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lowkeyclueless5137 · 11 months

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hi hi hi, I have a Ben 10 AU question. Not only do I want to hear/see more moments with Pesky Dust(aka more details on how the four feel on this alien as well what else Pesky Dust form is used), and how said allies feel about said alien. But also what about the four’s opinions on Humugousaur, Jetray, Chromastone, Brainstorm, Spider Monkey, Grey Matter, Stinkfly, Cannonbolt, and Blitzwolfer, as well as Snare-Oh? Plus Ditto and Arctiguna too.

hmmm Pesky Dust is quite complicated... I did explain as much as I could the individual reactions on this transformations, but other than that, the transformation itself is probably used for espionage or blending in with the fairies. But then again, I didn't really catch a lot of it, I believe only once I saw Pesky dust and it wasn't a very radical influence. Adding That Pesky dust is an Omniverse form, which it's not actually cannon to the au(we only use forms from the classic and alien force)

As for the others, I'll try to tackle them by general, with a few exceptions that are most noteworthy :'3

Humangousaur

Big dino! Very useful when it's needed a bit of a *ehem* Heavy hand... It's a great alien, but very unuseful when it comes to battles that are on the NRC halls/classrooms.

Epel is very fond of Humangousaur, along Kalim, who likes to use shockwaves to put distance in between him and enemies.

Jetray

A useful Alien when it comes to traveling fast. Definetely a reliable one when it comes to fast traveling with no disturbtions or the need to make an excuse why you got in another continent faster than the earliest plane leaving from the airport.

Idia uses this one often when he feels petty and wants to give an extra-'let me fuck up this guy's evil plans'. Kalim also uses it when he needs a quick escape when Jamil wants to have a 'talk' after the 'misterious dissappearance' of some cooconut cookies.

Chromastone

the crystal jesus/j

Overall, in a place where magic is mostly used as beams and rays by petty teens, this alien is a GODSEND. Altrough it mostly dials back to energy reflection and refraction, if you know phisics(Kalim and Epel are quacking), you are almost untouchable just don't get too cocky with it :'3

Riddle is the one who appreciates this transformation the most. He knows theory and practice of the phisics processes that help him pose as invincible. Meanwhile, you have the cocky genius Idia, who got punted in a wall more often than Ortho can remember just because he got too cocky with it.

Brainstorm

Homework crab. That's it.

Epel isn't too fond of Brainstorm, but as long as Vil doesn't catch him using this alien for his alchemy homework, he's chill. Kalim likes that Brainstorm, much like grey matter, grant him more brain capacity, which in turn has Jamil a bit less worried, bc he knows that Kalim as the 2 is more composed and isn't relying on guts, but ration.

Spider Monkey

Hooooooo boooooooiiiii. This is a stealth alien, but at the same time, who doesn't want to just tape an annoying Ace to the ceiling? :3c

Kalim likes it a lot. He tries to rely on spidermonkey because he can make minimum damage and use the webs to either imobilise enemies or take innocents to safety. So bad Jamil has bugphobia. Riddle doesn't really enjoy it, sometimes still feeling as if he has multiple arms. Once Jack caught him grabbing with his foot a book from the ground as a tired human post transformation. Both decided to never bring it up ever again.

Grey Matter

Smart is not that welcome when you are easily squished. Like PLEASE let this mf rest. Don't put it in a cup anymore. He's great, but an inconvenience for the sole purpose that it's the most hunted alien by the NRC peeps. :'3

Idia uses gray matter when he does maintenance on vechicles, being absolutely great in this field. Kalim uses gray matter to try and undertand his exam subjects 20 mins before the exam itself :'3

Stinkfly

Nobody is a fan of the stinky fly. Unfortunately. :'3

Ok, maybe Epel, mostly because he uses it to mess with Vil. x3

Cannonbolt

Ball go brrrrrrr.

Idia likes it a lot, mostly for the childish concept of 'if I don't see them, they don't see me'. Cannonbolt is mostly a comfort alien for him, when Idia just feels like he needs to curl up and deal with a rush of feels. Riddle on the other hand, considers cannonbolt as a great rescuer. He definetely isn't touchstarved and enjoys hugs, definetely not, sir U-U.

Blitzwolfer

Unfotunately, no werewolf episode, but it's a great transformation for night missions. :'3

Riddle doesn't like it, but doesn't have the heart to tell it to Jack who absolutely is hyped by the fact that there is a transformation that hits close to his wolfhood. Epel tho, is THRILLED by this, but Rook is there to remind u that 'if it's animal like and moves, it's on the target list'.

