#they should take away my ability to make polls

[hottiesforhockey]

no nut november ⎜q.hughes

pairings: quinn hughes x afab!reader genre: romance ⎜smut ⎜angst? warnings: no nut november ⎜teasing ⎜ mentions of a bet/deal ⎜mention of sharing sex life ⎜fingering ⎜light dirty talk ⎜quinn second guessing his life choices ⎜ masturbation ⎜finger sucking ⎜insecure reader⎜hints at breaking up ⎜p in v ⎜ swearing ⎜praise ⎜no protection (please wrap it before you tap it)⎜ synopsis: quinn makes a deal with his brothers - he never realised how hard this would be for the both of you. word count: 3.8k authors note:  Quinn was the clear winner of my poll to decide who would star in this fic - so I hope all 39.6% of you enjoy. do we want a sequel? called dicked down december

(unedited)

DAY ONE

Quinn was only one day in and he already knew he wasn’t going to make it through the month. He knew now that he should’ve never let Jack drag him into the deal that most of the New Jersey Devils participated in every year - the winner coming out with a donation to the charity of their choice and the ability to pronounce themselves as “not whipped” by their girlfriends. 

But Quinn was very much whipped. 

Your whip was so tight around him, he could barely breathe as he watched you wander around the house in just your towel, grabbing your clothes fresh out of the dryer for the game later today. Quinn’s fingers twitched at his sides, as he resists the urge to reach out for you - knowing the only way he was going to get through this month was going to be by avoiding touching you at any and all costs. He wanted nothing more than to abandon this ridiculous bet and wrap his arms around you, pulling that towel away inch by inch. Every day, this month-long challenge to abstain from any intimate contact with you felt like it was going to kill him.

He took a deep breath, his jaw clenching as you glanced over your shoulder and flashed him a teasing smile. You knew exactly what you were doing to him - you had to know. 

But how did you know? He certainly didn’t tell you, and he made his brothers swear to secrecy. 

Quinn's gaze was glued to you, a mix of frustration and longing evident in his eyes. He tried to focus on anything else, on his suit laid out on the bed, or on his phone buzzing in his sweatpants pocket. Anything but the sway of your hips as you walk down the hallway - or the hinting smile you send him as you reach the doorway to the bedroom, inviting him to follow you. 

The sight of you, so effortless and beautiful, had his mind completely tangled.

"You okay there, babe?” you asked, clearly confused by his discomfort and unwillingness to trail behind you. He nods his head with a tight smile as you shrug and disappear from sight, Quinn letting out a long groan as he rubs his hands down his face - cursing his brothers in his mind for what they are doing to him. 

“One day down” he whispers, exhaling slowly. “Only twenty-nine more to go.”

+

+

DAY FIFTEEN

“One of you two must’ve told her something.” Quinn sneers at his phone. 

“We didn’t tell her anything, I swear on my life.” Luke retorts, making the sound of Jack’s laughter ring even louder in his ear, as Quinn waves goodbye to some of his teammates leaving the rink after practice - Quinn’s frown deepens as Jack tries to compose himself, only to laugh even harder as soon as he calms down. 

“Maybe she figured it out on her own.” Jack suggests one his laughing finally dies down, a few chuckles spilling out before he lets out a grunt of pain, presumably caused by the youngest of the brothers. 

“Well she knows something - she’s never been like this before.” Quinn sighs, rubbing his hand over his face, a habit that’s becoming far more common since the month began. “She’s ravenous, any chance she gets she’s trying to take my pants off.” Quinn’s words set his younger brother off again. 

“Look we promise we didn’t say anything to her - but maybe you should.” Luke suggests softly, the sound of Jack’s laugh quieting in the background as Quinn assumes his youngest brother walks away from the noise. “I’m sure she’d try to take things easier on you if you told her what you were doing - it’s for charity.” Luke voice is hopeful but Quinn knows that he’s wrong - his girlfriend would rather sell her soul then help him win a bet with his idiot brothers. 

“It’s fine. I’ll figure it out.” Quinn says into the phone before hanging up not waiting for his brother to respond. Quinn makes his short journey home - his apartment only a five minute drive from the arena, the apartment almost silent when he walks through the door - Quinn surprised not to see you perched on the couch like you usually are. 

The small muffled whimper coming from down the hall catching him even more by surprise. 

“Babe?” He calls out into the apartment, sliding off his shoes at the front door, placing his keys on their hook besides the front door. He waits for a moment, another whimper cutting through the silence. Quinn takes slow, quiet steps down the hallway, your soft sounds getting louder as he reaches the closed bedroom door - the softer whisper of his name giving him pause. 

“Baby? Are you okay in there?” He calls through the door, knowing that opening the door right now might be a mistake, but he can’t help his hand turning the door handle, peeking through the small gap as the door swings open. 

Quinn can feel his mouth drop open as he watches your fingers slip inside of you so easily. Your legs falling further open against the mattress as you let out a long sigh, your other hand gripping the sheets. “Fuck.” Quinn curses under his breath as head shooting up at the interruption, your legs snapping closed your hand trapped in between them. 

“Quinn? When did you get home?” You question as your cheeks burn a bright red, pulling yourself into a sitting up position slowly sliding your hand out from between your legs - your shirt falling from where it was bunched against your waist to cover you a little more. 

Quinn opens his mouth to speak but clamps it shut against as he sees you reaching for the towel besides the bed, his body moving faster then his brain as he steps forwards, his hand clamping around your wrist as he pauses your motions, glancing down at the sheen of liquid on your fingers. Quinn smiles as you try to yank your hand from his grasp, your whole body freezing as he raises your soaked fingers to his mouth - sucking them clean, a loud hum resonating from his throat. 

“What the fuck?” You whisper as he releases your wrist, letting the hand fall limply besides you as he lunges forwards, his hand clasping either side of your head as he attaches his lips to yours - the taste of yourself still fresh in his mouth. Quinn pulls away first, his hand knotting in your hair as he pants over your, your hands desperately clinging to the sides of his shirt. 

“No, wait.” You whine as he moves to pull away, pushing the hair off your face as his eyes lock with yours. “Why are you stopping?” His thumbs stroke your cheeks gently as a small pout forms on your face, Quinn smiling as he leans down to press a soft kiss against your lips before pulling away from you completely. 

“I just can’t right now.”  Is all he gives you before he turns quickly and leaves the room - leaving you sitting on the mattress with burning skin and a throbbing pussy, the anger bubbling under the surface. You huff as you bed down, pulling your pyjama pants back on before marching into the living room behind your boyfriend. 

“What do you mean, you just can’t?” You snap, crossing your arms over your chest as you watch him flop onto the couch, his face pushed into the cushions as he lets out a sigh. “Is it me? Did I do something wrong?” You ask, the room suddenly feeling colder as a shiver racks your body, your arms pulling tighter against yourself.  

“No.” Quinn groans against the pillow. 

“Really? Cause it seems like I’m the problem - Quinn I’ve been throwing myself at you and you don’t even look at me anymore.” You don’t mean for your voice to tremble when you speak but you can’t help the growing lump in your throat. “I just want you to be honest with me, if this isn’t something you want anymore.” 

Quinn’s head shoots up from the pillow - his body scrambling off the lounge to make his way to you, your body stepping away from him as you hands wipe at your face. “I’m not going to be mad if you do want to brea—” 

“Don’t finish that fucking sentence.” Quinn hisses, his hands reaching out for yours, forcing you to uncross the arms against your chest. “What on earth would make you think that I want to break up with you?” He questions, bringing your hands to his lips, pressing soft kisses across your knuckles. 

“Are you kidding me?” You respond, a cold laugh leaving you before you add, “You’ve wanted nothing to do with me over the last two weeks - every time I try, you run away like you’ve been burned and not to mention you’ve been sleeping in the guest room. I never thought that I was so bad you couldn’t even share a bed with me.” Quinn flinches at the shaky breath you let out, the small hiccup as you try to hold back your tears. 

“No, it’s not like that.” 

“Then what is it, Quinn because I’m really fucking confused.” 

“Jack and Luke convinced me to—” Quinn pauses as he watches your head tilt in confusion - your mind racing a million miles an hour as he tries to figure out how to word this right, but falling short as he blurts out. “It’s because of no nut November.” 

A flicker of surprise crosses your face before a look of incredulous amusement takes over. You blink at him, as though waiting for the punchline.

“Wait, that's why you’ve been avoiding me? Because of… some dumb challenge?” You try to hold back a laugh, but a snort slips out anyway. Quinn’s cheeks flush, his gaze dropping as he sheepishly scratches the back of his neck.

 “It’s not dumb. It’s for charity—Jack and Luke both dared me, and if I finish the month, we’re each donating a bunch of money to the children's hospital.” His voice grows defensive, though he’s clearly embarrassed. “I just… I didn’t think it’d be this hard.”

You raise an eyebrow, unable to resist. “Literally or figuratively?”

“Both!” he bursts out, letting out a frustrated sigh as he flops back down onto the couch. “You have no idea how hard this has been… and every time I see you—” He cuts himself off, cheeks going even redder, which only makes you chuckle harder. 

“Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea,” you tease, crossing your arms. “So you’ve been turning me down, not because you’re mad at me, but because of a bet?” Quinn grimaces, looking up at you with guilt in his eyes. 

“Yes. I know it’s dumb, but I didn’t want you to feel bad. I thought I could just… tough it out without saying anything.”

You sigh, feeling a mix of relief and exasperation. “I don’t think I’ve ever dated someone so stupid” 

“Yeah,” he mumbles, rubbing his temples. “I know. I didn’t mean to make you feel unwanted. It’s just… Jack and Luke won’t let me hear the end of it if I quit now. They’d never let me live it down.”

You roll your eyes, moving closer to him on the couch. “Well, maybe I can make this month even harder on you,” you say, grinning as you trail a finger along his jawline.

His eyes widen, and he gulps. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would. You’ve already put me through two weeks of this. You think I’m not going to make you work for it?”

He groans, dropping his head into his hands. “This is going to be the longest month of my life.”

You laugh, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on his cheek. “Maybe next time, you’ll think twice before taking up ridiculous bets with your brothers.”

Quinn pulls you into a hug, holding you tight. “Yeah, maybe. But it’s worth it. For the kids.”

+

+

DAY THIRTY

“I can’t take this anymore” Quinn sighs as he watches you waltz around the room in your underwear, the sunflower yellow matching set the same he had picked out earlier in the year for your birthday. You shoot him a grin over his shoulder as you pull on the mid length dress, saving Quinn from drooling over your ass for any longer. 

“It’s the last day Quinn, think of the children.” You coo, adjusting each breast to sit more comfortably in the dress, Quinn letting out a long whine as his threads his fingers through his hair pulling on the roots. 

“Fuck the kids.” He grumbles, a surprised laugh escaping you as you make your way over to him - his hands instantly grabbing hold of your hips pulling you between his legs. His forehead dipping to leans against your stomach, your fingers gently playing with the ends of his curled hair. 

“Quinn, if you can make it to midnight, then I promise it’ll be worth your while.” You promise, your hands smoothing down the back of his head and dipping under the collar of his dress shirt, rubbing soft circles against his back. “And with the jackpot combined that’s almost fifty thousand for the children’s hospital palliative care unit. That’s so special, Quinn.” 

Quinn groans, his grip tightening on your hips, as he pulls you closer. “I know, I know… you’re right.” He lifts his head to look at you, his eyes smoldering with barely contained desire. “But you’re not making it any easier for me.”

You chuckle, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his forehead. “Just a few more hours. Then I’m all yours.”

Quinn sighs, releasing you reluctantly, his hands sliding down your waist before finally letting go. He leans back in his chair, watching as you smooth out the dress and adjust your hair in the mirror. The way he looks at you sends a shiver down your spine, and you can’t help but feel a surge of anticipation for what’s to come once this night is over.

"Fine," he relents, his voice low and gruff. "But I’m holding you to that promise."

You grin, blowing him a playful kiss before grabbing your purse and heading towards the door. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, Hughes.”

As you both step out, ready to put on smiles and charm for the last fundraiser of the year, you can feel Quinn’s hand settle on the small of your back, a silent reminder of everything waiting between you once the clock strikes midnight.

Quinn could feel his phone buzzing in his pocket for most of the evening, his brothers and their teammates admitting defeat and wishing Quinn congratulations - his hand tight in yours the whole evening as he watches the clock in the corner of the room, each tick of the hour hand building his anticipation. 

“Quinn you need to actually pay attention.” You hiss in his ear, his fingers squeezing yours as the clock ticks to eleven thirty pm. 

“I’d be able to pay attention if I could think of anything other then how good it’s gonna feel when I can finally put my dick inside you again.” Quinn leans his head down, his lips pressing to your ears as he whispers - your gaze instantly shooting around to see if anyone had heard what he said. “I hope you’re not attached to that matching set, baby.” He grins as he pulls away from you, the Quinn from the past month quickly replaced by a man you hadn’t seen in a while. 

“Hey, we’re going to head off, she’s not feeling too well.” Quinn whispers to the table as the speeches conclude - his teammates immediately wishing you well, as Quinn collects your purse and coat, dragging you from the ballroom hall in haste. Quinn makes quick work of the drive home - not even glancing in your direction as he fidgets in his seat, his hand clamped against the inside of your thigh, his other hand tapping against the steering wheel as he makes his way through the streets of Vancouver. 

“Five minutes, I can do this.” He mumbles to himself, as he races around the car, pulling the door open for you, offering his hand as you slide out of the car. The two of you taking the longest journey of Quinn’s life to the apartment, the tension rising to a boil as the front door clicks shut - Quinn’s pupils blown out as he glances at the clock. 

“One minute.” He whispers, your hands making quick work of your heels as you strip them off your feet, a bright grin on your face as you tug on the hem of your dress, pulling it up inch by inch as you watch Quinn, who watches the clock. You pull the soft fabric over your head just as the clock ticks to midnight, Quinn’s eyes shooting over to yours. 

“I did it.” He says in disbelief. 

“You did it.” You confirm, leaning against the front door as you fiddle with the band on your underwear. “Now fuck me.” Quinn doesn’t waste time, his hands pushing you hard against the door as his lips capture yours, the two of your breathless in seconds, as his lips leave yours to press soft kisses down your jaw. 

“I don’t know how long I’ll last.” He admits, a groan escaping him as you run your fingers against his scalp, his lips dipping to your collarbones before making their way back up. “God, you’re just so fucking gorgeous.” He says against your skin, your hands gripping his face to pull it away from your neck for a moment. 

“Let’s make this quick then, cap.” You says as you press a chaste kiss to his lips before slipping out from between his body and the door, sprawling yourself against the couch your legs opened wide in invitation. “Clothes off.” You murmur as he stumbles over to the couch - Quinn nodding his head vigorously as he strips himself of his shirt, pausing to watch as you tug on the front clasp of your bra, the two cups springing away from each other as your breasts tumble free. 

“I think I’ve been blessed by angels.” He says as his mouth falls open a little, his fingers fumbling on the button of his pants, finally letting out a sharp curse as he yanks at the pants, his button popping off and hitting the floor with a clattering sound. “I’ll fix them later.” He says, kicking the trousers off his legs as he dives towards you on the couch. 

You let out a soft moan as Quinn attaches his lips to your left nipple, his free hand grabbing hold of the right breast as kneads it slowly, before switching sides, your legs wrapping around his waist as you whisper - “God, please.” 

“My name is Quinn, and I expect you to use it.” He retorts, a wicked grin on his face as his finger tickle their way down to the waistband of your underwear, slowly slipping them down your legs and throwing them to the side - your pussy glistening as he sits back on his heels, glancing down at you. 

“What’re you doing?” You hiss. 

“Admiring the view.” He admits, his body jolting forwards as you use your legs to tug him back down towards you. 

“Well stop admiring and put your dick in me.” Quinns hands move faster now, his lips finding their way back to yours as he fumbles to strip off his underwear, his body slotting easily against yours as his hand guides himself to your entrance. 

“It’s as perfect as I remember.” Quinn says as he slowly pushes inside, a sigh of relief leaving you at the feeling of him after thirty long days. “God, your pussy is so perfect.” He groans, his hips slowly starting to rock back and forth, your arms thrown around his neck as you hold him to you as tightly as possible - his lips pressing gentle kisses against your cheeks as you let out a quiet whine. 

“It’s made for me.” He continues, his hands finding purchase against your waist gripping tightly as his motions speed up, his thrusts heavier as he pulls himself into a kneeling position, your arms loosening around his neck grabbing hold of the cushion beneath you. 

“Quinn, shit.” You hum, your teeth clamping down on your bottom lip as your throw your head back, his thumb rising to your mouth, your lips softly parting as he dips it into your mouth your tongue swirling around the digit before he pulls it back out - rubbing gently against your clit. 

“Fuck, I’m so close.” Quinn moans, his thrusts becoming more erratic, your hand letting go of the cushion to grip his jaw - pulling his face down to yours. 

“It’s okay.” You whisper against his lips, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw before adding, “Come for me, Quinn.” His movements halt, his hands leaving you to plant above your head as he lets out a low groan, your legs holding him against your as he whispers soft praise in your ear. 

“Fuck, I’m so sorry.” He apologises as his body falls against yours, your arms wrapping around him as you chuckle into his hair, pressing a kiss against his forehead.

“It’s okay.” You mumble, your fatigue already setting in as you try to yank the blanket off the back of the couch. “Let’s just stay here for a while.” Quinn humming in quick agreement as he settles against your chest, his fingers tangling with the ends of your hair as your hands rub against his bare skin. 

“We didn’t use protection.” He notes, his dick softening inside of you, the bare feeling something new for the both of you. 

“We can figure that out later.” You admit, surprised that neither of you had thought to grab a condom before leaving for the event earlier tonight.

“I’ll go to the pharmacy in the morning for you.” Quinn murmurs, his words softer as his body relaxes against yours. “I’ll make this up to you.” He adds. 

“Quinn, really it’s okay… It’s been a long month for you.” You chuckle, Quinn huffing against your chest in agreement. “Well we’ve got the whole of December to make up for it.” You add, pressing one more kiss to his head before settling into your boyfriends embrace, your legs wrapped around him until the early morning, when he drags himself away from you starting the bath and pulling you away from the couch in a half asleep daze. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” He whispers in your ear as he insists you go to the toilet before sliding into the enjoyably hot water, Quinn sliding into the bath behind you. 

“Thank you, for being patient with me.” He says against your skin, your body melting against his in the soapy water. 

“Just promise you won’t do it again.” 

“Deal.” 

[mononijikayu]

drunk tonight — ryomen sukuna.

"Yes, we can." he murmurs, his voice a soft, dominant caress that contrasts sharply with the intensity of the moment. His lips press against your jaw with a sharp, possessive kiss, and you feel your head loll against his, unable to escape the overwhelming sensations. His words are both a promise and a demand, a statement that attempts to bridge the gap between the pain and the passion you’re experiencing. "Because I love you. And you love me."

GENRE: alternate universe - modern au!;

WARNING/S: nsfw, angst, toxic romance, hurt/no comfort, break up, fighting, crying, hurt, physical touch, sexual content, sadness, pain, grief, unhappy ending, depictions of toxic relationship, depiction of grief, depiction of fighting, depiction of sexual content, depiction of loneliness, mention of grief, mention of sexual context, mention of loneliness, toxic ex-boyfriend! sukuna, long suffering ex-girlfriend! reader;

WORD COUNT: 9.4k words

NOTE: the thought bubble says "yes, we can." and "because i love you. and you love me."; i wrote this a while back but i was waiting for the poll to end. but if sukuna wins, then he definitely has his stuff posted first. somehow, sukuna always wins my polls 😆😆😆 anyway, i hope you love this one too!!! i love you all 🫶🫶🫶

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

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YOU DON’T WANT TO ANSWER THE PHONE. Late at night, your phone buzzes, its vibration cutting through the silence like a knife. You glance at the screen, feeling a chill run down your spine as you recognize the number. It’s a number you know all too well, one that you’ve tried to erase from your mind but could never quite forget, no matter how hard you tried.

A sigh escapes your lips, your heart sinking as Sukuna’s name flashes across the screen. It’s a name that once brought you comfort, excitement, even love. But now, it’s just a reminder of everything that went wrong, of the hurt and the scars that never fully healed.

