#you can only gain knowledge if you realize & respect that you only ever know so much etc.

[dreampearls]

honestly I went into the sumeru archon quest ready to hate nahida or at the very least be very indifferent to her bc I was so like. Tired of how blatantly orientalist every aspect of sumeru seemed to be + nahidas design compounded w the fact that she's an archon using the chibi model reaaaalllly did not leave a good impression. .....However !! ! I actually ended up really liking her as a character despite my reservations. i think she might be my favorite archon if I'm going to be honest

[emeraldspiral]

Thinking about the progression of Zim and Dib's relationship and who would/did fall for the other first. Like, I know I already said Dib would be the first to recognize and come to terms with their feelings because he doesn't rely on denial nearly as hard to avoid dealing with uncomfortable truths as Zim does. But I'm talking about like, the subconscious development of feelings and how they progressed throughout the show and the comics.

With Dib, it was obsession at first sight. Which makes sense. To Zim, Dib was just some random earth native he knew nothing about and needed time to evaluate. But to Dib, Zim was everything. Zim was proof that he wasn't crazy, a way to win his father's respect, a ticket to the career he always wanted, and the key to unlocking fathomless knowledge about outer space, other worlds, and advanced technology. Zim was everything Dib had ever dreamed of.

So Dib was down bad straight from the Nightmare Begins, but on Zim's end it took awhile for him to really reciprocate. Dib proves to be a problem for him as early as the second episode when he breaks into his house and snaps a photo of him in NanoZim. But Zim has multiple chances to do away with him for good starting with that episode, but never tries to actually off Dib until episode 8. Bad, Bad Rubber Piggy is the first time that Zim makes an actual attempt on Dib's life, and when he thinks he succeeded he doesn't seem to regard it with any gravitas. So I think up until that point Zim didn't really regard Dib as an equal, just a pest he thought he could get rid of as easily as Keef. But by the end of that episode, Zim realized that he'd underestimated Dib. Dib was so determined death only made him stronger, and left Zim with no choice but to completely abort his plan. This is notably also the first time Dib actually beat Zim, unless you count driving him out of his house in Planetjackers. Gaz was the one who defeated him in NanoZim and Zim trounced Dib in Dark Harvest, The Wettening, and Rise of Zitboy. So it makes sense that Zim didn't really take Dib seriously until BBRP.

Then, what happens in the very next episode? He tries again to get rid of Dib in A Room With a Moose, and it's in that episode where he explicitly acknowledges Dib as a Worthy Opponent by declaring him the only one who can appreciate his plan and implying that he enjoys being challenged by Dib.

So Dib's been obsessed from the first episode but it wasn't until BBRP that he won Zim's respect and Zim began relying on Dib's validation to boost his ego. This is further reinforced in the next episode, Hamstergeddon, where their dialog with each other is more relaxed and respectful, like they've really begun to see each other as equals.

The thing is though, at this point Zim and Dib are both fixated on each other, but they don't feel the same way about each other. Zim can see qualities in Dib that he likes, which is why Dib's opinion matters to him. He thinks Dib is cunning and intelligent so he crafts plans that he hopes Dib will admire. He starts hallucinating about the "Gangsta Specter of Defeat" and then gains the resolve to redouble his efforts in Door to Door only after Dib taunted him, because he didn't want to lose face in front of his rival. He's unable to resist Dib's obvious manipulation when he claims to admire the cleverness of his revenge in Bolognius Maximus. By the time of Mopiness of Doom, Zim is completely dependent on Dib's validation to motivate him to continue his mission, and in the comics more the once he outright says his plans are "for" Dib. Then of course, there's the more overt indications that Zim likes Dib and wants Dib to like him back. Most obviously, that time he was baffled that having him for a brother wasn't a dream come true for Dib, or programming Clembrane to think Dib loves him, or posing dramatically just especially for Dib when he finally decided to come out of the toilet.

Dib on the other hand, doesn't seem to have the same sort of open-secret admiration for Zim. He stands up for him to Tak's ship and claims that his Zim is the best since he beat Zib and all the other Zims in the Zimvoid, but it's framed as just him coping because if he admits that his Zim sucks then what does it say about him if he hasn't been able to defeat him? Dib's only ever really expressed any kind of admiration of Zim a handful of times. Aside from the aforementioned instances in the Zimvoid arc, he was impressed the first time he saw Zim's base in Bloaty's, admitted that he liked his boots when pressed to say SOMETHING nice about him, and complimented his work in ETF. Notably, ETF is the only time he really had anything nice to say about Zim. His boots and his base are just things he has, and insisting that he's a genuine threat isn't really a compliment. It's indicated at the end of the Virooz comic arc that Zim takes the fact that Dib considers him a threat as enough of an admission that he must have some respect for him, but ETF was the only time Dib ever verbally confirmed that he thought any of Zim's plans or inventions were any good and therefore that Zim himself has a respectable intellect.

Where Zim's fixation on Dib seems to be based on Dib having actual qualities Zim likes, Dib's obsession seems to be based on pure objectification. Dib does not view Zim as a person, but a means to an end. A way to get his dad's respect, a way to jumpstart his career, a way to get validation, and a punching bag to vent his frustrations. He sees Zim as pure, uncomplicated evil. No redeeming qualities, no feelings worthy of consideration, and no "humanity", for lack of a better term, worthy of any dignity or decency. Which conveniently means he doesn't have to worry about the ethics of wanting to dissect him or experiment on him, let alone bullying him at skool. But to be fair, Zim is entirely complicit in this. He wants to be seen as pure evil. He calls himself and his plans evil all the time. He nods along when Dib outlines to Chammy how they can never be friends because Zim is an irredeemable monster incapable of any emotions except gluttony and warlike ambition. Zim wants to be objectified because he's been socially conditioned to think of himself as an object. A machine with some organic hardware bred and programmed to be a cog whose only purpose is to serve the Empire and those in charge of it.

ETF is the first time Zim is ever vulnerable in front of Dib and it's very uncomfortable for him because it goes completely against how he's always viewed Zim. It's the first time he's seeing Zim as a person with feelings, and feelings he can relate to no less, and that's hard for him to process. That's why he's so quick to accuse Zim of faking it after he betrays him. Because it's easier to go back to that simple, comforting, uncomplicated idea of Zim as pure evil rather than try to integrate the idea that Zim can do the things he does while also being person with feelings and pain that Dib can sympathize with. But this isn't the only time in ETF Dib's perspectives of the people around him are challenged. He thinks his sister just hates his guts but it turns out she doesn't, and she won't kick him when he's really down and will support him when he needs it. He thinks his dad doesn't respect him or have his back and he needs to work for it to get him to be proud of him, but he finds out he was wrong about that too.

Overall, ETF was a big coming of age movie for Dib where his perceptions were challenged and his black and white views became more nuanced. The comic Dib's Dilemma would continue to show Dib's evolving perspective of himself and his father and his quest to prove himself.

So it seems like Dib is on track to shed his more childish views and understand the world with more nuance like anyone else does as they grow up. I know some people like the idea of Maladjusted Adult Dib, and that's a perfectly valid concept to explore. But I feel like the evidence is pointing us in a more positive direction. Like, as of Dib's Dilemma he's already begun to realize that his dad is imperfect and that he can make the conscious choice to be better than him, and specifically better about treating others with more empathy.

So to summarize the evolution of ZADR:

Dib was obsessed at first sight, but the person he's obsessed with doesn't exist. He's only barely begun to see the real Zim through the cracks in his facade as of ETF. But there's reason to believe that he is capable of eventually seeing the "humanity" in Zim and recognizing that he is a victim.

Zim meanwhile, initially didn't peg Dib as a significant threat until BBRP, at which point he began to respect and admire him, which grew into something of an infatuation to the point that the need for Dib's validation is about of equal importance to the Tallest. He even has the exact same reaction to Dib abandoning him as the Tallest.

But Zim is still wrapped up in delusions and denial 24/7 and convinced that he is incapable of love like all good Irkens should be, while Dib is growing and maturing and changing his beliefs according to new information. So I stand by my earlier assessment that even if Zim is the one who started to catch feelings first and Dib's barely even beginning to start thinking of him as a person, let alone a person he has any kind of affection for, Dib's the one who's going to be able to recognize and come to terms with whatever feelings he develops way before Zim will.

[thelunarfairy]

As I rambled on about my favorite characters I realized something. I've been curious for a while about Natsuhiko and Tsukasa and the kind of relationship they have, since they're on the same "team" so to speak. I believe that Natsuhiko is helping mainly because of Sakura, but if there is any other reason we don't know yet, but we do know that Tsukasa tends to use his help a lot (as I think, Tsukasa is the mind, Sakura is the voice and Natsuhiko the group's hands).

Today I realized that (apparently) neither of them even mention each other's names in the entire manga, so far so good, right? The twins don't usually mention many people's names, and from my memory Tsukasa only mentioned the names of people who know him (Nene-chan, Amane, Kou-kun, Mitsuba and I don't remember if he ever mentioned Shijima's name ), and Natsuhiko hasn't been seen talking to that many people either, but he seems to have a lot of knowledge about others.

But my point comes in now, we know that Tsukasa doesn't usually follow commands or orders from anyone, and not even from Sakura who is his assistant, however, whenever Natsuhiko stops Tsukasa from doing something he seems to obey. These are simpler things that are not Tsukasa's goals, but from the way he was described it seemed like he wouldn't listen to anyone regardless of whether it was an important situation or not. Natsuhiko seems to act like an older brother (to both Tsukasa and Mitsuba), lecturing him, stopping dangerous games, teaching him how to treat a girl, stopping him when he does something wrong, and Tsukasa seems to accept that.

(prints in portuguese because they are easier to find)

It really feels like a younger brother obeying an older brother sometimes. And I find all of this funny because they never say each other's names, since Natsuhiko always refers to Tsukasa as "shrimp", and even though they work together, Tsukasa never spoke his name either (from what I looked for).

Natsuhiko is a character who is starting to gain more importance and is having his abilities revealed, so much so that Tsukasa tends to use Natsuhiko's immortality to his advantage (as already seen in chapter 22), we still don't know the outcome for him in history, or its origin, but he certainly has a very important role

Maybe I thought too much tonight (it happens lol), but I was very intrigued by the fact that even though they've known each other for a long time now, have had a good amount of interactions and the way they happen, they've never said what each other's name.

(If they have already said each other's names please let me know, because I couldn't find any of their lines)

(Ps.: I love your analyzes and I really like the way you build them! This has helped me come back to formulate more theories too :))

I once saw Natsuhiko say that he takes care of the children, I don't remember the chapter, but it seems that this is one of his functions. Tsukasa can be rude to him sometimes, but nothing too serious, he doesn't treat Sakura and Natsuhiko the same way he treats Mitsuba.

Maybe that's why that theory came up that Sakura and Natsuhijo are the twins' parents, a problematic theory to say the least. There is a kind of respect between them, working towards something together.

We don't know what Natsuhiko's role is in the narrative, but given the great power and ability he has, I imagine it's something pretty big. I've seen theories talking about the possibility that Natsuhiko could be God himself, another theory that has big holes.

I didn't stop to think about them much because we have few clues, it's not possible to formulate anything very complete about it for now. Regarding names, he says Sakura's name, but doesn't say Natsuhiko's, in the same way that Hanako says Yashiro's name, but doesn't say Kou's.

Interesting, isn't it?

Awwww how sweet, I'm happy to know that you like my theories S2, it's always good to reread the manga trying to unravel the mysteries

[k-s-morgan]

Hi I how are you? I hope you're doing well. If there is anything at all I can do to help please don't hesitate to ask. I wanted to ask about a theory. What do you think would happen at the end of season 2 if Hannibal decided not to kill Abigail and instead took her to Europe with him instead of Bedelia? I personally think that Abigail would have runaway the first chance she got, she was very manipulative and was clearly using Will and Hannibal as a means of self preservation. Do you think Hannibal would have eaten her like he planned to with Bedelia? Or would he want to reunite them as a murder family once more? If so would Abigail stay with them? Or I have another theory, what if Hannibal planned to brainwash Abigail and alter her personality to turn her into Mischa like book Hannibal tried to with Clarice? How would Will react to that? Love to know your thoughts. Wishing you all the best and don't stop writing.

Hi! Thank you so much <3 I know this is an older ask, but answering it now: unfortunately, Russia resumed its missile attacks. My city was attacked twice in the last three days, in the middle of the night, with explosions sounding before the air raid alarm. All that my cats and my Mom and me could do is run into the hallway, terrified. It's difficult to live with the knowledge that your life can end any single moment - and end in a painful and scary way.

On to better things, though: regarding the first theory, I think it could go in a number of ways. Abigail is an interesting character in the way that we barely know enough about her as a person. Her existence has always been about survival: we have no idea if she actually has darkness in her, if she's willing to act on it, what she wants for herself and how she really feels about her life up to this point. Hannibal held fondness for Abigail; he spent time with her and on planning to have her in his life, but like Will, he was more enamoured with the idea of her, not with her as a person. Abigail reminded him of his sister and she was the way to get Will to consider having a family with him - these were her two primary features.

It's difficult to say if Murder Family would have been feasible without knowing the answers to these questions about Abigail. She didn't seem to like Will all that much, and for a good reason, but she understood that being liked by him is her best chance at survival. She was doing what Hannibal wanted because she realized how dangerous he is and he was the only person she had who accepted the truth about her and welcomed it. With him, she didn't have to constantly worry about being exposed as her father's helper, but at the same time, she knew that Hannibal could change his mind about her and murder her whenever he felt like it.

With all this stress, I'm not sure what Abigail would have done if she lived beyond S2. Running away is an option, but how and where to? She'd have no money, no real documents, and she'd be officially a fugitive who'd be arrested if the police caught her. Living on the streets with no money and no opportunities might be even worse than staying with Hannibal, who was easily toying with her life. At least with him, she had some of her basic needs met.

