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gotnofucks · 3 years

Text

Chemical Romance

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Summary: Chris won’t have you running away from him. You’re his. He owns your heart, and now he’ll own all of you.

Words: 4.5k

Warnings: RPF, smut, slight dubcon(ish), jealous and possessive Chris, toxic relationship, recording without permission, forced marriage

A/N: I wrote this months ago and pulled it out to share it with my bestie @donutloverxo . Berry finally convinced me to post this and helped me beta this. Babe, I love you!

You were way past your teenage years, and yet you had the urge to giggle like one. If you licked your lips, you could still taste the trace of wine that had stained his lips. The memory of them pressing against you, brushing gently until they tangled in a mix of tongue and teeth had a delicious heat burning in your face. This was a good date, the third good date with a good man you met, and you were excited for more.

Looking over your shoulder you saw the lights of his car disappearing in the dark of night and you sighed contently, shutting your door behind you and dropping your keys in the bowl by the door. All of a sudden, your body broke into goosepimples, a chill settling over you and it took you a moment to understand why. Your body was recognizing the dark presence before your mind could.

“Good evening sweetheart. Had a good date?”

The door was right behind you, you could easily grab your car keys right now and run away. And yet all you could do was hold onto the wall as your knees trembled. You’d never been good at running away from him anyway.

Chris was lounging on your sofa, watching you with those arresting blue eyes that you knew changed shades with his mood. His beard was thicker than the last you’d seen him, and his lips were pulled into a sardonic smirk, eyes glinting furiously.

“How?” You sputtered, still rooted to your spot. You could run, you should run, but you knew you wouldn’t go far. He let you go only so far to give you a false sense of achievement, a mere taste of relief and freedom until he snatched you back to himself.

“I always think that every time you leave, it would be the last. You’ll realize that its futile, you’ll realize that we’re meant to be together.” Chris said, “But never did I imagine you to be stupid enough to be with another man.”

His voice had been described as dreamy by many, even by yourself, but right now it only rang of danger and anger. Softness was Chris’s weapon, to deliver the meanest words with a smile that was poison sweet. One time, you had loved to taste that poison yourself. Did it still run in your veins and taint you?

Looking at you from under his lashes, he spread his legs and beckoned you to him. You gulped before following, not daring to look away from him until you were before him.

“Kneel” He ordered softly. You knees hit the ground, the rug digging into your skin. He watched you watch him, eyes locked in a dialog of their own until his rough hand caressed the skin of your cheek. You leaned into his touch, hating yourself for being a slave to him and your desire. Even on your knees, the familiar feeling of peace flooded your senses. Nothing made you feel as alive as worshiping him. And nothing killed you as much as loving him.

“Please” You begged, pressing a kiss into his palm. “Don’t do this to me.”

Chris regarded you with a look that was almost tender, his blue eyes staring into your own as if unearthing every secret you had ever kept from him. He pulled you closer, close enough to have you raise up and hold his shoulders while his lips brushed gently against yours.

“For as long as I live, you are mine. You know that. Why must you fight it?”

It had been a couple months since you last saw him, since the pads of his fingers had glided over the curves of your body and claimed you as his. You melted, you melted like the butter in a hot pan, sizzling with the heat of his ardor. One taste of him and you were ready to forget why you had left him, why you had packed up and left his house when he was out. Chris Evans didn’t just play your body, he also played your heart. He loved you so hard that it hurt.

You wondered if you should fight, if you should scream or cry. But you knew it the moment you walked inside your house tonight: you were going nowhere but to him. He held you as you captured his lips in yours, a hand fisting his hair and tugging. He pulled until you were on his lap, his beard scratching your skin and reminding you of all the ways he had marked you before.

Panting, you pulled away when he breathily whispered your name, eyes liquid and feral and kind. He was a man of many layers and you had unveiled the darkest of them. He no longer hid the rawest parts of him, and you never knew if it was a good thing or not.

“Pack up, I’m taking you back home.” He said, hands settling on your waist. “I am not spending one more night in a bed without you.”

You nodded, stealing another kiss until you surrendered to his demands. Again.

Dodger ran to you, whining and wagging his tail as you sat down to give him better access. You’d missed your furry companion, his coat soft on your cheek when you nuzzled into him. Chris chuckled, rolling your bags into his room while you and Dodger had your little reunion.

“I am so sorry Bubba” You cooed to him, scratching behind his ears. “I missed you so much. Did you miss me, hmm?”

Dodger barked, rubbing his body against you. You laughed, cuddling your little boy. You’d missed waking upto him snuggled by your feet and the soft pattering of his feet as he followed you around.

“He didn’t eat right for a week after you left. You were being a bad mommy.” Chris said coming behind you. He petted Dodger before pulling you up by your arm, your chest flushed to his. You loved how he smelled of coffee and beer and cinnamon. He tasted of them too, bitter and addictive.

Your fingers traced a path in his beard, lips pressing into the hollow of his throat. It scared you how much power he had over you. You’d promised yourself you’ll break away from his hold when you found him snooping in your phone again. His possessiveness knew no bounds. If Chris had it his way, he’d hide you in a castle made only for his eyes. But right now, in the heaven of his arms, you couldn’t remember why you left him in the first place.

“I am sorry.” You whispered, hugging him tight. His arms came around you, holding you so possessively close that even death couldn’t rip you apart. Chemical romance, that’s how Scott had explained your relationship once. Your friends had stopped complaining, had stopped warning after losing count over how often you broke up and got back together.

“I am so pissed at you.” He said in your ear, breath warm on your skin. “I want to erase every lingering trace of that man’s touch from your body. But more than that, I need to remind you who you belong to.”

You refused to look at him, burying your head in his chest even as you held him tighter.

“I belong to you. I know it baby, I made a mistake.” You said, voice muffled. Chris tutted, pushing your face away firmly as he forced you to meet his intense gaze.

“Here I am, feeling guilty for even touching other women during a scene that is supposed to be my job. And my girl goes around fucking other men because we had an argument?” He hissed, a nerve throbbing in his temple. You pouted, bottom lip wobbling as you tried not to cry. You were raised to be a strong woman, someone who could speak for herself. How was it so easy for this man to reduce you to a sniveling woman for something that wasn’t even your fault.

“I didn’t fuck him.” You countered and Chris’s eyes flashed. You stared at each other until Chris practically growled and dragged you towards the bedroom. Dodger trailed behind you, stopping once Chris ordered him to stay put.

His bedroom, a space you had shared and abandoned all too many times was the same as always. It reeked of his aftershave and cologne, the stars winking at you from the window that overlooked the ground. Chris shut the door, rounding on you and pushing you towards the bed.

“You didn’t fuck him?” He spat, ticked off. “You let him touch you, you let him put his hands on what belongs to me.”

You shivered as your back met the cold sheets, bouncing slightly on the mattress. His anger was scary, but more than that it was exciting. It was you who had brought this strong, powerful man to this animalistic side. You, who could make him scowl and shout and get his heart pumping enough to bring blood to his face. You, who made him primitive as he held you down and fucked you into submission.

“We only kissed.” You said, knowing how to provoke him. That kiss was nice, it was sweet. But your body craved rough and hard, it craved to be possessed and used and worshiped. It craved Chris who left his handprints on your butt and his spent in your cunt. It craved Chris who kissed you until you were out of breath, who whispered the filthiest things to you as he buried himself in your warmth over and over until you were too hoarse to even cry.

He knew it, he read that in your eyes and in your touch that seared through the layers of clothes on his body. He knew you were getting under his skin on purpose, hurting him the way he hurt you so many times. Neither of you held back.

You tore away at his clothes, bucking your hips frantically in a bid to get closer. Chris cursed, squeezing your ass in his large hands and grounding his hardness on your thigh.

“You are testing me” He warned, naked flesh touching yours and hands entwining. You ignored him, the wetness dripping down your core begging his attention.

“Eat me” You cried, wiggling under him. He held fast, rubbing his cock on your abdomen, groaning softly. He nuzzled your neck, kissing softly on the spot he knew drove you wild. His weight prevented you from moving too much, not allowing you to do anything for yourself.

“You don’t tell me what to do baby. Not after letting another man touch you. Not after you walked out on me again.” He said angrily, forcing his gentle touch on your body that craved his roughness. You sobbed against his mouth, getting drunk on his lazy kisses and feather soft caresses. You knew what he was doing, you knew he wanted you to break and beg. And you had no dignity.

“Please” You begged, pathetically with tears in your eyes. “Give me what I want Chris. I’ll be good to you, I promise.”

He smirked, sucking a pert nipple in his mouth and rolling it between his tongue. You moaned, struggling to move more. It wasn’t enough to have you under him. He needed more than your compliance. He needed your surrender, he needed you to love him with a hunger as great as his. He was greedy.

“Even when you beg, you look like a goddess. You’re my angel, but I’m not gonna let you go to heaven. We’ll sin together in hell.”

He dove in, tongue swiping away your juice in a practiced move as you howled at the suddenness of his attack. Your thighs held his head captive between their plump flesh, mewls spilling from your mouth without restraint as he finally gave you what you wanted. You pulled on his hair, steering him closer to your core that was flaming under his mouth and flooding with pleasure.

“Oh Chris!” You moaned, writhing and trembling. You had missed his beard scratching the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, missed his nails digging in your flesh to keep you steady, missed his tongue poking inside your warm cavern to taste your sweet nectar. Chris never worshiped you like a devotee to the lord. He worshipped you like a man summoning the devil, by spilling blood and leaving marks that stain the soul.

“Look at you go darling, so beautiful” He praised, easing a finger inside you and curling it. You threw your head back, shattering with an orgasm that took your breath away. Pleasure was a feeling you were familiar with, but combined with Chris’s love and anger, it formed the most intoxicating mix that got you dizzy.

He kissed the swollen head of your clit, gently easing you down from your high with praises whispered directly to your leaking cunt. He cupped your pussy, grinding his heels against you as your eyes met.

“Nobody else will touch you here. Or anywhere else for that matter.” He ordered and you nodded, still desperate for him. His cock was red and angry, warm drops of precum leaking over your stomach and you tugged at him, asking to fill you up.

“Chris, I need you inside me. Please.”

He crawled up and laid beside you, jerking you on top of him. Your hands found his chest, lightly playing with his nipples and the spattering of hair there before moving down to cup his hardness and his balls. He jerked at the first contact, closing his eyes as his breath hitched and you smiled at your own effect over him. You could reduce him to a mess just as well he could to you.

Pumping his length, you licked it slowly, lathering it with your saliva. You remembered the day you’d named it Cumstopher Rogers and he’d slapped you with it, making you choke on him until you had to apologize.

“Put me inside you now because if I have to take over, I’ll choose which hole it goes in and you probably won’t like it.” He growled in impatience. You clenched, his threats going straight to your core.

You positioned yourself over him, sinking slowly and gently, feeling every part of him against your spongy walls. With your thighs flush to his, you stopped to just let the feeling of fullness last a little longer. No matter how many times you’d been with each other, the feeling of Chris being so deep inside you never got old. If you could, you’d never be empty.

“All my holes like your cock Mr. Evans. And I? I love it and your butt and your chest and arms and face and everything else.”

You moved at a slow pace, bouncing gently while holding onto his thighs. Taking his hand in yours, you placed it on your chest, asking him to play with your nipples as you rode him.

“You feeling powerful, baby? You feeling good bouncing on my dick?” He asked, pinching a nipple almost to the point of pain. You nodded, leaning down to kiss him as he started thrusting up a little, hitting your cervix when he went too deep. You rolled your belly, clenching your muscles around his length so that his eyes flew open and hands dug into the softness of your butt.

“Oh Chris, I missed this.” You told him, tasting the sweat on his temple. He nodded, his huge arms wrapping around you and pulling you intimately close.

“I missed you too, which is why I will make sure you never leave me. This is not your power move, this is mine.” He darkly murmured and your eyes met his in confusion. He looked at the side and you followed his gaze, mouth dropping open at the camera that blinked at you with a red light on.

“What the fuck, Chris?” You shout, trying to move away when he rolled you over and under him, thrusting in hard.

“Oh yes, what the fuck baby” He said, holding your wrists as he picked up his pace. “You think it’s okay to pack a bag and leave me every time? You think it’s okay to date other men, to kiss other men? You are mine. And if anyone needs proof of that, now I can show it to them.”

You cried out as he went harder, a pressure building deep inside your belly. Tears escaped your eyes, gazing into blue ones that you loved and hated with a passion. You could have asked him to stop now, you could shout that you don’t want him and he’s sick. But you didn’t. You knew he would stop if you really wanted him to, and as much as your heart broke and your chest tightened with hurt, you loved him. You loved his twisted ways to keep you with him. You loved it when he went above and beyond, got crazy in his desire for you. You were wanted. You were cherished.

“Fuck you.” You cursed, meeting every thrust of his with a raise of your hips. Your eyes closed, sweat dripping down your body as you let the animalistic part of you take over, screaming and tearing and fucking each other like two people whose only goal in life was to be embedded in the other’s heart and psyche.

“I’d like to see you try to walk out tomorrow after tonight.” Chris said, delivering punishing strokes that were agonizing and titillating, that were fire and ice. You held onto him, leaving crescent shaped scars to join the numerous tattoos across his body. He took you apart, fucked you so good all you could do was say him name and fall in a glittery haze of his presence. He came inside you, filling you to the brim and crushing your body with his weight.

You weren’t leaving, that much was obvious.

Throwing in your clothes haphazardly in the bag, you promised yourself this would be the last time you did this. You will not come back to this house and this bed. Chris and you were done for good. The past few months had followed the same pattern. You both rekindling the dying flame of your relationship, mending the broken hearts and trust until it went back to hell.

There were too many arguments, too much shouting and angry sex. Every time you sat down to talk, it ended with your legs in the air. Your mother was right. He wasn’t right for you. Chris wanted to be your hero and your villain. He wanted you to think of nobody but him. Any friends and family that warned you against him had to be cut off. He’ll dismiss every article the paparazzi published about him but would throw a fit if you so much as smiled at the cashier in the grocery store. He kept you close like a dog on a leash, feeling jealous at the very sight of you talking to any man. You’d wanted to give this relationship a chance, but as of twenty minutes ago, Chris had made sure it was over.

You wondered about taking your pictures, but it was better to stay away from any temptations. This was happening, and as much as it broke your heart, you will not come back to him. Zipping up your bag, you straightened just as Chris stormed inside the room, jaw clenched in anger.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He barked, “Put your stuff back. I’ll be damned if I let you leave me again.”

You scowled at him, wiping the stray tears from your eyes. He had no right to ask anything of you, not after what he had just done.

“Fuck off Chris. I am leaving, and you can’t stop me.” You shouldered past him, sadly looking at Dodger who was whining softly as he watched you move. He had seen this happen enough times to know that you’re not coming home.

Chris marched behind you, snatching your wrist and pulling you back to himself. The blue in his eyes was darker, like the sky covered in thunder clouds. You squirmed, pushing against him.

“You. Are. Not. Leaving.” He hissed, looking scary and mad.

“How dare you? After what you did today?” You sobbed, hitting your fists on his chest. He held your jaw, bringing your face closer to him so he could peer into your watery eyes.

“I proposed! I got down on one knee. What the fuck is your problem?” He shouted, spittle flying from his mouth.

You shook your head, looking at him with an expression of disbelief. Is he that oblivious?

“Marriage is permanent Chris” You said, voice suddenly soft. “Marriage is living your life devoted to your partner. We can’t break up and leave and come back again. It’s a responsibility. You and I, we haven’t been able to keep a stable relationship. How the hell will we keep a happy marriage?”

Chris frowned, not liking what you said. He pushed you against the wall, caging you in with his huge arms on either side. You could smell the chocolate and wine on his breath from dinner, his hair all messed up from when he ran his hands through it. On his neck still hung the necklace you’d got him.

“Look at me” He said, pressing his forehead to yours. You breathed deeply, finding it difficult to maintain an eye contact as charged with anger and passion as this one. “You love me, you still love me. It’s all in your eyes. Why won’t you marry me?”

You wanted to curl into a ball and cry. Why did loving him have to be so difficult? Was love worth the fights, the tears and pain and loss of independence? Was loving him enough to keep you going? You were so tired of this back and forth with him. You’d never even talked about marriage before, having been too busy trying to keep any sort of relationship alive. Why would he do this to you?

As your limbs got heavier, you leaned forward and hugged him. You held him to yourself, soaking in his warmth and smell inside you for what would be the last time. You could not give up so much of yourself to sustain this love. Soon enough, there would be nothing more to give and the love would be dead.

“You need to let me go Christopher” You said to him, lips close to his ear. “You need to understand that love is only the beginning. I can’t keep doing this anymore. Please, just let me go.”

Chris hugged you tighter, his head resting over yours and heart beating strong beneath your hand. He was your night, full of twinkling stars and dark mysteries. But dawn was approaching fast, and you needed to bid goodbye to the moon to greet the sun that awaited you.

“Never.” He promised, “You are never leaving me again. I’ll fucking make sure of it.”

He picked you up suddenly, ignoring your protests as he carried you back into the bedroom. Kicking your bag aside, he dropped you on the bed, raising a finger to stop you. He took out the ring from his pocket, the very one you had refused this evening and held it to you.

“Put this on.” He ordered and you rubbed your eyes in exasperation.

“No.”

You both glared at each other, adrenaline coursing through your veins. Fighting with Chris had always been a thrill, more often than not ending with wild sex on any and all surfaces in sight. But today you were determined to end it. You’d not let yourself become weak at the sight of his cock.

“Okay then, you’ve left me no choice.” Chris said. He picked up his phone and tapped away on it, doing god knows what. You sighed, getting up and putting your stuff together again, ignoring his presence behind you. Chris threw his phone on the bed, looking stoically at you work. You were just folding the last of your clothes when your phone started buzzing. You ignored it for a minute, but it kept up, almost falling off the table with its vibrations.

“What the fuck” You gasped, looking at the hundreds of notifications pouring in as more followed. You quickly opened your Instagram to see you’d been tagged by Chris.

And she said YES!

Below that caption was a picture of the both of you from a couple months ago, cuddled up and smiling at each other.

Comments and likes from everyone were popping in, and soon enough, you saw your mother’s call. You stared at Chris, utterly in disbelief. What had he done?

“Try saying no now. You’d be the bitch who broke Chris Evans’s heart, the bitch who played him. Try walking in public between people who’d see you only as a slut and nothing more.”

Your world came crashing down. You were not some hotshot celebrity like Chris. You were just a girl trying to live her life the best way she knew how to, and how it ended up entangled with this man you’d never understand. Even if you shouted from the rooftops the truth of today, no one would believe you. Chris’s fans would tear you to shreds, destroy your life with their mean comments and attacks. And your family would not be spared either. They’ll be exposed to a celebrity scandal, dragged through the mud along with your good name.

“Oh god Chris, what have you done?” You choked out, falling to your knees. He came before you, gently caressing your head before kneeling in front of you. Cupping your face, he kissed you deep and hard, countering your hate with his love that hit you like your own kryptonite.

“I told you. I told you I’ll never let you leave.” He breathed against your mouth, pulling you closer. You dug your nails in his arms, hurting him with the hurt he just caused you, but he didn’t even flinch.

“You’re a monster” You said, chest heaving with emotions.

“Yes, I am. But you know what darling?” He said sweetly, “Even after this, you still love me. I am a monster, but I am a monster you created and one you love.”

You ended up on the bed, sprawled underneath him again. Even with icy hate in your eyes, your heart burned with love for him. It was unnatural, it was chemical and wrong. And yet, it was your reality. He was yours, no matter what he did. And you were his, regardless of every protest that you ever made.

“Now, I’ll ask this one more time. Will you marry me?” He asked softly, looking at you like you were all he ever saw.

“Yes” You breathed, watching silently as he slipped the ring on your finger and kissed it. Meeting your eyes, he settled over your body, his arousal pulsing over your thigh. Sealing the deal with a kiss, Chris went to remove your shirt.

“Then let’s celebrate. After we’re done, we can call our families with the good news.”

#chris evans x reader #dark!chris evans x reader #chris x reader #dark!chris evans #chris evans #chris evans rpf

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servicetopkaradanvers · 3 years

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I'm not sure if this is exactly the right place to say this, but I don't know if there is. And you're a smart person and critical thinker who has talked about this before. If this is totally weird, you can just delete it ofc. I've never properly watched Supergirl but I started reading fanfic around the time my mental health got real bad so it was a comfort thing I didn't bring too much thought to. I really identify with Lena and in the past, part of me has understood her actions-

and I know that they're wrong. The anti-alien rhetoric is obviously an allegory for racism or homophobia. She's violated people's basic human rights. And I'm scared that I'm a bad person because sometimes, I kind of get it. Which is insane because i'm a lesbian enby of color, i mean i get targeted by most of the -ist/ism actions. And I'm also too tired to think about things critically all the time. Supercorp was my comfort fic, content thing-

I knew it was problematic (the whole James thing makes me sick to my stomach, scared and sad) but I didn't know that Lena as a character was written that way. The metaphors never really clicked in my head because I never thought about it, but now I feel absolutely horrible about myself because I like and identify with Lena. I'm not really sure how to move on from here- I'm just tired. I wish there could be just one thing, one piece of media that wasn't prejudiced (granted sg is not the place to go if you want decent rep and the like) and all of those things I said earlier. Its just me somehow trying to justify how I felt and empathized with something I shouldn't have. So yeah, sorry that was really long. I hope you have a lovely day- sorry for the spam

FIRST of all, you’re fine, babe! Both in sending me this and in enjoying The Bad Media. That’s my thesis here: You’re fine. With this in mind, let’s unpack this big ol suitcase:

We’re living in a fandom moment where more than ever before, we’re thinking about the ideas we consume in fiction and how they may or may not affect us. This is a net positive! Fiction is not reality, but it undeniably impacts it, so for this and many other reasons, we should always think critically about what resonates with us and why. Does this mean dissecting every facet of something to find all the ways it might fall in line with oppressive power structures? Absolutely not.

