#i know accelerated aging is canon and all

[firefly-fez]

Me after seeing Riyo Chuchi’s “what happens when you get too old to fight” comment, implying they need to think of their accelerated aging, still blatantly refusing to accept the clones-age-twice-as-fast thing as canon:

*sticks fingers in ears* la la la it’s not a genetically faster aging it’s an environmental treatment in a growth acceleration chamber, a treatment they have to be subjected to and now that kamino is gone they won’t be subjected to it anymore 99 was just an early prototype testing the chamber that’s why he’s old, i mean rex canonically a generation one clone how could 99 be older than a generation one clone it doesn’t make sense…. it’s a growth acceleration chamber and without regular treatment they age normally all those lil’ clone cadets will age normally rex will age normally he looks like That in Rebels bc of stress and stress alone they’ll all age normally it’s fine nothing bad will happen to them ever la la la i cannot hear you it’s fine they’re fine

[david-talks-sw]

Debunking more myths in the GFFA: the Jedi and the clones.

I wrote a post debunking the various myths about how "the Jedi condone slavery", a while ago. Something I had omitted (because it's such a big topic) was the following two statements that concern the clone troopers' relations with the Jedi:

"The clones were genetically bred to have accelerated growth, so they're technically child soldiers."

"The clones were slaves of the Jedi."

Both the above statements are inaccurate, let's explore why. 

"The clones were child soldiers"

Let's get the easy one out of the way first, because it's a logic that cuts both ways. If age is our only determination of the maturity of a Star Wars character, then Grogu is not a baby. He is aged 50, and is thus a middle-aged man.

Who cruelly eats the babies of a woman...

... and knowingly tortures animals for his own sadistic pleasure.

Of course, I'm kidding. Grogu's none of the above things.

The narrative frames him as a cute baby who does innocent baby stuff. Him eating the eggs is played off as comedic, as is him lifting with the frog. To this day, some fans still call him "Baby Yoda".

Conversely, despite the clones being 10/14-years-old, their actions, behaviors, way of thinking, sense of humor, morals etc, are all those of an adult.

Like, Ahsoka is technically older than Rex in this scene.

The scene doesn't portray them as peers, though. This isn't written as "a teen and a tween talking". No, Rex looks, acts and behaves like a grown-up and is thus framed as such by the narrative.

You can make the argument "they're child soldiers", but (unless you're doing so in bad faith) you'd also have to argue that "Grogu's an adult".

"The clones were the Jedi's slaves"

Nope. For all intents and purposes, they're in the same boat as the Jedi, who George Lucas stated multiple times had been drafted to fight in the war.

Again: both the Jedi (monk/diplomats untrained for fighting on a battlefield) and clones (literally bred en masse only to fight) are being forced to fight by Palpatine and the Senate.

Though, on paper, the clones were commissioned by Jedi Master Sifo-Dyas, it was actually done by the Sith (who either manipulated or assassinated Sifo-Dyas then stole his identity, depending on the continuity you choose to adhere to). The rest of the Jedi had no idea these clones were being created.

So while the clones are slaves... they're not owned by the Jedi.

They're the army of the Republic, they belong to the Senate. This isn't exactly a scoop, they refer to the clones as something to purchase...

... and manufacture.

As far as the Senate’s concerned, clones are property, like droids. 

Like there's a whole subplot in The Bad Batch about this very point: after the war, the clones are decommissioned and left out to dry because they literally have no rights, they served their purpose.

The only trooper to ever canonically blame the Jedi for the clones' enslavement is Slick, who the narrative frames as having been bribed and manipulated by Asajj Ventress into betraying his comrades.

Also, the only canonical Jedi shown to ever be mean, dismissive or mistreating the clones in any way, is Pong Krell.

And it's eventually revealed he’s in fact a full-on traitor, hence why the story frames him as an antagonistic dick from the moment he's introduced. He doesn’t represent the Jedi in any way.

We know this because the other Jedi we’ve been shown are always prioritizing their clones’ lives over theirs, if given the chance.

Finally, if we wanna get even more specific... as Commander-in-Chief of the Grand Army of the Republic (GAR), the clones belong to Palpatine. 

Palpatine who is a Sith Lord. 

Palpatine who arranged for the creation of the clones and had them all injected with a chip that would activate upon hearing a code-word...

... and forced them to murder their Jedi without hesitation or remorse.

When you bear all that  ⬆️  in mind and when you read this quote by George Lucas...

"The Jedi won't lead droids. Their whole basis is connecting with the life force. They'd just say, 'That's not the way we operate. We don't function with non-life-forms.” So if there is to be a Republic army, it would have to be an army of humans."    - The Star Wars Archives: 1999-2005, 2020  

... narratively-speaking, everything falls into place.

Sidious knows that:

If he orchestrates a war designed to thin the Jedi's numbers, corrupt their values and plunge the galaxy into chaos...

If he wants to draft the Jedi - peace-keeping diplomats who’d never willingly join the fray - to fight in his war...

... then the only way they won't resist the draft and abstain from fighting is if they think joining the conflict will save lives.

So he creates a set of cruel, sadistic villains for them to face, opponents who will target innocent civilians at every turn...

... and instead of lifeless droids, he prepares for the Jedi an army of men... living, mortal people who, despite being well-trained, will be completely out of their league when facing the likes of Dooku...

... Ventress...

... Grievous...

... Savage Opress...

... or the defoliator, a tank that annihilates organic matter.

Thus, in order to save as many clone and civilian lives, the Jedi join the fray despite knowing that doing so will corrupt their values. 

And as the war rages on, a bond of respect is formed between the two groups.

Clearly, the Jedi don't like the fact that the Republic is using the clones to fight a war, but for that matter, they don't like being in a war, in fact they advocated against it.

However, it's happening regardless of their issues with the idea or personal philosophies. Said The Clone Wars writer Henry Gilroy:

"I’d rather not get into the Jedi’s philosophical issues about an army of living beings created to fight, but the Jedi are in a tough spot themselves, being peacekeepers turned warriors trying to save the Republic."

And bear in mind, the Jedi are basically space psychics, the clones are living beings that they can individually feel in the Force... 

... so the Jedi feel every death but need to move on, regardless, only being able to mourn the troopers at the end of every battle.

We see this in the Legends continuity too, by the way.

(that is, when the writers actually try to engage with the narrative)

Also, if you ask the clones, they’re grateful the Jedi have their backs.

When Depa Billaba voices her concerns about how the war is impacting the Jedi's principles, troopers Grey and Styles are quick to make it clear how grateful they all are for the Jedi's involvement:

So the clones aren't the Jedi's slaves. If anything, they're both slaves of the Republic (considering how low the Jedi's status actually is in the hierarchy).

Only I'd argue the clones have it much, much worse. 

The Senate sees the Jedi as "ugh, the holier-than-thou space-monk lapdogs who work for us"... but a Jedi has the option to give up that responsibility. They can leave the Order, no fuss or stigma. 

A clone trooper cannot leave the GAR! If they do, they’re marked for treason and execution. Again, they’re not perceived as “people”.

And it doesn’t help that the Kaminoans, the clones’ very creators, see the troopers as products/units/merchandise. A notion that the Jedi are quick to correct whenever they get the chance.

How The Clone Wars writers describe the clones' relationship with the Jedi.

George Lucas hasn’t spoken much about this subject aside from the quote from further up. But to be fair... the Prequels aren’t about the clones’ dynamic with the Jedi, so it makes sense that he wouldn’t talk on that subject so much.

He did mention that part of The Clone Wars’ perks is that he could:

“Do stories about some of the individual clones and get to know them.”

But that’s as far as it gets. 

So for this part, I'm just gonna let Dave Filoni, showrunner of The Clone Wars and the upcoming series Ahsoka, and TCW writer Henry Gilroy - both of whom worked closely with Lucas - take the wheel. They make themselves pretty clear on how the clone/Jedi dynamic is meant to be viewed. 

Here’s Henry Gilroy:

"In my mind, the Jedi see the clones as individuals, living beings that have the same right to life as any other being, but understand that they have a job to do."

"The clones see the Jedi as their commanding officers on one hand, but also, at least subconsciously, they look to them for clues to social/moral behavior."    

"Some clones may find themselves getting philosophical leadership from the Jedi that helps them answer some of the deeper questions of life."    

"We thought this was a great opportunity to show how the Jedi interact with clones. Specifically, Yoda in a teaching role of the clones, who were socially new, who kind of grew up— who were created to fight, and he really broadened their horizons and helped them realize there was a great big universe out there that was bigger than just fighting and killing."    

And here’s Dave Filoni’s comments:

"I truly believe that the Jedi try to humanize their clones and make them more individual, as Henry says."    

"I think we saw that in Revenge of the Sith, when the Clones were colorful and named under the Jedi Generals, and then in the final shots of the film with Palpatine and Vader near the new Death Star, the ships are grey, the color and life is sucked out. The Stormtroopers are only numbers and identified by black and white armor or uniforms in A New Hope." 

"The soldiers have become disposable to the Emperor."    

"That is something the Jedi would never do."    

"Yoda teaching the clones much like he taught Luke. ‘Cause that was kind of natural for [the Jedi], a natural instinct to take to these clones like they’re students."    

None of the above quotes from two different writers of The Clone Wars, who had many interactions with George Lucas, frame the Jedi and the clones’ relationship in a negative way. 

How much more proof do we need that "the clones were slaves of the Jedi” isn’t the intended narrative?

My point being that while the clones' ordeal is indeed horrible, the Jedi have nothing to do with it. The narrative of The Clone Wars always frames it as the fault of the Sith, the Senate and the Kaminoans.

If you go by the intended narrative, the Jedi were the clones' teachers and brothers-in-arms. The clones and the Jedi were not just comrades.

They were friends.

[diremoone]

“make me (yours).” | r. sukuna

w — [ minors do not interact ] modern! AU, hints of sugar daddy vibes ;), older man/younger woman, age gap, everyone is above 20+ and legal age, male masturbation, Sukuna imagining seggs positions and shit like that, Sukuna is around 36 & Reader is around 22/23, tbh sukuna being a comfort character rn. jjk after 235? it’s non-canon lmao

a/n: this is the most I’ve ever written that’s sinful I’m not used to this (it’s been so damn long since i have written anything remotely sinful omfg) and it’s not even that much I’m so embarrassed y’all HELP— also part two depends on you guys and any ideas you want to send in through my ask box :3

part one | part two

[ first divider by @/benkeibear, the second by @/cafekitsune ]

♥️ Rich! Sukuna who meets you through his younger brother, who’s a few years older than you. You’ve been in Japan for a few years now, that much he knows, attending the same school his little brother got into. And now he’s determined to find out everything about you.

♥️ Rich! Sukuna who’s so fucking glad you can speak Japanese. He knows English, yes, but he prefers it when you speak his native tongue, because he fucking loves your accent and gets off on it. It’s exotic — you’re exotic — and he can’t help the temptation of wanting you and more.

♥️ Rich! Sukuna who knows to keep his smug smirk into himself when his little brother finally mans up and finally introduces you to him one day when he comes home to work on a project that you’re helping him with. And he knows that Yuuji knows about the look on his face. Because he knows his history with women. Yuuji knows he’s made a mistake introducing you to each other.

Or so he thinks.

Sukuna is thoroughly amused by you, although there are times where he becomes frustrated. You’re not an easy case to crack, and not easy to tease and rile up. Perhaps that’s the part of you that’s from accelerated maturity.

You’re smarter than the average person, even the people slightly above average. You’re intellectually and psychologically challenging and he very much likes it. It’s been a long time since he’s had the kind of stimulation you’ve brought him. Since his and Yuuji’s father passed away.

He watches from a distance as you and his brother go over notes and work and crack jokes that put a pretty smile on your face. He can’t hear your laughter from where he stands, but he’s positive it’s as lovely as your smile.

As for you, you know you’re being watched. You look to the tall man out of your peripheral vision and halt rolling your eyes.

“Your brother is never subtle, is he?”

Yuuji sighs heavily. “Never.”

♥️ Rich! Sukuna who hates the fact he can’t see you more often. So he digs and digs and then finds out about some old family debts and a couple things for medical expenses he can easily pay off to hold over your head, to use as a means to be something akin to a sugar daddy so he can order you around and see you whenever he wants to.

And it comes as no surprise to him when he mentions it the next time his brother brings you over for schoolwork that you’re startled by him finding out. He only mentions it after Yuuji has fallen asleep on the couch. You give him the wide-eyed expression of shock, probably wondering how he found out about it.

But unlike his expectations, you don’t ask how he knows. you don’t get embarrassed and try to hush it away with the option of using yourself as his favor. You shrug, going a little more into depth and detail about the financial struggle that’s been kept under wraps for several good years.

Sukuna himself is surprised in return, by both you and the way he sits down for you — to listen to you.

♥️ Rich! Sukuna, who finds out that even though you see him as super attractive, you’re not as swayed by his flirting and all of his advances like many women and young women your age are. Yes, you know he’s super fucking stupidly hot, and yes you’ve more than likely thought about certain things while in bed under the sheets, but you’ve got more important things to prioritize than hot men. Which he applauds you for just as much as he despises it. It makes him frustrated, because he’s attracted to you and wants you in his bed so bad; because it should be so fucking easy like it has been with other women. But you’re not the same, and while his lust is as prominent as ever in his older age, he also has the desire for something more than just a fling.

