their god so claimed. And afterwards, Freyr comes crashing to the ground, the enormous picnic blanket already prepared for him.

“I thought you might enjoy a more rustic experience true to the mortals. True to Askr. Next time, I’ll imbue my domain with more of my magic to make it easier on you,” One hand on his hip, Askr spreads out his other hand towards the spread of food already prepared. And to the few mortals in attendance. The lightest of them weighs no less than two hundred and fifty pounds, every man at least sporting the tiniest of bellies, the largest of the men —the morbidly obese man well above the average— just shy of being half of Askr’s size.

“If you’d like, they can even tend to you for the night. All of them are rather eager, even if you may not be their patron deity, their benefactor,” Askr winks, a smirk on his face as he awaits Freyr’s response.

“You seem to enjoy their company. And if they are willing, then I will allow it,” Freyr’s flabby finger is lowered. The magic glow fades from the food, Freyr patiently waiting for his food for once. Not his grumbling gut though, the ground around them trembling as the mortals do their best to not stumble.

“Perfect. You heard him, men. He’s a great companion of mine. Treat him as you would treat me,” Askr sits down beside Freyr. His legs are spread out in front of him. With a bit of magic on his fingertips, he begins to enchant the food over to him like Freyr. Only to be stopped just like Freyr, a couple of humans still tend to him. “Hmmm. I guess I should’ve known better. Just make sure you two enjoy your own share as well, don’t worry about how much he’s going to eat,” Askr’s chins jiggle from his gesture towards Freyr before he gets fed by the two largest humans, both fat men resembling bodybuilders next to the two obese deities. 

Freyr tended to three men, the three thinner but still pudgy men trudge carefully around all of his enormity, until Freyr assures them. “Perfect choice, but next time bring some more,” Freyr says after eating through an entire bowl of feta pasta —all of it dumped into his mouth upon requesting it. “And make sure you all have some as well. There’s no guarantee Askr and I will leave anything left,” Freyr’s gut rumbles again, his appetite whet from the small bit of his upcoming feast for a meal. 

And feast he does, food easily fed to him despite the small trek it takes to climb his corpulence. The humans take their turn; two feeding him at once just to keep up with his demanding gut while the third snacks and rests atop of Freyr despite how gripping the jaws of sleep call to them as they use such a fine seat. Freyr accepts every bit of tribute: spicy seared pieces of steak, roasted buttery cauliflower, tender and juicy pork, rich broth of chicken soup, and even the cold leafy vegetables from the salads devoured all the same. His current attendants never spill a single drop despite the bumpy seating that is Freyr’s flabby rolls. They also manage to properly keep up with Freyr’s appetite, the men clearly used to Askr’s own. 

Only for a while before Freyr’s hunger gets the best of him, the ground trembling as his gut gurgles for food. The banquet of food floats through the air. A vast majority of it ends up towards Freyr, three fourths of it enchanted by himself. “Forgive me. But I am still feeling rather peckish,” He gladly accepts another generous pouring of soup into his mouth, the rim of the bowl held up to his pudgy lips by one of his helpers. “But again, feel free to help yourself,” All three men tend to him at once now. They gather around Freyr’s flabby head, his large tits and shoulder flab used as their own personal chairs while they stuff Freyr as he wishes.

“Don't worry yourself over our concern, Lord Freyr,”

“Please, have some more, Lord Freyr,”

“Lord Askr mentioned how much you enjoy wine. Enjoy this red wine, Lord Freyr,” 

The eager mortals keep on talking, Freyr unable to get a single word in between the urging and insistent men and the deluge of food handfed to him at a rate still not as fast as when he indulges in dreams. But Freyr still eagerly accepts every piece of food offered to him. His body is Zenith's slowest whirlwind of activity. The three men use Freyr's whale of a body as if they were stranded sailors stuck on a protruding boulder. And despite Freyr's current inability to speak, the men work in tandem to keep him well fed with his preferred dishes. They practically dump the lobster rolls into Freyr's gullet; they give him one large bite for him to eat around half of the buttery lobster that nearly spills out of the long buns before simply plopping the other half into Freyr's mouth. And as he hurriedly chews on that, he guzzles on the wine poured down his mouth in-between bites; they pour various bottles of wine into his mouth throughout the entire dozen of lobster rolls. Freyr also gets fed more of the feta pasta to help vary it up. He devours an entire plate of it after every three lobster rolls. And they continue to feed Freyr even after all of that. The rest in lower quantities, they feed him the drenched in ranch salads as well as the roasted chickens, both of them almost as delicious as they were in Askr's dream. Everything that remains of the buffet of food, they shovel and feed it to Freyr, their hectic pace still rather careful.

Bits of sauce and food end up on his face by the end of the rest of the main course. The mess of smatterings are smeared all over his porcine jowls as well as his several chins. 

“Our apologies, Lord Freyr,” But they thankfully get cleaned up; the man serving him wine takes a moment to clean up the entire mess. He rubs the damp cloth napkin across Freyr's expanse. It takes him more than an entire minute to reach across all of the dirtied expanse of lard, the napkin carefully rubbed in between all of Freyr's rolls to remove the errant bits of sauce. He takes special care in tending to all of the folds of flab that make up Freyr’s multiple chins.

“Time for dessert, Lord Freyr,” The other two men speak in unison as they hold more offerings for him. All of it for him. One holds a tray of brownies, the crispy upper layer of dark chocolate still warm and gooey in Freyr's mouth as he shoves an entire piece into his mouth one by one. But Freyr gets fed a heaping spoonful of vanilla ice cream the instant after he gets fed a brownie.

“Keep going…” Freyr demands, still so much dessert to go.

And the men follow their orders. They continue to cram the dessert Freyr so desperately craves. The pounds of sweets that end up in his stomach are still nothing more than a drop of water compared to the pond of lard for a body. He gets fed brownie after brownie until the entire tray is left with nothing more than crumbs. And even those are dumped into his mouth. The rest of the ice cream is funneled into him, the remaining bit of it warm enough for Freyr to chug. And even after he finishes that, Freyr is fed an entire strawberry shortcake, the large cake broken up into several slices. Not that it matters much when it all ends up in his stomach all the same, Freyr digesting the hefty serving of dessert as the men begin to grab even more.

“No need to worry you two. Despite his appearances, he does his best to share,” Askr doesn’t bother turning, well aware Freyr can hear him despite looking seemingly too busy enjoying his food to properly pay attention. Or the gluttonous haze that takes over Freyr —a similar one beginning to take over Askr as well. The other quarter of food brought to him and his two attendants by his own magic. He eats most of the buffet of food, but he still takes his time to share despite getting stuffed around the clock. 

“Have this, Lord Askr. I know you've been craving this,”

“You skipped your second lunch today. You must be famished Lord Askr,”

Unlike Freyr's treatment, Askr is treated more akin to a valued eater —Askr unable to complain about the near livestock treatment — than a valued guest. Food ends up in his mouth before he can even request a certain dish. But he gets fed his favorites all the same. The juicy steaks are quickly cut into smaller, but still mouth watering large portions, and fed to him. And to wash it down, Askr's attendants feed him mashed potatoes. And Askr gets funneled gravy all by itself. To top off his meaty heavy meal, he gets fed even more meat, slow roasted pork served atop a bed of rice shoved in his mouth before he can properly finish chewing. As well as salmon served with asparagus, the salmon melts apart in his mouth before he even has to chew. Which helps Askr as more and more food is crammed into his mouth. Dribbles of sauce end up running down his portly cheeks. Askr's attendants only clean it up after they finish feeding him their plate, their own pudgy bodies pressed up against Askr's own while they kneel on the ground. They pinch and grope Askr's cheeks as they wipe him clean. Something they take their time in bothering to do, Askr’s face ending up a mess of food like a pig before they clean him up.

And afterwards, they serve Askr his portion of dessert, they bevy of cookies baked to his preferences with more than a dozen different types of cookies for him to choose from. Not that he chooses; all of it ends up in his mouth, one cookie crammed into his mouth before he can even finish half of the previous one. Askr can't speak past the chunk of food in his mouth. He simply moans as he drowsily looks up at his attendants while they devotedly tend to the bull.

Askr and Freyr go on for quite some time to get through all of the food brought to them despite the speed they devour everything, enough food for a family eaten by the two of them each far too quickly only to get fed another family sized serving. But they eat it all, ninety percent of the food eaten by just the two overwhelmingly obese deities alone despite the five humans eating their fill as well. 

Both of them simply remain seated after the feast. Enough food to feed a small army, neither of them even show the beginning onset of being overstuffed. Instead, they seem all too comfortable to digest their meal as the time passes by them. And they impatiently await for their next snack, their guts already craving more to sate their avaricious selves. 

“Next time we meet, let’s enjoy it in your realm,” Askr proposes as the humans begin to clean up, the men a loud burping mess as if they were the ones who had eaten countless pounds of food.

Freyr readily responds. He remains seated, digesting his food for once, actually enjoying the company of mortals. “Yes. You still owe me another dream,”

-------------

Freyr waits with unabashed passion for Askr’s next visit. So he prepares in the only way he knows how to in the meanwhile now, by dreaming. He takes up most of the room in one of Badon’s inns, the private room usually meant for large groups of private entourages traveling through the port city. Freyr’s body completely dwarfs the humans in the main room. Freyr has more weight in his arm alone than an entire human. He can no longer lift them up without the aid of magic like the rest of his body; his limbs are completely useless now. And despite his size, Freyr is nothing more than an Álfar in Ljósálfheimr —a common sight not worth paying attention to. Freyr’s ass is pressed up against the wall, his gut pressed up against the other end, and the sides of his blubbery spill past the thin strip of curtain meant to offer a false sense of privacy. So little space for anything else, Freyr simply conjures up the food and floats it to his mouth, the pirate chugging ale as if his life depended on it Freyr used to enter his dream off to the side in the main packed room. Freyr pays little attention to what he eats. He simply wants it all, the Lycian meat paired with unique spices from the trade routes that run through Badon all lost on Freyr. The only real difference he tastes is when he swaps to different food categories, a good hour spent on entrees before he enjoys the next hour greedily guzzling down it all. And after he has everything on the menu, he simply conjures up food from the other inns’ menus, pulling from the pirate of two names’ other dreams as he tries to get his fill. A task Freyr devotes plenty of time to achieve.

-------------

The quaint little mountain village offers little in the way of Valentia’s finest cuisine, or even Zofia’s for that matter. The small location can barely compare to all the port cities’ extravagance of variety or the more prosperous offerings found in Zofia’s capital. But what the village lacks in sheer absurdity in variety, it more than makes up for it with the tantalizing dream of one of its lumberjacks; the sheer respite and relief he feels from his hearty portions after a hard day of work enough to make the food surpass in worth to Freyr. The little village offers little room for Freyr, but he makes do with the space available to him. One clearing large enough, Freyr’s enormity takes up most of the south-west section of the village. He takes up too much room in fact; his ass presses up against the natural barrier of trees and craggy rocks of mountain while his gut spills forward countless feet in front of him, the outermost rolls of his gut taking up space on the narrow roads. And the few people walking have their routes adjusted, the remembrances of humans walking carefully alongside the wall of stomach flab that only leaves them a bit of room to walk by despite none even being able to perceive Freyr. But nonetheless, the humans avoid him all the same, a humongous gap in the dream where Freyr takes up all his space. Not that he thinks too much of it. He simply continues to enjoy his meal, the heaping servings of soup enough to sate him at the moment. And when he tires of that, he begins to once again borrow from the lumberjack’s other dreams, his visits across Valentia providing more than enough options to Freyr for awhile before he even begins to mix and muddle with the dreams of the lumberjack’s former war compatriots, far too many mercenaries to choose from to mix and match food that doesn’t even belong to the original dreamer’s memories.

-------------

“Ahhhh. That was buuhuurp a splendid snack,” Askr stews in his own enormity as he smacks his lips. “But I did promise to visit someone,” He slowly begins to rise from his seated position, Askr’s wobbling mass of fat still a sight to behold to all of the humans tending to him. A feat that he can only accomplish through the aid of his magic. But nonetheless, Askr stands up on his own two blubbery tree trunks for legs. He takes a few deep breaths, regaining his stamina as well as his magic. His face bulges with each deep breath, the flabby ovular face jiggling as he does so. Askr’s chins are synonymous with his bulging neck now, the two of them a small tire for his head. His bull horns look small next to his rounded out face as well as his immense weight. He still wears his former clothes, his pants and shirt painted onto his bulging spherical figure. Far too much weight slowing him down, Askr takes slow trudging steps. All of his lard chafes and rubs against itself. Friction and gravity refuse to be his friend, Askr’s gut draping against the floor as he sluggishly walks to the portal that’s only a few inches in front of him. His ass wobbles behind him, his couch crushing cheeks shifting and jiggling every time he lifts his feet up a barely perceptible few centimeters off the ground as he desperately swings one overburdened leg past the other. His jutting love handles sag multiple feet off to the side. They hide the waistband of his enormous pants made up of enough fabric to serve as a tablecloth to the largest of banquet tables. A feat his shirt similarly holds while it does its best to hold back his enormous sloshing wall of fat that is his gut, the battle to contain it all lost a thousand pounds ago. Now, his shirt serves more as an ill fitting crop top. A crop top that only covers a small sliver of his immense breasts. Askr can barely even see the portal; his bountiful chest blocks most of his vision. His engorged tits somehow having a clear shape to them, his chest fills up most of his vision while it rests on his waterbed for a gut. Which currently makes it hard to even hear the gentle hum of the portal as it gurgles and rumbles for more food despite his light three pounds of food for a snack. But he does make it, his gut entering the portal first.

“I’ll make sure he visits next time,” He says to the mortals, all of them a hundred pounds heavier than last time, the mortals weight gain exponentially slower than Askr’s own tremendous growth, the bull now an entire monumental ton, two thousand pounds of flab making up the divine being. He is met with a resound of cheering as the rest of his body trudges through the portal.

He comes crashing down onto Freyr’s mountainous gut. A torrent of flab wobbles as it sloshes and crashes against similarly wobbling folds of lard. Freyr’s corpulence continues to wobble even as minutes pass, every single roll of fat jostling to and fro like a water bed, a stone tossed into a lake considering Freyr’s immense size. It takes Askr a few moments to get his bearings. And to figure out where on Freyr’s enormity he landed on. Despite Askr now weighing a ton —a fact exemplified by the fact that he isn’t just a grain of rice next to Freyr and by how much he sinks into Freyr’s enormity— he still manages to be dwarfed by Freyr’s gut alone. Freyr’s own growth makes Askr’s time stuffing and gorging himself look like a small binge in comparison.

The goat’s stomach spreads on for miles at his size. Freyr still wears his form fitting sheet of fabric for clothes despite his expansive girth. He takes up most of the once spacious room now. An entire half of the room of the expansive area is taken up by Freyr’s immensity. His ass is pressed up against Yngvi, the tree now comparable in size to the gelatinous blob for a deity. The tree steadily holds strong despite the torrent of lard pressed up against it. Freyr’s ass is pressed up against it. The two hills for ass cheeks rise up higher than his own face now, Freyr’s porcine visage sunken in between so much fat. His jutting rear is large enough to fill up rooms on their own; all sorts of mortal transportation in the dreams he’s visited are completely useless to him at his size. The hills of flab for an ass are draped in the white fabric of his tarp for a robe. It manages to cover the majority of his ass, only a small sliver of flab —an entire foot of his ass— escapes past the unhemmed edges of the fabric. His ass taking up a considerable amount of width as well, the farthest reaching rivulets of flab seep past the multiple doors to the side of the room. As do Freyr’s immense thighs. Freyr’s thighs meld into his ass, the exact moment where one ends and the other begins far too great a task to discern. And equally as fruitless, Freyr simply on the path to keep on indulging and growing. His thighs are wider than entire castle hallways, the far too narrow passageways now as useless as entire roads to Freyr’s bulk. His thighs bulge off to the side, the sagging rolls of lard jutting off to the sides of Freyr as they blanket the floor around him, the goat exponentially wider than he is tall. His own thighs are difficult to discern, all parts of it melding together into countless infinitesimal rolls, Freyr’s knees sunken into all the flab, flexibility completely lost to him several tons ago. His cankles that are thicker than peoples’ waistlines smother and do the same to his feet, the appendages buried under lard like most of his body. Freyr’s gut spreads far beyond the length of his legs despite not being as wide as it, his thighs like a blanketing net to hold the oozing deluge of flab that is his stomach. Freyr’s stomach is more than capable of blanketing every mortal room he could possibly visit. Even throne rooms and banquet halls are barely spared from his girth, his tremendous thighs and ass filling out the rest of the space his gut can’t reach.

