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bongo-clash · 1 year

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If I had a nickel for every billionaire that tried to kidnap me, I’d have two nickels, which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice

DP/DC week prompt: Mistaken Identity

'Look, in Bruce Wayne’s defence, he has a lot of children with black hair and blue eyes, and he’d had a very long day. But in Danny’s defence, he has no idea what’s happening right now and, according to his previous experience in being kidnapped by billionaires, his reaction is incredibly reasonable.'

(No content warnings || fic under cut!!)

Danny’s been in Gotham for about a week with his family, and so far it’s honestly been one of their most relaxing vacations to date. Sure, the drive had been long and finding a place to park the RV had been unsurprisingly difficult, but once the initial getting-there-fanfare was over with, everything had been great. The whole ‘not my circus, not my monkeys’ thing had been amazing for his anxiety. The famous Batman was more than capable of dealing with his peanut gallery without some random dead kid intercepting.

Okay, he was a little bit worried about Batman’s ‘no metas’ thing, but there was no good reason the vigilante would find out that little tidbit. It’s not like he’s even a meta in the first place! Being dead is a medical condition. Regardless, he’s doing the sensible thing and not making a show of himself; he may have flown over the top of the city invisibly on the first night to get some good shots to send to his friends, but no one needed to know about that but Sam and her gothic-architecture-inspo wall.

The hotel they’re staying at has good breakfast, the buildings in the inner city look cool as Hell, they already have heroes dealing with their issues so Danny doesn’t have to do anything, and there’s no ghosts barging into his room but the constant chaos of the city still feels homey. Overall, a ten out of ten vacation spot.

Surely, nothing can go wrong.

“Tim? What are you doing here?”

He’s taking a morning walk away from the hotel after he and Jazz successfully convinced their parents he would be fine on his own, and he’d stopped in front of Wayne Enterprises because Tucker would be frankly offended if he didn’t. He ignores the call at first, because he doesn’t know anyone named Tim, and it’s not his business, but that’s clearly shown to be a mistake when the call comes again but closer, and then again, but with a man putting his hand on Danny’s shoulder. He’s turns around to tell whoever it is to clear off when he actually catches sight of the guy’s face.

Sleek black hair, sky-blue eyes, a healthy tan and a very expensive suit. That’s Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne as in the guy who owns the building in front of them. Bruce Wayne as in the multi-billionaire.

Okay, don’t get him wrong, Bruce Wayne does some pretty honourable charity work, and his tech is pretty cool and Tucker’s obsessed with it, but Danny has a very sour history with billionaires and even before he’d met Vlad he wasn’t a fan of them; being friends with Sam for long enough does that to a guy. Dealing with the fruitloop had only cemented what he already knew, and that’s that you shouldn’t trust people that rich as far as you can throw them (or, maybe just not at all, since he figures he could actually throw them pretty damn far, considering the ghost powers).

Plus, Bruce ‘Brucie’ Wayne has this really weird habit of acting like a ditz, and quite frankly, Danny doesn’t buy it. He’s been successfully running a huge company and heading welfare campaigns for years, and if he’s truly as air-headed as he presents himself to be Vlad would’ve snatched up his company and his wealth in a heartbeat. Vlad, who is the other billionaire he knows, who is also pretending to be something he’s not with the whole ‘gentle hermit’ vibe he maintains with the press. No, there’s definitely something weird about Bruce Wayne and he hadn’t particularly wanted to meet the guy to find out what it is.

However, it’s looking like he doesn’t have much choice, what with the man having a hand on his shoulder and being about ten inches from his face. “Uh.” He blurts eloquently. “Hi?”

“Tim,” He repeats, frowning. “Why are you here? I told you to take the day off- don’t tell me you were just planning on sneaking off to work anyway.”

Danny’s certain Tucker mentioned some co-CEO of Wayne Enterprises called Tim, and he’s fairly certain Tucker mentioned he was the same age as them and also Bruce’s ward, but do they really look similar? No one’s ever said they do to his face, and he thought that was the kind of thing people talked about- the whole ‘who’s your celebrity lookalike’. So why-?

…Tucker also mentioned that almost all of Bruce Wayne’s wards have the same black hair and blue eyes. He’d even joked how Danny ‘fit the bill’. Oh no. What if this is an obsession-with-having-a-son-just-like-him thing? Do all billionaires do that or is that just Vlad? He could really do with someone else to compare the guy to that isn’t the fruitloop right now- it’d be really great to have some kind of gauge amongst general average billionaire behaviour so that he actually knew what to do.

Staying quiet to gather his thoughts was apparently not his greatest move, though, because the man’s frown only deepens. Bruce Wayne’s hand moves from the top of his shoulder to his arm, giving it a light squeeze that seems like it’s supposed to be comforting but really just makes him more nervous. “I’m taking you back to the manor. You were supposed to take a day off and I really think relaxing would do you some good.”

Now, there are a lot of things Danny could do to absolve this situation, and the smartest of all of them would be to inform him that there’s been a misunderstanding and that he’s just some random tourist who’d been wanting to take some pictures.

“I— what- can’t you just leave me here? Don’t you need to go in there?” Is what he says instead, because fight, flight, or freeze apparently includes brain freeze too. His mom was right, he never should’ve been allowed out unsupervised. Why didn’t he bring Jazz with him?

“The meeting can wait, you’re more important.” The man soothes, and suddenly the hand on his arm is pulling him away, leading him over to an incredibly expensive car and Danny’s so bewildered by the whole situation he doesn’t even fight back. He stands there, limp, as Bruce Wayne opens the car doors, nudges him inside, starts the engine, and drives further and further away from Danny’s hotel.

They’ve been driving for about twenty minutes before his stupor finally breaks, and by then they’ve fully left the bustle of the inner city and entered the sparsely populated realm of high society estates— Bristol, he thinks it was called? Doesn’t matter. He needs to get out and he needed to be out yesterday; he can’t believe he ever thought he could have a remotely sensible vacation. Let your guard down one time and you get kidnapped by a man with more money than everyone else in the state combined (though, to be fair, that sounds more normal given his circumstances than it should. Still, the billionaire being Bruce Wayne isn’t normal).