You’ve blocked him on everything—social media, messaging apps, even email. You thought you had cut off every possible avenue for him to reach you, but he always remembered your phone number. 

He was always good at that—memorizing details, knowing exactly how to reach you when you least wanted him to. It was one of the things that drew you to him in the first place, his ability to know you so well, to be so in tune with you. But now, it’s a curse, a reminder that no matter how far you try to run, he can always find you.

The text is a mess of jumbled letters and half-formed words, the kind of message that only makes sense to the sender. You can almost hear his deep, slurred voice in your head as you read it, the way he used to talk when he was too far gone, too deep into the bottle. He’s drunk, that much is obvious, and the thought makes your stomach churn.

You roll your eyes, frustration bubbling up inside you. There’s nothing worse than a drunk ex-text. It’s a toxic mix of emotions—regret, anger, longing—all wrapped up in a few poorly typed words. You know how this goes, how the night will unravel if you let it. 

He’ll keep texting, maybe even call, and each message will be more desperate, more incoherent than the last. He’ll say things he doesn’t mean, make promises he can’t keep, and you’ll be left holding the pieces of a conversation that never should have happened.

For a moment, you consider ignoring it, just turning off your phone and pretending you never saw it. But you know that won’t make it go away. You know that as long as Sukuna has your number, as long as he has a way to reach you, this cycle will keep repeating itself.

You take a deep breath, your fingers hovering over the screen. You could respond, tell him to stop, to leave you alone once and for all. But part of you knows that won’t work either. You’ve told him before, and yet here you are, staring at another late-night message from the man you once loved.

Your thumb hovers over the message, the words blurring in your tired eyes. You want to be strong, to resist the pull of old emotions and familiar patterns. But there’s a part of you that’s still connected to him, a part that wants to reach out, to understand why he can’t just let you go.

But you know better. You’ve been down this road too many times before. And as much as it hurts, as much as it feels like tearing a piece of your heart out, you know what you have to do. With a sigh, you delete the message, your chest tightening as you do. You close your eyes, trying to block out the guilt, the sadness, the tiny voice in your head that says maybe this time will be different. But you know it won’t. It never is.

You can’t even muster the energy to be angry. It’s all too familiar, the cycle of hurt and regret that you both keep getting sucked into. You start typing back, your fingers trembling slightly with the weight of it all.

“Sukuna, stop. Wherever you are, just stop.” You hesitate, your thumb hovering over the screen. But you need to say this—you need to finally put it to rest. “This hurts, all of it. It’s a mess, and we’ve broken up. You need to stop chasing after me. We can’t go back.”

There’s a long pause. You wonder if he’ll leave it at that, but another text pings through.

“I can’t… I can’t live with this without trying. Please…”

You swallow hard, feeling the ache in your chest, but you’ve made up your mind. This is a wound that needs to heal, and reopening it will only make it worse.

“Sukuna, I’m done. You need to be, too.” You send the message, and this time, you turn off your phone. The silence that follows is almost deafening, but it’s the first step towards finally moving on.

You purse your lips, staring at the screen as his last message burns into your mind. You know he’s just too drunk tonight. He doesn’t really want you back—not the way he thinks he does. He’s just broken inside, sad and high, and you can feel the weight of his loneliness pressing through the words.

A lump forms in your throat as the urge to cry wells up again. It hurts because deep down, you know the truth. He doesn’t want you back. He’s just lonely, aching for something familiar to fill the void. You’ve been there before, reaching out in desperation, hoping for comfort in the arms of someone who used to mean everything. But that was then, and this is now.

You type slowly, forcing yourself to keep going, even though each word feels like a knife twisting deeper into your heart. "Sukuna, you’re not really after me. You’re just lonely and sad, and I get that. But this… us… it’s over. We ended things for a reason."

Your fingers hesitate over the next part, but you push through the pain. "We hurt each other too much. I didn’t want to be with you anymore because all we did was tear each other apart. And I don’t want that for either of us."

You take a shaky breath, knowing what you need to say, even if it feels like ripping off a bandage from a wound that hasn’t fully healed. "So put down the phone, Sukuna. It’s time to go home. You’re just drunk tonight.”

You hit send, and the tears that you’ve been holding back finally spill over. You’ve been strong for so long, but tonight, in the quiet of your room, you allow yourself to feel the full weight of everything you’ve lost and everything you’ve chosen to leave behind.

You ended things because you knew it was the right thing to do, but that doesn’t make it any easier. And even though you’re telling him to move on, a part of you is whispering the same words to yourself. It’s time to let go, for real this time. It’s time to heal, even if that means facing the pain head-on and accepting that some things can never be fixed.

Your phone rings, and your heart sinks as you see his name flashing across the screen. You hesitate, your thumb hovering over the decline button. You know you shouldn’t answer, know that nothing good can come from this. But some part of you—maybe out of concern, maybe out of habit—hits the green button.

“Sukuna, don’t—”

“I’m on my way.” he interrupts, his voice slurred but filled with a determination that chills you. “I need to see you. We need to talk.”

Your stomach drops, and a sense of dread washes over you. “No, Sukuna. Don’t do this. You’re not thinking straight.”

There’s a pause on the other end, a brief silence where you can hear him breathing heavily, as if he’s fighting to keep his composure. “I have to see you.” he repeats, softer this time, almost pleading. “Please. I…..I want to see you. I wanna…I wanna be with you.”

“Sukuna, please.” you say, your voice trembling. “You’re drunk, you’re not yourself. Turn around and go home. You’re only going to make this harder—for both of us.”

“I don’t care.” he snaps, and you can hear the desperation creeping into his voice. A desperation that’s never been there before. “I can’t keep living like this, pretending I don’t need you. I’ll be there soon.”

Panic starts to set in. You feel trapped, knowing that no amount of reasoning will get through to him tonight. “Sukuna, if you show up here, I won’t open the door. I mean it.”

There’s a harsh laugh on the other end. “You will. You always do.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut because they’re true, or at least they were. You can’t deny the history between you two, the countless times you’ve stood at the edge of this same precipice, teetering between resolve and surrender. 

How many times had you given in, opened the door, and let him back into your life, even when every fiber of your being screamed that you shouldn’t? You’ve lost count, the memories blurring together into a painful montage of late-night confessions, tearful apologies, and broken promises.

Each time, you told yourself it would be the last. You would stand firm, hold your ground, and finally cut the ties that bound you to him. But then he would show up—vulnerable, raw, and desperate—and the walls you had so carefully constructed would crumble in an instant. 

He knew exactly how to reach you, how to twist the knife just enough to remind you of what you once had, what you once were. And for a fleeting moment, you’d believe that maybe, just maybe, things could be different this time.

But they never were. The darkness that surrounded him, that clung to your relationship like a shroud, always found a way to seep back in. It would start slowly—a harsh word here, a lingering silence there—but soon, it would consume you both, dragging you back into a toxic cycle of pain and regret. Each time you let him back in, you lost a little more of yourself, a little more of the light that once defined who you were.

But you can’t do that anymore. You can’t keep losing pieces of yourself to a love that no longer serves you, to a relationship that has long since become a shadow of what it once was. You’ve fought too hard to reclaim your life, to step out of the darkness and into the light of something better, something healthier. You’ve built yourself back up, brick by brick, and you can’t let him tear it all down again.

This time, it has to be different. This time, you can’t open the door, no matter how much he begs, no matter how much it hurts to turn him away. You can’t let him drag you back into the darkness that you fought so hard to escape. You deserve more—more than late-night texts filled with empty promises, more than a love that only thrives in the shadows. You deserve peace, stability, and a future that isn’t haunted by the ghosts of a past you can’t change.

So you take a deep breath, steeling yourself against the familiar pull of his words, the seductive lure of what could have been. You remind yourself of the pain, the nights spent crying, the days filled with anxiety and doubt. You remind yourself that you’ve survived without him, that you’ve thrived in ways you never could have imagined when you were still caught in his web.

And as much as it hurts, as much as it feels like a betrayal of everything you once held dear, you know that you have to let him go. You have to close the door, lock it, and walk away—this time for good. Because if you don’t, you’ll never truly be free. And freedom, you realize, is worth more than any fleeting moment of comfort he could offer. You can’t let him pull you back into the darkness. You’ve come too far, and it’s time to finally step into the light.

“No, I won’t.” you say, forcing steel into your voice. “Not this time. If you care about me at all, you’ll turn around and go home. You’ll stop this before it gets worse.”

He doesn’t respond right away, and for a moment, you think maybe, just maybe, he’ll listen. But then he speaks again, his voice rough and broken. “I’m almost there. Just… wait for me.”

Your heart is racing now, your mind scrambling for what to do. “Sukuna, if you come here, I’ll call the police. I’m serious.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath on the other end, and then, finally, silence. You think he’s hung up, but then he speaks again, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry for everything. But I have to try.”

He hangs up before you can respond, leaving you standing there, staring at your phone with your heart pounding in your chest. You feel sick, torn between the history you share and the need to protect yourself from the man he’s become.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside you. You don’t want to call the police, don’t want to escalate things that far, but you need to be ready. You need to stay strong, for your own sake.

With trembling hands, you lock your door, turn off the lights, and sit down on the edge of your bed, phone clutched tightly in your hand. You wait, praying that he’ll turn around, that he’ll finally realize that what you had is gone, and it’s time to let it go. But deep down, you know this isn’t over—not tonight, not until he’s standing at your door, and you’re forced to make the hardest decision of your life.

The minutes tick by slowly, each one heavier than the last. You sit in the dark, your breath shallow and your nerves frayed, listening for any sound that might signal his arrival. Every car that passes by your window makes your heart jump, your mind conjuring images of him stumbling out, determined and reckless.

You think back to the times when things were good between you two, when his intensity was something you admired, even loved. But that intensity had turned into something else, something darker and more destructive, and you couldn’t let it consume you both any longer.

Your phone vibrates again, pulling you out of your thoughts. Another message from Sukuna:

“I’m here.”

You freeze, your blood running cold. He’s close, maybe right outside. You stand up slowly, moving toward the window with a mix of dread and resolve. Peering through the curtains, you see his figure in the dim light, leaning against a lamppost across the street, his silhouette unmistakable.

He looks up, and even from this distance, you can see the torment in his eyes, the way his shoulders sag with the weight of whatever he’s carrying. But you can’t let that sway you. You’ve made your choice, and you need to stand by it.

Your phone vibrates again, the familiar buzz sending a jolt through your already frayed nerves. You don’t even need to look at the screen to know it’s him. The notification hangs in the air like a weight, pressing down on your chest, making it hard to breathe.

With a trembling hand, you unlock your phone, the brightness of the screen almost blinding in the darkness of your room. His message is there, short and desperate, the words filled with a plea that you’ve heard too many times before:

“Please, just open the door. We can talk, I swear. I won’t make a scene.”

You close your eyes, willing yourself to stay calm, to keep the tears at bay. His voice echoes in your mind, the deep, gravelly tone that once brought you comfort now only serves to break you down. You can almost picture him on the other side of that door, his eyes wide with that familiar mix of anger and sadness, his posture tense with anticipation. He’s close, so close that you can feel his presence like a shadow creeping over your heart.

It would be so easy to give in, to let him in one more time, to listen to whatever promises he has prepared for tonight. After all, you’ve done it before—opened that door despite knowing it would lead to nothing but more heartache. But tonight feels different. Tonight, there’s a finality in the air, a sense that if you open that door now, it won’t just be another mistake; it will be the last one, the one that shatters whatever remnants of strength you’ve managed to hold onto.

You swallow hard, your throat tight with the urge to cry. You know him too well; you know he won’t leave unless you confront him, unless you face him head-on. He’s stubborn like that, relentless in his pursuit of what he wants, even when it’s something—or someone—that’s no longer his to claim. 

But you also know, deep in your bones, that opening that door is the last thing you should do. It’s a line you can’t cross, not this time. Because if you do, you’ll be dragged right back into the storm you’ve fought so hard to escape. You’ll be pulled into his orbit, where everything is chaotic and intense, where love and pain are intertwined so tightly that you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

You take a shaky breath, your hand hovering over the door handle as your mind races. What could he possibly say that he hasn’t already said? What could he promise that he hasn’t already broken? The answers are clear, but the pull of the past is strong, and it tugs at you with a force that’s hard to resist.

But you have to resist. You have to stay strong, for your own sake. Because you know that once you open that door, once you let him back in, all the progress you’ve made, all the nights you’ve spent rebuilding yourself, will be undone. You’ll be right back where you started—lost, hurt, and wondering why you ever let him back into your life.

Your heart aches with the weight of it all, but you know what you have to do. You know that tonight, you have to choose yourself, even if it means walking away from someone you once loved with every part of your being. 

So you close your eyes, forcing yourself to breathe through the pain, to let it wash over you without letting it consume you. You clench your fists, nails digging into your palms as you fight back the urge to cry, to scream, to throw open that door and let everything unravel.

But you don’t. You stay where you are, standing firm in the decision you’ve made. Because tonight, for the first time in a long time, you’re choosing to protect your heart instead of breaking it all over again.

You steady your breathing, forcing yourself to stay calm as the reality of the situation sinks in. Each vibration of your phone feels like a pulse of pain, a reminder of the emotional battleground you’re standing on. You know that answering the door would only open the floodgates, allowing the turmoil and chaos of the past to flood back into your life. You’ve fought so hard to reclaim your peace, and you refuse to let it slip away now.

With a deep breath, you take a moment to center yourself. You remind yourself of the reasons you’ve decided to cut ties, the countless times you’ve faced heartache, and the strength it took to rebuild your life. This decision, though painful, is a necessary step to ensure you don’t lose everything you’ve worked so hard to achieve.

You get up and move to your front door, standing just a few inches away. The cold, unyielding surface feels like a barrier between you and the chaos you’ve left behind. You listen for any sounds—footsteps, a knock—but the night is eerily quiet, punctuated only by the occasional rumble of distant traffic. It’s as if the world itself is holding its breath, waiting for you to make the choice that will define this moment.

Another message from Sukuna pings through, and you resist the urge to check it. Instead, you focus on the decision at hand, the choice you’ve already made. You know that the best way to move forward is to keep the past where it belongs—behind you.

You glance at your phone once more and see that Sukuna has called you again. Your heart races, but you refuse to answer. You let the call go to voicemail, the familiar chime sounding distant and detached. Each unanswered call is a step towards reclaiming your autonomy, towards making it clear that you will not be dragged back into the emotional mess that has defined your relationship.

The minutes tick by slowly, each one feeling like an eternity. Finally, there’s silence—no more texts, no more calls. You take a deep breath, letting the calm settle over you. You feel the weight of your decision settle into your bones, a mixture of relief and sorrow. You’ve chosen to protect yourself, to preserve the hard-earned peace you’ve fought for.

As you turn away from the door, you feel a mixture of sadness and strength. The pain of seeing Sukuna’s name, the torment of his pleas, is still fresh, but you’ve managed to hold firm. You’ve chosen not to open the door, not to let him back into your life. This choice, as difficult as it was, is a testament to your resolve, to your commitment to yourself.

You sit back down, wrapping yourself in a blanket of quiet determination. The tears you’ve fought so hard to keep at bay finally come, not as a sign of weakness but as a release of all the emotions you’ve been holding inside. They’re a reminder of your humanity, of the depth of your feelings, but they’re also a sign of your strength—strength you needed to make the right decision, no matter how hard it was.

You’ve done what you needed to do to protect your heart, and now, you allow yourself to grieve, to heal, and to move forward. You close your eyes, letting the tears flow, and in the silence of your room, you begin the process of letting go, knowing that you’ve taken a crucial step toward finding the peace and happiness you deserve.

You reach for your phone, your hands trembling slightly as you begin to type out a message. You need to be firm, clear, and compassionate, even if you’re struggling with your own emotions. You know that any form of communication right now will only complicate things, but you also want to make sure Sukuna understands the finality of your decision.

With a deep breath, you type:

“Sukuna, I can’t talk to you right now. Please, just go home. We can’t have this conversation tonight. I need some space, and I need you to respect that. Please understand and go home.”

You hit send, watching as the message is delivered. For a moment, you feel a flicker of hope that this will be the end of it, that he’ll respect your wishes and leave you alone. You’ve made your boundaries clear, and now it’s up to him to honor them.

Minutes pass in tense silence, and your phone stays quiet. You sit back down, trying to calm your racing heart, focusing on the quiet around you instead of the anxiety that has taken root in your chest.

But then, a new message comes through. You don’t even need to look to know that it’s from Sukuna. With a heavy heart, you open it:

“I just need to see you. I’m sorry for everything, but I can’t let this end like this. Please.”

You can almost hear the desperation in his words, the anguish that comes from knowing he’s losing you. But you also know that this isn’t just about you and him anymore. It’s about your own well-being, your need to set boundaries and stick to them, even when it’s incredibly hard.

You type back:

“No, Sukuna. This is not the time. I’ve made my decision, and I need you to respect it. I can’t keep doing this. Please, just go home.”

You hit send, feeling the weight of your words settle heavily on your shoulders. You’re asking for something that feels almost impossible—to respect a boundary when emotions are high, when both of you are vulnerable. But it’s necessary. 

You put your phone aside and try to find a way to soothe the emotional storm inside you. You remind yourself of why you made this decision, of the personal growth you’ve achieved, and the need to maintain your peace. You try to focus on the positives of your life and the future you’re working toward, hoping that with time, the pain of this moment will fade and you’ll find a way to heal.

Hours tick by slowly, each minute feeling like an eternity. Finally, there’s a quiet relief in knowing that, at least for now, you’ve done all you can. You’ve set your boundaries and communicated your needs as clearly as possible.

You let yourself close your eyes, allowing the exhaustion to wash over you. The road to recovery will be long and fraught with moments like this, but for tonight, you’ve taken a crucial step toward reclaiming your life. As you drift into a fitful sleep, you hold onto the hope that tomorrow will bring clarity and a renewed sense of peace, allowing you to continue moving forward.

▬ι══════════════ι▬

IF THERE WAS A LOVE STORY WORTH MENTIONING, IT’S YOURS. Because in truth, it wasn’t a love story. It was a painful hurt instead. The romance between you and Sukuna was a tumultuous symphony of passion and pain, a story that oscillated between intense highs and devastating lows. It was a love that consumed everything in its path, leaving behind a trail of broken dreams and shattered hearts. 

You, the good girl with a heart full of hope and idealism, and him, the quintessential troublemaker whose very presence seemed to stir chaos wherever he went. It was a match made in hell, an explosive combination of purity and defiance that sparked with an almost palpable intensity. 

From the beginning, there was an undeniable chemistry between you two, a magnetic pull that drew you into Sukuna’s orbit. You were drawn to his raw energy, the way he seemed to live on the edge of every emotion, pushing boundaries and challenging norms. His life was a whirlwind of excitement and unpredictability, and it was a stark contrast to the more controlled and orderly world you inhabited.

At first, the contrasts were thrilling. Your calm demeanor and responsible nature seemed to balance out his reckless tendencies, creating a dynamic that felt electric and invigorating. You believed that your love could be the force that tamed his wildness, that your stability could anchor him amidst his stormy existence.

But as time went on, the initial thrill gave way to a more complex and painful reality. Sukuna’s troublemaking ways began to seep into every aspect of your relationship, turning what was once exciting into something exhausting. His impulsiveness, once charming, became a source of constant stress and conflict. The very qualities that attracted you to him started to feel like burdens, and the harmony you sought began to slip through your fingers.

The highs were dizzying—moments of intense connection and fiery passion that made you feel alive and on top of the world. But the lows were equally devastating, each conflict leaving deeper wounds, each argument a reminder of how differently you saw the world. The love that had once seemed like a perfect escape from your own constraints now felt like a whirlwind of chaos that you couldn’t control.

Your attempts to bring order and stability to the relationship often clashed with Sukuna’s need for freedom and rebellion. The more you tried to ground him, the more he resisted, and the cycle of conflict and resolution became a relentless pattern. The love that once felt like a daring adventure turned into a series of battles, each one leaving both of you more scared than the last.

Ultimately, the contrast between your worlds proved too great. The boundaries you set were repeatedly crossed, the promises made were broken too many times. The passion that had once ignited your connection became the fuel for your destruction. What began as a match made in hell had devolved into a battlefield of emotional devastation.

