#Cy’s training tips

[poke-rescueman-9000]

Something I see go wrong a lot with newer trainers/Pokémon handlers is that they try and evolve their Pokémon too early. So I’ve made a little list of things to keep in mind when thinking about evolution:

Keep in mind that I’m not a professor! Most of this stuff is what I’ve learned from being a Ranger, which means it’s mostly about the physicality of Pokémon rather than genetic needs!

The first thing to ask yourself is, does your Pokémon even want to evolve? Skidds, my Skiddo, was really hesitant at first. She was scared of evolution and the changes to her body, and downright refused to even try training for it. But after a lot of reassurance and watching some other Pokémon evolve, she changed her mind! This isn’t to say every Pokémon will change their mind, some just aren’t built for evolution or just don’t want to do it, and that’s okay! As long as your Pokémon is happy, that’s all that matters.

If you do decide to evolve, then the next question to ask your self is, how does my Pokémon evolve? Most people don’t really think about this, but different requirements require different training. Here are some methods and their requirements (let me know I forgot any, there’s just so many):

Evolution stone: Pokémon that evolve using a stone need a lot of training! This is because their bodies don’t naturally build up the kind of muscle needed for evolution. While evolution stones have been around for a long while, they weren’t always so easily accessible so Pokémon evolved not to need them (a professor can fact check me on this). Their stone evolutions are typically much stronger than their pre’s and that makes it much harder for them to evolve, especially early on.

Special requirements: These are on the easier side! Often enough the Pokémon will naturally build the strength needed for evolution and then get whatever else it needs with the requirement. This goes for Pokémon that need to hold an item, to Pokémon that need a certain level of friendship. Still make sure you prepare as best you can though!

Natural evolution: This one is also on the easier side! Pokémon who evolve naturally will evolve when they’re ready (unless the Pokémon is holding an everstone) this means that it could take a long while for your Pokémon to evolve (this goes with stronger evolutions like Aaron to Larion) or it could take a really short amount of time (Caterpie to Metapod). This process can be sped up with adequate training, but it also comes down to the Pokémon being both physically and mentally ready.

Great! You’re ready for evolution, now all that’s left is actually training! Of course training is going to look different for every Pokémon, but there are a few standard things to think about, most importantly: What does your Pokémon’s evolution look like? This doesn’t refer to appearance, no, it’s all about how strong the evolution is, and what it’s specialties are! When I started training Newt, my Noivern, for evolution I put a focus on building up his wing muscles. Noibat sometimes have a hard time learning to fly because their wing size can be smaller than it should be for their body size. Newt was no exception. We spent weeks practicing his flying and building up those muscles. We already knew he was going to be a ride Pokémon, so we made sure he was capable of carrying more weight. We also worked on his ear muscles. Noibat already have amazing hearing, but evolving about doubles that, so we had to do sound exercises to make sure Newt could handle higher volumes.

This is all to say that training for evolution is about both what your Pokémon will need for its new traits, and what it will need to do once evolved. This looks different for ever Pokémon, so don’t be afraid to try different things or even consult rangers, other trainers, or even professors!

Last, but not least, keep in mind that training doesn’t end once your Pokémon has evolved! I know that your Pokémon friend may seem right as rain after it evolves, but most of the time Pokémon need some help getting used to their new traits. With Newt, no matter how much we trained his ears, he still got overwhelmed after evolving. This is completely normal. Training as a Pokémon is the same as working out as a human. You’ll always need to keep up with your muscles, keep working out so you stay strong. Even now, a little over a year after Newt evolved, I still have him work out his hearing from time to time.

And that’s about it! I hope this helps anyone looking to evolve their Pokémon. As I said at the start of this, I’m not a professor or anything so please do more research into diets, and other things to keep your Pokémon healthy while working up to evolution! Most of that stuff gets regulated for me because the Ranger Union likes to keep track of training and all that.

#pokemon irl #pokeblogging #unreality #long post #Cy’s training tips

[s1ckh1mb0]

🎀Throat training🎀

For my bestie @silas-222 💕

Who really expected Nanami of all people to be in a relationship. A poly relationship at that! A pretty boy and a pretty girlfriend the man was living the dream. But once he seen how bratty the two can be especially when they’re together that dream quickly turned into a nightmare.

“Cmon baby I know you can do better than that, don’t disappoint me now”

Nanami looked down at Tati giving her cheek a light slap. She whine in response only to get a harder slap. His free hand reaching up to your hair pushing your head down more. She look up at him with teary eyes only to be met with a sadistic smirk from none other than her other boyfriend Cy.

“What baby? You told me you wanted me to train that filthy mouth of yours. Can’t take it back now can you? Hmm what was that? To bad I can’t hear you baby. If you have something to say you should speak up~”

He grabbed the girl by her head helping her bob it up and down at a rather quick pace. Nanami groaned watching her head go farther and farther. With tears running down her face god it was a sight for the two men.

“Fuckk gonna cum~”

Tati gripped his thighs as the tip of her nose touched his lower stomach before she pulled her head back in order to catch her breath. Cy grabbed her face as she panted and started jerking Nanami off. He thrusted into his hand trying to match his pace. Tati closed her eyes and stuck out her tongue. Nanami threw his head back as he came all over the girls face and tongue<3

#fanfic #x character #x reader #smut #jjk x oc #jjk #jujutsu nanami #jjk nanami #nanami kento #nanami x oc #spotify #self insert #jjk self insert #jjk self ship #x black reader #x black plus size reader

[hepatosaurus]

national poetry month, day 21

After My Brother’s Death, I Reflect on the Iliad The water cuts out while shampoo still clogs my hair. The nurse who swabs my nose hopes I don’t have the virus, it’s a bitch. The building across from the cemetery calls itself LIFE STORAGE. My little brother was shot, I tell the barista who asks how things have been, and tip extra for her inconvenience. We speak only to the dead, someone tells me—to comfort, I assume, or inspire, but I take it literally, as I am wont: even my shut up and fuck and let’s cook tonight, those are for you, Stephen. You won’t come to me in my dreams, so I must communicate by other avenues. A friend sends an image from Cy Twombly’s “Fifty Days at Iliam” —a red bloom, the words “like a fire that consumes all before it”— and asks: Have you seen this? It’s at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. If I have, I can’t remember, though I did visit with you, when you were eleven or twelve, when you tripped silent alarm after silent alarm, skating out of each room as guards jostled in, and I—though charged with keeping you from trouble—joined the game, and the whole time we never laughed, not till we were released into the grand air we couldn’t touch and could. You are dead at twenty-two. As I rinse dishes, fumble for my keys, buy kale and radishes, in my ear Priam repeats, I have kissed the hand of the man who killed my son. Would I do that? I ask as I pass the store labelled SIGNS SIGNS. I’ve studied the mug shot of the man who killed you; I can imagine his hands. Of course I would. Each finger, even. To hold your body again. And to resurrect you? Who knows what I am capable of. If I were. Nights, I replay news footage: your blood on asphalt, sheen behind caution tape. Homer’s similes, I’ve been told, are holes cut in the cloth between the world of war and another, more peaceful world. On rereading, I find even there, a man kills his neighbor. “Let Achilles cut me down, / as soon as I have taken my son into my arms and have satisfied my desire for grief”—this, my mind’s new refrain in the pharmacy queue, in the train’s rattling frame. The same friend and I discuss a line by Zbigniew Herbert “where a distant fire is burning / like a page of the Iliad.” It’s nearly an ontological question, my friend says, the instability of reference: The fires in the pages of the poem, the literal page set afire. We see double. You are the boy in the museum. You are the body consumed, ash. Alone in a London museum, I saw a watercolor of twin flames, one black, one a gauzy red, only to learn the title is “Boats at Sea.” It’s like how sometimes I forget you’re gone. But it’s not like that, is it? Not at all. When in this world, similes carry us nowhere. And now I see again the boy pelting through those galleries a boy not you, a flash of red, red, chasing, or being chased— Or did I invent him? Mischief companion. Brother. Listen to me plead for your life though even in the dream I know you’re already dead. How do I insure my desire for grief is never satisfied? Was Priam’s ever? I tell my friend, I want the page itself to burn. —Elisa Gonzalez

#elisa gonzalez #after my brother's death i reflect on the iliad #poetry #national poetry month #npm2023 #grief

[0278ji]

The water cuts out white shampoo still clogs my hair.

