what you will and get a spring 2026 waifu

Flynn wasn't quick enough to make it to Nalu in time, as the delinquent's fists came hammering down upon her head.  He watched as the girls head shattered apart...or splattered apart.  Nalu seemed to be entirely comprised of liquid.  He head squished it's shape, and she seemed unphased.  The display was another shock for Flynn, as the girl he had just been conversing rather friendly with was just an amorphous blob, not that there was anything wrong with that of course.  Her assailant had become rather feral, flailing around in a vein attempt to try and damage her.  Even though the girl seemed to be able to handle him, Flynn still made an attempt to go and assist her.   He was stopped in his tracks when the kid he had sent flying prior was now grabbing at his waist.  Flynn went to try and rip the thug's grip apart, but it proved to be more difficult than he initially thought.  Flynn was hoisted into the air by his middle.  This technique was familiar to a grappler such as himself!  He was about to take the brunt of a German Supplex.  Smiling beneath his mask, Flynn tucked his chin into his chest, and protected his neck with clasped hands.  Flynn crashed into the ground harder than he had on any wrestling mat before, and let out a loud grunt as he did so.  It was probably the third of fourth hardest bump he had taken in his life up until this point.  His opponent had dropped the hold on his waist, as Flynn writhed and wriggled in agony on the ground.  The crowd that had been watching their fight specifically had begun to gasp, almost reaching out for the Luchador.  He couldn't help but give a faint smile through the pain.  Everybody liked their hero on the backfoot...it would make their cheering all the more sweeter in a moment.  The delinquent stood up, rather clumsily, and proceeded to jump into the air above Flynn.  They stuck out their leg so that it would act as a guillotine over Flynn's neck.   Flynn gave up the act of the amount of pain he was in, noticing the amateur's move. "An Atomic Leg Drop!?  Impressive!"  Flynn instantly bounced off of his back, and onto his feet, crouched like some sort of wild cat.  "You're not so bad, rookie.  I'll show you something cool!"  With an explosion from his quadriceps, he launched himself into the air, intercepting the fledgling luchador in the making.  The two of them soared at least thirty feet into the air, before Flynn rotated the delinquent one-hundred and eighty degrees with ease.  He grabbed their legs underneath his arms, their wrists with his hands, shoving his knees underneath their arms.  With a twist, the two of them began their descent with a rapid twirling motion.  He laughed as the two rapidly plummeted towards earth, the delinquents head poised to crash into the ground at top speed.  "What do you think, eh!?  You are about to take on one of my experimental finishers!  I don't even have a name for it yet!  HAHAHA!"  This would have never flown for a real show, none of the wrestlers in his realm would be able to take this bump without serious injury, but this brute could take it...right? No...this guy was obviously under the influence of something...and Flynn didn't want to inflict serious harm onto someone who wasn't in control of their own actions. Before the last seconds before impact, Flynn changed his position into that of a mid-air pile driver.  He legs would provide more cushion to the blow, but not all of it.  The delinquents back collided with the ground, as it cratered beneath the two.  When the dust settled, Flynn brushed his hands together, and stuck his fists into the air, each pointing with one finger to the sky. "MY FANS, NEW AND OLD!!!  THIS IS LUCHA!!  THIS IS MI VIDA!!!"    A roar erupted from the crowd that was watching him at the awesome display.  His legs were shaky, the impact of the piledriver still coursed through them.  The pain mixed with his nerves was really putting them through the ringer.  He had never put on such an impromptu show before, but he was proud of himself.  He looked to the rest of the battlefield, and noticed the blonde girl from before being chased as she handed a bag towards Theodore.  Flynn dashed off once more, and leapt into a dropkick in an attempt to intercept him.

The righteous care for the needs of their animals,     but the kindest acts of the wicked are cruel. -Proverbs 12:10 (NIV) Melissa’s mind was awash with questions as the Stoutland (it was frankly amazing she could even remember which Pokémon it was) and Bartleby the Slakoth sized each other up. The Stoutland (Commander?) had arrived to pick Kasayee up, only to be waylaid by spotting Bartleby and feeling honor-bound to do something about it. Through Kasayee, he’d said he “wanted to see what this whippersnapper could do,” which seemed a bit excessive. Weren’t there Pokémon that just… hung out? Cities or entire regions where Pokémon battling was verboten? Melissa supposed it didn’t really matter. This was just happening now. Her other questions were a lot more generalized. She’d been worried about the specific location of the fight -- thinking specifically about the people who were contracted to clean the building -- but they’d ended up outside, so that was answered. More importantly, though, did this really have to happen now? Couldn’t it wait until, say, after everyone had eaten? On the other hand, of course, a recuperative meal afterwards could be just what everyone would need after this, so as long as Fen could keep the food warm just a moment longer. That was most of the questions. Why, where, when? All that really remained was How? Bartleby looked at once intense -- a far cry from his usual lackadaisical demeanor -- and entirely lost. This mattered to him, but at the same time, he knew he couldn’t do it alone. It was the sort of thing that Melissa could not help but rush to lend a hand. While Bartleby officially had the moniker of Team Pet, owned and cared for by anyone and everyone that lived there, if he had anyone as a trainer, Melissa had to admit that it was her. Not that she had any better idea at how to execute a Pokémon battle. All of her conflict skills had been relegated to either cards or computers. Melissa knelt beside Bartleby. “Alright,” she said. “What do you do?” Bartleby just stared at her. Melissa had spent more time memorizing Bible verses than the movesets of creatures that, at the time, she’d believed to be wholly fictional. Not that she regretted any of that time, of course, but they were already at an impasse. “Okay,” Melissa said. Fortunately, one thing that had stuck in Melissa’s mind was how useful her watch could be. Even if the watch didn’t know or have a way to know, it could point her towards someone that could. She didn’t even have to look that hard. A few swipes in, and there was a multi-use scanner ready and willing to accept Pokémon as an input. “Slakoth,” the makeshift Pokédex read, “the Slacker Pokémon.” The entry went on, but, in the interest of time, Melissa skipped ahead to potential movelists. Despite the Commander’s desire to put Bartleby through his paces, Bartleby did not seem like the type to have battled much at all before, so Melissa looked at the top of the list. “Scratch, Yawn, Encore… Anything else?” This time, Bartleby responded with a yawn. Not a Yawn yawn, just a normal one. Well, that was a strategy, at least. If Bartleby could get the Commander stuck doing the same thing over again, they’d have time to Yawn Commander to sleep and Scratch him into submission.  Her watch also warned her of Slakoth’s ability to be particularly lazy, as though she needed to be reminded of that! It was an uphill battle in front of them. Melissa braced herself for defeat, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t about to try her best, for Bartleby’s sake. Melissa said, “Give him a big Yawn, and we’ll work our way from there.”