You were left to pick up the pieces of a love that had burned too brightly, too destructively. The remnants of your time together were a stark reminder of the dangers of mixing such opposing forces. In the end, the love you shared was a powerful testament to the intense beauty and agony of a relationship that, despite its fiery start, was doomed from the beginning.

From the beginning, the relationship was marked by a magnetic pull that was impossible to ignore. Sukuna's charisma and intensity drew you in, his presence filling every space with an almost palpable energy. There was a fire in his eyes, a promise of something deeper and more profound, and you were captivated by the allure of his raw power and unfiltered emotions.

At first, it felt like a dream. His touch was electric, his words charged with a potent mix of desire and vulnerability. You would get lost in his gaze, swept away by the intensity of his kisses, believing that this was what true love was supposed to feel like. Every argument, every make-up, every moment of passion felt like a confirmation of the bond you shared.

You couldn’t stand it anymore, how tired you were. How truly full of it you were. how emotionally drained you’ve been. You found yourself face-to-face with Sukuna in the dimly lit living room. He stood close, his gaze intense and his voice almost a whisper, yet filled with an undeniable gravity.

"I'm sorry." Sukuna said, his eyes searching yours for some sign of forgiveness. "I never meant for things to get so out of hand. I just... I can't stand the thought of losing you."

You could feel the weight of his words, the sincerity mixed with a touch of desperation. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart.

"You say that now, but it feels like we’re always back here, fighting and making up," you replied, your voice trembling slightly. "I thought this was supposed to be different. I thought we were building something real."

Sukuna reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek with a gentleness that belied his earlier anger. "It is real. What we have is intense, but it’s real. I know I mess up, but I need you to understand that I can’t imagine my life without you. You’re everything to me."

You looked at him, feeling the familiar mix of pain and passion. “I don’t know if I can keep doing this, Sukuna. Every time we fight, it feels like we’re tearing each other apart. Maybe this intensity isn’t what I thought it was.”

He stepped closer, his voice filled with an earnest plea. “Please, don’t say that. We can work through this. I know I’m not perfect, but we have something special. We just need to fight for it, not let it slip away because of a few mistakes.”

You shook your head, tears welling up. “It’s not just a few mistakes. It’s the pattern, the way things keep repeating. I want to believe in us, but it’s getting harder every day. We’re not just having moments of passion anymore; we’re living in a storm.”

Sukuna’s expression softened, and he pulled you into a tight embrace. “I don’t want to be the storm in your life. I just want to be with you. Please, let me show you that we can be more than this.”

As his arms wrapped around you, the warmth of his body was a stark contrast to the cold reality of your situation. You said nothing as you leaned into the warmth of his body. The intensity of his words and the fire in his eyes were a powerful reminder of his hold on you. You forgave him that night once again, as you always did. And once again, you were trapped.

But beneath the surface of this passionate connection lay a darker undercurrent, one that grew stronger with time. Sukuna's emotional volatility was not just a fleeting characteristic; it was a core part of who he was. His moods shifted with little warning, swinging from intense affection to cold detachment. What seemed like an endearing quirk quickly revealed itself as a source of profound instability.

Sukuna's massive hand moved to your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands you had painstakingly did. You were ignoring him again after your recent fight. You just wanted peace of mind from him. And you knew that he hated being ignored. You know he hated being forgotten. You were the only person in his life that dealt with him, all his everything — and to not have you there shatters him. As much, you suppose, when he shatters you by loving you.

His other hand wrapped around your side, pulling you closer against him with a possessive strength. You felt the heat of his body pressing against yours, his touch both demanding and overwhelming. He leaned in, his breath hot against your neck as he started to kiss and nibble along your skin.

The kisses were intense, growing more fervent until he bit down, his teeth breaking through the delicate skin. A cry escaped your lips, a mix of pain and confusion. You could feel Sukuna speaking against your skin, his voice muffled and indistinct, but the words were lost in the haze of sensation and hurt.

The pressure of his hand on the back of your neck was unrelenting, anchoring you to him and heightening the intensity of the moment. It was only when his fingers pressed firmly against the nape of your neck that everything snapped into focus. The sharp reality of the situation cut through the fog, pulling you back to the present.

The biting pain, the tight grip, and the overwhelming closeness were all too much. You could see the raw, unfiltered emotion in his eyes, the storm of feelings that often clouded his judgment. In that moment, you were starkly aware of the power dynamics at play, the fine line between passion and control, and the deep-seated turmoil that defined your relationship.

The kiss, now a blend of pain and longing, was a stark reminder of the complexity of your love—both fierce and destructive. The intimacy of the touch, the raw intensity, and the sharp bite were all part of the same emotional spectrum, where passion and pain were often intertwined in ways that left you feeling vulnerable and conflicted.

You could feel your skin growing moist, a cold sweat breaking out across your entire body as you struggled to maintain your sanity against his relentless touch. Ryomen Sukuna had a way of overwhelming you, of winning you over even when you were trying to resist. His touch always managed to reach places you thought were well-guarded, stirring up sensations that you couldn’t ignore. You could feel your body betraying you, slick pooling between your legs, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside your mind.

With a swift movement, Sukuna pinned you against the wall, his body pressing hard against yours. His kisses grew even more rough and demanding, each press of his lips a reminder of the intensity and chaos that defined your relationship. His hands roamed over your chest, fingers pinching and teasing, heightening the mix of pleasure and pain.

"Sukuna, slow down. It hurts." you cried out, your voice wavering as you tried to make yourself heard over the roar of conflicting emotions. The rawness in your voice was a plea for understanding, a desperate attempt to make him see the damage being done. "Sukuna, we... oh, we won't fix anything with this."

His grip faltered for a moment, but only just. He paused, his breath ragged and heavy against your skin, his eyes dark with a mixture of frustration and desire. There was a flicker of hesitation, a moment where he seemed to question the reality of the situation. But the tension in his body remained, the emotional storm far from over.

Your heart pounded as you struggled to maintain your composure, to hold onto a shred of clarity amidst the haze of his touch. The physical connection was undeniable, but it was the emotional wreckage that left you feeling most exposed. The passion that once felt exhilarating now seemed like a dangerous force that threatened to consume you both.

"Yes, we can." he murmurs, his voice a soft, dominant caress that contrasts sharply with the intensity of the moment. His lips press against your jaw with a sharp, possessive kiss, and you feel your head loll against his, unable to escape the overwhelming sensations.

His words are both a promise and a demand, a statement that attempts to bridge the gap between the pain and the passion you’re experiencing. "Because I love you. And you love me."

The declaration hangs heavily in the air, mingling with the heat of the moment. You mewl softly, a sound of both surrender and confusion. His touch and words are a potent mix, stirring emotions that you’ve been trying to keep in check. 

In your turmoil, you find yourself grappling with the truth of his words. The love you shared is undeniable, and it’s clear he still feels it deeply. Yet, the intensity of him and the roughness of his touch make it hard to reconcile with the pain and frustration that have become a part of your relationship.

"Even if you love me….." you manage to say, your voice trembling. "We can’t fix everything like this. We’re hurting each other, Sukuna.”

He doesn’t pull away, his gaze fixed on yours with an intensity that makes it difficult to look away. The struggle between your emotions and his unyielding desire leaves you feeling torn, caught between the remnants of your past connection and the harsh reality of the present.

Sukuna’s grip remains firm, his dark red eyes not leaving yours. In this moment, the lines between love and pain blur — as it was with your relationship. The declaration of love feels both comforting and confounding, leaving you with the painful realization that while feelings might persist, the way you’re handling them is only adding to the emotional wreckage. You were in love with him as much as he was with you. But what was the point of this? Of this suffering?

But as he pleasured you, you never said anything. You just let him love you painfully, because that’s all he knew. It was a raw, visceral form of connection, a way he expressed what he felt, even if it was damaging. It was all he could give, the only way he knew how to bridge the gap between you.

As you felt him inside of you, there was a deep, painful connection that mingled with the physical sensations. It was a painful reminder of the way your love had always been—intense, consuming, and sometimes overwhelmingly conflicted. The pleasure was intertwined with the hurt, making it difficult to distinguish one from the other. 

You accepted it, allowing the moment to unfold as it did. In your mind, you grappled with the reality of your situation—recognizing that this was how Sukuna knew to express his love, even if it was fraught with pain. And so, in the midst of the storm of sensations, you let yourself be caught up in the complexity of your emotions, trying to find a semblance of understanding amidst the chaos.

Arguments became frequent, fueled by misunderstandings and a growing sense of frustration. The intensity that once seemed thrilling now felt suffocating. Sukuna's need for control and dominance clashed with your desire for independence, creating a constant struggle for power. What was once exhilarating now felt like an endless cycle of conflict and resolution, each cycle leaving deeper emotional scars you didn’t want.

The tension in the air was palpable. You were sitting on the edge of the bed, your hands clenched in frustration, while Sukuna stood across the room, his posture rigid with anger and jealousy. His eyes were fixed on you, his gaze fierce and unrelenting, the result of a recent encounter with one of your friends who had been a bit too touchy for his liking.

"You’re always so quick to run off." Sukuna snapped, his voice sharp and laced with irritation. "Why can’t you just stay and deal with things like an adult? I’ve seen the way you look at others. Do you think I’m blind?"

You turned to face him, your heart pounding with a mix of anger and desperation. "It’s not about anyone else. It’s about us. You’re always so controlling. You want to dictate every part of my life. I need space, Sukuna. I need to be able to breathe."

His eyes flared with frustration as he stepped closer, the intensity of his emotions almost tangible. "Space? That’s what you call it? I saw the way you were with him tonight. It’s like you’re trying to push me away, like you’re looking for excuses to slip through my fingers."

You stood up, feeling the weight of his words pressing down on you. "It’s not about looking for excuses. I’m not trying to push you away. I just need to feel like I can make my own choices without feeling like I’m under constant surveillance. This isn’t about him. It’s about the way you’re smothering me."

Sukuna’s frustration was evident in the way he paced the room, his fists clenched at his sides. "Smothering you? I’m just trying to hold onto what we have. If you’d stop running and actually listen, maybe we could work things out. But every time I turn around, it feels like you’re slipping further away."

"You’re not holding onto what we have, Sukuna." you said, your voice trembling. "You’re suffocating me. Every time we have an argument, you try to control me even more. I need space to figure out what I want without feeling like I’m being watched and judged every second."

Sukuna stopped pacing and looked at you with a mixture of anger and hurt. "I don’t want to control you. I want to be with you, but it feels like you’re constantly pushing me away. I just don’t know how to handle it when I see you getting close to others. It makes me feel like I’m losing you."

The room fell silent, the air thick with unresolved emotions. You could see the pain in his eyes, the fear of losing you. But you also felt the deep, suffocating grip of his jealousy and control. The love that once felt exciting now seemed like a battleground, and the constant cycle of arguments and attempts at resolution were leaving both of you emotionally drained.

"I don’t want us to keep going in circles like this, Sukuna." you said softly, your heart aching. "We need to find a way to be together without this constant struggle. Otherwise, we’re just going to keep hurting each other."

Sukuna’s gaze softened slightly, but the tension remained. "I don’t know how to change things if you won’t let me in, you know that." he said, his voice a mix of vulnerability and frustration. "I just want us to be okay, but it feels like we’re constantly fighting against each other."

You took a deep breath, trying to remain calm despite the sting of his accusation. "That wasn’t flirting. I was just being polite. And even if I was, what does it matter? You can’t keep trying to control me like this. We can’t keep doing this.”

He stepped closer, his anger palpable. "You think you’re so perfect, don’t you? Always so independent, always so self-righteous. I’m the one who’s always fighting to keep us together. And this is how you repay me? By pushing me away and seeking attention from others?"

His words cut deep, each one a painful reminder of the control he exerted over your life. "This isn’t about repaying you. It’s about being true to myself. I’m tired of feeling like I have to constantly prove my loyalty to you. I’m not your possession."

Sukuna’s face contorted with frustration, and he slammed his fist against the wall. "You think this is easy for me? Watching you slip away while I’m left here fighting to keep us from falling apart? I’m trying to hold onto something real, and you’re pushing me away."

The hurt in his voice was undeniable, a mix of jealousy and desperation. But you could see the cracks in his control, the way his need for dominance had become a cage that both of you were trapped in.

"I’m not trying to push you away." you said, your voice trembling. "I’m trying to find a way to be myself without feeling like I’m suffocating under your expectations. We’re stuck in this cycle of fighting and making up, and it’s tearing us apart."

Sukuna’s expression softened for a moment, the anger giving way to a look of vulnerability. "I just don’t want to lose you. I know I’m not perfect, but I need you to understand how much you mean to me."

You sighed, feeling the weight of his words. "I know you care, but the way you show it is suffocating. We need to find a way to be together without this constant power struggle. Otherwise, we’re just going to keep hurting each other."

The room fell silent, the intensity of the argument leaving both of you exhausted. The love that once felt like a thrilling adventure now seemed like a battlefield, with each conflict leaving deeper scars. The vibrant energy that had once sparked between you was now overshadowed by an unrelenting cycle of discord and unresolved tension.

You wrapped your arms around your chest, as though trying to hug and comfort yourself amid the emotional wreckage. Your shoulders shook slightly with the effort to maintain composure, but even more tears were inevitable.

Sukuna’s posture was a reflection of his internal struggle, his anger giving way to a raw vulnerability. He took a hesitant step towards you, his voice trembling. “What do you want me to do?” he whispered, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “What can I do, to…to make you stay?”

The softness in his voice, the genuine plea for understanding, struck a deep chord. You could see the pain and desperation etched into his features, the realization of how precariously close he was to losing you. Yet, amidst the raw emotion, you felt overwhelmed and trapped.

“I don’t know,” you replied, your voice breaking as the tears began to fall freely. “I’m tired, Sukuna. I’m tired… of loving you and losing you all at once.”

His shoulders sagged as he absorbed your words, the weight of your exhaustion evident in his expression. The tears that prickled at his eyes now spilled over, reflecting the depth of his own despair. His gaze fell to the floor, unable to meet yours, the crushing reality of your relationship settling heavily between you.

The room was filled with a profound silence, broken only by the soft sounds of your sobs and his choked breaths. The love you shared, which had once been a source of exhilaration and passion, now felt like a relentless cycle of joy and pain that neither of you could escape.

Sukuna’s voice was barely audible as he spoke again, his tone carrying a sense of helplessness. “I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know how to make things right when everything feels so broken.”

You wiped at your tears, the exhaustion of the emotional turmoil leaving you feeling drained. “Neither do I.” you admitted softly. “I wish I had the answers. I wish I could find a way to make things work, but right now, it feels like we’re stuck in a never-ending loop of hurt and confusion.”

Sukuna’s silence was heavy with resignation, a poignant acknowledgment of the struggle that had become an inescapable part of your relationship. The love that had once been a source of strength and excitement now seemed overshadowed by a painful reality that neither of you knew how to navigate.

In that quiet moment, both of you were left grappling with the depth of your feelings, the complexity of your relationship, and the painful truth that sometimes love alone isn’t enough to overcome the barriers that keep you apart.

Sukuna's tears continued to fall, and he moved closer, his steps hesitant but deliberate. He reached out tentatively, his fingers brushing against your arm in a gesture that was both gentle and desperate.

“I never meant to make things so difficult,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I thought... I thought if I held on tight, if I tried harder, we could work through it. But now, I see how much I’ve pushed you away.”

You looked at him, your own tears blurring your vision. The sight of him, vulnerable and torn, added to the weight of your own sorrow. You wanted to reach out, to offer comfort, but the chasm between you felt insurmountable.

“I know you were trying,” you said, your voice cracking. “But the way you tried to control things... it pushed me away more than anything else. I felt like I was losing myself in trying to make things work.”

Sukuna’s hand tightened around your arm, his grip firm but not painful. “What do you need from me?” he asked, his voice desperate. “Tell me what I can do to make things right, to fix this.”

You shook your head, struggling to find the words to express the depth of your exhaustion and the confusion that clouded your mind. “I don’t know if there’s anything that can fix this right now. I just feel... lost.”

His expression softened, the realization dawning that perhaps the damage was too great to repair immediately. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry for everything. I never wanted to hurt you. I just didn’t know how to handle my own fears and insecurities.”

You nodded, the sadness overwhelming. “I know. And I’m sorry too. I’m sorry that we couldn’t find a way to make this work without hurting each other so much.”

The silence between you was heavy, filled with the echoes of what had been and what might never be again. The love that had once felt so alive now seemed like a distant memory, overshadowed by the pain and the sense of inevitability.

Sukuna’s hand slowly fell away from your arm, and he took a step back, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “Maybe... maybe we both need some time apart to figure things out. To heal and find ourselves again.”

You looked at him, a mix of relief and sorrow washing over you. “Maybe you’re right. I need time to understand what I really want and to heal from all of this.”

Sukuna nodded, his face a mask of resignation and understanding. “I hope... I hope we can both find a way to be okay, even if it means being apart.”

With that, Sukuna turned and walked towards the door, each step heavy with the weight of what was ending. As he left, the silence of the room seemed to deepen. You sat down on the edge of the bed once more, your emotions a tangled mess of sadness and relief. The path ahead was uncertain, but in the quiet that followed, you felt more alone than ever before. But free. Freed from your own ruin.

▬ι══════════════ι▬

YOU COULDN’T DO IT ANYMORE IN THE END. In the end, you did break up with him. The cycle of arguments and reconciliation had become a never-ending loop, a house of cards that seemed destined to collapse no matter how carefully it was built. You loved him deeply, that was undeniable. But you also realized that rekindling the relationship would only lead to more pain, more hurt that neither of you could bear.

As you stood by the window, the first light of dawn was beginning to creep across the sky, painting the world in soft hues of pink and gold. The sight was starkly beautiful, a contrast to the turmoil that had been raging inside you. This was what life should be like, you think. You shouldn’t settle for less. You shouldn’t settle for hurt.

Outside, you could see him—still there, lingering near your door, his figure slumped against the wall. He had a cigarette against the burrow of his lips, smoke filling his face. The remnants of a wild night clung to him; he was drunk and high, his posture wavering as he waited for you. The sight of him, lost and desperate, broke your heart in a way that felt both familiar and foreign.

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of your decision settle heavily upon you. You knew that as much as you loved him, returning to him now would only mean opening the door to a love that had become toxic, a love that had already left you shattered too many times.

“I can’t go through this again.” you whispered to yourself, your voice barely audible. The realization was painful, but clear. The cycle of breaking up and making up had drained you emotionally, leaving you with scars that were too deep to ignore. “Not again.”

As the sun continued to rise, its light growing stronger, you turned away from the window, feeling a sense of finality. The decision to end things was not made lightly, and the pain of walking away was immense. But you knew it was necessary for your own well-being, for the chance to heal and find a path forward that wasn’t mired in the constant heartbreak that your relationship had become.

You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts as you reached for your phone. With a heavy heart, you composed a message, knowing it was the last thing you needed to say to him. Your fingers hovered over the screen, the weight of your decision pressing down on you as you typed:

"Sukuna, this is the last time I’m reaching out. I can see you waiting outside, and I need you to understand that this is over. I love you, but we’ve reached a point where continuing this relationship will only lead to more hurt. The cycle of breaking up and making up has left us both wounded, and I can’t keep going through it. I need to move on and find healing for myself. Please respect my decision and let this be the end. I wish you well, but I can’t be with you anymore. Goodbye."

You stared at the message for a moment, feeling a mix of sadness and relief. With a final press of the send button, you put your phone down and took a deep breath. It was done. The words were out there, and now it was time to let go and start the process of healing. You took a deep sigh and pursed your lips into a flat line.

As the first rays of sunlight began to illuminate the room, you felt a glimmer of hope amidst the sadness. The end of this chapter was painful, but it was also a step towards a future where you could rebuild, where you could heal. It was a chance to find peace and to rediscover yourself, away from the shadows of a love that had become more damaging than fulfilling.

With a final, lingering glance at the window, you steeled yourself for the difficult road ahead. The love you had for  Ryomen Sukuna was real, but the decision to move forward was the right one. As the sun rose higher in the sky, you began to prepare for a new day, one that would be marked by both the pain of goodbye and the promise of new beginnings. You hope the best for him, as much as you hoped the best for you. 