Even the room that currently houses Freyr struggles to house him; his gut oozes out the front entrances of the circular room. And his smaller throne room can barely fit him anymore, Freyr simply too lazy to use his magic to conjure up more space at the moment. Not when he can spend the energy on stuffing himself. His stomach touches most of his own corpulence in the same way it blankets the floor around him. The elephantine stomach is made up of several stomach rolls; each barely discernible from the last. Even his cavernous black hole for a navel is obscured by the upper rolls of lard that seep over his belly button and rest on his lowest few rolls of stomach fat. Freyr’s arms rest on his gut much like how his gut rests on his thighs. His useless arms are pushed out of the way to make room for his gut, the cylindrical rolls of flab moved aside at an angle, so much flab around them that they're similarly helpless in being able to move. Even Freyr’s hands are useless; the over swollen digits are buried under a bulging roll of wrist fat, his wrist just as buried by his forearm and the largest, flabbiest bicep in all of Ljósálfheimr and Midgard. His biceps touch his own tits, the two comforters for a chest draped over his gut. Freyr’s chest is large enough for Askr to use as his own seat. His chest lacks much shape to it the same way Askr’s does, but the two bountiful breasts still have the slightest bit of shape to them, not all of it splaying down his gut. And at the very center of all of his enormity is Freyr’s face, his face hidden between the rest of the treasure trove of flab. Freyr’s hair flows everywhere behind him, the strands of hair draped atop his cascading back rolls. His horns look absolutely inconsequential to the rest of his corpulence, the two horns a spot of brown amongst the sea of lard. His several chins and neck are a bulging tire of lard, the plush flab helping his face from sinking too deeply. His bulging cheeks take up more space than his head at his size; the two bulging cheeks look constantly stuffed with food, which they always are. And yet, Freyr simply keeps on eating and craving more at his inconceivable size. A fact made acutely aware by the two feeding tubes crammed into his maw, the gushing noise of whatever it is that Freyr guzzles down almost loud enough to drown out his aching gut.

“Hmmm,” Askr peers down at Freyr. He rests on Freyr’s breasts. “I guess I should have expected something like this. It seems your appetite really is endless,” Askr says after a few moments.

“HUUUUUAAAAAAAAARRRRRRP!” Freyr belches for a few minutes upon dematerializing his feeding tubes. The walls shake from the belch. His entire corpulence is sent wobbling once more, Askr shaken like a small raft upon the vast sea. Freyr looks up at Askr with half lidded eyes. “Ahh thought it hahhh… bessht tahh wait for hnghh… you,” Freyr says with difficulty, his own magic only able to do so much when physically swaddled under too much weight to even physically weigh properly. 

“I appreciate that. And while we should hurry and enjoy our dream, I do have a question for you. If you don't mind answering for me?”

“Goooh ohhnnn…” Freyr urges him. His gut also urges Askr as it impatiently rumbles for more food. If Askr didn’t know better, he’d fear that the whole building would come crumbling down, the walls trembling.

“You knew this would happen didn’t you?” Askr summons a couple of portals. All of them only enterable one way, the small windows into his own realm and into the countless worlds tied to Askr through his own powers are positioned towards Freyr. The two of them not the only ones affected —their own sizes a product of their own gluttony— Askr’s own well worshiping humans aren’t even the only ones affected, Askr’s portals a glimpse into the present of far away worlds beyond Midgard’s borders, countless men at the very least on the precipice of being pudgy, numerous others well beyond that threshold into being rather husky men. From the World of Mystery all the way to the World of Rings, all of the men share their extra heft like Zenith’s own husky population. And yet, none of the mortals think anything of their newfound gluttony. The extra trait given to them is nothing more than a regular facet of their daily lives.

Freyr ruminates on a response. But he does eventually respond after a short while. “IIt'sh wahsh only a nnnff shmall pohshsibilihty. But'sh theyyy sheeemmed ughhhh t-too ehnjohy deehmsheehlveehs. hnghh A-And you doohn't'sh m-miihnd iht…” Freyr takes his time to recuperate. By conjuring and guzzling some more of the slop from his feeding tubes.

“You are correct,” Askr admits. He smiles. Already well aware of Freyr’s lack of malintentions, he couldn’t help but sate his curiosity on the matter. “The humans seem to find their predicament enjoyable. And they do deserve to enjoy themselves. But, one final question. I promise this time,” He adds after Freyr glares at him. “How is it that you gained weight to begin with? This is the dream realm afterall,” Askr waits for the feeding tube to disappear once more. He feels a prickle in his head, an incandescent ball of light coming from him.

“Tah saayy it'sh in ahh ahhh… fairy tale shortaah wayyy, “Your thoughtsh becohme r-reality.”,” 

“Of course. How ridiculous of me. I should've expected as much considering how much you’ve been enjoying yourself,” Askr gently pushes the ball of light, offering a dream towards Freyr. “Here, I have a special treat for you. The very first time humans gave me offerings. I’ll make sure you have your fill,” Askr smiles as the ray of light grows stronger, the two of them enveloped in it —after some time to get all of Freyr’s enormity.

And then, Freyr and Askr begin to dream once more, food awaiting them as it always does for the ever hungry and ever growing gods.

[moose-mousse]

I work for insane people

So… I started work a few months ago and...

I keep being impressed with corporations lowering my expectations.

Like. EVERY time I think "Surely, this is as incompetent as it gets".

The boss is nice, the workers are nice, every PERSON is great so far. But the firm is just… fucked in ways that makes it hard to not scream with laughter.

It is like working in the ministry of silly walks by Monty Python. Insane things are happening, and everyone just acts like it is normal.

A dude was stating to someone else near me, that despite the costumers saying they did not want it, his code that crashed the application once a day, was NECESSARY, because writing code without memory leaks in C is basically impossible. Like… I just have all these small moments of insanity. Completely disconnected from each-other

My boss showing me and the other 3 new hires the coffee room, where a big screen proudly shows that not a single software product have 100% code coverage… as in, not a single person in this entire building filled with software people knows how code coverage works. He then points out an empty bowl, and declares "Twice a week, there is a fruit event". By which he means, fresh fruit is provided, and people can just grab some…. just said by a alien who is pretending to be human. Badly.

He then explained that the 2 coffee machines in here makes bad coffee. He then takes us to the copy room, showing us that THIS is where the GOOD coffee machine is. Which only takes coffee beans from a SPECIFIC vendor (Is… is the coffee machine… sponsored????)

He briefly pets the Foosball table (Again, in the copy room), which is jammed up against the wall so you can only reach the controls on one side ( Because, again, it is a copy room, and there is not enough space for it ) and he exclaims "Ahhhh… Not enough people are using this"

Suggesting, that he is trying to promote the little known sport "Single-player Foosball">

I start setting up my work PC and... Whenever any of the developers in this place wants to install things on their PC's, including compilers and testing frameworks, they have to either use the "SOFTWARE CENTER" program, which installs it FOR you… or in 10% of the cases, fails, without giving you any context for why it did that, and no tools for fixing it. Is it missing a dependency? Not working with the OS? Who knows!

Some programs cannot be installed like this though, because the SOFTWARE CENTER is not updated a lot. And when you want to install something the normal way… You get a popup, where you must provide a written explanation for why you need to have temporary admin rights to your own dang PC … you then submit that, and your screen will then be watched remotely by a worker from India, for a varied amount of time you are not told…

Or at least it says so. Maybe the Indian dude watching me is just an empty threat. Who knows. But they get to see me running absolutely… BONKERS .bat files

Like, I CHECKED them, and a good 80% of them calls a Power-Shell script in the folder above it, called "YES_OR_NO.ps1" which opens a windows 95 window informing you that DURING INSTALLATION YOU MAY NOT USE THE KEYBOARD OR MOUSE, AS IT MAY DISTURB THE SCRIPT THAT WILL INSTALL THE PROGRAM. A normal installation wizard then runs, except the developers are not trusted to click the buttons, and instead the script does it for you by moving and clicking the mouse.

All of this is documented. In markdown like reasonable people? Of course not! It is in ENHANCED markdown. Which is markdown in the same way javascript is java.

ENHANCED markdown requires browser and visual studio code extensions to be read. Completely missing the point of markdown being readable both raw and encoded… And sometimes word documents And sometimes power-point presentations left next to another bat file… this one calling the .exe file… right next to it…. I later found out is because the idea USED to be that all documentation MUST be made with Microsoft office tools.

I had to read the code of conduct today. And it was actually very well written.

I then watched a interactive animation telling me about the code of conduct… which it not only got a fact wrong about, it also broke it once.

I repeat. The introductory course in the code of conduct… broke the code of conduct'

After I watched that, and read the safety material…. which literally just said "Wear safety boots in the production floor"… I was then show the testing room.

I was lead to a different building, saying hello to the Vice CEO who was walking the other way, we walk into the production floor, ignored the fact that none of us have safety boots on, and walks into a room, with a 3*2 meter wide machine, several meters tall.

We edge around it, quietly hoping no one turns it on, since we would get slammed by it if they did, and walk down some stairs into the basement. Casually walk over a small river in the floor from a pipe that is leaking… what I really hope is water, and over to a shelf rack FILLED with the most MacGyver shit you ever did see.

Including, but not limited to, the 3D printed plastic block, with a piston that repeatedly smacking half a aluminum nameplate over the device it is testing. You see, it is a capacitance button, and it is testing it by simulating a human finger pressing it many thousands of times, a saws off antenna which is the end of a cable that is attached to it via a nice thick bolt, so it can send fake signals into it.

And of course the 24 volt, 5 amp system that is turning a circuit board on and off again, until it will crack.

We walk back out, remembering to step over the small river, which never even got a comment, and walk back to my department It is SO great. It is like working in the ministry of silly walks by Monty Python Like… Do I think I can bring value to this company? Like, making it better and more efficient? Yes. It would be hard not to!

And his is the largest pump manufacturer in the world! A super serious company with 4 billion dollars of revenue a year. And it is just… a NUTHOUSE

Like… NEVER believe the myth that corporations are competent.

[dykesbites]

i want to know more about their relationships with each other like all of them every single relationship do they hate each other friwnds that want each other carnally ik two of them r husbands and one of them has a stupid gay ctysh but i want moar expand please 🤲🏽

SURE SURE OK its complicated uhh

alaric and armand are gay married* yeah, armand is the normal guy who holds alaric back from doing irrational things but he's also deranged its just not as obvious. alaric and venus are not related but view each other as close friends/similar to siblings, they're like family friends, and venus is also close with armand because of their shared interest in the arts (although venus enjoys music/visual arts more while armand is a book guy, they love to talk about plays)

cecilia and venus are also gay married* and wow they literally invented love. cecilia was a performer of some sort...a dancer or actress or singer i haven't decided but of course this kind of thing is right up venus' alley so they immediately took notice to her. as it happens when venus tries to approach her cece gets into some sort of trouble and venus comes to the rescue...they are every romance cliche ever but its so so earnest and real. they also absolutely send each other the world's most beautiful love letters.

ok this is starting to get SUPER long so more under the cut!

pretty much every single vampire in this weird ass family is an asshole but all of them have a soft spot for cecilia because she's just. so sweet. she remembers and notices things about people, she gives the best gifts, makes people feel special etc. ceclila is very capable on her own but yk if anyone gives her trouble they will answer to six other vampires who have few issues with killing and maiming.

asphodel is kind of a loner or at least the least involved in this ragtag bunch...she doesn't think she's really interested in genuine connection because immortality and incompatibility with humans broke her heart many times. obviously this is a lie. and obviously yuki sees right through that. everyone warns yuki not to go near her (with good reason because asphodel is fucking crazy. she is the source of several vampire legends because she loves causing problems for mortals) but of course this doesn't deter him at all.

armand and asphodel were friends who kind of lost contact and he started hearing insane shit about her (think phoenix seeing people call his elementary school bestie the 'demon prosecutor' and being like hey what the fuck) and so he warns yuki about her but yk deep down he does miss her and wants to know what the hell is going on with her

tiago is one of the most fun guys here bc hes the most pathetic but he is so convinced that hes the shit. he thinks hes hot (true) and suave (not really) and smart (...). he and yuki are equally pretty shit at pulling anyone and they both think they're smoother than they are. they make kind of a comedic pair to be honest.

there's a bit about cece missing her family, and while tiago and cece are not remotely related (hes much much younger and also mexican and shes venezuelan) he reminds her so much of her real brother and feels like the closest connection to the rest of her family. i said earlier everyone has a soft spot for her but tiago especially (aside from venus of course).

venus took a liking to yuki because he showed them how to listen to music online and this absolutely rocked venus' world. you can listen to music...without a phonograph?? and then he showed them bootleg play productions on youtube etc and how to pirate media and yk they immediately adopted him. they respect yuki's...alternative taste in music but encourages expanding his horizons to classical, jazz, and opera. yuki's receptiveness to these genres has been hit or miss.

tiago annoys venus. they find him vapid and obnoxious. but he makes cece and yuki happy (venus expected fellow lesbians to have better taste in male company but alas) so they tolerate him.

tiago agrees with yuki that asphodel is hot and he's very impressed with her. unfortunately for him she is a lesbian and also does not know he exists until way after she meets yuki. this is endlessly amusing to yuki.

*almost all of them legally do not exist because someone being born so long ago and not being dead would raise suspicion. so they all fake their deaths, some of them cycle through fake identities every couple decades but that gets really tedious. so they can't legally get married but you know they had a ceremony and exchanged rings and in every other sense they are married

[good-or-bad-luck]

9 11 30 36 39 for whoever is currently most occupying your brain!!!!

its my elder scrolls ocs <333 the geese outside are having a rave as i type this

9: Is your oc afraid of touch or do they actively seek it out? Is there a reason for this? What are the exceptions?

weve got a good variety. Breaks is the most normal about it doesnt seek it out doesnt shy away from it. comes with the territory of being the older brother to the worlds clingiest little sister. speaking of sister Spore is still like that. always hovering over someone or leaning dramatically into their shoulders to look at something (gives the best hugs <3) does it with everyone rlly. Rina is the opposite <3 hates touch on every level and only puts up with it ifor Breaks and Spore's sake. even then spent a very long time unable to put up with Spore's nonsense. will offer one (1) hug on a good day.

11: How competitive is your oc? Is every little task something that they can win, or are they just in competitions for the fun of it? Is there anyone they’re most competitive with?

all of them are insane. are you kidding me. you go like i bet i can do this thing youve never even attempted better than you and all three of them are like i will. beat you to death. spore and breaks are the worst with each other. rina is the worst with everyone ever if she loses no she didnt <3 it could be a normal day doing a casual thing and shed be insane about it. she sucks at mario kart btw

30: What topics does your oc know the most about? Are these obvious or would these be surprising to others?

great question. spore is the least surprising to anyone she knows 2 topics like the back of her hand, its the history of kvatch and the hero of kvatch himself and every little myth and legend from the divines (her and elyss worst catholic, fight !!) nerd shit. no one enjoys it. rina is slightly less surprising she knows a lot ofstuff about skills to just like live on her own like cooking and textiles and hunting and growing shit and can tell youy a lot about ant of those. also knows a lot about deer and their behaviors but if you ask her how she knows shell look at you like ._. breaks is our lovely assassin he knows a lot of poisons and shit but with that territory also comes a HELL of a lot of knowledge on potions to heal people and every single combination to make even the most simple of potion. he doesnt use this knowledge a lot since he is rarely ever in a situation where he needs to pull out like Minor Health Potion since his two traveling companions are his paladin sister and the lycanthrope magic user who knows at least basic healing spells.