Snare-Oh

A versatile alien, great for inside fights. Just be careful, in case your face falls off and someone sees it :'3

Idia likes Snare-oh the most. He loves the liberty of bandages and even contemplated for Ignihyde's halloween costumes to be mummies, alas Azul got in front of him at this one :'3 Riddle also uses Snare-oh in quite intricate ways, sometimes even making great string patterns with the bandages. That or have Ace 'match with him' xD

Ditto

Cute-shit lil alien that multiplies faster than rabbids(the series). But it's not that useful, unless you want to have a big pile sitting on enemies.

Kalim is great as Dittto, but his downside comes when he overwhelms someone with 'comforting hugs'. Riddle is very NOT fond of Ditto, mostly bc Ace made fun of him for being cute.

Arctiguna

Ice, ice, baby :'3

Idia thinks that it's a sort of downgrade from Big Chill, but since arctiguna is more loved by others for being considered cute Idia has to favor this instead of Big Chill when it comes to handing bad guys in public. Kalim also Likes this transformation, Jamil getting first hand of the 'cool cuddles'.

#twisted wonderland #asks :3 #ben 10 au

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flatstarcarcosa · 5 years

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our love has found its way into our mouths before

Summary: Three months ago, Slade died. Four days ago, he seemingly returned to life. Van quickly finds that something is amiss, and that strangers can wear familiar faces. Ship: wilson and wilson at large Warnings: Mentions of death, suicide, drug use, mentions of/allusions to sex (not direct smut) Word Count: 2800 Note: tumblr fucked up my formatting yea boooooooiiiii, i’ll fix it later, lmk if it’s Too Bad Too Be Readable

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The man in front of Van is not Slade.

They know this, logically. He's not their Slade, at least. He looks like him, sounds like him and moves like him, but he's not. He may as well be a stranger, but every time they seem to settle in with the idea of that, they catch him watching them with something so familiar in his gaze that it all goes right out the window. It's been four days since he barged into the house, only to stop dead in his tracks and drop his helmet at the sight of Van standing in the middle of his bedroom. They were wrapped up in one of his sweaters, brushing their teeth and flipping through the early morning news. It took just a few minutes for them to realize something was amiss. As soon as this Slade mentioned his Van being dead, it all made sense. He hasn't said where exactly he's come from, an alternate timeline or simply the future, but Van's leaning towards the former. Why he doesn't want to tell them is beginning to eat at them, but it's not surprising he's being evasive.

It turns out a Slade is a Slade is Slade. He's currently drumming his fingers on the tabletop, one hand holding a beer mug as he tries incredibly hard not to look at them. Van stirs the straw in their rum and sighs, reaching for a cigarette. “So, how'd I do it?” they finally ask, flicking the lighter.

“Do what?” he asks, brow furrowing. “You said your Van is dead,” they say, “and we both know there's only one way and only one reason why that is.”

“Actually...there's more than one,” he says. Van blinks as he continues. “My Joey is dead, and Rose hasn't been around in ages. I was...not around, either. Ignored a phone call, came back to find the house tore up, a message scrawled on the wall...” “That sounds exactly like when Joey got kidnapped,” Van says.

“It was eerily similar, yes,” he says. He takes a swig of beer. “You and Joey got along, and Joey used to come over for 'surprise' visits if I was going to be gone for too long. Because I got him killed, he wasn't. Because Rose hates me, she wasn't. And I...”

Slade trails off, turning his gaze and lowering his head a little. Van taps ash into the ash tray and takes a sip of their rum. “The fact that it wasn't an ambien and benzo cocktail that did me in is the most unrealistic thing you've said so far. But you'd find a way to blame yourself in that scenario, too.” Slade frowns. “I'm glad you think it's funny,” he snarls. “Really, it's balm for the wound.” “I'm not wrong, though,” Van says. “Admit it, you're surprised too.” “I'm not going to admit to being surprised that you were murdered rather than death by suicide!” he snaps, voice raising and catching a few glances from the other bar patrons. “Oh, well,” Van says, lacing the words with sarcasm, “excuse me for being unbothered by a different version of me dying! I never expected to live to see 21 in the first place, so you know, I'm not too worried.” “I know,” Slade growls, “you never fucking were which is why you never listened to me.” “Still don't, by the way.” They knock back the rest of their rum, and then suddenly start laughing. Slade blinks, confusion clear on his face as they speak again. “Do you realize we're sitting here having an argument about the most in character way for me to end up dead? Like, what kind of next level dumbassery is this?” For a moment, Slade says and does nothing, seeming to freeze in his anger. Then it eases out of him, and his face softens. He snorts, raising his beer. “At least it's on brand,” he says.

