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bluedandelion1 · 8 months

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Wukong cares about people. Macaque isn't a saint.

Alright, I've wanted to write this for a while, so here I go. English isn't my first language, so sorry for any typos.

I've been watching so many fananimations of LEGO Monkie Kid. They're all gorgeous, top of the top, excellent, chef kiss and I'm glad the fandom seems to be growing every day.

But I HATE how so many people have portrayed Wukong as an asshole who doesn't care about anyone. Love the animations, they're great but I don't think Wukong is the villain people make him out to be.

Now don't get me wrong, Wukong has made many, many, many, mistakes throughout his life. The thing is, people don't seem to realize that while he messed up, his intentions were good! "Yeah, right, then how is he such a bad mentor?" I'm gonna shut you up right there.

When MK first got the staff, he didn't know how to use it, I agree with you. But Wukong is a milennia old stone monkey who has gone through a lot on his life, getting stronger and stronger with each fight.

"Pfft, what about DBK? You can handle it! Consider it a trial"

That's what he tells MK when said boy asks him what to do with DBK, because for Wukong that fight is easy. He then reassures him that with enough confidence in himself he could take him on. He trusted MK since the first moment and even told him to consider it as a trial. He was evaluating MK during his fight to make sure he had picked the right successor.

And just in case and most probably noticing how nervous he was on his first fight, he kept an eye out on him to make sure to intervene in case MK needed help. Wukong already knew that MK was invincible before locking away some of his powers in the second episode, therefore he was confident that he would succeed. And even if he already knew he was going to defeat DBK, he still watched over him to make sure he wouldn't get hurt.

Following this battle, in the first episode "Bad Weather", MK doesn't call for Wukong's help. He's confronting Red Son when suddenly the staff acts on its own and takes him down to the ground and who appears afterwards? The Monkey King himself! Almost as if he had sensed that MK needed some help with defeating Red Son. Almost as if he had been the one to call for the staff so he could talk with his student. Again, he showed up on his own because he cares.

"Then what about that time he abandoned him?"

He didn't abandon him. To abandon someone is to stop supporting them, to give up completely in someone. Monkey King knew that LBD was coming back but he didn't want either MK or his friends to get hurt.

He's used to doing things on his own! I mean, on JTTW Wukong was always sent ahead to see if there were any demons that would kidnap Tripitaka. And even though he warned his companions numerous times that there were demons under the disguise of innocent people, they wouldn't believe him. So why should he tell MK and his friends that there's an enemy approaching? Every time he had warned other people of other threats, they had never believed him, so why should MK be any different?

I think that's one of the reasons why he didn't even try to defend himself when Pigsy snapped at him. Because he's used to taking the blame. What's the point in trying to do something right if you're going to be blamed for everything going wrong, regardless of how much you try to make it okay? He even tries to keep helping MK through his training with the astral projection throughout the whole season!

So, he searched for the map that would lead him to the rings of the Samadhi Fire, knowing full well that he could end up dying.

"This wasn't supposed to happen! I thought if I could somehow get the Samadhi Fire out of you, without hurting you of course, then I could put it inside myself. Then, I don't know, use it to burn up the Lady Bone Demon or something?"

Let's remember that while it's difficult to hurt Wukong, the Samadhi Fire is one of the powers that could actually kill him. He was willing to risk his life so he'd be able to save not only the whole world, but his friends as well. Do you realize how crazy that sounds? To be willing to give up his own life to save the Earth?

He even says that he wanted try to get the ring out of Mei without hurting her.

Would someone who didn't care about anyone try to make something as painless as possible for the victim? I don't think so.

Alright, let's focus on Macaque now for a bit.

My biggest beef with this guy is that some people seem to paint him as the misunderstood character who never did anything wrong because "Oh, my best friend abandoned me and woe is me!". Yuck.

While Macaque has many good reasons to be angry at Monkey King, that still doesn't give him the right to kidnap and trick MK. It doesn't give him the right to taunt him and make him feel like shit, nor the right to manipulate him and make him think that he's not a good successor.

"Well, you know what that means! There really isn't anything special about you. You're just some kid with a heavy stick!"

Macaque knew that if he hurt MK, eventually Wukong would come out to save him, because he knows that he'll protect him. This is a little theory of mine, but Macaque manipulates shadows, right? Who knows how many times he's watched MK from them? Because I don't think his plan to steal MK's powers was something he thought of in just one minute. No, I'm pretty sure that plan took a while to be thought of.

"Ah, MK. You really are dense, aren't you? You saw a story about a hero who got handed everything? Who didn't have to work for anything? And you thought you were the other guy? The second the hero got real power, he couldn't care less about his friends. That's you, bud."

He tricked him into sharing his insecurities, knowing full well that MK was vulnerable and stressed out about the whole LBD situation, then blamed him for not caring about his friends. He made him doubt whether he truly cares about his friends or not or whether he was even a good person.

And we all know how hard MK's worked to try to get control of his powers, especially after he lost them when LBD took away his staff. MK can be a lot of things: optimistic, a bit smug at times, a bit forgetful... But if there's one thing I'm sure of is that he worked hard to control his powers. He even asked Wukong to limit them so he could control them better, knowing that it'd be harder but he still did it.

And let's take into account that Wukong apologized to MK for how he acted towards him. Macaque, still to this day, hasn't apologized at all. And yet, he keeps mocking Wukong and saying he's the same old Wukong, while he himself is still stuck in the past.

I get that Macaque is angry at Wukong, I really do. But if he were really so angry against him, maybe he should've brought it to Wukong himself instead of using MK. He isn't a saint. He's made mistakes as well. These two are very complicated characters who have gone through a lot, but neither of them are blameless. Macaque isn't a saint, but he does care about some people. And although Wukong has made many mistakes, that doesn't mean that he doesn't care about other people.

Anyways, to finish it off, as MK once said:

"Uh, you know you two are the same, right?"

#lmk #lego monkie kid #lmk sun wukong #lmk macaque #monkey king #sun wukong #six eared macaque #lmk mk #vent #rant #attempt at character analysis #holy fuck this is long #i didn't expect to write that much #but i got carried away #so #hope you liked it #first post in ages #lemme know what you think #these monkeys need THERAPY AND COMMUNICATION

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bluerosefox · 7 months

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Timelines, Red Robins, and Kings

When Tim Drake, who was tossed in the Pits after losing his spleen, suddenly crash lands in Clockworks Tower during Danny's Ghost King lessons, all the time keeper says with a 'I know more than you' smile "Ah, so it's this timeline being played out. How fun this will be. Danny, come. I have a new... friend for you to meet."

"CW...." Danny starts, staring unbelievable at his Ghost King mentor before sighing "Why are you like this?"

"Hush now my King. You will thank me later for the introduction between you both but for now summon forth Frostbite, we'll need his medical expertise for this one "

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dp x dc #blue rambles #crossover #writing ideas #random idea #danny phantom dc #dpxdc #dcxdp #dead tired #tim drake #a i guess you can call it a meet cute?#ghost king danny #CW wasn't expecting this timeline to actually happen but knows its a good one #rim was dying from his spleen being stabbed and taken out #and Ra's didn't wanna risk losing his 'future heir' so he just tossed him in the pits for good measure #but he didn't know a portal opened up on top of the pit #so Tim technically hasn't been in the pits but got very close #ectoplasim will be much better for him rather than the pits though #if CW plays his cards right not only will he get his King a consort that isn't pressured by the dumb council of eyeballs #but he also maybe gets a true time keeper apprentice #yep you read that right #he wants Tim to help with the time stream #but first he has to make sure Tim understand how fragile the timelines are and how to reset messing with them... to much.#like there is wiggle room and nudging things into order but you cant outright change it too much unless there is no other choice #i think Tim would be perfect for the job #but still even if he doesn't take Tim in as his future apprentice there are still odd jobs he can have the boy do #in exchange for CW to help pull Bruce from the Time Stream and back home #he hasn't done it yet because the time powers around Bruce make it a bit tricky for CW but if someone else can pull him out it... well...

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miraculouslbcnreactions · 11 days

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Keep hearing people say maribug keep asking adricat if he's ok and he keep saying he's ok instead of telling her his problem but I don't remember it happened more than once in s4 in Rockettear but even then the circumstances of that episode did warrant the "nothing" answer he gave her unless he want to tell her that "nino tell me you let nino and alya know each other identity" which will reveal adricat identity. So when else did she ask? about the thing in hack-san, I think another credit goes to alya since she's the one who bring the topic to maribug who seems to be blissfully unaware that her leaving without telling adeicat that she send subtitute would be a problem.

I didn't get into this side of things in my other post because it was long and I wanted to focus on why Chat Noir's behavior was so frustrating, but this ask brings up the other big reason why the season four conflict was such a frustrating and terribly written plot line. Specifically, the part of your ask where you point out that Maribug seems blissfully unaware that her actions are having a negative impact on Chat Noir until someone points it out to her.

Yes, she is presented as blissfully unaware of this and every other interpersonal conflict we're given in season four. Your ask treats this as a failing on Maribug's part as if she should have obviously realized that she was in the wrong, but that's the whole problem. Telling kids - telling anyone really - that they should just magically know what others need is a frankly terrible life lesson as that's just not how the world works. You cannot just assume that everyone will have the same view of the world as you do and instantly pick up on the same issues as you do. That is the path to easily avoidable frustration and conflict. It also teaches people to assume that their view of the world is inherently correct when that is rarely the case. We often don't know the whole story and the other person's point of view may end up being equally or even more valid. This issue is extremely present in season four as Marinette has legitimate reasons to behave the way she does, which I'll get into in a bit.

If Marinette were written as feeling guilty about how she was treating Chat Noir, then this would be a different story. She'd be way more in the wrong and would shoulder a much greater portion of the blame. But as is? She has no idea that she's doing anything wrong. And until someone takes the time to tell her that her actions are causing harm, she is going to continue causing harm because she has no idea that she's causing harm.

In fact, I'd argue that the Alya thing in Hack San is a point in Maribug's favor. Throughout the episode, we see Marinette sending Alya messages on ways to be a good partner to Chat Noir, proving that she does in fact care about him. And then, as soon as Alya says, "You need to talk to Chat Noir," what does Maribug do?

She goes and talks to Chat Noir, giving him a pretty good apology for the problem she now knows she caused. Because, shockingly, Maribug doesn't actually want to hurt her partner. She also clearly cares about his feelings, making me want to take the season four conflict and tear it into itty bitty pieces because what is the conflict even supposed to be when you write shit like this?

I want to briefly step away from Miraculous and talk about this issue in a broader context via this YouTube short:

This short is from a Vietnamese woman who moved to Germany. Her YouTube channel is about her experiences there, including things like the short above which goes into the differences between what it means to be a dinner guest in Vietnam and what it means to be a dinner guest in Germany. In Vietnam, it's apparently standard for the guests to cook dinner with you where as, in Germany, you're expected to have the meal ready when the guests arrive, making this a situation where it's super easy to come across as rude just by doing what you think is normal.

Society is relatively aware that these types of culture clashes are a thing, but you don't have to be from different cultures to have these types of situations. Every person has their own unique needs and ideas of what "normal" is. The culture they were raised in will affect this, but so will their family, their personal needs, and many other factors. Two people can be raised on the same street and wind up with wildly different world views even though they supposedly share a culture. This is extra true when you add in compounding factors like neurodiversity, which is why it's an exercise in futility to say, "But Maribug should have realized..."

Well, she clearly didn't. And you can't change that she didn't realize whatever you're mad about. All you can do is have someone tell her what she's doing wrong. If she then continues the behavior, go ahead and judge away. But if she immediately corrects it like she did in Hack San? Doesn't that just prove that she truly didn't know that Chat Noir was hurting and would have probably fixed all of his problems if someone just pointed them out to her?

This is only exacerbated by the fact that Marinette's behavior in season four is largely unchanged from her behavior in previous seasons. The only major change is that she revealed her identity to Alya, but as soon as that's pointed out as a problem, she course corrects with an apology. After that, she thinks that everything is okay because why wouldn't she? Chat Noir said it was fine and everything else has been business as usual.

Bringing temp heroes into help as needed? That's been going on since season two. Having these additional members has been vital in multiple battles and there have been plenty of times where Chat Noir took a background role to the temp hero of the day like in Sapotis, Rena Rouge's season two debut. So why would Maribug suddenly think that this dynamic is a problem when it's been working fine for so long? We even had a whole episode about how Chat Noir was still needed in spite of the new heroes back in season three! Or, at least, I think that was Desperada's message? This show is shockingly bad at giving clear lessons.

Keeping guardian knowledge from Chat Noir? That's also been going on since season two and was even treated as a conflict that supposedly got resolved in the episode Syren which was the episode that ended with Master Fu coming to the mansion to talk to Adrien after everything was over.

When I watched that episode, I assumed this meant that Chat Noir was going to be more involved in things like picking the temp heroes. I actually thought this was how we were going to get Queen Bee because I knew she was going to be a thing, but it made no sense for Marinette to pick Chloe for a miraculous. Of course, I was wrong. Nothing changed after Syren. Chat Noir remained nothing more than the comic relief while Ladybug got all the insider info.

To be clear, I think that was a terrible move writing wise, but it doesn't change the fact that this is what they went with. This is the established dynamic. I can't even say that Alya learning Marinette's secret led to something new. She's just taken Marinette's old role while Marinette has taken on Master Fu's old role. This show loves it's status quo and Chat Noir has been at least tolerant of that status quo since Syren, so it's not surprising that Maribug doesn't register that this is a thing that should change and no one bothers to point it out to her even though she has a mentor in Tikki (and Su Han, I guess?) and a confidant in Alya and a whole slew of Kwamis who could also provide insight if they were allowed to do that sort of thing. (Sass and Wayzz were robbed of mentor roles.) Additional blame goes to Plagg because he should absolutely have told Adrien to talk to Ladybug. What is the point of giving these characters mentors who never mentor? It's aggravating in the extreme.

To circle back to the first part of your ask, outside of Hack San and Rocketear, I don't think there are any times when Ladybug invites feedback from Chat Noir unless you want to give credit to the end of Kuro Neko:

Cat Noir: (lands next to her) I've been a really temperamental kitty, m'lady. I didn't realize how much trouble I'd make for you by giving back my Miraculous. Ladybug: (sits closer to him) Just because I don't need you all the time doesn't mean that I don't need you at all, Cat Noir. No one could ever replace you.