36: How stubborn is your oc? Are they easily convinced of the opposite opinion, do they not agree but let it happen anyways? Or do they cause conflicts with their inability to budge in their decisions?

rina is a problem because she has never been wrong ever fuck you if you think differently. she will change but only after too long convincing her to stop being a dick about it. will fight you about it. breaks is also kind of stubborn but in a way where hell be like silently disagreeing before going fine okay and then complain to someone about it later. spore is by far the least stubborn of all of them she takes no shit about what they believe it but is also more than willing to hear most people out. comes with the territory of trying to be a fairytale hero

39:How superstitious your oc? Do they end up following them ‘just in case’? Or are superstitions incredibly important to your oc? What are some that they believe? What about the ones they don’t?

breaks doesnt believe in any superstisious shit the only reason he believes in some of it in his world is its afantasy one. would roll his eyes into the back of his head in the real eworld hearing anything about ghosts or knocking on wood or anything even remotely close to it. the only thing he believes in is fucking santa claus. rina and spore are the exact opposite. both believe in more tame ones like classic breaking mirrors gives bad luck or (this one is from the actual game) talking on tales and tallows out of the belief spirits will possess the body, insert breaks eyeroll. the difference is spore doesnt do it because she is scared rina doesnt talk because she doesnt want to deal with it if it is real (she is also scared). both also carry supersitions from their time as worshipers of stendarr like if you give to others good will come your way or if you strike those weaker than you stendarr will strip you of his blessing (canon in the lore! ask me about elder scrolls facts)

[mrs-march-ahs]

Hii, angel! Soo, since you said that no one requested this yet, what about jealous Evan's characters?? 👀 Thankss, have a nice day! (Love uuu 💞💞)

The Evans Being Jealous

So many other fics of mine seemed to fit with this one! An unexpected fic that links well is The Evans Reacting To The Reader Coming Out As Bi, because most of them are jealous!

Sorry this took so long sunshine, enjoy! <3

--

Tate

-A ghost who would even remotely be interested in you, would be a threat to Tate -Think Gabriel at the end of Murder House -Tate would do everything he could, sob, threaten them, scare them, to make sure they knew you were off limits -If you found this attractive he would just awkwardly tell you that he’s doing it to protect you, that that guy would not treat you as well as he should therefore he needs to go -If you didn’t find it attractive, and found his possessiveness off-putting, Tate would get really upset -In his eyes, he’s doing it all for you, so he would sit and sob and complain to the ghost -Tatey is a soft, sensitive boy but if he had to, he would act tough in front of them   -When you and Tate argued about him doing this to every person remotely interested in you, he would get insecure and ask if you found them attractive -If not, he wouldn’t be that relieved because he’s a little insecure -If yes, oh god

Kit

-Pretty easily jealous, doesn’t like when other men even look at you -He would be super angry at them, shout at them, put his arm around your waist -Wouldn’t get into arguments but would just bark something like, “What are you staring at?” -Kit isn’t angry often so it would be insanely hot to you -But he’d be mad at you too -Any jealous situation would make him mad, at everyone -He would somehow try to make you feel as though it’s your fault for being attractive and catching the eye of others -But after he cools down, he would apologise -He never means to lash out or upset you but other men flirting with you or looking at you is the one thing that pisses him off -You may have to kiss him and cuddle him so he can hold you and know in his heart that you’re all his -Jealous Kit Fic

Frat Kyle

-At a frat party, if there was another boy flirting with you or giving you a drink he would just come up to you and put his arm around your shoulders, so it was easy to see for everybody else -Call you more pet names than usual -Baby, sweetie, my girl -If any guy continues flirting with you even in front of him, he’ll humiliate him as much as he physically can to make him seem unappealing to you - “Jeff nobody wants to see your dick, no matter how small it is” -As if you’d consider cheating on him

Franken Kyle

-When in public, Kyle always has his hand in your back pocket, mostly so he doesn’t get lost -You two hold hands a lot too so it’s clear you’re not single -But once in a while somebody will be inappropriate to you when you’re out with Kyle, because to most people he looks like hard work, and they don’t see the sweet boy inside -You two sit in a restaurant having dinner together and the waiter will flirt with you, ignoring Kyle completely cause he just assumes that Kyle doesn’t even understand -Even though Kyle can’t identify his negative feelings as ‘jealousy’, he knows he doesn’t like it -Pushes the waiter over or pulls him by his shirt away from you - “Stop…m-mine” -You’ll just apologise and leave together and Kyle will look back at the waiter and glare at him -Then once you get home you must give Kyle 120% of your attention -Don’t expect his arm off your shoulders for the rest of the day

Jimmy

-It takes the most out of the boys to get him jealous -Wants to see the good in people and will assume that you’re just being friendly, unless he’s already in a bad mood because of something else, or if the friendliness goes too far -50% of the time, he’ll get upset and insecure, thinking that his time with you is up and now you’re gonna leave him for somebody ‘normal’ -Other 50% of the time, his inner Florida man tells him he needs to fight them -Needs reassurance so he might seek your attention in negative ways, if you’re talking to a man with a smile on your face, even while just selling tickets, he’ll walk up to the two of you to assess the situation -“I’ll leave you two alone to get to know each other”, and then walks away just to see if you’ll follow him -You obviously do and ask him what his deal is -“If you’re tired of dating a freak and you wanna date somebody normal, at least have the decency to tell me Y/N” -“Oh my god Jimmy, where would you get that idea from? I obviously want to date you, I love you” -“Alright… just needed to hear that” -That night you need to spoon and cuddle and kiss -He’ll give you a few hickeys to mark you and you’ll do the same to him, making him melt completely -And if he’s mad, he’s mad -Definitely not foreign to bar fights -Would pick a fight with you when you get home just to get you annoyed and have angry sex with you

James

-Gets jealous incredibly easily -You weren’t even allowed to come to Devil’s Night for the first few years because there are so many creepy men around -He’d spot a man buying you drink at the bar -Cleopatra would warn you that he’s incoming probably -James would calmly walk over to the two of you and tell whoever you’re with that you are not interested -If he’s particularly in the mood, he might make some shitty comment - “She is a lady, and a lady needs more to be pleased than a 5”5 man and a Martini” -I have a very in depth fic about this situation, linked here

Kai

-Kai would be angry in front of them, a little shitty to you too -“You think a twink like you could ever score her?” -He would be sarcastic and condescending to you, like usual -He would explain to you how lucky you are that you have a man to protect you from creeps -After one time I don’t think he would kill them, but if they ever even looked at you again, they’d be dead -Probably take it out on you, but not in the same way as Jimmy, not in a protective or angry way but in a possessive way -He would punish you in any way he felt necessary like teasing you for hours and hours, telling you over and over how blessed and lucky you are to have him, and how stupid you are to do anything to ever risk losing him -He might fuck you and humiliate you enough with his words until you cry -Ways in which Kai might punish you -Getting Punished Fic

--

taglist, dm or comment to be added or taken away, i wont be upset:)

@milly-louise  @amourtentiaa  @kitwalker02  @tatestripedsweater  @therenlover  @maria-akira         @tatesimper  @thxc0untessesgl0ve  @mossybank  @ahsxual  @mxlti-fand0m-imaginess  @mrs-march-ahs-biggest-fan  @kitwalkerangel  @kitisagoldenretrieverboy @darlingkitt  @blackbat2020  @elaineygrace @kaiandersonskoolaid  @undeadcortez @whiiiiplaaaaash

[i-need-air]

"Dude" — Bakugou Katsuki x Reader.

Summary: Your former bully, Midori, has confessed her undying love for one of the most famous guys at U.A.; you're just venting gossiping about it with Mei, not knowing Bakugou Katsuki is right around the corner, listening;

Warnings: None. Well, Bakugou Katsuki having various anger induced strokes > the normal > no warnings; light crackfic? subtle ending;

Word count: 4.5k;

[ Part 2 ];

"She confessed to him." You grinned, throwing a bunch of fries into your mouth like the absolute animal you were.

Mei on the other hand continued her work on whatever in the world her new prototype, or "baby", was. Still, you had the honor of having half of her attention, which was a compliment to say at least.

She just smiled, shaking her head, leading you to continue, not knowing a blond was quite literally behind the corner, just outside the door leading to the support department, frown on his face.

"She came to class giggling like an idiot saying she's got a plan." You made a face into the distance, remembering your classmate's obnoxious squeal. "Ugh, she started telling the Divas how she's gonna have The Bakugou Katsuki in the bag." An ugly snort left your body, which earned an amused chuckle from Mei.

Both of you were pretty well known to be very good friends, and as much as you hated to admit it, you were both quite the social pariahs too. She was a little bit strange or weird, as some called her, but not for a single second she cared, which was the reason you admired the girl so much in the first place. Meanwhile you've taken the role of the bitch of the whole school by far. Sadly, you were placed in the same class as your archenemy, only increasing your chances of being called said endearing term.

Middle-school was a nightmare to say at least, getting bullied for your looks, the way you spoke or dressed, anything really as long as you were the one being mocked. And who was the one doing the bullying? Midori. Stunning, graceful, baby-faced Midori. Petite yet elegant, a devil in disguise. Whoever crossed her path suffered her malice unless she had something to gain from them.

And now, sweet Midori was in the U.A.'s General Studies, coinciding with you in the majority but not all classes. It had to do with the tragedy that your quirk was so rare that the principal Nezu had to adjust a new schedule just for you. Just kidding, it was amazing. The actual tragedy was seeing her face every day.

Back to your heartbreaking backstory and origin; time made you tough, comments made you build a wall so tall and thick nobody could crumble it. Backstab after backstab made you learn that not everyone has good intentions, but in your loneliness you found Hatsume Mei. So honest and dedicated, so raw and passionate. A good person. The type of person your parents promised you'd someway cross paths with and gain such a strong friendship that nothing could tear it apart.

Becoming friends with her was easy, kinda. It took snapping back at Midori when she started her normal bullying routine on Mei, which ignored it without a care. You stepped in and the rest is history. It did feel good though, calling her a pathetic bitch before turning to the stranger with a cool gadget in her hands to compliment it. And, since she's a sucker for her babies, you had to deal with an hour of sparkly eyes and monologues about her plans and prototypes.

Funny girl, Mei. You remember thinking but the following day you passed by her usual spot to fill your curiosity, asking if she did solve the problem she was complaining about.

"He was the one she was planning to ask out?" She screamed at you, head inside a giant metal gauntlet and the reason you two started talking about said man in particular. News were extra-fresh anyway.

"Oh, yeah!" You shook your head, ashamed to exist in the same general proximity as a person like your former bully. "He's gonna be so rich and famous!" A high pitched squeal left your mouth as you tried to copy her voice. "Poor fucking guy, if only he knew."

"But people know she's a bitch!" She screamed again, repairing or adjusting something with almost all of her body inside the gauntlet. A smile, genuine and soft this time, formed on your face. The pink-haired girl wasn't one to talk bad about others or even care, but it was clear she wasn't particularly fond with Midori either, although the conversation was more for you to vent rather than gossip. Sure it was.

"Like the people from the Hero Department even care about us, the commoners." With a roll of the eyes, you followed. "If he's smart, he'll run away. If he's an asshole, he could use her too."

"What do you mean?" Pink flocks of hair suddently submerged from the gadget, eyes curious zooming on you. That probably got more than 50% of her attention and it was a new personal goal while she was at the workshop.

With shrugged shoulders, your answer came nonchalant. "He could date her and dump her like she's nothing. Would serve her right for all the shit she's talking about him." But the only response you got was a short quizzical look, followed by your exagerated sigh. "She's talking shit about him constantly, but then says he's hot and that his personality doesn't matter anyway. Money, fame, looks. She has a whole fucking life-plan! Then calls him a rabid dog!"

"Woah—" that surprised her.

"Woah indeed! Insane. It's insane. I don't know the guy but no one deserves that shit." When you got no response, you continued your speech, munching in the food with passionate hunger, words coming out almost indistinguishable. "Doubt he'd play her though. He looks like a smart guy. I've seen the Sports Festival—" you picked up your burger, giving it heart eyes. "—and I've seen the news. He's probably a good guy too, the issue is people don't see that and... Well, I understand what's it to be judged... Not many have what it takes to be a real hero but he does. Hope he finds happiness in life." Much talk for someone that doesn't know shit about the guy in particular, but even so faint, your gut instinct was trained well enough to spot malice and he lacked that. "And a therapist." And there's the little shit in you that had to drop a cheeky comment.

Mei's gaze turned downwards and even if you could see her brain do mental gymnastics to solve whatever problem she had in front of her super-eyes, she also contemplated your words with great care.

"He comes here from time to time—" she grins, smacking the grenade looking gauntlet with her weird utensil. "I noticed you two are similar." Your face twisted, eyes wide towards the girl.

Similar how? He was loud, bold with a foul mouth, definitely needed a therapist for those unresolved anger issues... But he was also bright as in whenever he went, people looked in his direction, like he shined; obviously strong, also from what you've heard smart, popular, lucky to be surrounded by kind people. Example being that very nice pink girl that had a joyous conversation with you the very first day of school and, much to your surprise, continued greeting and having sweet small talks with you every single time you saw each other. Or the blond haired guy that showed off a little bit too much and made dumb flirty comments with no bad intentions, the same blond that waved at you with enthusiasm when you'd cross paths. There was the red-head, Kirishima, that was an absolute gentleman, opening doors for you even if you had two functioning hands and smiled so bright it made your corneas burn, or also the dark haired guy, Sero, that you've seen helping literally anyone in need around the school campus with an easy going attitude and gentle grins. Bakugou Katsuki was surrounded by good people, good heroes just as amazing as him and if they liked him, he must've definitely had some good in him, right? Another point appeared in your mental presentation about the brash hero in the making was that he was way too attractive but the wise burried deep inside of you made that particular point dissappear. No need to think about that. Overall you weren't even remotely similar. Not even close. Two completely different human beings from two completely different worlds that would never collide. With that being said, there was the small chance that Mei hinted for you to get a therapist too, who knows.

"How even—"

"I mean!" She screwed something in place. "I mean in your— determination?"

"I wouldn't know that." You muttered.

"He screams I'm gonna be the best every time he's here—"

"Cute..." You vomit that endearment without thinking, but thankfully it got ignored.

"—and it always reminds me of you." A small chuckle left your mouth.

"Don't make fun of me."

"You say it too~"

"I just heal, Mei, it's not the same." Principal Nezu's speech, the speech he gave your parents months into the first year as they found themselves aware of your power made you hold your words. You had it in you. The potential. If incredible people like your teachers, like Shuzenji Chiyo or Principal Nezu twisted things around for your quirk, for how rare and powerful it is, you'd accept it.

"But you're gonna be the best healer ever, aren't you?" She taunted.

"Of course. Which reminds me—!"

"Hmm?" Her attention faded away slightly, but it wasn't a problem.

She cheered, both at you and at her finished masterpiece and proceeded to eat too, passing through the lunch hour without interruption.

"Recovery Girl is putting me on active duty at the infirmary from now on. Finally!"

Innocent pale purple eyes stared into deep crimson ones, furrowed brows covering them.

—

Bakugou Katsuki wasn't one to enjoy being annoyed or surprised and this extra managed to make him feel both things in a short notice.

Everyone around him froze in fear or wonder, awaiting his response without breathing or moving an inch. Meanwhile Whoever-she-was held a pink envelope in front of him, a perfume too sweet coming from it making him want to literally gag in the spot.

Another thing the boy did not appreciate was to have someone bullshit him. His senses were telling him to back off, alarms ringing in his head and those purple eyes held hidden intentions; he wasn't having any of it.

"Fuck off." He snapped, yet his stance was casual as he refused to move out of her way since she was the one that had the audacity to run into him.

Some gasps, even coming from his so-called idiotic friends, could be heard and an indignant Bakubro behind him as he got slapped in the shoulder but he did not care. Not until her lips started to tremble as she retreated her confession letter towards her chest dramatically. His eyebrow started to twitch at the sight.

It was a spectacle for anyone surrounding him.

"What's going on?" Shushes and whispers.

"Bakugou Katsuki just got a confession!" Gossip.

"What!? Who?!" Confusion.

"You said Bakugou Katsuki?!" Shock.

"Oh, she's pretty!" Awe.

"He told her to Fuck off! What an asshole!" Outrage.

"Is that Midori?" Surprise.

"The nerve—" Anger.

"Midori from—" Disbelief.

"Oh, my God, she's really doing it~!" Giggles.

He frowned deeper. If people were to talk about him, they should be talking about all the crap he's been doing and all the lives he saved, not because of a fake bimbo decided to cross his path.

Bakugou wasn't stupid either. With time he knew these things would eventually come in his direction, stuff he'd have to deal with in the future as fame would take over, but not now. He did not have time to entertain this show anyway.

There was only one destination in his mind and she was keeping him in the middle of the whole school cafeteria with prying eyes on them both.

