#you’re so right exactly!!!! the bright side rly is bright at least :’)

[banghwa]

though i'm sad that so many armys treat hoseok like this and geneally ignore him most of the time, sometimes i think, well he doesn't need them. he needs fans who actually like his music and appreciate his art and he doesn't need armys who don't like hip hop pretending they like jitb and force themselves to stream it. i hate some "ot7 armys"' hypocrisy SO much but well i actually think that even though hoseok has less fans, the majority of the ones who truly do love him are mature enough to appreciate what he does and love him for what he does and not just his looks or personality. his looks and personality are just a wonderful bonus but i really think most hoseok stans truly adore him for his music and it's not always the case with bts i think. he has less delusional shippers for fans and maybe it's reflected in the charts but well, maybe it's good for him actually. let the fake ot7 armys secretely hate him and be miserable when he gets better and better at what he does and gains everyone's respect and admiration. if some people don't appreciate him, their loss. i wish they stopped pretending though and finding reasons to justify their stance but oh well. anyway hoseok performing at times square soon so true

ok but this!! this is how i feel to despite all the complaining ive been doing lol. like yeah it will never stop disappointing me the way armys treat hoseok BUT…..i see the way jimins or jungkooks or taehyungs popularity translates into how armys talk about or view them. even their own stans treat them like one-dimensional dolls basically. yes its sucks that in midst of the power hungry chart focused content factory that hybe has become that hoseok got put on the sidelines in favour of “shippeable members”. but i will take that any day over the bizarre fetishist glorifying treatment maknae line especially get. and this isn’t to say i think maknae line are just “the shippeable members” or lacking integrity or anything i think that’s unfortunately the way a lot of their fans see them which sucks bcs its gross and what the hell are they supposed to do with that? what happens when they start making their own music and it has nothing to do with the “safe” generic fanservice their fans expect from them? like yes hoseok is still really popular in the grand scheme of things but you’re so right ive yet to see ppl talk about him the way they do with other members at least in a way that is that normalized. and that means he not only has gotten to experiment with his music throughout the years and slowly find what jhope means to him and not necessarily to the fans, but it also means that what he does put out there gets appreciated by people who actually give a shit about the stories he tells. im not gonna pretend hoseok doesn’t care about charts at all, obviously its more complicated than that, but at the very least the hard work he puts into his music doesn’t get relegated to some playlist to be played while you sleep with the sole goal of being able to hold some sort of achievement over a blinks head on twitter. he deserves better than that methinks!

[tickleraptorss]

Asking For It

Prompto and Noctis have always been great friends, and as it turns out, they seem to have similar tastes... at least when it comes to tickling.

a/n: hi i had this rly soft idea in my head and i- (worms fall out of my pocket) oh god oh shit fuck im so sorry goddammit fuck

It’d been a rather innocent question. A question that Noctis found intriguing, adorable and relatable all at the same time. A question he’d never dared to ask himself, in fact. Even during the times where he was feeling extremely touch-starved, or just wanted some affection in his own... Noctis way. 

He would’ve never guessed Prompto was the same. 

Both Gladio and Ignis knew about Noctis’ and Prompto’s weakness, and even shared similarities. Tickling wasn’t uncommon between the four of them, although most of the time Noctis or Prompto would end up being the victims. Compared to Gladio’s strength and Ignis’ wit, the two of them were nothing but a ticklish mess of nerves. Not to say that they never got back at them, because of course they did, but more often than not these revenges would end up as failed attempts. 

But as time went on, and so did the frequent tickling, Prompto and Noctis found themselves starting to feel differently about the whole ordeal. While at the beginning of their trip they’d constantly try to thrash their way out of, say, Gladio’s bear hug (which was impossible), now they’d hardly try. Noctis had just thought he was getting used to being tickled nearly daily, or that his body was naturally reserving his strength for fighting. And then... a spontaneous 3AM realization hit him.

He liked being tickled.