You, as an individual, do not owe anyone an explanation for why you enjoy anything. Period. How you relate to a given character or why you like them is nobody's business but your own.

Supergirl, as a piece of media, is singularly awful in its lackluster lipservice to progressivism while simultaneously refusing to deliver any progressive themes. Socially and politically, it is a useless liberal wet dream. Kara is an immigrant from a dead culture working as the muscle for a secret FBI offshoot with zero accountability for all of the other aliens in diaspora she has rounded up and dumped into a cell without trial. Alex is allegedly a lesbian, but the key points of her endgame relationship are constantly deemed not important enough to get screen time, which is made even more absurd when examined from the angle that this series is marketed directly toward LGBT people. An embarrassing percentage of villains on this show are women of color, which is particularly loud when there are only 2 women in the main cast who aren't white. And "main" is extremely generous, given that Kelly is just there to Give Advice Good and everything M'gann says and does is as dry as toast.

My point here is that the whole show is rotted to its roots, and whatever quietly libertarian or even fascism-enabling bullshit they push onto Lena in a given week is par for the crusty, shitty course. Kara deciding that she's ok with the alien detection device because "there are bad aliens" is a lovely (read: awful) microcosm of why this show sucks so fucking hard. "People are entitled to their opinions" is for debates on whether pineapple goes on pizza, not for whether we should casually out, endanger, and disenfranchise our [insert minority metaphor here] because some of them are mean.

But what I would love for this fandom to wrap its head around, and what I hope you understand, anon, is that just because it happens on the show, doesn't mean we have to give a rat's ass about it. What the hell is The Canon, anyway? Especially in the case for Supergirl, which can't even get its own continuity right. Especially for an IP that has been rebooted dozens of times before and will be rebooted again in the future. We can just decide that Lena realized the horrible injustices she enabled through her position of power. We can even decide that they just didn't happen at all! This is all fake. It's not set in stone. Who came up with it, anyway? A network with a list of buzzwords they want included and a couple of D-tier showrunners cranking down caffeine to meet an absurdly tight deadline. It's not special. I can guarantee that you care about it infinitely more than they do, and you haven't even watched the damn show.

On a more personal level, people who are hurt, depressed, or traumatized have always and will always look for themselves in fiction. Myself included! And despite what lofty platitudes there may be on the matter, suffering does not make us kind. It does not make us better. Sometimes it's just suffering. Often it pulls us further from who we are meant to be. Often it just makes us "worse."

Trauma has made Lena emotionally brittle. A lifetime of manipulation and abuse has taught her to compartmentalize herself and lock her feelings behind a maze of doors. When she does let love in, she accepts it so wild and vulnerable that she can't see the red flags behind the rosy lenses. She latches so hard onto people she deems virtuous that she holds them to a standard none could fulfill. Her pain has to go somewhere, so it oozes out of her, into Non Nocere, into the post-reveal rift. She's a powder keg, and Kara spent 4 years shoveling more gunpowder onto the pile while holding the match between her teeth.

And despite these fatal flaws that make perfect sense through the eyes of Lena's trauma, she is so full of love. Like Kara, her suffering did not make her kind. She is kind in spite of her suffering. These are the characters we are drawn to when we're hurting. Lena’s trauma is an inextricable part of her, but it is not all of her, and neither are her mistakes.

There truly is not and never will be a piece of media that is absolutely innocent of the harmful structures thrust upon us by society, because we ourselves also participate in that society whether we are critical of it or not, whether we strive to change it or not. I'm flawed. You're flawed. Bettering ourselves is not a journey toward an ultimate destination of perfection. It is a garden we nurture in an endless labor of love because the joy that comes from seeing it flourish and change vastly outweighs the work we put into it and the weeds popping up around its unkempt edges. This is a lesson Lena herself could probably stand to internalize. Probably with lots and lots of therapy. Lots. And lots.

So, to circle back to the start of this? You're fine. You recognized the logic in a traumatized character's mistakes because our own gravest errors more often than not stem from the ways we have been harmed in the past. It's what makes Lena (or, at the very least, the many adaptations of Lena that exist in this fandom) a good character. She is, to her core, characterized proof that a crumbling foundation and poisonous soil do not define us. Which is why watching her heal and grow and learn a healthier kind of love is so, so wonderful.

In closing, I think it's worth mentioning that being critical of media does not mean that we stop enjoying the parts of it we like. There is a lot of gold to be pulled from the steaming pile of shit that is CW Supergirl, and that's why we're all here in the first place. So I really hope you can continue to enjoy it in whatever way makes you smile <3

#Anonymous #lena

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machineheralds-ho · 2 years

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Lizard - Chapter Twelve - Viktor/OFC

Pairing: Viktor/OFC

Synopsis: After ten years of working as a hired gun in the pits of Zaun, Elizabeth (Lizard, for some) finds her way back in the company of her childhood best friend who has thought her dead for the past five years.

Or, two idiots are in love and are too emotionally constipated to admit it.

A/N: I have this posted on AO3, but I wanted to post here too. It’s gonna get smutty and it’s a slow burner but I just needed to write some Viktor action. I have a pretty good idea of where I want this story to go, up until the end of season 1. We’ve got a long way to go until then, so don’t worry! Also, remember, this is Lizard’s origin story, too. Enjoy!

Rating: Mature audience only.

Chapter Twelve on AO3

In the wake of my meeting with Silco, I rationally accept the fact that Piltover is my home, for now. I wonder, sometimes, if I will stay with Viktor in the events that I do kill Lucky. I was bound do that promise, not only for the sake of Ruby and the girls, but for my own life also.

Viktor had given no indication that I was to leave his flat. He had not mentioned his apartment in the city, and nor had I.

I learn from Viktor and hole myself away in the Academy, treating its corridors and rooms like they are my entire world.

It was both a suffocating and safe feeling. In Zaun, I was free to roam the lanes as I so wished. Rarely, though, did I venture out without a contract in mind. In the Academy, I am confined to one, large building. There is no prey to talk, or wild dancefloors to lose myself in.

But I am safe.

A month passes since my meeting with Silco, and the realisation settles in, slowly, every day. I am safe. I am healthy. I have not killed to survive.

I hear nothing from Ruby, and take this as a good sign.

For the first week of that month, Viktor works tirelessly in the lab, not even coming home at night. Whether this was to do with me, or with his obsession with his work, I still do not know. I grew embarrassed in those days, fully aware that Viktor was likely straying away from his own home because he would find me in his bed.

I had a sneaking suspicion he was treating me like glass, and I hated it.

One day in the lab, when Jayce had excused himself for a few minutes and silence reigned, I had blurted out quietly,

‘You should come home tonight. You look exhausted’.

Viktor had turned to me with a flicker of surprise in his expression and a pinkness to his cheeks, before nodding. He came home late, well after I was asleep. I awoke in the night, felt his arm slither slowly around my waist, and blinked back into a deep slumber.

The following three weeks were much the same. Viktor would stay in the lab until the early hours of the morning and, most of the time, I would blink blearily into the darkness as he pulled me towards him, smelling of oil and smoke and Viktor. He never walked back to his rooms with me, at the end of the day.

In the lab, more often than not, Jayce is there. Following the incident with the runes, both had thrown themselves into their work, desperately trying to chase the reaction that Jayce had managed to get from the Hexcore. Sky, in the wake of her mother’s wedding, returns to work and takes many of the tasks I had inherited off of me.

I should be happy.

I should be content.

I am, in fact, quite the opposite.

Viktor cared for me; he had admitted as much to me-

(‘I did not…know how to act with you – I didn’t…I never thought for a moment that you could possibly feel the same for me as I do you, dorogoy-’)

-And yet, following that day, neither of us act towards this admittance. I tingle, sometimes, when I remember the feel of his lips on mine, of his hands on my waist, and of his knee pressed against me. The night of the fundraiser seems eons ago, and I wish more than anything that I could pluck the bravery we had both felt that night and put it into reality now.

I am terrified – terrified of destroying a friendship that had kindled when I was six, and he was ten. Viktor was the only family I had left, and though I was very much in love with him, I would feel ruined if our friendship was ever destroyed.

I continue this way of thinking, of cowardly plodding on, up until my birthday.

I quietly ask Viktor to not make a big deal out of this fact, and to not tell Jayce or Sky of it. We stand in the small kitchen near the lab, Viktor insisting he needed a coffee. He complies, insisting that he thought this would be my wish anyway, before reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a very familiar item.

The glove.

Except, it is not the glove at all. In Viktor’s usual fashion, he had taken something so ordinary, and made it extraordinary. All that remained of the glove, were half of the fingers and part of the top. There was a strap, running over the hem of the glove, holding in place a very sharp, very familiar knife.

I gape.

(‘Take this, dumbo. I found it in the scrap heap – it’ll protect you against those stupid bullies’.

Viktor, young and eleven, peers dubiously at the knife held in my grasp. ‘I don’t know how to use it’.

‘Easy. You just jab at them’).

There were mechanisms that I could not understand that encased the blade and, in Viktor’s usual fashion, he breaks the stunned silence by delving into an explanation. I stare at the gauntlet as he speaks, ‘I call it the Tactical Gauntlet – it is a…sneaky weapon, to be used against those who want to try to harm you and, as per its placement on the inside of your wrist, they won’t even see it coming. You may access the blade,’ Viktor continues, his gaze still avoiding mine; a dusting of pink across his cheeks. ‘With the push button slider, which gives you the option to adjust the blade’s extension from its metal sheath. The strap, here, allows you to adjust the tightness, and-’

Viktor cuts himself off, amber gaze finally finding mine. His words die in his throat, before he offers me a half shrug, as if to say well that’s it really. There is so much I want to say to him, from his acceptance of my need for protection at all times, to the thought he had put into the invention. In the quietness of the kitchen, the only sound that could be heard is the dripping of the tap, and the two heavy footfalls I make as I all but hurl myself into his arms.

‘It’s perfect,’ I tell him.

Viktor, after a moment, circles his arm around me, rests his chin atop my head, and replies, ‘You probably should not throw yourself at me when I am holding a weapon-’

‘Be quiet, Viktor,’ I mutter, forehead pressed against his chest.

I feel him smile against my hair. ‘Happy Birthday, Elizabeth’.

That night, as I flex my fingers, wrist encased in my gauntlet, I think of how Ruby would deal with my current situation. I think of her confidence and of her knowledge of men; the worst and the best of them. I think of Viktor’s eyes as he watches me look at his gift, and I think of how desperate he had sounded the night I pushed myself on top of him.

(‘When you want a man,’ Ruby had murmured to me, and I was seventeen and lonely and missing my best friend. Around us, the other girls primped themselves, their silky hair billowing and they soft skin glowing. I felt, in comparison, a gutter rat. ‘You feel it in your bones. You ache for him-’ She taps her exposed lower belly with a manicured nail. ‘Right here. Most of the time,’ she shrugs. ‘They like to hear that’).

Perhaps I would show Viktor just how much I wanted him.

I start with small things.

My knowledge of seduction is…limited. I know what desire looks like; I had seen it on the faces of enough of Ruby’s customers. Growing up in The Bloody Body, I had seen every aspect of sex. It was fluid and loud and smelt like musk. Ruby would tell me the gory details when I was curious and young.

(‘Always pee after sex. Always use protection, especially with a stranger. It can hurt, the first time, unless you’re…ready’.

‘Ready?’

‘Wet, Liz. It’s always better to touch each other, beforehand. To get…used to each other’s bodies’).

Was Viktor experienced? I wonder, as I sit at my desk in the lab. He had never told me of any women he was seeing, back when I would visit him from the undercity. Did he watch my fumbling, awkward attempts at romance, and think of other women?

My life of quietly stalking the lanes of Zaun had held me back from ever touching anyone else like…that. The only practice I had was touching myself, and that was only because Ruby had told me that such a thing was possible. She had been aghast to learn that, at the age of eighteen, I had never bothered nor thought to masturbate.

(‘I can feel how wet you are, dorogoy-’)

Did Viktor think of that night? Did it drive him crazy, too?

I watch Viktor as he sits at his desk, his styled hair pushed back after so many hours of pouring over his research. It was late – Jayce had already left for the evening – and I had stayed behind in the pretence of proof-reading a few of Sky’s replies to sponsors.

A lie, of course. They were perfectly written.

I wait until Viktor is standing, his nose buried into his notebook as he walks over to a stacked bookcase. I stand, chair scraping across the stone floor, and smile innocently when Viktor glances up from his notes, his hand distractedly raised. With the grace of an assassin, I slide easily between him and the bookcase, careful to not knock his cane, and ask, ‘Where is that book on mages that you were telling me about, Viktor?’

I swallow, very aware of his chest against my back and his chin, practically brushing the top of my head. I stare at the books for a moment, mouth quirking in relief and success when Viktor replies, ‘T-the book?’

I turn, my own neck creeping with heat, and force myself to be like Ruby. With a quirk of my lips, I look up at Viktor, all but a breath away from him, and reply, ‘You know – the one you were telling me about last week’.

Viktor looks down at me, his raised arm level with my head, and pulls his notebook closer to his chest as not to knock my forehead with it. I look at him, at the pink on his cheeks and, more importantly, his eyes-

(‘You can tell if a man wants you from his eyes, Liz. It’s all in the eyes’).

They scan my expression, his mouth popped open and his eyelashes fluttering rapidly. I continue to smile, head tilting to meet his gaze. Viktor, apparently coming back to whatever thought had been floating through his head, flexes his jaw and nods shortly. ‘I, uh, yes. I believe it is this one, Elizabeth’.

He hands me a book, and I smile, thank him, and dart away from him with quiet steps.

As I sit at my desk, I swallow a smile and applaud myself for holding my ground; for not allowing nerves to screw me over once again.

Viktor is very quiet for the rest of the day and, that night, he does not return home.

The next incident is by accident.

It is also mind numbingly mortifying.

It is late; so late that the sounds of Piltover were silent through Viktor’s slightly open window. He was not home, a running theme lately. After cooking dinner, using a recipe book that Sky lent me (cooking was something frighteningly domestic, and not something I was familiar with) I had climbed into bed, my bleary eyes barely focusing on the book on mages that I read.

My mind, like it so often would, floated to Viktor.

I was starved of him.

I had gone five long years with only the few touches of Ruby to bide me by. I became cold, existing in my own space and never orbiting toward someone else’s. Having Viktor thrust into my life again, and with it the warmth of his presence, had been both frightening and wonderful. Now, in the wake of him acting so…odd, after admitting feelings to one another, I was left cold once again.

I burned for touch – a deep and certain kind.

It was rare that I would touch myself in his bed. Even on nights that I knew he would not return home, I was hesitant. Following last time, after the fundraiser in which I had all but fallen into the bed with my hand down my underwear, I was embarrassed.

Touching myself in Viktor’s bed seemed a new level of corruption.

I stare at the words in the book before me, my head pressed into the pillow, and think of sound of the bathroom door slamming after Viktor had seen his shirt ride up my thigh. Had he…had he touched himself then?

Had there been times growing up, I wonder, in which Viktor had been warm at the sight of me?

(‘Do you know how long I have wanted to touch you like-’)

I throw the book to the side and huff, feeling uncharacteristically girlish and squeamish. I was thankful that I had never liked anyone in the undercity – to feel this distracted all of the time would have surely resulted in my death.

With a quick glance at the empty living room, beyond the half open door, I slip my hand beneath the hem of my sleep shirt, unsurprised to find that I am already slightly wet. In the warmth of Viktor’s bed, I touch myself in a familiar manner, my fingers dipping against my clit slowly-

(‘I beg that you do not continue looking at me like that, Elizabeth, before I do something I may regret’).

I sigh slowly, eyes screwed shut and will Viktor’s voice away. In the times that I had touched myself, I always tried very hard to not think about Viktor. It felt like…an invasion of his privacy, especially when I had no idea of his…feelings for me.

Now…it felt different.

I think of his voice, how low it had gotten when his hands had slid over my backside, stalling in the realisation that I was not wearing any underclothes. I think of his hand, twisted in my hair, as he brough my mouth to his. I think of what might have happened, if Jayce had not disturbed us. Would I have been brave and slipped his briefs down? Would he have touched me, and I him? He would have slid into me so easily, I was sure, I had been so-

(‘I can feel how wet you are, dorogoy’).

I gasp lightly, the sound echoing around the room, and blush. I was deep, wrapped up in solid memories of Viktor touching me, of how low his voice would dip, of how his eyes would burn as he touched me, fingers straying lower and finding my warm, wet heat…And suddenly I am sickeningly close - so, so close.

‘Viktor,’ I gasp suddenly, brokenly, wantonly.

And it is only when his name leaves me mouth, that I hear footsteps come to an abrupt halt outside of the half open door.

No, no, no. It takes a second longer than I would have liked for me to bolt upright, face warm against the sudden rush of air, and come face to face with a very shocked Viktor.

My stomach drops.

He stands in the doorway, his tired and stunned face illuminated by the low lamp light. Though his chest rises and falls rapidly, his mouth hangs open, eyes wide and cheeks dusting pink. I gape at him in return, and I can only imagine what he had seen. My hand moving beneath the covers, my eyes screwed shut, my lips speaking his name with such desperate need-

‘I’m -I’m-’ I babble, utterly mortified at having been caught in his bed like this. ‘Fuck – I’ll go, I’m sorry-’

Viktor leans forward, and with a slow creak the door opens. His free hand comes to rest heavily on the doorframe and his cane scrapes across the wooden floor. ‘Elizabeth,’ he snaps suddenly, both in wonder and impatience.

I clamp my mouth shut, my thighs squeezing together at the sound of my name leaving his mouth. Viktor stiffens, fingertips whitening against their hold on the wall, his bright gaze dipped as if to follow the movement. Something about sitting in front of Viktor in such a state, more undone in front of another individual than I had been in my entire life was making me wet, and uncomfortably so.

Viktor draws his gaze to mine. His mouth opens and closes, before he forces out an eerily calm, ‘Finish’.

I stare at him, long after the words register in my mind. ‘What?’

And then Viktor moves forward, using both his cane and the leverage he has on the door frame to push him into the room. In the sudden light, his normally pale complexion was blotched pink, the muscles on his forearms tense, and the look in his gaze…

Scientific.

I shudder. ‘I want to see,’ Viktor rasps. He clears his throat, before turning and sitting heavily on the bed. I stare at him, hand still resting against my inner thigh, and try very hard not to breathe in time with my rapid heartbeat. He doesn’t look at me for a moment, and then his sharp gaze turns suddenly to me. ‘To learn, if you will’.

I stutter in a breath, processing what he was asking. He wanted to…to watch me? Was this something that people did – or was this simply a part of Viktor, his need to learn and understand based on watching and then- and then doing.

He is so close to me; so stiflingly close. He turns more fully toward me, his hand coming to rest on the space of bed between us, just next to where my foot rested beneath the covers. I look at him, from the clench of his jaw to the intent in his gaze, and nod.

‘Okay,’ I agree quietly.

Viktor lets out a quiet breath, his eyes fluttering and mouth lifting. I nod, unsure of what to do for a moment. He wanted to watch me, but should I just…continue? I felt out of my own depth, so entirely naive in situations such as this. I suddenly feel silly, legs spread, and my hair mussed.

(‘You feel it in your bones. You ache for him-’ She taps her exposed lower belly with a manicured nail. ‘Right here. Most of the time,’ she shrugs. ‘They like to hear that’).

Except, the words seemed so intent of being stuck in my throat. Viktor blinks hazily at me, gaze heavy lidded in a way that sent heat coiling through me, and murmurs, ‘Please, touch yourself, Elizabeth’. And it is like a button has been pushed, because I inhale a sharp gasp and pressed by fingers down the inside of my thigh, until I am dipping into the wetness between my legs.

It is…depraved, the feel of Viktor’s eyes on me as I tentatively press by fingers against my still slick clit. Though he cannot see, his view marred by the covers, I feel entirely naked before him. My eyes, fixed on the ceiling above me, suddenly screw shut when mortification begins to take away from the heat building inside of me.