♥️ Rich! Sukuna who manages to get ahold of your schedule through his baby brother (who’s prepping for your broken heart) and asks you out, setting up a date for when he knows you’re free. He much enjoys the look on your face when he brings up the date he’s set, knowing you’re wondering about how he managed to nail the exact day you’re free for the day he’s set for the outing. He enjoys it even further when you quickly deduce how he knows about it.

Goddamn, he loves a sharp woman.

♥️ Rich! Sukuna, who orders you a dress to be made that’s a mix of beautiful deep crimson and black, one that shines but doesn’t shine too much to glare at people eyes. He drums his fingers against his desk in his home office as he sees the notification pop up on his phone that the item has been delivered.

But as usual, you surprise him. You don’t end up wearing the dress he’s made, but something completely different. You arrive to the restaurant he’s bought out for the night in a deep silver-gray tux, hair styled in a simple manner with minimal makeup that he knows you don’t need because he’s already seen and fallen for your natural looks anyway.

Sukuna hates you. He doesn’t, but he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with the feelings he has. You’re so much younger than him, but holy fuck has it been so long since he’s been given any sort of challenge or stimuli, especially from a woman. He both hates and is glad you’re not easy. And it only fuels his drive to get you to give yourself to him.

You drive him up a damn wall.

He’s been in the shower for at least forty minutes, alternating between hot and cold every five minutes. Forty minutes and the painful hard on he’s had all morning still hasn’t gone away.

Sukuna leans his head forward against the wall and cusses at himself. His hand isn’t enough, but there’s some relief as he starts leisurely pumping his shaft. He cusses and swears worse than a sailor as he starts off slow, imagination running wild (at what could be).

He wants you so fucking bad. He wants you on your knees in front of him; on the soft carpet because no way is he going to let his pretty woman have sore knees while taking his monstrous dick down her throat.

He wants to bury his face between your legs and make you cum so much and so hard you see fucking galaxies, then let you catch your breath just barely enough before he uses your juices as lubricant and permanently molds your pussy to the shape of his fat cock.

He wants your legs over his shoulders as you throw your head back and moan as he fucks your better than anyone ever has and ever will. He wants to see a white ring around his cock as he pumps himself in and out of you like he’s a starved man. And that he is. For you, anyway.

Sukuna just knows your pussy is so fucking warm. He’ll bet his dick that you’ll have the tightest pussy he’s ever going to have. The best he’s ever going to have.

His hand pumps his shaft faster and faster, gripping it harder as he nears climax. His massive cock aches painfully, desperate to cum. Fucking hell… He wants you so bad, underneath him, or on your knees, calling him by whatever pet name or name from whatever kink you might have.

Forbid everything if you call him ‘Daddy’ or ‘Master’. Game fucking over.

He doesn’t even care if you have those kinds kinks or not. He just wants the pretty girl that’s done more than caught his attention under him as he makes her feel pleasure that only he can provide.

But the selfish part of him can’t help but hear you call out those names in his head. And that’s what does it.

Sukuna’s thighs and back muscles flex almost painfully as his balls draw up and cums. He tosses his head back, the feeling of his load spurting from the tip making him groan in pleasure. He cums so hard he feels like he’s about to keel over.

“Fuck yeah…” he pants, oxygen finally catching up to his lungs’ need.

But now he’s disappointed and just a little pissed off. Because the cum on the wall shouldn’t be there. It should be on or in you. And he doesn’t like that.

And as he rewashes himself, his jaw clenches, can’t help but thinking determinedly he’s going to change things between the two of you.

Come hell or high fucking water.

♥️ Rich! Sukuna who’s finally shifted the relationship to being something else. Although you can’t tell what it is. The first date he takes you on is to break the ice, getting to know you better as a person. It’s also to see if you’d fuck him, but he knows you’ve got stronger convictions than the women he’s used to.

He takes you on a second date, this time in more casual clothes on a drive to a house he’s set up to have dinner and stargaze at.

He gets to tell you he’s paid off your family’s old debts now, relieved them of the medical bills and taxes that haven’t been paid yet. But it backfires, and now he’s left to make you understand that it wasn’t to make you feel beholden to him in any manner, like owing debt to the mafia.

♥️ Rich! Sukuna needs you to understand that despite how much he wants to fuck you, it’s more than just because he finds you attractive and wants to satisfy his dick. He wants you to know you’re not temporary; he doesn’t see you as a quick fix to his primal needs.

Not at all.

You’re the long term fix to his primal needs. And perhaps the only one he’s going to need ever again. And once the expression of understanding crosses your face, he goes to cradle the back of your head and hungrily slots his lips on yours. He may not get to take all your clothes off right now, but he’s happy with his results tonight.

Besides, he knows he’ll get you into his bed with a shiny diamond ring on your left hand eventually.

wheeeew im gonna go take a cold bath

@vagabond-umlaut here’s ur man babe pls enjoy.

& everyone pls feel free to send in more ideas for this series if you want im having fun with this lmao

[sparkshock]

Age order of the Nublar Six

Okay. So like, I know people have their headcanons and shit, but I want to know if there is any ACTUAL confirmed age order besides what we already know. Like, I know Darius is the youngest, followed by Brooklynn, then Ben & Sammy, and finally Yaz & Kenji. But I scoured the interwebs and I couldn’t find anything confirming who was the oldest. I’ve seen some people say Yaz, some people say Kenji. Is there a definite answer or are we going based on headcanon?

If that’s the case, lemme cook here. This is all based on my own observations with my own headcanons sprinkled in. Feel free to disagree or call me out if canon contradicts anything.

Yaz: Oldest.

Born April 13, 2000.

10th grade/Sophomore in high school.

She drives the van in S1, indicating that she also has her learner's permit. Unlike Kenji, she seems to have a better grasp on driving, which means she's likely been doing it longer.

I headcanon that Yaz is from Seattle, Washington. The legal age to get a learner's permit in Washington is 15, which checks out.

She's always felt like the oldest to me, just based on how she acts. Obviously her maturity doesn't directly correlate with her age, but I think there is usually some overlap with that.

Kenji: Second oldest.

Born October 19th, 2000.

10th grade/Sophomore in high school. He is technically supposed to be a freshman due to cut-off dates, but his dad paid to have him move up a grade to be around people who would “be a better influence” on him.

He mentions that his dad locked the penthouse because he failed algebra, which is typically a course taken in freshman year, and Kenji doesn’t seem like the type of guy to take advanced classes.

I headcanon that Kenji is from Miami, Florida (based purely on the fact that my beta-reader said "he looks like a creature from Miami"). The legal age to get a learner's permit in Miami is 15.

Kenji has his learner's permit, but isn't comfortable behind the wheel, indicating that he hasn't been driving for very long.

(he kind of acts like a freshman. no shade but some of y'all are annoying as fuck. love kenji tho <3)

Sammy: Upper middle.

Born March 29, 2001.

9th grade/Freshman in high school.

She gives big sister vibes, so I feel like she would be next up.

Ben: Lower middle.

Born August 26, 2001.

9th grade/Freshman in high school.

He would be one of the youngest in his grade due to cutoff dates.

It just feels right to me.

Brooklynn: Second Youngest.

Born May 17, 2002.

8th grade.

She is taught by 100% online tudors so it’s hard to determine where she falls on the education scale, but I would assume she learns at an accelerated rate.

Darius: Youngest.

Born January 4th, 2003.

8th grade.

I think he turned 13 pretty early on.

He’s one year ahead in school, so although he SHOULD be in 7th grade, he’s actually in 8th grade. This could have happened for numerous reasons, but I'm just gonna say he was smart and skipped a grade because the school recommended it.

Obviously, a lot of this is just shit I made up, so feel free to disagree. Or, if you like any of these headcanons and want to use them in your own work, go right ahead! No need to credit me. This is how I’m gonna do it in my fic lol. But I’d love to hear other people’s opinions/analyses!

[i-m-art-ix]

Ninjago headcanons just FSM family

(Sorry for my English but it is not my native language)

1#

Lloyd discovered one day that if he just calls Wu uncle he can get out of any trouble (because Wu adores his nephew), which he often uses to his advantage, for example, when he was still a child, he would often approach Wu and ask for various things, and if Wu did not agree, he would simply say "Okay, Uncle Wu" in the saddest voice he could, which made Wu immediately change his mind and agree. As Lloyd got older he stopped using it as much but still does it sometimes. Best of all, everyone is aware of this except Wu himself, so if the ninja want to do something and know that Wu won't agree, they send Lloyd to "convince" Wu.

2#

FSM was a teenage parent, I'm mean in season 15 it was said that when he came to ninjago he was still a child and as we know hybrids age differently so I'm sure when he created Wu and Garmadon (I don't give a damn that this man had a woman, I just don't see it) he was still a teenager and mentally he could have been about 18-20 years old.

3#

I'm sure FSM tried to be a good parent but didn't know what to do, apart from the fact that he was still a teenager at the time, this man never had any idea what a healthy family should look like, he literally was a child soldier and had to choose between dragons and Oni and I suspect that neither the dragons or the Oni were not very nice to him and they probably didn't have much affection for him. And unfortunately it was visible, but he loved his sons (and he certainly loves his grandson).

4#

So screw the canon, Wu never loved Misako, he didn't like her at first (because he claimed she was stealing his brother because Garmadon only talked about her), later he started liking her and then they became good friends.

5#

So when I said that Wu doesn't love Misako, I mean that Wu is gay, no really look at the teenage version of him, he can't be straight.

6#

I am sure that Wu was the creator of many fashion trends, considering that back then there was not much fashion and Wu had the power to create, he had to create many clothes that no one had ever seen before. Many of these clothes were very sexy and revealed a lot of things.

7#

Due to the way Wu dressed, many men stared at him and flirted with him, which of course neither Garmadon or their father not liked, that's why they never sent Wu to the city alone, someone always went with him and whenever a man tried to hit on him he got a death glare from Garmadon or FSM (which must have been terrifying, as if God himself wants to kill you because you thought in a erotic way about his son and also Garmadon who is the essence of destruction and intends to rip out your organs for looking at his younger brother).

8#

FSM loves his grandson, the guy literally gave him his golden power without a second thought and even let him choose between life and death, he must adore Lloyd.

9#

Before the events of Season 1, when Lloyd was expelled from school and wandered the streets, FSM was his guardian angel. He made sure Lloyd didn't hurt himself, and when he did something to himself, he simply accelerated his regeneration with his divine powers, when Lloyd had nothing to eat, he directed him to places where food could be easily obtained. In episode 1 of season 1, when Lloyd gets to the tomb, he falls over perfectly to avoid being hypnotized and the leader of the snakes hypnotized himself, it not way that this kid failed perfectly, I'm actually sure that his grandfather helped him

[slowd1ving]

ACT III: PASSION ✦ . 　⁺ VIL SCHOENHEIT NSFW

Vil Schoenheit and second place aren't supposed to be a thing. He's supposed to be the very embodiment of perfection, so why the hell is someone else's name usurping his crown on the Potions leader board? In which our starring actor cannot quench the flames of academic rivalry and resentment that consume him, nor can he fathom the enigma that you are. gn! scientist! reader warnings: contains nsfw but only later, angst with a happy ending, spoilers for book five, canon-compliant violence

TWISTED WONDERLAND MASTERLIST

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Scene I: Ember . 　⁺

He’s finally going to be number one, and have the stage all to himself. This is what he tells himself as he washes his face in the evening before the poison assessment.

“Mira, mira, at this moment right now, who is the most beautiful of them all?” Vil murmurs as he gently pats his face dry. It’s been ages since he’s last asked - between photo shoots and schoolwork, he’s barely had time to remember to ask.

“Neige LeBlanche,” the robotic voice echoes from his phone. Vil’s contemplative expression twists into one of scorn. Of course. It’s always him, isn’t it? No matter. He’ll beat both Neige and you very soon. He’ll conquer the stage and make it his.

“Tomorrow,” Vil promises his reflection. Tomorrow his luck will change. The two of you will both be on equal footing.

Surprisingly, these past few weeks have been somewhat enjoyable. You’re a competent manager, he’s forced to admit. It’s almost… fun, he supposes, especially when he sees your eyes tracing his movements across the ballroom. He doesn’t know why he craves that attention; his veins dance with fire after each practice in your presence.

He sets down his face towel on the vanity and rises. He can’t possibly distract himself with you the night before he finally overcomes you. It’s time for his evening tea anyway. Surely the lavender will soothe his turbulent mind. The floorboards creak as he steps out of the room.

Barely any light passes through the narrow corridor leading out of his room. Vil’s hairs almost jump out of his scalp as he feels a warm body collide with his, before callused hands grasp his wrists with a surprising gentleness.

“God, I’m sorry,” Vil almost screams as he hears your voice in the darkness. It’s strangely intimate, with your hands still fumbling around his wrists. He can feel his pulse accelerate, surely with rage, surely-

“Vil?” if he could see your face, he’d be sure you’d be squinting with those furrowed brows. His body stiffens under your touch; he knows you can feel his tension like a tightly coiled spring. “Is that you?”

“Yeah,” he’s not as composed as he should be. Pull yourself together. Your hands let go abruptly, and he hears your footsteps shuffle backwards inch by inch. He doesn’t know why he feels this pit in his stomach.