Not in a sexual way, of course, it was more of an... intimate interest... as he would put it. Something he would only trust his romantic partners with. And since he was dating Ignis, Gladio and Prompto, there was no worry there. But they’d always tickle him until he was wheezing with silent laughter, which made Noctis’ mind wander.

Before he knew it, he’d started craving it. He would purposely stretch his arms over his head, leaving himself wide open for attack. He would attack the others in hopes that they would get him back (which usually worked). But after a while, he started to crave something more. Or... something less, depending on who you asked.

He started to find himself staring at loose Chocobo feathers for a little too long, and luckily the others just thought he was staring into space. He noticed he would stare at his companions’ hands quite often, and before he knew it he could feel the ghosts of fingers scribbling at his tummy, which would make him visibly shiver. It was only a matter of time until he realized exactly what he wanted. 

He was way too embarrassed to ask any of his boyfriends, though. He knew there wouldn’t be any judgement, and that they’d happily do it... but still... there was something stopping him from asking. And so... he tried to ignore it.

He thought about it a lot, though. 

He just loved to imagine fingers sliding across his tummy, wiggling so gently and teasingly. A voice teasing him about how ticklish and adorable he is. Gentle kisses to his neck as hands roamed around-

“Hey, Noct!” Prompto peaked his head in through the tent, causing the prince to startle. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. Got a minute?”

Noct blinked. He’d almost completely forgotten where he was. Ignis and Gladio had gone out to get some ingredients for dinner, and so Prompto and Noctis were left to their own devices. 

Without giving the prince time to reply, Prompto entered the tent and cuddled up to his boyfriend’s side, a content sigh escaping him.

“Someone’s affectionate today,” Noctis chuckled.

“I’m affectionate every day, dude. Gotta meet my cuddle quota!” Prompto exclaimed, tackling Noctis to the floor and nuzzling against his neck.

“Hehehey!” Noctis giggled. “Th-that...”

“Tickles?” Prompto finished the sentence, raising his head up from the prince’s shoulder to look at his boyfriend. “Actually... I didn’t come here just for cuddles... there was something else I wanted to ask...” 

Noctis tilted his head,  waiting for Prompto to ask his question, but in response Prompto’s face flushed a bright red and he averted his gaze.

“I-I... um...” He stuttered, before hiding his face behind his hands in embarrassment. “This is so embarrassing!” 

“Prom... whatever it is, I promise I won’t judge you,” Noctis reassured.

“I know it’s just... it’s silly...” With that, Prompto took a deep breath, and...

“Canyouticklemeplease-”

“Huh?” The words came out jumbled and quiet, but Noctis definitely heard the cursed word in there somewhere. “C-Can you repeat that?” Prompto whined, and then took another deep breath.

“C-Can you... uh... t-t-tickle me... please?” 

So that is what he said after all! 

“You want me to tickle you?” Noctis asked, and Prompto nodded sheepishly.

“Y-You don’t think it’s... weird... do you?”

“No! Of course not! It’s just that...” Noctis awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, shooting Prompto a shy smile. “I thought I was the only one.” His face flushed a bright pink as he said that. 

Prompto blinked, then smirked, quickly shifting their positions so that Noctis was pinned on his back. 

“You too, huh?” He scritched underneath Noctis’ chin, earning a surprised squeak from him. “I wouldn’t mind taking care of that for you,” he whispered.

“B-But what about you? You asked first!” 

“I can wait, you look too cute right now!” Prompto wiggled his fingers in the air, and Noctis squeaked and turned his head away from the wiggling digits, closing his eyes so he didn’t have to look at them. 

“Wait!” Noctis grabbed Prompto’s wrists for a few seconds, before taking a deep breath. “I-I don’t just... want to be t-tickled... well I do, it’s just, in a specific way...” Carefully, he guided Prompto’s hands to his stomach. “Just... be gentle...”