The almost-laugh is like hearing music, and it crashes down on Van just how empty the last few months have been. They weren't bereft with grief when Joey and Bill had come home to say that Slade was dead-- shot in the head with a Titan's arrow-- because they'd known that he had died before. They weren't around when it happened, but hell, he'd been in the process of faking his death when the two of them met and entered into a relationship. Van's response to the news had been to say “he'll be back”. Technically, they were right. Technically, they were also so, so wrong. They'd been waiting for Slade to walk back through the door. For him to collapse onto the sofa, or the bed, or whatever surface he found Van occupying. They'd been waiting to hear the low groan he'd make in the back of his throat when he came home exceptionally tired, the only warning they ever got right before he passed out so his body could repair whatever damage he'd done to it.

They'd been waiting for so much, and instead they got a stranger wearing a familiar face that pulled a knife on them and demanded they stop playing tricks on him. To top it off, neither Joey nor Bill are answering their texts or calls. They didn't bother to elaborate on the situation, something in their gut is nagging at them to let this play out on its own. Van sighs and leans back in their chair, staring up at the musty ceiling and willing the rum to work its way into their system quicker. Luck of the Irish, I guess...

If they think about it too long, all they can come back to is that it isn't fucking fair. Maybe it's selfish to disregard the Slade in front of them for being different, but they don't care. They want their Slade, the one they've been side-by-side with for six years, not the one they've only known for four days.

“Now that I think about it,” they say, looking back at him, “how long was your Van around? Here it's been six years.”

“Eight,” he says. “Ooh, did y'all still meet in Florida? OH, did I still have my car?” “Stop fishing,” he says, “but yes. And yes. I still have your car.”

“Excuse me for being curious,” they say. They pull out their wallet, tossing the money for the tab on the table before standing. He takes the hint, draining his beer and following them. He watches as they light another cigarette. “You'd stopped smoking, though,” he says, idly. “That sounds fake, too,” they say. “Why would I lie about it?!” he asks, and Van sighs. He's so short tempered. Slade never had a very long fuse to begin with, but this?

They don't know what this is. “Slade, jesus,” they sigh, “it was a fucking joke. You remember jokes? I do them professionally on the side? Often about your cranky old fucking ass?” There's venom in the words, and Van has no idea where it came from. Slade feels it too and they both stop walking. The heavy silence between them wraps itself around their necks, threatening to choke them both until nothing remains. “I'm- this is...” Slade runs a hand down his face, exhaustion tainting every movement. “It's not fucking right,” Van says. “It's not your fault, even you don't know how you got here, but it's not fucking right. I'm the only one that didn't think you were dead, but more importantly, I'm the only one who even cared enough about you to think that you'd be back. Everyone else was almost relieved to say 'Slade's dead', because it meant they could wash their hands of you without feeling guilty. You push everyone away, constantly, and I'm the only fucking person that doesn't let you get away with it. I'm the only goddamn one that loves you enough to deal with it, and then you go and you fucking DIE on me because you can't leave Damian the fuck alone!” It's all coming out at once. Van hadn't even realized it was bubbling over this much, and now the top of the pot has blown off to fly in Slade's direction. They're just happy they can excuse it with the fact that it's not really him. “I fucking hate you sometimes,” they say. They throw their cigarette at his feet. It bounces harmlessly before fizzling out. “I worked so hard to bring you and Joey together, not for you, but for him. Because I care about him, because I'm never going to and have never had a father and I could see it every time I looked at him how desperately he wanted a relationship with you. I worked so fucking hard to give him something I'm never going to have and then you go and you FUCK his FIANCE.”

Van reaches out and shoves him with as much force as they can muster. He steps back, and they don't look at him. “Not only do you fuck her behind his back, and mine, but then you have the unmitigated gall to tell him to stop overreacting. You couldn't just be normal, you couldn't just sit him down like a goddamned adult and tell him she was spying on him, you had to play your fucking games. Everything is always a fucking game to you and I hate you for it. Worse, sometimes I think it's myself I should be hating, for being fucking stupid enough to always play into your bullshit because sometimes you smile at me and laugh at my jokes.”

They go to shove him again, their anger getting the better of them at the last second and instead they end up punching him in the chest. They bring a fist back and punch him again, and again, and again and for his part, he lets them. “Then you just fucking die, because of course you do!” They're screaming, in public, and they don't care. “Why should you ever face the consequences of your own fucking bullshit, right? That's what you keep all of us around for! Acceptable causalities.” Slade says nothing. He doesn't even move. It makes Van angrier. “Say something!” They bang their fists against his chest. He doesn't. They don't have the energy to hit him again. He cups their face in his hand, a calloused thumb brushing against their cheek and it feels alien and familiar all at once. “I'm sorry,” he says. “I...I never told you enough. I never told anyone enough but you're the only one it would have counted for.” “Yeah well, I'm dead, remember?” “So am I.” God, what kind of fucked up irony. Van finally looks up at him as they reflexively lean into his touch. The weighted silence is still there, it's grip loosened just enough to allow them both to breathe for a bit. Enough to breathe, not enough to think. If they were thinking, they would know what happens next isn't going to end well for either. Then again, maybe they do know. Disregarding common sense to plunge headfirst into fleeting whims has always been one thing they have in common. Slade presses his lips to Van's and they offer no resistance as he pulls them flush against him. There's a deep, ravenous hunger in his actions that they're all too eager to fill. It occurs to them that when he'd answered eight years in response to how long his relationship with his Van had been, he didn't mention how long it's been since his version of them had died.