“My bad for bumping into you,” you brush past him, suddenly better adjusted to the dim lighting, it seems. “The storeroom’s right next to yours.”

Then, you’re gone. Vil lingers in the corridor, still surprised by what happened. He makes his way to the kitchen slowly, still feeling the lingering embers of your touch on his skin. It’s not quiet in there - he’d give a whole lot of thaumarks to sit and brood in silence for a bit, but nothing seems to be going his way today clearly.

Rook’s furiously penning something on the kitchen table, no doubt another poem of his. Some things never change. Kalim sits draped over the table with a hand of cards laying despairingly in front of him. The offenders who caused this misery are none other than Ace and Grim, who look ever so pleased with their own hand.

“Ah, Roi des Poisons,” Rook’s greeting causes eyes to turn towards Vil. “Have you thought of a prize yet?”

“Prize?” Grim’s eyes light up with interest; beside him, Ace’s expression is a mirror of that cat’s. They really are two peas in a pod, even if they vehemently deny it. “What prize?”

“Yeah, what prize?” you chime in from behind Vil. The tone of an instigator is present in your voice as you brush past Vil once again - he’s suddenly hyper aware of his surroundings. You survey the kitchen, slapping down a colourful deck of cards on the table. “Rook?”

“The prize for the poison assessment, bien sûr,” Rook explains, peering at the cards you’ve brought. “What is this- Uno? What’s that?”

“There’s a prize for the poison assessment?” you tilt your head in confusion, swivelling to Vil inquiringly. At the same time, Vil spots Kalim and Trappola look at each other with very intently pondering expressions.

“Is this the same assessment used to choose the Pomefiore housewarden?” Ace blurts out. His brows are clearly having a disagreement with each other with how far they’re furrowed. “Why would the Prefect be involved in that?”

“Surely.. Did you challenge Vil for the title of Housewarden?” Kalim swivels his head to you with anticipation in his voice. You frown and hold up your hand. Why haven’t you told your friends about this? Do you not realise the true magnitude of this assessment?

“Other way round,” your reply is accompanied by that annoying shrug. Clearly, that dim-witted Grim lacks basic comprehension skills.

“Henchman, has he challenged you for the seat of Prefect?” Grim’s smug question is met with silence. Trappola’s clearly struggling to contain his laughter.

“Huh?” you stifle a laugh behind your hand. “No, I was just challenged.”

“Why the hell would anyone want to be Prefect of this place?” Trappola chokes out. Vil can’t even bring himself to be surprised - of course they’d focus more on this dump of a place than the extremely rare poison assessment.

“We’re getting off topic,” you interrupt the fits of giggles Ace has somehow dragged Kalim into. “What prize would I get, since I can’t exactly take your seat?”

“More importantly, what does Vil want?” Ace glares at Vil. He hasn’t really thought about it; the taste of victory feels like it’ll be more than enough. Vil glances at you, noticing the way your expression’s become contemplative. He hates it. He hates the way you look at him with those eyes full of thought, full of knowledge, full-

“He stands to gain victory,” Rook remarks from the table. “For some, pursuit of success and achieving that is the greatest prize one can hope for. Vraiment, c’est beau, the tenacity of it all. Isn’t that right, Roi des Poisons?”

“That’s so stupid,” Grim blurts out. “You’re doing this for a feeling?”

Vil is silent. He’s thinking.

“Yes,” Vil concurs. “I will be satisfied with the taste of victory as my prize.”

“That’s it?” Grim’s sceptical voice is starting to irritate him. “What about you, henchman? Remember, he’s got a buncha thaumarks from acting and whatnot. Milk him for all he’s worth.”

“I’ll decide what my prize will be when I win,” you meet Grim’s eyes levelly. Vil can see the urge to argue rise up within that demonic cat, but ultimately the cat backs down seeing the conviction in your stance.

“How wonderful,” Rook praises. “J’adore t’assurance, trickster.”

“Thanks, I guess,” you pull out a chair beside Rook, sliding over the colourful pack of cards you unceremoniously dumped on the table earlier. Upon closer inspection, they seem to be brightly coloured with markers and fineliner. Homemade cards? “Now, let me explain to you the wonderful game of Uno…”

Your voice fades to nothing as Vil wordlessly slips out of the kitchen. He can’t even remember what he came here for. He’s forgotten it all. Pale gold hair falls out of its perfect arrangement as he desperately runs his fingers through his hair to distract him from his heated face. Surely what he’s feeling is hatred right? Surely he’s not replaying your rough touch on his wrists over and over in his mind?

The door is shut with a swift kick behind him. Vil stands in the solace of his guest room in Ramshackle. The only sound to be heard is the muffled chatter from the kitchen below and his heavy breathing. He should sleep, right? Sleep’s embrace will wash all his feelings away, right? He sinks onto the bed with all the odd assorted blankets toppling from their carefully folded pile. Sleep won’t come easy tonight, he can already predict.

He’s right.

Scene II: Blue Flame . 　⁺

His dreams are turbulent at first; kaleidoscopes of nightmares and death grip his mind, most of them caused by his signature spell. Only the impression of fear remains as the backdrop inside his mind eases into a canvas of a rich sanguine.

Something within him blazes alight.

The mirages of his dreams have never been so brazenly- His train of thought is completely derailed as he feels warm lips press against his wrists in chaste kisses, lingering for only a few seconds. Vil’s heart skips with anticipation as whoever it is gently clasps his wrists, so familiar to what happened earlier that he cannot help but look-

There you are.

Your expression is positively enchanting with how you look at him like that. Like he’s the most beautiful being you’ve ever seen. It’s not enough. He needs that look permanently engraved onto his optic nerve - the soft smile you give him is causing his mind to go hazy, the soft smile you give whenever you’re in the middle of lab work. It’s full of pure adoration and glee and he wants nothing more than to look up on that charming visage forever.

“Please,” his voice sounds distorted and muffled. The scarlet haze of the background slowly morphs into his familiar room at Pomefiore. And you - you’re above him, pressing him into his very bed. A teasing expression paints itself on your face as you kiss his jaw; all your movements are agonisingly slow. You treat him with care, sucking and nibbling on his collarbone while he’s seeing galaxies unfurl behind you. He’s so utterly gone.

You’re deftly unbuttoning his dorm uniform shirt while he gazes at you with what he can only imagine to be starry eyes. It’s carefully folded neatly beside him before he can blink. Warm hands caress his body; he can feel the rough, callused skin brush against his waist and shivers. Your body hovers above his, just barely brushing over him. More, he wants to ask, please, do anything, but his lips betray him and he cannot get any words to leave his mouth. This languid pace you’ve adopted is nothing short of torturous. He can only hope his pleading eyes convey the message.

He lies on the deep blue sky of his cape, submerged in the midnight silk as you finally close the gap between your body and his. Whatever he was thinking about flies out of the window when he feels the warmth of your lips on his - finally. Vil’s eyes flutter closed and his hands clasp around the back of your neck so he can press himself into you further and further. Hyperaware. That’s how he feels right now, so much that he can feel your muscles tug your lips up into a smile. He can feel the way your hand wraps around his waist to pull his pelvis onto yours. He can feel the way your other hand presses down into the bed so you don’t fully sink onto him. He adores the way the two of you fit into each other.

“You’re the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen,” you murmur into his mouth. Vil hasn’t realised just how much he’s longed to hear those words until a heavy weight suddenly lifts from him. Curse his racing heart. Curse his flushed face. Curse you for making his soul do leaps and bounds. “Allow me to take care of you.”

You press your mouth against his, still keeping that maddening pace. Vil’s slowly coming undone from just this. His legs part as your knee slots between them. The whine emerging from his throat is muffled by your tongue in his mouth. Any self-control he might’ve had is beaten to a bloody pulp when your knee applies more pressure, and suddenly he’s grinding up against it to chase that high. The warm feeling of pleasure is slowly spreading throughout his stomach; he’d never thought he’d see the day where it came from you of all people.

Stars. That’s what plays behind his eyelids as he closes them, overwhelmed by the pleasure of being practically devoured by you. Your deft scientist’s hand moves from where it’s nestled in the slope of his waist and moves to his chest, where it lazily draws circles around his nipple. Vil lets out a strangled moan at the divine sensation of the rough pads of your fingers. More. He needs more of your touch. He needs you, he needs-

Vil wakes up with a rough start in his bed, breathing heavily. What the actual fuck. It’s completely dark outside and he can feel the uncomfortable sensation of sweat accumulated at his thighs and back. He grabs his phone from where it lays carelessly on the nightstand.

3:02 AM.

Details of his dream come flooding back to him vividly. He can feel a crimson flush bleed onto his cheeks like red ink. Not only has his sleep been interrupted, it’s been interrupted by you. Try as he might, he can’t get the image out of his head. Deep shame settles in his very bones - he can’t be thinking about his rival this way. He hates you, damn it! He hates the way you looked at him, as if you knew about the bottomless chasm of insecurity within him and still adored him nonetheless-

He covers his face with his hands with a groan, digging into his soft skin. He can’t spend the rest of the night wallowing in misery, not when there’s the poison assessment literally hours away. Whatever shame and other, inexplicable feelings pertaining to you, that will all be dealt with after the poison assessment. After he’s gone back to sleep.

3:13 AM.

Of course it won’t be that easy to slip back into the recesses of his slumber. Not when his mind is still plagued with you. Embers of desire still burn deep within his stomach; all he craves right now is to be touched. Sharp pain blossoms on his bottom lip as he bites down to suppress the small groan rising in his throat. He wants to scream. How dare the universe play this cruel joke? How dare his subconscious ruin his night sleep? His beauty sleep?? Not once in the past few years has his slumber been interrupted this badly.

His eyelids squeeze together and he forces his breathing to calm itself. Surely he can just act out the part of someone sleeping like a log, then his body will follow? Method acting. He forces his body to tense up for several seconds, then lets his muscles unravel to stimulate a relaxed state. He’s so tired. That must’ve worked, right?

The landscape of his mind is dark grey; he fades in and out of consciousness. He’s been trying to keep his mind completely clear to no avail. The half-slumbering state is broken instantly when his bed creaks underneath him. Annoyance builds within him as he slams his hand down on the goddamn mattress - he’s not even surprised by the appalling conditions of the room, but at least let the goddamn beds be goddamn functional-

3:35 AM.

The light of the phone almost blinds him when he picks it up. Overwhelming frustration thrums through his veins. Half an hour has been wasted, all because his subconscious put you into his dreams. Shame drips over his very being as he realises that the deep desire within his stomach still hasn’t been quenched. It’s gnawing away at whatever self-restraint he’s got. Vil wants to scream at the absurdity of it all. He who can woo millions with his performances, he who is world-renowned for his acting, he who can enrapture the hearts of those who surround him - he cannot even deceive himself and quash these desires.

He can’t even take a cold shower to take care of his problem. It would just disrupt his night’s sleep even further - he cannot afford that at all when the assessment tomorrow requires him to have razor-sharp wits. Biting his lip, the shame of what he’s about to do drenches him from head to toe. Of all nights…

His manicured hand carefully wanders down his body. Best to get this over with as quickly and with the least amount of effort possible. The tight fabric of his pants over the crotch is swiftly discovered by one hand, whilst the other creeps in under his shirt. He’s once again thankful that he’s been given his own room in the crumbling dormitory (and especially, especially thankful Rook’s room isn’t in the general vicinity).

A strangled moan leaves his throat and into the cotton of his shirt from where he’s stuffed some into his mouth. The stimulation his hand is giving him through the fabric of his pants feels heavenly after all the times he’s suppressed any form of desire. His other hand is circling his nipples, though it doesn’t feel as good as the rough friction of your-

Stop. Vil forces that thought out of his mind, choosing to concentrate purely on his body and the way his hips move upwards to chase that delicious high. It doesn’t take much to have his mind unravel from the pleasure, especially after that earlier- Again, he forcibly removes all thoughts out of his brain to focus on literally anything else.

Muffled groans escape his lips as he speeds up his actions, pushing his mind to that brink. His chest rises and falls faster and faster; he wants nothing more than to draw his pleasure out at the same agonising pace you- He does his best to ignore that, actually. The pressure created by his hand increases, forcing more and more noises out of his throat. His back arches in pure ecstasy. That all-consuming pleasure is finally within his grasp. His legs squeeze together as he finally lets go.

The sensation of the warm rivulets moving across the fabric brings him crashing back to reality. Shit. He’s not one for vulgarity, but it seems you’ve finally influenced him to break that habit. He’ll have to clean up properly in the morning, but he absolutely has to do something about the pants. He swiftly heads to the adjourning bathroom to change his garments and wipe himself down.

3:55 AM.

It’s almost four when he sinks back onto the bed, wracked with shame but finally, finally, his body listens to him and he can finally sleep.

He doesn’t remember his dreams after that point at all.

Scene III: Interlude . 　⁺

Vil doesn’t even look at you in the kitchen while he prepares a smoothie with the rickety blender that’s wobbling precariously on the counter he’s left it on. Your presence makes the back of his neck prickle.

“What do you mean you’ve got the poison assessment to do with the Housewarden of Pomefiore of all people?” Jamil’s flabbergasted voice resounds behind Vil. Seems like Jamil’s only just now found out about the challenge, and it’s elicited the only correct response to hearing about it.