‘H-how many times have you done this – in my bed?’ The second part of the sentence has my gaze fluttering to his face, I sink into the pillows, hoping to hide the maroon of my face.

‘T-twice,’ I reply, feeling more mouse than Lizard. I circle my fingers, distracted and desperate and hot. ‘Plus, this time’.

Viktor nods. If I did not know him so well, I would think him entirely relaxed. And yet, I can see, even in my preoccupied state, the tenseness of his shoulders, the darkness of his usually bright gaze, and the clench in his jaw. I think I get wetter, just knowing that it was me who made him look like that. Viktor, always so in control of his emotions, looked like that because of me.

And it makes me feel brave.

‘This is the first time I’ve-I’ve imagined you-’ Viktor leans in, eyes darting from my eyes to my mouth. ‘You touching me,’ I finish in a woosh, my legs falling open a little wider. Viktor gaze darts quickly to the side, before landing on me once again.

He breathes in slowly through his nose.

‘Has anyone else ever touched you like this – seen you like this?’ I wonder if the words surprise even himself, because Viktor blinks suddenly, the tips of his ears going red.

‘No,’ I rush out, quite sure that he could ask me anything in this moment. I had no idea that the sound of voice whilst my fingers were rubbing my aching clit would bring such a response out of me. My gaze remains solely on him now, my eyes hooded, and lips parted, and I watch him shudder at the words. ‘D-do you like that? That no one has…has touched me like this?’ I ask, genuinely curious.

‘Yes,’ Viktor breathes, staring at me with wide eyes, his body taut with tenseness. ‘I-I am unsure why, but I do-’ I gasp, suddenly, and draw my thighs together, my face flushing at the complete turn on that is. Viktor swears his mother tongue, and his fingers curl deeper into the quilt. ‘Elizabeth – can I-?’

I nod, having no clue what it is he was asking, before Viktor is tugging at the quilt that covers up to my waist. I shuffle, pausing my fingers, and allow the thick sheet to be pulled up to my ankles. It falls in a heap, and I blush at the sight that Viktor is welcomed with.

He leans back, eyes wide, and breathes in like he has seen the Hexcore give him all the answers he needs. I flush scarlet, watching Viktor as he takes me in, his old shirt bunched around my waist, and my hand tucked neatly beneath my underwear. I wonder if I look like Ruby, with her lips, red from kissing, and her eyes, so naturally sultry?

And then Viktor’s eyes flash to mine. He leans forward, hand raised, and asks, ‘May I?’ My heart softens at that, even in a state such as this, he is always so courteous. I give a small nod, understanding what it is that he wants, and lift my hips with shaking knees as Viktor bends to hook his hand in the waistband of my underwear.

My stomach twists with nerves, and I push out a shaky breath.

His forefinger burns a line down my leg as he drags the fabric away. I blush at the sudden cold air that greets my wet slit, my heart hammering so hard that I am sure even Jayce can hear it from the lab. I feel like jelly, my entire body alight with nerves and adrenaline. I settle my bare bum onto the mattress, and Viktor’s expression takes on that of a man who has seen the light.

He swears again, his jaw suddenly loose as he stares between my open legs. He winces as he twist his body, his bad leg kicked out, and bundles my underwear into a fist and pushes it into the pocket of his creased slacks.

My gaze travels slowly, my reflexes dulled from being so horrendously horny, to the raised line of Viktor’s groin. A groan catches in my throat. I want so suddenly that I am nearly struck dumb by it. This need that I feel is nothing compared to any experience I have ever had – I ached.

Without waiting for any signal, I fearlessly slide my hand over my mound, fingers sliding to gather wetness at my centre. I flush, feeling open and wrecked. Viktor stutters in a breath, his eyelids dipping, and watches me move with same analytical attention he paid all of his projects.

‘You are soaking,’ Viktor breathes, and my cheeks burn bright. He shakes his head, leans forward, his hand coming to rest upon my lower calve. ‘No – you do not be embarrassed. It is beautiful, dorogoy – you are beautiful. I never dreamt that I would see you like this-’

The praise burns within me, and I squeeze my eyes shut. My fingers move faster. ‘Viktor-’

‘Shit,’ he swears, suddenly, sharply. ‘By the celestials, look at you. You are so-so good for me, Elizabeth – how I deserve you, I will never know-’

His words fade for a moment, my pleasure spiking, my fingers moving faster, but Viktor carries on, his grip travelling from my calve to my thigh. He presses down, and my legs spread wider. It was, in one-word, complete depravity.

‘Do you wish to come, Elizabeth?’ His voice shakes, taking on a depth that I had never encountered from Viktor before. I hitch in a whine, swallowing the noise. ‘For me?’

I nod, eyes squeezed shut, unsure if he had been looking for an answer to his question but giving him one anyway. ‘Yes, yes, yes,’ I murmur, the words a daze in my mind. I could be screaming or whispering them – it didn’t matter, all that mattered was Viktor’s voice, urging me, pushing me, cradling me as I-

‘Then come,’ Viktor rasps.

I do.

I gasp, his name slipping out from my own open my. My head dips back, spine curling and every nerve in my body zoned in on Viktor’s hand tightening painfully on the meat of my thigh. I come, I am sure, the hardest I have in my entire life.

Viktor says my name as if it is being punched out of him, and I am still in the midst of the waves of pleasure when I feel his hand retract from my leg and the mattress dip, and hear his cane bash hurriedly against the floorboards, followed by the sound of the bathroom door slamming shut-

When I blink back to reality, my body heavy in a post-orgasmic haze, I blink blearily over to the open bedroom door.

When Viktor comes back into the room, five minutes later, he does not pause in the doorway, nor does his gaze duck from mine. He wastes no time in sliding onto the edge of the bed, his hand curling around my jaw, and his lips pressing softly against my moist forehead.

His hair, I realise, is more ruffled. His skin is flushed, but gone is the tenseness in his shoulders and the line of his slacks. The realisation sends a renewed warmth to my cheeks. I did that to him, I think simply. Me. Cold blooded Lizard.

I look sleepily at him, smiling shyly when Viktor draws me back, his hand on my shoulder. ‘Thank you,’ he tells me, before nudging me back slightly. ‘Sleep. I will change and join you, dorogoy’.

I slip beneath the covers, waking only when Viktor pulls me to him with a different fever than usual. He holds me to his side, his face buried in my hair, and whispers to me in his language. The words are soft and measured, and the kiss he presses to my hair sends me over the edge.

When I sleep, I do not dream of Silco or Sevika or Lucky. I sleep dreamlessly and contently, Viktor’s heartbeat lulling me further into the darkness.

#viktor arcane #arcane #arcane viktor #viktor #viktor x reader #viktor x oc #oc #fic #ao3

21 notes · View notes

darlington-v · 3 years

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I know different interpretations of a work are generally enriching and cool... but c!dream villan interpretations is like how to tell me you only watch Tommy without saying you only watch tommy.... which would be fine but its not a great place to be making statements about the whole nature of the dsmp lol

Wild speculation, but sometimes I wonder if like, because the dsmp didn't really start as a narrative, and a lot of fans don't nessecarily enter it expecting a narrative, but then there is one and the fandom is really discourse heavy and everyone is sort of excpeted to have an opinion while maybe not expecting to form one from the begining or not having a ton of experience with narrative in a way that would "expect" them to have an opinion or not take things at face value??, I don't know if I explained that well at all... and I don't really even think thats right nessecarily... but like wow sometimes some of the takes about power and government and villany...

Honestly, it makes sense!!!

I think something interesting is like.... looking at how animatics have shaped the like tone and culture of the fandom essentially. Like, an interesting fact that I didn't really fully grasp until SUPER recently is like...

c!Wilbur out the gate admits he is manipulating c!Tommy. Like his first youtube video on the Dream SMP he admits his goal is to manipulate c!Tommy and people like c!Tommy into helping him achieve a potion ("drug") empire to monopolize on potions because there were a lot of people on the server who like to min-max, which is to put all of your effort into this one specific skill essentially. so like... i know minecraft doesnt have a skill tree but if it did, it would be putting all your points into that one specific branch of a skill tree. So he wanted to exploit the labor of all the TommyInnits to.... maintain a Potion Empire.

THIS IS A LONG POST BC I GOT CARRIED AWAY SO BUCKLE UP

And I don't think a lot of the fandom who joined later on knows this. I certainly didn't until like a week or so ago? Like... I knew c!Wilbur had been manipulative from the start because I'm a mod of (shameless self promo incoming) @dsmpanalysis and we have a lot of different POVs in that mod team and discord and we talk about it really frequently. I joined the fandom as someone who was really big on L'manburg ESPECIALLY crimeboys, and have turned into.... *gestures vaguely to my blog*

And ngl I owe a lot of it to @1-michibiki-1 in terms of c!Dream "Apologism" but all of the mods there have expanded my thoughts and views on the storylines of this narrative.

My application consisted of like largely essays about like... how I think Dream was the villain but he was meant to be the villain because you don't get any insight into his character WHICH.... IS A FAIR ASSUMPTION AT FIRST GLANCE. People are easily villainized when you cannot get a glimpse into their thought process. It's easy to dwindle someone down into this flat character and starting out I knew Dream didn't stream the SMP on purpose.

And I personally came to the conclusion of "Oh! So Dream is supposed to be the villain." However as the story continued and I learned more about what Dream went through I began to realize that... it's more than likely a form of a red herring. My opinions on this were immediately solidified when I watched Ranboo's 2 MIL stream because both Ranboo AND Dream agree on enjoying red herrings.

There have been MANY times were Dream has said that c!Dream is a complex character and he's not a wholly evil guy and there have been times where the narrative has honestly just proved that.

Anyways, what's important though was that... I learned most of this from other people who were more focused on c!Dream rather than myself. Eventually I shifted from c!Tommy to c!Ranboo and c!Techno after c!Tommy betrayed c!Techno and I began to realize.... everything I learned before hopping in wasn't exactly what it seemed.

Part of this is because I'm older, I heavily identify with c!Techno's sense of loyalty and philosophies on government, but I especially identify with the anguish c!Techno voiced in... a lot of lore but especially the lore around Doomsday.

I'm not 16 anymore. I don't always feel wronged by adults, or older people in my case, whenever they absolutely have done something wrong by me, but I do feel wronged by my close friends. I also felt like c!Tommy's sense of loyalty didn't line up with mine after what felt like him constantly flip-flopping and refusing to understand c!Techno's morals on government didn't line up with his.

In short, it was easier to identify with Tommy in these animatics versus in the actual stream content because c!Tommy is played by a 16 year old. I'm not a teenager and my line of thinking doesn't entirely line up with people that age anymore. It's harder to place myself in the same shoes of someone's OC who is played closer to their actual age, because I'm not that age.

Regardless, I was still on the c!Dream is a villain train. I wasn't ever like... c!Dream is repulsive I hate him, but I was like omg hot villain lad go brrr.

Even when the first like... mellohi, panic room, Ranboo lore stream popped up I thought "Oh! c!Ranboo corruption arc?"

And I was excited because I really wanted this shy, nervous character to turn into villain buddies with his good pal c!Dream. I'm a total sucker for villains and corruption arcs and all that good shit.

SO I STARTED GETTING REALLY INTERESTED IN ENDERSMILE. I'VE BEEN ON ENDERSMILE SQUAD OUT THE GATE. NOT THE SAME WAY I AM NOW, BUT I'VE ALWAYS WANTED THEM TO TEAM UP.

So... upon not really keeping up with c!Dream and being relatively??? indifferent? I don't think I started arguments on c!Dream back then, but I might have. But I remember like... starting to participate more whenever c!Dream came up and looking more into Dream's character BUT ESPECIALLY TALKING WITH OUR SERVER'S C!DREAM SPECIALIST MICHI ABOUT DREAM A LOT MORE.

And because Michi has been a watcher since day one and was a DTeam fan rather than a SBI fan, she was able to provide me with more information on how the server worked pre-Tommy but especially pre-Wilbur.

Now, you could definitely argue well Michi probably has clear bias but it made sense to me when I looked back on how the storyline had been constructed and was going along, and everyone in the server talks a lot about our own biases and how we want people to maybe not lean so hard on them. Michi would also provide like anecdotes on what had happened and I'm sure links were probably provided at one point but the point was I felt like Michi had no reason to lie or manipulate how the story was told and if she did, eventually someone would have pointed it out because... Group of like... right now it's around 20 or more analysts but I don't remember how many at the time there were. POINT BEING, WE'VE ALL GOT POINTS TO PROVE AND IN MY EXPERIENCE NOT MANY OF US HAVE BEEN SHY TO PROVE THEM.

So if anyone ever had any differing opinions they would be talked about and we literally had and still have discussions.

REGARDLESS.... I DIDN'T FACT CHECK IN DEPTH BECAUSE I THOUGHT PEER REVIEW WAS ENOUGH WHEN YOU HAVE LIKE HOURS UPON HOURS OF STREAMS TO WATCH.

Anyways. Eventually I started paying closer attention and looking more into c!Dream lore but only recently have I started to triple check before speaking about c!Wilbur lore because I know everyone has biases and while I did trust everyone's thoughts and analysis in the discord, whenever I make essays I typically like it to be largely air tight and if theres a mistake, I want it to be because I forgot not because I just trusted what was said. Plus, I wanted to get down to the specifics of how Wilbur had always started with manipulation on the mind.

SO I WATCHED HIS FIRST VIDEO ON THE DREAM SMP.

AND WHAT I WAS NOT BY ANY MEANS EXPECTING WAS WILBUR TO SAY WORD FOR WORD, VERBATIM,

"SO WHY DON'T I START AN INDUSTRY WHERE I USE THE TOMMYINNITS OF THE WORLD TO WORK FOR ME, TO CREATE THINGS THAT THE MIN-MAXERS OF THE WORLD WILL WANT."

Like... this is in no way an attempt to like hardcore villainize c!Wilbur like everyone does Dream, it's just more so to like REALLY outline how far off a lot of fandom interpretation of c!Wilbur is....

Because of SBI focused animatics.

Now, when I joined I watched A LOT of animatics that really highlighted like... Wilbur being this self-loathing JD-esque, "I destroyed it because I had to because the world was against me because no one loved us, Tommy" type of character. At least... that's what it came across as.

And it definitely highlighted the fact that Tommy was a victim, which he is. He is undoubtedly a victim and no not even any dream apologist can change my mind otherwise. Tommy, despite being an instigator sometimes, didn't deserve the abuse he received.

But these animatics never shown the fact that c!Wilbur started L'manburg as a shady ploy to exploit people like c!Tommy and vilify c!Dream so he could have power.

And that was easy because Dream and Tommy had wars before. They had spars and pranks and here's the plan to take back my disks and here's the plan to out smart the thieving little child etc etc.

And all of the animatics I watched never mentioned this. Neither did the recaps though. The recaps gave the events flat out, there didn't sound like there was bias, and honestly I don't really know if there was rather than like... a lack of nuance. And it's hard to provide a recap with that much nuance in a short period of time for a youtube video, to be perfectly fair.

However, this creates a perfect formula for entirely rewriting the history of a server. c!Wilbur quite literally fucking succeeded TO A META LEVEL. He slandered and ran smear campaigns against Dream and like he even does that with Sapnap in the beginning. But what's crazy is that it transferred over into the meta! Most of this fandom understands Wilbur as a victim of mental illness, and yeah maybe? He definitely wasn't mentally well by the end of pogtopia, but he never started out with honorable intentions. L'manburg was never a victim, only its citizens. The TommyInnits of the world.

I just think it's like... such an interesting case study. Because this is like... an opinion like shared by at least half of the fandom, but the vilifying of c!Dream is shared by MOST of the fandom I would argue. Which is like even more crazy for me because that was c!Wilbur's goal!!!

LIKE I GO INSANE WHEN I THINK OF THIS BECAUSE HIS REACH IS JUST TOO POWERFUL. HE'S NOT EVEN ENTIRELY REAL, JUST A MANIPULATIVE PERSONA OF SOME BRITISH GUY.

And I mean... maybe people who have watched Wilbur's video on the SMP still maintain this idea that Wilbur wasn't always the bad guy, but honestly... I wouldn't be surprised if their introduction was still an animatic. Like bias is hard to check and I'm not going to lie I could have sworn I watched both Wilbur's AND Tommy's video on the SMP in the beginning and yet I STILL was a ride or die for tragic yet on some level still honorable Wilbur and a resilient Tommy.

Like... upon watching Wilbur's first video... possibly again I was surprised because I thought I did watch it like right before I even started watching the streams and yet I was still so invested in c!Wilbur as this tortured anti-hero.

It took 6 months of... not being in an echo chamber, full of multiple different people of different ages, different stream POVS, and people who joined the fandom at different points in time.

IDK IF THIS WAS EVEN ENTIRELY RELEVANT IT JUST FELT TANGENTIALLY RELEVANT AND THIS WAS SOMETHING I'VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT FOR A HOT MINUTE AFTER LIKE WATCHING WILBUR'S FIRST VIDEO AGAIN.

TLDR;

SBI CENTRIC ANIMATICS HAD A LASTING AFFECT ON THIS FANDOM AS IT'S HARD TO GO BACK AND ACTUALLY CHECK THE NARRATIVE FOR SOLID FACTS FOR YOUR OWN INTERPRETATION BASED ON THE FACT THAT THIS NARRATIVE SPANS OVER HUNDREDS OF HOURS WORTH OF TWITCH STREAMS.

#asks #anon #dream smp #dsmp #dsmp analysis #dream smp analysis #dsmp meta #dream smp meta #my analysis #long post

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brattyfics · 3 years

Text

Try

Summary: Angel confesses his feelings to a friend.

Pairing: Angel Reyes x Black Reader

Word Count: 1,561

A/N: It’s been a while since I posted something. I’m feeling rusty, so let me know what you think.

“Why am I attracted to toxic masculinity?” Sierra asked you, staring down at her phone screen.

“Huh? What are you talking about?” The two of you waited at the Santo Padre Mayans Charter Clubhouse for her boyfriend, Coco, to return from an errand.

“I’m trying to figure out why my pussy throbs every time this man tells me I better behave or else. Like, why is that so sexy?”

You snort at her silliness. “I don’t know. You know I don’t. The first time a man thinks about telling me what to do I give him his walking papers.”

“I forget you can’t keep a man.”

“A man can’t keep me. Remember that. There’s a difference.”

“Right, that’s what happens.”

You rolled your eyes but kept talking. “I don’t think that’s toxic of him. I think he’s just setting boundaries. You can be…a handful. I’ll just put it that way.”

“Don’t put it. Just say it.” Sierra had that wild glint in her eye, the one that usually spelled trouble.

“You can be a lil’ bit reckless sometimes. A lil’ wild. Coco needs to regulate that ass.” You reached behind her to playfully swat her ass.

Coco chose that moment to show up, a big, crooked grin on his face. “Why you touching my girl, mano?” He stepped up, crowding you like he would some random dude at the bar who had done the same.

“Do you want to fight?” You asked, taking on your best Southpaw stance. Coco matched you, bouncing on his soles for a moment, but then shook his hands dismissively. “Nah, you got it. My bad.”

“Oh, okay. I didn’t think so. I’m glad I didn't have to lay you out in here today—“

“What are you yapping about?” Angel Reyes slid into the tiny space between you and Coco. His inky black hair was gelled back into a masculine style, patches of grey littering his full, overgrown beard. He looked as handsome as ever, and you felt yourself heating up in his presence.

You had too much of an ego to let him know that, so you kissed your teeth at his choice of words. Yapping, like you were some annoying little puppy dog. If only he knew. He’d be the one acting like a puppy if you got your hands on him.

“I’m just kidding, mamí.” The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled at you, and you felt your heart catch in your throat again. The smallest things made you clam up around Angel, but you needed to get a grip. He was so handsome but so unavailable.

Coco stepped around you to greet his girl, wrapping her up in a bear hug and tonguing her down in the middle of the clubhouse. You made exaggerated gagging noises, but they ignored you, getting reacquainted with each other. “You would think they were apart for longer than a couple of hours.” As much as you teased them about being codependent, you were happy for them. Neither of them had an easy go at love, but for some reason, they just clicked.

Angel dropped a heavy arm around your shoulders, the smell of teakwood, leather, and cedar washing over you. “Come on.” You didn’t need to be told twice, allowing him to guide you towards a table. The two of you settled into a corner, huddled closer than two platonic friends probably should be.

You missed EZ’s patch party the week earlier so he gave you a recap. You were in the awkward space of being physically close, though you had never been intimate. Your eyes kept locking on each other, and then quickly shifting away. It was nerve wracking not knowing the other person's limit—how much eye contact was too much or too little.

He asked about a cousin of yours that he went to high school with and that made you feel more relaxed and open. You faced each other, using your respective hands to gesture wildly as you shared stories animatedly.

Eventually, your hands found their way down to his thighs, using them to balance on as you yelled something to Coco over his shoulder. He seemed content with your closeness, so you kept your hands on his thighs even as you sat back on your stool.

“Let me taste.”

“What?” He wasn’t sure he heard you right.