[yandere-romanticaa]

Recently, the surge of AI has caught everyone's attention and I've been working on this little experiment.

Down below the cut are two fics and this is how I planned it - one was made up by using AI (more specifically, Chat Gpt) while the other one was written by yours truly. Below both fics will be a poll and I would like for you, my dear readers, to guess which one was AI. Personally, I don't think it'll be a difficult challenge but seeing your reactions and comments on this should prove to be an interesting endeavor.

This was posted on April 17th. And, in 7 days, I shall reveal which fic was written by me, and which one was done by AI.

Now then, let's get on with the show.

🥀 Story One.

In the dimly lit alleyways of Yokohama, Fyodor Dostoevsky stalks his obsession, (y/n), with unwavering determination. His fixation transcends reason, driving him to extreme lengths to possess (y/n)'s affection.

Fyodor's obsession with (y/n) began innocently enough, a mere curiosity sparked by their untapped potential and innocence. But as time passed, that curiosity twisted into an all-consuming desire, festering within Fyodor's mind like a venomous serpent.

Each night, Fyodor would follow (y/n) from a distance, his heart pounding with anticipation and longing. He would watch as (y/n) laughed with their friends, oblivious to the dark presence lurking in the shadows.

But Fyodor's love was not the gentle, nurturing kind. It was possessive, suffocating, and dangerously obsessive. He couldn't bear the thought of (y/n) belonging to anyone but him, couldn't stand the idea of anyone else basking in the warmth of (y/n)'s smile.

As his obsession deepened, Fyodor's mind became consumed with dark fantasies of possessing (y/n) completely. He would spend hours meticulously planning every detail of their future together, envisioning a life where they were inseparable.

But fantasies were not enough for Fyodor. He needed to make them a reality, no matter the cost. And so, he began to weave a web of deception and manipulation, carefully orchestrating events to bring (y/n) closer to him and drive away anyone who dared to stand in their way.

But as Fyodor's plans grew more elaborate, so too did the danger. (y/n)'s friends grew suspicious of Fyodor's intentions, sensing something sinister lurking beneath his charming facade. And as they delved deeper into Fyodor's past, they uncovered secrets that threatened to unravel his carefully constructed world.

But Fyodor was not about to let anyone come between him and his beloved. He would do whatever it took to protect their love, even if it meant resorting to violence.

🥀 Story Two.

Shimmering waves of starlight engulfed the man in white as he monitored his target from a safe distance, hollow purple eyes gleaming with excitement. He could feel his long fingers twitching with anticipation in his warm pockets, a stark contrast to the chilly wind on this fine spring evening.

He needed to be patient. Because patience was indeed, a virtue.

And Fyodor was a virtuous man. Perhaps not a good one, but he would gladly take the title of virtue.

Would you bestow upon him such a title? Would you do so, if you ever found out that he had taken such a keen interest in you? The rational part in his mind said no, of course not. Unlike him, you were blessed with normalcy. There was nothing extraordinary about you - no ability, no wealth, no status.

Nothing.

You could have been squished like a bug beneath his heel and the world would just keep on going as it always would. Sure, there would be some individuals who would miss you dearly but even they would move on at some point.

Such was the nature of humanity. How cruel, he thought to himself.

Fortunately for you, Fyodor was no ordinary man. Despite his predicament, he had grown fond of you. He was not sure why but after a while, he stopped asking such trifling questions as to why he troubled himself by giving you so much attention.

It was pointless to make sense of the senseless.

Right here, right now, all he wanted was to enjoy this quiet evening by his lonesome, as he tailed behind you like a creeping shadow. He would reveal himself to you properly when the time was right, when he felt you were strong enough to take him.

Fyodor just needed to wait a little bit longer, just long enough to see how he should proceed with you in case things went south.

In the meantime, he would gladly spend every waking moment simply watching you for his own personal pleasure.

🥀 TAGS: @yanroma, @oneoftheprettynerds, @misdollface, @sxy0ung, @rosemary108233, @c4xcocoa, @gettinshiggywithit, @ophticcus, @lakxcpsta, @ranposgirlboss, @robinaxolotl, @acornwinter, @enoojnij, @ishqani, @osachiyo, @bluepeanutharmony, @kaithegremlin, @fyodorscockslut, @wcayaw, @luna-mariko-akatsuki, @lovelyyz, @queenofspades403

APRIL 24TH - Story One is AI.

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Barbara Stanwyck (Ball of Fire, The Lady Eve, Double Indemnity)—I hope someone else has submitted better propaganda than I because I don't want my girl's prospects to rest on me just yelling PLEASE VOTE FOR MY TERRIBLE HOT GIRLFRIEND. She is a delight in everything! She is often a sexy jerk! (It's most of the plot of Baby Face!) Even when she plays a "good girl" (as an example, Christmas in Connecticut, which more people should see) she's still kind of a jerk and I love her for it! She won't take men's shit and she sure wouldn't take mine!

Setsuko Hara (Tokyo Story, Late Spring, The Idiot)— "'The only time I saw Susan Sontag cry,' a writer once told me, his voice hushed, 'was at a screening of a Setsuko film.' What Setsuko had wasn’t glamour—she was just too sensible for that—it was glow, one that ebbed away and left you concerned, involved. You got the sense that this glow, like that of dawn, couldn’t be bought. But her smiles were human and held minute-long acts, ones with important intermissions. When she looked away, she absented herself; you felt that she’d dimmed a fire and clapped a lid on something about to spill. Over the last decade, whenever anyone brought up her lips—'Setsuko’s eternal smile,' critics said, that day we learned that she’d died—I thought instead of the thing she made us feel when she let it fall." - Moeko Fujii

This is round 4 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Setsuko Hara:

One of the best Japanese actresses of all time; a symbol of the golden era of Japanese cinema of the 1950s After seeing a Setsuko Hara film, the novelist Shūsaku Endō wrote: "We would sigh or let out a great breath from the depths of our hearts, for what we felt was precisely this: Can it be possible that there is such a woman in this world?"

One of the greatest Japanese actresses of all time!! Best known for acting in many of Yasujiro Ozu's films of the 40s and 50s. Also she has a stunning smile and beautiful charm!

Linked gifset

Linked gifset 2

She's considered by some to be the greatest Japanese actress of all time! In Kurosawa's The Idiot she haunts the screen, and TOTALLY steals the show from Mifune every time she appears.

She's considered by some to be the greatest Japanese actress of all time! In Kurosawa's The Idiot she haunts the screen, and TOTALLY steals the show from Mifune every time she appears.

"No other actor has ever mastered the art of the smile to the same extent as Setsuko Hara (1920–2015), a celebrated star and highly regarded idol who was one of the outstanding actors of 40s and 50s Japanese cinema. Her radiant smile floods whole scenes and at times cautiously undermines the expectations made of her in coy, ironic fashion. Yet her smile's impressive range also encompasses its darker shades: Hara's delicate, dignified, melancholy smile with which she responds to disappointments, papers over the emotions churning under the surface, and flanks life's sobering realizations. Her smiles don't just function as a condensed version of her ever-precise, expressive, yet understated acting ability, they also allow the very essence of the films they appear in to shine through for a brief moment, often studies of the everyday, post-war dramas which revolve around the break-up of family structures or the failure of marriages. Her performances tread a fine line between social expectation and personal desire in post-war Japan, as Hara attempts to lay claim to the autonomy of the female characters she plays – frequently with a smile." [link]

Leading lady of classic Japanese cinema with a million dollar smile

Maybe the most iconic Japanese actress ever? She rose to fame making films with Yasujiro Ozu, becoming one of the most well-known and beloved actresses in Japan, working from the 30s through the 60s in over 100 hundred. She is still considered one of the greatest Japanese actresses ever, and in my opinion, just one of the greatest actresses of all time. And she was HOT! Satoshi Kon's film Millennium Actress was largely based on her life and her career.

Barbara Stanwyck:

"THE leading lady of the golden age of hollywood. One of the only actresses to work independent of a studio, making short-term contracts that enabled her to make movies wherever she wanted. She had so much range, and could act in basically any genre. She's been rumored to be a lesbian literally since she was active in Hollywood; most notable is the rumor that she had a long time on-and-off relationship with famously bi Joan Crawford, her "best friend" for decades (They lived right next door to one another). She also lived with Helen Ferguson, her "live-in publicist" for many years. She was the quintessential femme fatale in Double Indemnity, and really pushed sexual boundaries in her pre-code films like Baby Face, and the famous screwball The Lady Eve, where she plays basically a downlow domme. Allegedly, when a journalist asked her if she was a lesbian, she straight up threw him out of her house. She even played a lesbian in Walk on the Wild Side"

"THE queen of screwball comedies. I adore her, I'd kill for her, I will cry if she's not gonna win this poll."

"listen ok she had awful politics she was a mccarthyist right wing wacko BUT she's so incredibly hot that i've deluded myself into believing i could fix her. if you see her onscreen she carries herself in a way that's just so effortlessly sexy AND she has just a stunning face. imo she was at her hottest in the 1940s but even as early as the late 1920s she had a rly captivating screen presence and just a beautiful face, and then post-1950 she was just irresistibly milfy so really she was just always incredibly hot. she was also an incredibly talented actress who was equally stellar in melodrama, film noir, and unhinged screwball comedy. the blonde wig they made her wear in double indemnity is notoriously silly looking but she still looks sexy in it so that's gotta count for something. i've watched so many terrible movies just for a chance at seeing her that i think her estate should be paying me damages."

"Not often thought of for her sultriness, Barbara Stanwyck was incredible in that she could actually choose to be hot if the role called for it, and then have a glow-down to look ordinary for another role. She wasn't the most beautiful or effervescent, but damn did she have rizz. Watch her with Gary Cooper in Ball of Fire teaching him about "yum-yum" or with Henry Fonda in The Lady Eve whispering huskily into his ear."

"She is always the smartest woman in the room. Watching her play Henry Fonda like a befuddled fiddle in The Lady Eve was a highlight of my life. Femme fatale in Double Indemnity, comedy queen in Ball of Fire. She can do anything."

"She was part of my gay awakening"

"SHE'S A PRE-CODE QUEEN. She did everything, drama, comedy. The most beautiful woman in the world to watch weep. Beg for to step on you with those legs. Fun Babs story: Ginger Rogers was offered the role in Ball of Fire but said, “Oh, I would never play that part, she’s too common.” So they called Barbara Stanwyck and they said “We offered this to Ginger Rogers but she’s turned it down, would you be interested?” And she read the script and she said; “You bet! I LOVE playing common broads. [link]"

[aces-and-angels]

verification source | verification source disclaimer: i do not vet/verify gfm campaigns myself. i can only share campaigns that have already been vetted by other individuals. (i.e. el-shab-hussein, nabulsi, 90-ghost, etc.). nesma's campaign has been vetted by sayruq, nabulsi, and el-shab-hussein (proof of verification linked)

for those able, please consider donating to nesma's campaign here:

current stats: $65,702/$80,000

regardless of your ability to donate- please read the following below the cut. thank you🖤

///

hello friends~ i would like to take a moment of your time to highlight the following gfm campaign for @nesmamomen. nesma has recently reached out to me through my inbox asking me to help spread the word about her campaign. here is the beginning of her message (text is also included in image description):

nesma story starts similarly to what i think many of us here can relate to: a 23 year old student gearing up to finish their degree. in nesma's case, her final year studying IT (information technology). for years- she has worked hard to make her family, 12 members in total + the best cat: lucy and the best bird: koko, proud. her home was full of love and joy- precious memories that are near and dear to her heart. however, nesma's joy has turned into unimaginable horror and immense suffering beyond our comprehension.

and it's been that way for almost one year.

at every turn, she has desperately tried to get people to listen to her story. to have the words 'help me' not be enough- to need to constantly validate yourself in order for people to care- only to be silenced is nothing short of deplorable. as nesma mentioned in her message: her account has been repeatedly suppressed. (the first verification link shows her old account)

the rest of her message to me contains some graphic imagery of the current state of her family. multiple members are injured. her father is in desperate need of medical care. her younger siblings sustaining wounds no child should ever have to bear. just reading all of that would make someone want to fall into a pit of despair. i am here to implore you to look beyond that grief and push against those feelings of hopelessness. we have been conditioned to turn away. conditioned to believe that there is nothing that can be done.

nesma's message alone is proof enough that there is hope. you reading her story, as devastating as it is, is enough to know that she and her family still need help. they still need us to be their voice in a time of crisis. because they are still alive. and it is up to the rest of us to make sure they get the chance to truly live.

to quote nesma herself:

"I do not know whether I will survive or die in this war, but know that your help for me will contribute to saving my family from death."

please follow nesma on her social media (@/nesmamomen on tumblr). she also has an instagram linked in her gfm page. please learn nesma's story in her own words- not mine- and read the campaign yourself. linking it again so you don't have to scroll all the way back up:

if you made it to the end: congrats! you've unlocked a secret poll ✨

[minkydinks]

SeaWings

SeaWings won the latest poll for which tribe I should flesh out next. I had a lot of fun with this one, even though it's stupidly tricky to get ocean vibes out of a big lizard. Forgive some of the messiness.

General

In my headcanon of WoF, SeaWings are very large, powerful aquatic dragons. Most trend toward a resemblance to varanid lizards like Komodo Dragons, or the extinct Mosasaurs. SeaWings sit as the overall largest dragon tribe, weighing the most on average. However, MudWings are dimensionally taller/wider, despite sitting at second heaviest.

SeaWings, despite having a thick layer of fat to insulate them, are incredibly muscular. Their tails especially; a SeaWing's tail is capable of breaking the bones of another dragon with enough force put into its swing.

While they do have wings that can be used for flight, they lack the appropriate wing musculature for extended air travel. Their wings are shaped in a way that allows them to catch ocean currents and ride them.

Unlike most other dragons, SeaWings have quite small scales, somewhat like fish.

A great portion of a SeaWing's scales have the ability to produce light. While not entirely obvious when only a few scales are lit, an average SeaWing with determination can light up a room with their luminescence. Aside from a handful in some places, most SeaWings are able to produce small lightshows across their scales, controlling the shapes the light of their scales make. Some SeaWings prefer to light up in spirals or starbursts, while others may prefer splotches or stripes. This is similar to RainWings' ability to change their scale color at will (and into any pattern they choose), but with light!

While they are primarily water-breathing, they are very capable of air-breathing when necessary. However, they rely on staying hydrated. Most SeaWings will trap water in pockets within their gills, and seal them shut if they plan to be away from water for extended periods. A SeaWing with empty gills can only be away from water for a few hours, while a SeaWing with full gills can be away from water for up to 2 days. Their gills can be refilled by drinking water, but they find it much faster to submerge.

SeaWing jaws have the ability to extend forward out of their mouths when they take large bites; similar to Goblin Sharks. Their jaw naturally retracts inward when their mouth is closed. For small bites, their jaw does not extend outward enough to be very noticeable.

When training for combat against a SeaWing, many dragons are warned that a SeaWing's looks can be deceiving; with this jaw mechanism, they can reach farther than you would expect. Just when you think you're out of reach, they've got you in their grip.

SeaWings can physically vary depending on a lot of factors, and are one of the most diverse dragon tribes.

They are one of only a few dragons with sexual dimorphism; female SeaWings (if they have sensory organs) have two pairs of 'whiskers' extending from their snouts, while males only have one pair. Female SeaWings also tend to be larger than males.

Deepwater SeaWings are one of the rarer variations of SeaWings; they frequent the deepest depths of the SeaWing kingdom and prefer to stay where it's dark. They tend to be very dark shades of blue, purple, green, and red; but their accents are often reds, pinks, yellows, and greens.

Deepwater SeaWings have the best night vision of all SeaWings, and their eyes are fairly translucent-looking, giving them an eerie gaze. They also have the brightest luminescence of any SeaWing, and their glow can be seen from very far away.

Surface SeaWings are the most common type of SeaWing found in the tribe. They frequent the open ocean and are vibrant hues of blues and sea greens. Their accents are usually green, orange, yellow, or red (rarely). Surface SeaWings lack the distinct 'whisker' sensory organs, since the visibility of their most frequented region is high. Their night vision is adequate, but not ideal for the deepest depths, or the darkest nights.

Freshwater SeaWings are the lightest in color; mostly sky-blues, light pinks or greys, and near whites. They're pearlescent and smooth, almost like fish. Freshwater SeaWings prefer the crisp coolness of fresh water in their gills; inhabiting deep rivers and pristine inland lakes, like Lake Crystal (headcanon). But, they are happy living alongside ocean SeaWings as well. When a Freshwater SeaWing wants to join the ocean side of the kingdom, they must undergo acclimation by spending time in brackish water, to adjust their gills to the salt.

Freshwater SeaWings have the least luminescence and minimal night vision. Their night vision is adequate for nights with half moons or fuller, but any darker and they tend to struggle.

Culture

SeaWings are spread throughout Pyrrhia, far and wide. Despite being the largest dragon species, their population is staggering due to the abundance of water (uninhabited by other tribes), and food.

While all SeaWings are ruled by one queen, they are broken up into many different living situations. Freshwater SeaWings prefer the comfort of inland territory, living as far north as the IceWing Kingdom. Ocean SeaWings tend to stick to the luxuries their original territory near the queen's palaces.

In olden days, there were smaller palaces in large inland lakes. Queens would send their relatives — usually nieces and daughters — to rule and watch over the Freshwater half of their tribe. If their relatives succeeded in their trial ruling, they would be ready to challenge the queen herself for the total rule of the entire tribe. This is an occurrence that has long since been retired due to Queen Coral's caution about her daughters' whereabouts; although the princesses have considered reinstating this tradition and making it a peaceful ascension through ruler's trial, like RainWings. (Anemone thanks Tamarin for the idea.)

Nowadays, the old freshwater palaces are communal spaces, manufacturing plants, or major hospitals; where SeaWings gather to help one another and create various essentials.

Despite the vastly different lifestyles of each type of SeaWing, there is surprisingly very little friction between them. SeaWings regularly commune with each other no matter their region of origin, and several members of SeaWing royalty are even mix-breeds of freshwater, surface, or deep water. (Some SeaWings are a bit more judgemental though.)

SeaWing tradition calls for a special ceremony whenever a member of the tribe wishes to life-partner with another dragon. In this ceremony, the SeaWings will celebrate for 3 nights.

On the first night, the pair of SeaWings will celebrate their partnership with friends; dancing and feasting. On the second night, the pair will celebrate with family; introducing one another and receiving blessing and honor from parents and siblings. On the third night, the pair celebrates by themselves, in a Moonlight serenade at the water's surface. They swim and glide and dance, and ask the moon Imperial for its blessing in their partnership. If Imperial remains clear and visible for the duration of the serenade, they take it as an omen that their partnership will be successful.

During royal ceremonies, the Moonlight Serenade takes place above the palace, where the moonlight can shine through the open skylight, and the kingdom can dance with them. The water will also be lit with bioluminescent plankton, creating a beautiful and unforgettable scene.

[simplegenius042]

Late WIP Wednesday, OC NSFW Sheet & OC SMASH or PASS Poll

Tagged by @imogenkol

Tagging @direwombat @spookyrares @derelictheretic @inafieldofdaisies @socially-awkward-skeleton @noodlecupcakes @voidika @cassietrn @adelaidedrubman @aceghosts @josephseedismyfather @icecutioner @shallow-gravy @strangefable @statichvm @cloudofbutterflies92 @carlosoliveiraa @wrathfulrook @starsandskies @ladyoriza @la-grosse-patate @minilev @thewanderer-000 @omen-speaker @justasmolbard @alypink @shellibisshe @josephslittledeputy @skoll-sun-eater @g0dspeeed @afarcryfrommymain @strafethesesinners @turbo-virgins @softtidesworld @florbelles and @yokobai + anyone else who want to join.

WIP Wednesday for my Fallout series A Radioactive Calamity Of Love, Bombs & Gore and an NSFW sheet + an OC SMASH or PASS poll for Silva's half-sister Elsa Omar from The Silver Chronicles. Read and decide under the cut:

Got a snippet from my Fallout series A Radioactive Calamity Of Love, Bombs & Gore, specifically my FO3 WIP. Amata awakes from a nightmare, and unfortunately Alph isn't present to comfort her. Although things are tense between her and her fellow travel companion Ress, things are surprisingly undisturbed between them. Read below:

Amata awoke with a startle, chest heaving as she looked around the trailer for her tormentors. She expected the cold, disappointed gaze of her father glaring down at her, or perhaps Stevie Mack sadistic grin, or feel the hungry, prying hands of the Andale families that he dropped her into.