“What is that shrug supposed to mean?” Vil can almost picture that priceless look of horror on Jamil’s face while you nonchalantly stuff your face with breakfast and shrug. “Do you have any idea what a rare occurrence this is?”

“Chill out,” your voice is only a mumble as Vil hears you chew between words. He can’t bring himself to turn around and shoot you a disgusted look like he would’ve done any other time. Curse you. “I dome think it’s that big of a-” you swallow loudly here. “-deal.”

“Right, I’m going to ignore that for the sake of my sanity,” Jamil’s voice is clearly on the verge of snapping. “One day that laid-back attitude will bite you in the ass.”

A flurry of sputtering and coughing behind him lets him know that you’re laughing right in Jamil’s face. It’s very interesting to hear the normally composed young man also unravel at your annoying nature. Your idiocy knows no bounds, it seems.

“Sorry,” you don’t sound sorry at all. Vil pours out his smoothie, listening to Jamil’s muttered expletives.

“Bonjour, trickster,” Vil turns just in time to witness Rook’s lips meet the back of your hand as you let out a small giggle. His eye twitches.

“Bonjour to you too, Monsieur Chapeau,” Vil stares incredulously at the two of you, before Jamil voices exactly what Vil’s thinking.

“Since when-” Jamil’s furrowed brows finish off the question for him. Why the hell were you suddenly acting like Rook? And why the hell were you accepting his advances with that laugh?

“C’est vraiment un beau jour,” Rook looks around the kitchen with a pleased smile plastered on his face. “The air of competition is such a tantalising scent.”

“Glad to see there are multiple clowns not taking this seriously,” Jamil mutters, once again an extension of what Vil’s thinking.

“I am taking this seriously,” you pout, draping your chin onto the palm of your hand. “I’ve already packed up my equipment ready to go to the lab. I hate how there’s no cars here though.”

“Cars?” Jamil blinks. “Nevermind, I don’t want to-”

“Henchhuman!” Grim’s annoying yowl disrupts whatever semblance of peace was in the kitchen before. Vil once again feels that reprehensible eye twitch emerge again.

“Whaddya want?” your mouth is full of food once again. Vil doesn’t even bother to hide his disgusted scowl as you loudly swallow once again. At least you have the shreds of decency to cover your mouth while you speak, unlike a rowdy little Epel he knows.

“Make sure you beat his ass, henchhuman!” Grim’s enthusiastic cheer leads to you petting his head expeditiously, while both Jamil and Vil look at the weird interaction with nothing but incredulity.

“You bet,” your smile is sharp with competition as you look at Vil. He almost chokes on his smoothie when he meets your eyes. There’s nothing friendly in that gaze; he can feel the competitive fire with him blaze up in all its glory. Finally, he can feel the pure resentment build up, the way it should be.

“Not if I crush you first,” Vil’s smile is as sardonic as he can manage, but you don’t flinch away from it. Grim shudders beside you, remembering the whooping he got from Vil several weeks back with Ace and Deuce.

“Keep dreaming, pretty boy,” you tilt your head to the side slightly, and Vil feels your words impact him as the back of his neck flushes beneath his hair. Curse you.

“I’m adoring the fierce competition,” Rook marvels, glancing between the two of you with wonderment. Vil tears his eyes from you to watch as the hunter’s expression becomes one of exalted joy.

“I’m not,” Jamil cuts in. “Get a room.”

“Mornin’, Prefect,” Epel yawns as he comes into the room, Kalim being a few steps behind him. “G’luck in the assessment. Beat that snobby wuss.”

Vil doesn’t even know what to scold Epel for: that flagrant disrespect or his elocution. So he just ignores it, exiting the kitchen as it slowly fills up with more people. He needs to calm his racing heart before the poison assessment rolls round.

He needs to get you out of his head, as soon as humanly possible.

Scene IV: Poison . 　⁺

Acrid smells meet his nose as Vil strides into the laboratory that’s almost exclusively used for matters such as these. Traces of his own poison assessment still cling to the air, with the species of fungi he used all those years ago being one of the more prominent scents.

You’re already there with your equipment - thankfully, none of the huge clanging machines present in your lab are there. However idle-brained you present yourself literally everywhere else, he’s sure you’ll have meticulously checked with Crewel that all your equipment meets assessment regulations and ensures fair play. After all, you didn’t have to tell Vil anything about magical resistivity. You especially didn’t have to put yourself at a disadvantage just so the two of you would start off on equal footing.

He doesn’t know why he’s so surprised by your noble nature.

Perhaps you would’ve been better suited if you ended up at RSA. He’s loath to admit it, but you’re a far cry from a lot of the twisted individuals at Night Raven College. His train of thought is cut off by Crewel’s entrance.

“Good luck to both of you pups,” Crewel’s voice hasn’t got that usual sharp edge in it. He seems to be genuinely rooting for two of his best students. Vil finds himself oddly moved.

It’s not yet time. Vil’s hands work quickly to unpack his own utensils on his workbench, stationed several metres opposite yours. His eyes sneak glances at you: the way your goggles are slightly lopsided, the way your lab coat is properly buttoned for once but still covered in that awful doodle-embroidery (seriously, where the hell could you have found the time-), the way you’re wearing bright pink rubber gloves. All these aspects are carefully documented and filed away in his brain, much to his behest.

His own lab coat is completely wrinkle-free, with his goggles designed to not only protect his eyes completely, but to match his face shape as well. The rubber gloves he sports are a tasteful deep blue that matches his dorm uniform. He knows he cuts an elegant figure in the lab outfit. Yet you don’t even spare him a glance, like you would otherwise in a lab setting. In fact, your face lacks its normal joviality that’s present when normally doing lab work.

Is this how you look when you’re in your lab back home? Your gaze piercingly meets your utensils and equipment, checking meticulously for any sort of flaws or issues. The movements you make don’t have that usual lackadaisical quality; instead, you handle everything smoothly and with grace. Have you been putting on a performance the whole time? Vil feels his throat dry up at the revelation. It’s awfully off putting, the way he’s never seen this expression on your face before. Sure, your eyes are still filled with passion, but this is the first time he’s seen you this focused.

You’re serious.

His blood pumps with a renewed vigour. You’re finally taking him seriously. Heavy thumps resound throughout his ears - it seems his heartbeat matches the anticipation he’s feeling. Beneath it all, a trickle of fear is stimulated by the frigid expression you wear. He has to beat you, no matter the cost.

“Before we begin, I’ll go over the rules,” Crewel announces. He’s sitting at the desk with several papers neatly spread before him. It’s almost identical to Vil’s last experience. Vil sees you place down the cloth and antiseptic you’ve been using to disinfect your bench before beginning, and don new gloves.

“You both have exactly three hours to create your most potent poison. Raw, or up to 20% refined ingredients are the only ingredients allowed here. Magic is only permitted for the use of the potion. Memory spells and any interfering with your opponent's potion are prohibited. The use of notes, flashcards, and anything of that ilk is also prohibited. This room is purposefully designed to ward off foul play,” Crewel concludes, looking between the two of you. His eyes soften. “I’m sure both of you will compete fairly and proudly as befitting of my pups.”

With a wave of his hand, a three-hour timer appears on his desk. Smaller, translucent timers also appear to float in front of both workbenches. Vil steels himself. With a deep breath, he coaxes the adrenaline to course through his cells. Success. His wits are razor-edged, and he can almost feel each neuron firing.

“You may begin,” Crewel’s words don’t cause you to scurry around like the previous Pomefiore housewarden. Instead, you carefully take out a balance and some beakers. Vil realises he’s watching you instead of beginning. Curse this. Curse you for distracting him yet again.

His scalpel swiftly dissects Solemn Nightroot as his first ingredient. The acidic juices slowly drip down into his pristine measuring cylinder. His recipe for most potent poison has remained unchanged; the only refinement, really, is that of his signature spell he used last time to imbue the poison with the most deadly curse he can conjure up. His potion last time was as perfect as it could be, being 94 points while his housewarden’s only had 90 points. Stupid magical resistivity. He’s not going to hold back.

Vil’s movements are perfect as he carefully double-strains the acid, then adds chlorine to kill off any microbes that would absolutely interfere with the next ingredients he plans to add. He breathes in the comforting gunpowder smell of fire spells as he lights his Bunsen burner with a careful swish of his hand. He pours the Nightroot into a beaker, opening the flame into a roaring blue one. He takes his container of Arrow Monkshood to the oil extractor at the corner of the room, taking solace in the whirring of the machine.

Over in the other corner, he can see you working with the fume hood. Strangely, beside you is a microscope and a Petri dish. He’s got no time to dawdle, so he heads back while the oil drips into the container he’s set underneath it. The fractional distiller is tucked away in the corner of the lab, and he sets it up on his workbench. The fraction he’s hoping to extract from the oil unfortunately has a boiling point of 350 degrees, so it’s going to take a while to get there. The oil’s poured into the distiller and the flame gets going. He’s got a few seconds to catch his breath and watch whatever the hell you’re doing.

You appear to be… incubating something? Not only that, you’ve got a decidedly assured stance. You know exactly what you hope to achieve with the poison. Vil feels a shiver run down his spine. His poison may not be enough - he has to evolve. That 94 threshold is simply not enough. What had you said a few weeks prior in your lab? “Plus, my refinery skills are so unbelievably sexy.” He doesn’t doubt it, not with all the whirring machinery that you’ve deftly hooked up together. Just a few tweaks - he needs to have only the purest ingredients within that potion to even scrape past your level.

He separates the fraction and takes it to the lab’s refinery machine; from what he can see, it just looks like a regular distiller, but it’s probably got a built-in magical filter to purify the specimen put in. The wait time goes by in a flash as he checks on his boiling Nightroot acid, slowly adding in powdered raw Devil's Claw berries - aptly named for their odd, teardrop shape that tapered off into a curved point. He adds the powder until it’s in excess then waits until the solution is cooled down before filtering.

What’s left before him is a pitch-black solution that’s now only missing several key ingredients: colourful frog poison, the Arrow Monkshood essential oil, and his signature spell. Innovation. He needs to change the way he thinks to beat you. Luckily, he thought ahead and brought some belladonna berries. Last time, the naturally secreted poisonous mucus from the colourful frogs wasn’t refined either. He brings the berries over to the juicer, watching the deep purple liquid pour into the flask. Next, he takes both the mucus and juice to the distiller, removing the beaker of distilled oil.

One hour and thirty-four minutes remain. He’s practically almost finished, but he can’t let himself get overly confident. There are still several steps to complete in the correct order. Meanwhile, he can barely tell what you’re doing as you wear a different pair of what seem to be magnifying goggles. You’re also wearing a respirator mask with tubing streaming outwards behind you. In your hands, you seem to be prodding the Petri dish you’ve procured with what appears to be electrical wires. There’s about five various colourful pieces of apparatus set up, all containing bubbling potions. You’re incomprehensible, you know that?

Vil doesn’t even want to know what the hell you’re doing. He turns back to the distiller, placing the mucus in one compartment, then the juice into the one below it. Fragrant essential oil wafts upwards from the Arrow Monkshood beaker. Cautiously, he carries it back over to his workbench, setting it next to the pitch black solution in the beaker. It’s slowly measured out and stirred into the solution meticulously. Even as it is, it should be graded at a rough 70 points.

The purified juice of belladonna berries is boiled into gaseous form and captured as such. Wisps of Vil’s magic wraps around the test tube it’s in to ensure it stays as bubbles and keeps the energy levels of a gas. The purified mucus is added straight in, with seven equal parts and seven counter-clockwise stirs in between. Finally, he can siphon the jet black solution into the exam flask, before adding the gas into it. The bottle is sealed with the exam provided cork and shaken gently. That cork won’t come off until it’s arrived safe and sound at the Research Institute for Curses and Poisons.

Thirty-nine minutes remain. Plenty of time to visualise the strongest curse he can imagine and infuse it into the bottle. Vil resists the urge to sit down and break one of the cardinal rules of lab practicals. Standing meditation will do. But before that, he has to clear away the equipment. It takes a quick five minutes, plus some magic, until he’s tidied everything up. Now, he can focus.

He peels off his rubber gloves, setting them aside on the bench. Direct contact is essential for Fairest One of All to work. Deep breaths. He clasps the warm flask between his hands. Eyes closed. A painful death to whoever is unfortunate to partake in this fatal drink. It’s not enough. Vil musters up all the shame, rage and resentment within him. I hate you. It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t actually hate you. A loveless, lonely death to whoever’s lips this poison touches. The ugly monster within stirs. Forever shall the person sleep. It’s almost cathartic, to unload all that onto the flask he clasps.

He cracks his eyes open to observe the colour change - the abysmal black churns into a neon toxic green, bubbling menacingly within. It’s his best poison yet. Vil knows this. The only question is whether it’ll be enough.

Twenty-four minutes remain. Vil sticks a label with his name, age and house onto the little flask. It makes a satisfying thud when he places it onto Crewel’s desk. The only thing he can do until time’s up is sit in silence until you’re finished.

Vil watches you, slightly flabbergasted as you pull out a cocktail shaker to quickly mix your ingredients. Are you secretly a goddamn bartender? Somehow, you strain the suspicious, colour changing liquid directly into the narrow flask without letting any of the potion drip out. Your deft hands grab a test tube without even looking and precisely decant half of it into the flask, gently swirling it all the while.