"Bakugou, do something, she's about to cry!" Dunce Face harshly whispered, but turned towards the white haired girl that looked devastated in front of them. "Ignore him! Ask me out, I would never make you cry!"

He rolled his eyes so back in his head it almost hurt. With a need to hurl the food he just ate, he made a step to leave the scene but small hands with claw-like fingernails gripped his arm and he looked at her in utter disgust.

"No, I would never! He—" she sniffled but had no tears in her eyes. He gave her a scowl, trying to take his arm out of her grip but she scratched him in place with her tiny rat hands. "You're the one I love! I—" her bangs covered her face as she continued her show.

"Bakugou! Dude! Do something!" Shitty Hair said, his dumb and blind trust in people buying the act. A vein almost popped on Bakugou's forehead.

"I fucking said—" he pulled his arm so hard she fell on her knees by his side. "Fuck. Off."

Another set of gasps filled the room.

"Bakugou!"

One thing he did not want, even if he could tell it was a foul theater, was to hurt somebody. His asshole act ended at that but his pride stopped him from saying anything.

Glancing to see if she's hurt, Pink Idiot was by her side, helping her up and asking way too many fucking questions.

"No, I'm fine..." she said with such a meek voice he scoffed, also hearing all the shit everyone around him was talking.

"He's such a brute."

"What a mean guy—"

"She's crying!"

"Fucking asshole."

He gritted his teeth.

After the disaster with the League of Villains in the first year, people started to respect him for who he was yet one single, minuscule shit like this and they were all at his jugular.

"I took Bakugou-san by surprise." She excused his behavior to Ashido, which then suggested they should eat lunch together sometimes to make up for the trouble after apologizing in his behalf.

"Yeah, we'd love to have you around! Isn't that right, Bakugou?" The apologetic and almost pleading voice of his blond friend, if he ever was going to call him that anymore, just made him bare his teeth. If they wanted to get played like fools it was their problem, not his.

And that's how he found himself eavesdropping on the weirdo and an extra.

And with a single "Whatever." he left the cafeteria, going to check if his gauntlets were ready, annoyance oozing off him, making the sea of people part from his path. Except he didn't notice you rushing away a little bit in front of him, holding a bag of food, all amused.

Why the fuck was everyone talking about him? Can't they fucking keep his pretty name outta their mouths? With time and without finding a reason why the hell he was glued in place, he listened attentively, his suspicions confirmed and his ego hurt, but whoever was talking about him calmed his nerves a lot. He just needed to put a face to that voice. Just to see who's gossiping about him, nothing else.

—

With a full belly and a whole afternoon to study by Recovery Girl's side, you marched towards the infirmary after you bid your farewell to Mei. There was still time to walk around, grab something sweet for later and save any poor soul that Midori decided to sink her teeth in. It was common at this point, you getting in between her and her victims and taking the hit, yet somehow also being called a bitch by everyone. That's how high-school worked. She did have friends and they spread any word she spat. Vultures.

It was fine though. Hero [Y/N] is there to save the day no matter what. You scoffed at your own stupidity, turning the corner just to step on a leg that was sprawled on the floor.

He clicked his tongue, getting up with no worry in the world, but made no action to leave, settling for observing and analyzing you way too intensely.

"Watch where the fuck you're going, idiot." The man of the hour, the guy you've defended in front of your friend just screamed at you as he dusted off the imprint of your shoe left on his pants. Meanwhile you just paled in place before regaining your composture.

"Why are you sitting on the floor?" You said, tilting your head with a frown, already knowing you will not apologize.

Unimpressed by what was going on, even if you truly couldn't point out what really was going on, you made an attempt to move past him towards the vending machines not far behind, but he caught your arm in a firm grip.

You blinked stupidly at the skin contact.

"Heard you were talkin' shit."

Your stomach dropped. Legs almost gave up too if it weren't for his iron grip holding you still. In the silence and at the satisfaction of the reaction you let out, he smirked and raised his chin, only Mei's singing voice coming from her workshop could be heard. Realization hit you. Hit you? Bitchslapped you in the face and left a mark for sure, because your cheeks started feeling heated, tingly.

He dragged you away, maybe to have the privacy to murder you in peace, but your common sense kicked in and you came back from the land of the mortified.

Much like he did before, action you saw with your two own eyes and repeated, you pulled out of his strong grip and stared as he turned towards you, mouth already opened to probably eat you alive.

"I wasn't talking shit about you, dude." You quickly spoke first.

"You don't fucking know me." He growled back, taking a step towards you but like hell you'd back down.

"Don't need to be besties to say what I said." Without understanding why he was so agitated, the only thing left to do after this beautiful turn of events was to defend the honor remaining in you, so you raised your chin to be at par with him. The action clearly took him by surprise, making him glare more, if even possible.

"I don't fucking appreciate when extras talk about me behind my back!"

"I don't give a shit what you appreciate, dude." Your laugh was the complete opposite of his menacing loud voice, like ying and yang.

"Bakugou, the name's fucking Bakugou, you extra!" Bakugou recovered quickly at your snappy self, getting more bothered as you talked.

"Okay, dude." His hands fisted, shaking in place as he stared you down but did not continue.

Silence; the hallway was now filled with silence as he boiled in his own anger and as you raised your brows in confusion. Now what? Was it time to leave? You've never met anyone like him, this was peculiar—

"NOW IT'S WHEN YOU FUCKING TELL ME YOUR SHITTY NAME, YOU FUCKING DUMBASS!"

A second passes; two; at the third you're wheezing your lungs out, laughing at the ridiculousness of the scenario.

"What the fuck are you LAUGHING AT?!" His voice got louder just to top your howling. You did not expect that.

Through a sigh, regaining your breath, you say "It's [L/N] [Y/N].", seeing him retreat in his form and cross his arms. He was still seizing you up.

"If you have shit to say to me, say it to my fucking face, understood?"

"I—... Say what now?"

"I—." He copied in a mock, getting an incredulous look from you. "You stupid or what?" Your upper lip lifted, ready to cuss him to infinity and beyond but he continued. "Like about that bitch from before and shit—" even if he still was loud, he placed his hands in his pockets and looked more interested in the way the tiles on the wall were placed instead of your person. "An' like you told the weirdo—"

No time to be shocked at the implied; his last word enraged you, making your body shake with rage. "Don't fucking dare to call her a weirdo ever again."

Like a challenge, he snapped his face back at you, ready to take it.

"Or what?"

"Listen here, fucker—" now that was a nice surprised face he was pulling. "Just because I gave you a pat on the back in there doesn't mean you can disrespect people just because you think you're the shit. You're not. Now get out of my fucking way." With a final push to his shoulder, your mind was focused on going to the infirmary, steam almost coming out of your nostrils.

"Hey, extra!"

Ignore him, ignore him, ignore him. went through your mind, marching away without a glance back. Not until—

"[L/N]! You're a healer, hah?" That's interesting. He stood where you left him, watching.

"What's it to you?"

Someone sane would've left at your tone but this guy walked towards you then showed you his arms, recently scratched. Images came back to you about the cafeteria incident but did not underst—... did he want to get healed?

You scoffed.

"They're scratches, dude."

"They annoy me. Now heal." All the energy you had left in your body was channeled towards the slow blink you threw at him, at which he scoffed. But they did look nasty— and Midori did them. It was a curse by itself to look down at your own arms and remember that face, so the guardian angel in you decided to take control and be the better person.

Gentle fingers barely tapped his muscular arm. Smile crept up on your lips, feeling absolutely delighted at his obvious stiffness at the skin contact and the clear interest in his eyes, specially when the scratches started disappearing into nothing, leaving smooth silk skin under.

"Hey— Wha— Where the fuck do you think you're going?!" raspy voice got lost in the distance and one thought in your head.

"Want a lollipop for being a good patient too?" You mock and his face explodes in all shapes of red. It would've been great to mock him more, enthralled by his reactions, but with that you turned and left, ignoring the tingling under your fingers that should not be there and your stomping heart.

Did he wait all the lunchbreak to talk to you?

—

A long queue was ahead of you, earning the longest sigh out of your lungs. Life was pain sometimes. Mei couldn't hang out, food was too far away, the delicious croissants Lunch Rush made ran out as far as you could see. Pain. Just pure pain.

And disappointment. When you walked away with your food in a bag, maybe to sit under a tree and enjoy some peace and quiet, you saw her. Midori sitting at a table you did not expect. At the same table where Ashido Mina, Denki Kaminari, Kirishima Eijirou and Hanta Sero sat at. Good people. Honest, good people about to get bitten by a snake. If she was there, then Bakugou decided—

"You. Sit."

Thinking about the boy somehow summoned him behind you. Food in hand and bored expression on his face, he passed you not without giving you a stink eye. Indeed, disappointment.

You shrugged, trying not to pay much attention to the pang in your heart as you moved forward, but a voice— his voice stopped you in your tracks.

"You. Get the fuck out of my face." His growl made everyone around him turn to watch, you being one of them. There was no excuse to what came next, no way to run away past it and dissappear. He nodded his head at you out of all people and pointed at the seat still occupied by Midori; her purple eyes big, shocked, running between your frame and the blond's.

Do you know what it felt to be put in the spotlight without warning? Well, congratulations because that was your life now.

"Ba—Bakugou-san?" Her voice, now highed up and meek followed, then a small scream as Bakugou slammed his food on the table. His friends sat there, wide-eyed, but made no attempt to interrupt.

"Did I fucking stutter, bitch? Or want me to turn into a rabid dog for fucking real?"

You choked on your own spit, bag of goodies about to drop on the floor once you saw her horrified face. She knew that he knew. And when her pale eyes, filled with sudden malice, act dropped, turned to you it's when you realized she figured out where he found out from.

Not like you cared, really, but the little shit that always had to poke out every time she was in the same room as you decided to finally show up, making you wave and send her a wink.

"I said MOVE!" now— that growl, raspy and filled with anger startled her. The orange juice in her hands spilled all over her uniform and woke her up from whatever delusion she was in. With zero time to reconsider, every belonging of hers was picked up with trembling hands and she ran away to her group of cockroaches.

A smile was already settled on your face; your brain was storing that whole interaction deep within, ready to bring it back up whenever you needed a good laugh.

Life was pain and disappointment, you say? No. Life was great. Or more importantly, Bakugou was. Not like he needed to know. But he was a decent guy as he proved—

"THE FUCK YOU STANDING THERE LIKE A DUMBASS?! I SAID SIT!" —to be a pain in the fucking ass and the bane of your existence.

You gave him a face then turned to walk away, even rushing more when you heard his chair screeching on the floor. The exit was so close, so near, freedom never felt this great, the sunlight kissing your skin giving you a new hope to live. But not for long because he grabbed your hand and started dragging you towards his table.

Your hand was in his hand and he was dragging you—

Your hand— his big, warm, a little bit sweaty hand—

How could you ruin such a beautiful moment? Eyes on you two, shocked, silence, his adorable red ears being the only thing you could see as he was completely in front of you, still dragging you towards his friends...

"Did you wait all lunchbreak yesterday to talk to me?" You collided into him as you finished the sentence, his way taller form stiffened so much you felt you single-handedly broke Bakugou Katsuki for good.

But when he turned... Oh, when he turned. Biggest deer-caught-in-the-headlights eyes you've ever seen on anyone, cheeks painted so red you almost melted in the spot, lips trembling as his head worked a thousand miles per second just to find a retort. And you prepared yourself for—

"NO, I FUCKING DIDN'T! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, YOU FUCKING EXTRA? I'D NEVER WAIT FOR SOMEONE LIKE YO— ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME!" Mina's waving hand caught your attention and smiled at her. Your hand was still in his, gripped harshly as he still hasn't noticed it's still there.

"Hey! [L/N], long time no see!" She cheered, ignoring the living shit out of her screaming friend, like she's used to it.

"FUCKING LOOK AT ME WHEN I TALK TO YOU—"

"Hey, chill, dude. Now let go of my hand, I wanna talk to Ashido." You smiled sweetly, making extra effort to wave your linked hands arond until he finally noticed. He zapped his hand away so fast, like he's been bitten by a wild animal. Maybe even a rabid dog, if you will.

You couldn't ignore your own flustered state as you walked past him, giving him a one up, adding the absolute scandalized face he had into the back of your mind for safekeeping.

"Come sit with us!" The pinkette offered.

"Oh, hey, I know you! You're by Hatsume's workshop all the time!" Kirishima intervened with a surprised face that broke into a grin. "Nice to officially meet—"

"I fucking said." he appeared, sitting in front of you. "My name's Bakugou."

"Ok, dude, but I'm talking to someon—"

"BAKUGOU KATSUKI!" Could be heard from the stratosphere.

Note: I just realized Midori means Green [ fucking duh ] but I'm not gonna change the name or her description. I think her parents fucking up her name was the start of many accidents leading into the Midori we all know and hate. Also, I know you understand. We all know a Midori in our lives. Much love.

Note 2: I keep editing it but tumblr dot com slash Install App on Phone fucks my editing and switches paragraphs all around! If you find any PLEASE tell me, I'd really appreciate it!!!

[bluewinnerangel]

I always got the sense that in their fetus days all of the boys would use the 'thumbs up' sign to mean that they were happy. I may recall seeing Zayn doing the sign in some of their interviews. Then clearly Larry started using it more and more.

One Direction secret language ramble with Liam/Niall/Zayn sign language examples incoming:

Ok instead of just going "you're right" like a normal person I just rambled on again. I didn't really emphasize it much in the masterpost although you can see it in some of the gifs, they were clearly all in on it. And the thumbs up is the most clear example, because I think it's the safest sign to do in broad daylight (or spotlight) that might mean whatever to them but their audience can just automatically interpret as well just a thumbs up. And maybe it is, and maybe it just means I'm happy, maybe it just means "you good?" and that's it. But they totally had some secret language, all of them together that includes code words and some subtle behaviors and signs. I have answered something similar before here. If you really pay close attention there's loads of very subtle signing to each other during interviews and on stage and what not, you just gotta find the patterns but they're really good at it. So good, it makes me feel insane to point it out. Because of course I'm just reading into things. On one hand I don't really wanna claim they do certain things and that it means more than just a random nose wipe beard touch whatever hand movement or a thumbs up or some self-firstbump means more than just some I don't know what to do with my hands because I don't know that, but I do notice there's definitely *something* going on sometimes because there's just a bit too much of a pattern. I think they even said it in the first couple of years, that it was a known fact they had a secret language and it was even brought up in interviews and stuff but don't quote me on that. And the thumbs up was definitely one of those things. Sorry to say but I also think it's not a sweetheart/look im declaring my love for you in public in secret or a I'm happy but rather them huehueing at something remotely phallic shaped. That it's penis joke number 28369. But feel free to not accept that thought whatsoever hahaha I think it's mainly Louis (or the one clump of a single braincell that is Louis and Harry, if only there was a name for them together) being the lil shit chaotic menace that he is that got the rest to go along with it, but I have noticed all of them doing wait what was that and why did the other one know how to respond like that behaviors here and there. Maybe as some inside joke and just having fun doing that kinda crap in front of everyone knowing nobody gets what it means, maybe other times to tell eachother to mind certain things, like mind your words, watch the other person, be ready to take over the interview, whatever some shit like that. But yaknow we only have two eyes and my eyes are already going that spongebob looking into a book meme between Harry and Louis and I just miss the rest most of the time to be really honest. But still I could think of a couple of examples so:

Exhibit A: early bird gets the wood on - Liam

Their dirty signing? After a while it seems that Liam and Zayn are in on that shit lol. During little things on stage for one. But the nasty trying to walk / shamewalk shit????

Where Liam just responds like Louis is the no 1 comedian in the world? That one?

Did you ever notice Liam and Harry's hands when Louis says "early bird get's the wood on / worm" ....

Some weird trying to be subtle / being too chicken shit to actually sign anything but still trying to sign shit and then just kinda... both weirdly moving their hands while trying to make eyecontact and looking mischievous ok.

Looks familiar too but Louis has less shame lol:

anyway full thing for context (trying to walk @ 3:08, early bird @ 7:00) :

Also THEY JUST KEEP GOING in this one, there's another "secret code word" right after (3:26) (not so much a secret, just the replay game), which "whoppa" or "whopper" or I don't know wtf they're saying, and Liam is telling Louis to replay it and vice versa. Then Liam tells Harry "whoppa" and Harry starts lying, and right after Liam makes Zayn play the replay game and its so fking hilarious, thanks @wishingicouldfly for pointing out they're playing it here too! (it's also in "exhibit C") and look at Louis' face after "yeah what about it" aslkdjaslkdj. None of them even flinch istg.