Finding neither men nor the vile family, she flopped back onto the dirty mattress as she covered her face, trying to take calming breaths as the terror regressed from the corners of her mind.

She felt hot, hair and forehead damp with sweat, shirt clinging to her body like wet toilet paper.

She glanced at the trailer's square windows, only seeing the dark sky, no sun in sight.

She frowned and brought her pip-boy to her face. The faded green light of the screen was enough to make her tired eyes squint as they adjusted. She noted that it was early in the morning, early enough that the sun wouldn't be up for another five or so hours.

Amata huffed as she brought the screen away from her face. She glanced to the exposed doorway to see Ress laying on top of the picnic table she dragged over. Amata noted the shades the Bishop woman adorned to her face, and shoved away the thought questioning why she'd where them in the dark.

The woman hardly made much sense to Amata; from her unnatural platinum blonde hair to her arrogant, apathetic attitude to the incredulous impossibility of her abilities of unknown origin. Amata learned radiation could do many things, and she knew manipulating energy could not be one of them.

And yet, she's helping me look for Alph, Amata reminded herself. She still couldn't figure out why Ress would go out of her way of helping her, considering her previous words some time after she held them hostage as her guides.

She shook her head, clearing those thoughts. Regardless of whatever reason Ress possessed to aid her, Amata was glad that she had some powerful protection against the hostility of the Capital Wasteland.

The shootout between the raiders and super mutants from yesterday being the most fresh example on her mind.

Amata debated on whether she should return to sleep or not. Usually she'd seek out Alph whenever she had a nightmare, dating back to when they were kids inside the Vault. Simpler days... easier days.

But Alph isn't here right now, she grimly remembered, He's in a hub full of those fucking slavers. All because he put my safety above his own.

That was quite a pattern Amata seemed to be repeating; finding herself in some trouble and then needing to be protected and saved. Like with Springvale, like with Andale, and recently Evergreen Mill.

This time, neither her nor Alph had Ress to bail them out at the time. And now Alph was suffering the consequences of her inadequacy.

Knowing she'd find no peace in her slumber, she instead decided to get up to get some fresh air.

Ress' resting spot just happened to be where she needed to get said fresh air.

Ress didn't immediately acknowledge Amata, though the younger of the two wasn't foolish to believe she just didn't hear the vaultie.

Amata exhaled into the cold air as she pretended to admire the morning sky, although a morning sky was better than no sky in her opinion.

"Rough sleep?" Ress inquired from where she laid on the table, head tilted towards Amata's direction.

A breeze brushed past, the chill causing a shiver to wash over Amata's body. Regretting leaving her jacket in the trailer, she answers Ress with a nod and murmur.

Amata saw that Ress nodded slowly, one expensive slacks tapping against the other. "Bad dreams?" She guessed, though not unsurprising to Amata.

"Yeah," Amata said lowly, rubbing her hands together as she tried to generate enough heat to support her entire body. She didn't exactly want to talk to Ress about it, even if she was seeking at least another's presence.

Ress leaned up, left fingers suavely taking her shades off. Her piercing blue eyes focused on Amata, before breaking the focus to brush her hand over her long hair.

Tapping the hilt of her slacks against the table leg, and smacked her lips together. Amata had noted that Ress was taking time in piecing her words together this time.

"The Capital Wasteland sure is something," Ress began, wringing her wrists, "Chaotic and hostile and full of conflict."

Amata only nodded along, both out of habit and having learned from experience the Wasteland's environment.

"Though this place is only a corner of the world," Ress stated, "My brother's been all over the states. Contrary to what you vaulties may believe, the country isn't actually like this."

She gestured to west, a twinkle in those blue eyes, "California's developed a new republic that's been around as long as Ore has been."

She gestured north, Amata followed the direction obediently, "Boston's apparently doing quite well compared to the likes of Orleans and Oklahoma. Not thriving like California but certainly not a dead zone like our neighbor West Virginia."

Amata listened closely, absorbing what little information she could infer from Ress' words, "This may be one of the less appealing areas, I know, but once you find your way to other states, it'll be like this place to be another passing memory."

Amata scrunched her face, though she wasn't entirely discomforted by Ress words.

"Whether my word means anything or not, I just want to make sure you know one thing right here, right now," Ress says as she stares into Amata's caught gaze, "I won't let you down. I'll get Alph back for you, alive and in one piece."

Here's my Captain of Security Ezekiel's NSFW Chart that no one asked for. Be sure to see the information of his mutual lover in the SMASH OR PASS section too:

SMASH OR PASS

RULES: pretty self explanatory. include physical descriptions or pics, and propaganda. the “other” label can be used for “sexuality misalignment” (ie: oc is femme and you’re gay, vice versa or you aren’t into smashing but a specific thing you wanna do with them like perhaps hug or study them under a microscope idc).

ELSA OMAR (THE SILVER CHRONICLES)

[NOTE: Elsa is supposed to have natural blonde hair, something she inherited from her father, Adam Omar (for better or worse considering how shitty of a person he is)]

QUICK FACTS:

HEIGHT: Around 5'5.

Age: 25 (if she was alive in 2018)

Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexuality: Polyamorous Bisexual

PROS:

Elsa's got a successful business in floristry and is very well-off (which may or may not involve her less-talked about methods of attaining finance).

Dominant Feminine Aura radiates from her.

You want affection? Don't bother saying what type she'll give you it all.

She's a flirt, a wooer, a love-bomber and just about knows all the ways to court you like a gentlewoman (and get you hot and bothered... as well as wrap you around her finger).

Actual comedian (potentially learned from one of her financial gigs?).

Knows all the dirt on everyone and the hottest gossip (hot out of the oven kind of gossip).

You want to try scary new things? She also wants to try scary new things.

Quite an intelligent, cunning adapter.

Social etiquette and fashion queen and occasional rule-breaker (but no one can prove it).

Bisexual goddess honestly.

Very experienced in the bedroom, so rest assured you're in good hands if you've got none. She'll be gentle, don't worry. (And if you like rough, rest assured, in spite of her medical condition with her bones, Elsa HAS creatively found many ways around that which can satisfy both of your wants for a little roughness).

She's got connections. Legal trouble? She's got her godsend lawyer pal Gavin Turquoise to bust you out of court swiftly and cleanly. Social reputation under fire? She'll endorse you and shame the non-believers. Being messed around with by some punks? Ningún problema, she's got her older hermana Silva who'd do anything for her litter sister.

Fun aunt so if you have any nephews/nieces she can give you a hand.

Wine aunt (also knows all the good alcohol).

PDA and compliment dependent.

If you're wanting to go up and talk to her but are intimidated by the sheer elegance and divinity of this walking goddess, no need to worry, you've got the ultimate encouraging wingman who's got your back... her boyfriend! (Ezekiel, if he's around, who've you recently read some intimate info above. His kinks can be a window to what she's also into).

"They ordered no pickles!" kind of girlfriend.

Will punch a jerk for you (avoidance of this is highly recommended though).

She'll accept you as you are, and will accept whatever changes you go through too.

Expect to be roped in some prank wars with her and Ezekiel.

100% okay with being friends with benefits or a one-night stand. You don't have to pursue a romantic relationship.

CONS:

Okay now time for the tough to swallow shit.

Dating Elsa is asking for a lot of trust issues, questions over the genuineness of her love towards you and her manipulative, multi-masked, self-centered selfishness, and egotistical bullshit.

Elsa is someone who pretends to be one way with you and another with others.

It may not be obvious, but Elsa craves attention, and wants to fuel more of her inflated ego, and will use you as a way to get that (okay, but that is legitimately Adam's fault right there, with his parental favoritism of Elsa over Silva. Yeah she knew he was a dangerous monster of a man and the shittiest person alive, but spending almost two decades with the man, Silva's presence and absence notwithstanding, will have affects especially when her strongest moral compass wasn't present to protect and nurture her, albeit not by choice).

Just because you may be amongst her lovers, does not mean your value goes above her family (Silva and Persephone), but if you're lucky enough you may end up amongst Ezekiel's level of importance to Elsa.

Elsa may be doing illegal shit and there is a chance she might frame you for it (if only to avoid being scolded by a disappointed Silva. Like if she went to prison, she'd be fine, it's just Silva's approval and her dependence on Elsa is not something Elsa is willing to compromise). But she generally doesn't do that with people she likes (those she dislikes on the other hand...)

Elsa's impulsive daredevil shenanigans are extremely stressful to deal with considering the severity of her physical condition.

Much like her older sister, Elsa will not talk about her past, and will outright fabricate a non-existent one without hesitation.

Probably knows therapy exists but chooses not to go because she doesn't believe she needs it.

Knowing Elsa may put a target on your back (whether it be the Congregation of Adam's Guard or whoever she's pissed off now).

Girl will gaslight, gatekeep and girlboss her way out of the "be a nicer and more considerate person" even if it's to you. You cannot “fix her”, she’s happy as is.

Toxic. Silva is 100% unaware of this fact (as far as she knows her little sister is just a little troublesome at times) and Elsa intends on keeping it that way.

If you're rich or influential (like say... Joseph Seed), she will one-hundred percent scheme a way to either steal the inheritance (which may or may not involve murder) or take your power for herself, all through the art of seduction, deception and backstabbing.

Either-Either

She doesn't want kids. Or to raise one either. She helps Silva with Persephone because that's how much they mean to her. Though she can tolerate being a babysitter and aunt-figure, actual motherhood is a no-go, not just because she can't have kids herself (a personal choice of hers), but because she's generally disinterested in the idea of raising children. Motherhood, or parenthood in general, is something she mostly doesn't want to be associated with, which is perfectly fine (unless you want kids and have managed to achieve a long-lasting relationship with Elsa).

She's not interested in marriage either. The idea of, in her own eyes, being tied down in any shape or form is something she deeply resents, especially if it's overlooked by an authoritative force that declares it official (either it be lawful or religion). Perhaps that's one of the reasons she has an affinity towards Ezekiel, as they share similar ideals with one another. He's just more chill and down-to-Earth.

Open Relationship; she's not tied down with you and you're not tied down with her. Cool for those who don't want to be restricted to just a relationship with her but not so much for those seeking a closed relationship.

Blank template for NSFW Chart:

[blue--ingenue]

Ominis' Son - drabble

Author's Note: i wrote this awhile ago bc i needed a timeline where Ominis gets to live out his days happy and with a loving family :,) ik i just asked about whether ppl would be interested in my last poll, but surprise! this was completed like a month ago :)

he’s afraid of students bullying his son for being a Gaunt when they leave for their first year

(he was never physically bullied when he was at Hogwarts because most students were afraid of what his family would do if they found out)

after Ominis graduated, the professors made a point of telling the newer faculty to watch out for any more Gaunt children. they saw how ostracized Ominis felt during his years (students avoiding him out of fear for his family) despite the fact that he was the sweetest boy and they want to make sure his kids felt welcome

Ominis is a nervous wreck by the time he receives his son’s first owl

it turns out his son is one of the most popular boys in his year. the professors adore him, and he has made several friends who are amazed by his ability to speak parseltongue

at the first mention of his son being a parselmouth Ominis clutches his wand tighter and frantically reads on to see how his son is handling this new discovery

he learns that some sixth-year Ravenclaws pulled a dangerous prank on Slytherin house by releasing a bunch of snakes into their common room

the snakes were venomous (Ominis calls to MC from the next room to ask her to remind him to have them all expelled)

the moment the first snake is spotted, a first-year screams loud enough to send the room into a frenzy. someone strikes the closest snake with a basic cast and it hisses. the other snakes immediately begin to circle the students

most of the students are gathered by the three windows looking into the black lake. they begin huddling together, pressing themselves against the windows to get as far from the snakes as possible

they look poised to strike when the little Gaunt boy takes a hesitant step forward. the older students in the front are guarding the younger ones behind them and they try to pull him back, but to no avail. (the prefect has her wand out, ready to accio him back into the huddle)

he crouches down to the closest snake, its fangs dripping with venom. it coils back, springs forward, and then freezes mid-air. the other students are stunned. the prefect looks to be on the verge of passing out

the little Gaunt boy speaks back to the snakes and they all nod to him before slithering away

naturally the older students immediately find Professor Sharp to report the incident. they hesitantly ask the boy where the snakes disappeared to but he only smiles and says that they’ll not harm anyone

they later learn that the young Gaunt sent them to scare the daylights out of the Ravenclaws responsible for the prank before returning to him so he could release them outside the castle (Ominis and MC were livid at the pranksters, but secretly a bit proud)

from then on Slytherin students swear that a snake always appears protectively at their side should anyone attempt to bully them on school grounds

[best-underrated-anime]

Best Underrated Anime Group F Round 4: Talentless Nana vs Welcome to Demon School! Iruma-kun

#F6: Talentless Nana (Munou na Nana)

Normal school until stuff happens

#F8: Welcome to Demon School! Iruma-kun (Marimashita! Iruma-kun)

Young boy gets sold to a demon to be his grandson

Details and poll under the cut!

#F6: Talentless Nana (Munou na Nana)

Summary:

Fifty years ago, horrific creatures dubbed as the “enemies of humanity” suddenly appeared around the world. To combat these threats, teenagers gifted with supernatural abilities called “Talents”—such as pyrokinesis and time travel—hone their powers at an academy on a secluded island.

Nanao Nakajima, however, is quite different from the others on the island: he has no Talent. With many “Talented” teenagers around him, Nanao is often a target for bullying, but even so, he still strives to complete his training. Soon after, two transfer students, the mysterious Kyouya Onodera and the mind-reading Nana Hiiragi, join the class. But just as everyone starts blending as comrades-in-arms, mysterious disappearances begin to threaten the class’s entire foundation.

Propaganda:

I’d like to start off by saying that this is NOT a copy of My Hero Academia, even though it sounds as such. It’s kinda hard to explain the show without spoiling a major plot point, but it’s pretty much as the summary says. Honestly, if you want to watch this, don’t look up anything about it—you will get spoiled right away, and it does ruin the experience. I started this without knowing anything about it and I think that’s for the best because it’s plot twist after plot twis,t and you’re not sure what to expect next. That’s honestly something I really liked about it because you don’t know where the story will take you. Anyways, highly recommend because more people should know about this series.

Trigger Warnings:

Child Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Graphic Depictions of Cruelty/Violence/Gore

There’s a Nazi-coded character who does eugenics, and he’s also the reason for the child abuse tw

Sexual assault attempt on main character

Necrophilia (there’s a character who controls another person’s corpse and act like they’re dating)

#F8: Welcome to Demon School! Iruma-kun (Marimashita! Iruma-kun)

Summary:

Fourteen-year-old Iruma Suzuki has been unfortunate all his life, having to work to earn money for his irresponsible parents despite being underage. One day, he finds out that his parents sold him to the demon Sullivan. However, Iruma's worries about what will become of him are soon relieved, for Sullivan merely wants a grandchild, pampering him and making him attend the demon school Babyls.

At first, Iruma tries to keep a low profile in fear of his peers discovering that he is human. Unfortunately, this ends up being more difficult than he expected. It turns out that Sullivan himself is the chairman of the school, and everyone expects him to become the next Demon King!

Iruma immediately finds himself in an outrageous situation when he has to chant a forbidden spell in front of the entire school. With this, Iruma instantly earns a reputation he does not want. Even so, he is bound to be roped into more bizarre circumstances.

Propaganda 1:

The main character, Iruma, is very kind and wholesome, and you really just want to see him succeed throughout the series, especially after knowing everything he’s been through. He was neglected and used by his parents, but now he gets to live out a nice life despite being surrounded by demons, as his new grandfather spoils him. The demon that adopted him, Sullivan, is an extremely powerful figure in the demon realm, but through most of the series, he looks like an egg. The side characters are also well-designed with interesting personalities. The main two, Asmodeus and Clara, become almost inseparable from Iruma after they become friends, and the three of them are very cute together. There is also a canon nonbinary cat person, who is technically Sullivan’s servant, but he is treated as part of the family, and he’s a disaster bisexual.

Propaganda 2:

It’s really good in terms of art, plot, and characters. There’s nonbinary representation in the form of Opera, and there’s friendship galore with very poly undertones. It’s so sweet and good, and it’s just rahhhhh. Everyone is silly but also realistic and well-developed. There are reasonable arcs, and there’s a well mix of plot-driven growth and character-driven plots. I love every person who appears onscreen, even for like two seconds. The world building is lovely and so bright and colorful.

Propaganda 3:

You should vote for it because it is genuinely one of the best animes I’ve ever seen. It has good character development, mysteries, focuses on the cast well, and it is not a harem anime. The plot is also really good and is suitable for all age groups.

Fun fact: the main character crossdresses three times in the first three seasons

Trigger Warnings: Child Abuse (mild)

When reblogging and adding your own propaganda, please tag me @best-underrated-anime so that I’ll be sure to see it.

If you want to criticize one of the shows above to give the one you’re rooting for an advantage, then do so constructively. I do not tolerate groundless hate or slander on this blog. If I catch you doing such a thing in the notes, be it in the tags or reblogs, I will block you.

Know one of the shows above and not satisfied with how it’s presented in this tournament? Just fill up this form with your revisions, and I’ll consider adapting those changes.

New: Starting round 5, screenshots will be included in the poll post. You can submit screenshots through the form linked above, or through here, via ask or dm.

Guidelines in submitting screenshots:

No NSFW or spoilery images.

Pick some good images please. Don’t send any blurry or pixelated ones.

You may send up to 9 screenshots, but not all may be used.

[bluenomad-snufkin]

Ted K

SO in a recent poll people wanted me to discuss my love for Ted K,

now most would just say this is a larp and to that i say nah, not a larp i truly thing of Ted as some sort of uncle, we share a very similar sentiment for society and nature> too much to go into for one post... also cause im feeling lazy ~ also why i haven't been posting at all.

anyway

he quite literally is me if i was older, i plan on spending a few year of my life like him aswell. umm what too say...

his books, ah yes his books i have his manifesto first edition and anti tech revolution and a the hermeneutics of ecological limitations (a critique and review of various - in lay man terms- eco terrorists) Especially the anti tech revolution: why and how, ngl manifesto was pretty overrated its like a introduction to his thoughts and beliefs.

His level of comprehensions and physical perception of reality is dare i say the exact same and mind.

I remember when he died, i was heart broken 10th June 2023, it was a few days before my birthday and i was heart broken, the guy that was the exact same as me that dint make me feel "alone", this is really shallow of reasoning but to actually explain it would be incredibly difficult.

he was like good friend i would write too almost, i would read his articles note books writings etc and just feel like i was there bouncing ideas off me, i felt like i was in his cabin/jailcell/ home listing to him rant about life and society.

also in the context of politics, most will never in there life time even comprehend %20 of what politics actually are... he did an his ideas are "honestly right on the money", he really knew exactly how the next 10~years of life should have been focused on except he got imprisoned.

I say this again, i read people like a book, i observe and know peoples moves i am very rarely wrong in how some one reaction or what future holds. one may say I'm physic... in a way, but if you have ever moved schools or have a lick of IQ you will notice people are unique, there are copies of peoples personality's everywhere... and me and TedK share this same sentiment, same mind different generation if this makes sense, we are both for lack of my ability to find words while "geeked" - the same people.

anyway when he die i wont say i cried but i did tear up and my hopes of when i turned 18 and going to America to try and visit him in prison where crushed...

key notes to take away (if you wan to know me better)

~ ted k is literally me

~ ted k is super smart and his level of understanding is on the same plain as mine

~he died and i was sad

i know this is a shit post full of waffle and crap that doesn't matter and that i say mb i will make a good one next time

[nobodysdaydreams]

✨My Unhinged Visions for the TMBS Kids’ Villain Arcs: ✨

Based on this poll, and this post by @kaslynspeaks and @sophieswundergarten. They activated the brain bees, and you can blame them for this.

Warning: Insanely long post. I go through each kid individually, discuss a premise for their fall to villainy, and then I give you a hastily written scene which I did not proofread, that probably contains typos and misspellings. Some are longer than others, some end abruptly, some are a lot darker than others, but they all have happy endings so you're welcome for that at least.