Maybe one day, if she felt calmer and she had a chance to gain her own self, she'd feel happy with the idea of being a part of Murder Family. Or maybe she'd bide her time, saving money, learning things, and then running away.

I think whether Hannibal decided to eat Abigail or not would depend on whether Will was with him. Will would never allow it, and Hannibal wouldn't risk alienating him. But if Abigail proved to be disappointing like Bedelia, and Will was still separated from him, then yes, I think it's an option.

As for the second theory, I don't think Hannibal would ever want to brainwash someone close to him by changing their personality. His MO with his patients and others is to push people into becoming their true self. He respected their ultimate boundaries - never pushing Margot to kill someone beyond her attacker, sending killers to Will, sending a weakened patient to Bedelia. I think he'd try to help Abigail find her real dark self, but if this proved to be disappointing, and if she couldn't be used to bring Will to him, then Hannibal would probably simply kill her instead of trying to turn her into someone else.

[corrodedcoughin]

okay so your trans art binge-reblog spree yesterday kinda synced up with me having Intense Gender Feels so please allow me the liberty of gently knocking at your inbox again bc I feel a mighty need to unleash some trans!Eddie headcanons on you >.>

imagine the sheer emancipation of Eddie growing out his hair again after he had cut it short when first moving in with Wayne but this time long hair feels different and so, so much freeing bc it's no longer a stupid social expectation rooted in sth that isn't even true about him but instead a personal choice, one deeply connected with the music that comforts and inspires him like nothing else

imagine the freedom of him first realizing he's trans and how things — maybe not all things but at least some of them — suddenly fell into place from just knowing who he is, even if back then he had no opportunity and no safe place to as much as think about trying to socially transition. just feeling like his authentic self for once, without the weight of others' preconceptions about all the arbitrary ways he's supposed to be. he might've been unable to tell anyone at that time but simply having that knowledge to himself was liberating from the years of having felt like there's sth wrong with him. liberating bc now he knew for a fact that there wasn't. how can this be wrong if it made him feel like himself for the first time maybe ever?

imagine him hesitantly knocking on his uncle's door in the middle of the night when he had no choice but to run away from home. imagine the surprise on Wayne's face and all the unyielding unquestioning trust and comfort he's got for him, so thorough and genuine that it only takes him a few days to come out despite the fear. and then Wayne's silence breaks into a question of what name his nephew would like to called then. the words startling soon-to-be-Eddie into a impulsive hug, which is returned with utmost care and with quiet thinking-out-loud rambling of whether Wayne's got any clothes that would fit his nephew and that he would feel comfortable in

imagine the joy when Eddie gets a fake ID from Reefer Rick one day

imagine him making friends with the rest of Corroded Coffin guys and, when he gathers the courage and trust to come out, being met with support, ranging from confusion and a promise to eventually get how any of it works and to respect Eddie's pronouns etc, to deep understanding that hardly needs words bc you know you're being seen for who you actually are

imagine Eddie working on his voice and ending up achieving some success partly thanks to singing along to his favorite songs and trying to learn harsh metal vocals and at first scaring everyone around by going over the top with them until he figures out ways to train his voice to be more masculine sounding without resorting to that kind of harshness (and developing multiple fun vocal stims on the way)

imagine Eddie getting together with Steve and as a bonus gaining the perfect person to get advice from when it comes to figuring out a workout routine for his purposes

imagine the relief of knowing there are multiple people who you can be your authentic self with and who love you for this and would never change a single thing about what makes you yourself

oof well, I kinda carried away "a bit" (meanwhile the Feels have only intensified further whoops) and these are in no particular order but I really hope you'll like this humble offering. have a restful fulfilling weekend💜

LIAM!!!! LIAM!!!!! I am always ready for transing the narrative (been in some gender struggles too so let’s be in this together 🤝) I’m going to be running commentary replying so if it’s incoherent or accidentally cover something said later I’m sorry!!

- the hair!! YES!!! I feel like he had long hair before and felt pushed into have short hair in order to be taken seriously in his identity but what he always really wanted to be was ‘just a boy with long hair’ and the more it grows the happier he gets becuase THIS!! THIS!!! Is who he feels like he should have always been!!! This feel RIGHT! When it gets past the length of being ‘acceptable’ for a boy and starts brushing his shoulders he hasn’t never felt more strongly that he is Right. That this is Who He Is, this is Eddie Munson and Eddie Munson is a societal expectation-dodging BOY

- THE ACCEPTANCE AND REALISATION!!! What if he was going around as a child saying kid stuff like ‘when will I grow a beard?’ And being hushed by his elders (before Wayne). Going along with what was given to him, be it toys or clothes because his family didn’t have a lot so he’s not going to ask for more but knowing that they didn’t feel right. That he was performing a character for these people and hoping it would be enough for them, for himself. It’s not, something still feels wrong and he can’t figure out. But then, then he gets the keys to the kingdom, he moves in with Wayne and Wayne gives him some money and sets him loose in the thrift shop. At the start he sifts through the girl’s rails but all of the sizes are wrong for him. So wayne just suggests the boys racks because hey it’s just T-shirts and we need to get you stuff that fits. He guides eddie to the plain T-shirts, not thinking much of it. Not thinking it’ll be a Realisation in the young mind of his nephew. Eddie goes home with 2 boys T-shirts that day and from then on gravitates to exclusively wearing them. Next thrift shop visit eddie makes a beeline to the boys section and doesn’t look back.

- AHHH WAYNE AND COMING OUT I LOVE YOUR VERSION!!! What about Wayne passing a couple of shirts on to Eddie? A hat too? And a belt because god knows Eddie’s buying the jeans that hide his hips and needs something to hold them up. Wayne starts calling eddie ‘son’ and ‘boy’. Every time it’s like Christmas lights have been turned on behind his eyes. He feels dizzy with it, can’t contain himself, has to clench his fists to stop himself from shaking becuase this? This feels right. It fees Correct and knowing Wayne is here with him is the ballast he needs to secure himself on this unpredictable ride.

-CORRODED COFFIN SAYING ITS SO METAL OF HIM. (I personally also hc Gareth as trans so I like to think that Jeff and Freak are always ready to be Boys and show them Boy Stuff. Like alongside band practice they had Boy Practice at the start and now they can burp the alphabet in harmony and can armpit fart guitar solos and play fight and are just GOOFY)

- eddie going to a gig or band practice and then the next morning waking up with a slightly wrecked voice that he /loves/. He surreptitiously tries to maintain it, shouting lyrics in his room and just screaming sometimes but it starts to get painful and he accepts he has to find a different way. He listens to the radio with Wayne, asks to go with him when Wayne’s work friends plan a couple of drinks in one of their yards. Eddie gets to go to a couple, gets to listen to Wayne’s country and rock radio stations. Gets to hear these men talking and tries out phrases he hears when he’s on his own, records them on a tape deck he found in the thrift by luck one day. Records and re-records until he gets it right. Until he can prank call principle Higgins and get shouted at down the phone ‘I’ll find out who your father is boy! He’ll have your hide!’ The peak is when he goes into scoops and gets everything he wanted ‘hey man, how’s it going?’ From the offensively cute sailor with the big hands and strawberry sweet smile

- WORKOUT SUPPORT STEVE. YES. YES ABSOLUTELY!!! Steve showing him that he can’t just hit upper body every day, that he has to get everywhere. That he needs to make his core thicker if he wants that boy look. That working on his quads and calves will help, he promises it won’t leave him a big butt and tiny waist. (Not unless he wants Steve’s routine, that boy is going to work on his ass-ets okay?) eddie doing his first full push up with Proper Form and feeling the muscles in his back move and thinks yes. This is Good. God knows he’s not great at sticking to it but when it serves a purpose and it means he gets to ogle his boyfriend? Kind of a win win

- TBE LAST POINT!!! Yes!!! Eddie living in subconscious fear for so long that he pushes the very notion of being a Boy down. so far Down and Away that he won’t ever let it see the light of day. Or so he thinks. He tells himself that he is fine, that this is fine. But it isn’t and he doesn’t know what feels wrong. Until it slowly starts to change at a glacial speed. He tries different things. Starting only in his room, makes jokes that he thinks he can get away with in front of Wayne. Pushes it further, does more Boy things with corroded coffin. Sees that it’s okay? They are okay with it? With how he is? Sees that Wayne just nods at him and doesn’t make a fuss? That Wayne’s friends don’t bay an eye somehow? (Sure some guys at work do, but Wayne makes sure they know where their opinions aren’t wanted. That Wayne and his group aren’t to be taken lightly on the topic of Wayne’s nephew)

Eddie experiencing so much acceptance and love and there being so venom in it. No ‘waiting’ for it all to pass and Eddie to go back to ‘normal’. Eddies never been normal and that’s a badge he starts to wear with pride. With defiance. Knowing that he has everyone he could ever need how could be not?

[seastarlily]

Some random SpongeBob headcanons for y'all, since I don't know where else to put them, LOL.

Patrick has a collection of various valuable rocks hidden away somewhere in his house. Geodes, crystals, tumbled stones, etc. He loves them all. He has only ever showed his valuable collection to one other person, and that is his best friend SpongeBob.

Patrick and his parents technically all fall under the transgender umbrella (specifically genderfluid), according to science. It is well documented that adult starfish can change their gender in a multitude of ways for a multitude of reasons. One of the main reasons they do this is when environmental factors change, like water temperature and food availability. So, for all we know, Patrick may not have always been a man, and he may not always be a man. Same applies to Herb/Cecil and Margie/Bunny.

The first movie Squidward ever remembered watching was the SpongeBob equivalent of a Busby Berkely film - he was just so enamored with the graceful dancers and their radiant smiles and their gorgeous moves. I'd like to think that it was there he first felt the seed of wanting to be an amazing dancer be planted in all three of his hearts.

Mr. Krabs likes to go stargazing as a hobby. Considering he's a former pirate and navy man, Mr. Krabs more than likely had to use the stars to help his fellow sailors navigate at night. He gained an immense knowledge of the night sky and how it changed throughout the seasons as a result, as well as a lifelong interest and appreciation for it. Nowadays, anytime there's a special astronomical event (like a supermoon or a planetary alignment) or he's simply feeling nostalgic, he'll look out his bedroom window at the top of his anchor home with his telescope and take a look at whatever stars/planets are present. It's an activity that's always made him feel at ease.

Larry is bi-curious. He knows for a fact that he simply loves women in general (no matter the phylum), but men are a far more complicated matter. He does rather like the sight of a well-toned, muscular body on another man, but he can't tell if it's because he's impressed/proud of that man's accomplishment, or if it's something more. He is currently conflicted on whether he's fully straight or is in fact bisexual with an overwhelming preference for women. Whichever one is the case, he'll figure it out when he figures it out.

After the incident with Drizzle, Gale Doppler absolutely cannot eat any food with a cloud-like consistency, namely cotton candy. If he does, his stomach will cramp horribly, and he will violently puke it back out.

Rube Goldfish may not be the best source of information regarding the surface world, but he is astoundingly knowledgeable about life underwater and its history. It would only make sense given that he’s a sea creature himself and he’s amazed by everything, big AND small. He is especially keen on underwater paleontology.

Rube 100% decided to become a tour guide because of all the fun he had with Patrick when he was still a tourist. He felt that if he became one himself, he could bring the same kind of joy and wonder he felt when he was on tour himself.

Sticky Fins Whiting and Dorsal Dan are both LGBT. The former is gay, while the latter is bisexual. They dated for a while, but all that led to was an amicable break-up after realizing that they just weren’t compatible as romantic partners. They still work together amicably as partners in crime though (and as besties).

Sticky Fins’s new partner is Sockeye Sammy. Dan is very much aware of this, and wishes his best friend and his new partner all the happiness in the world.

This is sort of canon anyway if you believe the events that take place in “Krusty Cook-Off”, but I’d like to think that Sticky Fins and Dorsal Dan are of Italian heritage. Both of them are voiced by beloved Italian-American actors (Joe Pantoliano and Steve Buscemi respectively), and they are the main antagonists of the storyline that takes place in the “Pasta La Vista” restaurant in “Krusty Cook-Off”. They even take over the restaurant and start making the pasta themselves after SpongeBob and co. leave for the next place.

[sachidesignandbuild]

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[blonkk]

had an epiphany last night after debriefing ab this winter’s dalliances w my friend!!!!!

uhhhhhh. basically i grew up with the knowledge that i was never either of my parents’ preferred child. like i knew. everyone knew. and everyone still knows and my entire family and everyone i’ve ever loved has never loved me as much as i did them and prefer me to stay away. and it’s very whiny and boohoo wahhh but deadass my entire family believes that i am the problem in every single conflict and have been telling me that my entire life. like it’s your fault brother misbehaves it’s your fault father doesn’t like talking to you it’s your fault sister is depressed and won’t speak to anyone it’s your fault brother is lonely it’s your fault mother is angry it’s your fault that fights of any kind happen at all. and even in the past few years where i am literally holding my tongue and forcing myself to stay calm when people are verbally abusing me and talking shit and blaming me for shit and screaming bloody murder at me it’s ALWAYS my fault. they will always have someone to blame and it will always be me!!!

also weirdly they always assume the worst of me. they assume i’m jealous, greedy, selfish and self centered, even cruel and apathetic about people close to me. i want to destroy x’s marriage, i want to be as good as Y, i am malicious and vindictive…..when i’ve literally allowed every single one of them to stomp all over me countless times and forgiven them countless times…..and every time i’ve had enough and try to take care of myself for once i’m STILL the bad guy bc it hurt their feelings……….it’s insane. they literally watch with their mouths open while i’m being verbally abused by someone who’s not even a part of our family for years and years and don’t say a thing. this person knows they can treat me that way because everyone else does and no one ever has my back. even my own parents.

all i’ve ever done my whole life is put literally everyone, even people i don’t give a shit about, before myself because it’s the only way i ever gained any affection or praise or love of any kind. and STILL they only think awful things of me.