“Your beer, idiot.” You mumbled under your breath as he handed over the cold bottle. Down went the gold liquid, scorching your taste buds. “Eck. Still nasty.” You sat the bottle down, your hand coming up to cover your chest.

“What, you don’t like beer? Why did you drink it then?” He laughed at your sour expression.

“No. I can do tequila, wine, vodka, hell, anything but that. I don’t know why I insist on torturing myself like that every time. I don’t know, I guess I’ll try anything a couple times.”

“Anything?” He wiggled his eyebrows dramatically.

“Ha ha. Almost anything. Let me make that clear.”

“Noted.” Angel tosses the rest of his beer back, eyeing you with a mischievous look in his eyes. Then he’s in your face, arms moving to circle around your midsection. Your knees feel a bit cramped from where they’re sandwiched in between his own and the stool.

“Is this something you’re willing to try? Me? I mean.”

The words stun you. You knew he was attracted to you. You were both drawn to each other whenever you got together. That much was obvious. But being attracted to someone and wanting to be romantically involved with them were two different things. Angel had a new baby and a complicated relationship with its mother. He had a lot going on, and you weren’t sure it was smart to insert yourself into the middle of that.

“Coco told me—“

“He told you what? I’m going to kill Sierra—“

“Nothing crazy. Just that I might not be alone in my feelings. I know you’re worried I don’t have my shit together, and I’m not going to lie and say I do, because I don’t. But me and her—we’re done. There’s nothing between us now but my son.” It concerned you that he couldn’t say her name. Was he still hurt? Bitter?

“A baby is a big something, Angel…”

“You’re right about that. You are.” An unruly strand of hair caught his attention, his calloused fingers brushing gently across the side of your face as he moved it. “I love my son more than anything else in the world, but that doesn’t mean I have to be with his mother. For a long time, I was forcing something that wasn’t meant to be. I didn’t want to see it then, but trust me when I say I know better now. Adelita and I are over.”

You looked down into your lap, wringing your fingers as you took in the information. He sounded genuine, but how many men had told a woman the same thing and then went back on their word?

From what you understood, Angel had been in deep with Adelita, and anyone that knew him knew he loved hard. If Adelita wanted to get back together, would he be able to resist?

You were conflicted, but you leaned into his chest for comfort as the butterflies flew wild in your belly.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

Your knees felt uncomfortable against the stool so you stood. Angel pulled you in further, and you felt relieved that you weren’t alone in your emotional turmoil. He wanted you just as close as you wanted to be. You practically melted into his firm chest like mush. He felt warmer than the average person and you wondered if it was just in your mind. Sighing, you willed yourself to not think about anything for a minute. To just enjoy the moment while it lasted, for however long it lasted.

“I’m sorry.” His voice sounded muffled and far away even though he spoke right above your head. Angel was apologizing, but you could hear the smile in his voice.

“No, you’re not.” You looked up at him to confirm your suspicions, and his delight was so contagious that a shy smile warmed your own face. “I am.” He did his best to school his expression, but it was no use.

“Don’t be.” The wide column of his neck was right there, so you pecked it, wondering how it would be to place a less innocent kiss there. “I’m--- I feel the same, Angel. I mean, I’m still worried about the other thing, but I’m willing to try. I want to trust you.”

“And I want you to trust me. Tell you what, you trust me, and I’ll trust you. There will be a time when the shoe is on the other foot. I’m going to have to suck it up and trust you at some point.” Angel was possessive by nature, but you felt more secure hearing him talk about the future. He wasn’t looking for something fun, or short lived.

It just so happened, you weren’t either.

GENERAL TAGLIST

@woahitslucyylu @briannab1234 @sheeshgivemeabreak @breakingnewsin-no-oneasked @angelreyesgirl @blessedboo @glimmerglittergirl @apantherinmypastlife @brownsugarcoffy @marvelmaree @starrynite7114 @scuzmunkie @thewarriorprincessxo @ifoundmyhappythought @sadeyesgf @pearlkitten33 @imanerdychubbyqueen @literaturefeen

ANGEL TAGLIST

@thesandbeneathmytoes @claytoncardenasbabymama @adaydreamaway08

#mayans mc #angel reyes #angel reyes x reader #angel reyes x black!reader #angel reyes x black reader

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greentrickster · 3 years

Note

have you ever considered what might go down (that is, any potentially interesting/fun/emotional interactions) if one (or more, i guess) of your au’s crossed over with canon? I think you’ve mentioned some stuff on that with the ace benders and the “canon” bending au, but like. what if like, /canon/ canon?

Sometimes yes, actually! Because, I mean, for starters? Avatar setting!Ace Benders Phoenix and Fae Taken Miles are both completely illiterate, they can neither read nor write, and that's just so wild to compare to their canon counterparts, just on that alone! Likewise, Fae Taken Phoenix and Avatar setting!Ace Benders Miles can both read and write, but their education compared to the majority of the rest of their counterparts is practically non-existent. Ace Bender Phoenix is highly athletic and knows martial arts, as does his Miles, Fae Taken Miles is a master swordsman, they're both magical warriors of justice in the Ace Magicals (Boys) AU! They're still recognizably them, but the differences are enormous, from both perspectives!

The only AU I have that would have minimal impact, frankly, is the Mirror and Miles AU, believe it or not, because that AU is basically just canon a few inches to the left and a touch stranger. ...man, it'd be amazing to see the canon group interact with the group from the wings AU, that would probably make for some interesting conversations!

Ahhh, this is too broad a topic to be able to answer like this! Tell you what, I'm opening the floor: if anyone wants to see one of my AUs interact with another AU or with canon, drop me an ask and I'll share a few thoughts on it! And, since I have so friggin' many AUs, here's a quick refresher list of what they are under the cut:

Saving Simon AU - Phoenix doesn’t get disbarred and ends up as Simon Blackquill’s lawyer, leading to good results

Mirror and Miles AU -Edgeworth out-stares his own reflection and it becomes semi-independent and also a friend

Ace Avatar AU -AA-setting: the events of canon take place, with the added spice that elemental bending now exists in-universe

Avatar-setting: twenty-year-old Miles and Phoenix set off on an inadvertent life-changing field trip with what starts as Larry and a pair of very young airbender children on the run as their companions, but which ends but with Larry and at least nine entire children, none of whom are over the age of thirteen

Miles Edgeworth: actual demon? AU - Apollo and Klavier have suspicions about the new Chief Prosecutor

An Ace in Time AU - Started as an excuse to draw Snatcher!Phoenix and Ghostly!Edgeworth, became a weird yet fun sort of fusion with A Hat in Time

Good Attorneys AU - Good Omens fusion - all the characters from Good Omens exist, Miles is an angel, Phoenix is a demon, and they’ve been assigned as a second pair of agents of Earth after the Apocalypse That Wasn’t (draws on the book version of events)

Prosecutor Apollo Attorney Nahyuta AU - Role swap with Apollo and Nahyuta, partially adopted

Judge Larry AU - What it says on the tin, Larry’s a judge now!

Fae Taken AU -Ye Olde setting, Edgeworth is stolen by the Fae as a boy, posts mostly me screaming about the fact this AU even exists

Flock Together - the universe my wing!fics are set in, not much content here on tumblr but has three whole fics to its name so far!

Ace Magical (Boys) AU - Miles, Phoenix, and Larry end up as magical boys at age nine and go on adventures, then mentor subsequent generations of magical kid teams, which include Klavier, Apollo, and Sebastian, and Trucy, Athena, and Pearl

Spooky Attorneys AU - Halloween aesthetic, Halloween aesthetic everywhere, Phoenix is a vampire, Miles is a werewolf, Ema is a mad scientist only don't tell her that

And those are all the main ones that I like to play with in my head! Have fun!

#ace attorney #ask #anon #my aus #The Ace Magical (Boys) AU #Spooky Attorneys AU #judge larry au #saving simon au #mirror and miles au #good attorneys au #miles edgeworth: actual demon? au #an ace in time au #prosecutor apollo attorney nahyuta au #ace avatar au

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 4 years

Text

Supposedly

A/N: this was a request sent in that inspired me a lot for some reason and i figured i’d do it cause i haven’t done any demon!h and demon!reader in a while so i gave it a go and I’m pretty happy with how it turned out :D enjoy!

Anonymous: This may be too cutesy for them, but do demon!harry and demon!reader ever cuddle after they fuck? Or they fall asleep separately but wake up in each other’s arms and just try to play it off awkwardly

word count: 4.5k

content: some angst but nothing major, fluff, mentions of nudity, and some cocky asshole demon!h because that’s his Brand laidese and germs!!

///

Despite the emotionless, unattached agenda demons tend to uphold, let it be known that Harry didn’t really mind what was happening at the moment.

On the surface level, from an outside perspective, this definitely doesn’t fit the bill for what is expected from his kind. Cuddling is an action reserved usually for real couples that have a sentimental bond, which he and Y/N are very much not. He’s not even quite sure what they are, really. Their relationship— if he can even call it that— was born out of three very important, adequately limiting notions: a mutual understanding, the desire for a convenient warm body, and sheer boredom.

Nothing more, nothing less.

The mutual understanding was that neither of them wanted a genuine significant other, given what they are, so it was established that feelings were to be kept out of this arrangement completely. Emotions lead to complications, complications lead to a falling out, and a falling out would be inexplicably messy considering that they’ve shared the same friend group for well over a decade now and neither are willing to let a booty call mishap ruin that. Feelings stay dormant, end of discussion.

The desire for a convenient warm body is pretty self-explanatory— Harry and Y/N had known each other for a while now so there was no annoying getting to know you phase, they both agreed that they found the other attractive, and they both live relatively close to one another so it was a pleasant set-up with minimal issues. Harry could shoot her a text at three in the morning and she’d be at his place in less than five minutes, or vice versa. There was no spending hours at a bar trying to pick someone up, no time wasted learning what the other person likes and dislikes, and certainly no fretting over birth control tactics to keep up appearances— they were both dead, which is a morbid advantage but an advantage nonetheless. It was easy access, easy fun, and easy clean-up.

The sheer boredom aspect was just that. It had started on a drunken night out with friends, where— by a series of fortunate events— Harry and Y/N had ended up together post-bender, sitting in his car in the parking lot of a club. They had been waiting for him to sober up to drive them home and she had made a passing comment about not wanting to turn in for the night quite yet. He’d blinked at her sluggishly, absentmindedly reaching over to tuck a rouge strand of hair behind her ear because he was getting secondhand irritation from it tickling her nose. He’d spoken up, voice numb and thick from the alcohol. “What do you wanna do, then?”

Y/N had glanced over at him, eyes half-lidded as they had raked down his lean tattooed chest, his unbuttoned silk sheer shirt leaving very little to the imagination. When she’d pinned her gaze back up to his, her eyes had inked black as they’d flitted to the palm of his hand for a second, a suggestive glint washing across their reflective surface as the corner of her pretty mouth had quirked. “I have a decent idea of exactly what I wanna do.”

And now here they were, with many restless, heated nights, ruined bed frames, and rumpled sheets littering their past, as well as their immediate future.

And here Harry was, slowly blinking awake after one of those said nights, cruel scratches itching across his back as they finish up healing, an empty content still bubbling at the pit of his stomach.

His lashes flutter open as he inhales a large sigh, flinching at the bright sunlight filtering its way through the lightly swaying curtains. The only sound in the room is the soft thrum of the air vent at the far corner of the ceiling, alongside Y/N’s soft, rhythmic breathing.

In his barely conscious state, Harry goes to do what he always does the morning after he’s spent a night doing Y/N’s back in: he goes to stretch. He does most of the work more times than not— courtesy of his dominant tendencies— but she always gives him a run for his soul. Anything he dishes out, she usually returns with the same amount of energy and will. Last night hadn’t been any different and the ache at the bottom of his spine and along his inner thighs proves it.

Harry instinctively goes to lift his arms above his head, reaching for the top of the headboard to use it as support. He is stopped cold when he realizes a foreign weight is keeping one of his arms pinned to the bed.

He knuckles at his eyes with his free hand, ridding them of the last residues of sleep, and then drags his palm up his face and through his mussed curls to comb away his disorientation. He cranes his sore neck to the side and downwards, eyebrows jolting up in surprise when he’s met with a wall of fluffy, tangled, mandarin-scented hair.

Harry lifts his head up slightly, neck straining to see over the back of Y/N’s wild halo to make sure that the image before him isn’t some type of exhaustion-induced mirage.

It’s odd for her to be so near him— she usually likes her space; says that being too close in proximity for too long is irritating. It’s why she usually sleeps with her back to him at the other end of the bed, and why he’s gotten accustomed to giving her the majority of the mattress space. Despite the fact that it’s his flat, she’s stubborn, hard-headed, argumentative and frankly, he’d rather just forfeit the extra leg room instead of bickering for thirty minutes just to end up losing anyways. It’s gentlemanly, in a sense. Minimal, but it’s something.

Given Y/N’s general disgust for excess contact, it’s no shock as to why Harry is utterly baffled right now. He’s about ninety-eight percent sure she’d fallen asleep all the way across the expanse of his sheets so how did they willingly end up here? How did they end up with her bare back pressed to his chest, her legs intertwined between his, and his arm wrapped almost protectively around her waist, wedged between her hips and the bed.

Harry would never outright admit it but...he’s not necessarily mad about it.

As he lays there for a few more seconds, absorbing the situation with an expression of pensive dismay pinching his face, he slowly comes to terms that he’s actually starting to enjoy this.

The warmth of her smooth skin gradually undoes the knot of confusion between his brows. The sensation of her back flushing against his chest as it rises and falls with her breathing erases the unease dipping the corners of his stinging mouth. The way she’s started to unconsciously rub her calves gently up and down his own makes the last traces of unsettlement melt off his face, replaced by an appearance of subtle affection, lips parting in blank wonder.

Harry relaxes back into the plushness of the mattress, eyes remaining glued to a blissfully ignorant Y/N. His thoughts are scurrying around the inside of his skull, attempting to get accustomed with this new experience, having a difficult time arranging into place. He’s aware that he seems to be taking easily to what’s unfolding, but there’s an unsteady bubble inflating in his chest. He knows that if he lets himself dwell in this too much, it’ll end up biting him in the ass later, most likely as a wave of undealt emotions and crippling loneliness; that’s baggage he’s spent too many years compartmentalizing for it to all just come bursting out.

All those decades of locking away his issues are in danger of resurfacing, and all for some harmless hugging? Doesn’t seem like a fair negotiation, and he knows plenty about negotiations.

However, he can’t seem to make himself pull away.

Especially not when Y/N suddenly shifts in her sleep, turning onto her other side so that she's now facing him, snuggling deeper into his body and tucking her head into the junction between his neck and collarbones. Her annoyingly soft, hot lips smear against his throat, settling into the dip at the center where a pulse would normally be present. The feeling of her exhales washing across his cold skin sends a wringing down his spine, a hushed “fuck…” escaping his dry mouth as the warmth behind the gesture spreads upwards, spilling redness into his cheeks and along the shells of his ears. Her hands come up as loose fists, pressing between his pectorals lightly, her own naked chest flushing against her forearms.

Surprisingly enough, her supple chest isn’t at the forefront of his mind at this instant. Instead, he’s focused on the intimacy they’re sharing in this moment, unbeknownst to her and stressfully beknownst to him.

Harry’s free hand acts of its own accord, coasting upwards towards her face and moving her chin over a bit until his palm can comfortably nurse her jaw. He rubs the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip slowly, every ridge and bump sending miniature shots of electricity surging through his veins, his eyes falling shut at this strange form of pleasure he hasn’t felt in ages.

Y/N just looks so beautiful like that, in such a vulnerable state that he knows for sure no one else has ever gotten to witness— at least not in a very long time.

No one else has gotten to see the way her lashes sit atop her cheekbones so delicately, her face soothed by sleep, not a wrinkle or grimace in sight. She looks as if she were made of porcelain, her features nothing short of perfect. No one has gotten to witness the way she mumbles a handful of incoherent, groggy words, her mind lost in a meaningless dream, or the way her nose twitches in the cutest manner as a draft from the air conditioning runs across it, causing her to sniffle. No one has seen the way she gives into his touch, her face cradling deeper into his hand, chasing the uncommon gentleness behind his demeanor and it hadn’t occurred to Harry that maybe— just maybe— she’s craving this type of innocent bliss, too, though he’s certain she would never confess to it if she were awake.

Harry runs his hand down the slope of her bruised neck and across the curve of her shoulder, tracing the teeth marks he had left the night before. The tip of his fingers follow down the incline of her torso, wriggling around her side, his wrist resting upon the faint dip of her waist. He cups her lower back with his large hand, borrowing a moment to appreciate the way it fits flawlessly. He then leans forward some to give his reach more length, his digits carefully trailing up the middle of her spine, the action timid and tranquil.

He looks down at her from over the tops of his colored cheeks, chewing on his bottom lip nervously as he continues to lull his fingers up and down her back. Y/N releases a shy whimper of gratitude, her whole body bathing in a light shiver. She does like it.

Harry swallows thickly, moving away a few locks of hair off her shoulder with the tip of his nose, glassy jade irises studying her facial expressions to make sure she’s still asleep. He puckers his tingling lips, pressing a bundle of chaste kisses to the fading bite marks on her staticy skin. If his heart still beat, he feels like it would be glowing right now.

He tilts his chin up, settling it on top of her head and sighing in satisfaction as he feels her steady breathing wash across his Adam’s Apple, her flyaway hairs tickling his nostrils.

He decides to stay like that for a while, just basking in her company within this tender setting that he knows he probably won’t receive again anytime soon. Harry lays there, limbs woven between Y/N’s as his black-polished nails scratch gently at her back, swimming in his numb thoughts.

After what feels like hours— but is realistically just ten minutes— he goes to gingerly shift the arm stuck beneath her body, trying to regain some circulation. Y/N stirs, resulting in him freezing in place to prevent a mishap, his mouth finding her warm forehead and placing a lingering kiss between her brows. It eases her.

Harry waits five minutes before trying again.

He manages to escape this time around, lifting his arm above his head and twisting out the cramp in his wrist, then folding it behind his head. He allows his eyes to shut once again, intent on spending a bit longer milling in this bubble of domestic peace.

His plan is shattered to pieces by an alarmed, angry sentence.

“What the fuck?”

His eyelids fly open, ice materializing across his entire nervous system.

Shit.

Y/N launches upwards, sitting up rigidly with her face contorted in startled repulsion, clutching his blood red sheets to her chest as her hair stands up in tousled tuffs. “What in Lucifer’s red, barren hell are you doing?”

Harry now has two distinctive routes to pick from: confess to partaking in the unorthodox cuddling, or fake it and say he was asleep as well and that it had all been an unintentional mistake.

It’s hardly a choice.

He flings his arms away from the other demon’s body as if sickened, shooting up into a seated position and slouching back onto his palms, a look of agitated horror plastered across his sleepy, handsome features. “What do you mean what am I doing? What the fuck were you doing?”

Y/N blinks at him as if he’d just stabbed her between the eyes with a demon blade, irises momentarily flitting black with nerves, the area under her waterline webbing with dark veins. “What do you mean what was I doing? You were the one with your arms around me!”

Harry narrows his sight at her pointedly, thick brows furrowing with faux resentment. “You were the one with your head snuggled into my neck and your hands on my chest!”

“You were the one kissing my forehead!”

“You were the one rubbing up on my legs!”

“Because you were close to me!”

“Because you rolled over here!”

“No I didn’t!”

“Oh, so what?” Harry snaps sarcastically, drawing forward and crossing his arms over his chest adamantly. “Did an angel sneak in and place you there? Because as I recall, you always sleep on the left side of the bed, so what were you doing on the right?”

Harry’s accurate counter renders Y/N speechless, her mouth parting quizzically as if waiting for a response to magically appear. Her eyebrows cinch down begrudgingly, the gears in her head spinning on overdrive, trying to piece together an appropriate rebuttal. Her grasp tightens on the blanket covering her bare body. “Well, I...I don’t know—I don’t think I—”

Harry cocks his head to the side expectantly, loose curls falling across his forehead as he shrugs his brows with a condescending air. He mimics her with a high-pitched voice. “Well, I— I don’t know— I—I don’t think I—I—I—”

Y/N’s face goes sour as heat floods her cheeks, fire threatening to spark across the tips of her sizzling ears. She yanks the sheets off of him, holding them with one hand as she uses the other to begin crawling across the bed towards the edge, a haphazard defense thrown over her shoulder. “Shut up! It wasn’t on purpose!”

Harry scoffs in dark amusement, not even bothering to cover himself up. He bites into his cheek to keep from exploding into a round of triumphant laughter; he can’t believe he managed to turn the tides so quickly. “Oh, so you admit it was you, then?”

Y/N dismounts the atrociously tall bed, stumbling over the long linens as she desperately searches for her clothes. “No! I’m just saying that whatever happened, it didn’t happen intentionally!”

“Obviously.” The brunette demon snorts, shaking his head for subtle emphasis, crossing his ankles offhandedly and returning both arms to the place where one had been prior— tucked behind his head casually. “What do you think we are, mortal?”