Exhibit B: loved you since i was 16 - Niall

This is already in the sign language masterpost, but here is Niall signing as a response to Louis' "pour me a drink" which in turn might be a response to Harry's LOVED YOU SINCE I WAS 16 LONDON (lot of IFs there):

Exhibit C: we like bottoms - Zayn

Everytime Liam says "bottoms" in this interview, Zayn does the same sign? And Niall seems to get it? Seriously there is SO MUCH shit going on in this video like who is alerted to what and who is trying to get whos attention (plus the replay game right in the middle of it which is included in the whole code words thing I'm talking about here too) and it just sends me off every time I can't tell you how many times I've stared at this it all goes so fast but the bottoms thing happens in the first few seconds so:

And Zayn does that fking sign a LOT. A LOT.

He also does other signs a lot alotalot, like this one (first pic is that^ uh.. bottoms sign asdlkjaslkd, the rest is holding his right tumb on his left palm, that he also does in the video above a bit later on):

(also thats not mine i found it through some repost on twitter so ie no source but thankyou whoever put that together <3)

Which is basically the equivalent of Louis doing the lil handwipe, this one.

CaN't PeOpLe nOt hAvE mAnNeRiSmS fOr gOd SaKeS wHy dO ZioUeS mAkE EvErYtHiNg aBoUt ZiOuS

I really do think these two examples and probably a whole bunch of other ones somewhere in an unopened cupboard that'll explode in your face with tupperware signs once you try to go there are all from their time together when they were close and doing these kinda stupid signs to each other that nobody knows what it means but them. That they're still doing these things not just because they're some mannerism or it just looks cool for a photo/video but that they do it knowing there are 4 other boys and 4 other boys only out there that know it holds some kinda meaning (aaaaand im emo again).

Just wanna end with saying that they mostly didn't sign in BSL back in 1D times either, they didn't sign in any way clear enough for the viewers to recognize unless it was directly to a deaf fan (Harry mostly), which does give away they -or just Harry that was in their midst- did know some basic BSL and perhaps took things from it and modified it for their own whatever the hell this band is kinda things they did. God I'm tired but intrigued but TIRED like these boys won't leave my brain alone why are they like this??? I love theemm. But they drive me inssaaaane. Make me feel insaaaaane. Reading into hand movemeeeeeeehnts. Wehehehaaaaaaa. Me @ Moi:

(related: the sign language masterpost)

[moon-light-jukebox]

Learning Styles - [Reid x Reader]

Summary: Reader has worked hard to get to the FBI, but a misunderstanding has her feeling insecure. 

Pairing: Spencer Reid / Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Genre: Fluff

Rating: PG

Content Warning: Mention of normal criminal minds stuff briefly. 

A/n: I got these two requests and they were so similar I decided to combine them. I hope that’s okay, but I feel like the stories would have been almost identical. 

Requests:  - I have a fic suggestion. Reader pretends to be dumb but is actually really smart. I’m thinking of that quote about marilyn ”you have to be really smart to pretend to be dumb”. One day spencer realizes that reader is smarter than she lets people know.

- Hi! Can I request a spencer reid x reader fic where reader isn't great with numbers but brilliant with behaviour and humanities (i.e. literature, history, sociology, up to you)? Maybe a dash of insecurity to spice things up?

-- Learning Styles -- 

My favorite professor in college told me that everyone learns differently; what works for one person won’t work in the same way for another. We are all different human beings that are shaped in different ways.

I had always been oddly insecure about my intelligence level. One of my earliest memories was my mother yelling at me while I sat at the kitchen table when I was in first grade. I was the only kid in my class who still hadn’t learned how to read. I just didn’t understand. All of my friends were progressing so much quicker than me and my mother was losing patience.

It wasn’t until my grandmother stepped in that everything changed. My elementary school teacher was training children to read by memorizing sight words, a concept I didn’t understand. When my grandmother sat down and taught me phonics. I distinctly remember everything snapping into place.

I was in 1st grade and reading at a 7th-grade level by Christmas. Once I finally understood my learning style, I really began to thrive.

But no matter what I did, I could still hear my mother yelling at me, telling me I was stupid.

In my line of work, I see just how much the throw away comments that parents make can shape a child’s development. Luckily, those comments just made me a bit insecure, not a murderer.

Up until I was 22, I wasn’t really sure what I wanted to do beyond this desire I had to help people. SSA David Rossi had come to guest lecture in one of my abnormal psych classes during undergrad. After I heard him speak, I was done. I couldn’t have done anything else with my life. I had obtained my master’s in psychology before I joined the FBI.

It took some time, but I was finally assigned to the Behavioral Analysis Unit at Quantico. I was so excited on my first day that I remember my hands physically shaking.

Until they weren’t.

I can still remember my first day so clearly. SSA Hotchner had introduced me to the team, saving the “best” for last.

“And this is Dr. Spencer Reid,” he had said. “He’s our expert on…well, everything.”

Reid was my age and he had his Ph.D. I remember feeling awed by him.

Until I didn’t.

"I hold 3 Ph.D.'s in Chemistry, Engineering, and Mathematics. I also have BAs in psychology and sociology."

I remember my jaw almost hitting the floor. While I was impressed by him, I wasn’t insecure about my place on the team.

Until I was.

My grandmother may have helped me master reading, which opened the door to me mastering anything else I put my mind to…except math.

I was fine at statistics, luckily. You couldn’t get a psych degree without a ton of statistics work. But statistics was different, I could see the practical use of statistics. I just couldn’t wrap my head around calculus or algebra.

On my first case with the team, Reid had calculated some insane mathematical equations on the whiteboard, running down the probabilities and applying a mathematical formula to the unsub’s behavior.

It wasn't until later, after the case was solved when I was standing in front of the whiteboard that my confidence was hit. Reid had come into the room and saw me looking at his work.

“Don’t bother trying to understand it,” he had said. “You’d have to be a genius to understand what I do.”

I didn’t have a word to describe the feeling that settled in my stomach at his words, I wasn’t sure such a word existed. The feeling was cold and heavy, but also made my body burn with shame.

I had just offered him a tight smile before I left the room.

On the plane home I had made a decision. I was no match for Dr. Reid, I doubt anyone was. So, I would take myself out of the competition. I couldn’t get hurt if I wasn’t playing the game.

And that is how the next year of my life went. I allowed Dr. Reid to explain things to me that I was an expert in, never saying a word. I acted like I didn't understand concepts that I had written papers on. The only thing I didn't dumb down was my profiling skills. Those were necessary for my job and for saving lives.

I don’t think anyone realized what I was doing.

Until they did.

--

The team had been called to Colorado to assist in capturing a serial rapist.

All of our cases bothered me, every last one…but something about ones with this vile element really struck me.

We had the unsub’s name, Tyler Childress. He had spent time in prison for sexual assault and burglary. It seems while he was in prison, he spent time perfecting his methods; it was only by pure luck that we found his fingerprint inside the victim’s house, making him the main suspect.

When we paid Mr. Childress a visit, he had managed to get the drop on Prentiss and Morgan, allowing them to escape. Morgan was furious.

All of us were sitting around a conference table in the local prescient while we let Dr. Reid talk.

I was trying to be calm, I was, but my nails were digging into my palm so deeply I was worried I was about to draw blood.

“Guys,” the expert on everything said. “He has to have some sort of accomplice.”

Rossi just sighed. “But the profile doesn’t point to him being the sort to do well with others; he’s a narcissist.”

Reid wouldn’t budge. “I know that, but he isn’t intelligent enough to pull this off alone. He’s just not. He had an IQ test done when he was 20. He scored in the mentally handicapped range. I’m telling you he has to have help.”

“Are you sure, Reid?” Hotch asked.

“Positive. I have his results right here.”

“IQ tests aren’t a good measure of intelligence on their own.”

I was so startled that someone had contradicted Dr. Reid that it took me a second to realize it was me who had contradicted him.

He turned to face me; his brown eyes wide. “What?”

Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. “IQ tests aren’t a good measure of intelligence.”

Dr. Reid laughed. He laughed at me like my comment was funny. “I don’t know where you heard that,” he began.

But I interrupted him. "IQ tests are classist and oftentimes racist. The man who invented the IQ test never intended for it to be used as a complete measure of intelligence. He regretted making the test.”

Reid sputtered. “You…it’s not racist!”

“Yes. It. Is.” I ground out. “If it wasn’t it wouldn’t be illegal to administer an IQ test to a black child in the state of California.”

"Wait, it's illegal to do that?" JJ asked, her brows drawn together.

"Yes. There was a court case in the 1970s over it. Teachers were using tests to separate white children from black children. The black children were put into special education classes they didn’t need to be in. Just because the teachers didn’t want those children in their classrooms.”

I should have stopped, but I was on a role. “They’re also inherently classist. How can you expect a child to answer a question about Romeo and Juliet if they haven’t heard of it?”

That had Dr. Reid scoffing. “Everyone has heard of it.”

I shot to my feet, unable to hold back anymore. “No, they haven’t. Children in underfunded schools that don’t have access to resources might not have heard about the most famous play in history because their school wasn’t able to provide the materials to teach them about it. There was a study done in a remote part of Russia right after the IQ test was invented. Every. Single. Person. Scored in the mentally handicapped range. Because they didn’t understand.”

I knew my voice was rising but I couldn’t stop myself. “Once the researcher took the questions and applied them to things they understood, they all scored as above average. They didn’t understand math as an abstract concept, but they understood it when it was applied to their businesses, to something they actually knew about.”

I cleared my throat. “The test isn’t fair, it’s not equal. Tyler Childress didn’t go to a good school and he didn’t have a stable home life. You can’t use one measure to calculate his intelligence. He’s gotten away with 7 assaults so far that we know of. He’s not stupid.”

The entire room was silent once I had stopped speaking. I couldn’t bring myself to regret it though. What kind of person was I if I played dumb because I was afraid of being mocked when a monster was out there attacking women? No, those women deserved to have me at my best.

And I’ll be damned if I wouldn’t give it to them.

Rossi spoke first, his eyes twinkling when he looked at me. “Took you long enough,” he said. “But y/n is right. We trust the profile; we don’t let personal bias cloud the way. That’s how we catch this bastard.”

--

Later that day, we were cleaning up the conference room while the local police processed Tyler Childress.

Pathological narcissism is a complex disorder, but we followed the profile and Rossi was right. Hotch set up a press conference in which JJ and Prentiss took center stage. They tore Childress’s ego to shreds on live television.

His narcissism wouldn’t allow that to slide. He got angry, he made a mistake, and we got him before anyone else got hurt.  

While the cat was out of the bag about my intelligence and that made me nervous, I couldn't regret any of it. I got to be the one to tell our last victim that we got him. I got to hug her while she cried because now that he was locked up, she felt like her healing could begin. I wasn’t sure if my rant about structural racism and the classism of IQ tests actually helped anything, but that didn’t really matter. There was one less monster in the shadows.

Today was a good day.

I was alone in the conference room, untacking photos from the evidence board when I heard someone clear their throat from behind me. I turned my head to meet the wide, honey brown eyes of Dr. Spencer Reid.

Oh boy, I thought. “What’s up, Reid?”

He shifted from foot to foot, his hands twisting in front of him before he crossed his arms over his chest. “I asked Garcia to look into you.”

My eyebrows drew together. “I’m pretty sure any nefarious things I had done would have popped up on my initial background check.”

“Right, I didn’t mean like that,” he mumbled, the apples of his cheeks turning pink. “I asked her to look into you academically.”

Shit.

He went on. “You double majored in psychology and sociology before you got a master’s in cultural psychology. She pulled your thesis. I just read it.”

“I see.” I turned my attention back to the board.

“You also guest lecture on cross-cultural psychology at Georgetown several times a year. And you’ve co-authored two papers since I’ve known you.”

Meh, it’s three. But that doesn’t matter. “Did you read those too?”

I took his silence as confirmation.

He was so quiet I almost thought he had left, but the crackle of energy I felt in the air told me he hadn’t. “Do you need something, Dr. Reid?”

"Why didn't you get your Ph.D.?"

I had answered that question many, many times. “I didn’t need a doctorate to do what I wanted to do. I didn’t want to waste time. Once I figured out what I wanted, I charged at it.” Which was a far more honest answer than most people got about that from me.

“W-why did you pretend to be dumb?” he rasped out, causing me to look back at him. “32 days ago, you let me explain the long-term effects of gerrymandering and the complex causes of poverty.”

“Of course, I did,” I said, frowning. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“One of the papers you authored was about generational poverty.”

“Just because I know a lot about something doesn’t mean I can stop listening to information. That sort of thinking breeds ignorance.” I smiled, unable to not tease him just a little bit.

Reid took a step closer to me. “You didn’t answer my question.”

I just shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t have a good answer.”

In all the months I had known him, Spencer Reid had never touched me, not even so much as a finger brushing against mine when he handed me something. That fact is why I was so startled when I felt his hand on my upper arm, turning me towards him.

He licked his lips, his eyes darting around. “Did everyone else know?”

I shook my head, my teasing mood long gone. "No. I mean, clearly, Rossi suspected but…No, I didn't tell anyone else."

“I just don’t understand. You’re brilliant.”

I scoffed. “No, I’m not. I’m decent a psychology, sociology, stuff like that. I can’t apply math to behavior to find patterns. I can’t even calculate how much something is gonna cost when it’s on sale without a calculator half the time.”

‘What do you…” Reid trailed off. “Wait. The very first case. You were looking at the evidence board.”

Goddamn eidetic memory.

The boy wonder was on a roll now. “I told you that you’d have to…is that why you didn’t tell me?”

What else could I do? I just nodded.

Those brown eyes closed, and he let out a groan. “I said that because I thought you were going to…I was worried…” He huffed out a breath and opened his eyes. “I wanted you to like me. I didn’t want you to think I was just a nerd.”  

Now I was confused. “Why?”

Spencer Reid’s blush went all the way down his neck. “Well…I just…Morgan said I should just talk to you. But I’m not…I’m not good at that. I panic, then I start to ramble. Like I’m doing now…”

“Reid,” I interrupted. “I’m not playing dumb now. I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I like you,” he blurted out right before he smacked both of his hands over his face. “Oh my god. I sound like a child.” I thought I heard him mutter idiot under his breath. “Emily says that my IQ gets slashed to 60 whenever I see a pretty girl.”

Much like that moment all those years ago when I was a child, I felt everything click into place. Oh.

I couldn't suppress my smile any longer. I rose up on my tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Well, we've already gone over how IQ tests aren't a good measure of overall intelligence."  

With that, I quickly stepped away and hurried out of the conference room, leaving a stunned genius in my wake. When I turned back to look at him, I saw his fingers brushing over the place where my lips had just been.  

--

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[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Psycho Analysis: Suicide Squad Team A

(WARNING! This analysis contains SPOILERS! Seriously, as soon as you click that read more, you’re gonna be smacked with SPOILERS! Don’t say I didn’t give you ample warning this time!)

The world’s in danger yet again, and Amanda Waller is in need of some expendable forces to take on some dirty jobs in the name of preserving peace. Last time she did this, it seems like she hired the wrong people. Nice guy Will Smith Deadshot? Bland, boring Killer Croc? El Diablo, who became attached to a bunch of reprobates after spending a couple hours with them? The only one who was useful in that squad was Katana. She had their backs, could cut all of them in half with one sword stroke just like mowing the lawn, and her sword traps the souls of its victims. Unfortunately, she was decidedly not expendable, so what is a girlboss like Waller to do?

Easy: Assemble a brand new squad of criminals to do the dirty work. Harley and Boomerang are the only ones she brought back, because let’s be real, they’re the only ones we give a damn about. Filling out the rest of the squad are the stoic, craggy crackshot Savant; the handsome, German spear-thrower Javelin; the alien warrior Mongal; the frothing, psychotic animal Weasel; the confident and all-powerful TDK; and Blackguard, who is literally just a guy. Together, this team gets deployed to Corto Maltese to do what no one else can do, and with skills like theirs, they are absolutely unstoppable!

They all fucking die before the opening credits.