Now, there are a lot of things Danny could do to absolve this situation, and the smartest of all of them would be tell Bruce Wayne that he’d been too shocked to refute the man, but he wasn’t actually his son, and had finally gathered his bearings to say so and was very sorry for causing him undue stress.

Instead, Danny jumps out of a moving car.

Distantly registering the yell of alarm and the screech of the vehicle pulling to a sudden stop, he tanks the roll and springs back up again, taking in his surroundings for all of a second before sprinting in the opposite direction of wherever they’d been going. Bruce Wayne is definitely chasing after him- he can hear the heavy footfalls pounding behind him- but Danny’s been running from his problems for years. There’s no way he’s letting them catch up to him now.

He rounds a corner and disappears into thin air, because Batman’s not a day time hero so what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him and surely he’d get that Danny was only doing it for the sake of his personal safety. I mean, who’s he to say that Bruce Wayne doesn’t layer on his fortunes with the occasional ransom situation? …Maybe not the best excuse he’s ever come up with, but the damage is done now, and he drifts away for a few more minutes until he figures he’s far enough from his initial launch point that he can drop the invisibility.

Looking around, he can tell that he’s definitely lost, his surroundings still reeking of big money and the actual meat of the city barely hanging on the horizon. Well, technically he’s not that lost, given that he can still see inner-Gotham from here, but he doesn’t know where the Hell his hotel is in all that grey, and the walk looks far. While he was willing to risk the momentary power-usage to get himself out of the billionaire’s sights, he figures that trying anything else would be pushing his luck a bit further than it was willing to take him.

He must’ve been thinking about it for a lot longer than he realised, though, because he hears a quiet thud behind him, and there is now a vigilante blocking his exit. Long-ish black hair, an admonishing expression, and a black and blue outfit with a bird decal.

That’s one of the Bats. NIghtwing, he thinks?

Aren’t they all supposed to be nighttime vigilantes?

As if hearing his questions, the taller man tuts, bringing his hands to his hips like his mom does when he breaks curfew. He hasn’t got out the electric-stick-things that he’s pretty sure the guy owns, so that’s good. “Tim,” He starts, tone starkly disappointed, and- hold on, why is Nightwing on a first name basis with the Wayne Enterprises CEO? “I thought B told you to take today off.”

Hold on, that’s a weird thing for a vigilante to know about the Wayne Enterprises CEO, and- Danny’s assuming B means Bruce Wayne- why is he using such a casual nickname for the billionaire? Do they know each other? He supposes it makes sense if they’re all in cahoots, since the Bats’ stuff does seem pretty expensive-looking, but he’d honestly kind of assumed Batman was just some rich reclusive vampire or something. Like Vlad but morally-reversed.

Unless Batman is still a billionaire and not just funded by Bruce Wayne. Nightwing knowing the Tim guy would make sense, then, given they might see each other at rich people things. But, actually, would that make sense? Vigilante socialites don’t usually go around telling their other socialite friends that they’re vigilantes, do they?

Unless Batman is Bruce Wayne. But that’s ridiculous. He’d figured the guy was hiding something, and the hoard of children is kind of indicative of a weird guy generally, but the man being some kind of edgy bat-themed hero in his spare time was just too ridiculous. There’s no way.

…

…Holy shit. Batman is totally Bruce Wayne.

That means that Nightwing is probably one of Bruce Wayne’s many sons, which means that he’s one of Tim Drake-Wayne’s many brothers, which means Bruce Wayne may have called him to chase him down and bring him back to the manor. Even though they shouldn’t be doing that because he isn’t Tim Drake.

Now, there are a lot of things Danny could do to absolve this situation, and the smartest of all of them would be tell Nightwing that by some hilarious comedy-of-errors, Bruce Wayne had mistaken him for his son Tim the CEO when he is in fact Danny Fenton the tourist, and he’s very sorry for the fuss he’s caused, but he should probably call his sister to pick him up now, thank you very much.

Instead, Danny feints left and tries to dash out the corner he’d trapped himself in from Nightwing’s other side. Nightwing grabs him like a small dog with one arm and raises a grappling hook to the nearest roof. Danny feels like this is probably karma for all the property damage he’s caused in Amity as they’re flung violently across roofs higher than his town’s tallest apartment complex. He is quickly discovering that being airborne is actually so much worse when you’re not the one in control.

He doesn’t have an awful lot of time to ponder this, however, because they reach what Danny assumes is the Wayne residence soon after. Nightwing does an absolutely terrifying set of flips as they careen over to the other side of the ledge the mansion is on, and lets him go when they’re on the ground to put a finger against his hear, presumably to some communication device.

“I’ve got him, B! We’re outside the Batcave now- yep, all safe- see you in a sec!”

…They’re outside the what now?

Nightwing slings an arm over his shoulder- some mix of friendliness and making sure he doesn’t run away- and leads him into a concealed entrance against the ledge just beneath the Wayne mansion.

He has to be hallucinating at this point. There are actual bats in here. The whole place is scary and dark and gigantic and—is that a fucking dinosaur?

“Tim!”

And, as if just to cement how utterly absurd today has been, Bruce Wayne is striding towards them with an expression contorted by worry, and he feels bad right up until the moment the guy cups his face with his calloused hands (calloused because he’s Batman, what the Hell). “Tim, I was so worried,” He croaks. “What happened back there? Why did you jump out the car?”

Now, there are a lot of things Danny could do to absolve this situation, and finally, finally, he-

“What the Hell is happening right now.” He blurts, taking a sharp step back and letting the hand fall from his face, watching as surprise falls over the men next to him like an overcast.