Prompto smiled sweetly, and kissed Noctis’ forehead before his hands slipped underneath the prince’s shirt.

“You’re adorable!” He exclaimed, giving a slight giggle of his own. “Anything for you, Your Ticklishness~” There was that teasy, sing-song tone that Noctis had been hoping for. He knew Prompto was big on teasing while tickling, but he had no doubt that he’d be more ruthless with it now that Noctis had asked.

Fingers began to move, and the prince’s body jerked in response to the slight movement of fingers. As they continued, Noctis tried to contain his giggles, keeping a hand over his mouth to hide his growing smile.

“Don’t be like that, Noct! I wanna see you smile!” Prompto’s fingers sped up ever so slightly, lightly scratching at the sides of Noctis’ tummy. Giggles began to pour out of the ticklish prince, and Prompto moved Noctis’ hands over his head, chuckling when he didn’t put them down again. “Keep your arms up the best you can for me, ‘kay?” 

Noctis obliged, keeping his hands above his head just like Prompto asked. Noctis looked at Prompto, who was smirking at him with a mischievous glint in his eye. 

Slowly, his hands descended onto the prince’s sensitive ribs, scritching gently at the lower area of the spot. Noctis squeaked in response, his face flushing a bright red when Prompto traced the lowermost ribs. 

“Ehehe- Prompto!” Noctis aimlessly called out, twitching in response to the light tickling. 

“This seems like a preeeetty good spot!” Prompto announced. “Think I’ll stick around here for a bit~” The blonde’s fingers kept tracing along the ticklish skin, watching as Noctis quivered underneath his fingertips. The prince’s giggles became squeakier, and he was wiggling involuntarily, but his hands stayed above his head. 

That was until the gunman’s hands moved to his sides.

Noctis yelped, his arms immediately coming down to defend the ticklish area. 

“Noct!” Prompto laughed. “You’re supposed to keep your arms up!” He teased, poking Noctis’ sides repeatedly. The prince’s laughter increased in volume as he desperately tried to lift his arms up, but instincts told him to keep them at his sides.

“I cahahan’t!!” Noctis squeaked when Prompto moved his arms above his head again. 

“Too ticklish?” Prompto teased, before giving Noctis a quick peck to his cheek. “Don’t worry, I’ll be nice and gentle!~” With that, his fingers were on the move once more. Wiggling slightly, the evil digits traced up and down Noctis’ sides, gliding from the sides of his ribs to just above his hips. The ticklish prince had buried his head in his shoulder to attempt to hide the blush and smile on his face, but there was no denying that he was extremely flustered right now.

While he did try to control his laughter somewhat, giggles still flowed out of him quite freely. Those giggles turned into laughter when Prompto located a particularly ticklish bundle of nerves just above Noctis’ hipbones, and began gently circling his fingers over the spot, making Noctis arch his back slightly. And of course, there was that cute, squeaky laugh that came out whenever a sweet spot was being tickled. 

“Aww, does that tickle?” Prompto taunted, chuckling when Noctis shook his head. “No? Well I guess you wouldn’t mind if I moved on to your tummy then!” 

Prompto’s fingers glided over to Noctis’ stomach, which made the prince’s entire body shudder. Oooh, this was gonna be a fun spot...

“Promptohoho!” Noctis’ giggles were now a full stream of squeaky laughter.

“Yes?”

“It- ahah! It tickles!” 

“Well, yes, that’s the point,” the gunman chuckled. His fingers continued to work their magic around Noctis’ tummy. They skittered around the sides, circled around his bellybutton, even traced along his waistline, which earned the cutest squeals. 

“Who’s my ticklish little prince, huh?~” Prompto sang, his fingers idly tracing random shapes over Noctis’ stomach. “You loooove this, don’t you? Sure sounds like you do~” 

“Shuhuhut up!!” Noctis could barely handle the teasing, in fact, it made him feel even more ticklish than before. 