Whatever was in the Petri dish is unceremoniously scooped out and shoved into the flask. Vil watches along in bemusement as you cork the flask and stand back proudly with your hands on your hips, before efficiently clearing up your station.

Fifteen minutes remain. Your station and home equipment is back to looking squeaky-clean. Another thud is heard as you place your own flask beside Vil’s. It’s strangely.. intimate, Vil observes, seeing the two creations touch side by side.

“A quick explanation of how the poison works so we can test the efficacy,” Crewel shows a rare smile on his face as he looks at the pair of you.

“My poison sends the victim into an eternal sleep in the span of approximately three seconds depending on body weight,” Vil explains briefly. “The actual stages of death are designed to feel completely isolating.”

“Wonderful,” Crewel picks up the potion with the same proud smile. “You’ve beat your five second average. What about you, pup?”

“My poison is a virus that acts by removing the victim’s magical resistance completely, before causing total cell annihilation within two seconds,” you explain slowly, clearly suppressing your excitement with the way you’re wringing your hands into the hem of your lab coat. Vil almost shudders at your enthusiasm at creating a piece of biological warfare; he’s glad it’s limited to this assessment.

“Virus? I can’t say I’ve ever heard of a poison utilising that particular medium for this assessment. People always tend to go with fungi as the pathogen,” Crewel comments with interest. “How have you engineered that?”

“Electrical fusion between rapidly multiplying viruses and my cells,” you gesture to the little Petri dish in the biological waste bin. “I chose the fastest magical one and boom- you’ve got a nasty little concoction that can be spread through both the air and liquids.”

“Marvellous,” Crewel holds your shimmering potion to the light, noting the colour changes. “I’ll also be sure to take your resistivity study papers with me to the Institute.”

“Thanks, sir,” you beam proudly. Vil can’t even bring himself to dislike you at that moment. You’ve worked hard, he’s seen it all too clearly.

“Scurry along, pups. You’ve both done a wonderful job,” Crewel shoos both of you along with an extremely proud expression. “I’ll send your equipment back to Ramshackle.”

“Thanks,” you call, turning your head as you exit the classroom. Your expression is giddy; Vil can see the urge to holler and skip within you. Your goggles are pushed back on top of your head, and the sun is gently kissing your features. For once, you don’t ignore him, chatting his ear off as if the two of you were friends.

It’s finally over.

He’s done what he can. He’s pushed himself to the limit to beat you. Now all that remains is Neige.

“Then I was absolutely sweating balls when I saw my little viruses not behaving properly,” you yammer, gesturing wildly. “Luckily I had my electrodes, or they might’ve crawled everywhere, y’know?”

Vil does not know. In fact, he doesn’t think he even wants to know. Ignorance truly is bliss.

He’s enjoying this sense of normalcy. In most cases, he rarely ever gets the chance to experience this. It’s part of the isolating experience of striving to be the most beautiful. His actor and model colleagues look at him with envy, and his fans with fervent adoration. But you, you’re undaunted by his beauty and treat him like he’s not some distant being.

“Don’t get me wrong, you’re still a prick,” you ramble on. Vil is once again glad you don’t like him because of his attitude, rather than his beauty. “But this competition was really fun.. I’m glad you challenged me.”

Vil blinks owlishly in surprise.

“Any thoughts on what you’d want as a prize?” Vil finally adds to the conversation. Of course he’ll pull through, but in the small possibility that you might be the winner (that innovative virus might sway the panellists, after all), he’s curious as to what you’ll select.

“Worried I’ll beat you?” you grin at him. It’s not the friendly grin you give to your friends - really, this one looks more like that troublesome Floyd Leech’s - but he’ll take it nonetheless. After all, the two of you aren’t friends. You interject before he can even think of a response. Of course he’s not worried. “I still haven’t decided. Money’s not really something I care about when my potions are so lucrative.”

Well, that’s decidedly not a relief. Vil can only imagine the horrors you might ask of him. Curse this. He should’ve done this Azul-style, with a clear contract to make it binding.

“I’m not gonna ask for your heart on a platter or anything, geez,” you mimic his widened eyes. “Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

“I’m not,” the lie slips off his lips like butter. “I’ve no doubt that I can fulfil whatever you desire should you win.”

Curse his poor word choices. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes widen even further in surprise. Curse whatever implication he’s just made accidentally, especially after last night.

“Oh?” your lips tug upwards, barely missing a beat. Vil’s heart races, but he just stares you down impassively. “I’m sure you can.”

Your drawl makes him want to explode into little pieces and wriggle away. He loathes this feeling, loathes the way you make him want your attention, he loathes everything about that malicious smile you sport.

Curse you.

[antianakin]

@theneutralmime

I'm very definitively positive on clone/Jedi relationships, both platonic and romantic.

I'm going to hit the biologically children thing first because like... no, they're not. If you want to go that route, then you have to count Grogu as a middle aged adult because he's 50 years old even though his official name for a while was literally "The Child" and he's definitely treated like a child in the narrative more often than he isn't. Jango Fett was (as far as I'm aware) a regular human. The clones, the altered ones at least (so not Omega or Boba), are almost an entirely different species. They LOOK human, but they've been engineered to be different from the baseline human they were based off of to the point that they aren't necessarily all that similar to a regular human beyond cosmetics. So if you don't view them as "fucked up humans who should be treated like children because they're technically only 10 years old" and instead view them as "subspecies of human that reaches maturity around 9 years old", then it's a lot harder to view them as children.

I think that it's fair to claim that the clones are SHELTERED and likely fairly ignorant and naive about a lot of things in the world due to their upbringing, sure, but that doesn't make them children. They're also relatively young regardless of whether you'd consider them children or not, the youngest ones we know about are sent out to war at what would be the equivalent of about 20 years old and they're only around 26ish by the time the war ENDS. So even accounting for the accelerated aging, they're still pretty young and there's going to be a lot about the galaxy and how to live in it that would be new to them. Their understanding of how relationships work is going to be skewed given everything we know about their childhoods and the way the Kaminoans canonically seem to view them.

So I think that the Jedi and clones would likely often end up in a sort of mentor/mentee relationship, especially in the beginning. We see this most strongly with Yoda and the three Coruscant Guard characters and Plo Koon with the three 104th characters in the first four episodes of season 1, as well as with Shaak Ti and Fives and Echo during the Clone Cadets episode of season 3. The Jedi are natural teachers and I think they'd start to get to know these young men who are so devastatingly intelligent but who were only ever taught about how to fight a war and they'd immediately take the opportunity to help guide the clones towards figuring out who they are and who they want to be. We're pretty much told that this is true point blank when I believe it's Nala Se or Lama Su speaks to Dooku during season 6 and they say that the Jedi have been encouraging individuality in the clones. Fives says that the Jedi respect the clones and calls the Jedi their best friends at two separate points in the narrative. The Jedi literally use their OWN PHILOSOPHIES to help the clones learn what it means to be PEOPLE and to embrace that for themselves.

The relationship between the Jedi and the clones is honestly one of the most beautiful and heartwrenching dynamics in the entirety of Star Wars to me. Their destinies are entwined irrevocably and they are each the others' doom and salvation all at once. The Jedi help the clones discover who they are, but they're also going to end up being the reason the clones lose all sense of themselves. The clones are a light in the dark for the Jedi during the war, but they're also going to be the weapon that helps plunge the entire world into darkness by eliminating the Jedi. These two groups that are SO similar in so many ways but for vastly different reasons who are thrown together by forces beyond either of their control and learn to understand each other better than anyone else ever has and love and trust each other implicitly for it and that love and trust is then used to destroy them both. It's absolutely devastating and really gets me in those feels.

As far as romantic ships, I sort-of said my piece on the age thing earlier, but I honestly find that fussing about characters' ages in Star Wars is more ridiculous than it usually is. These characters are literally ALIENS and it's a universe where human characters who are twelve years old are allowed to hold office. I have my personal preferences in terms of clone/Jedi ships, but I am a very ship and let ship sort of person (yes, even with the ships I DESPISE), so I'm not going to make a big deal out of clone/Jedi ships. I also like clone/clone ships which tons of people find problematic for other reasons, so whatever.

I HAVE seen the superior/subordinate thing get addressed in clone/Jedi fics before. Sometimes it ends in the characters deciding to wait until after the war and when the clones are given rights and official citizenship status or something before they begin a romantic relationship, and sometimes it ends in the characters recognizing that a lot of the rules shouldn't really matter when they're at war and they could die literally any day and they deserve to find happiness and pleasure where they can find it so long as they work to ensure that this doesn't impact their respective responsibilities. Again though, this is a space fantasy and absolutely nobody on the writing staff for The Clone Wars was taking the structure and internal dynamics of this fantasy military particularly seriously, so I'm not sure why I or anyone else should have to if they don't want to.

So yeah, I love relationships between the clones and Jedi, it's probably my favorite dynamic in the whole franchise, regardless of whether it's platonic or romantic.

[epickiya722]

What About Tengen?

Alright, folks, time for "What thought Kiya wants to share today because if she doesn't, she'll freak out"! Ha ha... yeah...

Now, before we get onto this I don't expect anyone to agree or let alone be for the idea. This is just me, again, sharing a thought I had. I wouldn't even say it's a genius thought. Just a thought. In fact, a wild one.

After rereading some chapters and writing a whole fic, I've been thinking about this idea I haven't seen much about before that I haven't recalled and that is...

Can Yuji be a Vessel for Tengen? Let alone is it a possible ending for Yuji?

I already know this is about to be a lengthy post and to be honest, I don't know how to exactly put this into words, but I'll try my best. I'm still getting into understanding how jujutsu and all that works, so bear with me.

☆☆☆

Chapters Referenced

145

249

257

☆☆☆

Back in chapter 145, Tengen notes that because of the failed merging with Riko Amanai (she was assassinated by Toji due to the Star Religious Group believing a merging with Tengen is impure), their aging accelerated and that's what lead to their current physical state. Also, a bit later, Tengen states how they evolved pass the point needing a specific Star Plasma Vessel. So it's not impossible for them to merge with anybody else.

Which, thinking about it, Kenjaku might have been the one to orchestrate that assassination because of that reason (Tengen evolving). That's canon, right? I believe that's canon... anyways!!

The whole point of a Star Plasma Vessel is to "reset" Tengen's technique, Immortality, as noted back in chapter 66 (conversation between Gojo, Yaga and Geto).

When Tengen merges with a capable SPV, it prevents them (Tengen) from evolving. If they evolve, they lose their sense of self, lose their sense of will. They can become a threat to humanity.

"Master Tengen will no longer be Master Tengen."

Now how this applies to Yuji?

Okay, so because Tengen has evolved, anyone can be a Vessel for them, possibly. With that in mind, that could include Yuji. But is Yuji capable?

Well, if Yuji could hold Sukuna, I say it's possible. Yuji was made to be Sukuna's vessel, his cage. When Yuji first swallowed Sukuna's Cursed Finger, it a slim chance he'd survive. And he does! Not only does he survive, but he showcases he's able to control his body from Sukuna. Keep in mind, Sukuna is a very powerful being. Anybody who have swallowed that Finger would have either died (due to the Fingers being like poison) or never got their body back.

Let's also consider the nature of Sukuna. He's human, but not human. He's a Curse, but not like a Curse. Sukuna is human, but his behavior is that of a Curse. Tengen is something similar. They evolved more into something of a Cursed Spirit than a human.

If Yuji could handle Sukuna who in a way is similar in a way to Tengen, what if Yuji also could be a vessel for Tengen? And not just that. It's implied that with Tengen, whoever become their vessel, "dies".

Well, what if for Yuji, as he was able to with Sukuna, he could still maintain his sense of self?

Keep in mind, Yuki Tsukumo (first name similar to Yuji's) was a temporary SPV for Tengen and she came out fine. Sure, she's a Special Grade, but at the point of the story we are at, Yuji had been declared at Sukuna's level, who is considered Special Grade. Hmm...

Sliding in right here to add as of 257, it's implied that Yuji was born with one of Sukuna's fingers already sealed in him. Which makes me think even further about this.

Kenjaku, Kaori and Jin are human. Therefore, Yuji is human... so even as an unborn baby, he should have died when that Finger was sealed in him, right? Unless, it was a ruse this whole time that Sukuna's Cursed Fingers would kill someone upon consuming them to keep people from swallowing those Fingers. (But I kinda doubt it was a ruse.)

What if because of the Finger, it didn't kill Yuji but altered his composition so that he already was somewhat like a Curse? Better yet, like his brothers the Death Paintings who are part Curse, part human? Who also happen to be aborted? So, the "Death" part of that title is fitting. But also... maybe it can apply to Yuji, too? As I said, that CF could have made unborn Yuji part Curse, part human. You could say that the CF "killed" some part of human Yuji.

Reminder that because he is Sukuna's vessel and he swallowed that Finger, he was seen as being part Curse, part human. What if this whole time, he already as such?

And one of the subtle hints to Tengen and Sukuna?

Speaking of Death Paintings!!

Something else I want to point out from 257 is that is had been revealed that Yuji and Sukuna both ate their siblings to gain something from them. For Sukuna, it was to survive. For Yuji, it was to gain the Blood Manipulation technique.

Their siblings, at those times, were not like full grown or anything. No... they were fetuses.