Okay, maybe not the the smartest thing he could’ve said, but not the worst thing either, and that’s probably the biggest win he’s going to get today, so he’ll take it. “What are you talking about?” Nightwing asks gently, reminding him rather neatly that he is still in an absolutely gigantic pile of shit, seeing as he’s now going to have to explain that they have all made some very big mistakes today.

“Uh, okay, so funny story- and you have to promise not to like, beat the shit out of me or whatever-“ He ignores the horrified faces they make at that, nervousness leaking out into a hysterical laugh. “But, uh, a very bad thing has happened, and— it’s like, fine! I won’t tell anyone if you won’t tell anyone, it’s totally chill and I’m really great at keeping secrets-!”

Bruce Wayne cuts him off, looking terribly concerned. “Tim, whatever’s going on, we’ll-“

“I’m not Tim!”

The moment the words are out of his mouth, he backs away with his hands raised placatingly, panic heightened by the way the two men freeze in their tracks. “I am so sorry,” Danny chokes, figuring he can’t dig himself into any deeper of a grave than he already has. “I was just- I was outside Wayne Enterprises to take pictures and when you came up to me I had no idea what to do so I just froze, and by the time I came to I was in your car and like, I was kind of scared you were kidnapping me? Because I kind of have a history with billionaires and kidnapping so I just panicked and jumped out the car but that made everything worse ‘cause you chased me and now I’m in the Batcave and you’re Batman and-“

There is a very long pause when Danny’s words fail him. The Batcave is very quiet beyond the chittering of bats on the ceiling.

“You have a history with billionaires and kidnapping?” Nightwing asks, like literally nothing else he’d said registered.

Quite frankly, Danny does not want to know what their expressions are like. Averting his eyes, he replies- “That was definitely a weird thing for me to say. Sorry. Uh, yeah.”

“Are you safe?”

What is happening? “Like… right now? I mean, so long as you aren’t gonna feed me to that dinosaur then yeah; I’m just in Gotham for vacation. I don’t- it was a very nice vacation. Until like half an hour ago. Now it’s a stressful vacation.”

Bruce Wayne, to his credit, is not trying to kill him for his knowledge of the man’s secret vigilantism, which already makes him better than the only other billionaire he knows. The man drags a hand down his face, looking stressed beyond belief. “I should’ve known you weren’t Tim,” He breathes. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“Yeah, now that I’m actually hearing you talk, you sound nothing like him. Bruce, were you actually listening when he was talking to you before you shoved him in the car? This guy’s midwestern. What happened to world’s greatest detective, B?” Nightwing snorts and, wow, they’re not taking this half as badly as he thought they would. And, hey, now that he’s thinking about it, these are the first actual vigilantes he’s ever met outside of himself and Valerie, and wouldn’t it be a waste not to ask them for pointers?

Maybe it’s not the best idea in the world, but he already knows their secret identities and they’re being chill about it, so maybe they’ll be chill with his, too. Screw it, he’s doing it.

“Again, I promise I won’t tell anyone- I’m, ah, pretty good with secrets like this.” They turn to look at him curiously there, and he tries to talk past the lump in his throat. “I’m kind of, um, also a vigilante as well? Funny coincidence, right? Small town gig, though, nothing like Gotham! And I’ve only been on the scene a few years, so… I don’t know what I’m asking, here. Any good pointers?”

Nightwing looks thoughtful. “Does this have anything to do with the billionaire you mentioned?” He asks.

“It very much has a lot to do with the billionaire. If Vlad Masters ever asks you for anything- I dunno, punch him? He’s got a really punchable face, you’d know if you met him. It’s all creepy and shit.”

Nightwing continues asking questions as Bruce Wayne’s head remains firmly buried in his hands, and sure, maybe letting this well-established team of heroes know about his less-than-legal and more-than-ectoplasmic hobbies might come back to bite him, but right now he can’t help basking in the fact that he gets to bad-mouth Vlad to someone who Vlad will probably care about his reputation with. Everything else comes second.

“-Hang on, you said you’ve been a vigilante for a few years, right? How old are you?”

Okay, almost everything comes second. Both men are looking at him now with something that’s probably-definitely concern and is getting worse the longer he neglects to answer, and Danny is very suddenly reminded once again that the majority of Bruce’s children fit the same appearance-criteria as he does.

He’s just doubled his own problem, hasn’t he? It’s not just one anymore-he’s going to have to deal with two billionaires now.

He’s never going on vacation again.

#dp/dc week 2022 #It turns out Tim Did actually sneak out to work on his day off #But he fell asleep at his desk so he didn't answer any of Bruce's calls #And now Danny's fending off threats of adoption with a stick #Tim and Danny aren't even twins or anything. They have literally Nothing to do with each other Danny's just a lookalike with horrible luck #If there's any mistakes please just ignore them I read it over once and I just wanted to get it out into the world #Exciting news tho!! I'm posting another thing for the peacock au for tomorrow's prompt :)#dpxdc #Bongo's Writing!!!

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tennessoui · 2 months

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Hey I hope you're having a good day! I'm sure you've already got a handful of prompts but how about *shakes magic 8-ball* number 17, meeting at a party whilst drunk au!

hello thank you for sending this in!! i'm still working down my list of prompts, and this one is: meeting at a party whilst drunk

i took some liberties with the prompt here though, so really this is meeting (again after a long time) at a party whilst drunk

(2.8k) (gffa, anakin leaves the order after the war au)

Usually, Obi-Wan is better about this sort of thing. It is, after all, a matter of utmost importance. It’s a matter of survival.

Usually, when he receives an invitation to an event, he does not commit himself to going until he can complete some reconnaissance about the other guests invited. Until he knows beyond a reasonable doubt that Anakin Skywalker, ex-Jedi and current husband to Senator Amidala, will not be in attendance.

It is much better this way. For everyone involved, really, but especially for Obi-Wan and his poor fool’s heart. It is much better if they keep an entire planet between themselves these days—preferably multiple planets. Preferably half a galaxy.