The nurse who swabs my nose hopes I don't have the virus, it's a bitch.

The building across from the cemetery cals itself life storage.

My little brother was shot, i tell the barista who asks how things have been, and tip extra for her inconvenience. We speak only to the dead, someone tells me—to comfort, I assumen, or inspire, but I take it literally, as i am wont: even my shut up and fuck and let's cook tonight, those are for you, stephen. You won't come to me in my dreams, so I must communicate by other avenues.

A friend sends an image from Cy Twombly's “Fifty Days at Iliam”

—a red bloom, the words “like a fire that consumes all before it”— and asks: Have you seen this? It's at the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

If i have, I can't remember, though i did visit with you, when you were eleven or twelve, when you tripped silent alarm after silent alarm, skating out of each room as guards jostled in, and I—though charged with keeping you from trouble—joined the game, and the whole time we never laughed, not till we were released into the grand air we couldn't touch and could.

You are dead at twenty-two. As I rinse dishes, fumble for my keys, buy kale and radishes, in my ear Priam repeats, I have kissed the hand of the man who killed my son. Would I do that? I ask as I pass the store labelled SIGNS SIGNS.

I've studied the mug shot of the man who killed you; I can imagine his hands. Of course I would. Each finger, even. To hold your body again. And to resurrect you? Who knows what I am capable of.

If I were. Nights, I replay news footage: your blood on asphalt, sheen behind caution tape. Homer's similes, I've been told, are holes cut in the cloth between the world of war and another, more peaceful world. On rereading, I find even there, a man kills his neighbor.

"Let Achilles cut me down,/ as soon as I have taken my son into my arms and have satisfied my desire for grief”—this, my mind's new refrain in the pharmacy queue, in the train's rattling frame.

The same friend and I discuss a line by

Zbigniew Herbert "where a distant fire is burning / like a page of the Iliad."

It's nearly an ontological question, my friend says, the instability of reference: The fires in the pages of the poem, the literal page set afire.

We see double.

You are the boy in the museum. You are the body consumed, ash.

Alone in a London museum, I saw a watercolor of twin flames, one black, one a gauzy red, only to learn the title is "Boats at Sea." It's like how sometimes I forget you're gone. But it's not like that, is it? Not at all. When in this world, similes carry us nowhere.

And now I see again the boy pelting through those galleries a boy not you, a flash of red, red, chasing, or being chased— Or did I invent him? Mischief companion.

Brother. Listen to me

plead for your life though even in the dream I know you're already dead.

How do I insure my desire for grief is never satisfied? Was Priam's ever? I tell my friend, I want the page itself to burn.

Elisa Gonzalez, the winner of a 2020 Rona Jaffe Foundation Writers' Award, is at work on her first book.

#Spotify

[muschiosa2]

The water cuts out while shampoo still clogs my hair. The nurse who swabs my nose hopes I don’t have the virus, it’s a bitch. The building across from the cemetery calls itself life storage.

My little brother was shot, I tell the barista who asks how things have been, and tip extra for her inconvenience. We speak only to the dead, someone tells me—to comfort, I assume, or inspire,

but I take it literally, as I am wont: even my shut up and fuck and let’s cook tonight, those are for you, Stephen. You won’t come to me in my dreams, so I must communicate by other avenues.

A friend sends an image from Cy Twombly’s “Fifty Days at Iliam” —a red bloom, the words “like a fire that consumes all before it”— and asks: Have you seen this? It’s at the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

If I have, I can’t remember, though I did visit with you, when you were eleven or twelve, when you tripped silent alarm after silent alarm, skating out of each room

as guards jostled in, and I—though charged with keeping you from trouble—joined the game, and the whole time we never laughed, not till we were released into the grand air we couldn’t touch and could.

You are dead at twenty-two. As I rinse dishes, fumble for my keys, buy kale and radishes, in my ear Priam repeats, I have kissed the hand of the man who killed my son. Would I do that? I ask as I pass the store labelled signs signs.

I’ve studied the mug shot of the man who killed you; I can imagine his hands. Of course I would. Each finger, even. To hold your body again. And to resurrect you? Who knows what I am capable of.

If I were. Nights, I replay news footage: your blood on asphalt, sheen behind caution tape. Homer’s similes, I’ve been told, are holes cut in the cloth between the world of war and another, more peaceful world. On rereading, I find even there, a man kills his neighbor.

“Let Achilles cut me down, / as soon as I have taken my son into my arms and have satisfied my desire for grief”—this, my mind’s new refrain in the pharmacy queue, in the train’s rattling frame.

The same friend and I discuss a line by Zbigniew Herbert “where a distant fire is burning / like a page of the Iliad.” It’s nearly an ontological question, my friend says, the instability of reference:

The fires in the pages of the poem, the literal page set afire. We see double. You are the boy in the museum. You are the body consumed, ash.

Alone in a London museum, I saw a watercolor of twin flames, one black, one a gauzy red, only to learn the title is “Boats at Sea.” It’s like how sometimes I forget you’re gone. But it’s not like that, is it? Not at all. When in this world, similes carry us nowhere.

And now I see again the boy pelting through those galleries a boy not you, a flash of red, red, chasing, or being chased— Or did I invent him? Mischief companion. Brother. Listen to me

plead for your life though even in the dream I know you’re already dead. How do I insure my desire for grief is never satisfied? Was Priam’s ever? I tell my friend, I want the page itself to burn.

Published in the print edition of the April 25 & May 2, 2022, issue.

#elisa gonzalez

[sunny12th]

After My Brother’s Death, I Reflect on the Iliad

The water cuts out while shampoo still clogs my hair. The nurse who swabs my nose hopes I don’t have the virus, it’s a bitch. The building across from the cemetery calls itself LIFE STORAGE.

My little brother was shot, I tell the barista who asks how things have been, and tip extra for her inconvenience. We speak only to the dead, someone tells me—to comfort, I assume, or inspire,

but I take it literally, as I am wont: even my shut up and fuck and let’s cook tonight, those are for you, Stephen. You won’t come to me in my dreams, so I must communicate by other avenues.

A friend sends an image from Cy Twombly’s “Fifty Days at Iliam” —a red bloom, the words “like a fire that consumes all before it”— and asks: Have you seen this? It’s at the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

If I have, I can’t remember, though I did visit with you, when you were eleven or twelve, when you tripped silent alarm after silent alarm, skating out of each room

as guards jostled in, and I—though charged with keeping you from trouble—joined the game, and the whole time we never laughed, not till we were released into the grand air we couldn’t touch and could.

You are dead at twenty-two. As I rinse dishes, fumble for my keys, buy kale and radishes, in my ear Priam repeats, I have kissed the hand of the man who killed my son. Would I do that? I ask as I pass the store labelled SIGNS SIGNS.