“Of course not.” Y/N agrees quickly— a little too quickly, which hints to Harry that she might be trying to cover something up. Perhaps she wasn’t as disgusted by this as she had led on…

He watches as his friend— he uses the term lightly— shuffles around his room, peering at the floor in an determined quest to find her jeans, underwear, and black lace blouse. Or maybe she’s just hellbent on avoiding eye contact with him.

“Y/N…” His tone has lost its arrogantly mocking edge, softened by what she can only decode as...guilt?

She ignores it and doesn’t answer, nearly passing out in relief when she spots her panties and bra hanging off the doorknob to his closet. She snatches them swiftly, panning her gaze around the rest of the room for her leftover clothes, spotting them in a pile sticking out from underneath the opposite corner of the bed. They’d probably gotten kicked there in the heat of the moment.

Harry repeats himself a little louder, adding onto his comment to try and stifle some of the embarrassment radiating from her. “Y/N, you don’t have to leave. You usually stay for breakfast.”

Y/N scoops up her outfit, settling it into the crook of her right elbow and squaring her shoulders as if ready to brace a hellhound. Their gazes lock and he feels his stomach flop when he sees the vulnerability she’s obviously trying to hide. She’s good at it, he’ll give her that, but if he stares intently enough, he can just make out the traces of conflicted longing leaking into the disinterested facade around her pupils.

“It’s fine, Harry.” She sighs heavily, her tone drastically different from the unkempt girl that had been floundering about just seconds ago. She’s now calm, cool, collected, and scaringly so. “I have somewhere to be later. Meeting someone to close a deal.”

She shrugs one shoulder indifferently, grabbing a handful of the sheets arranged around her figure and pulling away, dropping the bedspread at his feet and leaving herself completely nude.

And there she is, the Y/N he so well knows. The same one that uses sex appeal as a shield.

She’s managed to spackle the cracks that had appeared in her typical barrier of heartlessness, her confidence and ease leveling off once again. She places her clothes on top of the crumpled sheets, picking out her cheeky bright red panties from the heap and working them up her tempting legs. Harry can’t help but notice the hickies covering her inner thighs, as well as the finger prints staining her hips.

Y/N catches him ogling, smirking to herself now that she has her composure back in order. She hooks her index finger around one of the straps in her bra, lifting it up and bouncing the lace lingerie in front of him teasingly. She raises her eyebrows at her lover provokingly, a sultry air pouting her lips. “Think you can help a girl out?”

Harry licks at his slightly chapped lips thoughtfully, eyes flickering between the article hanging off her hand to the sly grin decorating the edges of her pretty mouth. When he speaks, it’s low and thicker than usual, accent heavy. “Of course, pet.”

His legs thunk emptily off the bed and onto the floor, a small grunt catching the back of his throat as he pushes himself up onto his feet. He is most definitely sore.

His footsteps are soft against the carpeted ground, faltering as he rounds the corner of the mattress.

Y/N eyes his every move, suckling her bottom lip at the way his muscles flex and contract under his sun-kissed skin. She doesn’t let herself wander below his waist though; she’s never one to pass up flaunting her power of will.

Harry stops about a foot away, taking the bra from she is offering and holding it out for her to slip into. She does so at a mind-numbing pace, her toes curling as she feels his warm fingertips running the material up her arms and onto their designated spot on her shoulders. He tugs at the hooks gently, pinning them into place and tucking the tag in, exactly how he’s seen her do countless of times before.

He then runs the palms of his hands up her arms, sighing softly at the silky sensation of her skin and giving her shoulders a dismissive squeeze. “All done.”

Y/N turns on her heels to face him, looking up innocently through her lashes, lips quirking into an easy smile. “Thank you. Such a gentleman.”

Her playfully seductive personality is unbearably contagious, seen in how Harry returns her action with a coy scoff and a simper of his own. “For you, always.”

“Well…” Y/N turns her lower half to the side, showing him her ass for significance, which is covered in the unmistakable print of his hand and rings. “I wouldn’t say always.”

Harry’s pursed lips break into an even wider shit-eating grin, his cheeky laughter echoing across the walls of the apartment, his arms absentmindedly folding across his broad chest. “Yeah, well, you can’t say it’s one-sided, can you?”

He points towards his neck, stretching his chin upwards so that she gets a good view of all the fading love bites she’d left there the night before.

Y/N’s giggles match his. “Touché.”

Harry rummages through his drawers as she finishes getting dressed, shimmying into her tight jeans and throwing her shirt on, finger-combing her hair into a decent state. He comes up with a pair of maroon briefs, slipping them on as he walks back towards her, letting the elastic band snap into place against his lower abdomen.

The two demons with benefits stand before each other, Y/N with her braided black sandals swung over her shoulders and Harry with his hands fixed on his hips nonchalantly.

“You really can’t stay for breakfast?” Harry inquiries one last time, lifting his eyebrows curiously. “I’m making those cinnamon bun waffles you like so much.”

Y/N sighs grandly, clutching her chest dramatically as if it physically hurts her to decline his offer. “I’d love to, but work is work. Don’t really have a say.”

Her friend nods in understanding, well aware of the truth behind her words. “It is what it is, then.”

“However...” Her sudden continuation makes his head perk. She reaches up, carding her fingers into his messy curls and combing them back from his face, tucking a handful of rebellious ringlets behind his small ears and giving him one final self-assured smile. “Do y’think you could maybe save me two and I can come pick them up tonight?”

Harry cranes his head to the side, placing a slow peck to the palm of her hand and then biting into her skin jokingly, a certain lewdness painted all over the deed. “I think that can be arranged.”

“Great.” Y/N quips happily, wrapping his curls around her knuckles roughly and hauling him in for a sloppy, dirty kiss that leaves his teeth numb and his face buzzing.

Once she breaks their mouths, lightly panting with her skin a darker shade than before, he has to blink three times in order to reign himself back in. His ability to form coherent sentences right now is about as useful as alphabet soup; he just gives her a jerky nod instead.

Y/N wipes at his swollen lips with the pad of her thumb, giving his cheek a playful pat. “I’ll see you then, H.”

Harry can’t tear his eyes away as she leaves, his bedroom door clicking shut behind her, the soft, distant thunk of his front door accompanying the sound a bit later.

Fuck, that was something is the first comprehensible thought that registers in his mind.

It was absolutely something and who knows how differently it would have gone if he had admitted giving into the weakness they had both sworn off of.

That notion haunts him for a while— the idea that he could have driven her away for good if he had confessed that his emotions had bleed through their arrangement. Sure, it had only been this once, but Harry has a horrible gut-wrenching feeling that he’s unlocked a box deep in the back of his skull that won’t easily be chained down again.

He thinks this over again and again as he prepares his morning meal, the looming uncertainties of it all causing him to check out of reality here and there, resulting in a few burn marks across his hands and two charred waffles in the bin.

As Harry finally sits down to enjoy the food that had nearly not made it to his plate, he finds himself mentally running through the awkward encounter he and Y/N had faced this morning. He can’t stop himself from dwelling on the expression he had seen crack through her eyes earlier— one that showed she seemed to be feeling the same kind of emotional turmoil he was. It opens too many unanswered questions for their future and he hates himself for being so worried when nothing had truly happened. For all he knows, it could have just been a trick of the sunlight that had been streaming into the room. He’s getting himself out of sorts for nothing.

However, as he goes in on a forkful of his cinnamon-glazed pastry, one pesky detail suddenly launches him into a coughing fit.

It was so minuscule he had missed it the first fifty times he had run through the events, but it had decided to prick him in the brain now, the weak dam of reassurance he had built crumbling to ashes.

After Y/N had woken up, saw what was happening, and their fight had ensued, she had made a comment about how Harry had kissed her forehead.

On the surface, it had seemed unimportant because yes, that is exactly what he had done. The problem arose when he remembered that she had been dead asleep when he had done that.

Supposedly.

He had gone to remove his arm from below her body, she had fussed a bit, he had pressed his lips to her forehead to ease her, and she had remained asleep for a while longer until he decided to finish removing his arm. That final motion was what had awoken her.

Supposedly.

If she had been unconscious the whole time they were cuddling, then how did she know he’d kissed her?

#demon!reader #demon!y/n #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles dirty one shot #harry styles dirty imagine #harry styles dirty fanfiction #harry styles dirty fic #harry styles #harry styles au #writing au #demon au #one direction one shot #one direction fanfiction #1d one shot #1d fanfiction

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lvrexe · 3 years

Text

Wild Ride | Shiranui

Wild Ride Chapter 1 - Shiranui Chp 2/Chp 3 [both are yet to be written] First three chapters will be published on Tumblr, but the rest will be posted on my AO3 which you can find here.

General Fic Info Rating; Explicit Category; M/M Ship(s); Hatake Kakashi/Shiranui Genma, Sarutobi Asuma/Shiranui Genma, Hatake Kakashi/Sarutobi Asuma Genre: Romance, Angst, Tags: Smut with plot, Poly Relationships, Friends with Benefits, Eventual Romance, Alternative Universe, Semi-Modern AU, Anal sex, Explicit Content, Misinterpreted Relationships, Misunderstandings, Drinking, Alcoholism

Semi-Modern AU - Many aspects of the canon universe are still present (Shinobi Organization System, Jutsu, Missions, Chunin Exams, etc) but take a lighter mood and aren’t as prominent. Technology is advanced and modernized, such as; phones, computers, internet, tvs, video games, etc. Peaceful AU - The Third Shinobi War still occurred but many, such as Uchiha Obito and Nohara Rin, still survived to tell the tale. The Uchiha clan were never massacred and neither of the Uchiha brothers left the Village.

Chapter Info; Word Count: ~5.7k Content Warnings: Drinking, One night stand, Hangover, Oral sex, Hand job, Friends with Benefits, bit of an oral fixation

s/n; There’s a reference to an anime I once watched in here, Panty and Stocking with Garterbelt.

+ last scene includes NSFW

The faint sound of his phone buzzing is what stirred Shiranui Genma awake, that, and the bright sun beaming him in his face. A shiver shot up his spine as cold, morning air brushed against his single exposed leg. He tucked his calf back under the blanket, which alerted him to the stinging pain between his cheeks.

Buzz… Buzz…

Genma groaned as his phone vibrated. His hand swung over to the end table, tapping around to find his phone. When he couldn’t feel it, he peeled his eyes open and a groan left his lips as the room he was in wasn’t his own. He tossed himself onto his back, keeping his hips turned onto their side, and ran his hands down his face. ‘Dammit… And I promised Hayate I wouldn’t...’ he thought to himself.

His phone quit buzzing and fell silent, leaving him in the quiet room. He sighed and rubbed his temples, trying to stop his splitting hangover headache as he tried to remember the night before.

Genma had gone out with his Jounin colleagues for a night of drinking; a way of celebrating Uchiha Obito’s promotion to Jounin. It didn’t phase him that he had a shift in the morning, he told himself he wasn’t going to get too drunk. Heh, and look how that turned out. He let out a groan as he pried at his own mind for answers. From his memory, he remembered… Ebisu, Might Gai, Umino Iruka (Technically, Iruka wasn’t a Jounin, but he still grew up close with the group), Sarutobi Asuma, Yuhi Kurenai, Nohara Rin, and Hatake Kakashi.

As he thought back to the night before, he cursed to himself for keeping his head upwards as his partner attacked his neck after roughly pushing him against the wall. The two hardly seemed to get through the door. He remembered the touch as he viciously undressed the person then. He definitely didn’t remember any tits.

The next thing he remembered was him on his knees, lips dragging up and down his partner’s cock as he bobbed his head. He still didn’t get a look at who it was. But it definitely wasn’t Kurenai or Rin.

So it wasn’t Kurenai or Rin and it wasn’t Obito or Asuma, he knew that for certain. Sure, Genma enjoyed a good hook-up here and there but he knew damn well that people in loving relationships were a no-go. So that left him with Ebisu, Gai, Iruka and Kakashi. Genma’s face visibly cringed and held back a gag before he immediately chucked Gai out of the list. He thought about Ebisu for a moment before kicking him off the list as well.

That left him with the last two on the list; Iruka or Kakashi.

Genma shivered and he held his wrist, resisting the urge to palm himself as he relished in the memories of the previous night. Fuck, Iruka or Kakashi were good, whoever it was. He just hated how every memory he had of the experience failed to give him any sort of indicator of whoever it was. Not like he wasn’t going to find out soon anyway.

He bit his bottom lip as his hips humped up into his hand; he caved in. His brunette bangs fell to the sides of his face as he raised his lower body upwards, his mouth drew open, heavy breaths leaving his lips as he felt his cock harden beneath his boxers. But as he melted into the pleasure, his phone started up again, buzzing and vibrating, effectively ruining the moment for him.

Scoffing, he relaxed himself and turned onto his side to look around for his phone. On the floor, his clothes were scattered across the room but his pants were the closest to the bed. His phone’s bright screen shone through the fabric of his pants pocket and he tugged out his phone. Checking the caller ID, he uttered a “fuck” under his breath. Shizune. Reluctantly, he hit answer and brought the phone up to his ear. “‘Ello?” he croaked out.

“Genma! Where are you?” Shizune screeched through the phone, causing Genma to pull his head away momentarily.

“You’re rather loud this morning,” he grumbled.

“Answer me! You’re supposed to be here by now! Do you know what time it is?” God, if she kept shouting in his ear, his headache was bound to come back; not like it had dissipated. He checked the time listed in the top corner of his phone. 8:34 AM. Dammit, half an hour late. He pushed himself up and rested his back against the pillows. “I am.... Helping the elderly at a nursing home…”

Shizune immediately scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Oh come on, Genma! You were out drinking again,” she lectured. He could hear her sigh before her attention was likely drawn elsewhere when someone in the background raised their voice. “Ack! I’m coming, Lady Tsunade!... Get your butt back over here already, Genma!”

“I will, I will…” he groaned as he rubbed his forehead. “Cover for me, please?”

“Cover for you, how? What am I supposed to tell Tsunade?” “I… Uh, got kidnapped?”

“Oh, har, har… I’ll tell her you’re running late. And that’s it.”

Genma heard a click on her end and the call ended. He sighed and tossed his phone on the nearby end table. His umber brown eyes caught wind of a familiar book hanging on the edge of the table; Icha Icha Paradise. Ah, so he managed to bed the famed Copy Nin, Kakashi. And if on cue;

“So you’re awake.”

Standing at the door frame of the bedroom was Kakashi, messy silver hair looking more like a rat's nest than actual hair, a loose white tank top that hardly did anything to hide much, and of course, his classic mask that clung to his face to hide his features. In his hand was a glass of water. Genma made no effort in hiding the fact he was eyeing Kakashi up and down. He chuckled and purred, eating up the eye candy. Kakashi pushed himself off the door frame and placed the cup onto the table, “Glad you’re enjoying the view.”

“Wish I could’ve seen more of it last night, y’know,” A cocky reply, but not necessarily a fib. He would’ve loved to see Kakashi’s features, even if it were from a drunken one night stand. The brunette grabbed the glass and sipped on the water. He let out a sigh and rubbed the side of his head. He gulped down the water and placed the glass down as Kakashi wandered over and sat himself down at the edge of the bed. “Heh, sorry, you know how finicky I get about that…”

Kakashi rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled, brows curving to express a light-hearted nervous expression. He turned his head to Genma. “You’re not in too much pain, are you?” he questioned. “I did what I could with the whole aftercare thing… Tried getting you dressed as well, I think.”

Curious, the brunette Jounin lifted the sheets. A smile tugged at his lips and a quick laugh erupted from him. He was only in his boxers. When he reached down and tucked the waistband around his thumb, he noticed something. “These are inside out, Kakashi,” he stated with a cackle.

“Never said I did it well…” the silver-haired shinobi chuckled. He rested his arms on his knees. “You got a shift soon?”

“Late for one…” Genma clarified, “... Can I use your shower?” He took a glance down at his inverted undergarments. “... And snag some underwear?”

“I’ve only got large, so I hope they’ll fit,” Kakashi replied as he pushed himself up. “As for my shower, I don’t have much in there, but feel free to use it.” He opened one of the drawers in his dresser and tossed over a pair of his briefs onto the bed as Genma climbed out of the bed.

“They’ll fit,” Genma replied as he gathered his clothes from the floor. He tossed his pants, his shirt and his jacket onto the bed along with the briefs. He caught the towel tossed towards him. Kakashi headed towards the door, before stopping and turning to the other Jounin, “Shower’s just down the hall, at the end.”

Genma found the shower fairly easily; there weren’t many rooms in Kakashi’s house. He tossed the white towel onto the hanger and peeled off his briefs before stepping into the tub. Turning the knob, he held his hand under the stream of water until he found the right temperature before tugging up the diverter. His back flinched when it was splashed with water from the shower head above. The shower fully woke him up and he spent a good minute or two just soaking in the warm water, he rested his arm against the wall, letting the water drench his hair as he thought about the night before. He just slept with the Hatake Kakashi, the famed Copy Nin and the ideal example of an elite shinobi; the best of the best.

A low chuckle pried its way out of his lips. ‘Now that’s a tale to tell…’ he thought to himself. Remembering the night, his cock twitched in response. Fuck, he was not that caught up on the encounter that it got him hard this quickly. Regardless, Genma reached down to the sex between his legs; he’d indulge in his fantasies for a moment. His hand wrapped firmly around his base and he pumped his hand down to the tip, letting out a shaky breath as he did so.

His hand continued to stroke his length, pleasing his hard-on. An aroused huff left his lips as he leaned against the wall, resting his forehead on his forearm, eyes focused on the shaft in his free hand.

Genma bit into his bottom lip, raising his head upwards, water splashing on his throat now, as his motions increased. A low groan rumbled in his throat and his eyes squeezed shut as he chased his release. He humped his hips, a familiar tingling sensation pooling deep down. He groaned out as cum shot out of his tip, splattering onto the pearly white bottom of the tub.

The water diluted his fluids before the two liquids were sucked down the drain. Genma panted out as he calmed himself down. He stared down at the floor of the tub, his body ached for more and he nearly caved to his urges. But he shook his head and reached out to the knob, shifting the warm water to freezing cold. He shivered as his mind was shocked into snapping out of it’s groggy state.

Genma knew what awaited him behind the doors of the Hokage’s Residence; a lecture from Shizune, pestering from Kotetsu or Izumo (if they weren’t on gate duty), questions from Hayate, and finally, a reprimanding from Lady Tsunade. Running his hands down his clothes, he made his attempt at smoothing out the wrinkles in his clothes.

He sighed and shook his head before he sucked in a breath and entered the bright scarlet building. As expected, both Izumo and Kotetsu sat in the lobby-esque room. Kamizuki Izumo was the first to raise his head from the desk he was stationed at. “Running late today, Genma?” he shot out his first question.

The exhausted Jounin let out a low grumble as he walked over to Izumo and Kotetsu’s desk. “You could say that…” he murmured under his breath, teeth clamping down on the senbon between his lips.

“‘Say that’, huh?” Izumo huffed out, handing over a clipboard used for signing in, “You act like you’ve been a no-show for an hour now.” “Hey, where were you?” Hagane Kotetsu piped up, popping one of his eyes open.

“Home,” Genma answered with a lie. It left Kotetsu raising a brow with a mischievous grin. Uh oh. “Really?” Kotetsu swung up to sit up straight, his attention now fully grabbed by the conversation. He rested his arms on the end of the table, “Hayate told me he went and checked on you.”

Shit.

“Must’ve not heard him,” the brunette responded as he grabbed a pen from the pen holder tucked into the corner of the desk. He scribbled his name on the sign-in sheet.

“Huh, odd,” Kotetsu hummed, “‘Cos he only left to pick you up after your call with Shizune.” If Kotetsu kept on pestering and prying, Genma would be in jail for seven cases of assault soon.

“Was already out,” he was popping out lies left and right, and he knew Kotetsu knew that his tales were fabricated. But he supposed that was the dynamic of their limited friendship. One prying, the other lying.

“Well, Hayate sure came in way earlier than you—” “Kotetsu, that’s enough,” Izumo spat as he took the clipboard away from Genma. “Ignore him, Genma… Go get to the Hokage’s office, Lady Tsunade’s waiting for you. Best not keep her waiting.”

Genma quickly took his leave from the two Chunin and headed down the hallway. He passed and greeted a few other shinobi, making brief conversations, checking up on them just as his mother raised him to. He turned onto the stairs but as he was about to reach the top floor, he stopped in his tracks as he spotted the back of his close friend, Gekko Hayate.

He sighed in defeat, no way he was avoiding his friend now, and took that final step, bringing himself to the top floor. Of course, the ninja in front of Hayate pointed him out and the sickly Jounin turned around. His dark brown eyes were well-sunken in, his skin dreadfully pale, dark hair rough and damaged; his illness was taking a toll on him, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to identify that. “Oh, finally, there you are,” he said. He turned his head to the other shinobi and dismissed him before heading over to Genma. “You want to tell me what happened to you?”