SOOOOO i realized that i’ll never truly know what love is in any capacity, because from my time as an innocent child to a confused and dour teen to the wretch of a woman i am today, i was never loved in a fully reciprocal and healthy way, not even by my parents and immediate family

and i unconsciously seek out relationships and friendships and even employment where the only way i have value is by offering services and as soon as i can’t or don’t no one wants to be around me……………..and i’m like well yah no shit it’s cause you’re useless……………

or i seek out friendships/am attracted to people who don’t really care about me as much as they do someone else (i have a weird attraction to men in relationships. like it’s actually fucked up). but i think it’s because i KNOW that there’s someone they’ll always prefer more than me and i have to prove that i’m worth like. crumbs and snippets

like 😂 i wonder how much more secure and healthy and NORMAL i’d be if my parents just kept that shit to themselves. like did i really need to know????? how has it improved my life???? be normal and pretend to love and respect and care about your children equally. jesus christ

therapy could never wriggle this out of me. i literally only figured it out last night while i was talking and realized as i was talking that i’ve known it all along. it’s so fucked. anyways like it’s good to know ig but wtf am i supposed to do w this information like ….childhood is so small. so short. but the damage is done for life. it’s not like i can experience true unconditional parental love again. and gain the life skills and experience necessary to be a healthy functional and confident adult. and pass that on. i’m just fucked yo and there’s nothing that can be done because there’s no one in my life from my childhood to now and everyone new that comes in will eventually see all the things wrong with me if i actually relax around them. so 🤷🏽‍♀️ we move ig

[babybluebex]

retribution pt.1 [charles blackwood smut]

➽ pairing: dark!stepfather!charles blackwood x fem!reader (y/n) ➽ word count: 4.9k ➽ summary: after charles marries your mother to gain a massive fortune, he realizes that he married the wrong woman, and he sets his sights on the real heiress: you.  ➽ warnings: NSFW/MDNI. explicit language, smut, thigh-riding, oral (f!receiving), power dynamics, step!cest, masturbation, yandere/obession (i think??), daddy kink, breeding kink, slapping, mentions of murder/suicide ➽ a/n: i know that is different than what i usually post, but charles blackwood just... hmmm he grinds my gears in the best way. so, enjoy! masterlist/taglist in bio (and the sequel will be soon!)

From the very moment you laid eyes on Charles Blackwood, you loathed him. There was something about him physically that turned you off of him. Maybe it was the way his hair was just too perfectly done, the caramel highlights too pretty to be natural. Maybe it was the way his cologne filled your head, dark and lovely, but too masculine, like he was making up for something. Or maybe it was the smile that graced his pink and pouty lips when your mother introduced him to you as her husband. 

It had hardly been a year since your father had passed, and you had no idea just how your mother could move on as quickly as she did. It had torn you up in a way that nothing else quite had. You had always been closer to your father than your mother and, when he got sick, you were left to bear the weight of what was happening. You went to visit him at the hospital alone and sat with him and read to him, and you held his hand as the nurses carefully turned off his machines. You guess that it was worth it, though; you found out that your father had altered his will and now, instead of his money being left to your mother, it was left to you. The only condition was that you had to get married to receive the money, going back to a conversation many years ago where your father tried to convince you not to go to university, telling you that the life of a wife and a mother would suit you better. You said that you would think about it. 

“You’re not my dad,” you told Charles Blackwood. You expected him to be cross or maybe even hurt by your insistence upon that, but he smirked, as if he had expected that sort of answer. “I’m not gonna call you that.” 

“Aw, that’s alright, honey,” Charles said, and he pressed his hand to your mother’s shoulder to stop her from scolding you. “I didn’t think you would. That’s awful, what happened to him. I’m really sorry about that.” 

So casual, the way he talked about your father’s death. As if it was nothing more to you than a bad exam grade. You cried that night, locked up in your room, wanting Charles gone already. He was in the kitchen when you went in in the morning, sitting at the table, reading the newspaper, and whistling. He had the glow of a recently-spent man about him, and you internally sneered at the thought of him fucking your mother. “Hey, you,” he said, putting the paper down. “Let’s have a talk, huh?” 

You glared at him, but sat down at the table all the same. You dug your thumbs into your orange and raised your eyebrows expectantly at him, and Charles pursed his lips. “I want you to know something,” he said. “I love your mom, right? And I have no interest in being your new dad or whatever. But I expect you to treat me with a little bit of respect, not any of… This.” He waved his finger at you, obviously talking about your current abhorrent pose. “I may not be your dad, but I’m still paying the bills and paying for you to go to university. So you’re gonna treat me like you fucking worship the ground I walk on. Got it, honey?” 

“And what do I get outta this?” you grumbled. 

“You get to keep living here,” Charles said. “You still get all that money that your father left your mother when he died. I don’t see what else you need.” 

You scoffed. “Right,” you whispered. “‘Cause you only care about money. Well, Chuck, that’s fucking hysterical, that you think I’m even remotely like you. I can see past dollar signs and see what people are actually about. Anyway, I could care less about your money. I’ve got my own.” 

“Doing what?” Charles asked with a dismissive laugh. “Waitressing?” 

“You wish,” you sneered. “Mother didn’t get any money from Father.”

“All that money?” Charles asked slowly. “Where the hell did it go?” 

“Into my trust fund,” you said highly, and you watched Charles’s blue eyes widen. “I have every cent of my father’s. All I have to do is get married, and me and my husband can fuck off, away from you.” 

Charles stuttered for a moment, then said, “Let me get this straight. Your father left every red dime to his kid and not his wife? And you can only access it if you get married?”

“I told him that I wasn’t getting married,” you explained. “This is his twisted way of guaranteeing that I tie the knot at some point; soon, I guess. But congratulations, Chuck. Welcome to the family.” 

As you stood up from your place, Charles’s hand shot out and grabbed your wrist, and you yelped. His grip was strong, veins in his hand exposing themselves, and his jaw was set with a rising anger. You could see the red flush in his chest and neck, and, as pleased as you wished you were, you were frightened by him. Your father had never grabbed you like that before. Nobody had. “What did I say about a little goddamn respect?” Charles asked through gnashed teeth, and he twisted his hand, pulling your skin and making you cry out in pain. “You don’t call me Chuck. You call me Charles, or Father, or fucking nothing.” 

“Let go of me, you fucking bastard,” you hissed. 

Charles’s face was red now, and he lashed out and struck you across the cheek. Before you even had time to cry out, he had you by the chin, forcing you to look at him. “Go to your room,” he told you. “Next time I see you, if this fucking attitude isn’t fixed, you’re gonna be really sorry. You hearing me, honey?” 

You nodded, using every ounce of your self control to not burst into tears on the spot. You cursed him in your head, wishing for him to leave you and your mother alone. You wanted him gone, maybe even dead. Certainly nowhere near you or your mother anymore. Charles stared at you, watching you, making sure of your compliance, then he let go of your face and tugged you close to his body by your wrist. Confusion overtook you as he hugged you, but then it made sense when you heard the floorboard in the hallway creak. “I know you miss him,” Charles said, quiet but certainly loud enough for your mother to hear from the hallway. “And I can’t be him, but I’ll try my best. Alright, honey?” 

He sent a quick pinch to your tender wrist, and you finally let out your caged sobs. “Hey, hey,” Charles said, shushing you in what could be mistaken for comfort. “No need for crying, little one. I’m here for you.” 

When you finally tore yourself from Charles, he looked happy. The anger was gone from his face, and he smiled at you. “‘Morning, lovely,” he said to your mother, and he stepped around you to embrace your mother and kiss her cheek. 

“What’s going on?” your mother asked, looking at you worriedly. 

“Having a little heart-to-heart,” Charles said softly. “Said she missed her father, and I told her that I’ll try my hardest to be there for her.” 

“Aw,” your mother cooed and placed a kiss on Charles’s lying lips. “You’re too good to us.”

That conversation seemed to change something between you and Charles. He was still an asshole when your mother wasn’t looking, but you knew not to tell her. She wouldn’t believe it, and it would inevitably just mean more trouble for you. However, there was suddenly something more with Charles. He seemed charming, as always, but you sensed something sinister underneath it. You knew that he was only after your father’s money, and he was now stuck with your mother when it was you who had all the money. You knew that he was mad at marrying the wrong woman, but he couldn’t do anything about it now, and the thought that your presence vexed him as much as he did you pleased you. 

Except, as you found out one night, Charles still could do something. 

It was still dark outside your window when you heard your bedroom door creak open. You liked to sleep with it closed, and you brushed it off as the house shifting as it settled. Your clock said that it was five in the morning, and you nearly got up to close your door back, but you smelled him first. Fresh from his morning shower, cologne still potent, Charles lingered in the doorway to your room before stepping in. You squinted your eyes to try to see what Charles was doing, but still trying to act asleep, and you watched him cross to your dresser, across from your bed. He carefully opened drawer after drawer, obviously hunting for something specific, and your heart dropped when he crouched to the bottom drawer and his hands came up to brush back his hair. 

Your heart burned with hate and disgust as you watched your mother’s husband, your stepfather, pull out a pair of your panties. You had done laundry just two days earlier and hadn’t worn them yet, and you watched as Charles pressed the bundle of cotton to his face. After a moment, he stood up, your panties in his fist, and you quickly closed your eyes to feign sleep as Charles approached the bed. You felt his presence right by your face, felt his eyes watching you as you slept, and he whispered, “Fuck, little one...”. Then, you heard the zipper on his pants. Through your eyelashes, you watched Charles press his half-hard cock into his fist and begin to stroke himself, rubbing himself with your panties. He slotted his bottom lip between his teeth as he masturbated, watching you as you “slept”. “So fuckin’ pretty… Gonna be mine.” 

You tasted acidic hate in your mouth, but you couldn’t make yourself confront him. To your knowledge, nobody had ever masturbated to the thought of you before. There was a tiny part of you that liked that Charles was so hung up on you, even if the dominating part of your brain told you how sick it was. Anyway, you hardly wanted to interrupt him and stop an orgasm and give him yet another reason to hate you. 

Charles’s cheeks went red in the dim light of the room as his fist moved faster. Your panties were bunched around his cock, flushed and nestled there like it belonged, and you closed your eyes fully. You didn’t want to see him come. You didn’t want to know what he looked like. You moved slightly, adjusting your legs under the blankets, and Charles let out a quiet little grunt. “One day…” he mumbled to himself. “Gonna be mine… All that’s gonna be mine.” 

His breath caught in his throat, and you heard the wet squelch as his cum coated your panties. Charles stood for a moment, watching you, feeling his cock soften in his hand, and he finally sniffed and stuffed the used panties into his pocket. He tilted his head as he continued to examine you and the way you gave little noises as you slept, and he smiled. Oh yes, he thought as he brushed a bit of hair from your cheek. You would make a good wife. 

Later that day, you were absently wandering around the house. It was too hot to do anything outside comfortably, but you definitely didn’t want to be around Charles or your mother for the moment. Even though you hadn’t seen anything that Charles had done, his grunts and hisses were enough for you to know that he enjoyed his time in your room that morning. You had yet to find your panties, and your stomach roiled when you wondered if he still had them in his pocket. 

Your stepfather called your name from across the house, and your heart dropped. As you made your way to his office, you decided to play with him in the worst way possible. If he was going to haunt you and make you miserable, you were going to do just the same. Charles was leaned back in his desk chair when you got there, smoking from his pipe. His tie was loose, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his gelled hair coming a bit undone. He looked stressed, and perhaps a little anxious. “Yes?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned against the doorframe. 

“What are you doing tonight?” Charles asked, blowing out a mouthful of thick smoke. 

You shrugged. “Nothing, I suppose,” you said. “Why?” 

“I wanted to take you to dinner,” Charles said. “I think we got off on the wrong foot, and I would like to make it up to you, if I can. I… I truly apologize for hitting you. I have a short temper, see, and I’m trying to be better about it.” His lips were pursed, his eyes trained on you. 

If you didn’t know any better, you would think that his apology was genuine. But he needed you on his good side in order to get your fortune. He was buttering you up. You sighed. “That’s alright,” you said. “Umm… I’d like that, I think. Would Mother be coming as well?” 

“No, little one,” Charles said, and you remembered how he had called you that as he pleasured himself into your panties. “Just us. A father-daughter dinner.” 

“Alright,” you said. “Umm… Would you be angry if I called you Father? I just think…” You trailed off and pretended to be ashamed as you played with the sleeve of your dress. “Maybe it would help me adjust.” 

“Not at all, honey,” Charles replied. “Anything to make you comfortable.” 

You gave him the smallest smile, and you approached his seat. “I should have greeted you with a bit more open-mindedness,” you mused. “I was being childish. I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me, because I… I just want you to like me, Father.”

“Aw, honey, I do like you,” Charles said, tilting his head. “You’re already forgiven.”

Your smile grew, and you leaned over to give Charles a tight hug. You could smell his strong cologne as you embraced him, and you made sure to give a soft little moan in his ear. “Oh, Father!” you started. “I can’t seem to find some of my clothes. Would you happen to know where they might have gone? Mother’s always on about donating unused things.” 

“I have no idea, little one,” Charles said, and you straightened up. “What exactly are you missing?” 

“Just a few sweaters,” you said, tracing the etching on the desk. “A skirt or two… A pair of panties with daises on them.” You gave a little laugh, and added, “They were my lucky pair and I just… Never mind, that’s embarrassing.” 