I’ve studied the mug shot of the man who killed you; I can imagine his hands. Of course I would. Each finger, even. To hold your body again. And to resurrect you? Who knows what I am capable of.

If I were. Nights, I replay news footage: your blood on asphalt, sheen behind caution tape. Homer’s similes, I’ve been told, are holes cut in the cloth between the world of war and another, more peaceful world. On rereading, I find even there, a man kills his neighbor.

“Let Achilles cut me down, / as soon as I have taken my son into my arms and have satisfied my desire for grief”—this, my mind’s new refrain in the pharmacy queue, in the train’s rattling frame.

The same friend and I discuss a line by Zbigniew Herbert “where a distant fire is burning / like a page of the Iliad.” It’s nearly an ontological question, my friend says, the instability of reference:

The fires in the pages of the poem, the literal page set afire. We see double. You are the boy in the museum. You are the body consumed, ash.

Alone in a London museum, I saw a watercolor of twin flames, one black, one a gauzy red, only to learn the title is “Boats at Sea.” It’s like how sometimes I forget you’re gone. But it’s not like that, is it? Not at all. When in this world, similes carry us nowhere.

And now I see again the boy pelting through those galleries a boy not you, a flash of red, red, chasing, or being chased— Or did I invent him? Mischief companion. Brother. Listen to me

plead for your life though even in the dream I know you’re already dead. How do I insure my desire for grief is never satisfied? Was Priam’s ever? I tell my friend, I want the page itself to burn.

By Elisa Gonzalez

April 18, 2022

#poem #poetry #grief #i am my brothers keeper #loss #words #death

[geekaybikes]

Unlocking Adventure: Exploring the Affordability of Girls' Cycles

When it comes to empowering young girls and encouraging them to embrace a healthy and active lifestyle, there's no better way than introducing them to the world of cycling. At Geekaybikes, we understand the importance of providing quality bicycles at affordable prices, especially when it comes to girls' cycles. Let's delve into the world of girls' cycles and discover the affordability that Geekaybikes has to offer.

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Budget-Friendly Features: Our girls' cycles are designed with both affordability and quality in mind. While our prices are competitive, we never compromise on the features and components that matter most, such as durable frames, comfortable seats, reliable brakes, and smooth-rolling wheels. With Geekaybikes, you can trust that you're getting the best value for your money.

Top Trends in girls' cycles: An overview of the latest trends and innovations in kids' bicycles, including popular features, designs, and technologies that appeal to young riders and parents alike.

Encouraging Girls to Ride: Breaking Stereotypes in Cycling: An inspiring piece highlighting the importance of encouraging girls to participate in cycling and breaking gender stereotypes in the sport, featuring empowering stories of young female cyclists.

The Role of Biking in Childhood Development: An exploration of how biking contributes to the physical, cognitive, and emotional development of children, emphasizing its role in fostering independence, confidence, and resilience.

Family Cycling Adventures: Tips for Enjoyable Rides Together: Practical advice and tips for families planning cycling adventures with children, including route suggestions, packing essentials, and strategies for keeping everyone safe and entertained on the road.

Transitioning from Training Wheels to Two-Wheel Riding: A helpful guide for parents navigating the transition from training wheels to riding a two-wheeled bike, offering step-by-step instructions and confidence-building techniques for young riders.

Customizing Kids' Bikes: Personalizing Your Child's Ride: An overview of customization options available for kids' bikes, from colorful accessories and decals to personalized nameplates, allowing children to express their unique personalities through their bicycles.

Teaching Kids Bike Maintenance and Care: A practical guide to teaching children basic bike maintenance tasks, such as tire inflation, chain lubrication, and brake adjustments, empowering them to take care of their bikes and prolong their lifespan.

Why Choose Geekaybikes?

At Geekaybikes, we're passionate about making cycling accessible to everyone, including young girls who are eager to explore the world on two wheels. Our commitment to affordability, quality, and customer satisfaction sets us apart as a trusted destination for girls' cycles. Whether you're shopping for your daughter, niece, or younger sister, you can trust Geekaybikes to provide affordable options that don't compromise on quality or style.

Explore Our Affordable Girls' Cycles Today:

Ready to find the perfect girls' cycle at an affordable price? Explore the wide selection of options available at Geekaybikes and discover the joy of cycling for the young girl in your life. With competitive pricing, quality craftsmanship, and stylish designs, there's a girls' cycle for every budget and preference at Geekaybikes. Start your shopping journey today and unlock a world of adventure for the special girl in your life!

[jsms01]

The Benefits of Cycling: Get Fit and Save Money

The Benefits of Cycling: Get Fit and Save Money

In today's world, many people are seeking ways to stay healthy and save money. One great way to achieve both goals is through cycling. Cycling is a fantastic form of exercise that can provide numerous benefits for both physical and mental health. Additionally, cycling can save money in numerous ways, making it an excellent choice for those looking to save a few extra dollars. In this article, we will explore the benefits of cycling, how it can save you money, and provide tips for those just starting out.

Table of Contents

- Introduction - The Physical Benefits of Cycling - Cardiovascular Health - Weight Loss - Strength Training - The Mental Benefits of Cycling - Reducing Stress and Anxiety - Boosting Brainpower - Improving Mood - Saving Money with Cycling - Transportation Costs - Gym Memberships - Medical Expenses - Getting Started with Cycling - Choosing the Right Bike - Safety Tips - Cycling Groups and Clubs - Conclusion - FAQs

The Physical Benefits of Cycling

Cycling is an excellent form of exercise that provides numerous physical benefits. Some of the most notable benefits include: Cardiovascular Health Cycling is a fantastic cardiovascular exercise that can help strengthen your heart and lungs. Regular cycling can reduce the risk of heart disease, stroke, and high blood pressure. Additionally, cycling can improve your circulation, which can provide a host of benefits, such as reducing the risk of varicose veins and improving skin health. Weight Loss Cycling is an effective way to lose weight and keep it off. Cycling can burn between 400 and 1000 calories per hour, depending on the intensity of the ride. Additionally, cycling can help build muscle, which can increase your metabolism and help you burn more calories throughout the day. Strength Training Cycling is a low-impact exercise that can help build strength and endurance. Cycling can help strengthen your leg muscles, core, and upper body. Regular cycling can also help improve your balance and coordination.

The Mental Benefits of Cycling

Cycling is not just great for physical health, but it can also provide numerous mental health benefits. Some of the most notable benefits include: Reducing Stress and Anxiety Cycling can be an excellent way to reduce stress and anxiety. Cycling can help release endorphins, which are natural mood boosters. Additionally, cycling can provide a sense of accomplishment, which can boost self-esteem and confidence. Boosting Brainpower Cycling can help improve cognitive function and brainpower. Cycling can increase blood flow and oxygen to the brain, which can improve memory, concentration, and overall brain function. Additionally, cycling can stimulate the release of growth factors, which can help the brain form new neural connections. Improving Mood Cycling can be a great way to improve your mood and overall sense of well-being. Cycling can provide a sense of freedom and escape from daily stressors. Additionally, cycling can help increase serotonin levels, which can improve mood and reduce symptoms of depression.