Which isn't Maribug inviting him to tell her what's up, but she is clearly willing to listen to him and reassure him, further backing up my point about this conflict being some of the worst writing I've ever had to suffer through. If Maribug always fixes the issue as soon as she learns about it, you are not writing a situation where she's clearly in the wrong. You are writing an easily solved communication issue where she gets blamed for something she clearly doesn't realize she's doing wrong and it is so frustrating!!! I feel so bad for her. The next episode is Penalteam, btw, which starts the battle with this gem:

Ladybug: (laughs) Nice scare tactics, but it's not gonna work. Cat Noir and I are the best at soccer! Cat Noir: (Whispers to Ladybug) I don't know a thing about soccer M'lady. Maybe it's time to call the real team?

And basically just spends the whole episode making Chat Noir seems like a worthless partner while Maribug tries her best to make him - and everyone else - feel special.

Oh, and the episode before Kuro Neko? Well, it's technically Ephemeral, but that got magically overwritten so let's go one further back and we get to Dearest Family, which ends with this:

Cat Noir: (grabs a golden paper crown on the coffee table) Since I'm the king, (wears the crown on his head) would you be my queen, Ladybug? Ladybug: With pleasure, kitty cat! Tradition is tradition!

Oh yes, these two are in such conflict and Maribug does nothing to validate Chat Noir. He's in pain every episode and she's just totally oblivious to it.

If that was what they wrote, then I'd probably agree that we needed more instances of her asking if Chat Noir was okay. But it's not what they wrote. If you look through the list of season four episodes, you'll find that less than half of them deal with the supposed conflict of the season (by my count, only 8 of the 24 episodes before the final actually showcase the conflict and they are not in a logical order in terms of escalation as I tried to demonstrate above). The rest of the episodes flat out ignore it or even straight up work against the conflict like when Ladybug says this to Chat Noir in Guilttrip: "I probably don't tell you this enough, but I couldn't do this without you. And it'd be a lot less fun too."

Seriously, what even is this season? What is the conflict supposed to be? Because it sure as shit isn't Maribug undervaluing Chat Noir, if memory servers, season four sees her validate him more times than any other season. And it isn't her guiltily hiding things from him like so many fanfics claim because we have multiple points of evidence that prove that she's completely oblivious that there even is a conflict. So what conflict are the writers actually trying to write?

What's even more baffling is that none of this logically leads to the loss at the end of the season:

Maribug's new secrets didn't lead to her downfall. The only reason she lost was because of the secret that's always been there - a fact that's never revealed to her - and a freaking evil twin! So why did it matter that Maribug was keeping secrets? This is made even worse by season five maintaining all of the secrets, once again begging the question of what lesson were we trying to teach here???

Chat Noir wasn't needed for the final fight of the season, Maribug only needed the powers of a few of the temp heroes to win, a baffling ending to a season whose focus was Chat Noir feeling unimportant. You could scrap that conflict entirely and the ending would not change. In fact....

Adrien quitting to be nothing more than a good little boy who obeys his father would have actually saved the world from eventually being rewritten. If you think about it, the season four final actually punishes Adrien for being defiant. So does season five as, if Chat Noir had quit, his father would still be alive. I thought this show was supposed to be a romcom, not a tragedy. Why is Adrien being punished for being a hero? Is this supposed to be karma for lying to Ladybug with the whole Catwalker thing?

This shit is why I say I'm a writing salt, character sugar blog. I can't get mad at the characters when they're in such a nonsense story where things never logically tie together. They all deserve so much better.

None of this is meant to imply that ignorance is a blanket excuse for hurting others. Nor is it meant to imply that you have to forgive someone who hurt you just because they didn't mean to. There's a ton of nuance around these topics. But season four acknowledges none of that nuance while creating a situation that desperately needed nuance because there was no clear right and wrong here. Should Maribug work to be more aware of others feelings? Sure, but that journey can only start after she's made aware of her faults and no one ever points them out to her. Does Chat Noir need to work on clearly communicating his needs? Desperately, but no one is teaching him that lesson so he remains a terrible communicator who suffers in silence. What impressively bad writing.

#ml writing critical #ml writing salt #adrien deserves better #marinette deserves better #kuro neko salt #my queendom for some good character arcs #and good story arcs #there's just so much squandered potential here #ml fandom salt #ml fandom critical #Adding those tags because I am sick of people holding Marinette to unrealistic expectations #This was long so I didn't add this part of the rant but:#It's important to remember how much we know as an audience vs what Maribug knows #Adrichat is really good at putting up a front that everything is fine #And Marinette knows nothing about his homelife when he's Chat Noir #Plus the show has made this kids kinda terrible at understanding Adrien's home life

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lavi-guesan · 8 months

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Today, q!Missa:

When Roier said Philza's name, he yelled in front of everyone at . "Long live! I love you!"

Missa said he didn't like alcohol, and he threw away all the alcohol they gave his, except the one Philza gave his and that was the only one he drank.

He guided Philza on the dance floor, making them both dance in sync.

Although Missa was so confused and scared by all the information, when Philza said that he would not rest until he found their children, Missa replied "I will be with you, we will find them."

When Mouse called Philza smart, he added whispers "Yeah he is… and handsome"

When everyone is running in the dark, not sure where to go, he ran in the opposite direction to everyone, and said "I'm gonna follow Philza I don't know about y'all take care but I'm going with Philza".

I fight alongside him despite his lack of experience. "I'm not even scared when philza is here!"

When Phil was gonna go off on his own, Missa clung to him. "Where will you go? No, no, I want to go with you. Forget it guys, I'm on a date."

He got angry at himself for becoming clumsy around Phil. "With that I endure life- I endure for life. 'Missa! Speak well! You make me nervous Philza-'."

When he was infected with the virus and thought he might die, he shouted "No, I'm going to die, I have to do everything I want to do before I die… Philza, give me a hug!"

For the first time in a long time, Missa said goodbye properly and promised to return.

And he did it!

But-

#qsmp #qsmp missa #qsmp philza #q!missa #q!philza #pissa #All this is canon there are clips of each moment #I didn't expect to suffer so much with today's lives #Missa said it was the worst things that could happen on September 15th and he is right #English is not my first language so it was very difficult to write all this but I needed the list of times he showed how in love he is

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placeofwonder · 2 months

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lately: enjoyed my beautiful town in the sun and reviewed two plays for the student magazine, which is a great outlet for the part of my brain that wishes I was still studying humanities

#mine #personal #diary #books #studyblr #the theatre here is so good #and i'm having so much fun writing these reviews in german which i didn't expect #it's still easier after all these years to write well in german than in english?? that really surprised me & now i want to do it more often

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blindmagdalena · 8 months

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The Athenaeum Portrait

18+ 4.7k homelander x f!reader. established relationship, first time having sex, reader has a complicated relationship with sex, abuse of superpowers for cunnilingus, overstimulation, penetrative sex, lite sublander, praise kink, slight coercion, unhealthy dynamics, implied codependency, implied verbal abuse. just covering my bases here.

For every moment of love that is warm bliss on a summer afternoon, it is also an exercise in stumbling wildly in the dark. Never has this been more true in the case of Homelander, a man whose broken edges and unfinished seams have hardened into hazards that threaten to ensnare and maim anyone who steps too close.

You wouldn't have him any other way.

AO3 link. inspired by this anonymous prompt. thank you! 🖤

Homelander did not enter your life so much as he bull-rushed into it, a living whirlwind that uprooted you and hurled you into a familiar yet strange new world as unceremoniously as the tornado that took Dorothy to Oz.

Vought Tower sparkles just as vibrant as the Emerald City, and provides no less surreal of a backdrop to your new life. Homelander's penthouse is a bizarre caricature of personhood, loaded with hundreds of years of American history. It would ring false, just another aspect of his brand, if not for the fact he can—and often does—regale you with a laundry list of historical facts on any piece in the collection.

This is how you find out that Gilbert Stuart is one of his favorite painters. When you ask Homelander why that is, he shrugs. "He painted over a thousand portraits, and he's most famous for the one he didn't finish. Ironic, huh?"

The Athenaeum Portrait, it's called. An unfinished portrait of George Washington that was replicated and sold by Stuart over a hundred times before his death.

The original was never completed.

The more time you spend in proximity to him, the more you start to understand why the piece resonates with him. You see replicas of him sold throughout the world on a daily basis, his face synonymous with Vought’s branding. There is a completeness to the commercial image of Homelander, America’s wholesome hero, but behind closed doors, you see his frayed and unfinished edges.

You feel his desperation for someone who will complete him in the way he touches you. He takes hold of your hands and brings them to the places where he is sketched at best, a ready and yielding canvas for your fingers. He likes when you stroke his hair, and sometimes touching his face turns his eyes glassy. There is a woundedness to the way he seeks your love, like he’s never entirely sure whether to expect the carrot or the stick.

You’ve never raised the stick to him, but it’s clear that those who came before you certainly did. It’s difficult to imagine that a man as powerful as him has been hurt like this, but he is a painfully obvious man at times, wearing his emotions like the scars his impervious body will never show.

When you lie down to read on the couch, he’s drawn to you like a magnet. He has no problem making space for himself within your bubble, sprawling on top of you, snaking his arms around your middle, his head settled on your sternum. You smile to yourself and rest your book on the top of his head as you read.

He gives a small grunt of complaint, but you’re fairly certain he’s smiling, too.

For every night of domestic bliss, so too are there sudden perils. Unexplained nights of absence, wild mood swings, fits of paranoia. He fights as many battles in his own mind as he does on the city streets and on foreign soil, a living weapon used to the fullest extent by Vought and the American government.

It feels like you lose him temporarily, like he becomes someone else. He paces around you like a caged tiger with his teeth bared, daring you to give him a reason to bite. You never do, and he never does, but sometimes you worry just how close of a call it was.

Occasionally he comes to you spattered in muck and bloody viscera. On these nights, he can’t seem to comprehend your presence, your gentleness, your love. It’s as if these concepts ring false in the wake of everything he has been made to endure. It’s suspicious to him that you would love something so repulsive, so opposite of everything Vought has polished his image into being.

He screams at you for this, takes you by the shoulders and demands you explain what he cannot understand, but you can’t. You can’t explain something that you don’t always understand.

Your relationship with Homelander is a delicious, precarious thing. Like a perfectly ripe peach, its closeness to something bruised and rotten makes it all the sweeter.

When things are good, they’re very good. He’s sweet, a romantic who learned everything he knows about romance from jewelry ads and Valentine’s Day specials. He brings you roses on random days of the week and adores showering you in gifts, especially the kind you wear. He tends to gravitate towards soft, velvety fabrics for your clothes because he likes the feel of them. He buys you perfumes that smell like vanilla and pink pepper. He likes fresh, warm scents. Nothing too floral or artificial.

Most importantly, he likes you. There’s rarely a day that the two of you don’t make each other laugh. His sense of humor is strange, but in the same way that yours is. Sometimes it feels like you’re two aliens creating a brand new language that only the two of you will ever know. The more time you spend together, the less the people outside of your relationship seem to understand you.

Not that it matters much. You spend the majority of your time with him these days, consumed by the excitement of this thrilling new thing the two of you share. Homelander is profoundly tactile, always needing to feel or touch you in some way. He loves to kiss you, content to make out languidly with you until your lips start to chap.

You’ve learned to keep lip balm on hand at all times.

Inevitably though, his hunger for intimacy outgrows quaint touches and kisses. You’re cuddled up together on his couch, only half paying attention to the movie playing. Homelander is nuzzling at your neck, pressing warm, wet kisses to it while his gloved hand slips beneath your shirt, fondling your breast through your bra. There’s something endearingly innocent about it, like a fumbling teenager piloting the body of a man in his forties.

Sex is nice enough. You have nothing against the act, but you’ve never felt as though you get as much out of it as the partners you’ve had in the past. Homelander’s touch feels good to you because it’s his, and because you know he wants to make you feel good in his enjoyment of you. You reciprocate by pushing your fingers into his hair, nails scraping along his scalp, eliciting a sweet, rumbling moan from him against your neck.

“Want you,” he mumbles fervently against your skin, his need so palpable it gives you goosebumps. “Can I have you?”

You knew this was coming. It’s not that you don’t want to fuck him, it’s that he’s not the only one whose portrait feels incomplete. You’re a fully grown adult, and never in your life have you managed to pleasure yourself to completion. In your youth, you’d just faked it for partners once you’d had your fill. With Homelander, you’re not even sure that would work. You’re not sure you would want it to.

He’s got a thing about lies, even little white ones.

You swallow and softly say, “Yes.” Ultimately, you do want him to have you. You just hope that what he gets doesn’t disappoint him.

He smiles into the crook of your neck, withdrawing his hand from beneath your shirt. He kisses you as he gathers you effortlessly up into his arms, carrying you to his bedroom. His strength is another aspect of why sex has made you nervous: the internet is full of horror stories of accidental sexual mutilation occurring between humans and supes.

However, Homelander seems hyper aware of your fragility versus his power. He’s never harmed you. It seems to come naturally to him after years and years of navigating a world not made to withstand him. In the same way you’re capable of handling an egg without shattering it, he has learned how to hold you.

He lays you down on the bed, and then begins the ritual of shedding his signature suit, starting with his belt. You recline, content to watch him, but your gaze seems to make him uncharacteristically self conscious. You’ve never seen him without his suit before, another little quirk that you’ve largely just accepted to this point.

“Aren’t you gonna…” He gestures vaguely to you, expecting you to undress as well.

“Just enjoying the show,” you say coyly, attempting to lighten up a bit of the tension in his expression.

It doesn’t work. The furrow of his brows deepens slightly. “Ah, well. Y’know, the suit, they uh, pad it up some, so don’t–it’s different,” he says, fumbling over his words.

Your expression softens. “I know. It’s okay. I’m excited to see you,” you say, sitting up. In solidarity, you pull your shirt off first, and then wiggle out of your pants, kicking them off the bed. Homelander smiles at this, and works his pants off the rest of the way, kicking off his boots as well, leaving behind just a pair of dark red briefs. You sit up on your knees to help him with the fastenings of his suit top, which he seems to be the most apprehensive about.

To distract him from it, you kiss him. He melts eagerly into the press of your lips, slipping his tongue between yours with that same hunger to taste, to feel, to have. He’s bolder now that you’re no longer playing the part of spectator, shrugging his top from his shoulders and letting it fall with a surprisingly heavy thud to the floor. His ungloved hands skim up your sides, warm and positively thrumming with excitement.