“No, I mean,” Charles began, and he shifted in his chair. Your words had done exactly what you had hoped; he was suspicious and uncomfortable. “If it means a lot to you. How exactly are they lucky, might I ask?” 

You laughed quietly. “Oh, Father, I couldn’t possibly tell you,” you giggled. “It’s not the sort of things girls talk about with their parents.” 

“C’mon,” Charles smiled, reaching forward and playfully tickling your side. “If you don’t tell me, then I’ll assume the worst.” 

In truth, the panties meant nothing to you. You couldn’t even remember when or where you had gotten them. But if it made Charles uncomfortable, then you would stretch the truth however far you needed to. You bit your bottom lip and giggled, and you said, “Fine, fine. I wore them the night I almost lost my virginity, and I… I just feel good wearing them.” 

Charles straightened in his chair, setting his pipe aside. “You’re not a virgin?” he asked. 

“I said ‘almost’, Father,” you whispered. “I still am.” 

“Well, that’s not a bad thing,” Charles told you. His hands went to your waist and tugged you closer to him, and he carefully parted your legs with his knee. “Are you waiting for marriage?”

You shrugged. “Or whatever,” you said. “I wanted to do it, but I just… He wasn’t my type.” 

“And what is your type, honey?” Charles asked. 

Your stomach was curling with disgust, but you kept up the ruse. “I don’t know,” you whispered. With a sigh, you settled yourself on Charles’s thigh, playing with the collar of his shirt. “Just, someone who knows what they’re doing, I guess. Who can make me feel good without making mistakes. Older, I suppose.”

“What else?” Charles asked. His thumb brushed against your hip bone, and you shivered when you felt your walls flutter. You couldn’t possibly be turned on by playing this sick game with your stepfather, could you?

“I like dark hair,” you said softly. “Tall. Nice eyes.”

“So…” Charles began and gave you a satisfied grin, one like a wolf who had cornered his prey. “Me.” 

“Oh, God,” you whispered. “I-I guess, when you put it that way--” 

“It’s alright, little one,” Charles said softly, and he leaned forward and kissed each of your cheeks. “It’s alright if you’ve got a little crush on me. Tell me, honey: have you ever been touched before?” 

“Yes,” you replied with a fake meekness. He seemed to like the more innocent side of you. 

“Yes…?” 

You swallowed down disgust, disguising it as nerves. “Yes, Father.” 

“Good girl,” Charles whispered. “How have you been touched?” 

“A boy put his fingers in me,” you told Charles, avoiding his eyes. “And his mouth on me.” 

“Where on you?” Charles pressed on. His hand slipped down to your bare legs and let his fingers linger on the soft skin of your inner thigh. 

“Father,” you mumbled. “I can’t say it.”

“Show me,” Charles demanded, his face suddenly stony. “Put your hand where that kid had his fucking mouth.” 

You let your hand rest on top of Charles’s, and you lifted it to your breast first. “Here--” 

“Over your dress?” Charles laughed. 

“N-No,” you laughed softly. You bit your lip as you guided his hand down the neck of your dress, and you shuddered at his warm palm on your soft nipple. Your cunt fluttered again, and you fully blushed when you realized that Charles had certainly felt it against his tense thigh. “Here,” you whispered, and you found yourself letting out a quiet moan as Charles groped at your breast. You weren’t supposed to be enjoying this. No, this was supposed to be torture for him. 

“You like when I touch your tit like this, honey?” Charles asked, and you nodded quickly. “So good for your father, little one. Where else?” 

You took his wrist and pulled his hand up to your mouth, and you placed a gentle kiss to his fingertips. “He kissed me,” you said. 

“Did you like it?” Charles asked. He pressed his thumb to your bottom lip, and you took it into your mouth as Charles watched greedily. 

You shook your head, and Charles pulled his thumb from your mouth. “What did he do wrong?” he asked softly. 

“Nothing,” you whispered. “I just didn’t like him, I suppose.” 

“Do you usually fuck guys you don’t like?” Charles asked. 

“I didn’t fuck him, Father!” you said quickly. “I-I stopped it. Remember?” 

“Oh, right,” Charles said in a hushed tone. “Saving yourself for the right person, who just so happens to have every quality that I possess. Is that right?” 

“Father,” you groaned, leaning forward to press your forehead against his shoulder. For some reason, you didn’t entirely mind the smell of his cologne anymore. You didn’t mind his perfect hair. You didn’t even mind the wolfish smile that overtook his pink pout. 

“Where else was that boy’s mouth?” Charles whispered. “Did he put it anywhere else? Or just on your pretty little mouth and tit?” 

As you grabbed his hand, you realized that there was absolutely no going back. Your plan was set in motion and there was no way to stop it. You took a deep breath to prepare yourself, and you slowly took his hand down your body. You carefully lifted your dress and settled his hand over your cunt, and you shuddered at the warmth of his palm. His fingers were against your hole, the heel of his hand pressed to your clit, and you watched him lick his lips. “You naughty little thing,” Charles chuckled. “You let him put his mouth on your pussy?” 

“I didn’t like it,” you told him quickly. “I didn’t like him.” 

“Honey, I’m gonna ask you this once,” Charles whispered, pressing his hand fully against you. Even through the thin layer of your panties, you could feel every inch of his hand, and you bit your lip and tried to control your hips from bucking into his palm. Amongst other things, you were sure that you would get in trouble for it. “Do you want me to fuck you? I can show you how good you’re supposed to feel, little one, you’ll love me for it.” 

You nodded quickly, but yelped when his free hand landed a smack on your ass. It truly hurt, and you whimpered when his hand stayed on your ass and squeezed. “Use your words, honey,” Charles said. “As much as I like the little dumb whore act, I wanna hear you beg for it.” 

“Yes,” you said quickly. “Yes, Charles, please. Please, Daddy, please fuck me.” 

“Ooh, Daddy,” Charles purred. “I like the sound of that, baby. Stand up and take off your panties, sweetheart.” 

You did as he told you, shivering when the cool air hit your wet cunt, and Charles tugged you back down onto his thick thigh. The roughness of his pants made you whimper louder, and he sent a slap to your cheek. It wasn’t hard and didn’t even hurt, but you gasped all the same. “Keep your fucking cock-hole shut,” Charles hissed. “You want your mother to hear you fucking yourself on my leg?” 

“N-No, Daddy,” you whined. 

“Good girl,” Charles whispered. “Show me how badly you want me.”

“Huh?” 

Charles took fistfuls of your dress and tugged it downwards, letting your tits escape. “I said, show me how badly you want me to fuck your little hole, babygirl,” he growled. “Fuck yourself on my thigh, and maybe, if you’re good for me, I’ll bend you over this desk right now and fuck you ‘til you can’t walk. You want that, baby? Want your daddy’s cock wrecking your pretty little pussy?” 

You rested your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself, and you rocked your hips down onto his hard thigh. The material of his pants brushed your cunt and clit and made you bite back a whimper, and you squeezed your eyes shut. You hated the way that you were enjoying it. You hated him. Maybe you even hated yourself. But self-loathing could wait until you got off, because the pleasure of everything was too overpowering to focus on much else. 

Charles’s hands roamed your body, touching you everywhere that he could manage. He squeezed your tits and pinched your nipples, and bolts of pleasure rocked through your whole body. That, added with the feeling on your clit, was almost too much, and you whined out. “Daddy--!”

Suddenly, his hand was over your mouth, the other clamping down around your throat. “Shut up!” he huffed. His eyes were alert, locked on yours, and his face was red. Was he really angry? The thought that he was truly angry made your stomach flip, and not in a good way. “I told you to shut the fuck up, why can’t you listen?”

You pleaded with your eyes, asking him to forgive you. It was important for your plan that he didn’t have any ill will towards you. You needed him to want to marry you, and to actually do it. Then, you would get the money, and you could find a way to stage a suicide before the money was put into his bank account. Then, you would have your father’s money, and live with just yourself and the fortune he gave you. But, in order to do that, you had to do everything Charles Blackwood asked of you. You had to treat this horrible man like the sun shined out of his lying ass. You had to make him want to marry you. Which, at the current moment, didn’t seem like it would be too difficult. 

You mumbled behind his hand, trying to warn him that you were going to come, but he only hit you across the cheek again. “Not another sound, you fucking whore,” he said. “Fucking yourself on your father’s leg. So slutty. You gonna come? You wanna come on Daddy’s leg?” 

You nodded quickly, and you started your hips faster. Your legs were quivering and you could hardly hold yourself upright anymore, and Charles took note of the tears brimming at your eyelashes. “Is this the first orgasm you’ve ever had, honey?” he asked. He seemed softer suddenly, and his hand left your mouth; the other stayed secure around your throat, though. You nodded quickly, and he gave a little coo. “Aw, my poor baby. I guess I oughta take some pity on you, huh? You’ve been good to me after all… Take off your dress and sit on the desk.” 

Your dress hit the floor, and you settled yourself on the edge of Charles’s desk. It was a hefty thing made of mahogany, and you clenched your thighs together as Charles’s eyes raked over your entire body. “I know you’re not trying to be modest now,” he laughed. “Open your legs and show Daddy that pretty pussy.”

You bit your lip and did as he said, and you gasped when his eyes finally landed on your cunt. You were dripping wet, your slick glistening off your thighs, and Charles let one thick finger glide up your slit and collect your wetness on his fingertip. “Jesus Christ, baby,” he laughed. “You were really close, weren’t you? Let me guess, you want me to shove my cock in you, huh? Want me to fuckin’ split you in two and stuff you full of my cum? God, you would look so pretty, gettin’ all big with my baby.” He paused to suck your wetness off of his finger, and he gave a quiet little sigh. “Oh, God. Of course you taste good… So sweet, like sugar. It’s almost like you want me to eat you out, sugar.”

“Please,” you sniffled. You reached for him and pulled him in by his tie, and he slotted easily between your thighs. “Please, please, please, Daddy, want your mouth on my pussy, please, make me come, Daddy…” 

Charles placed a soft kiss on your forehead as a way to placate your begging, and he whispered, “You’re asking so nicely, sugar. How could I say no to your pretty little face?” 

You didn’t know what exactly to expect as Charles kneeled down in front of you, and you carefully pushed your fingers through his hair, through those perfect blond highlights. The moment his tongue touched your clit, though, you forgot entirely about how you were supposed to be hating him. You forgot practically everything that wasn’t Charles. He lapped up your wetness and placed a wet kiss to your lips, and your stomach clenched as he looked up at you through his eyelashes. “Aw,” he whispered, his warm breath making your cunt flutter again. “You look so pretty, sugar, all fucked out like this. Can’t wait ‘til I can actually fuck you…” 

And, with that, he dived in. He was kissing, licking, and sucking your cunt like it was his only goal in life, your thighs in his bruising grip. You had the instinct to clamp your legs shut, and you nearly did, but Charles pulled his mouth away just enough so that his lips teasingly brushed your clit, and he whispered, “Now, that’s not what good girls do, is it?” 

“M’sorry, Daddy,” you whispered. “Just feels so good.”

“I know, sugar, I know,” Charles whispered. “You’re being so obedient for me, though. Do you think you deserve a reward?” 

“Yes,” you gasped. “Please, Daddy, I’ve been so good for you. Done what you’ve asked, please let me come.” 

Charles sighed, looking up at you once more. “I love listening to you beg,” he whispered. “But you’ve been doing good for me. Go ahead, sugar. Come on my face, baby.”

The way his lips shined with your cum nearly made you pass out. If it were anyone else, you would have adored the sight of it, but, since it was your awful fucking monster of a stepfather, you loathed it. Still, you pulled him close and kissed him all the same, cringing at the taste of yourself on his mouth. 

“What do we say?” Charles asked. His hands smoothed down your body, landing on your waist, and he tugged you flush against his body. 

You let out a quiet little laugh. “Thank you, Daddy,” you whispered. 

Charles smiled, looking like the cat who ate the canary. “You’re welcome, sugar.” 

[pokemonsoldier]

I Just Realized the reality behind the finale twist, and this makes so much more sense

Huge, HUGE spoiler warning. If you do not want the DuckTales finale spoiled for you, skip this. Otherwise, you have been warned.

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So, we all know the twist. Webby is Scrooge’s clone made by FOWL to find the papyrus, his daughter (because no she is not a perfect clone of him stop suggesting that. He was the genetic basis, so she is, genetically, his daughter). After all, the papyrus could only be found by a direct descendant of Scrooge McDuck, so FOWL made one. May and June, perfect clones of Webby (so yes they would be her sisters) failed to find it because the DNA was stretched to thin. Open and shut, right?

Not exactly. I made a realization that shows the writers knew what they were doing way more, and this was not rushed. In fact, this realization I had makes this twist not only good, but one of the best. You see, everyone says only Scrooge’s descendant could find the papyrus, right? Except, Scrooge doesn’t. If you recall ‘The First Adventure’, it shows us what he writes. He wrote, quote, “Papyrus, I ask that you be lost once more, until the rightful heir of Scrooge McDuck can find your final resting place.”

Let me clarify the main line, “until the rightful HEIR of Scrooge McDuck can find your final resting place.”

It wasn’t a descendant, it was THE heir that was needed. HIS heir. This realization, as well as understanding Scrooge, Webby, and their relationship, made me realize something. Webby being Scrooge’s daughter had NOTHING to do with her finding it. We have to remember something, Scrooge is not a nepotist. He doesn’t give stuff out of favor family. He goes by merit, by one proving themselves as worthy, by people earning what they want. If you recall, the papyrus is literal, so the rightful heir (singular, mind you) is based on Scrooge’s decision, not based on external interpretations. They’d have to be someone who he felt was worthy of inheriting his legacy.