Saving Money with Cycling

Cycling is not just great for physical and mental health, but it can also save you money in numerous ways. Some of the most notable ways that cycling can save you money include: Transportation Costs Cycling can be a great way to save money on transportation costs. Cycling to work or school can save you money on gas, parking, and public transportation costs. Additionally, cycling can help reduce wear and tear on your car, which can save you money on maintenance and repair costs. Gym Memberships Cycling can be a great alternative to expensive gym memberships. Cycling can provide a full-body workout and can be done outside for free. Additionally, cycling can be a fun way to get in shape, which can help motivate you to exercise regularly. Medical Expenses Regular cycling can also help reduce your medical expenses. Cycling can reduce your risk of chronic diseases such as heart disease, diabetes, and obesity. Additionally, regular exercise can help improve your immune system, which can reduce your risk of getting sick.

Getting Started with Cycling

If you're interested in starting cycling, here are some tips to help you get started: Choosing the Right Bike The first step in starting cycling is choosing the right bike. There are many different types of bikes available, including road bikes, mountain bikes, and hybrid bikes. Consider your budget, where you'll be cycling, and what type of cycling you plan on doing to help you choose the right bike. Safety Tips Cycling can be a safe and enjoyable activity if done properly. Always wear a helmet and appropriate safety gear such as reflective clothing and lights. Additionally, follow traffic laws and be aware of your surroundings. Cycling Groups and Clubs Joining a cycling group or club can be a great way to meet other cyclists and learn more about the sport. Cycling groups can provide motivation, support, and help you improve your skills.

Conclusion

Cycling is a fantastic way to stay healthy and save money. Cycling provides numerous physical and mental health benefits and can save you money on transportation costs, gym memberships, and medical expenses. If you're just starting with cycling, choose the right bike, practice safety, and consider joining a cycling group or club. With these tips, you can start enjoying the benefits of cycling today.

FAQs

- Is cycling a good form of exercise? Yes, cycling is a great form of exercise that can provide numerous physical and mental health benefits. - Can cycling save you money? Yes, cycling can save you money on transportation costs, gym memberships, and medical expenses. - What type of bike is best for beginners? A hybrid bike is a great choice for beginners as it provides a balance of comfort and performance. - Is cycling safe? Cycling can be safe if proper safety measures are followed, such as wearing a helmet and following traffic laws. - How can I get started with cycling? To get started with cycling, choose the right bike, practice safety, and consider joining a cycling group or club. Read the full article

#advantagesofcycling #benefitsofbikeriding #benefitsofbiking #benefitsofcyclingingym #benefitsofspinclass #carbcyclingforweightloss #cycling1houradayweightloss #cyclingbenefits #cyclingexercisebenefits #cyclingforweightloss #cyclingorwalkingforbellyfat #cyclingworkout #doyouloseweightafteryourperiod #doyouloseweightafteryourperiodends #doyouloseweightonyourperiod #doescyclingburnbellyfat #doescyclinghelpyouloseweight #exercisecycleforhome #healthbenefitsofcycling #indoorcyclingbenefits #iscyclinggoodforweightloss #spinningworkout

[thexwayward]

𝕘𝕠𝕥 𝕞𝕪 𝕡𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕤 '𝕘𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕥 𝕞𝕠𝕤𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕥𝕠 𝕕𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙 𝕞𝕪 𝕓𝕦𝕕𝕕𝕪'𝕤 𝕓𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟' 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕕𝕪𝕚𝕟' 𝕓𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙 𝕠𝕙 𝕘𝕠𝕕, 𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕖 𝕨𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕡 𝕞𝕖 𝕞𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕚𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙?

                          ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴    ✴   ✴   ✴  

full name:  cyrus nicolo aureliano petrelli

nicknames: cy, saint cy, admiral, etc.

age:  35

date of birth:  jun. 11

zodiac: gemini

gender:  male

pronouns: he/him

sexuality:  bisexual

physical

hair color: dark brown

eye color: black

height: 6′1″

weight: 180 lbs

personality

morality:  lawful evil

positive traits: charming, inquisitive, intelligent, attentive, strong-willed

negative traits: restless, easily bored, moody, fickle, short-tempered,

job: admiral stationed at Naval Air Base Key West

skills: adaptable, strong, combat trained, artillery trained.

family

parents: big tony and angelia petrelli

siblings: christopher petrelli, aurora petrelli

backstory and details - ＴＲＩＧＧＥＲ     ＷＡＲＮＩＮＧ :             war, murder, drugs, violence

                                     ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴    ✴   ✴   ✴    

born to anthony ‘big tony’ petrelli and his young wife angelina, cyrus was the heir to the petrelli name that no one could have accounted before. there were cousins, younger and older, all of whom never seemed to get doted on, quite so as cyrus was. he quickly became the golden child among the family.

the owner of a garbage and sanitization company contracted by the local municipality to take care of the city, their father wasn’t shy about bitching up a storm when shit started to go sideways. as good of a man as their father is, cyrus knew from an early age that he didn’t want to take the same course in life. he wanted to be different. better than everyone else.

always taught that nothing could hurt him unless he gave it license to, cyrus was rambunctious and foolhardy, always flooded with a charm and wit. paired with his keen instinct for outsmarting those his senior, he had a knack for mischief from the start.

fear is a fickle thing in the eyes of a kid who could do no wrong in his family, but a constant nagging was losing those he loved and cared about.  more often than not it was a distant, almost irrelevant fear; one that had no place among conscious thought. then, he gained a new baby sister. after she came, he felt a need to step up and be there for her in a different way than their parents ever could. he wanted to be the trusted confidant, the one she came to for help before she went to their parents; the reliable brother that loved her fiercely and with everything he had in him. cyrus cared for aurora beyond all others; no one matters to him half as much as she does.

moving through years in elementary and middle school, cyrus was popular, charming, well known and well liked, but could tip attitude at the drop of the hat. the moment he was provoked, his wrath came out and found the object of his rage. that indignation, the anger within him, and the willingness to hit first and worry later landed him in and out of detention and even one instance of juvenile arrest.

his mother was more concerned about his bursts of anger than his father was; as far as he was concerned, it was just cyrus defending himself when people tried to push him down, but for the sake of his wife, he had a talk with cyrus. tone it down, kid. and don’t get caught. your mama worries too much, don’t make ya mama worry like that, alright? that’s my good boy.

he needed discipline and anger management, but faking it til he made it worked just as well as anything else could. cyrus commanded respect wherever he went; more often than not, it only took a harsh glance to knock people back in their place and keep his fists from getting bloody again.

once settled at the top of the school food chain, his studies soared, both academically and in elective ROTC programs. he didn’t care for the people in the program with him: young republicans in the making with bad hair cuts who joined up because their father never could, or pick-me girls who wanted to prove themselves more than they were, and the most regrettable of all: the weird anime kid who didn’t fit in anywhere else and would meow at people to get their attention. cyrus found comfort in the regiment of the program, content to take the trial run before he joined up for real.

high school couldn’t have been easier. he was popular as ever, a shining example of what one should be; respectful, protective, intelligent, and above all; engaging. everyone seemed to want him as a friend or a fuck, and cyrus saw nothing wrong with it.

on occasion, there was the odd idiot who would try his very thin patience. cyrus found it far too easy to fight dirty. he liked the snap of bone beneath his knuckles, or the squelch of sweat as a body hit the concrete beneath him. though chastised for his behavior and willingness to act out of line, there was always a friend on the side who could vouch for the self defense aspect of the fights. still, cyrus knew the behavior had to cease. collecting outlets for his anger, he took the advice of his ROTC teacher and started to write.

he wasn’t good at it, or particularly knowledgeable in the rules of prose, but writing was his therapy. it was the only sympathy he afforded himself to have, and soon the bookshelves in his bedrooms were heavily lined with journals filled cover to cover with simple-minded musings, thoughts, and reports of the days where he could barely tell sunrise from bedtime.