I also kept it vague whether I was talking about the book or show characters so while I draw on elements from both, you can imagine most of these with either character.

Please enjoy!

I'll start with Kate Wetherall.

The Premise:

I picture her as a teenager or young adult for this. Her villain arc is pretty brief tbh, but I think that fits Kate. She'd impulsive and emotional and maybe even the most likely to go dark the quickest for those reasons, but she also has strong morals, and I don't think she'd fall very far, and I also think she might be the most likely to turn around.

Here's the scenario. The society has won, and now they've started working together to take down bad guys.

Kate loves it, but she starts getting carried away sometimes. Seeing men that are willing to hurt children the way that she was hurt sets something off in her. Sometimes she takes things too far, or acts impulsively in the heat of the moment. The others protest this, insisting that Kate only needs to use enough force to stop other criminals, not harm them.

Kate feels frustrated, not only because she feels like her friends are criticizing her, but also because this is what she's good at. She's the one who fights. Why should she hold herself back when the others can use their intellect to their full potential?

The others don't realize how much of this is connected to Kate's inner turmoil, her feelings of frustration. They simply remind her that "that's not how they do things."

But maybe it should be, thinks Kate.

Maybe it would send a message. Not just to the criminals but to the children they hurt. To let those children know that someone cared to make sure that the people who hurt them paid for what they did. So that they wouldn't feel abandoned. So that they wouldn't feel how Kate always felt.

So she works in secret. She couldn't bear another condescending lecture from her father or the others. I picture her leading a sort of vigilante circus themed squad. They're all strong and athletic, obviously, but they're also incredibly creative. Whatever a bad guy's fear is, they can use illusions, contortion, and all sorts of creepy imagery to make it come to life. To make them pay for what they did. To break them, to reduce them to nothing.

And Kate as a leader finally feels respected, valuable. For once, she isn't told to hold back her impulsiveness, her emotions, her abilities, her creativity. In fact, she's praised for her lack of restraint. And she tells herself she doesn't need to feel bad either because after all, these are the bad guys. They deserve it.

But eventually the others find out. Kate tells them there's no point in another lecture, but this time, they don't lecture. They don't even know what to say.

Because they're horrified. They're horrified that Kate could ever think that punishing people like this, criminals or not, is a suitable use of her talents. Kate reminds them that they always got to use their intelligence to their full potential whenever it suited them.

And now, the scene (picture this occurring in a circus themed lair. Idk just role with it. Brain tired):

"I was the one who was too much," Kate reminded him.

"You three were the brilliant ones. The psychic, the scholar, the genius. But me? I was just the muscle. The "creative" one. The impulsive one. The liability," she scoffed.

"My talents were only useful when they were directed by my intellectual superiors. What you wanted. What you planned. But here? Here I'm a leader, Reynie. I get results and I get justice my own way. And I'm not interested in hearing another lecture about acting impulsively, or going too far, or about how all of your know so much better than I do. So save it."

"Fine!" snapped Constance. "Then we'll spare you the lecture, if you want to skip straight to the fighting."

Kate paused, and the look of betrayal in her eyes was evident.

She thought they might be here to lecture or disapprove of her methods, but had they...had they really come here to...to...

Kate shook her head.

"I don't want to fight you. And even three against one, was all know that would hardly be a fair fight."

Sticky winced and held himself back from the overwhelming urge to nervously polish his spectacles, remembering how many times he'd watched his friend take down men (grown trained men) like it was nothing.

Constance, still bitter from Kate's deception, raised her fists.

"I'd still take those odds."

"Constance-" cautioned Reynie, but it was already too late.

"Very well," said Kate.

Her followers stepped forward to assist her, but Kate motioned for them to step back.

"Trust me," she said to them. "I appreciate the offer, but I can take handle this one on my own."

The others knew that wasn't a lie.

Kate raised her own fists and addressed the trio.

"You always thought your minds made you so much better than me, so let's see how well you can actually do without me. Good luck. You'll need it. Even if I do intend to go easy on you."

"Katie-Cat?"

Kate groaned.

"This is none of your concern."

"I should say that it is," her father replied, stepping out from the shadows to confront his daughter. "Considering I raised you better than this."

"Raised me?"

Milligan immediately realized his mistake.

"Katie-Cat, I-"

"Didn't mean to leave me?" Kate snapped. "I know Dad. I know you didn't mean to. No, you just chose a dangerous job working for a dangerous man and put your own life at risk, when you knew your child had no one else but you."

The hurt in her father's eyes made Kate regret her words, but only for a moment.

After all, it's not as if what she said wasn't true.

"I'm sorry," said Milligan earnestly, realizing perhaps for the first time how much his child was still hurting.

How much she'd been lying every time she said that she was fine. How much she'd been hiding her pain from him, from everyone.

"It wasn't fair to you. I promise, I'll do whatever I can to make it up to you."

"Really?" said Kate. "Well then. I suppose there is something you can do for me."

"Anything Katie-Cat," said Milligan softly, his eyes brimming with tears.

"Stay out of my way," Kate ordered, looking her father directly in the eyes, doing her best to look tall, strong, and intimidating.

Milligan's face hardened slightly. He knew that look. It was a look he'd seen in his daughter's eyes before, her fearsome determination, her resolve not to back down.

It was normally one of the traits that he admired most about her.

"I can't do that Katie-Cat," he replied, seriously but still with a tone of affection in his voice.

"I love you too much to let you waste your talents and potential like this."

Kate laughed.

"Of course you do," she replied, gesturing for her followers to step forward.

"It looks like I might need some help after all. But try to go easy on them," she advised her followers. "Most of them aren't trained fighters and their biggest crime is shortsightedness. Hardly worth our best or most painful efforts."

"Don't fight them," interrupted Milligan. "They don't need to fight this. Just you and me."

Kate eyed him suspiciously.

"You hurt your leg last month," she reminded him. "You're not in peak fighting condition. If this is some kind of trick-"

"It isn't," replied Milligan. "You and me. If you win, we'll let you keep your operation and leave the decision up to you. If I win, you end this."

Kate's face became thoughtful, carefully considering his offer.

"Uh Milligan," interjected Sticky. "I know that you're pretty well trained, but you were just injured, most doctors wouldn't recommend-"

"Deal," said Kate, charging forward without warning, as Milligan side stepped.

It was hard to tell who had the upper hand. Milligan was stronger and had a clear height advantage, but he was still recovering from his injury and Kate was faster, and more flexible.

They held nothing back, but still neither of them succeeded in doing much damage, mostly because the skill with which they dodged the other’s attacks was just as impressive as the fighting techniques they employed.

"Tired old man?" she asked.

"Oh believe me," said Milligan. "I haven't even started yet."

They fought for hours, until at last Kate found something else that gave her the upper hand.

Environmental knowledge.

One of the circus' tricks was a series of platforms that were triggered to fall when you stood on them for a certain amount of time. They sent the performers falling to either be caught by a fellow trapeze artist or (worst case scenario) fall into one of the safety nets.

It was simply a matter of cornering her father onto one of the platforms, and removing the bridge.

"The fall is too far, and we haven't put the net out," Kate reminded him.

"You lost. Surrender."

Milligan looked down for a moment, judging the distance, then he looked back up at his daughter.

"No," he replied.

Kate was confused.

"What do you mean no?" she asked.

"I mean no," Milligan replied. "The fight's not over until it's over. I don't surrender."

"I'm not putting the bridge back," Kate reminded him. "Whatever trick this is, I'm not falling for it. Don't be stupid."

Milligan stood firm.

So did Kate. They were both stubborn. Like father, like daughter.

The seconds ticked by.

"20 seconds," Kate reminded him.

"Milligan we'll find another way!" Sticky yelled. "Just surrender, it's not worth it."

"This is my daughter," Milligan replied. "She'll always be worth it."

Kate scoffed.

"15 seconds," she announced.

Milligan didn't respond.

Kate still waited. Her father was fast. He only needed a few seconds to make it back in time, and would no doubt run out the clock.

10 seconds.

9 seconds.

8 seconds.

Kate groaned. Of course he would play it like this.

She walked over to the bridges control panel and pressed the emergency stop button.

It wasn't working.

Kate felt as if her heart had stopped.

"It's not working," she whispered.

"Kate it's your dad!" yelled Reynie. "You won! You won okay? Just press the button, put the bridge back!"

"It's not working," she yelled, the panic rising in her voice.

4 seconds.

"DAD-" she yelled, turning to her father, the father she'd missed for so long, the father she loved, the father she didn't want to lose again.

2 seconds.

"I love you Katie-Cat."

0 seconds.

The platform dropped.

And so did Milligan.

And so did Kate, diving after her father, clinging to him tightly as if that could somehow save him.

The others surrounded them as soon as they landed.

Kate was mostly undamaged, Milligan had broken her fall.

But he wasn't moving, wasn't responding.

"Dad?" Kate whispered, tears in her eyes.

"Dad I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I-please don't go. Please. I can't lose you again."

Kate reached down and hugged her father.

"You won," she whispered. "You won okay? Just please come back. I love you."

At once, Kate felt her father sit up and wrap his arms around her, wrapping her in an embrace that even she could not escape from.

"Victory," he announced, looking down at his daughter.

"And I love you too Katie-Cat. I'm sorry for the dramatics. I assumed you'd be able to put the bridge back in time, but it's always nice to have a plan B."

"What-" said Kate, who was too relieved to see her father alive and well to be upset that she had been tricked.

"But, but the fall-"

"I've fallen before," Milligan reminded her. "From greater heights than this. You get better at falling the more you practice. Just uh...don't tell Mr. Benedict. Or Number Two. Or Rhonda...perhaps it would also be wise not to mention this to Miss. Perumal."

Kate sighed.

"I'm sorry. I guess I just got tired of your criticisms."

"We didn't mean to sound critical" said Reynie. "I'm sorry you felt that way. But you were never a liability. You're our friend, and we need you."

The others nodded.

Kate sighed again and smiled.

"I need you guys too," she admitted, as her friends joined in hugging her.

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

And now for Constance Contraire.

The Premise:

I picture her being pretty young in this, but not too young, teen years at the most. The story here is that Constance succeeds in destroying the Whisperer and saving the day.

But this time, it leaves her mind damaged, seriously damaged. So damaged that her powers become uncontrollable and scary. Some government researchers offer to help Constance, but Mr. Benedict, suspicious of their intentions, turns them away. Nicholas vows to protect Constance, insists that they will figure out what's wrong, that they will help her, but then one day Constance ends up hurting him on accident, basically incapacitating and nearly killing him. At this point, there isn't much left to do, accepting outside help is the only option. The others promise to visit Constance and make sure she's taken care of and happy until Mr. Benedict recovers.

They never get the chance. Something goes wrong, and the story is that Constance is on the loose and dangerous, causing out of control destruction and physical harm. The police and government agents try to bring her in several times, but all end up hospitalized from the encounter. The society seeks Constance out, and they eventually find her hideout.

The Scene:

"Why are you here?" demanded Constance.

"What do you mean "why are we here?"" asked Kate.

"We're here to bring you home Connie girl."

Constance scoffed.

"Connie Girl."

They always acted like this. Like she was still a tiny defenseless child. Even though she was now older than the others had been when she'd first met them, they still acted as if they were her older siblings.

Or at least, they did with their words. But their body language sent an entirely different message. They stayed on the other side of the room, not daring to approach her, not daring to put their arms around her like they would have done before.

"You're afraid of me," she observed.

"Constance, we care about you!" Reynie protested.

"That doesn't mean you're not afraid."

Reynie didn't answer. There wasn't much he could say.

They'd all seen what she could do. And Reynie had never been a good liar.

"We just want to talk to you."

"We're talking now," observed Constance.

"Not here," said Kate. "Not in some secret lair or hideout where you've hidden yourself away."

"Where then?"

"Home. Your home."

For a moment, they can see it. The longing in Constance's eyes.

Home.

She quickly puts that aside.

"Right," she responds. "Home. Where the government will no doubt be waiting to take me away again."

"What? No!" Sticky exclaimed. "Constance, we would never let that happen! Mr. Benedict would never let that happen!"

Mr. Benedict.

She disregards the name and the emotions that come with it.

"And yet, it's happened before," she replied.

"You even let them take me.”

Her friends hung their heads and looked away at the reminder of their guilt, the unbearable weight that they would forever carry with them.

“They told you what I did to them. But do you have any idea what they did to me?” asked Constance.

“What they put me through? The things they made me do?"

"We thought they could help you Constance," said Reynie. "You were scared and in pain, and they offered help, and we wanted to help you. We didn't know...if we had known-"

"You would have stopped them?" asked Constance. "How? By asking nicely? And would you really have let me stay with you? After knowing what I could do to you?"

"We would have figured it out," Reynie insisted. "We're a family."

Constance laughed.

"Family? Gosh Reynard, you always were so childishly sentimental. It's a terrible weakness of yours"

Sticky and Kate briefly glared at Constance on their friend's behalf, but Reynie could hear the pain behind his little sister's insult.

He took a small step forward.

"Constance please-"

"Get away!" Constance barked, a hint of panic in her voice as she took a step backward.

"You know what will happen. Don't be stupid. Just leave. It's what's best for everyone. I'm a monster now. I'm only going to hurt you. And deep down, you all know it."

"Constance?"

The voice came from behind her. Constance didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

The others were immediately horrified. They'd told him not to come; he'd promised not to come, for his own safety.

But they should have known better. Nicholas would not be kept from his daughter.

"Dad?" Constance whispered weakly, then silently chastised herself for having spoken aloud.

She refused to turn around.

Nicholas still hobbled towards her. Constance could feel his mind. Still split, shattered from what she'd done to him, but slowly healing. And his emotions towards her...pain, lots of emotional pain, but no anger. No, there was something else, something far more powerful.

Love.

The others warned Mr. Benedict back, but he ignored their warnings. He wouldn't be deterred. His daughter needed him.

He limped over and knelt down, as best he could for an injured man so that he could address his child.

"Constance," he whispered. "Look at me please."

Constance turned away and shook her head.

"Please," her father whispered.

"I-I can't," she responded, a tiny tear rolling down her cheek as she squeezed her eyes shut.

Nicholas looked at her sadly, but affectionately, as if she was the most precious thing in the entire world.

And to him, she was.

"Oh...oh my dear Constance-"

"You should go," she ordered, pushing her father away.

"Go now. Or I'll hurt you again. I'll hurt them too," she threatened, but there was no malice behind her words. Only fear, fear that her threats might not be empty promises.

Nicholas ignored his daughter’s threats.

He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.

He could feel her emotions in his mind. His daughter's power, too great and uncontrollable for her tiny body, made so much worse and so much stronger by what she'd been subjected to. Her power radiated from her mind, seeping outward and infecting every mind it came in contact with.

Nicholas let it come. In fact, he embraced it fully. The pain didn't matter. If that was the price he had to pay to keep his child safe and let her know that she was loved and forgiven, then that was a price he would gladly pay.

"Oh Constance," he whispered, as the tiny girl collapsed into a puddle of tears. "There's nothing you could do that would stop me from loving you."

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

Now for Sticky Washington.

This is largely inspired by @sophieswundergarten's amazing fics and posts about Sticky and his anxiety. I can't possibly link all of them, so if you're not following her and reading her fics, that's your own personal problem, and I pity you.

Sadly, I didn't write a reunion scene between him and his aunt or the Washingtons for this, because I wanted it to kind of work for the book or show versions of the character, but please know that in the full version of the fic that exists only in my brain, Sticky does reconcile with his family.

The Premise:

Sticky is older in this, an adult, maybe 20s or 30s. The story is that even after the Whisperer, after Curtain, the nightmares, the anxiety, it still haunts him. He can't get over it, but at the same time, he doesn't want to burden his friends, he can't burden them.

So he distances himself. He doesn't want to, but the voice inside him tells him that this is for the best. He would only burden them; he would only weigh them down. The others aren't sure why he's doing this, but assume it's because he wants his space and they try to respect that.

The anxiety, the fear, the flashbacks, it all gets worse. Finally, Sticky can bear it no more. So he does the unthinkable.

He builds his own version of the Whisperer. Not to control people. Just to calm his anxiety. And maybe, as the show version of Sticky says "[...] put good thoughts into people's heads. Make them feel happy." Nothing intrusive, nothing exploitive, nothing selfish. Just things like advising people to wear a seatbelt when they drive, and use dangerous equipment properly, and basically anything else that's unsafe or would make Sticky nervous. After all, what's the harm in that? He's making the world safer. And it's not like his old friends would care enough to bother with him.

But that's where he's wrong. The society detects the machine's influence, and they know it's not Curtain. They don't want to believe that it's Sticky, even when the evidence points to him. But eventually, they have no choice but to accept the truth and confront him.

The Scene:

Sticky looked up at his visitors from behind his desk. His office was nice, not extravagant or expensive, that wasn't his style, but it was neat, clean, and organized. As for Sticky himself, he was hardly the boy he was when he'd first met his friends. He was older, taller, stronger. Handsome. Confident.

Reynie told himself that he had nothing to fear. Appearances might change, but underneath it all was his friend.

"Sticky-" he began, but Sticky cut him off.

"It's Mr. Washington now," he corrected in a professional tone, trying his best not to reveal how much he'd been hurting. "Though I suppose I could allow you to call me George, for old times sake."

"Okay Mr. George," said Constance. "Having fun playing supervillain?"

Sticky frowned.

"If you came here just to criticize me, then I'll have my secretary show you out. Better her than my security," he added, glancing at Kate, who had her hand on her bucket.

"That's not why we're here," said Reynie quickly.

"Oh?" said Sticky, raising an eyebrow.

"Your family misses you," clarified Reynie, hoping to appeal to his friends' sentimentality.

"Well they have no reason to miss me. I brought them some lovely property, send plenty of checks, and cover all their medical expenses, which is all they ever wanted me for anyway," said Sticky.

"Would you ever go to visit them?" asked Reynie. "I um...I don't want to get involved in your family's personal lives. But I think they might want more than money. I think they...I think they really miss you."

And then he sees it. A sense of longing, and a yearning in Sticky's eyes.

But it vanishes almost instantly.

"I'm a busy man," Sticky reminded his friends. "I have businesses to run."

"Honest businesses?" asked Kate suspiciously.

"Yes," said Sticky, glaring at her. "You might disagree with my personal hobbies, but I assure you, I make my money fairly."

"You call brainwashing the world a hobby? Really Mr. George?" asked Constance.

Sticky sighed.

"I'm fixing the world," he lectured them. "Crime is down, addiction is down, people's rates of anxiety and depression are down-"

"Including your own no doubt," muttered Constance, but Sticky ignored her.

"-and it's all thanks to me," he finished.

Reynie looked horrified. Kate looked disgusted.

"But you're doing it without their consent!" Reynie protested. "And you don't know what the side effects could be."

"And the way you're justifying it," said Kate, "you sound exactly like-"

And then she stopped, realizing that what she was about to say would have gone too far, way too far.

But it was too late. Sticky knew what she'd been implying, and his faced morphed from a look of uncomfortable and false politeness to sudden rage.

"Like who?" Sticky snapped, and his friends jumped at the sound of his voice. It was so much louder and deeper than it had been when he was a child. It was a man's voice now, but it wasn't just the maturity or the confidence of his voice, but the anger it possessed. The harshness that had been so absent from him as a child.

Constance was the first to recover.

"You know who "Mr. George,"" she answered, glaring at her former friend.

The other two glanced at each other. What Constance was saying was cruel, especially after all that man had put Sticky through, but it was also undeniably true.

"How dare you?" whispered Sticky, the anger rising in his voice.

"How dare you compare me to him? AFTER EVERYTHING HE DID TO ME!"

Sticky rose from his desk.

His friends had never seen him look so furious.

"Sticky-" began Reynie nervously.

The others took a step backward.

Sticky's self-consciousness and compassion suddenly returned to him when he saw the fear in their eyes.

That’s the thing about anger. If you are someone who is small, short, nervous, mild mannered, someone who is perceived as “weak”, then your anger, no matter how justified, is often belittled, patronized, or dismissed as "cute", unless you can find a way to be taken seriously, to yell louder, to make yourself more threatening. Of course, the other side of this is that if you are someone who is tall, strong, loud, powerful, and intimidating, then it doesn’t take much anger to make others afraid of you, even if that’s not your intention, unless you learn to moderate your emotions and remember how threatening you look from their perspective.