“Well, that’s not very nice,” Prompto stopped the tickling, but still rested his hands on Noctis’ tummy. “I think you should apologize, after all...” he leaned closer to Noctis to whisper to him.

“You did ask for this~” 

Noctis groaned, flustered out of his mind. His face felt impossibly hot, and the tips of his ears were red at this point. He hid his face in his hands, but he couldn’t hide the fact that he was enjoying every moment of this.

“Don’t hide!” Prompto’s hands were back on his tummy. “Kitchy kitchy kooooo~” 

Noctis wasn’t sure exactly how long Prompto tickled his belly for, as he knew it was Prompto’s favourite spot (that and his feet). But it wasn’t much longer until Noctis tapped out, panting and letting out tiny residual giggles, which made Prompto coo at him. The gunman rolled off of Noctis and lay next to the panting prince.

“Sooo, how’d I do?” He asked.

“P-Pretty good,” Noctis answered. 

“I mean, it’s not exactly hard to tickle you,” Prompto smiled. “You’re a walking tickle spot, dude.”

“It’s not like you’re much better!” Noctis sat up, looking down at Prompto, before grinning. “Besides, I think it’s someone else’s turned to be tickled~”

Noctis pounced on the blonde, proceeding to tickle him to pieces, before they got themselves into quite the tickle fight. 

When Ignis and Gladio returned, the found Noctis and Prompto cuddled up together, napping away in their tent.

[sakuric]

study dates -> akaashi keiji

synopsis!the love you felt for keiji was growing bigger and bigger, suffocating you more and more each day, but you still didn't let yourself confess. all it took was rejection to finally word how you feel about him.

pairing!keiji akaashi x gn!reader

genre!fluff

warnings!slight cursing

wc!1886

gen taglist! @graykageyama @elixhirs @soranihimawari @admiringlove @softieynnie

a/n!hello babes :3 this is a short? not rly drabble dedicated to my dear sam @admiringlove , and every akaashi stan reading !! this wasn't proof read, but i hope you enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it :)

you were in love. in love with a boy whose presence made your heart skip a beat. in love with a boy whose hands are gorgeous, but he hides them everytime someone, who isn’t you, around him. he's a boy you've been in love with for a long time now, yet you can't gather the courage to let yourself tell him.

"hello, y/n. are you ready to study?" akaashi asked, sitting down opposite of you at the table. you were doing your study session in the library, as you do every week. although bokuto, akaashi's friend, once joked that you two go out on study "dates", but neither of you found it funny. and it made you worry, why akaashi didn't find it funny. of course, he doesn't usually laugh at bokuto's jokes, and he usually answers with a snarky remark, but he stayed quiet that time.

"l/n?" akaashi waved a hand in front of your face, causing you to flinch out of your daydream. "oh, uh, yes i'm ready." you smiled softly, opening your biology book, but akaashi noticed something wrong.

"you sure? we can skip today if you want."

"oh, no, akaashi, it's okay. i'm okay." you gave him a soft smile before continuing to read. "so what i'm thinking is-"

"what i'm thinking..." akaashi interrupted, a hand slid across the table to close your book, his deep emerald eyes gazing back at your own. you gulped, swallowing any sign of anxiety that could be visible. but it didn't help, akaashi knew you well, and he knew how fidgety you get when you’re anxious for something, so when he saw you anxiously play with your nails while waiting for him, he knew something was up. "is that we can continue this later. do you want to go out with me, y/n?"

as the words left his mouth, your body stiffened, your breath came to a halt for just a moment, and your palms started sweating heavily. "like- like on a date...?"

"yes, y/n, like on a date." akaashi let out a laugh, mumbling "cutie" before sitting back in his chair. "i'll let you think about it, and if you say yes, i'll see you tomorrow at eight pm, by the crooked tree in the campus park, deal?"

"deal."

—

the next evening came faster than expected. and you weren’t really confident with your choice to go on the date akaashi suggested. what did you have to wear? did you have to bring anything? was it a friendly date? the answers to these questions were too unknown to you, but nonetheless, you couldn’t disappoint your best friend, right?