Motivation/Goals: Considering the goal of the squad is to shave time off their prison sentences by going on the mission, it’s ostensibly the reason every single one of these goons accepted the job. Savant and Weasel are pretty well established in this regard; we get to focus on Savant for much of the opening, so we can get a sense of him, and Weasel is stated to have murdered no less than 27 children. So, yeah, they need to do this mission.

The rest, though? Who knows! Why are Mongal, Javelin, and TDK in prison? How did they even get an alien like Mongal? What did they do to land in the position they’d need to go on a suicide mission? Why doesn’t this movie have flashy, intrusive cards explaining everything to us in a throwaway gag in a montage?!

Blackguard, at least, has some other motivation. He sold out the entire squad to the military of Corto Maltese, which is why they’re ambushed. Now, there’s actually some ambiguity here: Did he do this of his own volition, and was this a complete surprise, or is it, as it is heavily implied, all part of Waller’s plan and she let this happen as a diversion for the other team to get in unnoticed?

Honestly, though, it doesn’t matter what their goals are. They’re all dead within five minutes of the movie starting, with one exception.

Performance: So, the reason these guys are even worth talking about is because, despite their minuscule screentime, all of their actors manage to cram in enough humor and characterization that they’re all pretty fun and likable. Michael Rooker is as stony and stoic as ever as Savant (until he hilariously isn’t), Flula Borg’s Javelin is really sweet and charming in his interactions with Harley, and Pete Davidson’s Blackguard is just amazingly douchey and pathetic. Special mention goes to Nathan Fillion’s TDK, who has an utterly endearing and unwavering faith in his astoundingly crappy ability to… detach his arms. It’s honestly kind of beautiful. Then there’s Weasel as portrayed by Sean Gunn, who is just a hilarious crackhead of an animal man.

Final Fate: Literally every single one of them die horribly thanks to Blackguard’s betrayal. He’s the first to go, because as soon as he walks out saying “Hey guys, it’s me, the one who contacted you!” he literally has his face blasted clean off. The rest go soon after. Mongal, in one of the most astounding moments of idiocy I’ve ever seen, leaps on a helicopter despite Rick Flag telling her specifically not to. Her weight and strength send it careening out of control, which leads to it shredding Captain Boomerang to bits before exploding, burning her alive as she painfully screams and writhes in agony. TDK gets his arms shot into Swiss cheese, leading to him bleeding out since even detached they still are part of him. Javelin is also shot, but gets a dying moment with Harley where he passes her Checkov’s Javelin. Finally, after witnessing all of this carnage, Savant completely loses his shit and tries to swim away, leading to Waller blowing his head up.

You may be wondering what happened to Weasel. He appears to drown as soon as the Squad deploys, because despite being actually smart in this movie, Waller forgot to make sure everyone on the Squad could swim. Thankfully, this lovable child-murdering crackhead rodent was just sleeping, and wakes up in the first credit scene.

Best Scene: Obviously, it’s their one and only scene. It’s a magnificent slaughter that puts the X-Force scene from Deadpool 2 to shame.

Final Thoughts & Score: I’ve gotta hand it to James Gunn. Even though these losers are only onscreen for a few minutes, they all get to cram a lot of charm and personality into that time, to the point it’s actually kind of sad seeing them all die. It’s a beautiful mix of comedy and tragedy. Since their screentime is so limited, though, I’m mostly going to be grading them on style, performance, and so on rather than on villainy like normal. They are all bad guys, as they don’t really get a chance to redeem themselves like the other Squad, so I’m still counting them as villains, which means they could potentially score above an 8 (which is the highest score I’m willing to give heel-face turn villains, because they end up being better as characters in general than as villains).

I’m also not going to talk about Boomerang (I’ll talk about him when I review the original Squad) or Harley (because she not only lives, but deserves her own solo Psycho Analysis). Now here we go, from best to worst:

TDK

If you thought anyone but TDK would get top marks, you’re sadly mistaken. Seeing Nathan Fillion proudly wield the insanely lame power to detach his arms to lightly tap soldiers on the head and gently grab their guns is a sight I never knew I needed to see until this movie. The fact he just seems so darn proud about this power that he doesn’t even bother to use in any way that would be remotely useful is honestly really endearing. Frankly, the sheer fact they adapted Arms-Fall-Off Boy in any way is enough for me to give him a 10/10.

Weasel

Weasel is just disgustingly delightful. He’s just a horrible, nasty, ugly little bastard… But he’s kind of adorable? He clearly has no idea where he is at any given time and is just so goddamn freaky that I can’t help but love him. The fact that, despite being a character who in the comics is noteworthy only for dying on his first mission with the Squad, he manages to survive the entire movie is pretty impressive. Hopefully he comes back in the future, but either way he gets an 8/10 from me.

Javelin

Honestly, aside from Boomerang, his death stung the most. He’s just so cute and charming, and he doesn’t even get to fling his javelin at anyone! Thankfully, he passes it on to Harley, and boy does she ever get to use it! He’s so cute, I have to give him an 8/10. I just wish we got more of him.

Savant

Savant is just an absolutely hilarious bait-and-switch. We follow him through the prologue, with everything seeming to point to him as our main character and the Squad leader. He’s stoic, he’s cranky, and he has impeccable aim… and then we get to the beach and he just freaks the hell out and starts screaming and crying and running away like a little bitch. Seeing Michael Rooker act like he’s shitting his pants after playing a badass like Yondu is just the sort of hilarious subversiveness that James Gunn loves to do when you let him loose. The fact that he looks like, to paraphrase the TVTropes YMMV page for the movie, a “cyberpunk Tommy Wiseau” is the icing on this 7/10 cake.

Blackguard

I was prepared to hate this guy just based on how lame Pete Davidson’s costume was, and you know what? I do hate him. But I love to hate him. He’s just an utterly pathetic scoundrel and a coward, true to his name. The fact he is the first to die, as just about everyone predicted, and is killed absolutely gruesomely makes any annoyance he could provide moot, and his freeakout over being seated next to Weasel on the plane is actually kind of funny. I was originally going to give him a 6, but you know what? He can have a low 7/10. He’s like the only member of this particular Squad to actually do anything evil, so I gotta give him props for that.

Mongal

Let me make this perfectly clear: I do not blame James Gunn or actress Mayling Ng. I’m not actually mad at either of them for what they chose to do, because it is ultimately hilarious and sad. It suited the narrative of the film, and I’m not actually, genuinely mad.

With all that out of the way, Mongal is one hell of a stupid cunt. It is one thing to cause your own death with your stupidity, it is something else entirely to cause the death of a beloved character with your poorly planned attack. The fact she didn’t take into account how her weight and strength would effect an airborne helicopter makes one wonder if she is really supposed to be based on a character who can take on Superman and live to tell about it.

Let’s compare her to two similar characters to really show how bad she is. Like Blackguard, she is directly responsible for a death on the beach, Blackguard being responsible for everyone by selling them out and leading them into an ambush (and yes, I’m including him as well), and Mongal killing Boomerang with the chopper. The difference is, Blackguard’s betrayal was deliberate, he meant to sell the team out, he was actively doing something evil there, while Mongal killed Boomerang out of sheer idiocy.

Now, let’s compare her to Zeitgeist from the similar bloody massacre that occurred during X-Force’s deployment in Deadpool 2. Like Mongal, he accidentally kills a teammate. The difference is, in the case of Zeitgeist, he only accidentally melted Peter, it was a freak accident, and ultimately it does get undone by the end. Meanwhile, Mongal made a conscious, stupid decision and ended up killing her squadmate with her own idiocy. She sucks, hardcore. I don’t do this lightly, but I’m giving her a 1/10. Villains just don’t get much stupider than her.

I will giver her this, though: the makeup work on her is good. She’s lowkey kinda hot if I’m being honest. But being hot and having good makeup does not a good villain make.

[louehvolution]

Tbh you guys are a bit overdramatic... A lot of celebs don't really use social media, and their fans don't act like they are being "hold on leash"..

Anon, a lot of celebs aren't Louis. Once again and for the umpteenth time: it's about context.

Unlike other artists - and for the record there is a difference as well between actors, for instance, and music artists - Louis has a history of being erased as an artist and having his music career sidelined. Other artists who don't really use social media normally get playlisting and radio play for their songs, and good press, performances, interviews... that promote their work and keep them visible and credible and help them reach people as artists. Louis has none of those things.

Louis was finally papped in front of the studio - for the first time after years of solo career - and the couple tabloid articles didn't even include the word 'studio.'

Nothing is done to attract new audiences. The festival got a footnote mention in NME with a mispelling after tickets were no longer available. Billboard can write about a hypothetical management company, but not Louis' livestream accomplishment in December or this cool, free festival now. But it's all fine. According to Simon Jones' blogger pal why would fans - or Louis - want more than for him to get a write up on her blog and a fansite?

And anyone who happened to check him out at any point... what would they find? Googling him is a nightmare when so much is about his personal life and so little about his music. And his social media? For reference, consider Niall's IG before and after his own livestream concert. Louis' went four months inactive afterwards. Why? What is the possible justification for that?

It's not good for fandom either - Louis has a devoted fanbase, but it's one that has a real issue with internal fighting - which is exacerbated by a lack of focus on him and his music and a shortage of relevant content. And people who get tired of drama and bored often leave. Seemingly there was an influx of fans in 2020, but we need to consider the demographics of these, and that there has also been loss - that could have been avoided.

No one is asking for anything extraordinary or unreasonable. It's insane to me how low the standard and what has become normalised when it comes to Louis and his career over the years. In general. Of course, the less you expect for him the more the people who get paid to maintain and grow his career are excused and their mismanagement and mistreatment covered up. Because this isn't a matter of 'Louis doesn't feel like it or is too busy to post' either - he has a team of professionals that get paid to engage his fanbase and an audience for his music; who are supposed to be invested in his career, because that is their job and their professional reputation, theoretically, and yet... do nothing.

How can it be good practice to leave an excited, eager fanbase to languish for weeks when it would be so simple to post something for them to engage with? This is Louis' BIG project planned for over 12 months. Sure it's the 18th, but still... and seeing how it was with the livestream...

How is it normal that in eight months, and Louis recording since at least May, there's one single picture of him in the studio on his IG, and it's only a couple other songwriters or producers posting. [You don't have to reveal anything concrete to tease music! Every other artist - and their teams - manage?] IG stories of a studio or the sea from other people that reach only the most dedicated fans is... not building up to a music release. And fans of Louis follow Louis. It's not normal or good for fans to have to stalk everyone around him to be remotely abreast of his career. And what kind of argument is it that he simply doesn't wish to show his face or post anything related to his music because he's private, when he's then seen with stalkers, or exclusively on his girlfriend's IG in private settings!? How that, rather than be seen on his terms as an artist - which is how he wants to be known - and an individual, outside of his personal relationships, as any person should be?

I always hope we are being overdramatic, anon.

[reachgirl]

On Buddie and them potentially being aware of their feelings

So we definitely see evidence of how Eddie might feel about Buck, how he clearly loves and trusts him. He absolutely relies on Buck a lot as someone who loves Christopher, as that person you go to who cares about your kid as much as you do. And he clearly doesn’t handle not having Buck around very well during the storyline that must not be named. 

He also looks at Buck like “you’re lucky you’re pretty”, a LOT. And he’s shown to think about Buck’s wellbeing and Buck’s feelings. For a guy who’s not usually great at ~the talking~, he seems to sense that Buck needs to hear him actually *say* things like that he trusts him, out loud. For Buck, someone who’s been told that he’s reckless and impulsive, not diligent, not reliable (and to be fair to Bobby, has been all those things at times, but is desperate to change that view of himself), to be told that he’s trusted - more than anyone else - with someone’s kid? That’s huge. And Eddie knew that he needed to hear that, he also knew that he needed to feel like part of something when Buck was depressed and hanging around at home after the truck bombing. And Eddie was the one who noticed Buck wasn’t around at the station. For Eddie, the fact that they “have each other’s backs” is so important, because, and it’s insane how this is not wishful thinking on the fandom’s part, he actually tells Shannon that she doesn’t have his back. So yeah, absolutely nobody is disputing that Eddie loves Buck.

And I’ve talked about how I believe that Eddie might be bi leaning towards more into men than women (his “not my type” and aunt pepa’s reaction to buck are the foundation for this theory), and his particular combination of upbringing, experience and location really messing with him admitting that to himself (Conservative religious culture, Texas, army, getting married young because of outside expectations). But many of the scenes we get from him could - FROM THE OUTSIDE - very well just show a guy who has a lot of love and respect (and occasionally some fond exasperation) for his best friend. Possibly more, but not in that active, pining way. Not like he’s truly aware of it, yet.

But Buck? He pretty much always looks at Eddie like he’s the best thing that has happened to him, ever, and he can’t believe his luck of getting to be around this man. The smile he constantly gives him, and - in seasons 2 and 3 - only him, is the actual “I want to sleep with you smile” from season 1 Buck. I don’t make the rules.

He constantly finds ways to help him out, reads up on things he knows Eddie is interested in or things that are for some reason something Eddie is dealing with (whether it’s baseball biographies or summer camp brochures), and absolutely always looks to him for approval anytime he does something well or remotely badass. Or even when he makes a joke. It’s almost like 95% of the stuff he does, he does so that Eddie will see.

He sees himself as part of Eddie’s family to the point of not feeling like he’s a guest at their house, he has proven he would actually die for Chris, and he spends much of his free time finding ways of making Chris, the most important person in Eddie’s life, happy. He shares in both the happy and the difficult parts of raising Chris, he gets involved in school problems, and he’s there for Eddie to talk through all the little things that come up when you’re a parent. Often times, with single parents, when the other parent isn’t around, the problem is that there’s nobody else in your life who shares the same love and enthusiasm or worry you have for your child. You could talk about everything relating to them for hours, but even the best meaning friends will at some point reach the limit of how interested they are. Not so with Buck.

But unlike Eddie, Buck is also aware, to a point, of how much he’s focused on Eddie. Where Eddie’s jealousy comes across as more spur-of-the-moment, not something he’s even aware of, Buck seems like.. he’s thought about how he feels about Eddie. Others definitely have. Maddie’s comment about his “man crush” aside, even a random christmas elf (long may she live) comments on it. Hen and Karen immediately agree Buck would invite Eddie, like, Karen knows about this even. Their reaction when Buck is acting irrational over how they might get Eddie out when he’s buried alive and most likely dead already is that reaction of “Oh fuck, this will break this person” that is usually reserved for the significant other or parent. Bobby definitely reacts to Buck in relation to Eddie the way a father would, carefully weighing being amused at how obvious he’s being, and concern over not wanting him to get hurt doing something stupid trying to save Eddie, or by falling for him when it might not be reciprocated. They all know that Buck’s a little (more than) smitten with Eddie. And Buck... of course he’s going to notice how his friends and family react. I think he’s been aware of it for a while and is constantly trying to navigate and balance this. 

Of course he hasn’t told his face about balancing anything at all yet, because look at that man’s face any time he looks at Eddie, look at that scene with the medal. He absolutely can’t help it. And sometimes it’s like he wants them to pick up on it - for example, pushing Maddie on the fact that he doesn’t consider himself a guest. And that’s completely understandable, sometimes you want people to pick up on something and maybe even comment on it (because their reaction reaffirms to you that maybe you’re not crazy) while also not wanting attention on that point. People are complicated like that. And Buck may be a himbo, but he’s complicated AF.

We get Buck being really weird about Eddie and Shannon in general - right off the bat. When Shannon shows up at the station and she and Eddie talk, Buck’s in the background and overhears that they’re sleeping together. He clearly struggles with this information, (and Chim possibly notices..) then he get’s real petty about them potentially getting married again (”Maybe you can get a discount”) - and he nopes out of the situation as quickly as he can - because he doesn’t want to risk saying anything snarky.

Then Chim and Buck go christmas tree shopping, and Chim comments on how Buck can’t let Eddie’s situation with Shannon go, and it’s true, he can’t stop himself. But when Eddie asks him for advice in front of the fountain (/metaphorical water penis as I like to call it), he’s suddenly all “I didn’t think it was my business” ... ok, sure, Buck. Then he basically tells Eddie to try and make it work with Shannon. In terms of character development, in a romance, this is the part where person A wants to be with person B but doesn’t think they have a chance, so makes the choice to try and settle for being their friend, which, heartbreakingly, involves pushing them into the arms of someone else.