Smarter than the smarties Tougher than the toughies Sharper than the sharpies And earns their way through life This person had to know what it meant to be Scrooge McDuck, had to desire his ethic and his attitude towards adventure, had to understand the McDucks entirely. And moreover, had to gain his respect and love... Only one person in the series fits all those requirements: Webby

Think about it. She grew up in the manor with Scrooge her entire life. She dedicated her life to knowing EVERYTHING about the McDucks, Scrooge especially, and is probably one of the most brilliant minds out there. She can take on adults many times her own size with ease, including Bouncer Beagle. And she is quick thinking, able to slip her way through any situation out there. But most of all, she had proven herself to Scrooge. Rewatch the series, and look at her mannerisms, their interactions. She is like Scrooge in so, so many ways. Moreover, he possibly has a closer bond with her than anyone else. She was family long before the finale, and Scrooge stated such. She was just as much an heir of Scrooge as Della, Donald, Huey, Dewey, and Louie were, if not more so.

Blood had nothing to do with finding the papyrus. Him choosing her to be his heir was. And yes, I am saying that even before the finale, Scrooge was likely to have Webby be his main heir. Not the twins, not the triplets, but Webby, who was not even (they thought) direct family. Knowing Scrooge, this makes sense. He doesn’t give handouts. Not even to his own kin.

This is why Webby found the papyrus and not the others. Merit. Her being his daughter had NOTHING to do with it. In fact, had it not been for Beakley raising her, she’d have never been able to get the papyrus as she would not have become a TRUE heir. It is also the reason May and June never found it either. They were clones of Webby, but were not Webby by virtue. They didn’t have her passion, knowledge, understanding, and especially not the admiration of Scrooge. This is why the boys didn’t find it either. They each were excellent at one aspect of Scrooge, but not all three. Thus, Webby met the criteria fully.

The writers knew what they were doing. They planned this since Episode 1 of Season 1 when they have Webby, involuntarily, strike a pose that mirrors a statues of Scrooge, not even trying to imitate it. She was family by merit, long before she was family by blood. Thus, in my opinion, this twist is one of, if not the best twist ever, and exemplifies the show’s main themes better than anything. Rewatch it, keep this in mind, and you’ll see what I mean.

Feel free to reblog and add your (no pun intended) 10 cents.

BTW, for those arguing ‘oh that isn’t how the papyrus works’, just remember it accepted “Family is the greatest adventure of all” as true because Scrooge truly believed it. So if that was okay with the papyrus, I am certain it’d follow his heir qualifications.

[wisdomrays]

QUESTIONS & ANSWERS: Are Muslims Guilty of Imperialism?

This charge continues to be leveled against the Muslim world. I would like to counter it by asking the following questions:

Given the existing circumstances of 1,400 years ago, how would any one living in Makka or Madina go about exploiting his own clan and tribe? If the supposedly exploited lands and people were those of the Hijaz, which were poor, unfruitful, and barren, who would have wished to invade or exploit them? It is ludicrous to level the charge of imperialist colonialism against the most noble-minded Muslims, who risked their lives to spread the message of Islam; who spent the greater part of their lives far from their children, families, homes, and native lands fighting armies ten or twenty times their size; and who felt deeply grieved when they did not die on the battlefield and join the earlier martyrs for Islam. We ask ourselves what worldly gain they obtained in return for such struggle, deprivation, and sacrifice!

Those who invaded, occupied, and exploited others with the worst intentions (and results) of imperialism are power-hungry individuals or nations. To mention a few: Alexander the "Great" and Napoleon, the Roman empire and Nazi Germany, the Mongol armies unleashed by Genghis Khan and the colonizing armies unleashed by western Europe, Russian dictatorship (whether czarist or communist) and the American empire (whether "manifest destiny" or "making the world safe for democracy"). Wherever such conquests came and went, they corrupted the morality of the conquerors and the conquered, causing chaos, conflict, tears, bloodshed, and devastation. Today their heirs, like bold thieves who bluff property owners to conceal their theft of that very property, turn to besmirching Islam, its Prophet, and his Companions.

True Muslims have never sought to exploit others. Nor have they let others do so where Muslim government had jurisdiction. At a time when Muslim armies were running from triumph to triumph, Caliph 'Umar said: "What befits me is to live at the level of the poorest Muslims," and he really did so. As he took only a few olives a day for his own sustenance, who was he exploiting?

After one battle, when a Muslim was asked to take the belongings of an enemy soldier whom he had fought and killed, he said: "I did not participate in the battle to take spoils." Pointing to his throat, he continued: "What I seek is an arrow here and to fall as a martyr." (His wish was granted.) While burning with the desire for martyrdom, who was he exploiting?

In another battle, a Muslim soldier fought and killed a leading enemy who had killed many Muslims. The Muslim commander saw him pass by his dead enemy. The commander went to the head of the dead soldier and asked who had killed him. The Muslim did not want to reply, but the commander called him back in the name of God. The Muslim felt himself obliged to do so, but concealed his face with a piece of cloth. The following conversation took place:

-Did you kill him for the sake of God?

-Yes.

-All right. But take this 1,000 dinar piece.

-But I did it for the sake of God!

-What is your name?

-What is my name to you? Perhaps you will tell this to everyone and cause me to lose the reward for this in the afterlife.

How could such people exploit others and establish colonies all over the world? To speak frankly, those who hate Islam and Muslims are blind to the historical truth of how Islam spread.

Let's look at what exploitation and imperialism are. Imperialism or colonization is a system of rule by which a rich and a powerful country controls other countries, their trade and policies, to enrich itself and gain more power at the other's expense. There are many kinds of exploitation. In today's world, they may take the following forms:

• Absolute sovereignty by dispossessing indigenous people in order to establish the invader's direct rule and sovereignty. Examples are western Europe's conquest of North and South America, as well as Australia and New Zealand, as well as the Zionists' conquest of Palestine.

• Military occupation so that the invaders can control the conquered nation's land and resources. One example is British colonial rule in India.

• Open or secret interference and intervention in a country's internal and foreign affairs, economy, and defense. Examples are those Third World countries who are manipulated and controlled by various developed countries.

• The transfer of intellectuals, which is currently the most common and dangerous type of imperialism. Young, intelligent, and gifted people of the countries to be exploited are chosen, given stipends, and educated abroad. There they are introduced to and made members of different groups. When they return to their country, they are given influential administrative and other posts so that they can influence their country's destiny. When native or foreign people linked to exploiters abroad are placed in crucial positions in the state mechanism, the country is conquered from inside. This immensely successful technique has enabled Western imperialists to achieve many of their goals smoothly and without overtly rousing the enmity of the people they wish to subjugate. Today, the Muslim world is caught in this trap and thus continues to suffer exploitation and abuse.

Whatever kind of imperialism they are subjected to, countries suffer a number of consequences:

• Various methods of assimilation alienate people from their own values, culture, and history. As a result, they suffer crises of identity and purpose, do not know their own past, and cannot freely imagine their own future.

• Any enthusiasm, effort, and zeal to support and develop their country is quenched. Industry is rendered dependent upon the (former) imperial masters, science and knowledge are not allowed to become productive and primary, and imitation is established firmly so that freedom of study and new research will gain no foothold.

• People remain in limbo, totally dependent upon foreigners. They are silenced and deluded by such empty phrases as progress, Westernization, civilization, and the like.

• All state institutions are penetrated by foreign aid, which is in reality no more than massive financial and cultural debt. Imports, exports, and development are wholly controlled by or conducted according to the exploiter's interests.

• While no effort is spared to keep the masses in poverty, the ruling classes become used to extravagant spending and luxury. The resulting communal dissatisfaction causes people to fight with each other, making them even more vulnerable to outside influence and intervention.

• Mental and spiritual activity is stifled, and so educational institutions tend to imitate foreign ways, ideas, and subjects. Industry is reduced to assembling prefabricated parts. The army tends to become a dumping ground for imperialist countries, for its purchases of expensive hardware ensure the continued well-being of the latter's industries.

We wonder if it is really rational to liken the Islamic conquest to imperialism, which brought disastrous consequences wherever it went.

The victory of Muslim armies never caused a great exodus of people from their homes and countries, nor has it prevented people from working by putting chains on their hands and feet. Muslims left the indigenous people free to follow their own way and beliefs, and protected them in exactly the same way it protected Muslims. Muslim governors and rulers were loved and respected for their justice and integrity. Equality, peace, and security were established between different communities.

If it had been otherwise, would the Christians of Damascus have gathered in their church and prayed for a Muslim victory against Christian Byzantium, which was seeking to regain control of the city? If Muslims had not been so respectful of non-Muslims' rights, could they have maintained security for centuries in a state so vast that it took more than 6 months to travel from one end to another?

One cannot help but admire those Muslim rulers and the dynamic energy that made them so, when we compare them to present-day rulers. Despite every modern means of transportation, telecommunications, and military back-up, they cannot maintain peace and security in even a small area of land.

Today, many scholars and intellectuals who realize the value of Islam's dynamics, which brought about Islam's global sovereignty and which will form the basis of our eternal existence in the Hereafter, expressly tell us that Muslims should reconsider and regain them. While conquering lands, the Muslims also were conquering their inhabitants' hearts. They were received with love, respect, and obedience. No people who accepted Islam ever complained that they were culturally prevented or ruined by the arrival of Muslims. The contrast with the reality of Christian Europe's conquests is stark and obvious.

Early Muslims evaluated the potential of knowledge and art in the conquered lands. They prepared and provided every opportunity for local scholars and scientists to pursue their work. Regardless of their religion, Muslims held the people in high regard and honored them in the community. They never did what the descendants of the British colonialists in America did to the American Indians or in Australia to the Aborigines, the French to the Algerians, or the Dutch to the Indonesians. On the contrary, they treated the conquered people as if they were from their own people and religion, as if they were brothers and sisters.

Caliph 'Umar once told a Coptic Egyptian who had been beaten by a Makkan noble to beat him just as he had been beaten. When 'Umar heard that 'Amr ibn al-'As had hurt the feelings of a native Egyptian, he rebuked him: "Human beings were born free. Why do you enslave them?" As he went to receive the keys to Masjid al-Aqsa, 'Umar visited and talked to priests in different churches in Palestine. Once he was in a church when it was time to pray. The priest repeatedly asked him to pray inside the church, but 'Umar refused, saying: "You may be harassed by other Christians later on because you let me pray in the church." He left the church's premises and prayed outside on the ground.

These are but a few examples to indicate how Muslims were sensitive, tolerant, just, and humane toward other people. Such an attitude of genuine tolerance has not been reached by any other people or society.

[cuttoothed]

Day 7 of @jonmartinweek for the prompt "You are my reason". Still living in post-200 AU land.

*

There comes a day when Jon doesn’t wake up afraid.

His alarm goes off before the sun rises; he wakes tired, but feeling a little thrill of anticipation, because he and Martin have plans today. Nothing earth shattering, but they’re both off work, and the weather is due to be nice, so they’re going hiking up in the hills. Jon’s been looking forward to this all week; he's even okay with being up at dawn on his day off.

The hike is challenging, but the views are worth it, as the morning clouds part into sunshine and leave them gazing out across the craggy, verdant landscape. At the crest of the trail, they sit on a boulder to eat sandwiches and drink tea from a flask; Martin spots some cows on the hillside below and points them out with delight. By the time they get back to the car, they’re exhausted, and they agree that nobody’s going to be cooking tonight, so it’s takeaway from the Indian place near their flat.

That evening they eat too much curry, and drink red wine, and end up curled sleepy and sated on the sofa together, watching nonsense on telly.

“This was a good day,” Jon says; Martin only hums in agreement, so it’s probably time to get him to bed.

It’s only as he’s brushing his teeth that Jon realizes that he hasn’t thought about the end of the world all day. He usually wakes up from dreams of the ruined world; at the very least, it’s always in the back of his mind, guilt and fear and grief tapping at the windows of his consciousness through the day. He’s never had a day where he didn’t think at all about what happened—about what he did.

The realization jolts sharply through him, like a missed step in the dark; it makes something drop like a stone into his stomach, though he doesn't understand why.

He tells his therapist about it at their next session, couched in the careful untruths he’s crafted to convey the vast weight of it all without mentioning the literal apocalypse. Stuart listens, nodding, as he describes what happened, and then when Jon is finished he says:

“You know this is a good thing, right?”

“S-sorry?”

“Trauma plants its roots deep, Jon. It’s pervasive, like chronic pain. The days you have without pain in your leg or your hand, those are good, right? Even though they don’t mean that you’re permanently healed?”

“Yes,” Jon admits, flexing his fingers.

“This is the same. Your trauma isn’t gone, but the fact that you were able to enjoy a whole day without thinking about what happened—that’s really, really good.”

“But I can’t just forget—” Jon starts, and he’s not sure what he’s trying to say; I can’t forget what happened, I can’t forget that it was my fault, I can’t stop looking over my shoulder for what’s coming next.

“Of course not,” Stuart agrees. “But part of healing is letting what happened move into the past. Not forgetting it, but recognizing that it isn’t part of your present. That you can move on.”

Except it is the present, in the thousands of worlds he unleashed the Fears into. It isn’t something that can just be forgotten, that he can move on from. They’ve seen and felt no trace of the Fears in this world yet, but even that doesn’t mean they won’t come; it may just be a matter of time. Jon feels his chest tighten with that knowledge, that fear.

“The people I hurt,” he says carefully. “It’s not in the past for them—they’re still hurt by my actions today.”

“That might be true,” Stuart says. “But from what you’ve told me, you can’t change that. And your guilt doesn’t help them. All it does is punish you.”

“Maybe I deserve to be punished,” Jon snaps angrily, but Stuart only smiles, his face kind.