But this is a retirement party for Bail, and Obi-Wan cannot miss it. His old friend deserves better than that, better than Obi-Wan’s cowardice getting in the way of a celebration of his decades-long career in the Senate.

So he accepts the invitation without researching the guest list. He thinks—he hopes—that in the past nine years, Anakin Skywalker’s intense dislike of Bail Organa has not waned. Anakin, when Obi-Wan knew him, when he was Obi-Wan’s—Obi-Wan’s padawan—had a tendency to make a snap judgement about someone and never change his opinion.

His hatred had been like an impenetrable wall, unchanging and immovable.

His love had ebbed and flowed, drowned out by his anger or his irritation, coming in great waves when he was in a fine mood and resembling a desert’s drought when he was upset.

But his hatred had always been unshakable once assigned. The very first time Obi-Wan saw it in Anakin’s eyes when he looked at him, a year after he left the Order and the last time they'd seen each other, he’d known for a fact that he’d lost him. That the love had dried up and gone and that it would never return. It’d felt like watching Anakin leave the Temple all over again, like a hand clenched around his heart squeezing and squeezing and squeezing.

So he hopes that Anakin has chosen not to attend Bail’s retirement party. Oh, he knows that Anakin’s wife is here, and he has already downed two flutes of sparkling wine to prepare himself for the sight of her looking resplendent across the ballroom, but he hopes that Anakin has chosen to stay home instead of wasting an evening fawning over a man he never liked in the first place.

Besides, someone should look after the children. They’re nine now, Obi-Wan knows. If they are anything like Anakin was at that age, they must need constant supervision. And he has already seen Senator Amidala once tonight from afar, knows that she is here amongst the party-goers.

He tightens his grip on his fourth flute of wine and turns his attention back to his conversation partner.

It is rather rude to be so preoccupied in the midst of a conversation with another, but Obi-Wan is an old man now and a war hero. He’s allowed to get away with much more these days than he could in the past.

“Yes, I admit the Jedi Order still has far to go in order to rebuild itself,” he says, mind torn between the small talk and the drink in his hand. These sorts of conversations are easy to have. Yes, the war took a lot out of the Jedi Order. Yes, we are still working through the damages and the trauma. Yes, it’s been ten years since, but sometimes it feels as if it was only yesterday. Yes, sometimes it feels as if I am still fighting.

And then—

Then the woman he is talking to grows bold. She rests her hand on his forearm, the one that is holding the flute of wine, and steps closer.

And in the Force, there is a rumbling of pure, visceral hatred, the sort Obi-Wan has only ever felt in the air a few times.

The sort that is achingly, distressingly familiar.

He turns his head, even though he knows he should not look. He knows looking will take him out at the knees. He knows he may never recover if he looks.

He turns his head and he looks anyway. There, across the room, standing to the left of a load bearing pillar is the drawn and furious face of Anakin Skywalker, ex-Jedi, ex-padawan.

Obi-Wan’s first thought is that he looks older, though he realizes a moment later how absolutely inane that is. Of course he looks older. It has been nine years since he really talked to him, eight years since he last saw him, and he has tried to avoid any news or photos about the man at all. In his mind, he is still as he was in those days and months following the end of the war. But logically, he knows that the time has passed, that not even the Chosen One is immune to aging.

Anakin’s hair is streaked with shoots of silver. It’s short now, cropped close to his head though still curling as much as he lets it. His face is worn, wrinkled in different, unfamiliar places. He is wearing finery befitting that of a senator’s husband, the color of a midnight sky.

It is strangely comforting to see him dressed in the same colors he has worn since he was a youngling in Obi-Wan’s care. If he were wearing white or, or green or pink, then Obi-Wan isn’t sure he’d be able to recognize him at all.

“Are you quite alright, Master Kenobi?” the woman asks, words filtering in through the static noise in Obi-Wan’s head.

No. Of course he is not alright.

Yes. He is better than alright. He feels as if his head has broken the surface of the water he’s been trapped under for the past nine years. He feels as if the sight of Anakin Skywalker is a sip of water when he’s on the brink of dehydration.

“You know actually I am not sure,” he tells her, which is overly personal and not at all what he’d meant to say. But that is what the sight of Anakin Skywalker does these days. It throws him off, makes him loose-tongued and off-centered.

Fuck, he thinks once, viciously.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he tells her, carefully separating himself from her touch and taking a step away. She looks disappointed almost immediately, and Obi-Wan should care about the image he’s making, how impolite he is being, but he has bigger concerns right now.

Anakin Skywalker is here.

“Enjoy your evening,” he adds as he raises his flute of wine to his lips and drains it in one go. “Unfortunately, I’m going to go get incredibly drunk.”

“Uh,” the woman says, but Obi-Wan is already gone. He can’t—he can’t stay. Not in this room, not under the weight of Anakin Skywalker’s stare.

Thank the Force he started the night by giving his congratulations and warm regard to Bail. If things turn sour, he’ll be able to slip away with only minimal rudeness.

And, if he’s being quite honest, things have already soured beyond the point of salvation.

But instead of leaving—instead of slipping out the room and running back to the Temple, tail between his legs, he stays. Inexplicably, he grabs another flute of wine from a passing server and retreats to a balcony.

Fresh air will sober him up, he thinks, even as he downs half the flute.

He should leave, he thinks, even as he stays.

He should leave—but he cannot bring himself to. Anakin is here and it’s Obi-Wan’s worst nightmare and it’s the only thing he’s desired for the past nine years.

Barely a minute passes before the balcony door opens behind him. Obi-Wan keeps his eyes pinned to the city-scape around them.

“Occupied,” he says, even though he knows who it is. Even though he knows the word is useless. Anakin will not leave until he wants to.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin says. Just his name, just three syllables.

Obi-Wan downs the rest of the flute. “Anakin,” he says, closing his eyes for a moment to gather himself before he turns to look at him.