after high school graduation, cyrus decided he’d go the way of the navy. he wanted to make his parents and sister proud; a noble son that learned the noble art of war. leaving them all behind would hurt, but it would be worth it in the long run? who better to protect his family than a man with all the skills of a trained, combat killing machine?

cyrus signed up when he was 17 and shipped off to basic not long after. nothing shaped his fears for the future quite like the fall of the world trade center in 2001. watching live from a tv in the cafeteria in his senior year of high school; he could recall the tension in the air; everyone in that room knew the wars they spent so much time learning about were now outside their very windows.

he was sent to coronado, california and underwent SEALs training. working his way up in the ranks was easy, but beyond deployed was hard. after the start of the iraq war, cyrus was sent into active combat and shipped overseas to afghanistan.

cyrus was a part of four tours, all of which were active combat on the front lines. during his second tour, he was adopted into a special ops program under watch of the secretary of defense. under this new assignment, cyrus was one of an elite group that was in charge of covert assassinations and the traffic of narcotics in ration packs and the bodies of those killed in action.

when he carried out what was asked of him as an initiation, he did so quickly, cleanly, and concisely. after all he’d seen on the plane of war, the carnage came as second nature. it made sense to do it for the sake of the country. there was only one crime in war- and it was to lose.

by the time he returned to key west, he had seen too much on his tours, fought and killed and his rage was tripled tenfold. the brothers and sisters he cherished in the service had been lost, killed, or moved on. cyrus felt as if part of him was left out there, far from where he was in key west.

the first fourth of july home was a noted one in the petrelli family. at the first thundering echo of a firework detonating in the sky, cyrus ran and tackled his sister to the ground and covered their heads. It was a snap instinct, one that came with the echo of bombs overhead.

soon after, he was encouraged to see a therapist through his higher ups at the base. diagnosed with ptsd as many veterans are, the therapist had an almost sickeningly positive outlook on cyrus’s prognosis. it seemed he was one of the few she believed in to pull himself out of the binds of a mental illness.

after a few sessions, his therapist encouraged him to get a service animal. after signing up and getting his certifications for a service animal taken care of, he adopted a rottweiler puppy. he named him LOOMIS.

however, there is no one can fake a fantasy like a government liar. outwardly, cyrus was still charming, still personable, and most of all: still lethal. writing did precious little to staunch his emotions, but fighting did.

there was nothing out of the realm of possibility for cyrus and his tastes; sleeping around, drinking, partying, fighting, living the reckless life of a daredevil whenever given the chance. every risky behavior was lidocaine on a burn, a cool soothing menthol that eased the scald of emotions he’d rather not feel. binge after binge, everything started to blur together- no obligation, no feeling, nothing but the bed of a woman who would have him.

the first sign something was wrong came when the secretary of defense asked him in for an official briefing over his assignments. in an abandoned office building in staten island. cyrus kept a close look on the man, tracking him for days as he tracked the marks he was assigned to kill.

he uncovered the double cross before it happened. the secretary of defense and some advisors were looking for a strong record to shift blame onto when they were questioned. cyrus gathered every file and every piece of proof he, and they, had and lined them up, painting a clear picture.

he flipped the blackmail and demanded silence and compensation for his own, but the changes and advances had to take place gradually, for all of their sakes. he earned the title of admiral 5 years later and has been stationed in the Key since.

he has money, bundles and bundles of it stashed away, wealth and riches and power on the heels of a former secretary of defense. still, he keeps to himself, running drills and educating new members of the navy as they pass through and train to become airmen.

cyrus stands as the shining, sainted golden boy of his family. if they only knew how slanted his halo had become.

updates:

probably has to go to therapy again

wanted connections:

TBD - a brother in arms. someone that was on tours/in the same special ops unit as him during his time in iraq and afghanistan. a ride or die, someone he loves almost as much as his own sister.

TBD- a recruit he has under his wing. someone he watches out and vouches for. 

verses 

main!verse 

mafia!verse (head of crime family) 

stranger things!verse (jock - baseball player) 

creature!verse (mesmer || a la lost girl)

#[ ;; cyrus (full bio) ]

[thewordslam]

After My Brother’s Death, I Reflect on the Iliad By Elisa Gonzalez

The water cuts out while shampoo still clogs my hair. The nurse who swabs my nose hopes I don’t have the virus, it’s a bitch. The building across from the cemetery calls itself life storage.

My little brother was shot, I tell the barista who asks how things have been, and tip extra for her inconvenience. We speak only to the dead, someone tells me—to comfort, I assume, or inspire,

but I take it literally, as I am wont: even my shut up and fuck and let’s cook tonight, those are for you, Stephen. You won’t come to me in my dreams, so I must communicate by other avenues.

A friend sends an image from Cy Twombly’s “Fifty Days at Iliam” —a red bloom, the words “like a fire that consumes all before it”— and asks: Have you seen this? It’s at the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

If I have, I can’t remember, though I did visit with you, when you were eleven or twelve, when you tripped silent alarm after silent alarm, skating out of each room

as guards jostled in, and I—though charged with keeping you from trouble—joined the game, and the whole time we never laughed, not till we were released into the grand air we couldn’t touch and could.

You are dead at twenty-two. As I rinse dishes, fumble for my keys, buy kale and radishes, in my ear Priam repeats, I have kissed the hand of the man who killed my son. Would I do that? I ask as I pass the store labelled signs signs.

I’ve studied the mug shot of the man who killed you; I can imagine his hands. Of course I would. Each finger, even. To hold your body again. And to resurrect you? Who knows what I am capable of.

If I were. Nights, I replay news footage: your blood on asphalt, sheen behind caution tape. Homer’s similes, I’ve been told, are holes cut in the cloth between the world of war and another, more peaceful world. On rereading, I find even there, a man kills his neighbor.

“Let Achilles cut me down, / as soon as I have taken my son into my arms and have satisfied my desire for grief”—this, my mind’s new refrain in the pharmacy queue, in the train’s rattling frame.

The same friend and I discuss a line by Zbigniew Herbert “where a distant fire is burning / like a page of the Iliad.” It’s nearly an ontological question, my friend says, the instability of reference:

The fires in the pages of the poem, the literal page set afire. We see double. You are the boy in the museum. You are the body consumed, ash.

Alone in a London museum, I saw a watercolor of twin flames, one black, one a gauzy red, only to learn the title is “Boats at Sea.” It’s like how sometimes I forget you’re gone. But it’s not like that, is it? Not at all. When in this world, similes carry us nowhere.

And now I see again the boy pelting through those galleries a boy not you, a flash of red, red, chasing, or being chased— Or did I invent him? Mischief companion. Brother. Listen to me

plead for your life though even in the dream I know you’re already dead. How do I insure my desire for grief is never satisfied? Was Priam’s ever? I tell my friend, I want the page itself to burn.

[cyanid-apple]

J'ai publié 586 fois en 2022

C'est 472 billets de plus qu'en 2021 !

64 billets créés (11%)

522 billets reblogués (89%)

Les blogs que j'ai le plus reblogués :

@/elytrians

@/opia-jpg

@/spooksier

@/alientoastt

@/stereden

J'ai étiqueté 368 billets en 2022

Seulement 37% de mes billets ne comportaient pas de tag

#tma - 57 billets

#cy talks - 29 billets

#cy makes art - 24 billets

#fanart - 16 billets

#one piece - 8 billets

#danganronpa - 8 billets

#severance - 7 billets

#tma fanart - 6 billets

#reblog - 6 billets

#ghost quartet - 6 billets

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#and then we didn’t sleep at all and me and three of my friends (not the ones who met stromae) decided at 4:30 in the morning to take a train

Mes billets vedette en 2022 :

n°5

[ID: Digital illustration of Nikola Orsinov and Tim Stoker on a black background. The illustration is made of only coloured lineart. Tim is upside down.