Also, his kind of “oversharing” of Eddie’s situation with Ana to the rest of the team is, to me, a pretty clear indicator that the topic makes him uncomfortable and he’s trying a Ross Geller-I’m making Fajitas- “let’s show everyone how very completely normal I feel about this” approach, which.. it doesn’t.. work that well. And when does this ever work, it’s super easy to see through this, and it usually just serves to draw more attention to the fact that you’re uncomfortable with whatever is being discussed.

Buck also takes everything Eddie says to heart. Like, fucking takes it and will not let go of it. Half a season after Eddie tells him that he makes everything about himself, he breaks down telling Maddie he’s worried he’s making the situation with the old firefighter about himself again. During the kitchen scene (or “The actual how-to-guide of what to do when you thought the guy you have a crush on doesn’t reciprocate but then you have a fight and he really doesn’t handle being away from you so well so you kind of might as well see where being a little more openly flirty will get you”), Buck’s clearly thought about Eddie’s words from the grocery store fight, and he’s gonna call Eddie out. And maybe do other stuff.

Looking at what the writers are actually doing, to end the season, there’s the clawing at dirt of it all, Buck falling apart when Eddie’s buried alive. Buck being in almost all of Eddie’s memories when he’s close to dying. And Maddie’s comment about not wanting to set Josh up with Buck, which is innocent enough, but why throw that in on top of all of the above, if not because maybe what we’re actually looking at is that they’re setting up a sexuality crisis for Buck, and him realizing he’s maybe into Eddie, but Eddie not actually reciprocating (yet)? And say Buck is then somehow forcefully pushed to see the truth about how he feels, maybe by, i don’t know, coming across TK and/or Carlos on a call, and one of them asking him how long him and Eddie have been together? We might get Eddie with Ana, and a very long, drawn out process of Buck realizing what’s happening and trying to leave them alone, and Eddie being really confused about why Buck’s being like that. Then we would have two options (well, more, really, but these are two I like): 1) Eddie pushing Buck on that point and demanding an explanation and Buck just coming out with it because fuck it and sorry and please let me see Chris still 2) Buck’s sexuality crisis (or not crisis, if he’s always been pan/bi, which, look, nothing I’ve seen has disproven this theory) leading to him dating a guy and Eddie getting really jealous but not actually being aware of the fact what he feels is jealousy (because he doesn’t realize how he feels about Buck, see this whole essay you just read), and Buck being the one who confronts Eddie about why he’s being such a homophobic asshole about this, and Eddie straight up kissing him because he can’t not anymore.

[superhusbands4ever]

DinLuke (Skydalorian) Fic Rec List

Hello all! Like many of us, I have fallen into Dinluke hell since the season 2 finale of The Mandalorian, so I have compiled a list of Dinluke fics that I love for you all to read. I’ve sorted them by series, and long fics, and one-shots. Incomplete/in-progress fics are marked with **. If you are like me and you absolutely LOVE force-sensitive Din Djarin, those fics will be bolded. If you want a rec list of just force-sensitive Din fics, let me know!

Enjoy!

Series

**Seperate Ways by PepperPrints - Explicit - iconic, exquisite, 1000/10, peak art, would recommend

With Moff Gideon defeated and the Darksaber reclaimed, the rumours of newly named Mand'alor Din Djarin spread through the galaxy... along with the stories of the Child he carries with him. Determined to meet him, Luke Skywalker arrives on Mandalore -- but before he can get any closer, he has to prove himself worthy of Mandalorian standards. 

**Skydalorian by Celestial_Alignment - Explicit

What if Din and Luke met pre-episode 4 and continued to run into each other through the years.

The Mandalorian ends up at Tosche Station and meets a desert youth who is apparently named "Wormie."

**The Vanishing Breed Series by @dosmit-raeh - Mature

The first thing Din noticed was the fire in the hearth. Near the hearth was a small, handmade crib, and from the crib came an excited cry. It spread through Din's chest like a bloodstain, perhaps it had in fact pierced his heart. He knew that little voice.

“Hey, you,” said Din softly. He dropped to his knees as the Kid scrambled out of the crib and scampered to him, crawling into his lap and burbling happily.

“That’s the most excited I’ve seen him in months,” said Skywalker. Din hadn’t even noticed him sitting across the room at a rough-hewn wooden table, nursing a cup of something. He wore the same carefully neutral expression he'd had on Gideon's ship, but his clothes were now desert-colored and hung loose around Skywalker's wiry frame. His hair was in disarray and it made him look much younger than he'd seemed on the ship; there, he'd seemed world-weary and ancient. Now, Din felt an insane need to protect.

Skywalker raised his cup at Din in greeting, a lopsided smile on his face. “He’s missed you," he said.

“Feeling’s mutual,” said Din gruffly.

___

The Mandalorian becomes Din Djarin. Din Djarin becomes.

(Luke helps.)

**Beskar and Kyber by Insomniac_with_dreams - Not Rated

“This is going to be awkward,” Luke sighs down at the baby in his arms. R2 beeps besides him and Luke nods in agreement. “Nothing to do but go back.”

His X-Wing is almost completely dismantled, sparking where wires hang limply. There is no way he’s getting off of this cruiser until it’s repaired. There aren't even any escape pods on board all of the docking bays empty. He hadn’t anticipated this, and now he was going to have to walk back to the bridge with the baby and explain himself to a heartbroken Mandalorian.

**you and i have memories by itBlackLeader - General

“What are you doing ?” A quiet voice asks behind his back.

Luke only responds with hums of contentment and a gentle tap on the grassy ground next to him.

(Luke and Din enjoy a quiet evening.)

Long Fic (Multi-chapter & 10K+)

Smoke Signals by Thestorans - Explicit - 23.5K

"Din Djarin"

He hears his name and it scares him enough to throw up his blaster, finger hovering over the trigger that is pointed right at Luke Skywalker's heart.

(or the one where a Jedi meets a Mandalorian and things get complicated.)

More Than His Armor by twoseas - Teen - 12.6K

Din visits Grogu at Luke’s academy more than any other parent. Luke isn’t complaining.

**Fates of the Force by starkjoy - Explicit

Six months after Grogu's rescue, an unexpected encounter launches Din on a quest throughout the galaxy alongside Jedi Master Luke Skywalker—a journey that may alter their fates forever.

the warmest bed i’ve ever known by ceedawkes - Explicit - 11.5K

pre-original series, din djarin is injured on a remote planet and found by an incessantly chatty farm boy named luke skywalker || i won't ask you to wait, if you don't ask me to stay || aka "making out with hot farm boys doesn't count as breaking the creed if he's blindfolded during it". edit 12/29: now with a post-series chapter 2.

**Worlds Apart by PepperPrints - Teen - honestly an absolute favorite, it only has 3 chapters so far but I’ve already re-read each one a million times

Having safely delivered the Child, Mand'alor Din Djarin inherits the Darksaber, a ruined planet, and the burden of Moff Gideon's fate. That burden brings Din to the New Republic on Coruscant, where he's thrown into a shimmering world of galactic politics even less familiar to him than the planet meant to be his home.

Din isn't the only one on Coruscant with his hands full of a once forgotten order - the Jedi is here too, and as their paths cross, Din will be forced to navigate both what's expected of him, and what he wants.

**we could be enough by @snap-dragon-pop - Teen

Din Djarin fights a war he never wanted to be a part of, and Luke Skywalker slowly makes a place for himself in a family he never knew he needed.

**he feels like home by bilgegungorenoo - Teen

Luke is in love.

And Leia doesn’t even need her strong Force bond with her twin to know that.

Or, 5 times people try to convince Luke to ask Din out, and 1 time Din takes it upon himself to do it.

**Family is a Funny Thing by SkylaDoragono - Mature

He promised the child he would see him again; he just didn't realize how hard it would be for him to stay away, even with the responsibility that came with the Darksaber breathing down his neck.

**Kir’manir by @iamonewithyouandyouarewithme - Teen - this one is one of my top 5 favorites already and it only has 2 chapters so far lol

He lets go of everything.

He reunites with his son, sees with his own eyes that he is safe, and just as quickly loses him again.

He gives the child to the Jedi, watches them prepare to leave. He sins, removes his helmet; feels the faintest touch of his son's tiny hand against his tired skin.

And then Bo-Katan shoots the Jedi in the back.

**For All The Things My Eyes Have Seen by Strawbebbi_Daiuiri - Teen

“He missed you.” The Jedi laughed. For a moment, Din didn’t respond, too wrapped up in the moment. Not that he probably would’ve responded anyways, but his focus was on the child in his arms. The feel of the other man’s stare, however, brought him back to where he was. ---- Or, the one where Luke and Din don't realize they're in love with each other for way too long and raise children together.

**no path runs smooth series by @andillwriteyouatragedy - General

"I don't know what game you're playing, here, but you know you have to go with the Jedi. This is your destiny."

"Luke." Din looks up to the Jedi, scanning him through his visor. As if he can see his face — and Din hopes even the most powerful Jedis can't see through beskar — the Jedi smiles at him again. He clarifies, "The Jedi? Has a name. I'm Luke Skywalker, Din Djarin."

One Shots

HOT SINGLE DAD IN YOUR AREA NEEDS YOUR HELP by coldishcase - Teen - crackfest but honestly relatable and funny as hell

A bright red box appears in Luke's vision, declaring in big, bold basic lettering: "HOT SINGLE DAD IN YOUR AREA NEEDS YOUR HELP." He's seen several just like it by this point, each more insistent than the last.

Someone needs his help, apparently. They sure have an interesting way of asking him for it, though.

How (Not) to Meet Your Son’s Boyfriend by fifteenminutesoffame - Not Rated

“You’re blocking the sunlight,” Obi-Wan chides, cast in shadow from Anakin’s hovering, his eyes still closed.

“Will you pay attention?” Anakin snaps. “Luke has made me a grandfather.”

i think i’m gonna marry you by snapdragonpop007 - General

It is an ancient tradition on Mandalore, that before you can ask for someone’s hand in marriage, you first have to defeat them in battle to prove your abilities to care for and provide for the family you’ll have. If you are not a capable warrior, you are not a capable spouse.

Luke didn't realize he had already skipped that step.

Got Me Hypnotized (So Mesmerized) by wasted_wallflower - Teen

“Thanks. For what you’re doing, I mean.” The words come out stilted and slow, and not for the first time, Din curses his inability to talk to people like a normal person. Luke Skywalker smiles at him, ducking his head with an undoubtedly bashful expression on his face, while the kid (Grogu, he reminds himself) chatters between them. “You’re welcome.” He says, that smile still on his face, and oh.

Oh no.

Din Djarin does not have a crush, despite what everyone else thinks. Enter Luke Skywalker.

[multiplefandomsblog]

Yandere!Rantaro HCS

request; Yandere rantaro headcanons?

warnings; yandere!rantaro, dark themes, murder, unhealthy/toxic relationships, delusion, obsession, yandere themes, gender neutral reader, cussing, unedited

note; sorry if this is short! i might add some stuff to this later— n e ways, thank you for requesting and i hope you enjoy!

◊ I think that at first Rantaro wouldn’t know his behaviour was wrong. He wouldn’t know he was a yandere, he thought the things he did for you were simply out of love and that others would do them too. 

◊ Rantaro as a yandere would be very protective of his darling. He would deceive his darling(and himself) into thinking that his overprotectiveness was only because of how much he cared for you. And so neither of you believed it was wrong, you both thought it was just healthy worries and fights like all couples have.

◊ Until things started to get a little too concerning to be normal or even ‘healthy’... He noticed that the things he did for you, how over the top they seemed compared to other spouses. Even so, he denied any thought of it being wrong. Instead, he forced himself to believe that he was just an intense lover, he was normal, this was normal. People get a bit obsessed over their lover sometimes, it’s common.

◊ Nonetheless, he still wouldn’t inform you of the things he did for you, making himself believe that it was better for him to be selfless. He didn’t think you needed to know that the things happening to you were Rantaro’s doing, for it was better to watch the shocked and ecstatic expression on your face from a distance. You don’t need to know, it’ll be like… his little secret!

◊ Even though Rantaro would be willing to go terrifyingly far for you, he would never do anything remotely sexual or filthy to the thought of you. He would never steal any undergarments or take any lewd pictures of you, he respects you too much.

◊ In front all of these terrifying things, Rantaro is a sweetheart. He gets bashful over small compliments you’d give him, he’d go out on dates with you, pay for food, laugh with you; ultimately, act like a normal human being with you. 

◊ But once you leave to go back home, as it was getting late, he feels his heart start to decay, and that dark and disturbing need for you, anything, just you! -Comes back. 

◊ During conversations with Rantaro, he would be very discreet with things he says. When he’s feeling especially brave, or feeling like he needs you to know of how far he’d go for you; he would slip in something dark, something that would make you double-take. He’d say it in such a dark tone, a tone you’ve never heard before, and that expression on his face just scares you. 

◊ You brush it off as him having his resting bitch-face, but you know it’s deeper than that. You just don’t want to believe it, your sweet boyfriend Rantaro who acts like a gentleman for you, the perfect guy who treats you right- You didn’t want to destroy that illusion of him by seeing the truth. 

◊ And so you deny it.

◊ You’re too scared of breaking up with him, as you know of his violent behaviour, and so you stick with him. You try not to think about how long, as a result of you having a breakdown about it a few weeks earlier.

◊ If he ever saw you with another man, or another man hitting on you, he’d be scarily silent. He wouldn’t say anything, but when you come back, he immediately grabs your hand. Not gently, not like he usually does, no, his fingernails dig into your palms, and you’re sure he’s near cutting skin.

◊ But you don’t say anything, you’re too scared to. 

◊ Rantaro’s actions have terrified you to the point where he doesn’t even need to worry or threaten you not to leave him, you’ve already decided you value your life, and so you stay. You stay even though it hurts, you stay because who knows what he’ll do if you leave.

◊ You start to become a lifeless shell of a person, always smiling to satisfy your other, and forgetting who you were before Rantaro.

◊ He’s delusional, even if you tried to reason with him to stop this insane shit he was pulling, he wouldn’t even listen. He wouldn’t believe it was wrong, he would insist you were wrong, that you were viewing his actions for something that no one else saw but you.

◊ You wouldn’t even be able to argue back, as the look in his face scared you shitless. You couldn’t even mutter out a single word, afraid you might fall apart from it.

◊ Even if you clearly show the look of distress on your face in front of Rantaro, he convinces himself that you aren’t scared, that you’re just overwhelmed from how much he loves you. He’s sure of it. He’s a good boyfriend, isn’t he?

◊ Rantaro appears friendly and kind to everyone around him, for he is known for that. But behind closed doors, he’s the complete opposite with anyone who dares to mess with you. He will show no mercy; when he has his mind set on something, he won’t stop. So once he decides he will kill you, there is no escaping; you will die.

◊ He cleans up bodies with a smile on his face, that same friendly, kind smile he wears in front of his classmates because he still believes he’s the same person, he still believes that sharing a pencil with a classmate is as thoughtful and nice as burying that bitch in the store who groped you.

[sirowsky]

The Bad Day - One Shot

For the person closest to my soul, my wife @lucrezia-thoughts

“Our stories remind us how precious and fragile life can be – and that we must risk our hearts every day to know happiness.” – Luanne Rice

“Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, ‘I will try again tomorrow’.” – Mary Anne Radmacher Fluff Can be read as Gender Neutral Reader (gn!reader) Only warning I can think of is Language. Words: 1525

I hope this helps improve your day, my love.

===================== So, you know those days when everything just goes wrong?

When you can’t walk over a threshold without stubbing your toe, or reach for a doorhandle without almost breaking your finger against it? When you knock the milk or juice-carton over, and think ‘phew, at least the cork was still on’ only to realise the damn carton broke? Every paper you touch tries to murder you, anything remotely heavy just fiddles itself out of your hands, and magically lands on your feet, and even your own brain tricks you by misjudging the distance between your shoulder and the fucking doorway, even though it damn well knows exactly how close is too close?

Yeah – that kinda day.

Those were the days that you wanted to lock yourself in your house and just not step outside, but… well, life… and all that.

When you finally reached your lunch-hour on this particular day of personal doom, you felt sure that every singly toe had to be broken, and there were bandages on three of your fingers already. You were only half-way through your day, and it had the potential to get so much worse before it was over. You contemplated just hiding in a broom-closet until the day was done, but with your current luck, that’d probably just end with you giving yourself a concussion against a shelf or something, in the dark.