Oh, he wishes he could blame the alcohol for how beautiful he finds him, but he knows that’s just some dark and twisted part of himself, some sinful and perverted aspect of his soul he has never been able to scrub clean.

“How are you?” He says, because he cannot let Anakin speak first. If he lets Anakin speak first, there will be a diplomatic incident, surely. If he lets Anakin speak first, Anakin will control the conversation—Anakin will tear through all of his shields and land on his sorest, most vulnerable spots. “How are the children?” “Do you even know their names?” Anakin spits back, eyebrows drawn dark and heavy over his expression. His face is flushed. He must have been drinking as well. “How old they are? Do not ask after my children as if you care about them at all, Obi-Wan—I know you don’t!”

“Luke,” Obi-Wan says. “Leia.”

Oh, he wishes Anakin were right. He wishes he didn’t know a damn thing about them, about him, about the life he lives now. One completely separate and void of Obi-Wan.

Anakin probably does not notice his absence. After all, he has a wife, two children. A part-time job, if Bail can be believed. He wonders if he still meditates facing the wrong way, back to the sun, and suddenly his heart feels so tight he can hardly breathe through the pain.

Anakin sneers. “Whatever,” he says and reaches into the folds of his robes to pull out a silver flask. He raises it to his lips and takes a swig, rubbing a hand over his mouth when he’s done, capping it and sliding back into his robes.

It is the alcohol that loosens his tongue, Obi-Wan knows it. Obi-Wan understands that he has had too much to drink tonight to be standing before Anakin Skywalker now, that anything that comes out of his mouth will be something he regrets in the morning.

But does it really matter? How could it matter? Anakin Skywalker was his whole life for a decade and a few years, and then he left. And now a decade has passed. In five years, he will have spent longer missing him than he spent loving him. What does a few words matter now?

Obi-Wan has already lost everything. He is already made of regret.

“I don’t know why you insist on acting so hatefully,” he says. “You left.”

He means, of course, that if anyone should hate anyone here, it is Obi-Wan’s right to hate Anakin.

Impossible, as it were, but his right. Anakin left.

Obi-Wan asked him to stay.

“You kissed me,” Anakin spits back.

And yes, alright. He kissed him as well.

His fingers itch for another flute of wine. Perhaps a swallow of the flask in Anakin’s robes. Anything. Anything to dull the white-hot ache of this conversation. Anything to escape these consequences.

“Nine years ago,” he says, quietly. “It’s been nine years, Anakin.”

Let it go.

He hadn’t—he really hadn’t meant to kiss him. It had been—a foolish mistake, something that had happened late at night, a few months after the end of the war, and they had been in Obi-Wan’s quarters, drinking and talking and Anakin had said something about leaving the Order, and Obi-Wan had said something about him staying, and Anakin had said, Padmé is pregnant, and Obi-Wan—Obi-Wan had kissed him.

A foolish mistake, made only survivable by the way that, for a handful of precious seconds, Anakin had kissed him back.

Before the yelling, the hatred, the anger. The leaving. Before all of that, Anakin had kissed him back.

“I have already apologized, Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispers, exhausted, and his eyes cut away from Anakin, turn back to the city. “I have thought of that moment countless times–-and I cannot begin to explain what came over me, what I was thinking at the time.”

He just—he hadn’t wanted Anakin to leave. Had thought that perhaps if he could—if he could give Anakin himself in all the ways one person could devote themselves to another, then maybe it would be enough. Maybe he would stay.

A foolish hope, one that Obi-Wan should have known better than to entertain even for a moment.

“I have thought of it too,” Anakin says. He clears his throat. He lurches forward, unsteady on his feet. His hand comes into contact with Obi-Wan’s arm, glove on sleeve. Thank the Force for the layers still in between them.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan murmurs, and the truth is that he means it as much as he does not. He is sorry for taking the brotherhood and friendship between them and shattering it. He is sorry that he kissed Anakin, that he hastened his leave.

But he is not sorry for knowing how his lips felt against his own. How he tasted.

Obi-Wan is a lonely old man, despite the family he has surrounded himself with at the Temple. Despite his new padawan that he has been training for the past eight years. Despite the trips he takes to see his retired men, Cody and the 212th scattered across the galaxy. Despite all the ways he fills his days, all the people he meets and talks to and trains with, he is still lonely. There is still a hole in his heart, a space that Anakin used to occupy.

“I have thought of it every day since,” Anakin says, repeating himself in that way drunkards do when they have forgotten they already started the same sentence a moment before.

“I’m—”

“It has haunted me,” Anakin says. His voice is sharp and angry and Obi-Wan wants to close his eyes and shy away from it. Obi-Wan, who has faced down Separatists and sith lords and blaster fire, wants to turn tail and hide. Retreat. Retreat.

Anakin’s voice turns—darker, wilder. His hand tightens and he tugs, just hard enough that it overbalances Obi-Wan. “I am haunted by the kiss you never should have given me.”

“Had I known you were married, I never would have—”

“You ruined it,” Anakin snaps. “You ruined my marriage!”

“I…” Obi-Wan’s throat clicks, words drying out. “What?”

“We filed for separation months ago,” Anakin says. His eyes are dark; he is holding his arm so tightly that it hurts. “Joint custody of the children, but a formal divorce. Amicable.”

Obi-Wan…Obi-Wan doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know if he can speak at all.

“It wouldn’t have been amicable if she knew though,” Anakin says. He takes a step forward. Obi-Wan gives ground. He does not know how else to fight Anakin. “If she knew what I thought about when I retreated from her touch. If she knew what—who—drove me from our bed every night to walk through our house like a ghost wandering the halls.”

“If your marriage ended over a kiss I gave you nine years ago, then it is hardly my fault,” Obi-Wan says, putting his hand on Anakin’s chest to keep distance between them. When did they become so close? This is much too close. Obi-Wan can smell Anakin’s soap, his sweat. The alcohol on his breath.