Nikola is a grey mannequin with a red tutu and clown makeup. Tim is a brown man with bleached and dyed blue hair that is curly and reaches his shoulders. He is wearing a white shirt and holding a white object.

Around them is written "You idiot! Do you really think the world will fate under the watcher? Do you think you’re saving anyone? I don’t care. You can’t even save him! But I can hurt you".

"I don’t care" and "But I can hurt you" are written in white and upside down. The rest is in red. End ID]

For @tmaappreciationweek day three

Favourite scene: the confrontation between Tim and Nikola during the unknowing

44 notes - publié le 23 mars 2022

n°4

[ID: Digital portrait painting of Melanie King on a blue background.

Melanie is a pale japanese woman with short brown hair with red tips. She’s wearing a dark red sweater. End ID]

She’s actually my favourite ever

53 notes - publié le 18 septembre 2022

n°3

[ID: Digital illustration of the season 5 cast of the Magnus archives in front of a green sky composed of eyes. it shows Jon, Elias, Melanie, Georgie, Annabelle, Helen, Martin and Basira. In the middle is written "the Magnus archives. Season five" and at the bottom right "statement ends."

Jon is a brown man with dark brown hair and brown eyes. He has facial hair and round scars on his face. He wears a dark teal shirt and has some grey hairs.

Elias is a white man with gray hair and green eyes. He has a moustache and wrinkles and wears a blue suit.

Melanie is a Japanese woman with dark brown hair that is dyed pink. She has pink glass eyes and wears a red heart shaped earring. She wears a pink sweatshirt.

Georgie is a black woman with dark brown hair and eyes. Her curly hair is done in a bun and the tips are purple. She wears a yellow sweatshirt and a sword shaped earring.

Annabelle is a black woman with bleached short curly hair and brown eyes. There is a spiderweb design in her hair and in her eye makeup. She wears a purple turtleneck with a lilac dress.

Helen is a black woman with brown hair and hazelnut eyes. Her hair is curly and the tips are pink. She wears a green dress shirt with an orange crop top on top of it. She wears a yellow spiral shaped earring and has spiral motives on her face.

Martin is a Polynesian man with dark brown hair and eyes. He has two light grey streaks in his hair and facial hair. He wears a blue jumper and glasses.

Basira is a Middle Eastern woman with brown eyes. She wears a green hijab, a white dress shirt and a green sweater vest. End ID]

This is the first time I draw Elias

57 notes - publié le 5 février 2022

n°2

[ID: Digital bust shot portrait of Oliver Banks, a black man with long dark brown braids with light purple tips. He wears round glasses low on his nose and a blue grey sweater. He has freckles and wears a skull shaped earring. The background is light blue. In the top left corner is written "Oliver Banks, avatar of the End". End ID]

Man just wants a nap, more at five

59 notes - publié le 5 février 2022

Mon billet n°1 en 2022

[ID: Digital painting of Annabelle Cane holding a phone in front of a red background. It is a bustshot.

Annabelle is a black woman with short pale blonde curly hair. Her eyes are completely white. There is a hole in her skull that is covered with a spiderweb. She is wearing a white shirt with ruffles a red corset and a green shawl. She wears red jewellery. The phone she is holding is a red rotary dial phone, there are two other phones on the table in front of her. End ID]

Long time no spider wife

532 notes - publié le 24 juillet 2022

Obtenez votre année 2022 en revue sur Tumblr →

#tumblr2022 #année en revue #mon année tumblr 2022 en revue #votre année tumblr en revue #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #actually I love that my top five posts are all tma fanart #🪡

[poke-rescueman-9000]

The purpose of this blog is to share stories from jobs I’ve been on, talk about the different Pokémon I’ve met, teach people about proper training techniques, and really everything else that comes with being a ranger!

Meet the team:

Remy- My eight year old Salandit! He was the first Pokémon I ever got. In disaster situations he can fit himself into small holes and provide a light source for anyone trapped under rubble! He also makes a good warming blanket for anyone going into shock.

Newt- My seven year old Noivern! He’s a big boy, perfect for getting me up in the air and to rescue sites quickly. He’s also a very strong battler, so in the case of a dangerous Pokémon he’s the perfect one to stall for time while we get everyone to safety!

Skidds- My three year old Skiddo! Her job is mainly to help guide people away from a dangerous site. She’s great with kids and carries a first aid kit around her neck in a little barrel! She’s set to evolve any time now, but really it’s up to when she’s ready.

Duke- The newest addition to the team! He’s a half a year old Rockruff. He’s training to be a tracking dog and a battler. He’ll be invaluable in situations when Newt (my only real battle ready Pokémon) can’t fight!

Here’s some tags I use for easier navigation of the blog:

Cy’s training tips

Cy’s stories

#pokemon irl #unreality #pokeblogging

[legalpaul5]

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#清潔公司

[bollur]

Got a weird request, but can you write Percy De Rolo x Reader smut? Like they are in the middle of doing the do and the black smoke appears? I feel like it would be interesting…

a/n: oh no, ahahaha, what have i done. hahahaha. i hope no one slips on this rotten banana peel i left laying here. ( ͡°👅 ͡°)

this is a blurb of a smut.

actually, this is 100% cursed. daddy Orthax can stay away. actually if anyone ever makes ANY daddy orthax jokes in my presence after this i will die.

i need to lose my percy privileges for a day

warning: orthax, tentacles (i can't believe i just wrote that), sub/dub, choking and ... ?? yeah. you've been warned. own risk. yadda yadda.

You were a fool, unknowingly, but a helpless fool nonetheless.

Molten irises peered down at you carefully from an endless abyss, a flick of his wrist and you were drowning in the raging ocean that was thick black fog encasing around your forms. Percival's expression was almost light, calling you in like a frightened animal to his hungry maw, almost comforting as his fingers danced over your sheening clavicle, but his smile was almost inhumane and his eyes spoke clear: you fucked up.

It wasn't as though engaging in sexual activities wasn't a regular occurrence for the both of you - always with each other, of course - but this time, you might have been acting a little, well, bratty. He had been teasing you, frustrating you to no end. Showing you the light of a release, but yanking it right out of your reach before you could grasp onto it.

Perhaps what you said was a bit too far, not even in the position to be making threats, no matter how teasing they may be. But you knew the moment you spoke out frustratedly, broken moans: "If you won't - won't make me finish, I'll find - someone who will," something in your Percy seemed to snap like a nerve-ending simply fizzled out and died within him, a look of pure jealousy at the mere mention taking over.

You had only meant to tease him.

A shaky slender hand immediately made itself a choker for you, and while it was the prettiest one you'd ever had, that was the last thing on your mind at the moment, especially as you watched a glistening onyx swirl over his sclerae and another voice joined his own. He let out a fiendish laugh, tongue peeking out and trailing along Percival's lips, "Oh, will you now?"

If it wasn't what was happening before you now that made a back-arching shudder shoot down your spine, it was definitely the tickling feeling against your leg before a warm leathery tendril began wrapping up your calf. You wanted to say something, anything as he watched you with hooded eyes, but you lost all train of thought as something began slithering around your chest, the very tip curling around your pert buds, teasing and tugging. "Per-cy," choked gasp escaped your mouth, hands instinctively coming up to grab him, but they never made it as a dark tentacle quickly, tightly wrapped around your wrists, trapping them above your head.