Genma groaned. “Did you need to check on me?” he shot back.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to drink,” the other murmured. “Shizune and I both had to cover for your ass, you know…”

“Sorry, sorry… I got carried away, I know…” he grumbled as the two made their way down the curved hall to the Hokage’s office.

“So who was it this time?” Hayate inquired, his interest piqued. “Must’ve been someone good if they kept you late for an hour rather than the usual half hour.”

The taller of the two laughed before he pondered whether or not he should spill the beans on his night with Kakashi. Kakashi probably wouldn’t like others knowing of his sex life… He didn’t strike Genma as the type to brag of his encounters and experiences in the sex department— if he bragged about anything at all. “Can’t tell you,” Genma eventually replied.

A hiss through Hayate’s clenched teeth. “That bad?”

“Oh no, he was amazing,” Genma informed. “Just don’t think he’d want me to disclose our night.”

“What? You worried I’d gossip? Do I look like a 14-year-old girl to you?”

“No, I think you look like a character from a Tim Burton movie,” Genma was quick to shoot back, earning him a shove in the arm from Hayate.

“Rude.”

“Come in,” Tsunade’s voice called out from behind the closed door.

Genma sucked in a breath and let out a heavy sigh. He opened the Hokage’s door and entered the office, Lady Tsunade sat behind her large desk, papers scattered across the top while her tawny brown eyes remained focused on her computer screen, scrolling through something.

“Lord Fifth,” Genma greeted, grabbing Tsunade’s attention.

Tsunade shifted her eyes to him before turning her body to fully face him. “Genma.” Oh that wasn’t a good tone. “You’re late.”

“My apologies, Hokage,” he murmured out, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I got wrapped up in something…”

The blonde woman cocked an eyebrow but she turned her head to her computer, deciding against prying. She clicked around on her computer, bringing up some files, specifically the files about the up-coming Chunin Exams. She scrolled down and found the blank proctor spot for the finals. Normally, Hayate would be taking this spot, however, his illness interfered. Genma had held the finals before and based on the Third Hokage’s report, he did well. Not that there was much to report on. He was one of few recommended for the position.

“As you probably know, the first Chunin Exams of the year are around the corner,” she spoke up finally. She rested her elbows on her desk and rested her chin on her intertwined hands. “The first and second stages already have their proctors,” she explained, “The finals, however, lack a proctor.”

“Hayate can’t operate?” Genma piped up.

Tsunade only nodded. “Given Hayate’s illness and it’s sudden increase in progression, he won’t be able to perform optimally during the Exams,” she stated briefly. She sighed and furrowed her brows, averting her gaze downwards. She closed her eyes for a moment, dwelling in a feeling of guilt. She opened them once again, eyes strict and firm, she gazed back up at the brunette Jounin. “There’s been a few recommendations, but I feel like you’d be the best pick for the proctor.”

Genma bit down onto the end of his senbon. He pursed his lips and let out a heavy breath through his nostrils. He sighed and nodded. “I see,” he hummed. He glanced back at the door where Hayate had dropped him off. “I get it…”

“You don’t have any qualms about this?” she questioned.

He shook his head. “Not at all,” he affirmed, “I’d be glad to proctor the exams.”

“You know that as a proctor, you now take part in determining which participants are promoted to the rank of Chunin,” Tsunade reminded with an explanation he had heard once before, “And you must remain unbiased to the shinobi and kunoichi of Konoha. Genin from other villages will be attending the exams and unless this exam is lacklustre, I do expect more than just one or two being promoted.”

“Understood, Lord Hokage,” Genma replied sharply. He had heard of this speech before, almost every proctor had heard it when given the position. He knew the job, his new position and the sudden boost of significance to his decisions the position brought.

“Lady Tsunade,” he piped up. She raised her head. “Who exactly are the other two proctors?” he inquired.

Tsunade turned her head to the screen of her monitor. “Hm, well it’s Nara Shikamaru and Yamashiro Aoba,” she listed off the two proctors. “Shikamaru is already ironing out some of the details for the first exam, while Aoba is working out his plans for the second exam.”

Shikamaru and Aoba, huh? Genma made a mental note to check in on the two. Then again, it wasn’t exactly necessary, the Finals were always the same no matter what the previous exams were.

“I’d also like you to inform some of the teams,” Tsunade requested. “Get the news spreading among the leaders.”

“Don’t you want to bring them here?” he questioned. “Unfortunately, I’ve got a few meetings… It’d be a hassle for me to squeeze in another.”

Genma groaned. “So, no patrol around the residence?”

“No, I’d suggest you get going. You’re already running late as it is,” Tsunade instructed.

The brunette Jounin made no more complaints, not even a little comment, before he nodded and headed out of the office.

“Naruto, what are you doing?!” Haruno Sakura pestered, angrily pointing towards her dimwitted teammate.

“Whaddya mean ‘what am I doing’?” Uzumaki Naruto shot back. “I’m doing just as Kakashi-sensei said!”

Sakura whacked the back of the blonde boy, gritting her teeth. “You idiot! No, you’re not! Here, watch me again and pay attention, Naruto.”

Leaning against a tree, arms crossed, Kakashi let out a sigh as he watched his two students struggle to pin down a technique he taught— well, Sakura had already gotten it down and mastered it, it was Naruto who had yet to execute it. He rubbed his forehead for a moment, eyebrows frowned, and dipped his head, tearing his attention away from the two Genin. Discerning a familiar chakra approaching behind him, he quickly turned around and waited for the Jounin to land.

“Kakashi.”

Genma dropped onto the ground swiftly. He stood up straight and walked forward, resting on the tree across from Kakashi’s. “Training your squad?” He spoke leisurely, making for small talk.

“New chakra technique… Naruto needs it.” The silver-haired shinobi made a quick glance over at the teenage couple as Sakura desperately tried to aid Naruto. “What do you need? Thought you had a patrol shift around the Hokage building.”

Genma let out a groan and rubbed the back of his neck, flicking the senbon to the other corner of his lips, teeth nibbling on the end in his mouth. “Nah, I got a new job,” he murmured.

“Which is?”

“I’m the proctor of the Chunin Exam finals,” he announced. He stuffed his hands into his pants pockets as he gazed out towards the training Genin out on the field. “Lord Fifth specifically asked me to inform the genin squads of Konoha of the upcoming Exams…”

Kakashi let out a hum as he pondered whether or not his squad was ready. His eyes flicked over to Sakura; she was fine, still needed some tuning but her training with the Fifth Hokage proved to be rewarding, she had a devastating blow to her punches and her medical Ninjutsu was nigh on perfect. His absent student, Uchiha Sasuke, had perfected the Chidori and his combat effectiveness. His skill with his sharingan, while Kakashi couldn’t help in that department despite having been gifted one, was honed in, thanks to the help of his older brother.

His eyes drifted over towards Naruto. He observed the blonde’s strained but concentrated expression as he pushed himself off from the ground. Naruto was still learning the Rasengan and whatever other Jutsu Jiraiya had started teaching him. Naruto was who Kakashi was worried about.

“...Kakashi?”

The elite Jounin snapped out of his daze. He chuckled and waved his hand softly. “Sorry, sorry…” he murmured. He sighed and crossed his arms. “I’ll end up talking to them, see if they’re ready for another Chunin Exam.”

“Speaking of your students,” Genma piped up. “Where’s the third?... Sasuke?”

“Ah, him. He’s already mastered the technique. I decided against keeping him from training with Itachi just because Naruto struggles to get it down,” he replied.

Genma only hummed in response, kicking his leg up, resting his foot against the trunk of the tree. He kept his head turned to the two Genin training on the field. As Sakura lectured and Naruto snapped back, the specialized Jounin couldn’t help but quietly chuckle at himself. Memories of his own Genin years flooded his mind. It was a mere three years compared to Team 7’s five years, but his years were still packed with fond memories; it was hard not to have some eventful memories when Might Gai was your assigned teammate. Pair that with Ebisu's stern personality and insistence to do everything by the books, Genma was often the bystander to a lot of spectacles between Gai and Ebisu.

Another laugh danced from him as he remembered all the antics he was dragged into by his two teammates; their fights, Ebisu’s not-so-hidden pervertedness, Gai’s determination to defeat Kakashi in quite literally anything, Gai using Ebisu and him as essentially training dummies. That was before any of them were promoted and all took their own paths; Ebisu went off to be assigned to the Third Hokage’s honorable grandson; Gai went to train a different squad, similar to Kakashi; and Genma? He ended up specializing in Hokage protection.

“I know that look.” Genma tore his eyes away from Naruto and Sakura upon hearing Kakashi’s words. “What’s on your mind, Genma?”

“Just reminiscing,” the brunette admitted. “Sometimes it seems like it was only yesterday we were their rank, acting without a damn care in the world.”

Kakashi only nodded in agreement. “Yeah…” he muttered under his breath. He pushed himself up off the tree. His eyes scanned over Genma’s body, images of Genma’s body flickered in his mind. He shivered at the thought of having the brunette beneath him again. “Genma.”

“Huh? What’s up?”

Nervously, the silver-haired shinobi chuckled. “If you’re not busy, stop by my house later.”

Genma cocked his brow up, a smirk tugged at his lips. He lifted off the tree and tilted his head. “Oh?” His interest was piqued. He stepped forward. “Alright, I’ll bite then… Eight sound good?”

Kakashi quickly nodded. He gulped down his nervousness and resisted the urge to run his hands up the brunette’s slim body. “Yea-yeah, of course.”

The older Jounin only chuckled. “Don’t fret, Kakashi… You were enjoyable, like hell I’m turning that down,” he assured. He pulled away and hummed. “I’ll bring a bottle to calm your nerves, don’t worry.”

With that, Genma turned on his heels to head off, waving goodbye to the silver-haired Jounin.

Kakashi wasn’t sure what he was doing giving into his urges earlier, he never usually thought with his dick. No matter the situation, he was always thinking with his head. He cursed himself, but he also praised himself for shooting his shot. And with someone like Genma too. He had to admit, the brunette just awoke something within him. It wasn’t certain how long the attraction had lasted but it definitely became noticeable in recent years the more the two hung out with each other.

A knock at the door disrupted his thoughts and Kakashi pulled himself up off his couch. He opened his front door to Genma, a bottle of whiskey in his hand, two shot glasses dangerously stacked onto the cap of said bottle. Genma wore a grin on his face, his senbon clenched firmly between his teeth. “Hey there, ‘Kashi,” he greeted, “You gon’ let me in or…?”

Kakashi cleared his throat and stepped to the side, inviting the brunette in. “You brought whiskey?” he asked an obvious question.

Genma laughed. “Of course,” he replied with the obvious answer as he plopped down on the couch. As he popped the bottle open, he took his time in observing Kakashi’s house in full.

It was a small house nuzzled between two larger buildings, so it didn’t come as a shock that Kakashi had little space in his living room; a large glass door that led to his backyard, the left wall beside it rested the couch Genma sat on, on the right was a wall-mounted TV with a shelf of all Kakashi’s books beneath it; the middle was a simple coffee table with miscellaneous items scattered across the top.

Kakashi sat himself down next to Genma as the brunette poured them both shots. He accepted the drink Genma offered him and watched as the other downed his shot instantly. He watched as Genma curled his lips in momentarily before he spat out his senbon, the thin metal needle clattering onto his table. Fuck. The way Genma moved his lips, how they’d look during his cocky smirks, all of it lit a flame deep down inside Kakashi. “This whiskey…” he brought up.

“Don’t worry,” the other said, “It’s weak whiskey.”

Accepting that, he shifted himself to the side. He tugged down his mask when his back was fully turned to Genma. He tilted his head back and downed the shot. Lifting his mask back up, he turned and watched as his old classmate poured another for himself before offering the bottle to him. He waved off the offer and slid his glass back onto the table. “I’m fine, Genma,” he assured.

“Alright, bottle’s here if you ever want more,” Genma replied as he drank down another shot.

“So… You’re the new proctor for the Chunin Exams?” He was quick to pull up a topic for small talk.

“Mhm,” the brunette quickly confirmed. “Apparently, I was one of the slim few who were recommended.” He turned his head to Kakashi. “But you seriously didn’t bring me here to just chat, did you?”

“No— but I just—” While Kakashi fumbled over his words, Genma shifted off his own cushion and kicked himself over Kakashi’s lap, resting his legs on each side of the other’s thighs. The white-haired Jounin sputtered as Genma sat firmly on his lap, his hands on his shoulders. “Oh.”

“You get flustered so easily for someone who reads porn on the daily,” Genma chuckled as he rocked his hips into Kakashi’s. “Hell, you probably watch a shit ton too, don’t you?”

“I—… Wow,” he murmured as his hands landed on the older’s hips, fingers dangerously close to groping those firm cheeks.

The brunette laughed and his hands slid up Kakashi’s neck, his jawline, his cheeks before his index and middle fingers hooked around the edge of his black mask. “Relax, ‘Kakashi,” he purred, “Let’s get this mask off, shall we?”

Kakashi’s hands were gripping Genma’s wrists in an instant, causing Genma to flinch momentarily. He sighed and slowly pulled Genma’s hands off his mask. Averting his eyes, letting go of Genma as the brunette’s hands found themselves back on his shoulders. “Sorry, Genma…” he murmured under his breath.

Genma pursed his lips, a little annoyed but he respected the other’s wishes. “Alright,” he replied.

Switching up his plans, the brunette slid off Kakashi’s lap and knelt on the hardwood floors. Realizing his intentions, Kakashi shifted his hips closer to the edge of the couch, spreading his legs. Genma’s hands trailed over his thighs, fingers drawing circles into his pants. He could only shiver in response. His zipper was undone and he lifted his hips as his pants were yanked down to his ankles.

Genma was quick to lick his lips upon seeing an erection hiding behind some black boxers. His hand reached forward and palmed the obvious bulge, a breathy groan escaping Kakashi. He chuckled and smirked as he continued on caressing Kakashi’s clothed cock. Watching the silver-haired shinobi’s reactions only egged on Genma. He felt Kakashi twitch and harden under his touch.

“Genma,” Kakashi grunted, “If you don’t start sucking, I’m going to burst.”

A teasing laugh erupted from Genma’s lips and he complied with Kakashi’s desperate wishes. His fingers hooked around the waistband of the undergarments and like the pants, he tugged them down. His chocolate brown eyes stared at the erect dick that shot up upon being freed. “You’re packing some length there…” he purred out a compliment. Kakashi only let out a nervous chuckle in reply.

Genma’s hand wrapped around the base and his tongue swiped across the tip. He dragged his tongue down the side, leaving a strip of his saliva down the sensitive flesh. His tongue licked around the tip, lapping up any pre. He pumped his hand up to the tip before tugging back down, spreading his saliva down the shaft.

Kakashi uttered curses under his breath before his hand reached over to the top of Genma’s head, tugging out the knot of his hitai-ate. He tugged off the navy blue headband and chucked it to the side, the metal clattering against the wooden floor. His fingers dove in, tangling themselves in Genma’s locks of brown hair. He tugged the other closer to the tip of his leaking cock. “I told you just suck,” he demanded in a timid tone, though, it only sounded like a squeaky request.

Genma rolled his eyes but he wasn’t going to deny or complain. He kissed the reddened tip before his tongue swirled around the tip. Through his thick eyelashes, his eyes locked with Kakashi’s as his lips wrapped around the cock. He pushed the length down his mouth, his tongue cupping the underside of the erect cock.

Kakashi groaned out as Genma’s wet warmth enveloped his length, resting his head on the back of the couch. His hand tugged at Genma’s hair, pushing him down his shaft. “Fuck…” he murmured out.

His eyes focused on Genma as the brunette dipped his head up and down, saliva coating his shaft. Specifically, his eyes watched Genma’s lips; he watched how they firmly wrapped around his length, how they dirtied themselves with saliva each time he bobbed his head, dragging up and down his throbbing cock. His cock twitched inside the mouth of Genma just from staring at his lips working.

Genma’s cheeks hollowed out as he sucked, his tongue cupping the underside of his dick, fingers wrapped around the base. If he could, he’d be smirking as Kakashi sung him whispered praises as he guided his mouth down the thick cock, the tip pushing against the back of his throat.

“Shit… Just like that…” Kakashi uttered. His hand continued to tug Genma down his shaft, deep-throating the other. He groaned out in pleasure as he rocked his hips upwards, earning some gagging sounds from Genma. He hesitated for a moment but Genma picking up his pace led Kakashi to continue on.

Heavy pants and lewd slurping noises filled the living room, Kakashi occasionally moaning out loudly as he reached his release. His grip tightened around Genma’s locks of hair as he shoved the brunette’s head down, thrusting his cock down his throat.

With a muffled moan, Genma squeezed his eyes tight as thick ropes of cum shot deep into his throat. As Kakashi relaxed, he pulled his head back, slipping the cock out of his mouth. He swallowed down the salty white liquid before smirking. His rosy pink lips were drenched with saliva, eyes hazy with lust as he gazed up at Kakashi. A chuckle escaped him and he licked his lips. He leaned in and slapped the cock against his cheek, splashing saliva against his face, thin strings kept him connected to the cock whenever he pulled it away before they snapped and disappeared. “You’re still a bit hard…” he commented.

“I… Urm, bedroom?” Kakashi squeaked out as Genma continued to play with his cock like some kid’s toy.

Genma kissed the sloppy tip and nodded. “Bedroom,” he affirmed.

#Naruto #Naruto Shippuden #Semi-Modern AU #modern AU #Genma Shiranui #Genma #Kakashi Hatake #Hatake Kakashi #NSFT #fanfiction #Kakashi x Genma #fanfic

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pokelolmc · 3 years

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10 Danny Phantom Episodes with Good Concepts that Sorely Disappointed Me: “The Ultimate Enemy” (Part 2)

Alright, here I am, everyone—part two of my critical analysis on “The Ultimate Enemy”, and how its faulty writing let down a good episode idea. For those stumbling across this for the first time, I am in the process of composing an analytical list of ten Danny Phantom episodes whose concepts I liked, but didn’t like the execution of. “The Ultimate Enemy” is the first on this list. Due to the size of my complaints with the episode, I’ve split my arguments into multiple categories across multiple posts; I highly suggest you start from the beginning with part 1 here before moving onto this post. It covered the main introduction, and Category A of my problems with the episode: the plot points that were primarily irrelevant to Dan’s character.

For those of you continuing from the first part, I apologise for this part being overdue. I proposed I would edit and upload part two roughly a day after part one, but those days dragged on due to constant re-editing and problems with my mental health. Parts three and four shall probably take longer than a few days to edit and upload as well, as I discovered arguments in the essay that needed massive overhauls before posting. I can guarantee they’re coming eventually (the whole thing essay is fully written, point-wise); I need to rework and trim the fat off some paragraphs.

Without further ado, this post will take a look at everything I’ve chucked into Category B—my issues with Dan’s characterisation, and how what the episode showed us about who deserved responsibility for Dan contradicted what it told us about how Dan was created.

(Also, because of my saltiness seeping in when I was writing, my captions for the images got a little too snarky for an analytical essay, but I am too tired of re-editing this section to remove them. Hopefully, they’ll serve as humour; if not, I apologise.)

1. The episode incorrectly portrayed Danny as the only one responsible for Dan’s existence, and for the wrong reasons (the wrong events in the timeline). Upon scrutiny of the actual sequence of events that led to Dan’s creation, the direct responsibility for Dan’s birth was either an even split between Danny and Vlad, or slightly more Vlad’s fault (depending upon the interpretation of the event that did actually cause Dan).

(Spoiler alert: No. No, it was not.)

The episode initially chose to establish Danny cheating on the CAT as the cause for Dan’s existence. While this was partially, indirectly true (since it set up the chain of events that led to Dan’s creation), it was not the event that directly caused Dan—yet, the episode treated it as a highly important tipping point, close to the point of no return that led to Dan. Looking at Dan’s backstory from the information Future Vlad gave (as dubious as it was), and working backwards, it was clear that Danny cheating on the test was not the vital “point of no return” by any means. Neither was the explosion at the Nasty Burger, for that matter (which the episode treated as the point of no return after Dan cheated on the CAT in Danny’s place, which required the episode to postpone the narrative stakes of preventing Dan’s creation to the Nasty Burger fight).

(Well...not exactly--it didn’t ruin Dan’s future, but it did ruin Danny’s. There’s a distinction.)

Kick-starting the entire chain of events that set up the eventual moment of Dan’s birth was not synonymous with directly creating Dan, and blaming the causality for Dan’s existence on Danny cheating (the leap of logic that “Danny became evil in the future because he cheated on a test”) or even his loved ones dying at the Nasty Burger was incorrect.

To demonstrate the argument, I’ll shift to an in-universe hypothetical:

Imagine yourself in Clockwork’s shoes: an “evil future version of Danny” has been created, and you have to prevent Dan’s existence by searching through the events that led his creation to find as many openings between key events as possible, in order to change one and subsequently avert all the events (including Dan’s creation) that followed.