And guess what? The last time we get a look at Tengen's current state before being sent off to Sukuna was in 249. And what did Tengen look like?

This. Small and almost fetus-like, you can say.

What if at some point, the others somehow get hold of Tengen with them in this state? Like how Death Paintings are, Tengen can't function independently in this state. What if like those DPs, Tengen will need a new body? A new vessel?

And the chosen vessel? Yuji Itadori. And how? By consuming Tengen.

I know, I know! It's crazy!

But thinking about all what I have so far said, I wouldn't even say it's impossible. Oh, I'm not done.

In another post, I talked about how it seemed risky that Yuji consumed 6 DPs and not one took over his body. Even though, he could control Sukuna, wouldn't it still be considered a gamble that his body could have been taken over by a DP? Maybe they figured because he previously had been Sukuna's vessel, it would turn out okay. Which it did and it makes sense!

Yuji isn't just a vessel. He's a cage. And what if he wasn't just a cage for Sukuna, but for anything?

What if Kenjaku practiced run experimenting making DPs to prepare for someone like Yuji? DPs take complete control of someone's body and forge it into their own. Yuji's does the opposite.

He remains conscious of himself and his body adapts. What if that can work with Tengen?

I think about how Riko was meant to be Tengen's vessel and there was a guarantee she wouldn't be Riko anymore. Opposite of Yuji. Amazingly enough though, for two characters who never met (Yuji was three when Riko died), they sure do have a lot in common. [This post here!]

I'm not saying I'm an expert on analyzing stories, let alone Gege Akutami's works, but I noticed that some subtle hints of foreshadowing are sometimes done when two (or more) characters tend to have commonality. Riko and Yuji happen to be a pair. While alike, they're also opposite. And as I mention, one thing they're opposite in is that Riko's existence was at sake merging with Tengen. Yuji? He keeps his control.

Another is that Riko, at first, she accepts her death when becoming Tengen. She felt like a loner because of that fate. However, she changes her mind at the end and wants to live.

Yuji also accepts death as Sukuna's vessel and before thought of himself as a loner, but he is also a fighter. His grandfather told him to help others so he can be surrounded when he dies.

What if, in reverse, Yuji will give up on that goal at the end? Tengen is, too, a loner like Yuji and Riko. What if Yuji gives up and accepts such a fate as being a loner, taking Tengen's place? Maybe, be surrounded by those who remain as he "dies" to take Tengen's place before going into solitude?

It's a tragic ending, I know. But with JJK, a lot of these characters do have tragic endings.

Simply overall, what if this is a possible ending that has been hinted at this whole time? What if at the end, Yuji is the one to become the next Tengen of sorts? And if he does, he can still be him?

I'm not saying this is a guarantee, let alone you have to agree. [But if you don't, keep it to yourself, I don't care to argue with someone over my thought.]

But it's a thought I have had for a while (since... February...)

[gurt-the-great]

During Rosie's intro post, I mentioned that every Sonic character has been aged up by 10 years! Well I went ahead and designed five of them.

Most of these characters have a connection to Rosie, Shadow and Tails having the strongest bonds to her. This will officially be the 10 years later AU, or just Gurt's Sonic AU since it adds and focuses on my ocs.

The individual refs and more info for everyone will be under the cut

Sonic was a little tricky to figure out in this AU. He's not the type of character to settle down and he wouldn't have a typical job since he's not one for authority figures. Also he's 25 now, he's got to grow up at least a little bit, especially now that the down-time between Eggman's schemes have gotten longer. He needs SOMETHING to occupy the time.

Then I thought "what if he was a professional air-boarder?" Sonic Riders was the COOLEST Sonic racing game and Sonic being an extreme sports Tony Hawk-esque guy made sense to me.

The design was easy to figure out once I decided on his profession. I brought his riders sunglasses back, the SOAP shoes from Adventure 2 and gave him a cool racing jacket with new gloves.

Sonic doesn't have a strong bond with Rosie but he does know her since Tails was friends with her growing up.

Tails was easy to age up, all I did was give him a ponytail, some accessories, new shoes, and some brown fur on his limbs and ears.

Tails is an Engineer in the AU! He already makes gadgets and trinkets, why not make a career out of it? He actually made Rosie's boots!

Tails and Rosie have a very close bond, the two had accelerated courses in school together due to their high intelligence. They visit each other frequently and Tails feels like a part of her family.

Rouge was pretty fun to design for this AU! I took elements from the elite agent outfit in Sonic Forces speed battle, Rouge's outfit in Heroes, and her regular look as well. I gave her bangs too but I like to think she messes with her hair often.

I don't have many notes on Rouge, She's still a G.U.N. Agent but also she's married to Knuckles! This is the only ship I'm canonizing in my AU for now. I might add more ships later on, we'll have to see.

Rouge works with Rosie pretty frequently and tries to get her to come out of her shell. She thinks that Rosie is pretty and could use that well, but Rosie is hopeless when it comes to using charisma. Rouge still likes her though and tries to teach her.

I did not NEED to design Cream but I really wanted to! She ended up being my favorite design here. I didn't really have a major direction to go in for Cream's design since she's still a teen without any job. I took inspiration from different Cream designs I seen online and just merged some concepts I liked. The only big change is making her tall, I thought it'd be cute if I based her on a Flemish Giant rabbit! I wanted an excuse to make her taller than Tails for comedic purposes.

Cream is still the polite sweetie she was as a kid but now she does work with Chao! She volunteers and donates to local Chao gardens and trains Cheese and Chocola for races. Cheese evolved into a hero Chao! Being with Cream throughout the years and going on some adventures helped him evolve. Chocola is neutral fly type Chao! It's one of my favorite Chao evolutions and I wanted Chocola to be more different from Cheese.

Cream and Rosie don't have much of a connection but I'd say they get along well enough. They're both friends with Tails so I'd say they all hang out sometimes.

And finally we reach Shadow! Shadow was easy to design as well. I just gave him a cool jacket. I don't think Shadow would visibly age much since he's the ultimate life form.

He's still a G.U.N. Agent and an incredibly important person to Rosie. Rosie idolized him as a kid and wanted to be like him. Shadow took on a mentorship role to Rosie, seeing great potential in her. He would personally teach Rosie the various ways that chaos control is used and would also teach her chaos spear. He does care about her even if he's tough on her at times.

If you read all that, thank you! I've put a lot of time and thought into this AU and I'm excited to share more! If you have any questions about my AU or ocs, my askbox is open! I hope y'all enjoyed the post!

[earthstellar]

crying over Rescue Bots, yes it’s the ghost ship episode, it’s fine

so I’m watching Rescue Bots again because I don’t feel good today lmao 

and the episode where they’re on the ghost ship and TEN WHOLE ASS YEARS GO BY WHILE THEY ARE STUCK ON THE SHIP came up in the playlist 

and even though it’s resolved in the end, it’s like, holy shit 

okay so for those who haven’t seen it: 

halfway through the episode Chief Burns shows up and sees his kids for the first time in TEN YEARS because tl;dr the kids got on the ghost ship to investigate but it vanished back into the fog and it time travelled them at accelerated speed but beyond the ship, time passes normally, so it’s been 10 YEARS from their dad’s point of view since they left, even though for them it has only been one hour 

and him and the Doc and Frankie are visibly older when they land on the ship’s deck 

so naturally Chief’s talking to his kids and probably trying not to fucking have a break down and he’s like okay everyone, let’s go 

and Cody’s like “no we think we figured it out, let us stay and try” 

and the Chief has less than one minute to make this call: do I bring my entire family home after ten years, or do I let them disappear maybe for another ten years based on a hunch they have 

and he lets them stay on the ghost ship because he trusts his kids that much 

ten years lost, maybe ten years more, and how old is he now? how old will he be in another ten years, if they happen to be wrong? what happens to the town if he ages out of rescue work (and so would Doc), which would leave only Frankie to protect the island? 

even the rescue bots themselves openly state that they feel like they’ve abandoned their posts because of their extended absence, even though it’s not their fault (I don’t remember who specifically said this but it was one of them and it makes it sadder lmao) 

but he lets them go after finally seeing them again for five minutes in total, after they have been missing in real time for ten years on this ghost ship 

and IDK the amount of trust Chief has in his kids and his ability to immediately trust them in this way despite what I am sure is an incredible amount of grief and stress over what has been ten fucking years for him is actually so intense 

like this is a show for babbies, so of course they can’t focus on how emotionally fucked this situation is for literally everyone, it would be Too Much for Babbies which is understandable 

but thinking about it for ten seconds is like oh shit!! oh shit, feelings 

I love this episode because the feels are real, both for the Captain of the ship (which is the whole setup, tl;dr stuck in time loop never got to marry girlfriend, it’s sad already) and for Chief Burns because holy shit his fucking entire family has been gone for ten years and he still trusts them enough to let them stay on board and try to solve shit even though he absolutely has to be emotionally trashed in that moment 

10/10 Rescue Bots is a great show, I don’t know why I don’t post about it more tbh the emotional whiplash is so intense lmao 

there’s also that time Optimus turned into a t-rex and freaked out but then in TFP concurrently this was somehow fine and it never came up again in canon or seemingly anywhere else, holy shit I forgot all about that until today LMAO

I love the Aligned Continuity, all of this shit is so good, I’m crying but also laughing 

mostly crying right now though because Chief Burns lost all his kids for TEN YEARS and he immediately let them go again because he loves them and trusts them THAT MUCH 

[artstar1997]

I was influenced by superheroes at the young age. The first one I was inspired by was DC because I used to watch the old Batman animated series, also the Justice League animated series. Marvel also got into my inspiration manifestation later when I watched Avengers with my family and I usually root for the good guys, especially Thor, who is a total hunk. These references made me think of making a Trolls Superhero AU, which is composed of OCs and Canon characters. Now, let’s meet the terrific trio themselves, Queen Rose as Captain Sterling, Queen Poppy as Rainbow Girl, and Branch as the mysterious Psionyx.

Captain Sterling Real Name: Rosita “Rosetta” Barbara V. Madrigal Alias: Titanium Queen, Leap of Faith, Lil’ Ace Superpowers: Invulnerability, Flight, Super Strength, Super Speed, Heat Vision (including Solar Flare), Super Hearing, Super Vision (including X-ray Vision, microscopic vision, and telescopic vision, overuse causes headaches), Super Breath (including Ice Breath), Accelerated Healing, Energy Manipulation (it includes absorption and generation), Partial alien physiology, Martial Arts, Indomitable Will Archenemy: Evelyn Ford a.k.a Velvet (based on Lex Luthor) Inspiration: Superman, Captain Marvel

Rainbow Girl Real Name: Penelope “Poppy” Monteiro Alias: Sunshine B.B., Bubblegum Chick, Prismatic Queen Superpowers: Flight, Sound Conversion, Light Generation, Iriskinesis via Lumokinesis and Chromakinesis, Chromo-Egrokinesis, Energy Manipulation, Enhance Strength and Durability, Healing, Martial Arts, Indomitable Will Archenemy: Pacifica “Pushy Poppy” a.k.a Drab Grey Inspiration: Dazzler, Karolina Dean

Psionyx Real Name: Bernardo “Branch” Huitzilopochtli Ramon Rivera Alias: The Psychic Onyx, Superpowers: Telepathy, Telekinesis, Psychic powers, Indomitable Will, Intimidation, Interrogation, Peak Human Conditioning, Martial Arts Master, Weapons Master, Genius Level Intellect, Peak Human Strength, Superhuman Agility Archenemy: Carl “Creek” Evans a.k.a Monkshood (based on Poison Ivy but his color scheme is more similar to the Joker, Green Goblin, and Skeletor) Inspiration: Batman, Jean Grey a.k.a Phoenix

I’m planning to make a team for them called the Justice Brigade, which will serve as the leading team for all the super teams because it is based on the main Justice League but I dunno who can I pick for their team. As for Guy Diamond and Meadow Sprigg’s team, the Sylvan Guardians (composed of them, along with Tiny Diamond, Holly Darlin’, Val Thundershock, and Lownote Jones), they’ll retain their animal theme. Let me know if you have suggestions for the Terrific Trio’s teammates.

[deewithani]

Theory:

Clone Force 99, Omega, and Emerie Karr are the 6 Null ARCs embryos that "died" from Republic Commando.

Note: This post will be connected to another theory post I'm writing about Palpatine's failures in cloning.

Proof:

1. CF99 refused Order 66. Crosshair shot Lt. Nolan. Emerie helped release Crosshair. We don't even need to talk about Omega.

Null ARCs are well known to be independent thinkers and resistant to command.

From Wookipedia:

When the Kaminoans began cloning, they produced twelve prototypes, designated as Null-class Advanced Recon Commandos. Their extreme physiological modifications killed half of the prototypes during gestation. The "enhancements" to the Fett genome handicapped the survivors with erratic behavior and an inclination toward disobedience, making their loyalties unpredictable. Kal Skirata, a Mandalorian warrior who had been brought to Kamino to assist in the training of a special unit, concurred with the Kaminoans' rationale behind "modified" troopers; an "unaltered" Jango Fett was not the ideal infantry soldier. Disappointed with the unsatisfactory results of their wayward creations, the Kaminoans deemed 12 of the first 100 prototypes complete failures and intended to kill them

They're also very loyal to those who are loyal to them.