“Nobody deserves to be punished forever, Jon. Eventually, you have to forgive yourself.”

They’re nice words, but Stuart can’t possibly understand what he’s asking Jon to do. He’s been responsible for immeasurable pain and fear, the unchecked torture of billions of people; he will be responsible for so much more, across thousands of worlds. His whole life has been nothing but a means to a horrifying end. How can he just absolve himself of guilt, enjoy this charmed life he’s somehow gained while damning countless others?

(How can he believe that the consequences will not find him, someday.)

Martin must notice his mood when he gets back from therapy, because it’s not five minutes before a mug of tea and a packet of Jon’s favorite biscuits are placed on the coffee table in front of him.

“All right?” Martin asks, sitting down on the sofa with his own tea. He never asks Jon questions about his therapy —just as Jon respects the privacy of Martin’s sessions—but if he thinks Jon is upset, he’ll ask an open question like this, so Jon knows the offer is there to talk about it.

Jon considers. He hasn’t told Martin about what happened—or rather didn’t happen—the day they went hiking, not wanting to spoil it for him. But Martin’s the only person in this entire world who can possibly understand how Jon is feeling, and he’s the person Jon trusts most. Jon doesn’t want to hide things from him, not anymore. They’ve had enough of that for a lifetime.

So he tells Martin what happened, and how it made him feel, and what Stuart said, and how that made him feel. At the end of it, Martin gives him a fond, teasing smile.

“So what I’m hearing is that you’re feeling bad for not feeling bad,” he says. “That is...so incredibly you, honestly.”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” Jon protests.

“I know it is. And I’m not trying to dismiss how you feel. I promise. It’s just…” Martin pauses, his brow furrowing as he considers what to say. “Sometimes, when I feel sad for no reason—when parts of me go sort of...numb, I start looking around, expecting to see the fog curling in under the windows. But it isn’t, because the Lonely isn’t here, and I have to deal with the fact that there’s no—no fear monster making me feel that way. It’s just me.”

“Martin…” says Jon, his heart aching. Martin doesn’t often talk about the bad days, after they’ve passed; he prefers to save it for his therapist, since “that’s what I pay them for”. He reaches for Martin’s hand, and Martin laces their fingers together.

“I think you’re the same,” Martin says. “Ever since we got here, you’ve been waiting for something bad to happen. For all of it to—to catch up with you. But it hasn’t. There’s no Fears coming after you, and there’s no...universal justice, or whatever, to punish you. It’s just you, Jon.”

Jon feels a lump in his throat, his eyes stinging. Has he been waiting all this time for something bad to happen, for the other shoe to drop? Has he thought of this as only temporary—a longer respite than that three weeks in the cottage, but just as impermanent? He shakes his head.

“That doesn’t take away from what I did,” he says. Martin nods.

“It doesn’t,” he says. “And nothing takes from the fact that I didn’t kill Jonah Magnus when I had the chance, either. We can’t change the past. We just have to find reasons to live with it. To carry on living. Now, as we are.”

“You know what my reason is,” Jon tells him, his voice thick with emotion; he told Martin a long time ago. Martin ducks his head, smiling, and his fingers squeeze around Jon’s.

“I know,” he says. “But it’s okay to have other reasons too. A nice hike in the hills, or going to the pub with some friends, or petting the many cats you seem to have befriended in our neighborhood. It’s okay to just...be happy, Jon. I promise.”

“I-I’m not sure I can,” Jon tells him; he’s not sure he deserves the chance to be.

“I know,” Martin says. “I know it’s difficult. But you do deserve it. And I’ll be here to keep telling you that until you believe it. I’ll be here to help you keep getting better, like you help me. As long as it takes.”

Jon feels a sob rising in his chest, and dives in to stifle it against Martin’s shoulder, burying his face in the solid expanse. He can feel the tears wetting his cheeks, soaking into Martin’s jumper, but he knows Martin won’t mind. Martin’s arms go around him.

“I hope you’re okay with the long haul, then,” he mumbles against Martin’s shoulder. He’s not sure what he’s done to deserve this, probably nothing, but he has it, and he doesn’t want to let it go. Martin chuckles warmly, petting his hair.

“That’s what I’m here for, sweetheart,” he says. “I’ll be your reason, if you’ll be mine.”

“That’s the deal, then?” Jon says; he’s not sure if he’s laughing or sobbing, but he knows he loves this man with all his heart.

“That’s the deal,” Martin agrees. And Jon might not deserve a deal like that, but he’d be a fool not to take it.

[willowcrowned]

I wish you would write a fic where for some reason Luke & Leia are dropped in the past, specifically in the Mellida/Daan conflict after tiny baby Obi Wan has decided to stay there and Qui Gon has left him, which is followed by them winning that war and adopting/kidnapping Obi Wan and then meeting Qui Gon who kinda wants to 1- induct them into the order and 2- his Padawan back

Keeping in mind that I haven’t actually read any of the books, and all my knowledge has been gained through dubious fandom osmosis, let’s do this:

Luke and Leia are both twenty seven. The New Republic is established, the new Order has lots more Jedi Masters, and both of them are, well, not obsolete, because they both take an active role in their respective jobs, but they’re not necessary. Leia and Han are married, Luke has had a string of hookups, and they’re both... restless. You don’t live a war for four years and come out of it knowing how to live peacefully. Leia doesn’t know how to stop being in command; Luke doesn’t know how to stop feeling like he needs to be saving people all the time.

And then, all of a sudden, they’re in the middle of a war zone. Shots are flying, there’s yelling, and, worst of all, there are children everywhere. Luke ignites his saber, Leia grabs her blaster, and they get out of there, pulling as many children with them as they can. 

The kids take them to their high command, which is filled with children— and only children. Luke and Leia share a look, and they can feel the other’s face harden in tandem with their own. This cannot— will not— go on.

And then, leading them, is a tiny jedi padawan and a girl with a shock of red hair, and Luke, against all odds, knows who the child is.

The war ends quickly after that— not bloodlessly, not without sacrifice, not without pain that the children never should have had to endure, but at least it ends quickly. Obi-Wan and his friend, Cerasi, both survive through the war, and through the rebuilding.

And then Luke and Leia are at a loss. 

They’ve done this before— staying after peace has been established, seeing the resurgence not only of life, but of culture, of music and literature and science, and they love it, they love seeing the beginnings of a new kind of civilization but... there’s nothing for them to do. 

Okay, they think, looking at each other. There must be other planets like this. We can bring them peace.

They tell the Young, the Melida, the Daan— they tell Cerasi and Obi-Wan— and everyone is happy but one. Luke can sense it— he’s always been attuned to Obi-Wan— and he asks him what’s wrong. 

The whole story of Qui-Gon tumbles out of him— Tahl, leaving him, and Bandomeer before that— and Luke is a kind person, but this? This is awful.

“Alright,” he says to Obi-Wan, “If you want, I could train you.” And every bit of anxiety that Luke might feel about his own negligible mastery is washed away by the pure brightness of Obi-Wan’s face.

They leave Melida/Daan to its rebirth, and find another system to help. Obi-Wan grows, both in stature and in skill, and most importantly, in security. Every day that Luke and Leia don’t leave him, every day they hug him and come back for him and ask him what he’s feeling and what he wants like it matters, like he matters, he heals a little more.

And then, when Obi-Wan is fifteen, Qui-Gon tracks them down.

They’ve been on Mandalore a month when he shows up (Obi-Wan clearly has a crush on Satine, and Leia is coaching him through the politics of it while Luke just says vaguely encouraging things about love and connections with other people). Luke and Leia are... not pleased, to put it politely. They tell him, very sweet and very cold the whole way through, that he’s not welcome anywhere near Obi-Wan.

And then everything goes down.

The five of them end up on the run together, stuck in small ship after small ship, and Qui-Gon wants to dislike them, he really does, but they’re competent fighters and leaders, subtle when they need to be and loud when they don’t, and they’re excellent teachers for Obi-Wan, who’s excelling in a way Qui-Gon has never seen of a padawan before.

But they don’t let him near Obi-Wan. (The deal, as they explained it on the first night, was that until Obi-Wan asked to talk to Qui-Gon, Qui-Gon would not be talking to him. It’s a hard rule to enforce, and they do occasionally have to work together whenever they get into a tight spot, but for the most part, it sticks. Qui-Gon hasn’t been able to say any more to Obi-Wan than “On your left,” “Get down,” and “Now!”)

(Obi-Wan and Satine, all this while are engaging in the sort of courting that would only occur to two fairly repressed teenagers who tend to get shot at a lot, which is to say that there are many, many, occasions upon which they stitch each others wounds.)

And then it all comes to head.

Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon get trapped on a planet, Luke and Leia blasting off into the atmosphere with Satine, because they’ll all die if they don’t, and Obi-Wan is left alone with the man that might have been his master. 

Qui-Gon, to his credit, doesn’t push— they’re both exhausted, and Obi-Wan is wounded, and Qui-Gon may be practical but he’s not cruel, so after they’ve found shelter and stitched themselves up, he doesn’t push. After all, no one dies if Obi-Wan continues on the path he’s set for himself, even if the Order loses what might have been a brilliant Jedi. And besides, Qui-Gon has too much respect for Luke and Leia now to say that what they’re teaching Obi-Wan is bad.

So it’s Obi-Wan who speaks first.

“They’re coming back, you know.”

Qui-Gon doesn’t scoff but— it’s a near thing. “The mission is more important. They know that.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t react defensively— not the way a normal child might— he just shakes his head, and says with complete peace and certainty, “They’re coming back. They always do.”

Qui-Gon inclines his head, not conceding the point, but conceding that he won’t argue it further. 

There’s a silence, then, a stillness that stretches beyond not moving— something in the Force, a waiting, the static before a thunderstorm.

“I came back,” Qui-Gon says, in the end, tired and older than his years, “to Melida/Daan. I came back for you.”

Obi-Wan swallows, looking very, very, small all of a sudden, even wrapped in Luke’s cloak. “You left me,” he says, barely above a whisper. “You left a thirteen year old in the middle of a war he didn’t know how to handle, and then you took my home from me.”

“I know,” Qui-Gon says, and he knows what he has to say— what he’s known since he found Melida/Daan at peace, and Obi-Wan gone, spirited away by some specters of a war ended, and realized that he had lost him for good— but that doesn’t make the words come any easier. “I was wrong,” he chokes out, syllable by agonizing syllable, “it was cruel, and I was wrong.”

A strange change comes over Obi-Wan, as if, after all these years, Qui-Gon’s words still mean something to him— as if whatever explanation he can give is enough for Obi-Wan’s absolution.

“Yes,” he agrees, and if he sounds older than he is, it’s not because he’s tired, but because he’s balanced, “it was.”

“I’m sorry,” Qui-Gon says, because it’s true, because he is, because he knows know what he didn’t know then— that Obi-Wan was right, was better than him in that moment, that Obi-Wan saw injustice, saw pain, and gave up everything he had, everything he’d ever wanted, to stop it. Qui-Gon hasn’t ever been able to do that, and he wants to blame it on Dooku, on the Order, on the censure he always receives for acting outside the exact guidelines, but he knows the truth of it; he keeps himself from caring so he doesn’t ever have to face those choices. Dooku may have taught him, the Order may have shaped him, but it’s him who makes that decision, day after day, and it took losing another padawan to finally face it. If Qui-Gon is what a Jedi is, then Obi-Wan is what a Jedi should be.

Obi-Wan looks at him, and he’s hurt, yes, and still grieving, but above all else he’s kind, like he can see what Qui-Gon has gone through, like he’s witnessed the worst he has to offer, and still thinks there’s good in him— the genuine, shining, good embodied by Obi-Wan.

“I know,” Obi-Wan says, “and I forgive you.”

[nevertheless-moving]

Suicidal Misunderstanding XX

Part I - - - - - - - - - - Part XVII - - - - Part XVIII - - - - Part XIX

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

“I want you to understand that what we’re going to ask of you is entirely beyond the scope of duty and therefore completely voluntary. You are more than free to refuse participation, at any point, with absolutely no consequences.”

Deep within the Healing Halls best-kept medical secret, Eights quelled beneath the full might of the GAR’s highest and most lauded Generals. Yeah I’m sure whatever they ask I’m going to want to say no. Honestly, what kind of soldiers have they been working with?

“What can I do to help, sir? Sirs?”

“I know this might be shocking, but we have reason to believe the GAR is...compromised.”

“Sir?”

Eights thought furiously. This wasn’t about the healers who were hiding them, or the Jedi his battalion never received, or the decommissioning he had escaped. This was bigger.

The General Windu spoke calmly, “We suspect that you may have been trained or conditioned at some point without your knowledge to unquestioningly follow orders, orders that would usually be beyond what you would typically obey. With your permission, we’d like to try and activate that order in a restrained environment in order to gain more information, with the hope of finding a way to help the troops resist.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t understand. You’re just going to give me an order and ask me...not to obey it?”

General Koon nodded (General Koon! General Koon and General Windu were talking to him at the same time!). “In a manner of speaking, yes. But it’s possible that the order will do more than that. The only way we believe this could possibly work” Koon glanced to the man at his side. “And we...do believe this threat is real, is if you suffer from some form of brainwashing. Activating it might cause irreparable brain damage. Activating it might damage or kill the parts of you that make you you. Even if it doesn’t- the ideal scenario is we find something- an intentionally designed tumor perhaps- and surgically remove it. And brain surgery also has its own risks.”

Eights swallowed around a lump in his throat. 

“And this is something that could be going on with...my entire batch?”

General Kenobi winced. “The entire GAR I’m afraid. Every clone.”

The General of the 212th! Commander Cody’s General was here! Talking to him! Telling him existentially terrifying ultra classified intel!