You explore him as well, mapping out the slopes of his body that have previously been hidden from you. He’s leaner, more manageable than the ridiculous bulk of the suit. Part of you had always assumed there was a level of exaggeration in the chiseled, over the top musculature of the suit, but his build is still more slender than you expected. Regardless, it does nothing to detract from his raw strength as he catches you by the backs of your thighs and flips you onto your back, startling out a giddy bark of laughter from you.

He grins down at you, descending to catch you in another slow, consuming kiss, making space for himself between your legs. His lips trail from yours to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your neck. He turns his head to messily suck two fingers into his mouth, and then slips his hand down the front of your underwear. He finds your clit with surprising precision–someone definitely taught him that–and begins to rub slow figure-eights over it, as gentle as he is deft. It does feel good, so you close your eyes and try to simply enjoy it for what it is, for the touch and warmth and intimacy of it all.

It doesn’t matter if you don’t come. This is still nice. You can feel his desire for you in the heat of his body, in the hot huffs of his breath wafting across your skin between kisses. He eventually slips a single finger inside you, patiently working you open. You drag your nails up his back and into his hair, breathing deeply, willing your mind to pause and let you experience this pleasantry in the same way you would a hot bath or a nice massage.

However, no matter how you try, the looming matter of expectation weighs heavily on your mind. You’ve never been comfortable with the attention being solely on your pleasure: it feels like dangling a treat in front of someone on a treadmill. They’re running for something they’ll never reach.

“Hey,” Homelander calls quietly, yanking you from your mental downward spiral. You see him above you, no longer tucked against you, working your skin with his lips and teeth. His brows are slightly furrowed. “You’re quiet. Am I doing something wrong?”

“No,” you exhale, the question immediately putting a wash of guilt through you. “No, not at all, feels good. I’m just really in my head right now,” you admit, cupping either side of his face. “You’re doing great, I’m ready. I want you inside me,” you tell him in a breathless flurry, pulling him down into a kiss.

He does relax at that, sinking in against you for a moment before lifting himself back up. He shucks his underwear down and then pulls yours off as well, lifting both of your legs over his shoulder as he slips the panties completely off of you. While he does that, you unclasp and toss your bra aside. He turns his head to kiss the side of your leg before he lowers them both back down around his waist, lowering himself back down atop you.

The thick head of his cock presses wetly to your cunt, sliding up and down, spreading his slick and yours. You can already feel his excitement in the tension of his body, his shoulders drawn tight beneath your hands. You knead them, rolling your palms against steel-woven muscle. “That’s it,” you encourage, working to relax the both of you. “Nice and slow, mmm… Fuck, you’re big,” you say, biting your lip as he spreads you around the girth of his cock.

“You’re tight,” he moans in response, already sounding frayed. He moves his hips in slow, slightly jerky motions–clearly holding back for your comfort–until he finally bottoms out, keening so sweetly in your ear you can’t help but stroke his hair, hushing him.

“Good, good, feel so good in me,” you coo, the words a familiar script. He shudders for the praise, kissing down your chest, mouthing hungrily at your breast, the same he’d been fondling earlier. His mouth is hot and wet, perfectly pleasant as he sucks at your nipple, moaning into your skin. You cradle his head in both hands, adjusting to the onslaught of sensation.

It’s been awhile since anyone fucked you. The feel of it is just as alien as you remember, but you’re distracted by the persistent swirl of his tongue alternating with the pull of his lips as he lavishes attention on one breast, and then the other. With his bare skin against yours, you’re more aware than ever of the superhuman frequency of his body, how he seems to literally vibrate with restraint and eagerness in equal measure. It’s like there is a line of semi trucks driving by you, the bed itself buzzing with it.

“You’re amazing,” you marvel quietly, tightening your legs on either side of him to feel that preternatural hum against even more of your skin, tingling your inner thighs. “You feel amazing.”

He grunts out a needy, strained noise at that, followed by a jagged thrust deep into you. To your surprise, you realize then that he’s coming apart, dull nails biting crescent marks into your skin, clutching you as tightly as he dare allow himself. You thought that maybe his powers would give him superhuman stamina as well, that he might fuck you raw before he came, but if the shaky cadence of his thrusts are any indication, he’s already holding himself back.

“I can feel how bad you wanna come,” you murmur, carding your fingers through his hair. “Mm? You can, you can come in me,” you say, feeling his whole body shiver from your words. You clench, tightening up around his cock so suddenly that it makes him gasp.

“Fffuck, fuck, oh god, y’can’t–fucking Christ, you–mmm, fuck!” He rasps, choking on his own breath as he comes, burying his face between your breasts at the same time he slams in deep, fading into tight, erotic little whimpers as he loses himself to the rhythmic clench of your cunt. You do it purposefully, milking him of his orgasm, enamored with how thoroughly you’ve reduced a demigod to these simpering noises. The flood of come is hot inside you, already dripping out where your bodies are connected.

All that, and he still never lost control. You doubt his fingerprints will even bruise, though you find a part of yourself wishing they would.

Homelander comes down gradually from his high, limp against you, breathing shallowly against your skin. He looks dazed, eyes only half open. It’s cute, which isn’t a word you necessarily would have ever thought to associate with The Homelander before you started dating him. When he looks up at you, you smile, already more satisfied than you’ve been with sex in your life.

“That was playing dirty,” he tells you, voice a touch fried.

“I just wanted to make you feel good,” you respond simply, watching as he nuzzles into your hand.

He rumbles out a low hum, kissing your palm. “Which means it’s my turn to make you feel good,” he says, moving to slide out of your hands. You stop him, taking hold of his arm.

“You don’t need to,” you assure him, tugging gently to lure him back up. “Really. That felt incredible.”

He frowns, looking every bit like a confused puppy. “But you didn’t come.”

“I know,” you say, that ball of tightness coiling back up in your gut. “It’s okay.”

He exhales an incredulous little scoff. “What kind of boyfriend d’you take me for? I’m gonna make you come,” he says, shrugging off your hand as he moves down your body, sliding out of you.

“Homelander,” you implore, reaching out for him. “Really, it’s okay, you don’t need to–”

“What, you don’t think I can?” He asks. You can see the challenge in his eyes, but you also recognize the potential of a stinging wound to his ego in those words.

You sigh, folding your arm over your eyes as you lay your head back. “It’s not that I don’t think you specifically can, I’m… Eugh.” You take a deep breath. “It’s not something that I do. I can’t. I’ve never been able to,” you say to the darkness of your arm, fingers rolling apprehensively. “And I don’t want you to take this as some kind of challenge, and then be upset when it doesn’t happen,” you say, speaking from very specific experience.

The space between you is silent for long enough that your curiosity beats out your apprehension, and you lower your arm. Homelander stares at you from between your legs, expression pinched, eyes flickering slightly, as if he’s solving the world’s most complicated puzzle in his brain. His eyes narrow softly, his bewilderment showing.

“Like… You haven’t come… Ever?”

“Ever,” you confirm. “It’s not that I haven’t tried, there’s just something broken.”

He processes that a moment longer. “But all of this still felt good, at least… Yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course it did, I liked it. You really do feel amazing,” you assure him, lest he think you were lying with what you said earlier. “It just never finishes for me. That’s all.”

“Alright,” he says, the gears in his brain clearly turning. “So. Sure, no crossing the finish line, but I can still, y’know. Take you for a cruise? A little joyride?” He asks, making you laugh softly.

He really is cute. Sweeter than one might expect, too.

“A joyride?” You echo with a quirk of your brow, smiling.

He smiles, too. “Yeah. No destination, just a little drive.”

“I can do a little drive,” you say, feeling that knot of tension in your gut begin to untangle itself.

“Good,” he purrs, shouldering down between your legs. “Gimme that pillow,” he says, which you promptly do. He slides it under your ass, adjusting your hips until the angle is just right. He smooths his hands up and down the outsides of your thighs, glancing up at you. “Now, you just sit back and relax. Close your eyes, and imagine some smooth jazz.”

“I hate jazz,” you laugh.

He laughs as well, breath rolling over your wet pussy in hot waves. “Well, fuck, imagine something you do like.”

Relaxing back against the bed, you exhale a deep breath, closing your eyes. The first wet, hot slide of his tongue makes you jump a little. He responds by gripping your thighs and pinning you still, which does admittedly run a little thrill up your spine. You test his grip by pushing against it, and when that fails, pulling away, but neither grant you any leeway.

“Squirming already?” He asks between drags of his tongue.

“I like feeling your strength,” you say through a pleased little smile.

He gives an intrigued hum at that and spreads your legs wider, forcing them down against the bed. To even your surprise, that pushes a small, thin noise out of you. Encouraged, he presses his tongue inside, lapping up the mess he made inside you. It feels fine enough, but after a bit of his tongue pushing in and out of you, you give his hair a little tug. “Clit,” you say simply, a command he happily obliges, drawing back up to suck your clit between his lips.

Without the looming pressure to achieve some kind of euphoric release at the end, you find yourself more capable of simply enjoying this for what it is. Homelander is good at this, but it’s really his persistence that elevates the experience. At no point do you feel him begin to waver or slow, or shift and breathe in impatience. He’s relentlessly consistent, swirling his tongue and lapping at you like he’s starved for the taste.

You sigh, idly scratching his scalp as you toy with his hair. “Mmm, that feels good,” you say, more aware of the effect your praises have on him. He makes an appreciative noise, nuzzling into your cunt. One odd thing is that your clit is starting to ache in a way you’re unfamiliar with. You shift back a touch, but Homelander pulls you right back in.

“Greedy,” you accuse, which draws a low laugh from him, the rumble of it making you shiver a little. You must be growing oversensitized. You’ve lost track of how long he’s been at this.

He pulls back, and the cool air almost stings for the loss of his hot mouth, but that ache was beginning to grow uncomfortable anyways. You’re just about to thank him for his service when a whole new sensation steals the words right off your tongue. You don’t even know how to describe it: hot, pressure, but weightless. Your whole body jerks, but Homelander keeps you still, forces you to endure whatever the fuck it is he’s doing now.

“Wh-what the fuck is that?” Watching him, comprehension dawns; he’s blowing on your clit, lips pursed, forcing out a concentrated stream of warm, almost hot air that has your thighs quivering in his grasp. “Oh fuck,” you gasp, equal parts bewildered and overwhelmed. You try to close your knees, but once again, his hold is completely unrelenting, keeping them spread wide. Immediately that same ache is skyrocketing back up, spreading tightness low in your belly.

“Hold on,” you groan, gripping his hair tighter. You expect it to end before too long, for him to at least need to inhale, but beyond all logic and reason, he just keeps going. The heat of it is surreal, the weightless pressure of it constant. Your toes curl, heels digging into the bed while every muscle in your body starts to lock up.

Homelander’s gaze flickers up to meet yours, nothing pure wicked delight in his eyes. Just as suddenly, he descends upon you, tongue feeling hotter and wetter than ever as he dotes on your clit with it, focusing it with alarming precision. The abrupt change in sensation makes you thrash, stumbling over a stream of nonsense as you pull at his hair, that aching tightness now so prominent that you can hardly take in a breath.

“That’s enough, that’s–fuck, Homelander, it’s too much, it’s too much, s-stop, s–” your pleas erupt into a gasp because he’s focusing that stream of air right back on you again, the feel of it so surreal, so indescribable that your brain can hardly function around it. Your eyes roll back, you writhe, but he’s so much stronger than you’d ever really wrapped your mind around. He’s entirely unyielding in a way he’s never felt in your arms, against your body on the couch. He’s more inhuman than he’s ever been, and it’s driving you wild.

Tears gather in your eyes. This assault of sensation walks the knife’s edge of pain, but never quite falls over it. Your whole body is throbbing, and you feel like you’re going to fucking explode. He twists that knife by taking you again with his tongue, swirling and slick in contrast to the dry pressure of his breath.

“H-Homelander, Homelander, please, I’m–I’m–fuck!”

The world turns white, and suddenly you can’t breathe. You hear yourself make a strained noise you’ve never heard before, but it might as well not even be you. You’re somewhere outside of your own body, floating in a torrent of indescribable sensory input that is so alien to you, you don’t even feel real anymore. Homelander isn’t holding you still anymore, but you can still feel him slowly lapping at your throbbing clit, watching you through foggy eyes as he licks you through your first orgasm, no doubt tasting and smelling the endorphins that flood your body.

Every single taut muscle in your body snaps like the strings of a marionette, leaving you to collapse limply on the bed, panting through it as your soul gradually descends back down into your body. Blissfully, Homelander ceases his torment and joins you, laying sideways with his head propped up in his palm while his other hand rests on your hip, thumb rubbing soothing circles.

“Oh my God,” you whisper eventually.

“Please, you can still call me Homelander,” he says, sounding just as smug as one would expect him to be after such an accomplishment. If you had any power whatsoever left in your lifeless arm, you’d smack him. However, he quickly makes up for it by drawing you gently into his arms, kissing your forehead.

“I can’t believe you did that,” you say, more malleable than ever as he adjusts you both beneath the blankets. “I thought I was going to die.” It’s only a slight hyperbole.

Homelander laughs softly, beaming at you with pink cheeks and a sly, delighted little smile. “See? Nothing’s broken,” he murmurs at your ear, catching you off guard. That had been such an offhand remark, you didn’t expect to hear it come back around.

“What if I hadn’t? What if all that, and nothing happened?” You ask, adjusting slightly while he entangles his limbs with yours, bodies slotting together like jigsaw pieces. You’re both jagged in all the right ways, fitting nicely together.

He gives a small shrug, stroking his knuckles up and down your spine. “Still would’a been a hell of a ride. Not everything has to be finished to be good.”

Slowly, you smile. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

Loving Homelander isn’t always easy or good. There are times when he makes it hard, and there are times when you make it hard, but if there’s one thing you’ve learned in this lifetime, nothing worth doing is ever easy. Love may start as an incidental thing, a passion that ignites as readily as tinder, but the upkeep of it is more like pottery. It’s messy, and even once you get the shape of it right, you don’t always know how it will react to the heat necessary to give it solid form. It can be broken, it can be fixed, it can even be remade, but never is one the same as the last.

Still, even when it hurts, when it’s frustrating, when it doesn’t turn out the way you wanted it to, the euphoria of creating something so beautiful keeps you coming back to it. When the same love that burns you can also warm you against the cold, coat your throat like honey, and fill your night sky with stars to guide your way in darkness, it becomes impossible to let go of.

To love something is to heal it. Everything that is loved is beautiful, even things that are unsightly, unfinished, unappealing. Even things that are broken.

Finally, you think you understand why Stuart never finished his original painting.

He loved it precisely as it was.

#homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander fanfiction #homelander #my writing #smut #this fic. idk what happened here this is NOT what i expected to write lol #fun fact: the reason that the athenaeum portrait was never finished was because martha washington wanted it for herself when it was done #and stuart loved it so much he didn't want to part with it #this has been homelander's history corner

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luthordamnvers · 3 months

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'The next time Lena sees Kara, the blonde is 25, and she's in Thorul as a diplomat, to again try to convince Lex to stop the war, to see if they could come up with a solution.

The moment she sees Kara again, it's like everyone and everything else has come to a standstill, and maybe Lena has always been more than a little in love with Kara. She looks incredibly handsome, with a dark coat with gold thread sewn into it with beautiful designs and her family crest.'

As you wish

#supercorp #lena luthor #kara danvers #supercorp fanart #this is pure self indulgence #I had so much fun writing that fic that it's been with me ever since #also i did change kara's suit color because black didn't look as nice but the sentiment stands #anyways please don't expect much from me about this #my perfectionist ass cannot handle it #even tracing is a struggle #[10]

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kettlefire · 14 days

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Broken Promises

It wasn't their fault.

Vlad kept trying to remind himself of that. It wasn't their fault when the prototype malfunctioned. When Vlad was curled on the floor of the lab. When screams tried to force their way out of his throat, but all he could muster was muffled choked cries. When it felt like someone had tazed him while also throwing acid on his face.

The pain had been unbearable. He couldn't focus. The voices were barely a haze in the background. Vlad knew something was wrong. So horrible wrong. He just didn't realize just how wrong it all went.

He didn't realize it when he was being wheeled out of the building. Bodies and people moving around him. Vlad could barely see anything. Cooled products were being placed all over his face, blocking out most of his vision. The coolness of the items only seemed to make Vlad's skin burn more, the feeling sinking down to his bones.

But Vlad had seen them. The two of them, just as the ambulance doors closed. Jack Fenton and Madeline Walker. The two held each other, tears streaking their faces.

But that's not what Vlad focused on.

No. What got him was the look of unfiltered horror and disgust. A look aimed at him. At whatever that portal had done to his face. A look that cut so deep that Vlad had felt something crack inside him. The last thing he saw before everything went black.

It wasn't their fault.

Vlad reminded himself after he had woken up alone in a hospital room. Nurses and doctors fussed over him, trying to tell him what was going on. Words that went in one ear and out the other ear.

Everything hurt. Every single atom in his body felt like they were boiled, burning until nothing but ash would be left behind. The medication didn't do anything.

They had to limit him, and he understood. They couldn't risk him overdosing, but it was hard not to cry and beg for more when the relief only lasted a few hours... A few hours that quickly turned to minutes.

After the fourth day, Vlad gave up on hoping. Gave up looking up every time the door to his room opened. He was at a high risk of infection, a burn unit for a burn the hospital had never seen before.

Then it happened. Vlad woke up from another fitful, short, painful sleep to voices. Gentle hands holding his through PPE. He barely believed it when his eyes landed on Jack Fenton.

Maddie hadn't come. Jack made a hundred and one excuses why she couldn't. But Vlad knew why. She was disgusted with him. She probably saw him as broken, tainted with how much ectoplasm had hit him.

Jack had been nothing but apologetic and gentle. His usual clumsiness and heavy hands seemed to vanish. Jack had doted over Vlad for three months.

When the burns healed but turned into infectious acne. Something Jack coined as "Ecto-acne". Jack swore up and down that he'd find a way to cure it. That him and Maddie were working on something, something to fix things.

To return it all back to normal.

Long evenings of Jack's visits helped Vlad. Helped him feel less horrible about how he looked or how he felt. The pain was still there, but seeing his friend's smile and attempts to make him laugh seemed to make it all bearable.

Then, one day, Jack didn't show up. Vlad tried to remind himself that the man had other duties in life. Jack had classes still, and it's already been three months. He couldn't expect Jack to throw his life away just because Vlad's life was on a pause.

When one day turns to a week, then to a month, then to five months... Vlad couldn't keep lying to himself. He had been abandoned. Abandoned completely by the people he thought would always have his back.

The pain seemed to just get worse once Vlad fell into the solitude. Even the nurses and doctors couldn't seem to stand being around him once the bandages were removed.

Vlad felt like he was dying. His body was a nerve ending current of pain. He'd have episodes of not being able to breathe. He'd constantly have cardiac episodes, code blues, crash carts, the whole nine yards.

The doctors didn't know what to make up of it. New teams, new faces, new opinions. Yet Vlad wasn't getting better. He was only getting worse.

As a year passed, and then two, Vlad lost hope complete. He resigned himself to a short future of pain, a hospital bed, and a lonely death. The tears dried up by the third year.

By the fourth year, Vlad stopped talking. He remained curled in his hospital bed. Barely eating, being fed through an NG Tube. Psychiatrist tried to talk to him, but Vlad refused. He completely shut down.

The only noises that ever left him were his choked sounds of pain, when he was choking for air, or when his heart decided to stop beating right.

By the fifth year, Vlad couldn't remember much. He had flashes of memories. Of lashing out to the hospital staff. He was constantly restrained to his bed. He was an angry shell of his former self.

By the sixth year, it was a repeat of the fourth year. Vlad couldn't feel anything else but pain. He found himself starting to hate Jack and Maddie. Hate that it was their prototype that did this. Hate that they had abandoned him when he needed them most. It was getting harder for Vlad not to blame them.

It wasn't their fault.

The seventh year was when things changed. Vlad had been resigned to the NG Tube, having to take oxygen in through a breathing tube as well. His body was barely functioning at this point, barely keeping his heart beating.

Vlad felt something change as he saw how it affected the staff. The ones that were there since day one. The ones that had tried to hold out hope, even Vlad had given up.

He saw it in their eyes. The second-hand pain they felt watching him wither away into nothing. Even as they smiled at him, they checked in on him. The pain was always there, always lingering.

Vlad hadn't realized anyone cared if he survived until the last few moments. When his breathing was nothing but raspy harsh inhales. When the beeping in the monitors started to slow.

Then he died.

Vlad was certain he died. He felt it, his body finally giving under the years of pain and loneliness. He remembers taking his last breath, feeling his body start to shut down, and his vision fading to black.

There was no big bright light, no flash of his life before his eyes. Vlad had just faded. He heard the monitor flatline and heard the people rushing into his room. Heard one of the nurses asking him to stay with them. In the moment, Vlad realized he should have signed a DNR. That was his last thought before he passed.

It wasn't their fault.

It was unexpected when Vlad suddenly felt his eyes snap open, his chest heaving with a deep full breath. A breath he hadn't been able to take for years now. He heard the shocked cries around him, something clattering to the floor.

Vlad's eyes were wide, breathing growing labored in shocked panic. He could feel his heart. His heart was beating strong and heavy in his chest. He hadn't felt that in so long.

Then there was the aftermath. Doctors scrabbling for any scientific reasoning for Vlad's sudden turn around.

His Ecto-acne had completely gone away within the first week. His organs had started to slowly get better, functioning as they should. The only crazy split second recoveries had been Vlad's heart and lungs.

There was another year of PT, of tests, and studies. Vlad made a full recovery, at least physically. The staff started to call it a miracle after the first few months. When it was cemented that Vlad wasn't going to suddenly decline, he was free to go.

And Vlad did. He spent eight long years in that hospital, eight long years alone and forgotten.

It didn't take him long to track down Maddie and Jack. They never separated in the time he had been abandoned. Vlad found a small town called Amity Park, the place where his friends had settled down.

His friends had moved on with their lives. They had gotten married and had a beautiful little girl. She reminded Vlad so much of Maddie with her spitfire personality. Even at just the young age of four years old.

Then there was the boy. Just a small young thing at only two years old. He seemed to have his father's clumsiness.

It was then. When Vlad was watching the happy family of four at the park, hidden away in the shadows. As he watched how happy they all looked. How happy Jack and Maddie looked without him.

Vlad had shed his first tears in years.

It wasn't their fault.

Vlad reminded himself over and over again. It wasn't their fault when he had his first accident. Almost a decade in a hospital, no friends or family, Vlad had quickly realized he truly had nothing.

He had no money. No support. No anything.

Vlad had struggled all on his own, barely keeping things afloat. Barely scraping by. Barely finding a place to sleep. It was hard, and Vlad had only found himself falling back into shutting down.

And then he phased through his bed.

After waking up in a muffled cry from a nightmare. A horrible twisted recounting of the accident. Vlad suddenly found himself in the room beneath him.

Thankfully, it was empty, but it left Vlad with a whole new problem. It took months of deep personal testing and trials. Of learning about all his new abilities. Finding out about what he was exactly.

It wasn't their fault.

Vlad reminded himself as he learned the truth about his recovery. Learned that he was now essentially half ectoplasm. Half ghost. Half dead.

Abilities seemed to pop up out of nowhere. First, there was the phasing, then the invisibility, then the flying, and the next thing Vlad knew he had fire abilities too.

Things finally turned around for Vlad. After sulking for months, turning to alcohol and drugs. Alcohol and drugs that only lasted for a few moments at a time before fading from his system.

Sure, Vlad turned to a life of crime. But he changed things. He stopped letting the actions of Jack and Maddie run his life. He became a millionaire over the course a few weeks. Then he became a billionaire.

The world was watching him. And for once, it wasn't as a medical mystery. Vlad felt on top of the world. He completed the work he had strive to do in college. He built his own portal, and it worked.

Years few as Vlad learned more. Learned everything he could about the Ghost Zone. As he established power and control over many of the ghosts. As they all learned just what a halfa was.

Dalv. Co become a national success. Vlad had stolen his money, but he had earned to keep it. Working his hardest to make a name for himself, to final be someone. Instead of just in the shadows.

It wasn't their fault.

Vlad reminded himself when he received the email asking him to host the twenty year class reunion. He reminded himself when he reacted out to Jack and Maddie, inviting them to stay with him for the reunion.

Even behind the hidden anger and pain. Vlad missed his two friends, his two best friends. If he could just get an apology, then maybe. Maybe Vlad could finally let things rest.

Except it hadn't happened. Vlad found himself feeling bitter as he looked at his friends. Looked at how much older they've gotten when Vlad barely aged a year. All that changed was his hair turning white over the years.

Bitter, as he watched them interact with their children. Children that Vlad didn't have. Children that Vlad wasn't even sure he could have if he wanted to. There was no evidence of a prior halfa, and Vlad didn't know how much that changed things.

Vlad had success, yes. But he had it completely alone.

It wasn't their fault.

Vlad barely kept a straight face in as they had dinner together. As Maddie and Jack boosted about Fentonworks and their kids. As Jack washed him with compliments for Vlad's accomplishments.

Vlad barely made it through, but he did. Kept it all together as he wished them all good nights. He kept it all together until the moment he went down for a quick drink.

He had to remind himself that he had guests. Ghost hunters in his home. Reminded himself he couldn't just fade down to the kitchen. It was smart he hadn't, considering the fact that Jack was down there. Helping himself to some leftovers.

Vlad couldn't fake it anymore. His mask slipped slowly as they sat in the dimly lit room. As Jack blabbered on and on the way he always did.

It wasn't their fault.

Vlad reminded himself again, not realizing it would be the last time. He found himself in a vulnerable moment. The pain and hurt in his eyes and tone were clear as day when Vlad finally broke the fake pleasantries.

"You promised."

The words had left Vlad as nothing but a whisper. His heart felt raw in that moment. Open and exposed as he felt those feelings. Those feelings from when Jack and Maddie first abandoned him.

Vlad hadn't meant to. He didn't want this to happen now. Not before the reunion. Not before Vlad truly got to see how much they all changed.

But it happened. And Vlad found himself aching to hear a few simple words. For Jack to apologize. Apologize for turning on the prototype. Apologize for taking four days to see him. Apologize for suddenly leaving him behind. Without so much as a word.

"I know."

All that hope, the desperation in Vlad's chest, broke the moment he heard those words. Heard the resignation in Jack's surprisingly quiet tone. A wave of pure despair and pain washed over Vlad in that moment.

Jack didn't apologize. A simple two word phrase that would have meant the world to Vlad in this moment. Jack didn't say it. Instead, he said two words that felt like a stab to Vlad's half-beating heart.

Vlad didn't say anything else in that moment. He downed the last of his drink before standing from his seat. Vlad was much too into his own feelings and thoughts to notice the shock on Jack's face. Or the way Jack's mouth opened to speak again.

Instead, Vlad turned his back on Jack. Although his tone was more hollow than Vlad intended. He managed to fake a layer of pleasantries. A second good night given that night as Vlad made his ways up the stairs.

He wanted nothing more than to curl up in his bathroom. Downing his sorrows in alcohol and maybe taking his rage out in his hidden lab below the surface.

Instead, Vlad found himself with a burning need for revenge. A burning need to break about Jack's life. Break apart Maddie's life. A life they built once leaving Vlad behind. A life they excluded from him for so long. Only just now showing interest to having him around.

No. This time, Vlad was putting himself first. His wants. His needs. His desires. It wasn't about the Fentons anymore. It was going to be about him. About him finding a family. Of having a community. A life outside of his economic and scientific success.

And maybe this time, Vlad was going to start with a certain fourteen year old boy. A certain boy that Vald had picked out at the start.

A certain boy whose heart beats half the average. Who takes in a breath every few seconds, just a tad too long. A certain boy that made Vlad's ghost sense trigger. A certain boy that reeked of ectoplasm.

A certain someone who might just know how it feels to be an abomination to science. To be so different that you may just be the only one to exist.

A certain someone that might just make his life a bit less lonely.

In this moment, Vlad finally realized the truth of his situation. Whatever has happened since that accident. Whatever happened in the years they hadn't talked. Whatever happens now, after this reunion was over. When Vlad finally made his moves. Whatever happened then, now, and in the future. He knew with unbridled certainty that...

It was their fault.

59 notes · View notes

tswwwit · 9 months

Note

Lol omg at your last ask because imagine dippers under some truth spell and ends up spilling a bunch of secrets that Bill already knew and had stashed to use for later

This is no longer 'last ask' relevant because I had this partially written in my drafts for like a million years - but a Truth spell on Dipper would be very interesting!

So I took this prompt and didn't really answer it except in some ways.

Here's a thing!

“You never bring me any souvenirs.” Bill complains. In an all-too-whiny tone, and an all-too-close lean into Dipper's personal space.

Plus, it's a blatant lie. One Dipper shouldn't respond to.

He does anyway. “I literally brought you harpy feathers last week.”