The pressure around your neck returned, slightly tighter, but not enough to begin cutting off oxygen flow, just to make the rate of your pulse very obvious. "No, darling," he cooed, mockingly, his free hand stroking your cheek tenderly with the back of it. "Remember - you don't want to touch someone who can't make you finish." You felt more leather crawling around on your body - squeezing your thighs, groping, and gripping your chest.

Your body jerked, feeling the very tip of one flicking around, slithering along the length of your slit. A whine escape you, hips bucking up to meet some form of friction, and you were met with a laugh, greedy eyes drinking in everything you did. "Ahh," Percy sighed, dragging it into a deep growl as he became consumed by the feeling of your walls fluttering around the tendril that slowly began stretching you. "Fuck."

There was no fighting the pleasured noises that were rolling from your mouth like a goddamn waterfall, bouncing off the walls and if you could think of anything past the thick appendage that was working you to the core, you'd wonder if anyone on the other side could hear you. No, you had been being worked on far too long, and all you cared about was doing your best to move in a way that would force it to hit its mark harder, deeper, causing you to quiver and shake around it in shameless need.

In any other situation, the sight of your Percival like this would give you chills of worry, but gods above, the sight right now alone could you make you cum if you weren't so focused on how good the lazy, patterned pounding you were getting felt. Sweat glistened his body, putting an ethereal sheen to his body despite the circumstances, outlining his muscles, his eyes filled with unadulterated lust and pure adoration as you accepted every part of him. Your hand clenched around the tendril that was so graciously given to you to grasp, needy noises rising in pitch, length, and shortening time-frame.

You were getting close.

Percy hummed, leaning over, letting out a few of his own unabashed noises of lust into your ear before giving a breathless laugh. "What's this?" not that you could answer, your mind couldn't even comprehend an intelligent thought, even if his fingers weren't not pressuring to the point just a bit of your breathing became more ragged. Your walls began fluttering erratically. "I thought I couldn't make you cum," he growled, biting and tugging your ear lope and your body began to spasm, quaking and taut. But even as you were worked through your high, pressure on your neck loosening enough for you to gasp lightly, taking in a normal about of air, those eyes still lingered. Daunting, teasing. "I hope you don't think that's it," a ferocious smile stretching across those lips, skimming across your neck and jaw.

"Because when I'm done, you're going to forget anyone but I even exist."

#tumblr made me create this #daddy orthax #no mercy percy my ass up #i pray my mother never finds this she's already disappointed in my life choices #i stress ate a whole tube of pringles while writing this bye bye diet #vox machina x reader #critical role x reader #percival de rolo x reader #percival fredrickstein von musel de rolo iii #percy de rolo #percy de rolo x reader #percy x reader #the legend of vox machina #percival de rolo #percival x reader

[jadeazora]

Pokemon Masters Day today, unlocking the grids of Thorton (who also gets an EX), Gardenia, and Cheryl!

In addition, no datamine tonight, but we did get a new Message from the Master's Team!

Jukebox coming soon when we get the next update. (It's a Chatot to the right of Trista, and tapping it will allow you to choose a song of your choice. You can also set a song for battle music.)

Future updates will add more songs past the initial selection, and you can gather Song Keys that unlock songs corresponding to the Key's number. You can get these keys by raising certain Sync Pairs to 6⭐EX or exchanging Music Coins in the Exchange Items section of the shop.

Daily Missions will be updated Jan31, where you can get these coins as Mission Rewards. There will also be a limited-time Music Coin event starting Jan28, to earn even more Coins.

Palentine's Bea and Marnie have been announced for the Sweet Shenanigans event, which starts Jan31!

Marnie is a tech who can use Steel Zone and their Passive Skill cuts opponent's attack and defense when they enter a battle. They have a trainer move called Shout It Out raises their Atk by +2, and their Def and SpDef by +1.

Bea is support, with a Passive that sets up Hail upon entering battle, and another that will boost their Def and SpDef during hail. She has a move called Let's Share that will boost all Allies Atk and SpAtk by +4. (She sounds great but I need to see the Master Pairs we'll likely be seeing fairly soon.)

The conclusion to the Sinnoh/Team Galactic arc will start Feb10, and asks if the feelings of Cynthia and the Commanders will be enough to stop Cyrus. I have doubts, at least here. Maybe during the conclusion or if they get Sophocles involved. (I can hope, but after BDSP idk how likely a Cyrus redemption arc would be.)

It says another event centered around boosting Cy and Palkia will start around this time, with the player gathering Palkia Crystals to power them up and expand their grid, with tiles that can be unlocked without using up energy.

Upcoming log-in bonus and mission bingo for the run up to the 2.5yr anniversary, starting Feb17. They mention a few other events and such they're working on, but details will come in another update.

Egg roster update coming Feb24, expanding the pool of Mons you can get from the Training Area and main story.

New content where the player can learn battle tips and earn about 5k gems by completing everything to the end.

There will be a separate event where you can earn gems by completing certain conditions, like beating the PML arc and Champion Stadium, also added around the time of the 2.5yr anniversary. You can get lots of gems for completing everything, tho it does mention that purchasing certain bundles rewarding lots of paid gems for completing missions.

Next message scheduled for late February, that will have more details on the 2.5yr Anniversary Pairs and events. (Another month for Cyrus/Darkrai and Dawn/Cresselia? Argh, I thought we had our first Master Pair, Leon, arrive in February of last year...)

#pokemon masters #pokemas #pokemon bea #pokemon marnie #pokemon swsh #pokemon sword and shield

[xofaddiction]

                            𝖜𝖍𝖔𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗 𝖆𝖕𝖕𝖊𝖆𝖑𝖘 𝖙𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖑𝖆𝖜 𝖆𝖌𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖘𝖙 𝖍𝖎𝖘                              𝖋𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖔𝖜 𝖒𝖆𝖓 𝖎𝖘 𝖊𝖎𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖆 𝖋𝖔𝖔𝖑 𝖔𝖗 𝖆 𝖈𝖔𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖉.                                𝖜𝖍𝖔𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗 𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝖈𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖍𝖎𝖒𝖘𝖊𝖑𝖋                                          𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖑𝖆𝖜 𝖎𝖘 𝖇𝖔𝖙𝖍.                                         𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖆 𝖜𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖉 𝖒𝖆𝖓 𝖘𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖑                                              𝖘𝖆𝖞 𝖙𝖔 𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖆𝖘𝖘𝖆𝖎𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖙:                                            "𝖎𝖋 𝖎 𝖑𝖎𝖛𝖊 𝖎 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖐𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖞𝖔𝖚,                                          𝖎𝖋 𝖎 𝖉𝖎𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖌𝖎𝖛𝖊𝖓."                                           𝖘𝖚𝖈𝖍 𝖎𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖗𝖚𝖑𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖍𝖔𝖓𝖔𝖗.

full name:  cyrus rousseau nicknames: cy, lieutenant, ruoss, etc. age:  36 date of birth:  jun. 11 zodiac: gemini gender:  male pronouns: he/him sexuality:  bisexual

physical

hair color: dark brown eye color: hazel height: 6′1″ weight: 180 lbs

personality

morality:  lawful evil positive traits: charming, inquisitive, intelligent, attentive, strong-willed negative traits: restless, easily bored, moody, fickle, short-tempered, job: manager of rousseau’s  skills: adaptable, strong, combat trained, artillery trained.