The trooper stared up from bed in disbelief. If anyone besides three of most respected generals in the entire GAR (not including Buir Ti) was telling him this he would accuse them of bantha crap fear-mongering, if not outright treason. Instead he was just...outraged.

“What would the order make me...us...do?”

Windu took a deep breath. “Attack us. Try and kill the Jedi.”

“I would never.” Eights straightened up even further. “We would never betray the Jedi- it’s- never. We were made for the Jedi and even if we weren’t- you’re the only ones who treat us with an ounce of respect.”

“No one is questioning your loyalty,” the kind Mon Cal healer (whose name he had never asked for fear of getting her in trouble if this ward was ever discovered) said, obviously trying to sooth him. She spoke with heart-breaking earnestness. “The fact that you would never choose to obey such a command just makes the possibility of something forcing you to do so that much more horrifying.”

“How would something like that even get in our heads? The longnecks designed us to serve the Jedi, why... I’m sorry Generals. I didn’t mean to get out of line.”

“No need to apologize. You have every right to be angry about this intrusion, as well as any number of things,” General Kenobi reassured him, smiling sadly. “We don’t know to what extent the Kaminoans are involved with this plot. Not precisely.”

Eights nodded, clenching his one remaining fist. “I’ll do it. Whatever you need from me. I can’t let my brothers have something this big looming over them without any intel.” I’m not exactly front-lines material anymore anyway.

“Are you sure?” Mace Windu’s eyes seemed to stare into his soul. Eights stared right back.

“I am. When do we start?”

It didn’t take long to shave the soldier and connect a number of glowing vital readers to his skull. He was ushered into a chambered observation room with what appeared to be a sfaraday cage hastily built around it. 

“Alright, whenever you’re ready.” Bant (Master Eerin apparently, but she told him to call her Bant) said.

“I’m ready, sir.”

“Let’s start off small, see if we can learn anything without fully activating the order.”

General Kenobi took in a deep breath. He looked calm, but Jedi always did. The General took in another breath. Kriff, two deep breaths. That’s Jedi for freaking out, isn’t it? Right?

Fuck.

“Does Order 66 mean anything to you?” General Kenobi braced himself, staring intently at the trooper in his seat. 

Eights wracked his brain furiously. Sixty-Six...that was...

“It’s...a little familiar? Sorry sir, I feel like I’ve heard it somewhere but...I can’t recall.”

“That’s perfectly alright trooper, not to worry.”

A Twilek healer he didn’t recognize spoke into a micomphone from the other side of a transparisteel window. “His frontal lobe might be lighting up a little, but it’s nothing abnormal, and not enough to triangulate for anything intrusive.”

After several variations on the same question as well as a number of scans of different ‘levels,’ the questioning escalated to orders, as well an extremely uncomfortable mock fight that he would probably tell his grandchildren about, provided he survived today, and also was allowed to have grandchildren.

Still, Eights couldn’t quite recall ever learning an Order 66 and was starting to relax, thinking the whole thing was some sort of horrible separatist lie.

They left him alone for an uncertain amount of time before returning with-

“Quickdraw?!” Eights jumped up at the sight of his commanding officer arriving via hoverchair, nervously saluting with his left hand.”I didn’t know you were here!”

“Just got out of bacta. My spine’s not quite what it used to be after the blast,” the lieutenant responded wryly. “At ease, Eights.”

“Our apologies again for waking you prematurely,” General Koon said softly.

Quickdraw waved the General off. “I’m honored you did. For something as serious this- well I’d hardly forgive myself if I just slept through it.”

Quickdraw locked eyes with Eights. “I’m supposed to try giving you ‘the order’ now- General Kenobi suspects that as your superior officer, I might be authorized to trigger whatever the hell the longnecks put in our heads.”

Eights swallowed hard. “The longnecks, sir?”

“Who else?” Quickdraw asked in a tone drier than Jakku. He spun in the chair to face General Koon. “How are we doing this?”

After a brief discussion, the troopers ended up on opposite sides of a sound-proof transparisteel divider, an comm channel open between them. Eights plugged his ears and gave the order first. And giving Quickdraw an order was almost but not quite as weird as giving an order that would apparently make him try and kill Jedi.

Nothing happened and they swapped, this time with Quickdraw using a waxy covering to block his hearing.

His lieutenant stared at him straight through the clear divider and ordered him to execute Order 66. This time he finally remembered his training, and realized he was woefully outgunned. Oh well, he was a good soldier.

Eights stood up. The only visible change in his expression was a widening of his pupils. There was no malicious intent palpable in the force- he didn’t even look angry- just determined.

He lunged at the Jedi next to him, only to hit an invisible wall. He threw himself at the barrier desperately while the traitor backed out of the room and escaped. The wall finally dropped, but it was too late, he was locked in.

Sighing, he picked up the chair with his one good arm, slamming it repeatedly at the door frame. Good soldiers follow orders.

On the other side of the observation window, Quickdraw stumbled back horrified, reaching for his ears before hesitating. General Koon softly tapped his shoulder and indicated they should leave. 

“I’ve got a location.” Master Che said quietly as the lieutenant was ushered into an antechamber and the activated trooper continued to beat at the door. “It’s a small but clear patch lit up like the festival of lights- I don’t know why it didn’t turn up in scans but...I’m as confident as I can be. Worst case- it’s a small enough area that removing the grey matter shouldn’t...well it won’t kill him. It’s enough to go on for microscapel surgery.” General Koon nodded, then tilted forward, weight falling heavily in his palms on the counter before him.

Vokara rested a hand gently on his back “...I was hoping it wasn’t true as well.”

Master Koon flinched away. “I am sorry and glad to say you do not understand my feelings on the matter. I think...my apologies but I need some time to meditate.”

“Of course.”

Koon rushed out. After a moment Master Windu stepped in, radiating similar distress as Master Koon. Master Kenobi followed, looking grim but also happy. 

‘Oh I’m glad Koon isn’t around him right now,’ Healer Che thought wryly.

Perhaps sensing the mood, Obi-Wan sobered. 

“I’m sorry it’s just- I didn’t actually see the order get activated. Of course I believed it wasn’t a choice- and I’m obviously not glad that anyone’s will could be taken so easily-”

“You don’t have to explain anymore,” Mace offered quietly. “I can understand why seeing this would be something of a relief, all things considered.”

The Head Healer nodded in agreement before taking charge. “Kenobi, go in with Eerin and help her sedate him. I’ll prepare for surgery.”

“Wait- shouldn’t we try other permutations first? It’s possible that once activated, a clone might be able to order a superior officer-”

“And it’s also possible that if a lieutenant is activated, the entire army will turn,” Mace snapped. Obi-Wan bent his head, chastised. 

“Right. Yes. I’ll go- find Bant.”

An extremely long hour later, Master Che returned from surgery. Masters Mundi, Koth, and Yoda had left to and fulfill the other thousand and one duties of a council member not unravelling a Sith conspiracy at the heart of the Republic, while Master Aerdo had been dispatched to talk with Quickdraw as well as some of the other troopers in the hidden Medical bay. 

“It’s a chip,” Vokara said grimly. “Native biological material, but clearly a chip. Like you would find in a droid. Far more complex than any slave chip I’ve ever seen, and no explosive component. It would only turn up on a level five brain scan. I didn’t even think to run it before- it’s overly invasive and typically useless.”

The reduced meeting crumpled at the sight of the infinitesimally small object of control, carefully encased in a stasis slide and placed delicately on the conference table.

Proof of Obi-Wan’s future, a future that the group thought they already believed.

“We should get Master Nu,” Adi Gallia said quickly, “We’ll want our top researchers analyzing it as soon as possible.”

Koon nodded sharply. “Agreed.”

The Tholothian Master stood, “I’ll go at once- we should probably keep any mention of this off comms.”

As Master Gallia swept out of the room, Plo Koon wrenched his gaze from the stasis slide to face the healer. “Master Che, what is Eight’s status?”

“Unconscious and restrained, but he should wake up soon enough. It...might not be a bad idea to have another Jedi nearby when he does.”

Koon and Che left the room, taking the chip with them and conferring quietly.

Obi-Wan leaned forward, elbows on the table and face in his hands.

Master Windu exchanged a glance with Anakin. 

Finally Obi-Wan spoke, tentatively addressing Bant, “Could it be possible for someone...besides a clone to be chipped? If Palpatine had access to them as a child...”

Bant drew back, gaze flickering to Anakin. “I- we would have to study it more-”

Anakin interrupted, shifting in his seat. ”Master- what did I do?”

“It- it wasn’t you. It wasn’t you anymore that the person who fired on me was Cody.”

Bant exchanged a glance with Mace, before clearing her throat with a soft gurgle. “Perhaps we should leave the two of you alone to talk this through.”

The Mon Cala Healer stood and exited rapidly. Windu exchanged a glance with Skywalker before he left. “Talk through everything, understood?” Anakin nodded.

The door shut, leaving Master and Padawan alone. “I feel like I’m missing more than two and a half days,” Obi-Wan muttered wryly. “I don’t remember you three having a non-verbal communication system consisting of eye-contact alone before.”

Anakin chuckled once then immediately grew somber, picking at a loose thread in the sleeve of his robe. A thousand thoughts were swirling in his head, and he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“I- did I hurt you? Is that- is that why you stabbed me, you thought you were defending-”

“I did what?!” Obi-Wan paled, jumping up from his seat.

Anakin winced. “It’s nothing, that’s actually not important. I’m healed anyway so forget I mentioned it-”

Obi-Wan moaned, stumbling backwards over the fallen chair. “Of force- when you were trying to save me- I had a blade. I cut you down-” He tripped backwards, collapsing to the ground.

“Master!” Anakin lurched forwards, but the older Jedi scrambled back.

“I forgot my spray bottle in there,” Bant whispered outside the door. “Do you think it’s too late to go back for it?”

Mace peered subtly through the small window in the door. “Yes. They’re already on the ground. I think they’re both crying.”

“It’s been less than a minute!”

“Yes.”

“...We should go.”

“Yes.”

Unaware of their muffled audience, the two continued their conversation.

“Don’t- don’t touch me!” Obi-Wan gasped, back hitting a wall. “I don’t- I don’t deserve-”

The young knight reared back, falling from a crouch to his knees, “Is this...about the Tuskens again?

Obi-Wan blinked in confusion. “The Tuskens? What about Tuskens?”

“You don’t...remember?” The air grew cold and Anakin forced himself to continue, “What- what we talked about in the cave?”

“What we- I-” Obi-Wan thought furiously. “...Anakin. What did...what were you apologizing for in the cave? What- what did you think we were talking about?”

“Oh gods.” Anakin paled now, shuffling back.

“What are they doing now?” Bant asked the taller Master.

“They’re taking turns chasing each other back and forth on their hands and knees. They both look like they’re seconds away from passing out or throwing up.”

“I...is this a human thing?”

“No. What? Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know! Do you think this is how they usually talk to each other?”

“I think perhaps they don’t talk to each other, and that’s why they’re like this.”

“Right, right... I really want to hear what they’re saying.”

“Hm. I don’t.”

“Why are you also standing outside the door then?”

“I want to be ready to intervene if they start trying to kill each other.”

“FORCE”

“Quiet!”

“Sorry. Sorry. You think they fought then? In the...other timeline?”

“...It would explain Obi-Wan’s shatterpoint remnants better than anything else.”

“Not to mention the spice.”

“I thought we were politely ignoring the spice.”

“...and then I brought her back to the homestead for burial.” Anakin bowed his head, tears streaming against his will. “I thought...Master I know I can’t fix this but I’m sorry- I already stepped down from my position as General so I wouldn’t be in a position to kill anyone else- I need you to forgive me.”

“Oh Anakin.”

“What? What happened?” Bant asked urgently. 

The Master of the Order appeared unruffled in the force and human visible light, but the tips of his ears were heating up in infrared. She stood on her toes to see in.

“Oh- they’re hugging? Seriously? That’s what you’re embarrassed to see?”

“They’re clinging to each other like younglings. It’s undignified for a Jedi Master and Knight”

“Alright that’s it- we’re going. I really don’t think Anakin’s going to jump from crying and hugs to murder.”

Unaware of their newfound privacy, the two inside withdrew from their embrace, still sniffling slightly. 

“Thank you, Master,” Anakin said in a shaky tone. “I swear I won’t let you down, I’m going to do better.”

“I know, my padawan, I know. I’m going to be there to help you this time, I’m not going to leave you alone with- well I’m not going to leave you alone.”

Anakin smiled wetly at Obi-Wan’s careful avoidance of Chancellor Palpatine’s supposed Sith alter ego, refocusing on Obi-Wan and making intense eye contact.

“What did you think we were talking about?”

Obi-Wan looked down. “It doesn’t matter,” he whispered. “It- it never happened.”

“Ori’vod, please. You- you mentioned younglings. I did something else unforgivable didn’t I?”

Obi-Wan smiled but didn’t look up. “And i forgave you anyway. Even when I thought your apology was just a fantasy. But it wasn’t, it was real, and- and the people actually are unmurdered so...it’s not worth talking about it.”

Anakin bit the inside of his cheek, gut roiling. “You...really think I might have a chip in me?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes snapped up. “I...don’t know. I didn’t even know that Cody had a chip in him.”

“You just...were suddenly betrayed by everyone.” 

“Not...everyone. Most who refused to fall in line were executed, of course, but there were a few senators who stood with the Jedi, secretly.” 

A new wave of cold terror passed over Anakin. “What happened with the other senators?”

“Like I said to the council earlier, from what I heard they cheered Palpatine on. Thunderous applause.”

“That’s not what I mean- Padme, Was Padme alright?”

Obi-Wan buried his face in his hands, shuddering.