For most of this life, Sticky had been on one end of this spectrum, always needing to yell louder and be more insistent to make his voice heard. Now he found himself on the other side of the spectrum. But although his height, physical appearance, and position in the world had changed, the emotion felt the same to him as it always had, and he often forgot just how frighting he could seem.

Even to those who had once called him friend.

Sticky sighed and took a deep breath.

"I'm not like him," he insisted.

"I'm not giving myself fame, money, power, or anything like that. That's the difference. When I say I'm doing this to help people, to make them feel happy, I mean it."

He looked at his friends, glancing over their faces, trying one last effort to get them to understand.

"You know me," he reminded them. "You know I wouldn't do that. I'm not doing this for power. I'm doing this for peace."

There was silence for a few moments.

"We know," said Reynie.

"We know you are Sticky. And we know you've been hurting. We should have noticed earlier, and we should have offered to help sooner. I'm sorry. But whatever your intentions are, that doesn't make this right."

Sticky didn't reply. He knew that Reynie was right; he always was.

"What do I do?" he asked, his voice suddenly sounding softer.

"Stop this," said Kate. "Turn yourself in. We'll help you, we'll- we'll get you the help you need. So you don't have to feel this way anymore."

Sticky was surprised.

His anxiety...his fears...he tried to act like it didn't bother him anymore. He didn't want to be a burden. He didn't want to drag his friends down with him.

And yet they were here, right next to him, not as adversaries, but as friends.

They didn't have to come. They didn't have to forgive him.

"You've needed help for a while," said Constance, her voice suddenly gentler and far more compassionate then even her friends were used to hearing from her.

"Haven't you George?"

Sticky didn't answer. He could feel Constance tentatively poking her way into his mind. But he didn't fight it. He sat back down and nodded silently, feeling weak and exposed, the reality of his pain revealed at last.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I thought I could deal with it on my own but I...I can't. I'm not- I'm not strong enough. That's why I needed to do this. I thought I could help not just me, but others, because the truth is I...I'm just not enough. I'm not strong enough."

His friends ran forward to hug him.

"You don't have to be dummy," said Constance.

"None of us are. That's why we have each other."

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

And finally, Reynie Muldoon.

Ngl, I went pretty dark for this one. He's the only one I actually gave a body count to (I know I'm sorry don't blame me blame the bees and I apologize if you think any of these are OOC I'm trying my best here. Also Reynie is older in this and there are darker themes mentioned so consider this your warning). This is based on @kaslynspeaks amazing post here and her awesome comments on my poll where she talks about the whole book conversation where Reynie can "only see snakes" so he lets himself be bitten and becomes a snake himself? Genius. 10/10. Set off the bees for sure, so thank you for that.

The Premise:

This one blends a lot of elements from the others. Like in Kate's situation, the society has won, they're fighting crime, but Reynie becomes disillusioned, though for different reasons. He's older than Kate was in her version, he's late 20s, 30s, maybe even pushing 40. It took a long time for him to get to this point.

You see, at first, Reynie is fighting for what he believes in: bringing bad guys to justice, keeping his friends on the straight and narrow, and doing what's right. But being a leader has a cost. He's always the one emotionally supporting the team, he gives more than he gets back, and that starts to take a toll. As he gets older, he encounters more bad guys, ones that make him sick to his stomach, but what's worse is the lack of people who seem to care. The politicians with empty promises, the corrupt police, the ordinary citizens who look the other way instead of helping. Nothing changes. There's always another crisis, another bad guy, another problem that needs the society, and the society needs him. So Reynie drains himself until at last he can give no more. Finally pushed to the brink by what he's seen and the sense of hopelessness and isolation he feels, he makes the decision.

He starts by cutting himself off from the society, at least professionally. They respect his decision, but are surprised by it. Once he's free of that obligation, Reynie tells his mother he's getting a new job and needs some space right now to figure himself out.

What he actually does is get involved in the criminal underworld. He tells no one of course, they'd never approve. But Reynie has learned that there is one thing that can control a snake: a bigger snake (or as the expression goes "there's always a bigger fish").

And his intelligence, knowledge of others, leadership skills, and experience with criminals quickly leads to Reynie becoming the boss of the criminal underworld (how did he do that so quickly? What is this "criminal underworld" I keep mentioning? Like. Is it a gang? The mafia? The ten men? Some random group of thieves? Idk, don't question it, just use your imagination).

Anyway, now that Reynie has control he determines what crimes happen, when they happen, and how many people get hurt. Which he views as damage control. He keeps his real occupation hidden from his mother, telling her he's involved in important government work, and it's better that she didn't ask questions. Eventually he completely cuts off ties with the rest of the society, knowing it's only a matter of time before they put together what he's done.

They do figure it out, eventually, and they're heartbroken of course. They can't believe it. Especially that Reynie, out of all of them, would ever do something so terrible. They want to confront him, but they can't find him.

Until one day they receive an anonymous coded message, tipping them off to his location.

Reynie's security team laughs when they tell them they're his friends. Their boss doesn't have any friends, and no one shows up to see him without an appointment unless they either have news that can't wait, or some kind of death wish. And he certainly never takes social calls.

Still, they let Reynie know about them. And of course he recognizes their description. Turning them away unharmed shows weakness, which his team would never accept from their leader, but Reynie doesn't want to harm his friends either.

Which gives him only one other option: to confront them. He has his security bring them to his office.

The Scene:

The men roughly shoved them into the room.

"These people came to see you boss. They said they were friends of yours."

Reynie looked up at his friends, who had just been pushed unceremoniously into his office.

"Thank you," he nodded, waving his hands to dismiss his security team.

Then he sighed.

"How did you find me?"

His friends didn't answer at first.

"That's what you want to know?" said Kate. "You're running the criminal underworld, and that's the first question you have for us? The route we used to get here?"

"Not the route. My location. How did you find me?" asked Reynie.

"Anonymous tip off. A coded message," said Constance. "Seems some of your men aren't as loyal as you thought."

Reynie looked disappointed, but shrugged.

"That's not all that uncommon in this line of work," he clarified. "Whoever it was will be dealt with accordingly. Snakes will be snakes"

"But since when are you one of them?" asked Kate.

Reynie sighed.

"I don't expect any of you to understand."

"You're right Reynie," said Sticky. "We don't understand. You were always the best of us. The one who reminded us who we were, what we stood for. How could you ever think something like this was right?"

"The best of us?" Reynie repeated disbelief.

"I was the average one, the one who wasn't special. I wasn't a genius, or a psychic, or some sort of super athlete. I was just me. I'm not special."

"So that's why you're doing this?" asked Constance. "To feel special?"

"No," said Reynie. "I'm doing this because it's inevitable. The cycle just repeats itself. We fight another bad guy, we almost fall apart, I hold us together, it takes everything out of me, I finally recover, and then we go around again. The only way to end the cycle is to become a part of it."

"Takes everything out of you?" repeated Sticky. "Reynie, we had no idea-"

"It's fine," dismissed Reynie. "Like I said, this is for the best."

"You really believe that?" asked Kate, shocked her friend could ever really think something like this was right. "You...your men...you're criminals! The worst criminals!"

"We are," agreed Reynie. "I won't deny that. But when you make yourself the king of the snakes, you decide how poisonous they are. These men follow me because they know I'm intelligent and powerful enough to let them get away with the crimes they want and have all the money and power they desire. That's a better deal than most other bosses could give them. But they also know that comes at a price, that certain things are off limits. If I hear any rumors of human trafficking or exploiting or harming children, well, then I'm sure to make an example of them. To remind them that I'm in control and that I have my standards."

"Make a example of them?" said Kate, her eyes widening.

"That...that doesn't mean what I think it means...right Reynie?" asked Sticky.

Reynie couldn't help but feel a little ashamed as he watched Constance, who had always looked up to him as her protector, her big brother, take a step away from him when she saw from his face that his words meant exactly what Sticky thought they meant.

But he didn't back down.

"They were human traffickers and people who abused children," Reynie said simply, trying his best to remain logical. "You can't say they didn't deserve it. If I wasn't running the criminal underworld, someone else would, someone who would be just as cruel, maybe worse, and would likely choose less deserving targets. It's no different than carrying out justice."

"And who made you the judge, jury and executioner?" asked Constance, crossing her arms.

"We're going to stop you," said Kate, raising her fists.

"Really?" said Reynie, his expression turning dark at his friend's declaration.

"I think you'll find that harder than you expect. You three might have been the talented ones, but I was the one who kept you together. I know you. I know how to build you up, and I know how to bring you down."

His friends looked horrified by the threat. Even worse, they looked hurt.

"I don't want it to come to that," Reynie clarified. "But it will if you stand against me. I don't want to hurt you, but trust me, I can. Worse than you can imagine. And I will. I know how it sounds, but believe me when I tell you that this is the only way."

The others were shocked by his words. Reynie cared for them; Reynie protected them.

How could he threaten them so easily? How could he have become so misguided?

Sticky thought a bit about what his friend had said, and tried one last time to reach him.

"We understand where you're coming from, really Reynie, we do," said Sticky. "But this isn't the way to do things. You're still hurting people in other ways, and I agree that people need to be brought to justice but this...this isn't the way to do it."

"We didn't know it was so hard for you," added Kate. "You were our leader Reynie. And you're right. You held us together, you kept us strong, and you were always there when we needed you. To remind us who we are. I'm sorry we didn't appreciate that more. But now it's our turn to be there for you. To remind you who you are."

Reynie didn't answer for a moment.

"And who do you think that is?"

"Our friend," said Kate.

"Some who is kind, gentle, intelligent, wonderful, and anything but average," added Sticky.

"Someone who knows deep down that this is wrong," said Constance, poking her way around the edges of Reynie's mind.

"Someone who's better than this."

Reynie couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"You...you really think that?" he asked. "After everything I've done... you really think that's who I am?"

"We do," said Sticky.

"We all do," agreed Kate.

"I know it," said Constance, as Reynie felt her enter his mind, unearthing the guilt, shame, exhaustion, and pain that he'd kept buried for so long, as well as the love, compassion, and the values he'd put aside and tried to forget about.

They were still a part of him. An unused and forgotten part, but nevertheless, they were still there.

"Your friends are right Reynie."

Reynie turned to see his mother enter his office.

"Amma?" he asked in a small voice.

"But, but I don't understand- how...how did you-"

"For the leader of the criminal underworld, you have pretty bad security. They're easy enough to knock out with a few blow darts and they are much too unsuspecting of a simple old woman," his mother replied with a sad smile.

Reynie's heart dropped. She knew?

One look in her eyes told him everything. Of course she knew. She knew when he started staying out late and never telling her where he was going, when he came back with scars and a haunted look in his eyes that he couldn't explain, when he begged her for the millionth time to stop asking questions, when he moved her into a bigger fancier private house and had the property constantly surrounded by security guards because of a "promotion" that he refused to explain.

His mother was kind, but she certainly wasn't stupid.

And then Reynie realized.

"The coded message. You brought them here."

Dipika nodded.

"You needed them Reynie. You needed to be reminded of who you are."

Reynie hung his head.

"Amma-" he began, but his voice trailed off.

What could he say? What words could ever make it up to the woman who'd taken him in, who'd given everything to him? There was nothing he could say, not when she knew what he'd done, what he'd become.

"Oh Reynie," said Dipika, walking forward to hug her son, who trembled at the affection he knew he didn't deserve.

"I know," she whispered. "I know you're sorry. And I'm sorry too. I'm sorry I wasn't enough. I'm sorry I couldn't reach you. But it's not too late. I promise Reynie. It's never too late."

At last, Reynie broke down, returning his mother's embrace as the three people who refused to give up on him even when he'd given up on himself stepped forward to hug their friend.

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

I apologize for nothing, or maybe I will if enough people tell me this was disturbing and that they didn't like it, which honestly? Fair enough. Anyway, have a lovely evening! 🥰

[echoes-lighthouse]

Echo and Toga: The Full Story

Okay, I did a poll for how I should share my selfship stories, and 'text post with illustrations' won the poll, so I'm doing a full four-section post for each of my f/os: Backstory, First Meeting, Getting Together, and Where We're At! They're written to be as understandable as possible for people unfamiliar with the source!

With that said, here's my selfship with Toga! Content warnings for backstory abuse, poly!League of Villains (which has some funky age gaps that aren't commented on here), and canon-typical blood drinking.

Chapter One: Backstories 

Toga and Echo both grew up in a world defined by Quirks: powers that manifest at the age of five or six, when children are usually in Kindergarten. 

Toga’s Quirk was Transform: by drinking someone’s blood, she could transform into them. This Quirk began as a fascination with blood, which disturbed her parents, and they instructed her to stop the behavior. She was obedient and played the dutiful daughter until the age of 15, at which point a classmate was injured around her, and she attacked him to drink his blood. Her parents were horrified and rejected her, at which point Toga left home and became a murderer. 

About a year later, she was recruited to the League of Villains, a group looking for more freedom for villains, and she quickly made personal connections within the team. She is obsessive about love, blood, and looking cute. 

Echo grew up in foster families, was adopted at 12, and their family moved to Japan when they were 14. They ran away the year afterwards, their home life intolerable for multiple reasons: mainly their adoptive father and brother, both of which used their fire quirks to punish Echo. They have a lasting distrust for fire quirk users. Echo’s Quirk is Cat’s Paw, which gives them the ability to transform into a small black and white cat, and also gives them better senses in their ‘human’ form. 

They’ve been on the streets for two years, bouncing in and out of different situations, but tend to spend most of their time as a street cat for the ease of hunting and passing unnoticed. 

Chapter Two: First Meeting 

Echo can’t keep their cat form while sleeping, so they’re always looking for new places to curl up. One day, they find a warehouse full of empty boxes and choose a spot to spend the night. They wake up to Himiko cooing over them, and try to run, but get caught by Dabi while in cat form. 

Turns out the warehouse was a League of Villains meeting location, and the League was a bit confused to find a naked girl sleeping on the floor. They take a few minutes to establish that Echo isn’t a hero agent, and then decide to bring them back to base: their Quirk could be useful, and they’re not keen to have a safehouse compromised. 

Echo ultimately agrees because the League promises them food. 

Once they’re in agreement, Himiko sweeps in and the two of them have an instant connection: a kindred spirit in form and temperament. Echo’s years of hunting have made them well-attuned to blood, and their matching yellow eyes make them look a bit like siblings, whereas they set them both apart from their original families. They’re already bonding on the trip back to base, and they’re besties by the time they get home. 

Chapter Three: Getting Together 

Himiko and Echo share an immediate obsession with each other. After years of unreciprocated affection, having someone who actually liked them back was addictive. While Echo is quite nervous about the other members of the League, that only makes them stick closer to Himiko. The two of them reluctantly split up for the first night, but by the next week, the two of them are sharing a bedroom, unwilling to part ways even for sleeping. 

Echo also gets along quickly with Mr. Compress and Magne. Twice, Spinner, Shigaraki, and Dabi take longer for them to warm up to. They’re nervous around Shigaraki for a long time, aware of his status as the leader and the decision-maker, and they’re very on-edge around Dabi, who is a fire quirk user.

Getting used to Shigaraki is just a matter of time, and eventually Echo and Dabi sit down and have a proper discussion about everything and they end up friends at the end of it, although Dabi will take a little longer to admit it. 

Himiko and Echo getting together basically slams the overall sexual tension in the League through the roof, and eventually everyone figures out their dynamics, with Dabi and Echo forming two different centers of the sexy side of the polycule.

Chapter Four: Where We’re At 

I don’t tend to move this selfship through the BNHA canon, but this selfship starts in the lull between the Forest Training Camp Arc and the Shie Haissaikai arc. I suppose my s/i would probably take part in the Shie Haissaikai part, and saves Magne somehow, but I don’t like doing Big Plots in this selfship, so I don’t want to take it any further than that. 

Anyways, we all live in an apartment together: Twice and Mr. Compress have their own places but spend most of their time with us. Having two people with a civilian persona is useful! The rest of us are kind of recognizable. 

I mostly stay home while the others do villainy stuff: Kurogiri and I work together a lot, but he’s more useful in the field than I am, so I take over a lot of the housework. I’m useful for reconnaissance but not really for fighting. 

When the others are home, we play video games and tease each other and do puzzles and watch TV, all the normal stuff. We do movie marathons and argue about dishes and send Twice out to get ice cream from the corner store at 2am. Me and Himiko are always touching, but the others can come join the cuddle pile. We spend the night in our own room, most times, unless I’m with someone else for the night and then I have to make it up to Toga with a fun date the next day!!! 

Me and Himiko go out clubbing and pick up creepy guys and stab them in alleyways. We order way too many clothes online and have dress up parties and then return them all. We have pillow fights and snowball fights and tickle fights. We joke about running an OnlyFans account for the League. We generally have a lot of fun together!!!!! Every day!! 

[jaythelay]

It's GG. The country has fallen, the whole of us will feel the death of freedom and the ability to buy food.

It's GG. It's over.

Blame can be had but let's be honest, it was rigged, we saw all the gerrymandering, closure of polling places, we heard them threaten to shutdown the government in order to make voting harder, we saw all this and it's pretty blatant.

I also blame dems, the voters for pushing anti-genociders away (turns out ya needed them!!) the politicians for waiting to Do Anything til the latter half of the year. All around the messaging was basically "Don't blame Biden" and "Stop caring about where our Tax dollars are going" and Oof, that flopped.

But it was rigged. Make no mistake, it was rigged as shit. For R's, like every election. It's why ya don't push potential voters away when shit is close. Idunno what to tell ya other than, at least they got a (faux) decent image??

I guess telling voters that they can't nor should try to cooperate with elected officials actually drains confidence from side-viewers. Who knew pro-genocide was such a bad thing.

Ya'll can be mad at people for voting third party or not voting at all, I'm just saying ya made the table of dems for them rather uncomfortable Being Pro-Genocide. It was easier to demand better and be shown they'll listen to us, instead, we got drowned out by pro-genocidal rhetoric just to defend an image instead of doing a good job.

But at the end of the day, it means nothing. It was rigged. And Dem politicians won't do shit to protect us.

It really is blatant for someone who lost every popular election spiraling downward to Randomly be UP in votes. It's bull. Entirely. Nothing was done to improve his image and yet there it goes. Incredible.

Only true, real thing to blame is Biden. He did a Dog Shit Job ya'll. You can scavenge around for his hidden accomplishments but the fact is he didn't change anything in our day to day. Sure, he stopped bad shit happening and that's the bare minimum, he fixed up Dump's garbo job, but he didn't do anything to noticeably impact the day to day. Other than take PR hit after PR hit for dumbass moves.

If dem politicians were serious they'd have really tried. They didn't. They seem to actively push voters away in fact, for those first 3 years.

Really Dems just didn't try til the last half of this year. They really, really didn't. Had they started with Kamala I'm certain it'd been closer. But they waited.

To put it clearly, Biden really fucked us. He really, really, really, fucked us. If you wanted to run No One against Dump, that was Him.

The fake interim president set us up for failure. Just impossible to think otherwise given how awful he was at talking to people. Sure he flubbered some words but he believes so, so little and can't bring the energy for what he does believe. It's just a boring 9-5 to him in my eyes, one he held onto for far too long when he was always supposed to be interim.

Oh well. All in all, I'm really quite stunned. The country actively decided to do the wrong thing, and this time it WILL be felt. The question is, does that even matter? Or is it down to a popularity contest entirely. His policies, his actions, his words, none of it matters, all that matters is the Larp, and the Larp fuckin won.

Still, it was rigged. It was most definitely rigged. Nothing can be done about it. The electoral college is a nightmare. GG folks. GG.