family

parents: valentina and louis rousseau. siblings: blake and audrey rousseau. niece: aria rousseau.

backstory and details - ＴＲＩＧＧＥＲ     ＷＡＲＮＩＮＧ :                                       war, murder, violence

                                       ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴    ✴   ✴   ✴    

first born to louis rousseau and his young, model wife valentina, cyrus was another strapping heir to a line indebted to the o’sheas, albeit far behind others. a strong boy with a sturdy will and an even stronger mind, cyrus was a beloved child, doted on by his mother for his looks and encouraged by his father to be the best he could be in every aspect of his life as the second man in the rousseau family.

an o’shea general, their father wasn’t shy about bringing his children along when it was time to set the wrong things right. cyrus could recall on many occasions where his father returned to their car, knuckles bloody, stoic and firm with a word of advice and warning on what to look for in weaker men as he grew older.

always taught that nothing could hurt him unless he gave it license to, cyrus was rambunctious and foolhardy, always flooded with a charm and wit. paired with his keen instinct for sparring and ways of outsmarting those his senior, he had a knack for mischief from the start.

fear is a fickle thing in the eyes of a walsh general’s son; ever changing, always political and fluctuating in immediacy and relevancy. still, there was one fear that remained constant; losing those he loved.

more often than not it was a distant, almost irrelevant fear; one that had no place among conscious thought. at least until he gained two younger siblings, well into his life. after they came, he felt a need to step up and be there for them in a different way than parents ever could. he wanted to be the trusted confidant, the one they came to for help before they went to their parents; the reliable brother that loved them fiercely and with everything he had in him. cyrus cared for them beyond all others; no one matters to him half as much as they do.

moving through years in elementary and middle school, cyrus was popular, charming, well known and well liked, but could tip attitude at the drop of the hat. the moment he was provoked, his wrath came out and found the object of his rage. that indignation, the anger within him, and the willingness to hit first and worry later landed him in and out of detention and even one instance of juvenile arrest.

his mother, more often than not, let the discipline thereafter be dealt with by his father. she loved him, he knew, she just wasn’t the most tolerant woman of the inner workings of a child’s mind, especially one as privileged as her son was.

it seemed worthwhile to louis to enroll young cyrus into boxing classes; he needed discipline and anger management, maybe even to get his ass knocked to the ground every now and again to keep him humble. not only did his fortunes improve, but so did his ability to work past his issues with rage.

a stand out feature of his youth was taking note of his mother’s descent from being a mother with him, to a friend with his brother, and all but an acquaintance with his younger sister. he hated how passive she became, how lacking she was in her attitudes toward her children.

once in training, his studies soared, both academically and in boxing. high school couldn’t have been easier. he was popular as ever, a shining example of what one should be; respectful, protective, intelligent, and above all; engaging. everyone seemed to want him as a friend or a fuck, and cyrus saw nothing wrong with it.

on occasion, there were times he’d take it too far in the boxing ring, move too fiercely and endanger others training around him. cyrus found it far too easy to fight dirty. He liked the snap of bone beneath his knuckles, or the squelch of sweat as a body hit the octagon beneath him.  chastised for his behavior and willingness to act out of line, cyrus knew the behavior had to cease. collecting outlets for his anger, he took the advice of his coach and started to write.

he wasn’t good at it, or particularly knowledgeable in the rules of prose, but writing was his therapy. it was the only sympathy he afforded himself to have, and soon the bookshelves in his bedrooms were heavily lined with journals filled cover to cover with simple-minded musings, thoughts, and reports of the days where he could barely tell sunrise from bedtime. 

after high school graduation, cyrus decided he’d go the way of the navy. he wanted to make his parents and siblings proud; a noble son that learned the noble art of war. leaving them all behind would hurt, but it would be worth it in the long run. who better to protect his family than a man with all the skills of a trained, combat killing machine?

cyrus signed up when he was 18 and shipped off to basic not long after. nothing shaped his fears for the future quite like the fall of the world trade center in 2001. watching live from a tv in the cafeteria in his senior year of high school; he could recall the tension in the air; everyone in that room knew the wars they spent so much time learning about were now outside their very windows.

he was too tired, he had lived through and seen so much, and despite it all he looked forward to seeing his sister. when he was on his first tour overseas, he took a spare moment to reflect on his family and how much he really missed them. finally, he had time to call home and was soon after met with the news that their mother left. he hadn’t felt a true rage like that in all the months he’d been at war; his efforts were usually better spent. 

after the start of the iraq war, cyrus was sent into active combat and shipped overseas to afghanistan. he was a part of two tours, the latter of which was cut short by the detonation of an ied. his left leg was shattered and though they were able to salvage the limb, it wasn’t without extensive surgery and the implantation of a steel rod. cyrus received a purple heart for his action in the service and was honorably discharged and left to return home as a decorated veteran.

by the time he returned to chicago, he had seen too much on his tours, fought and killed and his rage was tripled tenfold. the brothers and sisters he cherished in the service had been lost, killed, or moved on. cyrus felt as if part of him was left out there, far from where he was in chicago.

when he had gone off to war, he worried for his siblings. upon his return, they worried for him; many years his juniors, they couldn’t have been more than twelve and ten respectively. the first fourth of july home was a noted one in the rousseau family. at the first thundering echo of a firework detonating in the sky, cyrus ran and tackled his siblings to the ground and covered their heads. It was a snap instinct, one that came with the echo of bombs overhead.

soon after, he was encouraged to see a therapist through the local va. diagnosed with ptsd as many veterans are, the therapist had an almost sickeningly positive outlook on cyrus’s prognosis. it seemed he was one of the few she believed in to pull himself out of the binds of a mental illness.

after a few sessions, his therapist encouraged him to get a service animal. after signing up and getting his certifications for a service animal taken care of, he adopted a rottweiler puppy. he named him LOOMIS.

however, there is no one can fake a fantasy like the son of a model. outwardly, cyrus was still charming, still personable, and most of all: still lethal. writing did precious little to staunch his emotions, but fighting did. though his training was limited compared to what it had been when he was a kid, he rejoined the local boxing gym and threw himself into the ring. the adrenaline pumping through his veins, the echoes that stirred his memories of war, the numbing catharsis that came after the bell rang all felt like coming home. it seemed the more violent the outburst, the more he felt at home.

there was nothing out of the realm of possibility for cyrus and his tastes; sleeping around, drinking, partying, fighting, living the reckless life of a daredevil whenever given the chance. joining the o’sheas after his father was a move that made sense. every risky behavior was lidocaine on a burn, a cool soothing menthol that eased the scald of emotions he’d rather not feel. binge after binge, everything started to blur together- no obligation, no feeling, nothing but the bed of a woman who would have him.

when he carried out what was asked of him as an initiation, he did so quickly, cleanly, and concisely. after all he’d seen on the plane of war, the carnage came as second nature. it made sense to do it for the sake of the family he claimed.

like all fears, his soon became realized. their father disappeared. though cyrus searched, he quickly lost hope they would ever find their father alive. he had seen enough in the service to know that if someone was gone for long enough, the’d never come back. with this effectuation of his father’s fate in mind, it became all too apparent to cyrus that everything changed.

cyrus couldn’t afford to be a mess in front of his siblings or in front of the walsh’s. he was the theoretical head of the rousseau’s. he would be their protector, and do everything in his power to ensure their safety and happiness. it felt as though everything fell to him; he could not be anything less than the man his father.

#crimson.intro #war tw #murder tw #violence tw #welcome to cyrus #this boy is a shit heap #but love him pls