Other regular commandos followed Order 66.

2. In Republic Commando, the Kaminoan scientist Orun Wa created the Null ARCs. This is what he said about them:

Highly intelligent, deviant, disturbed—and uncommandable.

In Season 1, Episode 1, Tech says this when AZI says they're defective clones:

We're more deviant than defective.

3. The living Null ARCs numbers and the "dead" Null ARC embryos' numbers.

N-5 ("Prudii")

N-6 ("Kom'rk")

N-7 ("Mereel")

N-10 ("Jaing")

N-11 ("Ordo")

N-12 ("A'den")

Missing are Ns 1-4, and Ns 8 & 9.

Clone Force 99s designations are likely CT-9901-9904. We know that Crosshair is CT-9904. They are Ns 1-4, respectively.

Omega is N-9. She's the last experimental clone Nala Se took for her experimental unit.

That leaves Emerie Karr as N-8.

4. Omega is a defective clone, and it has nothing to do with her being an unaltered clone.

Nala Se also says she's a defective clone to Tarkin. She specifically tells him that five genetically defective clones are all that remain. This excludes Echo. He wasn't genetically defective. This also excludes Emerie Karr. She's with Dr. Hemlock by this point in time.

If Omega is one of the Null ARCs, she wasn't created unaltered. She was created with accelerated aging like all the others.

Her accelerated aging is broken. She's not older than the rest of CF99. She's the same age.

I suspect she started out aging rapidly, like 99. That was Omega's genetic defect. She remembers everyone else in the tubes but being outside of them herself.

Omega was an experiment too. Nala Se figured out how to turn off accelerated aging to keep her from aging too fast.

This also mirrors Republic Commando. The Kaminoans at one point knew how to slow aging. Kina Ha is proof of that. She was engineered for long hyperspace journeys, but those never came to pass. That particular trait wasn't really needed anymore after that and was abandoned.

Slowing down the aging of clones isn't a good idea for the Kaminoans financially, after all. You want your buyers to keep buying.

(I also find it interesting that both Nala Se and Ko Sai had hidden underwater research labs).

All of Ko Sai's research was destroyed by Ordo (to Ko Sai's knowledge, anyway. They kept a copy). Nala Se's research would have been destroyed with Kamino, except a living copy remains. Omega.

Omega only appears unaltered because her broken genetic defect was fixed.

Nala Se theoretically knows how to slow/stop aging, and Omega is a genetic template for that.

5. Probably the flimsiest proof. Delta Squad exists in canon.

It's not out of the question to believe that Omega Squad and the Null ARCs could be pulled into canon as well.

I'm personally interested to see if Bo-Katan gathers any Legends Mandalorian clans. If any Clan Skirata members show up that could help this theory.

[delugedecade]

Mirrorwatch: The Overwatch What If

This is for the mutuals and anyone who hasn't touched Overwatch in AGES. Overwatch 2 has been pumping out new content in monthly seasons, and here in Season 10, we have the Non-Canon Mirrorwatch Event.

(If you want you can watch the announcement video for Season 10)

{What is Mirrorwatch?}

A fierce fight between Overwatch and Talon rages upon Watchpoint: Gibraltar. And in a single moment, an unstoppable object would collide with an immovable force. A Punch from Doomfist against Reinhardt's shield so hard it shatters reality. Among its pieces, an alternate reality.

==============================

{Who's Who Now?}

Alignments have shifted in Mirrorwatch, Overwatch Agents are now part of Talon, and Talon Agents now Overwatch. But let's see who specifically, with some explanation as to why I think things changed

Overwatch

Overwatch is led by Strike Commander Ogundimu. It's likely in this reality this Doomfist was mentored by the First Doomfist, Adhabu "The Savior" Ngumi, As opposed to the canonical universe, where Akande was mentored by the Second Doomfist, Akinjide "The Scourge of Numbani" Adeyemi, who was the person who recruited him into Talon.

His second in command is Captain LaCroix. Whether or not her husband Gerard was assassinated, Lacroix joined Overwatch and climbed the ranks as their lead sniper, and I can tell you for sure, there's a lot of lore for her considering who she's fought with in canon.

The last Overwatch agent in this event is Agent Colomar. Overwatch likely had more involvement in the displacement of orphans after the Omnic crisis, So instead of finding power in manipulation and information, she found power in helping others improve. Plus her Hack symbols have smiley eyes

Talon

In Mirrorwatch, Angela Ziegler takes the moniker of Vengeance as the leader of Talon. Not much is know as to why she chose this path, all that we know is that her nefarious plans are for humanity's future. Vengeance Mercy is this Season's Mythic Skin, and so has variations to her design, and during the event, her resurrection has changed from reviving to detonating fallen souls.

Second to Vengeance is Arch-Commandant Ana. Once again, there are some details I'd like to go further into later, And much like Doomfist of canon, Ana believes the world has grown complacent.

The first Talon Agent I'll talk about is Reinhardt, taking the name Fallen Knight, which implies at some point he defected from Overwatch to Talon's side. Judging by his voiceline when eliminating Ana, He doesn't like being leashed around.

Talon Zarya. I got nothing for Zarya being a Talon Agent other than Volskaya Industries being evil and loaning her out to Talon.

Now this is menacing~ Talon Brigitte has some real lore to theorize about. Either she's been raised under Talon if Torbjorn was sided with Talon to begin with, or she enlisted with Talon after learning Reinhardt defected to it. Also look at Mitzi, looking all evil and forboding.

And lastly Operative Oxton, where to begin~ A few fan comics have head-canoned that Lena's chrono-accelerator was faulty/damaged, leading to an explosion that killed Emily, which would be quite the dark backstory to join Talon in revenge against Overwatch. This actually plays well with how her Blink ability works in the Mirrorwatch event, where she take make more teleports at the cost of her health. And if it isn't obvious by her pose, she's sort of the Reaper equivalent.

Other Affiliation Changes

Genji and Symmetra have both landed themselves in Australia as Junkers

Kiriko and Hanzo have joined the Shimada's rival Clan, the Hashimoto.

Zen is part of Null-Sector this time as Z-EN Destroyer, with Ramattra taking his place as the monk who wanted peace between Human and Omnic.

==============================

{Changes to the story}

Of course with Affiliation changes, there are lore changes. Here are the main two that are most prominent.

LaCroix VS Amari

In canon Overwatch, Ana loses her eye after hesitating to shoot a brainwashed Lacroix turned Widowmaker. But if you noticed earlier, Arch-Commandant Ana doesn't wear an eyepatch. In Mirrorwatch, because of the shift in alignments, It's Widowmaker who loses an eye in the shootout and she has a cybernetic one to replace it.

Widowmaker VS Tracer

Back in the Alive Cinematic, Tracer fails to stop Widowmaker from assassinating the Omnic Monk and leader of the Shambali, Tekhartha Mondatta. But in Mirrorwatch, instead of Mondatta, Ramattra becomes Tekhartha of the Shambali Omnics and is assassinated by Tracer. And if one of her elimination lines against Tracer says anything, Widowmaker was the one who failed to stop the assassination.

So yeah, that's why I said Widowmaker is like the Tracer of Mirrorwatch, getting the most lore to pull from.

==============================

{More Mirrorwatch?}

There's definitely possiblity there could be more Mirrorwatch skins, if we go by an interview between Twitch Streamer Skiesti and Overwatch 2's Art Director, Dion Rogers. Vishkar Lucio, DJ Symmetra, Junker Winston, Overwatch Reaper, Talon Soldier: 76 were all ideas that were cut.

==============================

And that's Overwatch 2 Season 10's Mirrorwatch.

If people would be interested in me roleplaying as some of these alternate universe characters, or want to learn about some of the other Overwatch 2 Story Events, like Starwatch or Questwatch, let me know.

[texanmarcusdavenport]

It’s nice to see another person who’s also interested in kranes kids! So what wondering if I was the only one who kinda wanted to see more of the bionic soldiers and Kranes affect on them, wiping their memories felt kinda… idk out of place? like I wanna know how did they felt about being bionic, did they even want to become hero’s? Or would they trade their bionics for a normal life? What did they think of Krane? Did they ever see him at all, or was he just a name they heard through the others? How did they felt about each other? That and I would’ve killed for an interaction between Sebastian and Taylor because surely they’ve met at some point (also tbh I really hated how Sebastian played out I would’ve love to see him return because I do believe he could be redeemed ,he also has classic cult victim vibes)(Sorry if this seems weird asf I’m autistic as shit and I’ve been wondering about this stuff forever and haven’t had anyone to talk about it with 💀)

Omg yeah kranes relationship w his kids is sooo underdeveloped! On one hand I kinda think mind control is the only way he could control an army of that size, on the other it felt kinda hand-wavey & dismissive. I wish they would've expanded more on it, especially bc it's clear that different soldiers reacted differently to it & had distinct personalities even while under the Triton app. Where did Krane get all those kids, anyway? They're about the same age as ab&c so either he kidnapped them (how on Earth could he get away with kidnapping over 700 kids?) or grew them at an accelerated rate, either option sucks.

My personal theory is that Krane's 1st batch of soldiers (S 1-3, at least) were created as his lieutenants, to rule the army in his absence. Since they were the first, possibly kidnapped instead of grown, they have the most memories of pre- and during-Triton, which also explains why Sebastian is Like That.

If you're interested in Sebastian & Taylor's dynamic, I did write a post-canon fic wherein she visits him in prison! I'm thinking of adding to that universe, I have soooo many bionic army headcanons after all...

[mylostloversbookmarks]

Life In The Fast Lane

Chpt 1.

Characters - Frankie Morales x Reader

Summary - What could be better than being stuck in rush hour traffic in the middle of summer? Oh yeah, how about getting your truck rear-ended by the prettiest girl you've seen in years and being late for game night with the boys?

Word Count - 2.9K

Warnings/Tags - 18+ only Minors dni. Typical canon language, Swearing, Fluffy!Frankie, Flirty!Frankie, use of pet names, mentions slight smut but nothing explicit, mentions of blood, wound cleaning, I think that's all?

A/N - I have wanted to write a series for Frankie for ages but didn't know where to start, so here it is! I hope you all enjoy! As always a massive thank you and all the love to my bby @pedgeitopascal for being the most supportive & lovely human! <3

Feedback is always appreciated!

Divider credit to @saradika

Frankie was on his way to meet up with Pope; he had arranged to pick him up and then head over to Will’s place as it was his turn to host them for tonight's big game. From what he had seen in the group chat before he got in the truck, Benny was already there, and Tom was heading over once he dropped Tess off at her friend's house.

Staring absentmindedly out the windscreen, waiting for the lights to change, Frankie lets out a loud groan, glancing at the clock. He would never hear the end of it if he was late picking Santi up.

A loud thud pulled him from his thoughts as the truck lurched forward. Standing on the brakes to avoid hitting the car in front of him that had just started rolling forward as the lights changed to amber.

He quickly glanced in his rear-view mirror and saw a woman behind the wheel of a car with a look of absolute horror on her face; it was almost comical the way her mouth hung open in a small O.

"Mierda, C’mon! I don’t need this today!" Letting out an exasperated sigh, he carded his hands through his hair as he placed the faded, well-worn baseball cap on his head, hiding his curls.

Based on what he could see from the rear-view mirror, his truck dwarfed your small, beat-up Volkswagen Polo, so there wasn’t likely to be much damage, to his truck at least.

He took a deep breath and opened the driver's door of the truck. He tried to remind himself that accidents happened all the time in the city, and it’s not as if this was anything serious. Doing his best to remain calm, he slips out of his truck and walks to the driver's side of the offending vehicle.

The woman is still sitting in the driver's seat of her car, frantically glancing between Frankie and where the two vehicles are now joined, as he approaches her window with a small, polite smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Frankie can see that she is visibly shaken, frantically trying to get her seatbelt off with trembling hands. Once she manages to remove the seatbelt from its holder, she begins frantically trying to unwind her window.

After a moment when the window remains fully closed despite her best efforts. He reaches forward and slowly opens her driver’s door. The sounds of the Eagles greeting him;

"He was a hard-headed man,

He was brutally handsome,

And she was terminally pretty.

She held him up, and he held her for ransom.

"In the heart of the cold, cold city." 

"Are you okay?" Frankie asked, his voice soft and gentle as he fully opened the driver’s door. He left his forearm hanging over the top of the door and leaned his hip against it.

He could see the worry in her eyes and immediately felt the urge to do anything he could to help her feel better—to reach out and stroke the stray strand of hair from her face so he could get a better look at her eyes.

"What the hell, Frankie?" "Get a hold of yourself, Pendejo," he scolds himself mentally.

"Uh yeah, I'm... yeah, I'm fine, I think," she stammers as she wipes a finger and thumb across her plump bottom lip, in apparent disbelief of what has just happened.

"God, I am so sorry about your truck, sir. I saw the lights turning and was getting ready to accelerate, and the car lurched forward and... into the back of your truck...but you already knew the last part." The words were flying out at a mile a minute in a guilty voice.

As if she had just been pulled over by the cops or something.

The words weren’t registering in Frankie's head; all he could think of was how beautiful she was and how pretty her mouth was when she chewed on her bottom lip. A flood of images raced past his vision—all the things he could do to those lips and what those lips could do to him.