“But it is,” Anakin insists, unable still it seems to take his share of the blame and make his peace with it. “It is, because I spent half my life in love with you, then I finally commit to someone else—allow myself to look and love and appreciate someone else’s beauty—and then you kiss me, as if I have not already sworn loyalty to another! As if I could be yours to kiss! As if I still was!”

Obi-Wan shakes his head, unable to do more. “It was a kiss, Anakin, it was—I assure you, I am not such a good kisser that I can be blamed for your failed marriage when it was nine years ago!”

“Then you do not remember it as well as I do,” Anakin murmurs, and now—now the rage has turned darker, heady. His eyes catch and hold onto Obi-Wan’s lips. His eyes are more black than blue. His face is flushed. He is—so handsome. So beautiful still, after all of these years. “Let me refresh your memory,” he says, and Obi-Wan—

Obi-Wan is weak when it comes to Anakin. He always has been. He is so weak. And he needs—he needs so much. He makes a sound, something embarrassingly small and desperate, and then Anakin is kissing him and it feels like being sliced open and like coming home, all at the same time.

Like how it felt when he returned to the quarters he shared with Qui-Gon after his master had died—a homecoming, but at what cost? A death and a birth, all at the same time. He had lingered in the doorway that first time, unable to push himself across and into quarters that felt both strange and familiar.

It had been Anakin, a small boy still, who had grabbed him by the hand and pulled him inside.

Still now, even all these years later, Obi-Wan closes his eyes and allows himself to follow Anakin’s lead.

#asks #prompt fill #obikin #angstyyyyy #in my mind they kissed nine years ago and anakin left the order like basically the next day #and then they saw each other rouhgly a year later #and it was tense but not like quite so hatefilled #and then anakin finds out obi-wan got a new padawan and that steps on like ten thousand issues #aided by the distance theyre both trying to put between them then #and so anakin falls back on hatred and obi-wan falls back on trying his best to ignore the problem #by ignoring anakin #because after all #anakin left. obi-wan asked him to stay. and anakin made his decision #obi-wan is just respecting it

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surreal-duck · 7 months

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es rarepair week day 6 - holiday/shopping

i think about the flambé santa bears a normal amount

#just to preface this i do not celebrate nor particularly care about christmas at all. its their season to me tho #my sincerest apologies for yesterday's one. i have no regrets though and i enjoy reading the tags immensely o7 glad it turned out ok #es rarepair week #duck scribbles #doodles #midoyuzu #yuzumido #midori takamine #yuzuru fushimi #enstars #enstars rarepair week #just noticed i tend to go for the first of each day's prompts wkjwkjghkdjs oops #i think midori absolutely wouldve gone to each flambe performance and wouldve wanted those teddy bears too but failed to get one himself #its ok tho !!! she gets one personally from yuzuru later 👍#think maybe yuzuru also wouldve seen him in the audience and aimed in that direction but miss too. rip #also a new sketchbook for yuzuru !!! mascot themed ofc

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jewishcissiekj · 9 days

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will she ever be free from Quinlan Vos

(art from Women of the Galaxy & Age of Republic special)

#daily asajj thought of the day #asajj ventress #star wars #she deserves it #you appear in ONE horrible book with a male character and have a romance with him and they never let you live it down #smh #believe it or not this was prompted by legos #they put them next to each other on something new and i wanted to scream

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lattien · 1 year

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fingertips

#baroaso #barok van zieks #asougi kazuma #dai gyakuten saiban #the great ace attorney #ace attorney #dgs #tgaa #this is once again for a baroaso event on twitter! a new set of prompts each month #bc apparently that (and zines) is the only thing that pushes me to make drawings nowadays oops #anyway. fellas is it gay to gently hold a man's hands as you help him with his necktie.#(<- copypasted from my own twt reply)#dgs2 spoilers #dgs spoilers #tgaa spoilers #masked disciple #masked apprentice #my art #edit: there is now a fic based on this!! pls check the reblogs!!! 🥺

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stabbyfoxandrew · 2 months

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is posting super short fics to ao3 dumb?

#like... i'm talkin the silly little kiss prompts i did the other day?#i wanna Put them there so non-aerie-followers can see.#but idk if something so short would even appeal to anyone :')#BUT i would rather be dead than make one of those 'here are 200 teeny fics. each one is a new chapter' sort of fics?#not my style..#diaerie

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aydann-runs · 5 months

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Even though event planning isn't her thing anymore, Isobel jumps at the chance to organize their fifteen year high school reunion. The alien drama has settled down, Max and Dallas are back from Oasis more often than not, and if she’s being honest with herself, she’s a little bored.

None of them had really had much fun at prom the first time around, and so Isobel decides that she’s going to throw the best damn prom Roswell has ever seen for their reunion. She wants to do it for her family, for herself.

So, she spends three months planning, locking in the DJ and catering, working out a deal with Maria to provide the booze and bartenders. Convincing her brothers that Yes, you do have to go and Yes, you do have to dress up and No, Michael, you can't wear jeans even if you did for your wedding.

This is probably the last event she'll plan, because Socialite Isobel isn't who she is anymore, and never really was, but it's all worth it to see Liz climbing out of the limo and taking Max’s arm. She’s wearing an emerald green dress this time around, and it suits her, bold and vibrant, just like Liz. When they pause under the arch wrapped with faerie lights for a photo, Max catches Isobel's eye and smiles.

It's all worth it to see Maria standing at one of the cocktail tables with Dallas, her eyes sparkling with laughter as they take a break from the dance floor to enjoy a moment of relative privacy. Their relationship is still new, but they seem to complement each other, and Isobel's happy to see them happy.

It's all worth it when she looks across the room in time to see Alex standing next to where Michael's seated, hands extended in invitation. Michael ducks his head, and Isobel is sure if she were closer, she'd see the smile he's hiding. She watches as Michael takes Alex's hands and lets himself be pulled to his feet and out to the dance floor. Alex gathers Michael close as they sway to the music, Michael following his husband's lead. Isobel loves her brother, and he has many talents. Dancing isn't one of them, but Alex takes good care of him, and they move together smoothly, like they were always meant to.