“Anakin- I don’t know what to tell you,” he said in muffled voice. “I don’t want to deceive you but- things were dark. If I tell you everything now, I’m afraid of what you’ll do.”

Anakin winced. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me. I’m not...evil. I just...I messed up, and I want to make things better.”

Obi-Wan sighed, and pulled Anakin so they were seated next to each other in a mirror of the false peace a few days earlier. Anakin leaned into his Master’s side, feeling the cold retreat. “You’re not evil Anakin, but what you did to the Tusken village wasn’t exactly a small thing. I- look- Ad’ika-”

Obi-Wan hesitantly placed an arm around Anakin’s shoulder and the cold retreated a bit more.

“If the council accepts my plan, we’re going to have time together over the next few weeks, to talk more about...everything. We’re going to end the war- save everyone. I know the cave wasn’t what either of us thought it was, but it still meant the galaxy to me. I love you, no matter what...and that conversation, what you said. Well, it gave me the strength to go on, to do what I needed to.” Obi-Wan froze. “Not my, um, self-inflected injuries- that’s- obviously that wasn’t your fault-”

“You thought you were hallucinating. I know.” Anakin smiled, feeling honestly amused at the absurdity situation for the first time. “I’m going to mock you for that for the rest of our lives, you know that, right?”

“I look forward to it.” Obi-Wan smiled.

A vise that had been clenched around Anakin’s heart since he broke down the door to their apartment finally relaxed. “You really weren’t trying to kill yourself,” he sighed happily.

“I was attempting to stay alive. Honestly concerned about dehydration. I wanted to stay in the daydream, but I knew I couldn’t. And part of that was because you gave me the strength to keep going. Sorry I did such a bad job honoring that but, well. You know. Thank you, Anakin. For saving me twice over.” Obi-Wan’s voice was utterly earnest, though it was a touch more embarrassed than he was used to after the single day of utter unrestraint. 

Anakin’s eyes welled up. “I’ve been- I hated that you would just leave like that, give up-”

“Never Anakin,” Obi-Wan vowed. “I will never give up on you, or this galaxy.”

He twisted so he could throw both arms around his padawan.

“I swear by everything I am I will keep going. It’s... in my nature but gods is it easier with you besides me.”

“Even though i’m a child murderer twice over and once removed?” Anakin joked weakly, clinging desperately to Obi-Wan’s presence.

Obi-Wan shuddered. “Too soon, Anakin. Too soon.”

Part XXI

[jennagrinsoverml]

ML Fic Recs - Ladynoir

I think most readers can appreciate a good rec list, but it’s often the same fics that I see recced again and again. I get why they’re recced - they’re amazing! But I want help finding fic I haven’t already read. So I decided to be the change I want to see in the world. The rule: the fic must have less than a thousand kudos on AO3 (but I’m trying to limit to fics that have less than 500.) Obviously this means a lot of my favourites are not included here, but you’ve probably read all of those already anyway. 

If you enjoy these, please reblog so more readers can find these awesome fics!

To get things started and in honour of the quality ladynoir content we just got (which I’m hoping will inspire even more quality fan content!), let’s have some ladynoir recs. Fics are in no particular order.

Amnesiac? More like Amnesi-Chat by therealjanebingley

Oblivio's back, and this time only Chat Noir gets hit. Based on his limited knowledge and the way Ladybug acts towards him, he makes some assumptions.

One-shot. This is hilarious. From Chat’s genuine glee about his superheroes to Ladybug’s affectionate indulgence to having Chat provide an “outside perspective” on Ladybug’s non-platonic behaviour towards him to the teasing... I could see this actually happening in an Oblivio 2.0 episode.

Experimental Kisses by @komorebirei

Ladybug watched him. Maybe it was guilt, maybe sympathy, maybe a streak of playfulness. Maybe the traumatic akuma experience had softened her up. Whatever the reason, a thought wafted lazily through her mind and out of her mouth. “You know… you’re right. It isn’t fair, is it?”

Chat Noir looked up.

“I remember my first kiss, but you don’t.” She hummed and tapped her chin, making a show of remembering. “It wasn’t a bad kiss, but we were in the middle of fighting an akuma, so I didn’t get to enjoy it much, either.”

Oops—that came out sounding a little, no, a lot more flirty than she had intended. Anyway, if she was going to commit to this idea, she may as well go all in.

One-shot. Ladybug offers to kiss Chat since he doesn’t remember their kiss and the way she reacts to the kiss...it lives in my mind rent-free. I have fallen asleep many a night fantasizing about what the repercussions of the kiss might look like. 

What's your favourite colour? by @hermionemonica

Ladybug and Chat Noir sit on a rooftop, watching the sunset.

One-shot. This fic is short and sweet and absolutely lovely. It’s set post-reveal and despite only being 566 words it’s full of sweetness and feeling.

Margins of Error by orphan_account

“Do you…” Ladybug's voice is at an almost-whisper. He can feel her breath fire-hot against his face. “Do you want me to show you how I think they should write our kiss?”

Adrien isn’t here anymore, leave a message after the tone.

--

Adrien was raised on order. His life is meticulously planned, each day as reliable as the equations he studies in physics and calculus. But Ladybug- Ladybug always has him at a loss.

One-shot. Okay, so I know the author of this one since I download all my favourite fics, but since they’ve orphaned it I’m going to respect that. However, since the author was kind enough to leave the work up so people can continue to enjoy it, I’m going to suggest that people do so! Ladynoir kisses featuring my absolute favourite dynamic: sexually assertive Ladybug and receptive Chat Noir. (Don’t take this to mean the fic has sexual content - it’s just kissing.) AMAZING.

Liquid Luck by @somethingvaguetodo

Ladybug enlists Chat Noir's help in decoding the remaining ingredients for the power-up transformation potions. Together, they work on creating them, and possibly destroying the barriers between them.

Multi-chapter. The riddles of the secret potion ingredients are fun to think about, Ladybug and Chat Noir both get to show off their smarts, and the trust and support between the two of them is showcased. Perfect ladynoir.

when you weren't mine to lose by @bugsandchatons

Change is a scary thing, especially when it feels like nothing has stayed the same.

It's been a year since Marinette became the Guardian of the Miracle Box - a year of struggling beneath a burden she never asked for, a weight that has her leaning on her partner more and more as the hours fly by, of letting him come to her, too, when he needs a soft place to land. A year of falling for the boy who takes on the world by her side with a smile made of sunlight, and fighting the growing urge to tell him what he means to her.

After all, they'll have time enough for that when Paris is safe.

But when the unthinkable happens, Marinette learns the tragedy of loving someone quietly, and the lines she'll cross to save him.

Multi-chapter. This is what happens when Ladybug loses Chat Noir. It hurts in all the best ways and the writing is absolutely gorgeous and somehow we still get a happy ending!

well if i'm beautiful and you're beautiful then who's saving paris? by celebreultimaverba

Chat flirts. Surprisingly, it works.

And then it backfires.

One-shot. This one is so cute and sweet! It’s a quick read but you’ll be smiling by the end of it.

sometimes the dreamers finally wake up by magesamell

"Four days ago a mermaid flooded Paris and an ancient guardian introduced himself to his father as a substitute Chinese tutor. He had thought that would be the end of it."

Ladybug tells Chat Noir all of her secrets.

One-shot. Post-Syren. The fic we all desperately need about Ladybug actively working to restore the balance of her and Chat’s relationship after Fu messes with that. It’s not overly romantic, but it’s absolutely perfect.

i fall in love just a little, oh, just a little by @mlady-noir

If she was asked, Ladybug wouldn't be able to give a specific date when her heart decided to fall for her pun loving partner, but she could point out the night she realized it.

One-shot. Sofffffttttttt. This is just a beautiful narrative of Ladybug’s fall for Chat with a sweet, sweet ending.

Someone I Can’t Fall In Love With by @yslen54

Ladybug agreed with Chat Noir when he suggested that they should finally share their identities with each other, but she’s been dreading it ever since.

One-shot. This is short and sweet. An identity reveal that explores Ladybug’s feelings for Chat Noir and then plays with the divided heart trope.

The following fics are amazing and absolutely worth reading, but do feature sexual content, so minors beware.

You can’t stay away from me by plikki

When Adrien sides with his father, he expects to protect Ladybug and buy some time. He doesn't expect that his emotional state will make it so much harder to resist the girl that he loves, until he just gives in.

Multi-chapter. Rated M. Not-quite an enemies AU, but with all the beautiful angst and tension of one. There’s a fair amount of sex, so be warned but it’s SO SO GOOD. And all of the pain and angst is followed by a sweet happy ending.

baby, we don't have time to be coy by Molebear

"What are we doing?" Chat breathes, the words sending a tendril of lucidity back into Ladybug's hormone-addled brain.

It's a fair question.

The origins of this tryst are a little hazy in her mind at this point. Something about a lovesick akuma, maybe? Ladybug vaguely remembers Chat Noir getting struck by something, only seconds before it hit her too. There was a fight, or... there was something she and Chat Noir had been in the middle of doing - something important, like.... save-the-world important - before she'd dragged him underground with the sole intention of climbing him like a tree.

A scorned lover gets akumatized and gains the power to cast Lust. When it comes to distracting Paris' beloved superhero team, this power turns out to be... rather effective.

One-shot. Rated M. The UST of this one damn near killed me. It’s hot AF and I would commit homicide to read the conversation these two have after that lmaoooo

Charmed, I'm Sure by @chatonne-rousse

Friends with benefits. It's right there in the name, and it's what they are - friends. Best friends. This is just a way for two consenting adults to relieve stress after akuma fights, with the only person they'd trust with this level of intimacy. Really, what could go wrong? (The real question is, what could go right?)

Multi-chapter. Rated E. The sex is really, really hot. It’s in character and full of emotion. And there’s an amazing identity reveal followed by “I’m so happy it’s you!” sex. 

A Little Too Far by imploder

Ladybug gets handsy, and Chat Noir lacks self-control. Alternitavely: "Plagg's Worst Nightmare".

One-shot. Rated E. This one is hot and in character and just absolutely amazing steamy ladynoir content. Features my favourite: sexually assertive Ladybug. Because who doesn’t love playing with gender role stereotypes?

[niphredil-14]

The Lords With A Poppet Witch! S/o

*Just for context, by "Poppet Witch," I am referring to a practitioner of witchcraft who commonly/frequently/primarily performs imagery magick or uses poppets/dolls/etc. This does not mean that they only perform baneful magick, if they do at all. By 'Poppet,' I am referring to a more rag-doll form of poppet, as the poppets I make are usually made of yarn. Also, there is a mention of voodoo dolls here, and I would like to clarify that as voodoo is a closed practice, the poppets I am referring to are NOT voodoo dolls.*

Donna Beneviento:

I feel like Donna would feel the most positively about this. All this woman wants is friends, some company, and to not be hurt anymore, and she knows that friendships are commonly built upon common interests. Donna is a dollmaker herself, but don't think for a moment that she wouldn't find more beauty in your quickly strewn together rag dolls than her own professionally crafted ones. She finds beauty in the more simple things in life, and if you were ever to gift her a poppet, it would quickly become one of her most treasured possessions. She is even more amazed to learn of all your poppets can do! Manifestation and protection? Defense spells? She loves the idea of dolls being able to be much more than just pretty faces, she wants dolls of all kinds to be able to help and comfort people! She isn't a huge fan of the idea of hexing or cursing someone with a doll though. What she would love more than anything else, is if you would make a diversion poppet of her, so that any negative energies that might try to find her would only find her doll-self instead! She would be so grateful, and would probably gift you a doll as thanks.

She would absolutely adore if you two would ever get together and exchange techniques, poppets are different than the dolls she tends to make, but she appreciates the beauty of both the complicated and the simple things in life! She would love to teach you a few ways to make more detailed dolls, and she definitely wouldn't mind a few poppets mixed in with her dolls.

Lady Alcina DImitrescu:

Alcina would be fascinated. We have seen her basement, she is definitely a woman who appreciates knowledge, and would never pass up a chance to gain more. Alcina would very much appreciate it if you would explain how you make your poppets and what exactly they can be used for. To be perfectly frank, I wouldn't be surprised if Alcina already had a few old poppets of her own. I'm convinced that, at least for a while, she had an interest in, and most likely, dabbled in a bit of witchcraft herself. That wouldn't stop her from listening to you explain poppets to her, after all, you may have thought of something that she hadn't, although that's unlikely. She would feel honored if you were to make a protection poppet for her, and if she were allowed to keep it, you would find it displayed in her room.

10/10 would try to bribe you into hexing Heisenberg though.

Her daughters would beg you to make poppets for them too! Don't worry about adding a taglock to any of them though, they're main purpose is for when they are grounded from killing the servants and need an alternative.

Karl Heisenberg:

I get the feeling that Karl wouldn't be too interested at first. That doesn't mean he won't listen, he respects you, and therefore respects your interests, but I don't think he would be as invested as Donna or even Alcina. That is, until he remembers an old horror movie he had happened to get a hold of. It took him awhile to figure out how to get it to play, but once he did, and noticed the similarities between your dolls and these 'voo-dooh things,' as he called them, he became obsessed with the idea of you cursing Mother Miranda. It took a while to explain to him that there was a difference between your poppets and voodoo dolls, but even then, he had realized that these poppets of yours could be used to hurt Miranda, and he likely wouldn't let up on it, unless you make some kind of excuse about how there are limits to what the dolls can do or something like that.

Aside from troubling Miranda, he doesn't have a very strong opinion on poppets, though he does enjoy it when you hang out with him in his workshop, you each working on your each projects. Although he isn't super interested in poppets as a whole, he would love it if you gave him one. It's been such a long time since he has been shown genuine kindness, that it would nearly break him. If anything ere to happen to the poppet you gave him, his soldats would be aimed at a new target.