"Sir? Are you okay?" She questioned, making to step out of her car. Her arm reached out to place a hand on his arm in concern. He met her eyes for the second time and saw that the worried crease was still very much in place between her soft brows.

"What?"  Frankie asked, dazed as he shook his head to try and erase the explicit scenes in his head.

"I said, are you okay, sir?" She repeated—was he imagining the emphasis she was putting on the last word? He did his best to ignore the tingling heat making its way up his spine. Glancing down at her hand, which was resting lightly on his bicep,

"Yeah, I'm great, thanks," he said with a grin, and instantly he was kicking himself. What a stupid thing to say after someone tailgates you!

"I mean, I'm not hurt, I'm fine," He chuckles lightly, "We should probably get off the road though, and exchange information?"

He asked with a raised eyebrow as he gestured to where the two of you were standing in the middle of the road. A steady stream of cars queued behind hers, beeping and honking impatiently.

Oh, yes, of course!" The woman responds as if shaking her own thoughts out of her head.

"I have to warn you though when I pull forward, I'm taking your bumper with me," Frankie advised grimly, rubbing a hand across his face.

"I think that’s only fair after I crashed into you, don’t you?" She replied with a giggle and a warm smile, which lit up her oval face.

"Fair point well-made, Chica," he laughed, and he couldn’t help the grin snaking his lips upward.

Both returning to your vehicles, Frankie took the lead and slowly put his foot down on the accelerator and inched the truck forward. He winced, wrinkles forming at the sides of his eyes as he heard the screeching and cracking as the woman's bumper protested.

His truck was finally released from her car, and he drove a little way down the road into a layby. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, he could see the poor battered car - missing its bumper - creeping slowly to park behind him.

He couldn’t help but smirk to himself as he watches her running her hands through her long, wavey hair and shaking her head to herself as she puts the car in park.

Frankie leaves the truck once more, eyes glued to the woman bending over her driver's side to grab a shoulder bag from the passenger footwell of her car. She stands and smooths the black sundress over her ample figure, the dress hugging her in all the right places.

He clears his throat and tears his eyes from her as she walks towards him, not watching her footing as she digs in the bag for something. She doesn’t notice the steep curb when she trips, taking the weight of the fall on her knees.

"Ouch, oh for fucks sake!" she mutters under her breath, loud enough that Frankie picks it up clearly. He loves a woman with a foul mouth. Someone who doesn’t care about being prim and proper. He wonders briefly just how dirty her mouth can get, but stops that thought in its tracks.

"Shit, are you alright?!" He asks as he rushes to help her on the sidewalk.

"Yeah, I'm good. I'm just waiting for the ground to swallow me already." She admits being clearly mortified by the whole ordeal. Swiping the dust from the sidewalk off her dress and looking down at her, Frankie can see the way she scrunches her nose.

He is certain it is the most adorable thing he has ever seen.

"I'm Y/N... Y/N Y/L/N. I am really sorry about all of this," she huffs a laugh and gestures at her car and then at herself.

"Well, Y/N, I'm Frankie Morales, and it is a pleasure to meet you, even under the circumstances," he chuckles. "Are you sure you're alright? Your leg is bleeding." He asked concern more evident in his tone than he realised.  

"Oh shit" Y/N groaned as she looked at her knee, blood quickly trickling down her leg and pooling at her white ankle sock.

"Hold on, I have a first aid kit in the cab!" Frankie sprang into action, quickly retrieving the basic first aid kit he kept in the cab of the truck in case of emergancies.

Like pretty women getting scraped knees...

He rounded to the truck bed and pulled the tailgate down and motioned for her to sit on it. Trying to hide his snicker as she struggled to hoist herself up. Watching the look of determination on Y/N’s face, he lost it, and he couldn’t help the belly laugh that broke through his lips.

"Do you need a boost, pequeño?" Still chuckling, he made his way over to stand in front of her.

"I don’t know what that means, but I'm sure it is rude to laugh at someone when they’re gravely injured." She scolds him playfully.

"It means little one, and you're right—that wasn’t very gentlemanly of me. I apologise Here, let me help you." He can see the blush creep up her neck as he reveals the meaning of the nickname.

He places two big calloused hands on either side of her waist, making eye contact before hand to check if it was okay for him to touch her, and she nods her head yes. Frankie lifts her gently onto the tailgate. She is hiding behind her hair, but he can tell she is grinning.

Y/N’s legs were dangling comically high from the back of the truck. Frankie stands in front of her, unzipping the first aid kit, locating the antibacterial wipes and a bandaid, and then zips the bag closed once more.

"May I?" Frankie gestures towards her bleeding leg, which thankfully has slowed.

"Yes, thank you," Y/N answers in a shy voice with a small nod of her head.

He lifts her foot with his left hand and softly begins to clean the blood from her ankle to her knee with his right. He does his best to ignore how good it feels to hold her soft calf in his large strong hand but he can hear her breath quickening, and he is unsure if she is in pain or if it’s caused by his close proximity.

Throwing caution to the wind, he asks, "Are you in pain, Y/N?" Voice deep and gravely. Looking into her eyes, he notices for the first time that they are the clearest shade of (Y/E/C), glistening brightly in the summer sun. Momentarily stunned, his hand stops cleaning the wound.

"No, no, I'm not in any pain, you are very gentle." She compliments him, and he grins back, satisfied that the wound is as clean as it is going to get. Frankie places the plaster over the graze on her knee. He can’t help but rub the pad of his thumb back and forth over the material a few times before pulling back.

"There we are, almost as good as new." He smiles brightly, pleased with his handy work.

"Okay, now to the nitty gritty before I have a chance to embarrass myself again. I will give you my insurance information," she mumbles as she finally reaches for the notebook and pen in her bag. She flicks through the pages until she finds a blank one and delicately jots down her first and last names.

Frankie looks back and forth between his truck and Y/N’s car; there truly was no damage to the truck, a few minor scratches where the bumper had caught, but nothing that didn’t fade to the background with the rest of the dings and dents in the old girl.

"How about we forget about the insurance? You came out of this a hell of a lot worse than I did. Physically speaking also," he says. He chuckles and gestures to the sticking plaster on her leg.

"Why don't we just exchange numbers? I know a guy that can fix your car up for cheap, and I could maybe take you out to dinner tomorrow if you would like." Frankie didn’t know what had come over him.

The words were out of his mouth before he knew what he was saying, and he was truly impressed that he didn’t stumble over them in some sort of verbal vomit like a nervous teenager.

"Are you sure? I scratched the shit out of your truck; I want to get that fixed for you!" Y/N insisted. Frankie's heart sank as she brushed over the dinner invitation, raising his hand to scratch the back of his neck awkwardly.

"No, it’s honestly fine; there are that many scrapes and scratches on this waggon, and I like to think of them as character-building." He laughs, trying desperately to hide his disappointment.

"Okay, I still feel awful, but if you could put me in touch with your friend, I would really appreciate it." Y/N nods seriously as she finishes writing on the piece of paper

She folds it in half, tries and fails to jump down from the truckbed herself, and sighs out a half-hearted laugh. She looks up at Frankie with a "Help a girl out" look and a small grin playing on her perfect lips.

Frankie places his hands on her waist again, shocked by the heat of her skin radiating through the thin fabric of her dress, and places her steadily on the sidewalk.

"Thank you for not being an asshole about this and for fixing my leg, offering your friends help, and, well, just thank you for everything. It’s been a day from hell." Y/N laughs, and the sound tinkles through Frankie like a lullaby.

"Sure, it's no problem, pequeño" he grins at her deep blush, "if your free tomorrow I can get my buddy to take a look, I can put your bumper in the back of the truck if you like?" He offers. 

"Oh yeah, that would be perfect! I have no plans for tomorrow, so just whenever works best for you, Frankie." The way his name rolled off her tongue so innocently had Frankie clearing his throat nervously.

Okay, I will call you tomorrow then?." He asked in confusion; she still hadn’t given him her information.

"I’d like that." She smiled shyly back at him, the most tempting pink creeping across her cheeks.

"Um, you have to give me your number for me to call it Y/N." He chuckled, scratching at the back of his neck again.

"Oh fuck, I'm an idiot." She let her head fall into her hands in embarrassment, and Frankie was glad she couldn’t see him right now. The way she almost moaned that word was torturing him, and he had to readjust the way he stood as he felt his pants tightening ever so slightly.

"Jesus Frank, reign it in; she doesn’t even want to have dinner with you, let alone anything else," he thought to himself harshly. This woman was affecting him far more than any stranger should be able to.

Y/N held her hand out with the folded note between her thumb and index finger. The slight tremble in her hand didn’t go unnoticed by either of them, but Frankie chose not to acknowledge it; it was probably just leftover adrenaline from the crash anyway.

"Thanks, Y/N," he took the paper from her, held it in one hand, and tapped it against the palm of his other.

"Okay, I guess I’ll hear from you tomorrow?" She asked, and Frankie was sure he could hear the hope in her voice as he nodded back.

"You sure will, Hermosa," Frankie replied without thinking, and it was his turn to blush.

Okay, that sounds good. I will speak to you tomorrow. It was great to meet you, Frankie."

He just smiled as he watched from the side of his truck. Walking back to her little beat-up Polo, climbing into the front seat, and driving away with a grin on her pretty face.

Frankie has to take a second before he moves, running his hand over the fresh dent and scratches on the back of the truck. Smiling to himself at how a perfect stranger had effectively turned him into a teenager again,

He lifts the bumper and places it gently into the bed of the truck, pulling the cover down over top, and then secures the tailgate.

Y/N just seemed so good and sweet. "Any wonder she didn’t want to go to dinner with me?" he thought to himself.

He climbs back into the cab of the truck and opens the piece of paper she had given him. The first thing he notices is how lovely her handwriting is, and scrawled elegantly across the page is her telephone number and a message that reads:

"I would love to go to dinner with you, Frankie."

He holds the piece of paper between both hands, sure that if he lets it go, it will disappear. Grinning ear to ear, his phone starts ringing, and he lifts it from the passenger seat without looking at who is calling.

"Hello?" He asks, aware of how dopey he sounds as he stares at the note in his hand.

Frank, where the hell are you? You were supposed to be here a half hour ago!" Pope half yells down the phone at him.

"Calm down, I got into a bit of an accident. Im okay though; she was a happy accident." He grins down the line. "I’ll be over in five." He hangs up on Pope and places the note in his sun visor for safekeeping until tomorrow.

Excited at the idea of seeing her again and the night ahead with the boys, he flicks his indicator on and merges into the traffic heading to Santiago’s with the dopiest grin splitting his face.

A/N -

Pequeño ~ Little one

Hermosa ~ Beautiful

[tikiface]

do you have any thoughts about what Potemkin's past/childhood was like?

DO I? Boy howdy- There doesn't seem to be much canon information on Potemkins past/childhood besides:

-He was born the way he is. No genetic modification or augmentation. Man just won the genetic lottery for SWOLE.

-He was a slave (for who knows how long, but likely his entire life)

-Potemkin learned a lot of his moves from Gabriel (including Buster lmao) seemingly before he was freed in GGx, So that means Pot and Gabriel had known each other quite well before the world tournament.

So my HCS are -Weather or not he was born into his place in the caste system, he had been a slave since childhood. He was a particularly useful farmhand in his younger years because of his unusual strength, until he was noticed and bought by Zepps military for that exact reason. -Potemkin is particularly well-spoken, intelligent, politically and philosophically savvy, so in spite of his captivity, he must've had opportunities to educate himself. I like to think he payed particular attention to other soldiers wisdom. Gabriel could have had a hand in educating him past his assigned purpose in the old regime.

-Potemkin was forced into to Zepps military at the ripe old age of 11... because he was already much bigger and far stronger than most fully-grown men by that age. He didn't look like a kid, but he certainly still acted like one. Shy, scared, inexperienced, and profoundly unable to cope with stress.

-It didn't take long for Gabriel to notice someone managed to put a FUCKING CHILD in HIS military training program. Angered and disgusted by this, Gabriel secretly excluded Potemkin from training and instead left him some place safe to read books during training hours. All while being careful about catching the attention of his superiors.

-Gabriel eventually did train Potemkin though, so that he may survive whatever the regime set him out to do. Gabriel tried not to be overly-involved in Potemkins life directly (lest his superiors take Pot and put him under the command of someone far less forgiving, or find out Gabriel has secretly been acting treasonous in other ways), but he pulled strings in the background so that he could keep an eye on him and loosely stay in charge of Potemkins 'training' to keep him relatively safe and enriched with a few actual childhood experiences… like reading fiction, drawing, and encouraging his childlike hopes and dreams.

-potemkins strength started out unusually accelerated but otherwise manageable in his childhood and teens, so he was able to enjoy normal pencils, sit in normal chairs, and wear normal clothes for a time. It wasn’t until adulthood where it started to become a visible problem and his strength grew so quickly that he frequently began to break everything by accident, even while trying as hard as he could to be careful. Doors, tables, clothes, documents, furniture, infrastructure. It was not a fun time for him, constantly frustrated that he couldn’t control his own strength. Gabriel found the property damage expense on the old government pretty funny though. Potemkin was unintentionally tearing down the establishment from the inside out.

-eventually the combination of wearing his limiters and simply mastering being suuuuper careful allowed him to have the finesse he has today, but its something he’s still not allowed to take for granted.