“Doesn’t count! That was for a ritual you wanted to pull off!” Bill sounds miffed, though he also plants a palm on Dipper’s head and starts ruffling hair. “Now where's the emerald from last March? Or like, the headdress from that cult with all the rabbit bones? The good stuff."

Dipper grunts. He focuses on navigating back out of the cave, turning the clay tablet over in his hands.

Figures Bill would remember all the times he did get something. His memory is excellent. And he’s greedy, because a new toy every time is a big ask.

What does Bill expect, anyway. Not every situation Dipper gets into has something to bring back. What could he even offer? An ear taken off every monster he has to fight?

Wait, no. Bill would love that.

Dipper makes a face. “You've just proved that it's not ‘never’. With examples."

"Sure, but when’s the last time it was cool?”

Dipper sighs. No point in arguing. Bill could go on forever about how 'unfair' it is that he doesn't get trophies from every trip, or trinkets from conquered lands, or, again, ears from every enemy. When he’s decided to complain, no reasonable argument will shake him out of it.

“Too bad, then. You’re only getting some gifts.” Dipper shakes his head rapidly to dislodge Bill’s hand from his hair. "It’s hardly the worst thing that’s ever happened to you."

“Hey! I could argue that it’s related! In fact -”

Dipper tunes out the rest of Bill’s ramble, rolling his eyes. Listening with half an ear to Bill's ongoing tirade about being a poorly kept man, and unappreciated in his time.

Despite how much he already has, Bill always wants more. Somehow he sniffed out Dipper’s latest excursion, showing up right at the end and looking for ‘loot’.

Which Dipper, by all rights, should prevent.

Anything magical falling into Bill's hands can cause chaos, no matter how innocuous it seems. The flower incident alone is reason not to hand Bill anything, ever, and the fact that Dipper still does sometimes should be appreciated, damn it.

Bill's complaining on and on, but whatever. Eventually he'll get bored.

In the meantime, Dipper turns the clay tablet around again with a frown. He found something interesting, at least.

Whatever this is, it’s definitely not a language he recognizes. The script is strange, scrawled in different directions. For all he knows he’s holding it upside down. He hopes Bill doesn’t notice until he’s figured out -

"Whatcha got there?" Just as expected - and right on time.

Dipper feels the tablet yanked out of his grasp, unfazed. He doesn't break his stride.

"I found it in the lair, after... you know." Charred bones, explosions - Dipper wishes he could use, like water, or something, but mastery over even one element is powerful as is. "Anyway, that monster was collecting a lot of weird magic stuff, and this was the only interesting thing it had." He shrugs. Then, because Bill will like it, adds, "So... to the victor go the spoils?"

“Now that’s the spirit!” Bill gives him a grin, holding the tablet up to squint at it. Thankfully not turning it around. One point for Dipper, on not looking incompetent.

Still, if anyone can read it…

“What language is this?” Dipper not-so-subtly leans over, trying to peek around Bill’s arm.

"Old Draconic," Bill says, without missing a beat. Humming to himself as he apparently reads the text. Perking up a bit, smile widening. "Oh, hey! Iambic pentameter."

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing, sapling. I just wish when people did the whole 'ancient poetry curse' thing, they'd get a little more creative. You never see hexameter! Or tetrameter! Not even a tasteful use of spondee.” Bill sticks his tongue out. "Come to think of it - I don’t think anyone’s done a prose epic that made the reader wanna tear their eyes out since Joyce."

Sometimes with Bill, you have to read between the lines. The long, irrelevant babbling lines.

"Just tell me if I need to get Ford or not." Dipper says, flat. He rubs at the bridge of his nose.

Among all the other stuff, Bill said ‘curse’. Never, ever a good sign.

Though the monster he just took down wasn’t a dragon, and that wasn’t really a ‘horde’ so much as something resembling the contents of the Mystery Shack, there’s absolutely no good thing about a curse. If Dipper somehow triggered it -

Great. As if hanging around Bill alone didn’t invite enough bad fortune, he’s picking up parts of his own stupid curiosity.

"Nah, don’t bother with the loser uncle!" Bill waves his concern away, amused. “This is just purple prose! Buncha ‘oooh, bad things’ll happen if you mess with my stuff.’ Totally boilerplate spellcraft with some flowery wording.”

With a shrug, Bill dismisses the whole thing. Which includes chucking the tablet over his shoulder, but Dipper manages to snag it before it falls and shatters into a million pieces.

“Typical dragon horde enchantment. All bluster, no burning.” Bill keeps walking without a care in the world. “They’re full of hot air!”

“So I’m not cursed,” Dipper prompts, catching up to him. “Aside from you, I mean.”

“Flatterer,” Bill says, slightly warmer. He continues, shrugging. “No reason you would be! No dragons in the area, and the warning sign there’s too old. By my guess, the original horde was raided centuries ago! Just another piece of random crap that got dragged into that junkyard." And he ruffles Dipper’s hair again, in the second-most annoying way. "You’re stuck with me, though.”

Dipper ducks and twists, thus freeing himself from the minor torment. “I think I can live with that.”

One would think that chatting with a demon - one as cryptic and ominous and aggravating as Bill - would only cause irritation, at best.

It still does, of course. But when it comes to Dipper, Bill… sometimes lays things out straight. On occasion. Especially when he’s instructing, doubly when it comes to magic. Like he’s trying to pour all the facts he can into Dipper’s brain, overfilling the cup.

If his goal is to overload this one mortal mind, though, he'll have to work a lot harder.

Dipper gets out his notebook, while Bill looks away, and pretends he didn’t see it. Yet another poorly-veiled lesson, with Bill obviously trying to plant seeds re: actually casting curses. Tough luck managing that. His subtle lean towards chaos might escape the unwary, but to Dipper? Bill’s way too transparent.

The fact is, that Dipper absorbs things fast. Even Bill will admit it, sometimes without being prompted.

That Includes stuff Bill doesn't even know he's teaching.

Bill’s also rambling on about historical curses, and how often these things backfire, or misfire. It’d almost sound like a series of unconnected, gossipy anecdotes, if it weren’t for the extra technical details.

And Dipper’s not falling for it. As far as he's concerned, his first curse was his last one.

But then…

Even if he’s not going to use the knowledge, there's no reason not to learn it. Knowledge about making curses can also be used to break them, after all. Taking all the facts Bill smacked a ‘For Evil Purposes Only’ sticker on and using them to shatter an evil plan would be very satisfying.

They’re nearly out of the cave at this point, so Dipper figures it’s fine to let his guard down a bit. The monster's dead, all the traps were cleared out on the way in - everything should be fine.

He clicks his pen a couple times, and asks Bill to repeat that last thing, about the life drain. It gets a snort of amusement, but Bill’s more than happy to elaborate at length. Dipper struggles to keep up with Bill’s rapid-fire speech; he's trying to make this intentionally difficult, damn it.

Bill leads on with careless gestures and an uninterrupted stride. Getting ahead of Dipper by several meters, but Dipper’s got to note down what he says before he has to do something awful, like ask Bill to repeat himself.

Dipper is, in fact, so busy trying to write in shorthand, and walk, and not hit a stalactite with his face, all at the same time, that he sort of loses track of where he is.

And okay, maybe he trips over a rock slightly, and nearly faceplants, bonking against the sudden curve of a wall with a swear.

Dipper takes a step back, rubbing at his forehead. Annoying, but, whatever. There were a few traps around, but he pretty much cleared out the cave on the way in, so it’s probably - oh, hell.

Not fine, he dropped the stupid tablet.

Great. The only really interesting object, shattered into half a dozen pieces. So much from saving it from Bill; Dipper himself fumbled the bag.

He backs up to evaluate the damage -

The stone sinks under his foot, and something goes ‘click’.

With a start, Dipper raises a shield without thinking, arm jerking up as he wills his magic into the gesture. It's solid enough for something done on reflex, but an impact hits hard on his side, with sudden, stinging pain.

And a pretty hard impact, at that. He didn’t get it solid enough, damn it, wasn’t expecting something physical -

Dipper wheezes out a breath, slumping to the ground and clutching his stomach.

Alright. So. He got most of the traps.

He sits down, and lets his head thump back against the stone, teeth bared in a grimace. Stupid. Should have been paying attention.

The commotion makes Bill turn his head, blinking at Dipper sitting on the ground.

Then - because he’s an asshole - he starts laughing.

“I know I’m fascinating, sapling, but really?” He tuts, setting fists on his hips. “Not sure if I should be flattered that you’re obsessed with me, or disappointed that you’re dumb enough to walk right into a wall.”

Dipper sucks in a breath, gingerly touching his side. Doesn’t seem like - he glances down. Sure, it stings, and his shirt’s torn, a long, shallow cut on his stomach, just near the old scar. But that’s about it. Over to his side, an arrow rolls against the ground, stone head clicking against the ground.

Over by the cave mouth, Bill’s cackling. God, he’s a jerk sometimes.

But he must not have seen the trap set off, too wrapped up in his own stupid bullshit, or he’d be less of one. Dipper knows that for a fact. Though he’d really, really prefer he’d never had that experience.

“C’mon, kid. If you’re not even more brain damaged from your bump, let’s ditch this joint.” Bill jerks his head over his shoulder.

Dipper hugs himself around the torso, grimacing. Not bothering to respond. His heart is still pounding, or he’d have a retort ready. Adrenaline’s helped him out in a lot of situations, but not with talking. He’ll get up when he’s ready.

“What, you smash your skull open or something?” Bill raises one arch eyebrow.

Though Dipper knows why Bill’s like this, it’s still deeply annoying. He shakes his head in lieu of a reply. In a second, he’ll be calm enough to tell Bill exactly what he thinks of his incredibly poor bedside - and cave-side - manner.

“Figures. Can’t leave you alone for five minutes without your guts spilling everywhere.” Bill clicks his tongue, folding his arms and stepping forward. “What’s the damage?”

“It hurts.” Dipper says, through gritted teeth. Then pauses. Wait, he meant to say - He shakes his head rapidly, only for more words to force themselves out, unbidden. “I got cut again.”

Again, not what he intended. Dipper lowers his chin, teeth clenched. What the hell, he shouldn’t have said that. Bill’s mocking aside, maybe he did hit his head a little too hard. Once Bill gets the mockery out of his system, he’s going to be a total pest about it, too.

With a huff, Dipper slumps. Settling in for a sulk, waiting for the next jab - But there’s no insult forthcoming. Or argument.

In fact, Bill’s gone totally silent. Which is super weird.

Dipper looks up at the cave entrance, expecting a comment or a question, or at least a huge grin. He tenses up, hunching over.

And meets a frozen, unsmiling face.

Bill dropped his arms, they hang limp by his sides. His expression’s gone blank.

The next moment, he’s right in front of Dipper, kneeling and tugging at his arms with alarming urgency.

“Alright, lemme see.” Bill’s face is very close. Though he’s trying to pull his arms away, Dipper resists out of sheer surprise. Bill growls, eye darting around until it lands on the arrow. “Oh for - Really can’t leave you alone for five minutes. Move.”

Another pull, less hard this time. Like he’s trying to ease Dipper’s arms away.

“Wh- Hey!” Dipper plants a foot against Bill’s chest, but that hardly stops anything. He raises his arms. Holding them up, in fact, like he’s at gunpoint. Where’d this come from. “Don’t get upset, I’m fine.”

“Ha! Good one, sapling. Who’s upset, exactly?” Bill says, teeth bared, and in a deeply upset way. He tugs Dipper’s shirt, up, fingers tracing the cut before pressing into his stomach. “I’m just wondering if I need a replacement mortal this soon into your miserable existence. No big deal!”

Okay, this is too much.

Dipper struggles up, despite Bill trying to shove him down again. Bracing himself on the cave wall, and glaring. “Calm down already.”

“I’m perfectly calm.” Bill says, through gritted teeth. At best he looks miffed, but he’s at least stopped trying to make Dipper lie down in the recovery position or whatever. With a glare, he tugs up Dipper’s shirt, prodding at the shallow cut. “What the hell, kid. I thought you said it hurt!”

“Ow.” Dipper’s stomach jumps at another poke. He smacks Bill’s hand away. “It does, alright? Quit poking.”

Bill doesn’t seem impressed. His fingers trail over the larger, older scar on Dipper’s left side, then glares at Dipper’s stomach like it’s insulted him. A beat, then - “You don’t usually complain.”

“I-” Okay, true. Dipper glares anyway. “Shut up.”

He doesn’t complain because it’s the only option. For all that Bill whines and teases and taunts Dipper, all the time, about being some ‘fragile mortal meatsack’, already rotting before his eyes, he really doesn’t like it when it’s brought forcefully to his attention.

God, he shouldn't have said anything. Ninety-five percent of the time, there isn’t any harm to mention. But when Dipper does ends up showing he is kind of… mortal, and it’s small, he just. Doesn’t bring it up. For all that they bicker all the time, he doesn’t like to make Bill upset.

Bill grunts, mouth turned down at the corners. He stands up quickly, folding his arms. His lip curls up in a sneer. “If you wanted attention, kid, there are way better ways to-”

Oh, fuck that. Dipper flips him off, and starts storming off.

God, this is stupid. Whenever Dipper ever breaks a bone or something, he gets teased about being so weak and vulnerable. Which he is, but neither of them like the reminder.

These days, it also comes with some weirdly maybe-sincere ‘kiss it better’ thing that Dipper then has to disinfect. A lot of hovering, and rambling commentary. Sometimes creative descriptions of how much worse it could have been, and Dipper never needed those, at any time. Bill gets oddly fixated on such random little moments, and it’s just -

Dipper doesn’t like it, is all. Bill gets the way he gets, it’s a lot, and it’s easier just to avoid it. If he were a different guy - a human guy, or even mostly-human monster- Dipper might try to talk to him about it.

But Bill’s a demon. Not normal, barely sane even on his best days, and worse, he’s Bill, so. That conversation would go precisely nowhere.

Behind him, he hears said demon approaching, fast. Stupid jerk. He should be as tall as his real form. That’d be fair. More accurate, too, and then Dipper could properly stomp off without Bill catching up so easily.

Already the bastard is by Dipper’s side. A tall, irritating presence. Hovering close without grabbing on, which adds to said irritation.

Dipper leans away, but Bill catches him around the waist and drags him in.

“Don’t get so grumpy, sapling, you’re fine! A little nick in the outer layer rarely killed anyone since they invented antibiotics.” Though he pinches Dipper’s cheek, he yanks his head away with a grunt. Bill sighs. “Everything’s a-okay here! Looks like I don't have to find a replacement just yet.”