Too long is their only guess. Van doesn't take notice of how they get back to the house, but they know it's enough steps and enough time to pump the breaks. They also know they don't want too. They don't care now, they don't care that it's not their Slade. They don't care that this Slade seems so much more damaged, so much more raw than the one they had just a few short months ago. All they care about is that it is some form of him. They care that he smells the same, that he moves the same, that his weight feels the same on top of them. He explores their body as if he's never seen it before, leaving a trail of marks in his wake. He scrapes his teeth against their skin, giving a notation here and there about the differences from the last time he'd seen his version of them. His fingers trail over their pelvis, and they feel him grin. “No hysto yet, huh?” They let out an annoyed huff, digging their nails into his shoulder blade. “That's what you're worried about?” they ask. “You feel a lot better after, is all,” he says, gripping their thighs and nudging their legs apart. It doesn't take much work on his end for Van's mind to fade into static, but then again, it never did. He always knew how to get their ever-collapsing thoughts to settle into place, even if only for a few hours. This time, they don't remember falling asleep. One moment they're awake, pressed into the mattress and near tears as hormones and emotions flood their system and the next they're waking up to the sun piercing in through the window. They find themself wrapped in his arms, snuggled into the crook of his neck and their first thought is no.

No, they don't want to be awake, and no they don't want time to move forward and no they do not want to deal with the situation they've created. They want to go back to sleep, and they want to go back to sleep with the knowledge that he's here and he's him and that nothing is wrong-- no matter how false the knowledge may be.

They can't.

They know they can't, but the desperate burning need for it is enough to bring tears to their eyes and for a moment they wonder what life would be like if the damn dog had never taken off that day so many years ago. They wonder where they'd be right now if they'd never had a reason to take notice of his presence in their building.

If wishes and buts... Finally, reluctantly, they disentangle themself from his embrace. They pull his discarded shirt on and pick their cellphone out of their jacket. It's time to elaborate now, it's time to get some outside help. What good the help might be they have no idea, they just know they shouldn't be trying to handle this alone. Joey's phone goes straight to voice mail, and frustration begins bubbling in their gut as they listen to his greeting. “Joey,” they choke out, padding across the living room and into the kitchen. “I don't know what's going on with you, or Bill, or Rose, but I need one of you to fucking call me back before I lose my goddamned mind. It's about your dad...it's about Slade. Something--” they pause to take in a breath, dragging their hand through their hair-- “something's going on and I need- I need one of you to please...help me.” Van ends the call and tosses the phone onto the kitchen table. Joey not getting back to them is starting to get to them. Whether it was fate, or just luck, Van and Joey got along from the minute they met. They like to think if they'd met him under different circumstances they'd have still ended up friends. All these years and they've always tried not to drag Joey into any problems with Slade, but this is most definitely extenuating circumstances. It worries them as well. Joey's been through a lot lately, and the longer they go without hearing from him, the more they worry he's relapsed. “I can't deal with this,” they mumble. They decide to busy themself for the time being, and dig out the coffee maker. They shuffle around the kitchen, pulling out the grounds and the filters, and they get a nasty surprise when they pull out the pot and find they forgot to wash it the last time they used it. Slade was always the one that double checked that. They blink away new tears as they scrub at it with more force than necessary.

They're leaning against the counter, watching the coffee drip into the pot when a pair of arms wrap around their waist to pull them close enough to nuzzle their hair. Before Van can react they hear a familiar, truly familiar exhausted groan in their ear. “Next time I run off to get myself killed, I'll let you know beforehand,” Slade says.

He presses a kiss to the top of their head and reaches around them for a coffee mug, leaving them blinking like a dazed animal caught in a pair of headlights. Slade fills the cup and steps away, falling into a kitchen chair and frowning over his drink. He's staring at them with two eyes, and there's not a trace of his usual beard on his face. His hair hangs over his ears, the shaggy locks nearly touching his shoulders and looking nothing like the buzz cut that he—the other him has been sporting. “What's wrong?” he asks. What's wrong? What's wrong?

Oh... so many, many things.

#self shipping #self shipping community #van.fic #ship: wilson & wilson at large #the trouble with doubles

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