You’d taken a seat on a bench outside, hoping that the sun might help your body and mind back into some resemblance of coordination, while you ate. But, of course, that turned out to be a mistake, when the lack of a table meant that you had to hold your plastic lunch box in your lap, which (on a day like this) naturally meant that the damn thing did not remain in your lap. You didn’t even register how it managed to end up bottoms up on the ground by your feet, after just one little bite, and you were so done with this fucking day, you didn’t even care. You just wanted to sit there and cry and feel sorry for yourself until the sun set and this disaster of a day finally ended.

But you were sitting on a bench in a mini-park right outside your office-building, where people were constantly coming and going, and the last thing you wanted was for your co-workers to see you all pathetic like that. You weren’t exactly popular to begin with…

“Here, take this.”

Someone held out a wrapped item to you, and when you looked up you almost choked on your own spit, because the guy handing it to you was Marcus fucking Pike, the guy you’d had a crush on ever since you started at the office. The sweetest guy in the whole damn world – who had no idea you even existed.

“I saw your little accident there, and I figured you could use a pick-me-up.”

“You have no idea… thank you so much.”

You took the offered food and quickly dug into it before a frickin bird snatched it, or something. You’d expected him to walk off, but instead he sat down right next to you, to eat his own wrap, and suddenly you were nervous. You’d wanted to talk to him so many times, even imagined whole scenarios in your mind about how to strike up a conversation with him, each one more ludicrous than the next… And now here he was, and you couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

“By the state of your hands, I’m assuming today is one of those days?”

“You get them too?”

“Everyone does, just in varying degrees of severity.”

“Oh, I don’t have degrees, mine are always the worst they can be.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

Always so sweet…

“Thanks.”

You finished the rest of your meal in silence, and when you were done, he held a hand out for your trash.

“I’ll take it to the bin over there, save you from another thing that can go wrong.”

He winked at you, and scurried over there, dumping the trash before coming right back, with a bit of a mischievous grin on his face. He didn’t sit back down, but held a hand out to you instead.

“Come on.”

“What?”

“Let’s get out of here before anyone sees us.”

“You mean.. skip out on work? I can’t do that.”

“Sure you can, it’s easy. Just get up and walk away.”

“Pike…”

He just smiled wider, keeping his hand held out for you, and in a moment of pure insanity, you took it, letting him pull you to your feet and walk off with you. He led you away from the office buildings and busy streets, all the way to a promenade deck along the waterfront that you hadn’t even known was there before. And he kept holding your hand. Maybe it was just to keep you from falling every time you stumbled, but the way he held it felt like more than that. Unless that was just wishful thinking on your part. Ugh, more than likely. You tried to distract yourself by talking.

“So, do you skip work often?”

“Never have before.”

“No way. You must’ve done…”

“Nope.”

“But… then, why now?”

“Because you looked like you really needed it.”

That made you stop in your tracks, squeezing his hand a little harder and just staring at him in complete disbelief for a few seconds. He didn’t seem fazed at all.

“You bailed on work… for me? W-why would you do that?”

He bowed his head for a few beats, and when he looked up, he had a sheepish little grin on his lips, with that adorable dimple on full display.

“Because I like you. I always have, I just never… knew how to talk to you. You always turn away, keep to yourself, do the work and go home, not much chatter or frivolity. You just seem so… unavailable, I didn’t dare try in case you found it inappropriate.”

Holy hell… but he was too damn sweet.

“A.. are you serious, right now?”

“Very.”

You couldn’t believe this. A whole year you’d been working in the same office as this man, this adorable, kind, sassy, perfect fucking man, not realising that your own insecurity about talking to him was scaring him off.

“I always wanted to talk to you too, I just thought… or, rather convinced myself, that you didn’t even know who I was. I mean, why would you? Aside from being called to the same meetings occasionally, we rarely ever share the same space, and I don’t work directly on your cases.”

“Because you’re interesting. You don’t conform to the ‘normal’ office behaviour. You find ingenious little ways to break policies regarding your appearance, and your desk, so that you’ll feel comfortable in your own skin and space. And even though you mostly stay quiet, whenever you do speak, you’re always well informed and respectful, but also honest. You don’t let people walk all over you just because they think you’re an outsider.”

You had to actually tell yourself to breathe, because you were so shocked you just didn’t function properly right now.

“How do you know all that? When have you had time to notice me at all… I don’t… what am I missing here? I don’t understand any of this..”

He stepped closer. A lot closer, and you froze. He smelled wonderful, and up close like this, his eyes were mesmerising. Deep pools of chocolate beckoning for every ounce of your attention, which they eagerly got, while his free hand found your waist.

“You’re beautiful. That was the first thing I noticed about you. Not just your face, but your soul. Your person. And there’s a kind of grace to you, to the way you move and carry yourself, that I confess I may have spied a little on you in your office, in order to see better. It mostly only comes out when you think no one sees you. And I can see it even on days like these, when everything goes wrong for you.”

A warmth you’d never felt before, spread through your chest and abdomen, making you shiver in the most pleasant way imaginable, and he could see that too. His hand on your waist pulled you closer, while the other let go of your hand, so that he could wrap both arms around you.

“I’d really like to kiss you right now.”

Your knees damn near caved in on you, but this was too good for you to allow your body to screw it up, like it had the rest of the day. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, letting one hand find it’s way to the back of his neck, gently tugging him towards you.

“Please do.”

As his warm, soft lips brushed against yours you thought to yourself that perhaps bad days had a purpose, after all. Perhaps they were meant to make the good moments clearer, more distinguished. After all, what was one good moment next to a hundred others, compared to one good moment, among a hundred bad ones?

THE END

[steve0discusses]

Yugioh S5 Ep 20: Pharaoh’s Cool New Trick

Digging my way through quite a pile of commission work (funny how these things only come all at once or not at all), nearing the light at the end of the tunnel, was looking forward to some free time to catch up on my many little side projects when I was asked to take off for a weekend to do some cat-sitting to which I would NEVER say no to a cat, so like...Rip this blog I guess, we only update like once a week nowadays, but what do you do?

That’s right, play Puzzles and Dragons! The only phone game worth paying any attention to! Where they just released Pegasus on their Yugioh Collab and he looks pretty great!

So I’m just gonna take a second for some art appreciation, because the Puzzles and Dragons art team is just A++++ honestly, and yes, I did pull 13 times to get a Pegasus in my monster box, and yes, he is a completely insane team leader that is absolutely broken when paired with Yugi (the numbers are so satisfying) but...look at him. He looks so good!

(also I finally got Joey Wheeler, and so now my gatcha cravings are settled. And, don’t worry, I play this game so much that I was there during Christmas when they offered like a bajillion stones for free so I didn’t actually use real money on this.)

Now PAD also released a Weevil and Rex, and I don’t know why, and neither does the art team because they still look pretty good but in comparison to all the mains, they sure do looks like just some shorty guys in some casuals.

though I gotta admit, I want to learn how the hell this art team does swooshy effects, because man, that would make my art so much better to just have flames violently exploding out of all my art. Why am I not doing that more often? I have the technology.

anyway, I didn’t bother trying to pull them. Maybe I’ll accidentally pull them when they eventually release a Duke Devlin. (also, RIP to the fact that Roland will probably never be in Puzzles and Dragons but like...I can only send them so many polite letters covered in stickers pretending I’m some 10 year old child and writing in my broken Hiragana “Roland in PAD?”. Thems the breaks. (They also might not remember who Roland is.))

Shoutouts to the card that Weevil is holding that is censoring this nipple on the booby spider, PS.

So because this is not actually a Puzzles and Dragons blog, and it’s been ten eons since I regularly updated so I could remember episode to episode...where the hell were we?

That’s right, we’re on an island now. This show’s wonderful obsession with evil islands (and spoiler, this is one of the few Yugioh Islands that doesn’t explode at the end. Mostly because Kaiba isn’t here to do it or this place would be cinder)

(read more island stuff under the cut)

Anyway, after announcing “hey guys! Screw islands!” Yugi immediately collapses and without any warning.

Apparently the armor is a big ol parasite, which is something that Yugi is so used to at this point that he refuses to admit that this is a problem. Just normal Muto stuff, refusing to tell anyone that he has a serious illness going on underneath that giant mass of hair.

(the sailor moon vibes coming off this weird orb energy)

Sort of feels like a call back to S1 when Yugi was clearly possessed and everyone else was like “He acting weird to you?” except it’s S5 and everyone has learned to never trust Yugi when he says he’s fine and they are responding like he is about to die. Which is correct.

Outside of the cave falls this scroll that is...glowing, I guess. So they open it up and get a bunch of hieroglyphs that give them the “riddle of light” and like youknow...it’s riddle stuff.

They’re doing this riddle for “wings.” And it’s like...everyone’s monster here has a set of wings or an ability to fly. Every single monster except for I dunno, flaming swordsman? Hell, Yugi himself had two sets of wings when he fused with Dark Magician (which was weird, and I still don’t like to think about what technically was going on there.) But we have to go and get ourselves even more wings.

Weirdly, Joey turns to Tea and does something that in any other show would be completely normal. He was like “you want to stay here with Yugi, don’t you?” and it was the first time Joey has ever actually addressed the fact that Tea and Yugi are close. Uncharted territory. I was amazed at the amount of casual shipping that is happening here. It’s almost like a normal ass relationship.

So the boys decide to go off, and be boys and tackle this themselves. And they shouldn’t have, because Tea is smart for this group, and also has the only healing spell.

Like if you’re playing D+D you wouldn’t typically leave your only healer behind. Just saying.

Also like...Grandpa Muto went with them? I guess he’d have to since he’s the translator but also...kind of weird to leave your grandson dying in a cave, but maybe that’s just the Muto lifestyle.

Do not be fooled by my caps, no one has addressed the Bakura in the puzzle for 3 seasons. I’m starting to think this show will never address the Bakura in the puzzle. Which honestly, that would be hilarious if they made a big deal out of that plot point and then couldn’t use it in the end.

And speaking of plot points that kind of come out of nowhere and don’t make full sense with the continuity of the show--Joey has regressed back to the 4th grade.

Hey show? What?

So like if you love Joey, this is not the arc for you, because this arc he is reduced to a Himbo and nothing else. Straight up didn’t know what an echo is, but is very strong and pretty, I guess.

This inevitably happens with any TV show becuase different people make different parts, and I’ve brought up before that sometimes it feels like some teams only have loose post-it notes of what any character should be like at any given point (ESPECIALLY with Seto Kaiba’s timeline) but like...

...Personally I’m mot so fond of this interpretation of Joey, kind of ignores Joey’s best traits, and makes Tristan look way too smart in comparison (and like I always pinned Tristan to be the Himbo of the group, but maybe it’s because they give Tristan so little else to do?)

And like don’t get me wrong, Joey’s a dumbass a lot of the time and needs to get corrected by his pals...but...to the point he doesn’t know what an echo is? He’s a dumbass in a High School student sort of way, youknow?

Anyway, they get down to this big ravine, and they have to destroy this stone while the light passes over it. Kind of feels like a Breath of the Wild shrine quest, actually. In fact, I think Breath of the Wild recycled the shadow/sunlight pathing quest like 4 or 5 times. (I love Breath of the Wild to death but boy did they run out of ideas at the end there.)

They have to fight a glass monster and it’s kind of like...do you know the game Balls 3D? probably not, but it looked like a bunch of random shapes stuck together like a 90′s animation. They basically went to war with shapes.

Pure Himbo energy, has several pokemon, but punches for his pokemon instead of using them. A power move if I ever saw one.

Youknow that would make pokemon a lot more interesting if you could like throw out your pikachu, and then choose to just physically run up to your opponents Eevee and sock it in the jaw. Raise of hands--I know you all would love a version of pokemon like that. Let Ash Ketchum punch a Ratata.

Bro has informed me that Ash does do something like this in the anime. But I’m not talking about the anime, I’m talking about the video game. Give me the option to physically combat my rival. This is what I want, Pokemon.

They discover a way to break the monolith, and the show thinks we’re like actually 7 years old (because the show is Y7, although I forget because it deals with so many dark themes) so the show is going to hold on to this puzzle for a while...just to fill time. And it’s fine because we gotta switch over to Pharaoh anyway.

Yami has this dream again. He attempts to fuse with Dark magician to overcome the dream, but alas, he is still not strong enough.

Yugi wakes up in this murky cave while Tea is out washing out like...some rag? (he’s also still got a rag, so I guess multiple rags were required for how sweaty Yugi is.)

Yugi says “I feel like I’m a new man!” a lot in this episode, and every time he calls himself a man like he’s some sort of adult it’s very funny to me.

And then this plot lore dropped.

I mean I guess inevitably it had to happen...

But man, end of an era. It was freakin hilarious while it lasted: that Pharaoh refused to read ancient Egyptian because it’s like 2002 and he is a High Schooler living in Japan and he actually doesn’t WANT to resolve the mystery of the puzzle. Maybe the people who made this arc don’t know about how in S2 and S3, the fact Pharaoh couldn’t read Marik’s back tatt was like...a really big issue. He couldn’t read the God card, he couldn’t even read that massive tablet that read “HEY PHARAOH THIS IS LITERALLY YOU”. KAIBA had to tell him how to read the God card for him. Freakin Seto “Magic is a lie” Kaiba had to tell him how to use the God Card because Pharaoh couldn’t read it.

But like...Pharaoh finally gave in at some point after the world was devoured by the Leviathan, and before Kaiba finished building Kaibaland (which was already built in S1 but wtv)

The timelines on this show have always been a mishmash...but this one is just like...

...show are you trying to convince me that at any point in this show after season Zero, Pharaoh had any idea what he was doing? Did he sap that brain energy straight out of Joey Wheeler so he could do this?

Wow.

(secretly hoping he forgets how to read Egyptian after this arc is over and the show goes back to the other development team)

Pharaohs reasoning is that, if this is the riddle of the light.....

....then where is the riddle of darkness????????????

and when Tea was like “Pharaoh that is not even remotely logic. Omg it’s so bright outside, lets go back to gross cave.” and Pharaoh was like “Tea! You got it!” and she was like “What the hell are you talking about?”

Not gonna lie, I saw the Orichalcos green, and I got concerned.

Anyway, Yugi gets very frustrated and was like “ugh, lets go save em. They’re gonna die (again.)” and marches down there as if he didn’t pass out an hour ago.

And he fuses with Dark Magician again while everyone else (including his grandpa) was like “Yugi are you freakin kidding me? The suit freakin kills you omg! Tea you had one freakin job!”

And then we get the plot twist that...I mean it makes sense but it was choreographed in a confusing way.

And out of no where this guy shows up again:

So this mysterious man shows up and says “If you don’t succeed you have to live here forever” which...nice...that would probably save the world a lot of problems if Yami got locked away and took his OP puzzle with him. And then this man also says “if you do succeed you become VERY POWERFUL” and Yami was like. “...”

This whole episode had a theme to it, where Tristan and Joey were trying to prove that they could do things on their own and without Yugi’s help. And honestly...felt a little bit misplaced. Yami’s the same guy who murdered Yugi last season with the Orichalcos so like...

...I mean he is probably more reliable than Tristan who once died and turned into a robot monkey for 10ish episodes.

and then they flew into a glowing door.

Folks, this was wild to look at.

This is wild.

And at this point I closed Photoshop and thought I was done. But then I looked at my timeline on the video and was like...wait...there’s more?

and I’m really glad I kept watching because it went back to Alex, who...is apparently just still at those steps in this haunted ass Pyramid.

Now we’re watching Yugioh.

I forgot for a second when they turned Joey into a Himbo and made Pharaoh literate, but we’re back. I mean...

...look at the liner art on this adult man.

So...I posit the question...has Alex spent the last 2-3 episodes doing nothing but applying eyeliner to his face in the dark? Because he absolutely has. And honestly, the vibe of being in a spooky haunted pyramid with barely any light, just applying eyeliner down the edge of your face...that’s a Yugioh vibe, if I ever saw one.

This arc is wild. Anyway, next episode we do even more fetch quests and riddles? Just going to guess now that we probably will.

(and for those new here, this is a link so you can read them from the top. Which, since we’re in S5, means you got like...hours of Yugioh content to read through. Enjoy the rewards of my weird hobby.)

https://steve0discusses.tumblr.com/tagged/yugioh/chrono