[isaaagloom]

can i talk about how much i hate the ow2 & mha/bnha collab???

i am a HUGGGEEE fan of both ow2 and mha/bnha, but???? ooooh my god???? also all of this is my opinion, i am simply a teenager who's hyperfixated on BOTH THINGS!!!! dont attack me ^_^

i know theres probably a limit to how many skins they can put out at once, how many they can advertise, dadaddaa... howeverrr!!! that does NOT take away from how ass the skin selections were?? (not counting reaper, i’ll get to him later :3)

for one! this was a perrrfect time to give venture a skin, and there were SO many good options!!! the one i've seen the most is venture as izuku, which i think would've looked a lot better than tracer as izuku. 2, everyone says this, but i feel like kiriko should nottttt get one of the mha skins!!!! she has 4 skins in the season that hasnt even started yet. i feel like a greaaaaat pick for toga would be echo!! (toga and echo can both turn into other people, even if their designs dont match well, i think its a cool idea to have a character collab with matching abilities !!!!!! also, robotic toga wouldve been SUCH a cool design) 3, the complete absence of one of the most popular characters in mha... :(( I AM MOURNNNINNNGGGGG the loss of junkrat bakugo. bakugo has won sooo many recent popularity polls, and with junkrat becoming a bit more popular recently, i feel like giving junkrat a bakugo skin was just?... necessary? clearly not!!!!!! not only do the two have similar abilities, they also look sooooo much alike!!!!!! it wouldve probably been the easiest skin in the collab to make!!! v upset ab this

4, extras because siighhhhhhh!!!!

pharah as uraraka, juno as mina, genji as iida, ana as tamaki, d.va as tsuyu, ashe as camie, cassidy as snipe, lucio as kirishima, hanzo as aizawa OBVIOUSLY.

^^ and thats just off the top of my head! they couldve put sooo many better options into this crossover, but they did NONE !!!:3 i know its smarter to do more recognizable characters from mha AND ow2, but that doesnt mean you need to be basic and lazy with your choices! ending on a good note, reaper skin is so cool. probably one of the only skins i like from this crossover! shigaraki & reaper is such a cool combo and now that its a skin its evennnnn better!!!!

k im done with my rant im tired. ow please get better at choosing skins im begging on my hands and knees (ignore any spelling or grammar errors pls......)

[im-writing-extra]

zero apologies for this chapter. theoretically the next one should have more Yord but idk. oh thanks to everyone who voted on my poll! you chose the one I was going to do anyway lol.

table of contents

chapter 8 - the road less traveled

Mornings at the Jedi Temple are a loud affair. Knight’s quarters are farther away from the younglings than the padawans are, but their clamoring can be heard throughout the halls at the first crack of dawn. You’ve never been able to tune it out and today is no exception.

Yord on the other hand is fast asleep. It’s a rarity. In all the years you’ve known him, he’s always been the one to wake up first; but he’s sleeping soundly here in your bed. You wonder how many times you’ll be able to wake up next to him. You hope it’s enough that you lose count. 

You carefully extricate yourself from his grip. He has ten minutes and then you’re waking him up but until then, you re-familiarize yourself with your room.

Everything seems to be in order, but a scrap of paper pushed under your door catches your eye. You frown. That wasn’t there when you went to bed.

You pick it up and unfold it to see a note in Imanu’s strangely flawless handwriting. You smile at its contents before frowning again. Imanu Venez was outside your door last night, and you didn’t hear him. You’re relatively certain he didn’t knock, but what if he had? Did he linger in the hallway? Could he have heard something?

You replay the night in your mind, this time with a critical eye. You have a vivid recollection of slapping your hand against Yord’s mouth and sinking your teeth into his shoulder in an effort to keep quiet. 

There is no way he could have heard, right?

Right.

You shake off the anxiety and turn back to Yord. He’s completely sprawled out on your bed, taking up the space you just occupied. His mouth is parted slightly, and you walk over, crawl on top of him, and lower your mouth to his. He blinks once, twice, the inhales sharply as he wakes up.

“Morning,” he rasps.

“Hello, my love,” you reply. “Sleep well?”

Yord nods, then rolls you over so he’s on top. “I should be asking you that,” he replies as he reaches for your hair. “How’s your hand?”

You say, “Weird,” then push him off you to get dressed. You flex it involuntarily as you open a drawer to find a robe. Yord starts dressing in last night’s clothes, a testament to how much he loves you.

You struggle with the tie around your waist; your hand isn’t quite sore, but you’re aware of it in a new way. It felt normal the other day but that must have been the meds. It folds like your hand used to, but you can definitely feel the crystals grind together.

“Here,” Yord says from behind. He helps you with the tie and fastens your belt. You sigh. You’ve never been great at handling injuries.

Scratch that: you’ve never been good at being taken care of.

It makes you feel incapable, like you aren’t able to handle being a Jedi. A Jedi Knight should not need help getting dressed. You step into your boots, refusing to look at Yord.

“I’m going to see Master Yoda. I’d imagine he has a lot of questions for me. And Venez left me a note saying the Council has been considering me to teach some of the younglings, so I’m going to have to talk to Master Lakshay later too and I don’t know how long that will take.”

You don’t explicitly tell him you don’t want to see him, but he knows anyway. And you’re sure it hurts him, it would hurt you if the roles were reversed, but it’s overshadowed by the lingering question you’ve been trying to push from the back of your mind.

What if you can’t fight the way you used to?

A critical part of Jedi combat is being able to wield a lightsaber. What if you can’t anymore? What if it hurts, what if you’ve lost the ability to perform some skills, and what are you supposed to do with a second kyber crystal?

Yord can’t read your mind, but he certainly can read your face.

He reaches for your left hand and traces a line along the palm.

“You’re fine,” he says. “I promise. Dalphri and Imanu want to do dinner tonight. Will you be there?”

You want to say no, but none of you have ever skipped dinner debriefing. Rescheduled, sure. Relocated, of course. But bailed completely?

Never.

You half-nod, unable to actually form the word yes, but Yord smiles a crooked smile anyway.

“Perfect,” he says. “I’ll see you then.” 

He strokes your cheek once then heads out the door.

—

The Jedi High Council would be intimidating to you, probably, except Master Yoda’s there and you’re not intimidated by him, so why would you feel nervous around anyone else?

You aren’t surprised to see Master Lakshay present as well. He was your lightsaber instructor as a padawan, and had often stayed late to answer your questions or to teach an obscure sparring technique. He doesn’t smile at you, but he throws a wink in your direction.

“Master,” you say with a slight bow.

“Knight,” he returns. “Here for my job, I see.”

You grin. “Master, we both knew it was a matter of time. And look at you, you’re getting much too old to be chasing around all those younglings all the time.”

He shrugs. “They age you, that is certain. But I’m still capable enough to beat you. Say, tomorrow after the noon class?”

Master Lakshay looks at you expectantly. After all, you’ve never been one to turn down a challenge. But you flex your hand and feel a shock of anxiety travel from your chest to your fingertips. This morning’s questions still linger in your mind, and they are much louder and more real than you would care to admit.

But you’re the best swordsman of your generation. Possibly of a few generations in the past and future as well. So you shrug with as much confidence as you can muster and say, “Of course- if you’re not too tired.”

At that, Master Lakshay lets out a loud guffaw, accompanied by chuckles from various nearby council members.

“I wish I had time to come see that,” Master Piel comments.

The Council doors shut with commanding thud, and everyone turns to see Master Yoda.

“Quick, we shall keep this. Much to discuss have I with my padawan,” he says as he makes his way to his chair. You’re standing in the center of the room with Master Lakshay off to the side. Yoda nods, and Lakshay begins speaking.

“I’d like some help with the older younglings,” he says. “They need practical training from someone who is able to teach various forms and styles that aren’t necessarily my forte. Particularly forms such as Ataru or Soresu.”

“And a form of Djem So,” Master Piel interjects. “The Council has deemed it necessary for younglings to have a closer study of Jar’Kai before they are chosen as padawans, and Master Yoda has informed us you have come into possession of another kyber crystal.”

“Come into- yes, I have come into possession of one,” you stutter. “But I haven’t been able to build a lightsaber yet. And my understanding of Jar’Kai is rudimentary at best-”

The Council titters.

“Your ‘rudimentary understanding’ is considered a mastery among most Jedi,” Master Rwoh interrupts. You blush, a deep red the blooms from your chest, up your neck, and onto your cheeks. You’ve never felt particularly comfortable with this type of direct, public praise (except when it comes to outshining Yord) and you feel even less comfortable with your potential impediment. You carefully feel for the lightsaber attached at your hip and slowly run your fingers over the hilt as to not attract attention. 

Master Lakshay’s speaking again, saying something about the benefits of teaching, but you’re not really listening. 

You had assumed that you would be an assistant of sorts, or teach theory and basic Shii-Cho. That you’d be walking around a room full of younglings and helping them with their grip or their stance. Not training groups of almost-padawans in double-bladed combat.

As you feel the cool metal of your lightsaber, you allow yourself to feel everything else around you. 

There’s an avian perched outside the window, a rarity on Coruscant.

You hear the pull of thread as Dalphri makes sure a stitch is taut. The rattling of a multi-tool and smell of grease as Venez tinkers with a ship. Yord pacing outside the door-

Yord.

He’s supposed to be reviewing diplomatic policy the Archives. You’re so focused on his footsteps that you almost miss Master Yoda interrupting Master Rwoh.

“To Alderaan, we have decided to send you. Temporary this teaching position is. For your own benefit, and for the younglings we believe it will be. We shall discuss further questions privately.”

He taps his walking stick on the floor once, a signal that the meeting is adjourned. The Council gets up and disperses, but you make your way toward Master Yoda. 

“Temporary?” you hear Master Lakshay say to Master Rwoh. “That isn’t what was discussed.”

You don’t catch her reply. You greet Yoda as he points to the door. “A walk we will take.”

You push open the doors and brush past Yord, who stops himself from speaking when he sees Yoda. Your shoulder burns where it touched his but neither of you acknowledge the other. Whatever he was going to tell you will have to wait.

“About the vergence I will not ask, unless talk about it you wish to. Ready, you do not seem to be; yet a conversation we must have.”

This is not uncommon. Often the two of you will walk and talk and suddenly instead of telling him what you thought was wrong, something else entirely comes spilling out.

“Master, the Jedi code decrees attachments are forbidden,” you say. This is the beginning of a question you have tossed around since becoming a padawan, but you have never voiced it before. You’ve never had the need- just accepted it as a flaw, a minor oversight; but one that strengthened the Jedi rather than weakened them. 

“Perhaps a question, in there you have?” Master Yoda asks, twinkle in his eye.

The corner of your mouth twitches, the barest hint of a smile.

“All attachments are forbidden, as decreed by the code. We are allowed compassion alone, yet most if not all Jedi form deep friendships with each other. This is overlooked time and time again in favor of romantic partnerships, which are not expressly forbidden in the code. Jedi must accept the transitional, ever-changing nature of life. Is that not possible with romantic love? What differentiates it from the attachments formed between friends, or even master and padawan? Masters are told not to form familial bonds with their padawans, yet very few listen. And they go without consequence. Should we not be learning how to exist within these varied relationships in accordance to the Order instead of picking and choosing which we vilify?”

The twinkle is gone. Yoda’s face is etched with a deep frown as he taps his cane on the marble floor.

“An intricate question, you ask,” he finally says. “One perhaps unstudied. Ancient, the Jedi code is. For our detriment, it is not; but rather our betterment. Glad I am that me, you asked. As understanding, another master would not be.”

You’ve known Master Yoda long enough to know when he’s steering you off course. He doesn’t have the answer, and disappointment hits you in a solid wave. 

There is no scenario in which you or Yord leave the Order. There is no scenario in which you or Yord leave each other. You picture the future, twenty years from now, still sneaking around. Perhaps you’re stationed far apart from each other, unable to communicate lest you raise suspicion. Could either of you really live like that?

The memory of Yord’s lips on yours flashes before your eyes. You’re not sure you could live in a system where he never touches you again, never traces a finger down your spine, never meets your eyes with an intensity brighter than the suns of Tatooine. 

“Jolee Bindo,” Yoda says, breaking through your reverie. “Files of him there are, in the Archives. Interesting, you may find them. If asked who sent you, my name do not say.”

You look down at him and into his once-again sparkling eyes and realize, he’s helping. Master Yoda feels the same attachment toward you that he teaches other Jedi masters to disregard. He wants you to succeed. He wants you to find the answer, wherever it may lead, position on the High Council be damned. Whatever you find about Jolee Bindo must have some sort of answer to the question you’re really asking. You’re under no illusion that you’re fooling Master Yoda, although you do hope he hasn’t guessed the specifics.

“Knight Fandar,” he says, sending a jolt through your body. You think, does he know? but years of Jedi training help you school your expression. 

“To Alderaan the council is sending you,” Yoda continues and you’re flooded with relief. That’s Yord’s home planet and culturally similar to yours. It’s been a long while since you’ve been there and you’ve never gone with Yord before. 

The Council has often paired the two of you together, or sent Dalphri, Venez, and his former master along. The Jedi have always believed in creating the most cohesive teams as possible; you’re pretty sure that most (if not all) of your teachers purposely cultivated your friend group for that purpose. It’s been a strange transition from going on assignments with Master Yoda to being responsible for yourself. Certainly not unwelcome, just strange. 

“Listening intently you are,” Yoda quips and you laugh. 

“I’m sorry Master, I just have a lot on my mind.”

Yoda says, “Hm,” and nothing else. You continue walking in silence for a few paces and you realize you’re headed toward the training rooms.

Yoda opens the door to a particularly secluded sparring grounds and reaches for his lightsaber.

“Rusty I am,” he says, but that’s a lie. You know exactly what’s happening here and once again, he’s guessed exactly what’s on your mind. 

“Master,” you begin to protest, but he’s pointing a green blade at your throat so you have little choice but to draw your saber. The blue beam comes to life with a familiar hum, and you feel the kyber crystal harmonize in your chambers. 

I can do this. I am one with the Force.

But you’re afraid. 

You’re afraid to use your left hand and be proven right so you don’t; Yoda attacks and you block, restricting your grip to the right hand only.

It’s easier than you remember, but you’ve trained for this. Technically you can fight single-handedly and had studied specifically for the event that you lost an arm. You hadn’t planned on it and you preferred to keep both of your limbs, but life is unpredictable.

You block and parry, but with no real offensive maneuver. You’ve never been one to underestimate Yoda due to his size; he taught you how to use it to your advantage through Ataru when you were younger. He’s not pulling his proverbial punches, either. In fact, if you didn’t know better, you’d think he was actually trying to kill you.

Combat is a bit like a dance- you have to be sure of your steps and know them so well you don’t have to think about it. You have to be mindful of your opponent, both where they are and where they will be. You fall into the familiar rhythm as you step, step, block. Step, turn, duck. You’re waiting for the perfect opportunity to disarm Yoda, to make the move he can’t block.

For half a moment, as he leaps through the air in a horribly perfect somersault, you see it.

You barely think as you exhale, I am one with the Force, and reach up while he passes overhead.

He wasn’t expecting it so his grip on his lightsaber isn’t as firm as it should be. He lands and you hold your saber in one hand and his in the other, criss-crossed at his neck.

Yoda smiles and reaches, and from seemingly nowhere he has a yellow blade in his hand. It’s not his size, but he wields it with grace. He rushes you with full force but your instincts are too sharp. It’s easier with two blades, and it reminds you of your days as a padawan studying Jar’Kai with Master Lakshay. 

You sense someone bearing down behind you and block with one hand, using the other to fend off Yoda.

You push Yoda away so you can get a good look at your new opponent. Master Sol smiles as he forms a classic Djem So stance. 

Yoda is on one side, Sol on the other. You twirl your sabers and breathe. Everything’s quiet. Nothing is wrong. The only thing you hear is your own breaths and the clash of lightsaber upon lightsaber.

It feels good to spar and not be certain of a win, but to know a loss won’t result in death. Dalphri has never been able to beat you in combat, but both Yord and Venez have come close. Still, you love the thrill of fighting Jedi Masters. 

It’s a first, fighting two Force-wielders against one like this, so you have to calculate a win. How can you disarm both of them in a way where neither will catch you off guard? You dive and roll in an attempt to get them on one side of you, instead of two but you’re barely on your feet before they’re on you again.

You feel more people in the room but you’ll pay better attention once you don’t have two lightsabers swinging at you.

No- three lightsabers. 

A green one joins the fray but you’re undeterred. It’s harder for more than two to attack a single person at once, and they have to be in perfect sync in order to avoid tripping over one another. You can use their weakness to your advantage. 

Unfortunately, Masters Battchi and Sol have been complementing each other’s fighting styles for years. Paired with Master Yoda’s attack on a lower plane, they make formidable opponents. 

You push them all away and reassess. 

“Some more assistance we might need,” Yoda calls which two other masters take as an invitation to join the fray.

He wouldn’t do this with any other Jedi and to an outsider, it might even seem unfair. But this is your element- 

They don’t stand a chance.

The room is filled now as Jedi of all ages and ranks stop to see what’s happening. Each breath comes quicker than normal, but you’re grinning with each strike and flip. You land a particularly solid kick to Master Battchi’s chest, more of a push than anything, but it’s simultaneous with a difficult defense against two other sabers. You lose your footing for the barest hint of a second but that’s all it takes for five lightsabers to be pointed at your neck.

You could surrender now, it’s not a huge loss. But you catch sight of Yord and the youngling, Jecki, both watching you with similar awed expressions and that’s all it takes to drop your lightsabers and push. All five masters are thrown to the sides of the arena and you hold them there. It takes effort, especially as they struggle to get out of your hold, but finally Master Yoda drops his weapon with the loudest laugh you’ve ever heard from him. The other four follow suit as the training room erupts in applause.

It’s hard to catch your breath, especially now the adrenaline has worn off. You crouch on the floor and focus on inhaling through your nose and out through your mouth until a pair of boots comes to a stop in your line of sight.

You look up to see Jecki staring down at you. 

“That was wicked,” she says. “Can you teach me how to do that? I heard Master Mundi saying you were replacing Master Lakshay.”

“I’m not,” you tell her, but don’t elaborate. You give yourself a shake and stand up. “What are you doing here?”

Jecki shrugs and follows you as you squeeze your way through the crowd. You dodge compliments and slaps on the back as you look for Yord.

“Everyone was in here watching something and I was curious. You’re pretty good with a lightsaber,” she says. You snort. Pretty good. That’s probably the most accurate assessment of your skills you’ve heard in a long time.

Jecki asks, “Could you teach me?” and that stops you in your tracks. You turn to face her which is impressive, because it’s still very crowded.

You say, “I’m going to teach the younglings for a bit before my next assignment,” but Jecki shakes her head. “I’m talking about me. Can you teach me how to fight like that? I’m a good student. You can ask Master Sol.”

“Maybe,” you reply.  “Where the actual kriff is Yord?”

Jecki shrugs. “Probably off being stuck up somewhere. Does he ever smile?”

“Yes,” you say a little too emphatically. Jecki reminds you of you, funnily enough. A strange mix of formal and comedic with an affinity to pick on Yord. 

You don’t want a padawan, but having Jecki trail behind you feels- normal? Good? You’re not sure, but it’s not as bad as you thought it might be. You spot your by the door and as you push your way through the throng he reaches for your hand. You grab it and he pulls you the last few feet to him and then sweeps you out into the hall.

“Here,” he says. “I grabbed this for you.”

He hands you your lightsaber, which you’d forgotten on the ground. You clip it to your belt and frown. “We’re going to Alderaan,” you say.

“I know. We should talk about it later. I don’t think now is the most appropriate time.” Yord glances behind you with a wrinkled nose. “Jecki.”

“Yord,” she sniffs.

She notes your apologetic expression and laughs. “She’s so cool, Yord. Maybe someday she’ll rub off on you.”

You drag Yord away before he can retort. You take him all the way from the training halls to the living quarters. You punch in the code to his room and shut the door behind you.

Alone once more, Yord says, “That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” then he takes your open mouth as an invitation. He kisses you with an intensity that makes your head spin, and you feel the same way you did as when you first held your lightsaber. He pulls away and your eyes flutter.

“I could ruin you,” he breathes.

You reply, “I know,” but you actually consider what he’s saying. You have a long, theoretically illustrious Jedi career ahead of you and getting caught in a romantic relationship with a fellow will completely destroy any chance you have at fulfilling your potential.

“I’m serious,” he says.

You pause and take a good look at his face. You can see it’s weighing heavily on his mind, and the fact that he’s so considerate of your future almost makes you want to cry.

Instead, you wrap your arms around his neck and say, “Then ruin me.”