To lay it out in full, the chain (separating the events based on intervention windows) was as follows: (1) Danny cheated on the CAT -> (2) Mr. Lancer met with Danny’s parents at the Nasty Burger to discuss it -> (3) they (including Sam, Tucker and Jazz) died in the Nasty Burger explosion -> (4) a grief-stricken Danny went to Vlad in Wisconsin -> (5) Danny requested that Vlad numb his emotional pain -> (6) Vlad split Danny’s ghost half from his human half—only for the ghost half to immediately pull out Vlad’s own and fuse with it into Dan.

Dan’s existence being the result of (what was essentially) a disastrous line of falling dominoes made his origin more sinister, but also highly easy to prevent (at least, without taking into account the mess caused by the story’s poorly thought out use of time travel, which I’ll explain later in section C). After all, the more complex a system (the more elements necessary for a system to successfully operate and achieve a desired result), the more weak spots it has—as meddling with one part can affect all the other parts and lead the entire operation to fail.

Utilising any of the intervention room between the events in “The Ultimate Enemy’s” alternate timeline would prevent Dan’s entire existence. The only event, therefore, that could be labelled the direct cause of Dan’s existence was the event that immediately resulted in Dan’s birth, and the most dire pivotal point—which rendered Dan inevitable—was the event directly before that. The event of Dan’s creation itself (or the cause of Dan) was event number six—the removal of both Danny and Vlad’s ghost halves using the Ghost Gauntlets, and their subsequent fusion with each other. The event which led to this—event number five, which was Danny’s request for Vlad to remove his emotional pain—was the direct catalyst for the procedure, and therefore the important “point of no return” leading to Dan that the episode tried to make Danny cheating on the CAT (and once that was over, the act of losing his loved ones) out to be. (Technically speaking, it was one of possibly two options for the event upon which Dan’s existence truly hinged—number four was also a likely candidate).

Danny cheating on the CAT was not the cause of Dan (even if it set the eventual stage), because there were numerous ways to interfere after the incident of Danny cheating the CATs and still prevent Dan from existing. Clockwork could’ve interfered between events one and two, by changing Mr. Lancer’s parent-teacher meeting location to anywhere safer than the Nasty Burger, so no one died (he could’ve utilised Jazz to sway Mr. Lancer, perhaps—it’s safe to assume Clockwork was aware of her knowledge on Danny’s secret, and she was the one Mr. Lancer approached about Danny cheating). He could’ve interfered between events three and four—had Danny’s loved ones still die at the Nasty Burger but convinced Danny himself not to go to Vlad. He could’ve popped in between events four and five and convinced Danny, right after moving in with Vlad, to not ask for a way to numb his emotional pain. However, Vlad proved to be a dubious source in the flashback of Dan’s origin story, and was typically too much of a wild card, so preventing Danny from moving in with Vlad at all is likely the safest option.

Ergo, either event four or five should’ve been treated as the important point that led to Dan’s existence. On top of that, Vlad’s role in event six proved he was partially responsible for Dan’s creation, but the rest of the episode outside of the flashback neglected this fact in favour of pushing the “Dan was all Danny’s fault” message.

(Begin Vlad’s unreliable narratorhood in 3...2...1...)

However, Future Vlad behaved like an unreliable narrator of the “Dan’s creation” flashback, so his explanation of events shouldn’t be taken at face value. Assuming the basic outline of events was trustworthy, however, the episode indicated to us that Vlad was roughly equally as responsible for Dan’s creation as Danny. He conceded to Danny’s desire to escape his emotions and responded with the halfa-splitting operation that caused Dan’s fusion.

He stretched the reality of the event to Present Danny when he exaggerated the delivery of some (if not most) of his narration lines in the flashback. It was most blatantly clear in the line where he inflated his importance to Danny after the tragedy, “With nowhere else to go, you came to me—the only person left on the planet who could possibly hope to understand your situation.” He verbally emphasised the words ‘me’ and ‘possibly’, and the phrases “the only person left on the planet” and “could possibly understand” were hyperbole in their own right. Another was the line, “No more painful human emotions to drag you down,” where he spoke the italicised words with overt disdain for Danny’s emotions. It could be interpreted simply as Vlad’s typical habit of speaking in a dramatised manner, rather than trying to make himself look good to Danny by stretching the truth. However, even if choosing to interpret Vlad’s delivery as the latter, he still skewed his recount through vagueness and omission in the literal content of his narration (when linked to the visuals that ran alongside his lines).

According to Future Vlad, Danny asked for his emotional pain to be taken away; and Vlad removed his ghost half to “[honour] [his] wishes,” while the shot changed from Vlad’s sympathetic face at the grieving Danny to the procedure with the Ghost Gauntlets. Future Vlad never explicitly stated whether it was Danny or him that decided removing Danny’s ghost half was the course of action to take, Vlad only explained that Danny “wanted to make the hurt go away”, and then the shot cut to Vlad removing Danny’s ghost half with the only explanation that he was acting in accordance with that wish.

On top of not explicitly saying whose idea it was, (though, with Vlad’s knowledge and experience with halfa research far exceeding Danny’s, it was almost certainly his) the episode did not explain how his logic leapt from “remove Danny’s emotional pain” to “remove Danny’s ghost half”, which was an insensible method to solve Danny’s problems.

The “no more human emotions” line indicated that his intention behind the procedure was to remove Danny’s human emotions, yet he knew that the procedure entailed removing Danny’s ghost half.

It made no sense, in universe, for Vlad to competently assume that removing Danny’s ghost half from him would work to remove an emotionality rooted in his human half (the episode overall, by the way Dan referred to human emotions and sentimentalities as a “humanity” he gave up, implied that it intended to frame the emotional attachment to Danny’s loved ones as part of his human half). If it could be chalked up to an external fault, like the lack of clear research into the procedure’s outcome, and not Vlad’s failure to realise the logical inconsistency, the episode needed to give evidence of this. Without that information, the only feasible assumptions were either that he wasn’t making any sense in-universe, he was supposed to be sensible but the episode’s writing didn’t make sense, or he had an ulterior motive for convincing Danny into going through with the operation. Either way, it was yet another part of Dan’s creation that Vlad was responsible for, not Danny, and the episode’s message was illogical to contradict this.

Through potentially exaggerating his sympathy for the alternate Danny in his verbal intonation, and blatantly failing to mention the details of why he chose removing Danny’s ghost half to fix a “human” problem, Vlad told his version of Dan’s birth in a way that would minimise his moral fault in the incident to Present Danny. His only logically feasible motivation for this was to hide further moral accountability for Dan’s creation than what we already saw in the face-value version of the flashback.

To summarise this entire sub-category of arguments, the episode was wrong to pin Dan’s existence on Danny cheating on the CAT (and even on losing his family, as the second half of the episode changed gears to), rather than his desire to remove/escape his emotions (even if the deaths resulted in the pain that he wanted to remove in the first place, which I shall explain later in Section D). It was also mistaken to portray Danny as the primary cause of Dan, rather than acknowledge that Vlad was equally (if not more), responsible than him.

Additionally, the fact that Vlad, as an in-universe character, tried to minimise his moral role/accountability in the physical causality of Dan’s creation by skirting around the truth in his retelling was something that the episode itself should’ve acknowledged or called out, through more reliable information from a third-person or other characters’ perspectives such as Danny, Dan’s or Clockwork’s—but it didn’t.

2. On top of physical responsibility for Dan, the episode was wrong to pin Danny with the moral blame and identity of Dan. It treated the two of them as essentially the same person, and portrayed Dan as just a Danny from the future who turned evil because of a combination of Danny’s potential evilness (potential to do “selfish/evil” things) and tragic circumstances. Considering Dan’s backstory, it made no sense for Danny to be the sole owner of either Dan’s immorality or identity/personhood.

Dan’s backstory told us that physically Danny wasn’t solely responsible for his creation, but the rest of the narrative still deeply connected Dan to Danny alone by treating Dan as what would happen if Danny let his pre-existing moral flaws take over him—that Dan’s villainy (or evil nature) came from Danny.

Clockwork referred to Danny Phantom as “grow[ing] up into the most evil ghost on the planet” in the cold open (which, given that Dan was a product of a fusion, was blatantly false.)

“The Ultimate Enemy” attempted to build up the idea that Danny had the potential for evil, and that Dan was him realising his own evil, in the scene where the trio entered Clockwork’s lair. As they watched Dan’s carnage through the observation window, Danny excitedly admired Dan’s Ghostly Wail, completely oblivious to the seriousness of the situation, and Sam called him out for not reading the room.

(Though, Sam’s condemnation of Dan’s villainy was extremely underwhelming—calling a world-destroyer and (presumable) mass murderer just “kind of a jerk” in a snarky tone did not do the severity of Dan’s actions any justice.)

When they confronted Clockwork, Danny scoffed at him to find just “one” evil thing he’d done. The shot then immediately focussed onto “examples” of Danny’s “evil” in the time window—first, Jazz finding out Danny was going to cheat the CATs (which, as established in point one, was not as morally significant as the episode tried to portray it—that shall be further elaborated later in Section D). After Tucker sassed at Clockwork, “[I] bet you can’t find two!”, the time window changed to Dan standing atop his destruction in the alternate future, and Clockwork replied, “How about two thousand?”—implying that Clockwork was referring to what Dan did in the future as at least part of the (supposedly numerous) evil things Danny did (or would do). This made no sense unless the episode was implying that Dan’s immorality was Danny’s own. However, this implication was incorrect, leaving Clockwork to state that he had seen countless instances of Danny Fenton/Phantom being evil with no valid examples to show for it whatsoever.

Dan’s atrocities had no weight as examples of Danny’s morality flaws due to the fact that Dan’s evil was not primarily Danny’s to begin with, creating a feedback loop of invalidation; evidence for the argument was invalid because its own validity was dependent on the validity of the very argument it was supposed to be supporting.

(Danny, despite the episode’s reluctance to be fair to him with its accusations of his “potential villainy”, was actually justified in asking this of Clockwork. You know there’s something wrong with your story when your self-centred, short-sighted teenage protagonist is righter than your supposedly all-knowing Master of Time in this situation.)

(Cheating on a test is not evil, Clockwork, try again.)

(Nope, sorry, Dan’s evil is not Danny’s “evil”; your argument is invalid.)

(I typically put the “improvements/fixes” part at the end of each point, but for the sake of its direct relevance to the aforementioned example, I’ll put it here to avoid structural confusion in the essay:

“The Ultimate Enemy”, for some reason decided that its reason/foreshadowing of Danny’s potential for evil had to be self-contained; ironically, almost all (sans a small few) of the episode’s examples of Danny’s moral flaws weren’t “evil” at all, and they would’ve been far better off using actual events of Danny showing potentially villainous traits from previous episodes. Danny may have been justified in asking Clockwork to name one evil thing he’d done, because that accusation had no basis at that point, but Clockwork’s response should’ve been to show previous instances in the series where Danny took advantage of others with his powers.

For example, imagine if in the episode, when Danny demanded, “Name one evil thing I’ve done!”, Clockwork’s time window had switched to moments like the end of “Maternal Instincts”, where he manipulated Vlad into lowering his guard, or his acts of overshadowing Dash for petty revenge in “Splitting Images” or “Reign Storm”? Not only were they more legitimate examples of morally corrupt characteristics—tricking people for his own gain/victory and abusing his powers to the detriment of others—it would’ve given such a significant episode in the series more continuity with the previous ones. In fact, the examples in two of those previous episodes resulted in Vlad pointing out that Danny was becoming more like him, as a way to use Vlad’s relationship as Danny’s nemesis/character foil for the sake of tension. “The Ultimate Enemy” could’ve used those examples in its own narrative to turn Dan into a proper payoff of this long-term build-up of Vlad’s whole “We’re not so different, you and I” thing going on with Danny.

Also, it would add to the thematic irony of Dan being a fusion of Danny and Vlad’s ghost halves, if that aspect of his backstory was not altered in a rewrite of TUE.)

Vlad owned Dan’s evil nature equally as much as (if not more than) Danny because Dan was also half-Vlad. However, the episode neglected to acknowledge this outside of a few seconds on Dan’s birth in the flashback. While explaining the scene of the two ghost halves fusing into Dan, Future Vlad’s most honest lines of narration (because they straightforwardly confessed he was morally accountable for Dan to Danny, and thus had no motivation to be a lie) explained that, “My [ghost half’s] evil side overwhelmed you”. This implied that the reason Dan turned out evil in the first place was that Vlad’s evil took over Danny’s mind during the fusion.

Given that we trust Vlad’s line, Vlad (or Plasmius, as Vlad’s ghost half) deserved most of the accountability for Dan’s lust for destruction and lack of a moral compass, not Danny. So, calling Dan “Danny’s evil future self” was only accurate in the literal sense of “this is what remained of Danny’s mind/existence in the future—his ghost half—even though it’s only a part of a larger fusion with another ghost, and this fusion is evil”. Dan was not a warning that “Danny was going to turn evil”, because Danny was not the primary source of Dan’s villainy.

In regards to overall personal identity, rather than just morality, Dan was also not “Danny’s evil future self” on account of the fact that he was not “Danny’s future self”, period. He shouldn’t have been an “older Danny” (or essentially the same person as Danny but older and evil), according to his backstory’s statement that he was half-Phantom, half-Plasmius. Yet, for some asinine reason, Dan only identified himself personally as “Danny” for the duration of the episode (without mention of Vlad).

After travelling to the past under Danny’s guise, Dan referred to Danny’s bedroom and face in the mirror as his own.

(Whoops--another image where I goofed the subtitles, this time in formatting...and MS Paint’s lack of layers makes redoing it an unnecessary pain. Sorry about that.)

When he met Sam and Tucker in the future, he explained his cold response to seeing them again as a result of “[surrendering his] human half a long time ago”. His singular human half. Not plural…because even Dan himself wanted to pretend that he wasn’t half Vlad, for some reason.

Perhaps it could be chalked up to people behaving differently in different social contexts; in that case, it was understandable that—even if he was part-Vlad—his Danny-side and memories influenced him the most in front of Danny’s friends…but that alone didn’t justify him stating that he only had one human half as a fact. The only other option that made in-universe sense was that it was a deceit/falsehood on Dan’s part, and therefore knowingly untrue. Perhaps Dan didn’t want to admit that he had more than one human half to Sam and Tucker—because he was not obliged to divulge that information to them—or that he preferred to mentally distance himself from Vlad’s human half because the latter was still alive, and separate from Dan. However, it was still untrue to link Dan and Danny together as people, but not Vlad, with the idea of only owning Danny’s human half.

The assumption that Dan was a future, evil Danny in person (and not also part-Vlad in person, or a new person from either of them entirely) implied that the fusion resulted in Plasmius’s mind giving his evil to Danny’s and then disappearing into the aether. It implied that a fusion of two people resulted in a powered-up being that was solely one of them psychologically, in order to purport that Danny (or, at least Phantom as his ghost half) was still Danny in sense of self for the last ten years in the alternate future. This contradicted the more logically valid implication that Plasmius’s mind or identity still existed as a component inside Dan, and Dan was at least both Danny and Vlad mentally.

Vlad explained in the flashback, “[Vlad’s] evil ghost half mixed with [Danny’s].” The general interpretation of “mixing” implied that the two ghost halves merged together into a new being and their traits and minds blended together. His identity should, theoretically, be either a half-and-half joining of the two halfas, or a whole new person with Vlad and Danny’s ghost halves as mere fusion ingredients. Ten years of existence and experience after the initial fusion would also, theoretically, give Dan enough time to develop this new mixed mind into his own individual sense of self beyond who/what either of Danny or Vlad were as people (prior to the ghost half fusion). In that case, Dan was not Danny’s “future self” in identity, and had little reason to identify Danny’s face, room and family as “his old [life]” (or, at least his only one).

The next most obvious theory (about Dan’s psychological makeup as a fusion) is that one half was more dominant than the other during the fusion, leading to Dan to become primarily just one of them in identity. That dominant one had to have been Danny, based on how Dan identified himself in the episode, but that wouldn’t make sense. Phantom taking full control of the fusion and assimilating Plasmius into himself required that a grief-stricken fourteen year old was somehow capable of winning against a more experienced forty-something in a battle of minds, thoroughly enough to the point of absorbing the latter. Considering that Phantom was mentally weak enough to be the one “overwhelmed” by Plasmius’s evil (a single facet of Plasmius’s larger mind) almost immediately, that hypothesis seems unlikely. The notion of Phantom overwhelming Plasmius in the fusion to gain dominance, and Plasmius being the one to overwhelm him to turn him evil, contradict each other. Ergo, Dan being a mix of both Phantom and Plasmius was the most likely (and sensible) outcome of the fusion.

In that case, the episode was thoughtless and inaccurate to treat Dan as “Danny’s future self who became a villain”. Dan was not inherently linked to Danny in either the majority of his morality or his identity, due to the part Vlad played in Dan’s creation, and his mental component in Dan’s fusion.

2.5.A notable counterpoint, for the sake of not one-sidedly flipping all of the fault for Dan onto Vlad:

To be fair—as the idea of solely blaming Vlad would also be inaccurate to what Dan’s origin story showed—I should acknowledge a piece of evidence explicitly indicating that Danny still contributed some of his own darkness to Dan’s villainy, albeit less than Vlad. Once separated from his human half, Phantom ripped out and fused with Vlad’s ghost half of his own volition, all with a malicious grin on his face.

However, there was no clear motivation or reason for the separated Phantom to fuse with Plasmius (the physical cause of Dan that Danny/Phantom could be blamed for) —in fact, it made no sense for there to be any premeditated intention for Phantom to fuse with him, since he couldn’t have known that fusion with another halfa’s isolated ghost half was even possible at that point; it was an untried, never-seen-before method, hardly likely to mentally occur to Danny in the first place. Phantom resorted to attacking Vlad, stealing the Ghost Gauntlets and pulling out Plasmius for some unknown reason, but ghost-half fusion could not have sensibly been it. The Gauntlet attack simply demonstrated that Phantom took ill-willed pleasure from the act of hurting or depowering Vlad. After removing Vlad’s ghost half, fusing with it was the second step. Danny could be held responsible for his ghost half explicitly harbouring malice/potential evil in the attack (and his ghost half’s response to being removed was part of Danny’s responsibility in Dan’s creation), but that wouldn’t explain the crucial next step of the fusion itself.

This is where my ideas for potential improvements for the story of “The Ultimate Enemy” come in, as the exact extent of Danny’s contribution to Dan (in physical responsibility and mentality) wasn’t entirely clear—outside of this explicit evidence of Phantom’s facial expression. This uncertainty leaves the room for a do-over of the narrative to ask a lot of questions about how physically and morally accountable for Dan’s birth and evilness Danny actually was.

We could assume implicit evidence that Danny had some sort of inner darkness which contributed to Dan, even if only the minority, from the possibility that his grief at the loss of his loved ones (as well at helplessness at not being able to do anything to save them, and low evaluation of his own worth as a person) led to buried malice, anger and a desire for power to compensate.

Based on how splitting halfas apart worked in “Identity Crisis”, it made sense that Phantom had a sense of hostility and motivation to hurt Vlad once separated from Danny in “The Ultimate Enemy”. When Danny was split in half the first time, the halves took on the mental characteristics of the whole Danny’s momentary intents and desires. When Danny wanted his ghost half to do all the hero work so his human half could have the time to have fun, his ghost half took on an exaggerated hero personality and his human half an irresponsible teenager personality. Assuming this logic consistently determines the split halves’ personalities each time, and the fact that Danny’s desires in the alternate future revolved around escaping his emotional pain, it was logical that one of the split halves inherited a condensed majority of Danny’s pain (in this case, the ghost half), while the other half (the human one) was innocently blind to most of Danny’s grief and self-hatred—and that the suffering half acted out aggressively or malevolently as a result.

However, since we could logically assume that fusing with Plasmius was not the initial reason Phantom removed him from Vlad (and we assume the fusion was a spur-of-the-moment decision that occurred to him afterwards), why did he remove Plasmius in the first place? Was he intending to spite Vlad after all the grief he caused Danny in their rivalry? Was it a sense of inferiority telling him to tear Vlad down from his superior position? Was it to avoid letting Vlad stay a possible physical threat to Danny? There is such a large gap here, one could brainstorm countless possible motivations.

Furthermore, if that only covered his motivation to remove Plasmius, then what made him decide to fuse with him? Was he attempting to possess Plasmius as one ghost half trying to possess another for some reason? Was it internal panic? Was it a hunger for power pushing him to seize the opportunity that opened up? Why didn’t/couldn’t Plasmius fight Phantom off in the fusion scene?

These questions could be explored if the story of “The Ultimate Enemy” was redone. Present Danny, the Danny whose point of view we saw the episode from (rather than the Alternate Danny) hadn’t experienced the Dan future himself, so he didn’t know what was going through his alternate self’s head (human or ghost) during Dan’s creation. How much of it was his fault? How much of it wasn’t? How did he fill in the holes in the story Future Vlad told to him based on his own insecurities, and what did he blame himself for?