And it's definitely all worth it when Kyle slides his arm around her waist and pulls her close. They stand in comfortable silence for a few minutes, watching their friends and family, until Kyle squeezes her hip and says, “Thanks for another chance at this. Everyone looks happy.”

“They are,” Isobel agrees, and she doesn't even need her empath abilities to know it's true. They're all happy these days. Happy, settled, content, and whole.

And then Kyle pulls her out of her thoughts and onto the dance floor. Maria and Dallas join them first, but Max and Liz aren't far behind, and they all crowd Michael and Alex. It's a tangled, joyful mess, and Isobel couldn't be happier.

#30 day writing challenge #day 11 #write about two characters dancing with each other #the prompt is there #if you squint #roswell new mexico #isobel evans #malex fic #ficlet #my fic

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tinderbox210 · 7 months

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Spocklaan Appreciation Week 2023

Day 1: Connections

-> SUBSPACE LULLABY

Title: Subspace Lullaby Fandom: Star Trek: Strange New Worlds Pairing: La'an Noonien-Singh/Spock Rating: T Chapters: One Shot Setting: post s02e09 "Subspace Rhapsody"

Summary: Two lonely souls connecting among the melodies…

Read on AO3

#spocklaanweek2023 #star trek: strange new worlds #la'an x spock #spock x la'an #la'an noonien singh #spock #spocklaan #star trek #fanfiction #my fanfiction #2nd entry for today's prompt #no i haven't made 2 entries for each day #not for each day...

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hendolish · 7 months

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the ficlets are gorgeous and just in time for Euros qualifiers. please don't stop writing them!!!!! if there's space in the queue could I please req Madders/Trent as a new couple finally giving it a shot after years of casual friendship, trying to get hot exciting moments alone at SGP with lots of flirtation (Madders charming and wooing and coming on to Trent in particular) yet the other boys keep accidentally-on-purpose interrupting and killing the moment and third-wheeling. even their rooms are intruded and taken over by the lads catching up or making themselves at home. so eventually they have to think outside of the box to get alone time somewhere unconventional (I was thinking the SGP pool after curfew for some naked illicit romantic night moves, but anywhere else works too) tysm!

james maddison/trent alexander-arnold | alone time ♡

“D’you think we can catch a moment alone now?”

Madders asks all-too-hopefully as Trent peaks around the side of the locker room door.

They’ve finished with training for the day so the other lads had filtered out quickly to go about doing whatever they like to do in their free time, having rushed to beat each other to the showers once they’d been dismissed.

Madders had purposely allowed himself to be beaten, taking a leisurely pace as he made eyes over at Trent to make sure he knew to do the same. The younger’s broad grin was enough confirmation for him in return.

“If we’re lucky enough.”

Trent muses whimsically as he pulls his shirt on over his head, although Madders doesn’t know why he’s bothering when he’s most definitely planning to tug it right back off Trent again when he gets his hands on him.

“Come ‘ere.” Madders beckons quickly, thinking they’d best not take their chances. A moment to yourself at SGP is precious and rare as England camps sometimes tend to feel like one big lads holiday.

He hooks his fingers into the waistband of Trent’s shorts once he reaches him, that pleased and lazy grin on his face as Madders brushes at the skin there.

“You bossing me about now, Vice-captain?”

Madders snorts a chuckle. The younger has loved to tease him about it ever since the news had been announced. He pings the elastic of his underwear into his side for good measure, making Trent wince slightly, but smile even wider, an amused glimmer in his eye.

“Maybe.”

He answers, as Trent slots his arms between Madders’ to weave around his waist and tug him closer, “Depends.”

Madders can already feel the dopey grin stretching onto his cheeks. He can’t help it anymore. Not since he and Trent had finally decided to give whatever’s between them a fighting chance.

“On what?”

Trent counters, and Madders is well aware of his eyes already flickering down to the younger’s lips. Trent catches him and the corner of his mouth hooks up into a smirk.

“If you’re gonna do what I say.”

He finishes suggestively as he digs his teeth into his own bottom lip. Trent successfully reads the question posed in his eyes and nods.

They finally come together in a kiss then and it already feels like it’s been far too long even though realistically Madders knows he’d been in the younger’s bed just last week when they’d faced Liverpool.

He rubs small circles against Trent’s skin with his thumbs as he slips them under the hem of his t-shirt, following the curve of his waist around to his back where he finally hooks his arms.

Trent’s humming against his lips, pleased, and Madders is feeling mightily smug with himself, but just as the younger’s opening his mouth to speak, a loud and garish voice comes sounding down the corridor.

“I’m coming back in lads!”

They jump away from each other at the sudden noise on instinct, even though Madders is pretty sure most of the squad have known about what’s going on between them for a while now, and share an amused grin between them just before Kyle bursts through the door.

“Right. Am I okay to open me eyes?”

Madders rolls his eyes over at Trent as Kyle continues to use his hands to cover his face. Really, he’d love for them to stay silent for as long as possible just to see how long the older man would opt to stay that way, but Trent’s apparently kinder than him, saying, “Yeah sure.” Although Kyle catches the disillusionment in his tone.

“Oi, don’t judge. You don’t know the things I’ve had to see,” He drops his arms then, the corners of his mouth perking up as he takes in Madders’ likely ruffled appearance, “I walked in once and Picks had John up against the—“

“Okay! Okay! I think we get the idea.”

Trent protests, speaking loudly so as to drown out whatever Kyle was about to say and Madders is thankful for it. He doesn’t need the imagery in his mind every time he’s getting changed for training.

“Good.” Kyle says then, beaming, his Yorkshire accent breaking through as he explains “Left my headphones and them lot are doing my head in talking about the rugby or summit.”