Bill’s an idiot. Dipper scoffs, though an unpleasant feeling crawls in his gut. “Oh yeah? Who would you replace me with?”

“Eh, not like I got anyone specific in mind.” Bill waves that off, nonchalant. “But I have options! Lots of options.” He bumps a hip against Dipper. “Keep that in mind before you go charging off into obvious traps.”

This goddamn liar. Dipper elbows him in the side, because the asshole deserves it.

Not that Dipper’s worried, or anything. From what little he’s heard of Bill’s exes in the demonic rumor mill - Bill’s been, as they say, less than successful. Already Dipper’s outstripped his longest by years.. Bill can lie day in and day out about his options, put on a brave face - but they both know he’s not going to find this again. Not easily.

“Good luck finding another husband, asshole.” Dipper says with appropriate derision. It’s annoying that Bill even brought it up. There’s a good riposte in there, somewhere - but while his brain is coming up with an insult, his mouth runs on automatic. “But I was really worried that you would last week. I couldn’t stop thinking about it all day until you sent a dick pic. It was weirdly comforting.”

Bill turns toward him with genuine surprise. He even blinks a few times, no retort emerging, and Dipper looks back at him with equal surprise.

Until his mind catches up with what he just said.

Dipper digs his heels in the ground, slamming to a halt. Clapping both hands to his mouth, eyes wide.

Beside him Bill nearly trips at the sudden stop, flailing for balance with a swear.

Shit, shit shit. Dipper really didn’t mean to say that. He knows Bill’s not looking around, that he’s not interested. Cynically, that he couldn’t manage it if he was. Last week was just a one-off anxiety, like all the others Dipper’s brain comes up with when it gets too much free time. Totally irrational, and really hard to stop fixating on.

Bill keeps staring. Not angry, just confused, for long enough that Dipper wants to shrink into the ground and melt into nothingness.

Then he asks, “What the hell, Pine Tree?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know why I thought that. I don’t know why I said that.” Dipper cringes into himself, grimacing and ducking his head. He runs a hand over his slightly sweaty face. “I didn't even want you to know I got hurt.”

At that, Bill snorts. “Oh, please. I’d have seen that first time I got your shirt off. You can’t keep secrets from me!”

Dipper folds his arms, internally seething - and his stupid mouth moves to say, “I’ve done it before.”

This time, the silence is tense.

Dipper wipes his sweating forehead again, not daring to meet Bill’s eye. God he shouldn't have -

Before he can think, he blurts out, “I think something’s wrong.”

“Probably!” Bill agrees, with a smile just a little too sharp. He takes Dipper’s face in both hands, eye narrowed. “Hold still a sec.”

As Bill’s eye flickers blue, and the magic between them surges - Dipper squirms a bit, but. Well. If anything’s wrong with him - magically, anyway - Bill’s the best one to diagnose it..

Bill tilts his head to one side, then the other. After a moment, his mouth twists up into something unpleasant, eye glowing slightly brighter for an instant.

Then he sighs, and lets Dipper go. His expression is neutral, except for the slightest downturn of his mouth. His lips part like he’s about to speak, then twist up into a grimace.

Uh oh.

Whatever Bill saw, he didn’t like it.

“What?” Dipper pats his head, then his chest. If there was something weird, magically about him, he - wouldn’t be able to tell, actually. He’s too close to get a good look. Oh god, what if he did hit his head too hard, and something in his brain is bleeding, or worse. “Wait. Am I dying?”

“Worse! You’re telling the truth.” Bill claps his hands together. Though he’s smiling again, it’s brittle and annoyed. “Don’t suppose you know any curse breakers that aren’t your great-uncle?”

“Not really,” Dipper admits. Bill's words catch up to him, and he bites his lip. Then, because the situation deserves it, “Fuck.”

Protection curse. The tablet.

Damn it.

A part of a horde, from a long time ago. Messed with. It should have been something less awful. Like warts, or sprouting plants from his skin, or a big fireball. Pretty much anything else would be less awful.

Truth curses are rare, they’re difficult as hell - but judging by the words spilling out of Dipper, he’s caught a pretty strong variant.

Of all the curses that could hit him. Why this one.

Hell, maybe it’s intended to be the worst curse possible for the ‘thief’. That would explain how targeted this feels.

And knowing Dipper’s luck, that part was explained on, like, the back of the tablet.

“Welp! Good thing I’m not short on contacts, kid.” Bill grapes his shoulder, shaking him a bit, before he trails an arm over Dipper’s shoulders. “Who wants some fumbling idiot uncle to fix this kinda spell, anyway?”

Dipper would! If it was feasible. He makes a brief attempt at shrugging Bill’s arm up before letting his shoulders slump.

The idea of Ford hearing about this is….

Dipper sucks in a breath through his teeth.

Ford really would have a way around this. He'd certainly have the best intentions, Dipper’s certain. He'd...

Also not have the best sense of boundaries.

Though he'd be doing it for the right reasons, he'd ask the wrong questions. Out of concern, and arguably valid worry; he's never fully believed that Bill can't influence him. Despite how many times Dipper’s tried to explain it to him, Ford just can’t wrap his mind around certain truths.

With this curse, though. Between poor social sense, the Pines curiosity, and what Dipper might blurt out, while compelled to answer -

On this, Dipper agrees with Bill. They’ll have to find something else to break this.

In the meantime, he’ll manage, like he has all the other times his life has sucked. Hardly the worst case scenario. If Bill had been cursed - someone who lies like he breathes - Who knows? Give it a few days, and he might just explode from all the backed up bullshit.

“Wait.” A horrible thought strikes. Dipper reels on his husband, eyes wide. “Are you okay?”

“What, me? I’m a perfectly moral human man,” Bill says, resting a hand on his chest, lifting his chin with pride. “A boring sentient mammal who’s never found curses entertaining.”

Yep, Bill’s fine. As always, it’s Dipper who gets the short end of the stick.

He breathes in slowly, and lets it out.

Yeah. Still sucks. He’ll deal. Cursed, but not dead. In danger, but not the worst - and his husband’s being annoying, which means he’s perfectly fine. There’s a solution too - it’s just going to be a huge, annoying process getting to it.

“So,” Bill says, slowly. Drawing the word out in a long string, while he finger-walks his arm up around Dipper’s shoulder.

Uh oh.

Speaking of annoying…

“Watch it,” Dipper hunches his shoulders, not daring to look his idiot husband in the eye. “You’re this close to sleeping on the couch for a month.” Not a big enough threat, Bill’s still thinking- “Or for a year.”

“Oh, sure,” Bill says, in a distracted tone. His fingers pause on their walk, one ‘leg’ poised on Dipper’s clavicle. They hold the position for a long moment, tapping out a little marching step - and seconds later, his palm slaps down on Dipper’s shoulder. “So, Pine Tree! How do you feel about this ‘Bill Cipher’ guy?”

Though Dipper resists, and he really tries to, the words slip out past his teeth, his lips form the sounds -

“I love you.” God. Damnit. He clenches his fists, as Bill’s sheer smugness radiates from him like heat. “And I’m thinking about shoving you off a cliff right now.”

When Bill paused, Dipper thought he might have fended this off. Wishful thinking, really, Bill’s almost impossible to stop. Dipper used what leverage he had, but all he’s managed to avoid are the worst, most invasive questions.

When it comes to Bill, that’s pretty close to a win.

Not that it’s going to feel like one.

Bill has, in fact, been encouraged. Now that he’s heard something he likes, he leans in like a weird creep. Dipper can practically hear the leer in his voice. “And on a scale of one to ten, how handsome am I?

“Ten point five,” Dipper needs to loosen his jaw or he might break a filling. Being pumped for information is bad enough without pumping up Bill’s already ridiculous ego. “You bastard.”

Bill’s chest puffs out, there’s a strut in his stride. The grin is so wide now Dipper’s pretty sure it should hurt- and if he dares to pucker up, he’s not getting lips on his awful face. “And am I the most clever and sexually amazing guy in the universe or what?

This time, Dipper snorts.

“Definitely not.” He ignores the sharp, indignant sound next to him, tilting his head in thought. “For one, there’s succubi and incubi, so. Sexually, you’re not even on top amongst demons.” He glances over at the offended ‘o’ of Bill’s mouth. “And I know you’re not the most clever, because I win our debates nearly half the time. Maybe you’re up there, but not the most. And that’s just the surface level stuff.”

Dipper doesn’t have a complete cosmological view of the multiverse, but he has learned a lot. Mostly stuff he picked up from his husband, and demonic gossip. It’s absolutely enough to go on a long, long ramble about how Bill most likely doesn’t rank number one in anything. If Dipper avoids the topics where he actually is.

He’s barely fifteen seconds in before Bill starts scowling, with a grumpy hunch to his shoulders - But screw him.

Dipper starts smiling, just a bit. Then, to be a dick, he adds,

“The ten and a half is just me, anyway. To the average human, you’re maybe an eight..” Dipper continues, over another spluttered protest. Again, true; not everyone likes the slightly inhuman maniac cyclops look. “Six with your personality.”

Bill groans. “Ugh, you pedant.” He squeezes Dipper’s shoulder, jostling him slightly. “C’mon, you know what I meant! What’s the real - “

“Don’t ask questions if you can’t handle the answers,” Dipper warns, jabbing Bill in the chest. So far it hasn’t been too much, but it could be. Time to draw a line. “I will suck so much fun out of this for you.”

Bill Cipher, unintentional teacher once more. Now Dipper knows the curse isn’t about perfect truth. When he can deliberately misinterpret a question’s intent, and can go on tangents - that means he has loopholes. There might even be more, if he tries.

And if they can’t get this settled soon, he’ll need every one of those he can find.

“Clever brat.” Bill’s frowning, but he can’t disguise the amusement in his voice. His eyebrows wiggle, his arm hauling him close - "Go ahead, then. Anything else you wanna share?"

"I know two and half ways to kill you, Bill Cipher." Dipper gets right up in his face. He won’t let Bill push this any further. "Don't tempt me to use them."

Being face to face like this, Dipper watches Bill’s eye go wide - ha, didn’t expect that, did he. With that threat, he’ll -

Start cackling. And weirdly, turn a little pink. Dipper feels all the momentum he had whoosh out of him like sad balloon animal.

“Boy, you are a saucy one!” Bill whistles, low. He places his hands demurely on his cheeks, fluttering his eye at Dipper with amusement. “Oh, yeah. Talk deadly to me.”

By this time, Dipper figures he should be used to stumbling into demonic flirtation. Only it turns out it’s basically fractal in nature, and he keeps running into new and newer edge cases.

“Fun as this is - we gotta get you cleared up, and no time like the present!” Bill’s calmed down enough to scoop an arm around his waist, leading Dipper onward. “Can’t have you babbling everything to everyone, y’know?”

“What, you don’t want me telling you everything?” Total bullshit. Dipper elbows him in the side. “I thought you wanted to get in my head.”

“Hey! I didn’t ask for our game to be set on ‘beginner’ mode. That’s boring.” Bill flicks his fingers - but he’s got his ‘evading questions’ look on. “You’re lucky I’m so- oof.”

Another elbow, harder this time. Bill grunts, but capitulates. Rubbing at his eye briefly, he sighs.

“So! How many of my secrets would you say you know, Pine Tree?” Bill tightens his grip on Dipper’s waist, tugging him closer. “And I’m talking about the ones that I wouldn’t enjoy getting out in the world.”

“More than I can count.” Dipper says without thinking. Then, with thinking - “Oh.”

Dipper hadn’t considered how much Bill’s taught him, before this exact moment. How much he’s learned. Even unintentionally. Especially unintentionally.

Crap, even his threat before was kind of -

Shit. There’s definitely, absolutely, no way can they go to Ford about this. Total recipe for disaster.

“See? We both got liabilities in play here.” Bill moves easily as Dipper picks up the pace. If anything he’s amused, and not feeling nearly as urgent. Another reason he’s an idiot. “All we gotta do is get you patched up quick, and no more loose lips sinking ships! Easy-peasy.”

“It better be,” Dipper mutters. Nothing ever goes right for him. And by extension, them.

“Trust me, kid! I got this handled!” Bill snaps his fingers - and smacks Dipper’s butt with a wink. “I know some guys!”

#answers #Not my best work but I haven't posted in a while so here's a thing!#I will get better at writing I swear #There are references to the whump fic in this just so you know #It is canon that Dipper didn't die but the how and the aftermath are for the sequel #Anyway whump sequel is going decent and I have some ideas for other stuff #Don't worry Dipper Ford wouldn't even think to ask you the questions you're worried about #He assumes that Bill would never ever let you know those facts #And technically Bill never told Dipper either of those two and a half ways but you learn a lot from being married for a few years #I don't have any more interesting tag facts other than that don't expect a timely sequel to this because I have so much stuff to complete #I hope it's at least fun to read!

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littlewinnow · 9 months

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Fandom creators self rec game! Choose five favourites from your own creations (and tell me why, if you like!), then pass on to at least five other people. I'd love to hear what you're proudest of.

Oh!!! Hello Tacky :) Thank you for passing this on!

🛏️ -The Cozy Blanket Drarry Comic: This was one of the first original Drarry comics I've ever created! Making this made me love my messy lines (something I struggled with for a long time) + explore more with this warm comic style.

2. 👨‍🌾 Single-Dad Draco @ the farmers market: One of my most popular posts! I was surprised by the reaction I received from this comic, it's not only my favourite because of how it turned out (tbh still feel self-conscious about it being unfinished) but by how much everyone enjoyed it! (and continue to do so!!) I ended up interacting with amazing people because of it (including you Tacky!!). Drawing babies was new to me too, I think I did pretty well :)

3. 🪄 Wand tension Drarry...: I'm still really proud of this work! I feel like this shows how the warm tones I've been working with since the beginning evolved into this piece! Also, achieving a sense of tension through the mood lighting is a vast improvement!!

4. 🎨 My Drarry style: I remember in the beginning I was having a hard time figuring out how to draw these two consistently and needed to develop something I was satisfied with to use as a future reference. These sketches popped out and I really loved how their faces differ slightly! Harry's square jaw/wider face and softer nose. Versus Draco being more sharp and narrow (looking at it now I can def improve it). But still love it to this day.

5. 🧹 Quidditch Drarry Moment Comic: I drew this so quickly when it popped into my head, I'm still proud of the dynamic angles, expressions and storytelling I achieved through the short panels/greyscale palette!

#drarry #me #myart #i didn't expect to write so much sorry for the word vomit!!