For that matter, why not get present Vlad wrapped up in it too? Have him take responsibility for what is HIS. If not, the episode should’ve at least acknowledged that Dan was not entirely “Danny’s evil”, and made it clear that he was cleaning up both his and Vlad’s collective mess by himself. If the message of the evil future self being Danny corrupted to the side of evil was so necessary for the episode, then simply remove the fusion plot entirely from Dan’s origin and have Danny become a villain by his own moral corruption. It weakened the impact of the future-self villain being a warning of “what the hero should avoid becoming” by having the main character only become evil by fusing with an already malevolent character.

3. The Observants’ conclusion that they had to kill Danny to save the world from Dan didn’t make sense, due to Vlad being primarily responsible for Dan’s evilness—but the episode, instead of acknowledging this inanity, actually reinforced the opposite.

Having now established that Vlad was half (if not more) at fault for Dan’s evil than Danny, the plot to kill Danny in the episode lost any of the ground it had to stand on.

(Nope...no, he didn’t have to.)

It was illogical for the Observants to assume killing Danny was the best way to stop Dan from existing when killing Vlad would equally achieve this (not to mention that either of these options were overkill, in the presence of the intervention methods mentioned in Section A). Without Vlad, Dan could not exist either. Eliminating Vlad would stop his continuous crimes against both worlds, and let Danny live to continue doing the good he’d done. After the events of “Reign Storm”, a large part of the Ghost Zone knew that Danny had saving Amity Park, and the entire Ghost Zone, under his belt—if an entire wasteland civilisation like the Far Frozen came to worship Danny for his victory against Pariah Dark (as shown in season three’s “Infinite Realms”).

(For that matter, where were the Observants hounding Clockwork to get on Vlad’s troublesome ass when he tried to steal the Crown of Fire and the Ring of Rage in “Reign Storm”, if Pariah Dark was so dangerous?)

If they were being somewhat rational, it was possible that they chose Danny as Vlad’s less powerful counterpart, and an easier target—even though they delegated the task off to Clockwork because intervention wasn’t their job, and they clearly acknowledged Clockwork’s power and competence to some degree. The Observants openly referred to Clockwork as the master of time while shirking their responsibility for fixing the future onto him, so whether or not killing Vlad would be too difficult for themselves would be irrelevant, since they made it Clockwork’s problem and became backseat commentators. Though, Clockwork would’ve probably foreseen Vlad’s importance in Danny’s emotional growth as his nemesis and also kept him alive anyway—but from a purely logical standpoint, it made little sense to execute Danny over Vlad, if they ever needed to kill anyone at all.

To be honest, the episode could’ve used the invalidity of the Observants’ plan to paint their incompetence more, expanding on Clockwork’s disdain for them and how he told the audience they “just observe”. However, to do that, the episode itself would’ve had to actually portray the Observants’ plan (not just the Observants themselves, but their actual plan to kill Danny itself) as nonsensical. The episode never did, however, as it had Clockwork—the character portrayed as bolder and wiser than the Observants—reinforce their proposition as worth trying and go along with their request for Danny’s demise. He sent two ghosts to attack Danny (although the fight with Boxed Lunch was more of a moral test about giving Danny the CAT answers, rather than an attempt on his life, Danny “failed” that moral test before Clockwork sent Skulktech after him—so, the latter at least counted as a potential hit on Danny) to the extent of attempting to kill Danny himself on the last attempt. That Clockwork went along with the Observants’ plan showed that the episode saw the plan as reasonable, despite its illogicality.

(While there is a possible argument for Clockwork’s knowledge of how the episode would end—insinuating that he knew Danny would never actually end up dying—justifying why he went along with the plan in the first place, the next section of the essay shall tackle that. Since Clockwork is the Master of Time, and the issues with his character were heavily intertwined with the effects the time travel lore had on the plot, that shall be addressed in Category C, the section covering the mess created by the time-travel in the episode.)

...actually, that just gave me an idea. You know what would be interesting, if a little too much to content to stuff into the narrative? Having an Observant character distinguished as their own individual, who doubts the other Observants’ unreasonable decisions and becomes a rogue element to the rest of the council, directly intervening in the timeline themselves. The rogue Observant could abandon the council of Observants to side with Clockwork, and characterise Clockwork by having him change his globalised impression of the Observants to understand this new, non-conformist one as an ally. Or, perhaps the Observant plays a more compassionate foil to Clockwork, choosing to himself save Danny’s life from the ghost attacks Clockwork sent after him?)

#danny phantom #danny phantom analysis #danny phantom essay #the ultimate enemy #danny fenton #vlad masters #dan phantom #the observants #danny phantom clockwor #time to get into one of the longest sections of this essay hoo boy #I apologise for the verbosity

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maysbanks · 4 years

Text

she moves in her own way. (jj maybank)

due to the ASTOUNDING response to my first jj fic which i have to say a huuuge thank you to everyone that liked, commented & reblogged, it honestly means the absolute world !! i couldn't wait much longer to start writing for my boy again, i have so many fic ideas and cannot wait to get them out to y'all. this one is shorter than the last, & the title is inspired from the song 'she moves in her own way' by the kooks (lol) but isn't necessarily based off of it, it's just something that i wrote up quickly bc i was in my feels™️ . also i feel very unoriginal with the whole plot and aspect of this but im gonna post it anyway bc i love jj lmao. anyway hope u enjoy !

warnings: swearing, underage drinking, drug use, violence, jj with a gun™️

summary: reader walks the fine line between either pogue or kook, though technically a kook, she ignores all social standings of the obx and jj maybank cannot stop himself from getting caught up in her whirlwind.

( gif isn’t mine! please let me know if it’s yours so i can credit you. )

Everyone seemed to have a different perspective of you, unsurprisingly. You weren't really much of a social butterfly, you kept yourself to yourself, really. Nobody in the Outer Banks knew much about you at all, other than what they had come up with in their heads. And while you tried your best to stay in the shadows, that only seemed to make you stand out more.

You were known for being the best of both worlds - not really a Pogue, but not really a Kook either. While your social status and family wealth suggested you to be a Kook, your free spirit and reckless behaviour fitted you better towards the Pogue style. If anyone were to ask you, you told them you were neither.

Why should a name define you anyway? You thought it was all bullshit, the stupid territorial arguments and the snide comments from both sides. You thought it was ridiculous, you weren't living in The Outsiders, for fuck sake.

You moved in your own way, simple as that. You wouldn't let anyone tell you what to do, where you can't or shouldn't be, it was a free country you'd say, middle finger salute ready to aim towards anyone who dared cross you. You were an enigma, wild and careless, unforgiving and unforgettable. You didn't necessarily like the attention, but you got it. And you knew it, and you played on it, too.

You had used your irresistible charm more than enough times to bail JJ Maybank out of trouble, despite your parents' protest. They didn't have a problem with the Pogues, persay, how could they when your dad been one half of his life before meeting your mom and marrying into the rich lifestyle; they just had a problem with JJ, as many of the parents on the island did. He was an unstoppable force to be reckoned with, weed smoking, knuckles constantly torn, skin bruised, quick wit, sarcastic humour, daddy issues, you know the type. Kids loved him, parents hated him.

You were friends with JJ, you supposed. You spent your time with him talking about your days and smoking a joint, meaningful conversations turning into joking and general tomfoolery within seconds. With JJ, you were simply unapologetically you, and JJ never judged you. He never made you choose a side, seemingly content with the fact that you were a little bit of everything, though there was times when he teased you relentlessly about the Kook life, but that was just JJ.

And despite the social differences, him being a Pogue through and through, you technically a Kook, you were drawn to each other pretty easily. Not that you hung out all the time, but you loved every second when you did, usually joined by his group of best friends - John B, Pope, and Kiara. With Kiara a Kook herself but drawn more to the lifestyle of the Pogue's, she understood you more than anyone. You'd bonded a lot, and with each of them too.

JJ loved that you fitted in with them, like a missing puzzle piece. So perfectly, it shook him to its core. The pair of you were close, but he had no idea where he stood with you, like most people never when it came to you. You were like a rollercoaster, taking people for the most exciting ride of their lives that lasted a full three or so minutes before they returned back to solid ground. You'd given JJ a ride a number of times on your non-existent metaphorical rollercoaster, and he'd returned for another ride time and time again. You couldn't say no to that damned boy.

It was a blessing and a curse, the unspoken relationship you shared. A blessing because JJ was the best thing that happened to you, and a curse because that was your downfall. You never got attached to people, never given yourself the chance. But then JJ Maybank had come along, blonde hair and blue eyes, split lip and sharpened teeth, words cunning. You saw him as a challenge at first, the name Kook Princess haunting you as he spoke them, stood in front of you at the keg upon your first real meeting. He'd held a drink out towards you, smirk perfect on his pink lips.

You'd attended over a hundred kegger's in your lifetime, the Pogue parties more inviting than those of the Kook's. You danced and talked to anyone that came across your path, whether it be unknowing Tourons, unjudging Pogues, or unforgiving Kooks, you drew them all in. You didn't fit in with any of them, JJ had realised. You really did move in your own way, he thought. He liked that, he'd decided. And hey, you were pretty cute too.

On that particular night, he'd spoken to you directly for the first time in a long time. "Would the Kook Princess like a drink?" He'd asked, holding the red cup out towards you. You'd eyed the offended object, and subsequently him, too. He smirked at the attention. You had rolled your eyes.

"Don't call me that," you'd said simply, but taking the cup from his hands regardless. You took a sip, relieved to discover that he hadn't tampered with it in any way. You were still considered a Kook to most people, after all. You could never be too careful. "Thanks, Maybank."

And he'd blinked at you, lips suddenly raising to a sly smile as he shrugged, dimples winking at you as they appeared in his cheeks. "Anytime," and he'd spoken your name back to you and you couldn't get enough of the way it sounded coming from his mouth, and you realised hey, this guy is pretty cute, and the rest, as they, is history.

You were in the midst of another infamous Pogue kegger at the current, months after your first introduction to JJ Maybank and his friends, and you stood off to the side, listening to JJ intently as he ranted about the events of the day he'd endured. Starting from finding a Grady White sunken in the marsh, "A fucking Grady Marsh, they're like 500 G's man!", to discovering that the boat belonged to Scooter Grubbs, who had coincidentally been found dead that same day, to getting chased by two guys with a gun, to the finding of the motel key from the wreck and breaking in that same motel room, finding a safe full of money and a gun of all things, to their best attempt at laying low which, unsurprisingly, resulted in the kegger in the first place.

JJ was wild in his recite of the events, hands gesturing every which way as you watched him with your lips curled into your mouth, resisting a smile at his antics. When he finished he retelling, you raised an eyebrow and chuckled dryly. "So, complete and utter boring day for you, huh?"

JJ chuckled along with you, shaking his head as if he was still in disbelief from everything that had happened in the past twenty four hours. "Man, it was crazy," he muttered. He looked at you then, eyes sincere. "I wish you were there with us. It was like something straight from a movie, I'm telling you. I feel like such a badass with that gun."

Your secret joy at his confession of that he wished you were was short lived, as the last of his words sunk in and you felt dread build in the pit of your stomach. You stared at him, him so excited that he hadn't even realised your face had dropped, before you reached out and grabbed his arm, effectively halting his movements and stopping the hurried flow of words that were leaving his mouth.

"JJ," you said carefully, eyes trained on his as he stared, clueless. "Please tell me you did not take that gun from the safe."

Your heart dropped as you saw him falter, his lips helplessly moving but no words coming out. He held a hand up, as if to hush you, though you hadn't started to speak again, and then his hand had dropped just as quick as it was raised, his teeth biting down on his chapped lip as the realisation dawned on you.

"JJ Fucking Maybank," you spat, hands slapping gently at his arms, because you could never really hurt him, you just wanted him to know you were pissed. "Do you realise how fucking careless that is? How much trouble you could get into, if anyone knew you had a gun-" your voice trailed off, your eyes closing as you exhaled. "JJ, please tell me you don't have it on you right now."

His lack of reply was the only answer you needed, and your stomach churned as you stepped back from his figure, suddenly feeling sick. He followed you, though, not letting you get too far as he took your arms in his hands and tried to drag you closer to him once more. You shook your head, arms slipping from his hold as you glared at him fiercely.

"That's so fucking stupid, JJ. You could get into serious trouble with this, trouble I won't be able to get you out of." You warned, because you knew it was true. Your charm and looks could get him out of some trouble to its extent, but it was more so your parents wealth and status that got the both of you out of shit when you managed to get into it, and you also knew your parents would literally throw a fit if you got involved in something like this - carrying a gun was no joking matter. You stepped back once more, hand finding its way to your forehead. "And from a crime scene, no less. Fucking hell."

JJ licked his lips, standing back roughly as you watched, his jaw clenching. "Well I'm not asking for your help here, Princess," he taunted, the nickname sending a wave of annoyance through you. JJ knew it would. "It's not like I ask you to help me, you're just there. Thinking I need help, like I'm some fucking charity case, a fucking doll you picked up from the thrift store that was gonna be thrown out the next day."

You tried to protest, but JJ didn't give you the chance. "I don't need your help all the fucking time. I don't need your pity. I get that you won't understand because why would you? You're a Kook, you get everything you want handed to you on a silver platter. And you can argue and fight me about it all you want, but I know you know it's true."

He sighed heavily, hands running down his face in a sign of defeat. You watched him all the while, thankful that you had ventured off the outskirts of the party so that hopefully nobody had heard JJ shouting at you, your heart wrenching as his blue eyes settled on you. "I'm sorry, JJ," you said finally. You refused to cry, though the desire to at the sight of him being so mad at you tore you apart. "I'm just trying to look out for you. With the gun thing, with everything that I help you with. And I know I'm a Kook, and I know that my parents could afford to buy half of this fucking island if they pleased, but that doesn't define me. I care, okay? And I know I care a lot more than a lot of people in your life."

It was probably a low blow, and you knew it. But JJ took it in, let the words sink into his brain where they stayed there, his fists clenching at his sides. You crossed your arms over your chest, defeated.

"I'm gonna go back to the party," you whispered. "I'll see you around, I guess." You eyed his pockets, unsure of where exactly he held the gun. "Be careful, okay."

And even when you were angry with him, you still tried to make sure he was okay, that he stayed safe. There was multiple occasions you'd showed up unannounced, simply asking how his day was, if he okay, if he had eaten that day, stayed hydrated. At first the attention startled him, he'd never really had anyone look out for him in that aspect, and yet there you were, like an angel sent from the gods themselves, smiling down at him.

You cared, he realised. You cared so much that sometimes he couldn't take it, because he didn't know how. The most family he'd ever gotten close to having in his life was the Pogues, after losing his mother and subsequently losing his father too as he turned into the monster that he was, cold and distant, fists always poised ready for an imaginary fight, and he knew that someday the Pogues would even slip through his fingers. He couldn't let that happen with you. He wouldn't.

He'd started off in your direction, truly, he had. But then John B was grabbing him and averting his attention to him, and he focused on his friend, promising only a minute of his time. You were in his sights, stood a bit away, and he recognised the couple you were talking to as Sarah Cameron and Topper Thorton, Kooks through and through. He held his distaste back, and even held a drink out to offer to Sarah as she and Topper made their way past where he and John B were standing. Big fucking mistake, he realised quickly.

It had all happened in a blur of events, each little bit leading to big finale - as he watched his best friend being held down in the water, powerless to Topper who kneeled over him, hands forcing John B to stay put in the sea. Sarah was screaming at Topper, Pope was holding JJ back with all his might, Kie beside them as she screamed along with Sarah to let John B go. And there you were, suddenly beside JJ, gripping his arm tightly as you took in the sight with a horrified glare. JJ didn't even hesitate; the gun had been pulled from his shorts and was directed at Topper's head in the blink of an eye.

The fury in his veins was red hot and ugly, tearing through every part of him like a vice. This was the Pogues land, their side of the island, and yet the Kooks still thought they could get away with anything and everything - including, apparently, attempting to drown his best friend.

"Your move, broski," JJ uttered through clenched teeth. He could hear the screams of the crowd behind him, and he pulled the gun away from Topper's head and into the direction of the sky, firing two shots towards it as the crowd of people quickly dispersed, screeches sounding from all over. "Now everybody needs to get the fuck off our side of the island!"

He was shoved to the side as Sarah rushed to her boyfriend, telling him he was fucking crazy or something like that, he wasn't really listening. The shots rang in his ears, and the adrenaline of the moment soured through him. Kie and Pope were screaming at him, he could hear their voices distantly. His blue eyes were unfocused for a second, before they looked up, and there you were.

Sent from the gods themselves, once again. You looked vibrant, so insanely alive, lips red and cheeks flushed, eyes bright. You let out a shaky breath as you watched him. JJ clenched his jaw.

"He was going to drown John B," he thought he'd said, but he wasn't sure. He didn't really know what to keep track of at that moment, Kie and Pope's obvious disapproval at him literally doing the one thing they swore not to do, Sarah and Topper stumbling away from the scene in the distance, John B getting up and muttering something along the lines of he wasn't going to drown me, or you, simply staring at him.

Before he knew what he was doing, JJ had made his way towards you. The gun was still held in his hands, and you swallowed thickly as you eyed it. "You should put that away," you muttered. JJ seemed confused, before he caught on to what you meant and he shoved the gun back to the spot of in between his shorts and his hip. "You literally did the one thing I said not to, you tool."

JJ cracked a smile, small and uncertain as he gazed at you. You stepped closer to him, eyes glancing over his shoulder. "You really pissed them off," you said, meaning his friends.

JJ shrugged, because he didn't care about their opinion, he cared about yours. And if you hated him now, hated the fact that he was just some dirty Pogue who held guns against people's heads now, apparently. "I don't care about what they think," he spoke softly. You looked at him confused. "I care about what you think."

You smiled softly, shrugging one shoulder. "Topper was going to drown John B," you replied, matter of fact. "If you hadn't stepped in when you did, who knew what could have happened. Nothing could have stopped him." You bit your lip, hand reaching out and touching his face gently, thumb soothing over the worried line between his brows. "You did the right thing, J. A fucking crazy and stupid thing, potientally dangerous, but the right thing nonetheless."

"Yeah, that's kind of my go-to, if you haven't already noticed," JJ smiled, tongue running over his bottom lip. You rolled your eyes, though playful. "Look, I'm sorry about before, okay. I was a dick. I know you care, but sometimes that's what scares me."

Your eyebrows furrowed, a confused expression on your face as your hand dropped from his face to intertwine with his own hand, his gaze suddenly becoming fixed on your linked hands, his other absentmindedly playing with your fingers that held his hand.

"It's like, you're this untouchable thing. I mean, you don't belong to anyone, you refuse to go by anything other than your name, and you're like this perfect mix between Pogue and Kook even if you do hate it and everyone knows who are you and they make these stories up about you, like that's how popular you are," JJ chuckled. "And then you hang out with me, you look past all the dirty Pogue shit, see me for who I am, and you care. And you care so god dammed much that it fucking terrifies me because nobody's ever cared that much before about me, so why should you?"

His hand left yours to remove the hat from sitting atop his hair and then run his hand through the blonde locks. You could see his tongue running along the outsides of his bottom teeth, the action causing a bump beneath his skin. He looked nervous than you had ever seen him before, and you'd both gotten into enough nerve-wracking situations together to compare. You sighed as your hands reached for his face, gripping his cheeks and forcing his eyes to gaze down at yours.

"JJ Maybank," you started, grinning softly. "You listen to me while I tell you that you deserve the fucking world and more. All this shit that you're going through, all the crap you deal with on a daily basis, you carry it so well that nobody would even know. You fight through each day and I don't even know how you manage it half the time. I admire you so much, J. And I can't help but care about you, even if you don't want me to. I care about you so much, that you wanna know a secret? It scares me too."

JJ gazed down at you lovingly, his forehead moving to rest against yours. You welcomed the embrace, his arms wrapping around your waist and squeezing you gently, as if reassuring himself that you were actually there.

"JJ," you whispered as you were stood in silence for a precise minute, neither of you daring to break the silence until you had. His blue eyes stared into yours, awaiting the next part of your speech. You swallowed your nerves down, figuring fuck it. "I'm so in love with you."

He grinned, his head swooping down before you knew it and his lips pressing against yours in a heated embrace that sent a sensation of butterflies to fly wildly in your stomach, bashing against your ribcage and taking your breath away. Shivers flew up your spine, and every hair on your body stood on edge as the kiss grew heavier, tongues brushing and teeth clattering, bodies pressed against each other as much as they could manage.

When JJ's lips left yours, you almost whined. JJ grinned cheekily, hands digging into your hips. "I love you," he breathed against the skin of your neck as he buried his head there, lips tickling the flesh. "I can't believe you just macked on me while I have a gun in my pocket."

You rolled your eyes and tugged gently on his hair, spurring a laugh from him as you shoved him away and grinned despite yourself. "Do not remind me, please," you warned him, allowing him to pull you into his side as you made your way down the beach. "I still can't believe you took that thing."

"I knew it'd come in handy though," he grinned, pulling you closer with the arm thrown over your shoulder. You wrapped yours around his waist, face squished in his chest as you shook your head.

"You're an idiot, Maybank."

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