Madders motions him to go ahead with his hands before turning to continue to pack his stuff away, having pretty much accepted that the moment with Trent has passed by now.

The younger’s expression is half-frustrated and half-amused when he turns to send a pointed look Madders’ way, so he’s pretty sure Trent feels the same.

Never mind, Madders thinks as he shoots the Scouser a reassuring grin of we’re revisiting that later. At least they’ll still have tonight, tucked away in the privacy of their room.

However, as it turns out, as curfew approaches, there’s not one, not two, not three, but four members of their team still very much making themselves at home in their room.

“You gotta go guys,” Madders tries to prompt as Mase and Dec wrap up whatever mobile game they were playing these days between them, “You’re on the first floor, right? Gaffer will do his nut if he sees you out after curfew.”

All this had started with Trent agreeing to allow Jude to come and lay about in their room for a bit, which of course Madders didn’t mind, but this had soon turned into Jude inviting Deccers, Deccers inviting Mason, and then eventually Mason inviting Luke. Hence the full house.

Madders manages to convince three out of four of their teammates to eventually return to their own rooms easily enough, but his and Trent’s problem remains very much Jude-shaped.

As in, he’s currently sound asleep on Trent’s bed.

“We’ve gotta wake him.”

Madders says as he takes a step towards Jude, only to find himself halted by one of Trent’s arms.

“Nah, let the lad kip. He hasn’t been sleeping well lately.”

Sighing, Madders shoots Trent a look of, well, what are WE supposed to do, then?

The younger reads it well enough, grinning, “You’ve got a one-track mind, you.”

“Fuck off. I just like you.”

Trent’s still smiling as his gaze lands on Madders’ sad single bed that would hardly fit either of them comfortably. Normally they end up pushing the two of theirs together.

“I’ve got an idea.”

Trent promises eventually, before he’s soon rummaging through their cases and grabbing Madders’ wrist to guide him out of the room.

“Ta-da!”

The younger announces melodically as he turns round to face Madders, a huge, white grin on his stupidly attractive face.

“The pool?”

Madders laughs out, wondering how Trent had even managed to get them through the doors, although maybe that’s a question he’d rather not ask.

“Yep,” The Scouser confirms with a nod, already in the process of undressing himself, “Dead relaxing coming down here on your own and having to worry if Big H is gonna try and drown you.”

“Or have Jack jump on your back.”

Madders deadpans, remembering that one time where water had got up his nose because of it and it was less than enjoyable. Trent chuckles before telling him to get his kit off.

“Eager much?”

He poses in return before obeying the younger’s order, catching his trunks when Trent chucks them over to him.

The younger just shakes his head at him before he’s jumping in the pool, making as much splash as he can on purpose, Madders suspects, just to wet him on the side, still half-clothed. He flips him the bird for good measure before taking off his shirt.

The water is warm, thankfully, when Madders finally slips into it, and the younger is quick to crowd against him. Madders can’t help but grin to himself, no time wasted.

“Hey.”

He says, feeling like he’s in one of those really stupid romantic films when Trent answers the same back to him, his grin digging into his cheeks.

“So,” Madders starts as he raises an eyebrow, “You come here often?”

Trent laughs before he scoops him in for a kiss, splaying his large hands against Madders’ back to pull his body against him.

A gasp escapes Madders at the abruptness of the movement but the sound is quickly swallowed by the other as he presses his lips against his own, long and drawn-out, in the way they’ve both found they like.

Trent’s skin is hot against his own as Madders clutches at his arms, following the trail of muscle upwards until he can hook his arms around Trent’s neck, tugging him downwards and urging him to go on.

He lets his hands run where they desire, tracing the tendons of the younger’s neck until he reaches Trent’s jawline and the line of stubble there.

“Trent—”

He just about manages before he’s cut off by the other, “I know, I know.”

Madders wants him to move fast and make up for all the time they’ve lost being interrupted. He’s been thinking about this for days; Trent’s strong arms wrapped around him, the plushness of his lips panting against his own, and he really doesn’t think he can last any longer.

Allowing the younger to direct him, Madders soon finds his back pressed against the wall of the pool, the water noisily sloshing around them.

It’s no surprise really. Trent seems to have a thing for having him up against a wall.

“Need your— fuck.”

Trent gets his hands on him before he can ask, groping at his cock through his trunks and smirking at him before he’s discarding of them altogether.

And, yes, it does feel a little weird to be buck naked in a place that’s usually so public, but somehow it’s only adding fuel to the fire kindling in his belly.

“My hands?”

Trent asks, his eyes brimming with mirth as Madders frowns back at him. He likes to tease but still does as he’s asked, watching Madders’ face closely as he closes a palm around his cock.

Madders bites back curses as Trent flicks his wrist a little on the upstroke — they know each other too well by now. And soon he’s rushing to dig one of his hands into the other’s trunks, eager to coax the same noises out of him.

He bites into Trent’s lip as he closes his hand around his cock, just for extra effect, and relishes the way in which it dents the younger’s cocky facade just for a moment.

“You like that?” Madders asks because he’s a little shit and likes to push. Trent answers him by kissing him harder and fisting him more tightly.

With Trent’s imposing stature crowding him against the wall, Madders can’t help but bring his spare hand across his chest, fingers tracing each and every dip of his abs, enjoying the younger’s muscle tending underneath his touch.

“Fuck.”

The younger finally bites out before he’s spilling over into Madders’ hand, and Madders can’t help but feel a bit vindicated that Trent had been the one to come first despite all of his talk.

He breathes heavily against Trent’s cheek as he’s pushed over the edge, the younger’s hand still stroking him through it until Madders is gasping against his skin and jerking his hips away from his grasp.

“Missed you.”

Madders says without really thinking about it. And it doesn’t really make any sense, but Trent seems to know exactly what he means, a smaller, private smile just for him creeping across his cheeks.

“I missed you too.”

♡

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