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tricoufamily · 9 months

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a current day nils and a 90s college student nils who's way too intense about his internship walk into a bar

#hiiiiiiiiiiiiiii nils hiiii 💗🤭#let me get my important tags out of the way so i can write you a novella in the rest of them #ts4 #ts4 cas #ts4 edit #the sims 4 #nils #i've been exploring his character 🏃‍♂️#his full name is nils pelletier he's from canada originally he went to nyc for college and stayed there forever #he didn't grow up with much but he was really good at school so he got a scholarship and he was very very determined to become rich #he interned at frankie's dad's company and was offered a full time position after he graduated yayy you made it. i guess :| (evil company)#he's always been very stern very serious very quiet he's never had many if any friends. he was a deeply unhappy child #his parents weren't even bad they're nice and supportive and tried their best #he was married and has one son but he hasn't been married for a while. i don't know if it's divorce or death or what yet #it was the first girl he ever had a relationship with and he was also her first relationship #a very dull marriage but again not a bad one. she was nice and supportive and tried her best #it seemed like it was what they were supposed to do. get married and have a child bam done you did what was expected congrats #they barely ever even argued it was just. well loveless seems a harsh word. and 'well they were friends at least' seems untruthful #anyway he often has to be frankie's handler because frankie's dad is his boss and he does what he's told always #frankie's really difficult though

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dolokhoded · 11 months

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my one season 4 complaint is Where The Fuck Was Aneesa

#never have i ever #i really wish her and fabiola had stayed together them not working out didn't rlly serve any purpose to the plot for the new season #fabiola's new relationship was barely rlaborated upon. as expected.#and aneesa was basically written out she was barely even part of the group #plus that scene of them at the staircase talking about fab's robotics team. they still have so much chemistry and they were literally just #talking about robotics #i understand she's not a major character and she can't have a separate plotline to herself but she wasn't even involved in anyone else's #her and fabiola were cute together and she would've at least been part of the plot if they were still dating #allison was barely a character what was the point of writing some random new partner for fabiola when she already had a perfectly good #love interest #it just doesn't make sense to me. whi decided it would be a good idea for them to break up #was it just an opportunity to shove in a nonbinary character who had no personality and was just there as someone's s/o and call it #representation #cause there are Many better ways to have nonbinary rep than this #but ofc mindy kaling wouldn't give a shit about this.#n e ways for this support my nonbinary aneesa hc . it's real.#fabiola torres #aneesa qureshi #OR AT THE VERY LEAST SHE SHOULD'VE GOTTEN WITH PAXTON. SHE HAD THAT NICE HOT JOCK LINE AT THE END OF SEASON 3 #im fabneesa 4 life but i would honestly be haply with her dating paxton. they're both cool and they'd be fun together. and she deserves a #nice hot jock boyfriend.

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fractalkiss · 8 days

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object permanence

[fic] 1418 (fernando/lance), explicit, 4k words

excerpt:

Lance doesn't need a rundown on Fernando's reputation or another firsthand account of things about him that pissed Esteban off while he was at Alpine. In the winter, Lance had looked forward to coming to the factory and to engineers’ meetings. Fernando takes up plenty of space and attention in a room for a guy who's like, a head shorter, and Sebastian has two more championship titles to his name, so that's not all of it. Fernando wears shirts that fit him, hums along absently to old Spanish pop, and keeps the cocktail skewer on the right at a perfect 3 o'clock in his drink, the flex of his big-knuckled fingers slow and restless. Fernando is vocal about his faith in Lance to drive well.

read on ao3

didnt make a fic post for this so i'm archiving now

#hello..#this was the first fic i posted for f1 #it has stuff i would change a bit but i can't now and that is a good thing like girl you've Let Go #i didn't expect to stick around here in this fandom for longer i thought i'd write just 2 things and disappear #orphaned but i figured i should very belatedly list this again for archiving purposes #feel free to reblog even if old i'd very much appreciate it #my fic #1418

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thegingerwrites · 5 days

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Obi-dience - An Obikin, Ella Enchanted AU set in the GFFA

Inspired by a typo I almost made yesterday and what I think is a pretty good pun

Obi-Wan Kenobi is the perfect Jedi. A skilled warrior, an expert negotiator, and a good friend, it has always been clear that Obi-Wan has a gift. People often remark that no matter what is asked of him, Obi-Wan Kenobi can deliver.

That is his gift: whatever anyone tells Obi-Wan to do, he does. The gift of obedience.

Before Obi-Wan ever came to the Temple, fate or the Force or some Stewjonian witchcraft, blessed Obi-Wan with the ability and the compulsion to do whatever he is told. The perfect child, the perfect padawan, the perfect Jedi. He is whatever anyone asks him to be.

From the moment Obi-Wan becomes aware of his dubious gift, he finds ways to work around it. When the other younglings come up with ridiculous dares or tell him to hand over his slice of Shuura cake from the refectory, he has no choice but to comply. Instead, he rebels in other ways. He shows them up in his classes, he stages pranks as a kind of revenge, and he never, ever lets anyone know about his secret gift. He learns that compliance can be a malicious thing and that there can be a vast difference between what someone says and what they mean.

After shoving a slice of cake in someone's face, attempting to climb the tallest tree in the greenhouses, and interrupting a lesson by Master Nu with an impassioned recital of the Jedi Code at the top of his lungs before refusing to say another word, Obi-Wan is sent to Master Yoda, fearing for his future with the Jedi Order. He assumes that Master Yoda is going to send him away, to the Agricorps or some kind of orphanage for wayward almost-Jedi. Clearly, he is more trouble than he is worth.

But Master Yoda is more perceptive than that. He senses that the Force moves strangely around Obi-Wan and gets Obi-Wan to describe what it feels like when someone tells him to do something. What it is like to be helpless sometimes against the need to do what he is told.

Yoda doesn't tell Obi-Wan to leave the Order. One way or the other, that decision will be made for him, when a Master comes forward to take him on as a padawan or doesn't.

What he does say still manages to change Obi-Wan's life forever.

"A great and terrible gift this is, young one. Know that already, you do. Difficult, your life will be, because of it and harder, you should not make it.

'A secret, your obedience must be. Tell no one of your gift, lest they use it against you."

Obi-Wan blinks, eyes wide. His mouth hangs open for only a moment before the words come out, "Yes, Master."

From then on, Obi-Wan tries his best to keep his head down. He wants to become a padawan, dreams of one day being a Jedi Knight, and so he tries his best in his classes, learns to turn the other cheek when others attempt to rile him. He becomes kind and thoughtful, and surrounds himself with a few good and trusted friends, who, while playful and rambunctious, would never try to order him around.

His efforts pay off when Qui-Gon decides to take him as his padawan.

It takes Qui-Gon a long time to learn what makes Obi-Wan different from other padawans. This is mainly because Obi-Wan Kenobi is already so different from himself and so different from the boy Qui-Gon heard tales about from the crechemasters when Obi-Wan was in their care. He is quiet, though curious, and rule-following to a fault. Where is the rebellious boy that was nearly kicked out of the Temple for attempting to leap into the Serenity Pond at the center of the Room of a Thousand Fountains with all of his clothes still on?

This boy does what he is told and he never talks back, even when Qui-Gon desperately wants him to. After a few years, Qui-Gon resigns himself to the idea that the Council must see him as too much of a maverick even now and that when Yoda recommended Obi-Wan to him as a padawan, citing their similarities, it was an attempt to reign him in. The equivalent of pairing the talkative kid in class with the quiet one, in the hopes that some of the latter's goodness might rub off on the former.

That is, until Melida/Daan. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon are sent to rescue Master Tahl and become entangled in the conflict there. The role of the Jedi is to negotiate peace and until the Melida and the Daan are ready to do so, there is no place for the Jedi among them. Qui-Gon tells Obi-Wan it is time to leave and for once, Qui-Gon sees a fight on his young padawan's face.

His feet move toward the waiting ship's ramp in halting, laborious steps while his hands fist at his sides and his face tightens into a grimace. Obi-Wan reaches out for the nearest thing available to him, a crate of supplies in the hangar bay, and grabs on tight, even as the rest of his body tries to pull him towards the ship.

"No, Master. I can't!" Obi-Wan grunts as he loses his grip on the crate and flails for something else. "I can help them, I know I can. Please let me stay."

Qui-Gon watches in horror as Obi-Wan's body eventually wins out and he stands next to him on the ramp, clutching one of the pistons for balance. Whatever power held sway over Obi-Wan for those few fraught moments is gone as quickly as it arrived, leaving him red-faced and breathless in its absence.

He leaves Obi-Wan on Melida/Daan and puzzles over that scene at the ship's ramp long after the fight is over and Obi-Wan returns to the Order. He never quite manages to discover the secret of Obi-Wan's gift, but he is certain to never give him another order he cannot refuse ever again.

Even at the end of his life, when he has been cut down by Darth Maul and Obi-Wan has him cradled in his arms, Qui-Gon is sure to phrase his last wishes just so.

"He is the Chosen One, Obi-Wan. Will you train him?"

"I will, Master."

Training Anakin doesn't feel like a choice, at least not at first. Obi-Wan fights the Council for the right to train him, pushes past his own misgivings and sets aside his grief, not because he really believes in the prophecy in the way Qui-Gon did but because it was the last thing his Master ever asked of him.

At night, Obi-Wan wishes that Qui-Gon had ordered him to train Anakin, wishes that he knew how to do this one thing right. He silently begs the Force: if his obedience was ever good for anything, let it help him in this.

And yet, training Anakin is a choice, one he makes every single day. Harder at the start and then easier once he actually gets to know the boy. Anakin is stubborn and willful, scarred by his time as a slave in ways Obi-Wan will never fully understand. He doesn't make demands of Obi-Wan. He doesn't make demands of anyone. He is a kindhearted and curious boy who deeply misses his mother and has latched onto Obi-Wan like the last life-preserver on a sinking ship. It takes time for him to grow comfortable at the Temple, for him to trust that all that he loves will not be taken away from him a second time, and for him to grow into a teenager more secure in his place in the world.

The first time Anakin enacts Obi-Wan's gift against him, he is fifteen and they have been arguing. He has been sneaking out at night, fighting with one of the other padawan's, and is falling behind in his galactic history coursework. The bright and friendly young boy Obi-Wan met years ago has become sullen and moody, no more so than many other teenagers but something of an anomaly within the Temple.

Anakin stalks off to his room, slamming the automatic door behind him as best he can, and shouts at Obi-Wan through it to leave him alone.

It takes Obi-Wan a full day to realize what Anakin has done. He makes himself scarce in their rooms before Anakin wakes the next morning. He avoids meeting him in the refectory and after lessons. It is only when he cannot force himself to return to their apartments at the end of the day that he seeks out Master Yoda and begs him to contradict Anakin's order. He can't let Anakin think that Obi-Wan is so upset with him as to actually leave.

Master Yoda negates the command but before he lets Obi-Wan return to his quarters, he cautions him against allowing himself to become too attached to the boy.

This is where I think there is a lot of room to play around with this idea and probably where an actual story would take place with the rest as background.

While the premise of the fic isn’t doesn’t necessarily have to lead to obikin, that’s simply the lens through which I view the world so it does.

One night, when Anakin is still a padawan, he returns back to their quarters late after a night out where Obi-Wan is still awake and waiting for him. He stumbles into the room, brushing aside Obi-Wan’s concern, before landing on their couch instead of in his bedroom. He is drunk, clearly, but not so far gone as to be unwell. His limbs are loose and his smile is easy and he relents eagerly when Obi-Wan kneels down to pull of his boots in order to keep them off of the furniture. His eyes go wide and his smile falls as he sees Obi-Wan down there, his mouth forming a confused little ‘oh’.

Before Obi-Wan can ask what is wrong, Anakin says, “kiss me,” and Obi-Wan does. He presses up from his knees, leans over Anakin and kisses him.

It is a soft, quiet kiss on the lips. Neither of them moving beyond simple pressure. To Obi-Wan’s later shock and horror, the kiss feels good, feels right. Perhaps his mind reaches out to Anakin’s through the Force and borrows some of his alcohol-induced ease because his mind goes blank for the few brief seconds that their lips are connected, wholly at peace.

And then reality sets in and Obi-Wan pulls back sharply.

He steps back, nearly tripping over the low table in their sitting area, his hand barely grazes the skin of his lips.

“Never ask that of me again,” he tells Anakin.

And Anakin, not so far gone as to mishear the grief and heartbreak in his Master’s voice, never does.

As an adult, Obi-Wan's gift comes into play less. Few people really go around giving people orders. Obi-Wan becomes very good at stopping them before they start, redirecting people to other topics, and avoiding those who are prone to giving them.

Still, he doesn't expect Dooku to tell him to join him on Geonosis. (I think there's a really cool option where Obi-Wan goes with him or at least spends the early part of the war hearing him out) Anakin steps in almost immediately without realizing it, shouting 'no' which counteract the command.

The war itself doesn't pose as much of a problem as Obi-Wan and Yoda worry at the outset. Obi-Wan is the one giving the orders rather than receiving them and thankfully the droids' feeble commands to surrender have no effect on him.

His gift does still manage to get him into trouble on occasion. His banter with Ventress is especially charged as he parries her blades and her words. Anakin takes to leadership well, so well that on occasion he slips and manages to give Obi-Wan orders as well as his men. It doesn’t happen often, while Anakin has grown by leaps and bounds into a commander, a brother in arms, he still knows his place. Obi-Wan will always be his former master, a member of the council, and his superior. Still, when Anakin concocts a plan at a moment’s notice and tells Obi-Wan, “cover me,” before an oncoming barrage of battle droids or shouts “stay here” before running off into danger, Obi-Wan is forced to obey. It only leads to him getting shot at a handful of times.

No one but Master Yoda is aware of Obi-Wan’s secret. While Obi-Wan’s behavior is strange at times, defying explanation, no one questions it too much. He has always been this way. It would be stranger if these near misses and fits of willfulness didn’t happen to him even in the midst of a war.

When the Council asks him to go undercover as Rako Hardeen—asks not commands—Obi-Wan has reservations. Perhaps not the kind of reservations Anakin would like him to have, about the cruelty of faking his death and the convoluted nature of the plan, but about his own ability to carry out this mission and pretend to be Hardeen.

“Surely, my condition puts the entire operation in jeopardy,” he tells Master Yoda in private. “One ill-timed command and all is lost.”

“A strong and powerful Jedi you have become, young Obi-Wan, despite the difficulties your gift affords you. Quick and discerning, it has made you. Capable, you are. Trust that you can complete this mission, I do.”

Which is all Obi-Wan needs to hear before he accepts.

The reason I can’t write a fic for this yet (aside from all of the other fics I’m currently wrestling with) is because I’m not sure how I want it to end. On the one hand, I think following canon pretty closely through RotS could be very cool and angsty, leading to Obi-Wan and Anakin’s confrontation on Mustafar. Obi-Wan has to fight against both his feelings for Anakin and his gift when Anakin tells him to join him. By winning their duel, Obi-Wan breaks free from his curse at a terrible cost.

On the other hand, I also really like the idea of Palpatine finding out about Obi-Wan’s gift somehow and using it to manipulate him. He sends Obi-Wan to the Jedi Temple to commit Operation Knightfall in Anakin’s stead and actually manages to cut down a few Temple guards before crossing paths with Anakin. Palpatine ordered Obi-Wan to go to the Temple and slaughter any Jedi he met and though he does cross blades with Anakin in the halls of the Jedi Temple, he cannot bring himself to kill Anakin. He fights back against his curse and wins, leaving him and the rest of the galaxy free.

#obikin fic #obikin au #obi wan x anakin #obi wan/anakin #aniobi #i didn't expect this to be more that a couple hundred words and then suddenly it was 2k #but i needed to write it out and post it #because otherwise it was going to be the shiny new idea to distract me from my bb fic #so i'm putting this here to hold myself accountable #and also because i love this idea sooo much #come play with me in the space

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alectoperdita · 7 months

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Oh hell, I am all about them drugged confessions. If/whenever you’re up for it. 💕

From Put That Guy in a Situation(TM) Ask Game

Jumped this one ahead in the queue since it's someone's birthday. 💜💜💜 Enjoy, my friend! I hope this has enough of the stuff you dig about them.

13. Drunken/drugged/sleepy confessions

content warnings: referenced non-consensual drug use and mildly spicy because Seto is thirsty

---

The city lights stabbed into Seto's eyes. The city's heartbeat—a frantic cacophony of bumper-to-bumper traffic, music spilling out of late-night shops and restaurants, and an overwhelming pulse of humanity—pulsed against the back of his head like a second migraine.

He lifted his heavy head and tried to get a better look at his surroundings. Not an easy feat when the world wouldn't stop spinning. Seto could feel the planet's rotational force itself.

In the sky, a bloated, sickly yellow moon hung on the black canvas, a dim bulb when compared to the Oriental Pearl Tower's neon blue and magenta on the opposite riverbank. The phalanx of lit skyscrapers behind the landmark formed a blinding wall that threatened to lighten the night sky.

No wonder they were sitting at a standstill in traffic. He was in the Bund. Shanghai. He was in Shanghai. Not for the first or second time, but the city's nightlife never failed to overwhelm.

It came back to him in bits and pieces. The Pan-Asia Duel Monsters Championship was in China this year, which KC was a sponsor of, along with a dozen international and domestic corporations. Seto wasn't here to compete, though. He was here to do business and build guanxi.

Which meant night after night of hard drinking and tedious back slapping as Seto endured their patronizing compliments about his passable Mandarin. Endless rounds of maotai until his blood must be 90% alcohol. That was the preferred poison of the old-school elites, the ones who built their wealth on the backs of a rapidly booming economy that outpaced everyone's wildest imagination. Not even Japan had sustained that kind of boom in the post-war years.

Potential liver failure was the price of doing business in this country.

That was last night, though. Seto was sure of that much, even if the passage of time seemed theoretical at best. Tonight, he'd been swept into a gaggle of their children, mainly the sons of the previous night's party officials and business moguls.

The fuerdai. His "peers."

Ha! Gozaburo had handed him nothing. Everything Seto owned, everything he accomplished, was through his own sweat and blood.

Seto will give them one thing: their tastes were decidedly less provincial. While their fathers drank baijiu like fish drinking water, they preferred cocktails, or at least pitchers of iced green tea mixed with Crown Royal.

Maybe that was his first mistake. Maybe he shouldn't have underestimated how fucked up he could get on such a simple mixture.

That was the last thing he could remember. He drew a yawning gap between the afterparty at the club and this taxi cab.

Seto sank into the seat and squeezed his eyes shut. His stomach lurched. Perhaps it was a good thing that they were stuck in traffic. He might not be able to keep it down in stop-and-go traffic.

An abrasive—a familiar abrasive voice—encroached from the fringes, though. An equally combative voice shot back in a different language.

Seto's head lolled to the side, away from the window and toward the other passenger in the backseat. Reluctantly, he pried his heavy eyelids open. God, why was he so tired? It felt like he'd pulled several all-nighters in a row.

His fellow passenger was Jounouchi, locked in a heated conversation/argument with the cab driver.

Right. Jounouchi was also in Shanghai this week. Except he was here to compete in the tournament. And unlike Seto, he didn't speak a lick of Chinese.

Not that his laughable grasp of English fared any better.

"Fuck, I'm telling ya, it's the other Marriott!" Jounouchi groaned in Japanese, running a frustrated hand through his bird's nest hair. It looked softer than it had any right to be, though. The strands ought to be bleached to hell and back after this many years.

But Jounouchi had been updating his wardrobe and his deck in recent years. Every victory advanced his look and style, and even netted him some media training like someone deserving of media notice, which was why he was playing in the Pan-Asian championship. Seto couldn't ignore him like he once did, like he still tried to in vain sometimes.

(And sometimes, he very much didn't want to ignore Jounouchi, wondering if he could catch the other man's attention in return...)

None of that explained why they were in the same cab, though.

Jounouchi tried again to communicate. It hurt to listen to him butcher English to that extent. The cab driver appeared to grow even more irate, threatening to eject them entirely.

Giggles spilled uncontrollably out of him. Of course! Of course, Jounouchi's incompetence got them stranded on the opposite end of the city from their hotel.

Fortunately, he was a snack to look at, even if his brains were nothing to write home about.

Seto's words croaked out of him, repeating in Mandarin what Jounouchi had been trying to convey. God, why did it hurt so much to speak? But even his drunken slur sufficed, earning a grousing retort from the driver that Seto should've just said so sooner while shooting a death glare at his other passenger through the rearview mirror.

At the sound of Seto's voice, Jounouchi jolted in shock, releasing the driver's headrest he had been clinging to. After several awkward moments of staring, he inched closer to Seto, stopping short of touching him. But the proximity and the tight enclosure made Seto's skin crawl. Not in an unpleasant way, though. His body tingled and felt a touch flushed.

How would Jounouchi's skin feel against his?

"You alright there, Kaiba?" asked Jounouchi, seemingly floating closer. He waved a hesitant hand in Seto's face.

Base urges welled up in him. He wanted to grab Jounouchi's hand and bite it, no better than a dog, as he once mocked the other man for being. Better yet, he could drag his tongue across the rough palm and lap at his knuckles. Suck his thick fingers into his mouth and learn contentment from how they could fill his mouth.

Seto was never drinking green tea mixed with whisky ever again.

He managed a small noise of confirmation before he twisted away, curling as best as he could around the seatbelt. Something like a whimper pushed at the back of his throat, but he refused to release it. He wouldn't humiliate himself any further. Just as he wouldn't crawl across the middle seat and cuddle into Jounouchi's lap.

But god, he wanted that so much it hurt.

A warm hand landed on his back, and he nearly surrendered as Jounouchi rubbed soothing circles between his shoulder blades.

"It's okay." Jounouchi spoke softly, but somehow it rang louder than the many decibels of Shanghai traffic. "We'll be back at the hotel in time. Just hang in there."

Seto spent the rest of the journey folded into himself, wedged firmly against the side of the taxi, trying and failing not to tremble under Jounouchi's caring touch. With a hushed tone, Jounouchi explained what had happened. It was pure coincidence that he ran into Seto and his "party" at that particular club. (Coincidence is giving chance too much credit. There were only so many high-end nightclubs in the city.) Jounouchi had wandered over to say hi before rejoining his own group. But out of the corner of his eyes, he'd noticed that Kaiba was acting unlike himself. In fact, the entire group seemed a bit off.

Seto was coming to his own conclusion before Jounouchi shared his.

Seto had been drugged. And since he knew better than to take random shit handed to him by strangers, it must've been slipped into his drink. Or maybe it was in the communal cocktail pitcher to begin with.

"They were trying to drag you off to someplace else. Don't ask me where. But you didn't look like you wanted to go, so I stepped in," Jounouchi trailed off. He'd yet to remove his hand, but it sat unmoving, a steadying weight on Seto's back helping to ground him to reality.

"I can't imagine they were happy," Seto muttered.

Jounouchi chuckled. "Not one bit. Acted like I was trying to kill the party. One chick threatened me with her stiletto heel."

"My knight in shining armor." Seto found himself laughing, then regretted it when his head throbbed.

"Don't worry, I didn't hit any of 'em. Mighty tempting, though. I just kinda threw you over my shoulder and high-tailed it outta there. That was how I knew you were really outta it. You barely cursed me out."

Heat associated with both shame and arousal rushed through him. It turned out those biceps he secretly admired weren't just for show.

"Finally, we're here!" exclaimed Jounouchi. His hand also regrettably retreated.

Seto watched blearily as Jounouchi overpaid the driver and leaped out the door. He didn't go far, though. He jogged around the vehicle to Seto's side and yanked open the door. As he leaned in and over Seto to undo the seatbelt buckle, the woody scent of Jounouchi's cologne flooded Seto's nostrils. And his strength was plainly evident as he braced his arms around Seto's shoulders and hip.

"Alright, up we go," urged Jounouchi.

Under any sober circumstance, Seto would've never allowed this to happen. To let Jounouchi touch him, especially as a caretaker. But Seto was the farthest thing from sober, fucked up on whatever combination of alcohol and party drugs he had been unwittingly fed. He didn't have the strength to stand on his own two feet.

So he relied on Jounouchi and his strength. Clung to the man's sweat-slicked neck.

The doorman didn't give them a second glance. Why should he? Seto was simply the latest in an endless stream of drunken guests stumbling back into the five-star hotel.

A lobby concierge approached and tried to help, though. Both Jounouchi and Seto waved him off. Jounouchi likely because he didn't want another stressful not-conversation, and Seto didn't want anyone but Jounouchi touching him right now.

"Hey, what floor?" Jounouchi asked after propping him against the wall of the elevator carriage.

Seto patted down his pockets and was relieved to find his wallet. He didn't expect the fuerdai to rob him blind like a common mugger, but you never knew. He tossed the leather wallet to Jounouchi and croaked, "Key card."

The tournament competitors were provided with single-bed guest rooms. Seto, on the other hand, occupied the Vice Presidential Suite for the week. Their elevator shot toward the top floors, bypassing the dozens of floors between the ground and the suites.

As they ascended, Seto snuck covert glances at the other hand. Despite the air conditioning running at full blast, Jounouchi was still huffing and sweating. Who could blame him? Summer in Shanghai could be blistering.

"Can you walk?" asked Jounouchi when the elevator doors finally parted.

Struck muted, Seto shook his head. His heart raced as Jounouchi wrapped a burly arm around his waist, and together, they hobbled down the hall to the suite's door.

The lights flicked on automatically as they entered, drawing an impressed whistle from Jounouchi as he took in the room.

"Yeah, guess I should've known. You wouldn't be caught dead living like us commoners. Where's the bed in this joint?"

The mention of bed caused something hot and heavy to coil in Seto's navel. Without meaning to, his arm tightened around Jounouchi's neck, which only prompted the other man to grip him tighter, mistaking the action as a plea for more support.

"Bedroom," he moaned, knocking his head against the side of Jounouchi's. He might be imagining it, but he swore Jounouchi shivered and pink flooded down to his neck.

Seconds later, they stumbled into the adjoined bedroom. The spacious room apparently didn't warrant any comments, because Jounouchi deposited Seto on the bed and disappeared from sight.

To say Seto was disappointed was an understatement.

It may be a blessing in disguise. Jounouchi had already done the "decent" thing: extracted him from a dicey situation and brought him to safety. Seto didn't need to embarrass himself in front of the other man any further.

He jumped when a hand grabbed his shoulder, kicking a leg out blindly.

"Relax, it's me."

Silly though it was, Seto did relax as soon as he registered Jounouchi's voice. His firm but careful touch.

"Here. I got you water from the minibar and a cool towel. It's unopened. I promise."

Seto stared helplessly at the two items being offered to him. Jounouchi made no moves, either. They were at a stalemate. At least until the other man sighed and pressed the moist towel to Seto's sweat-dampened forehead. His eyes fluttered closed, and he unleashed a faint moan at how good and chilly it felt.

"C'mon, you gotta drink the water, too. The whole bottle, then I promise to leave you alone."

Panic spiked through Seto's system. Being alone, something he never minded before, suddenly sounded unbearable. He didn't want Jounouchi to leave.

He reached out. Not to take the proffered bottle, as refreshing as its content may be, but to grab Jounouchi's forearm. Jounouchi froze under his clutch.

"You can't leave. I won't let you," said Seto before he could stop himself.

Jounouchi's breath hitched. As he stared at Seto's face, his eyes darkened with something unspeakable. He licked his lips. "Okay, not leaving. Not tonight. Guess someone's gotta keep an eye on you and make sure things don't take a turn for the worse. But you gotta at least let go of my arm. I'll take the couch outside."

Seto slid closer. "I want you—"

Jounouchi gasped. Seto could kiss him at that instant, but his head spun.

He wanted Jounouchi in every conceivable way. Wanted to feel his naked skin against his skin. Wanted to feel his weight pressing down on him as his cock pushed into Seto's hole. Wanted to shatter apart and then let Jounouchi piece him back together in the afterglow, warm and content.

He thought Jounouchi might grant him those things. If only he'd ask for them. But the words remained stubbornly lodged in his throat as sobriety started to creep in on the edges.

"I want you to stay with me," he whispered, holding Jounouchi's shell-shocked gaze.

Tonight and tomorrow. Maybe even for the rest of their lives. One day, Seto would give voice to the whole truth.

Read other prompt fill ficlets here

#yugioh #puppyshipping #violetshipping #joukai #ygo #replies #saiikavon #my fanfiction #writing prompts #phew i didn't expect this one to end up this long when i started writing this morning #definitely just let the vibe carry me on this one #my knowledge of Shanghai nightlife is at least 15 years out of date but i remember drinking so much green tea and whisky #it's a good drink not too overly sweet #but the easier the drink goes down the easier it is to get shitfaced #gonna take a break from tackling more today but I have a long weekend so looking forward to working on more of your guys' requests #watch this space!

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