“i was thinking you forgot about the date.” akaashi’s voice ringed in your ear, your body shifting immediately towards the origin of the sound. your eyes scanned his body; a university hoodie, a pair of black, skinny jeans, and his beloved converse shoes. you swooned over how he dressed, for the study sessions he’d wear a beige button up with a sweater-vest on top and some formal, checkered pants. but for afterschool chats and hanging out, he dressed nearly opposite.

“are you alright? why are you not saying anything…”

“you.. look nice.” you mumbled, stepping closer to him, in hopes that your anxiety will calm and let you speak the words you wished to say.

“thank you, y/n. you look nice too.” he smiled softly, his emerald orbs scanning your face for any discomfort. akaashi was good - he was good at identifying different emotions of people, even if there was the slightest change in a person's body language, he could already identify why and what they felt. he was also good for you, and you knew if he’d reject you, he’d try his best to continue being friends without it being awkward for you.

“akaashi, why did you ask me to come here?”

“i wanted to tell you something.” keiji extended his hand towards you, waiting for you to grasp it. he loved when you held his hands, and you’d do it quite often. akaashi never let anyone hold or look at his hands for too long, and he had opened up about how he’s insecure about his hands, their shape and form. that time, you comforted him by planting a small kiss on each of his fingers, saying his hands were perfect the way they were. you intertwined your fingers with his and started walking.

you wondered what it was that he wanted to tell you, what was on his mind this exact moment. you sometimes wished to be able to read people’s minds, just so you could figure out what goes on in that pretty head of his. and maybe, for your own good, what he thinks about you. these emotions flooded your mind like a flood after a rainstorm, and akaashi noticed. he stopped in his tracks, covered your eyes and mumbled ‘were almost here’ as he stood behind you. you two walked for a while, akaashi mumbling a few words into your hair as he led you further. your mind started racing with a million thoughts an hour as you wondered where he had taken you.

“okay we’re here,” keiji announced, removing his hands from your eyes. you turned around to see him smiling softly at you, as he stood in front of the object he wished to show you. you tried to get a look at it, but akaashi forbid you from it. “remember when you showed me that flower, in our biology textbook?” you nodded your head, anticipating what the boy had planned.

“i did some research and i found out that the flower is right next to our main campus,” akaashi moved so you could finally see what he brought you here for. and then you saw it… the bright lilac flower staring back at you. a laugh mixed gasp left your lips as you walked closer to the delicate flower, your fingers carefully tracing the petals. “and i also found out that it was planted here on exactly your birthday. so i think i’d like to call it the y/n flower.” you giggled and turned to him with a smile painted on your face. as your arms embraced keiji in a warm hug, you mumbled a small ‘thank you’ against his warm skin.

—

a week had passed and akaashi wasn’t seen, to you at least. you saw him in the halls and tried to catch up to him, but he’d walk away without letting you even say hello. you’ve had enough. what did you even do wrong? you two just hung out later after the date, he gave you a book he really liked and said there was something special in it for you- wait. the book… you haven't opened it yet, and maybe the important thing was why he was ignoring you.

as soon as the class bell rang you ran out of the school building and jogged across your campus. thankfully, it was your last class of the day, so you didn't need to rush. except you did, you wanted to fix this, you wanted to find out what went wrong.

you attempted to unlock and open the door to your dorm, but the door seemed to give you a middle finger and decide to not unlock. fuck it’s the wrong key, you thought and clumsily fumbled with the multiple keys you had. as if the day hadn't been horrible already, you dropped the keys.

“fuck!” you exclaimed, feeling tears prick your eyes. you quickly grabbed -hopefully- the right key and unlocked the door. you had never gotten in your dormitory as fast as you did now. without taking any notice, you quickly speed-walked to your bookshelf.

The picture of Dorian Grey, by Oscar Wilde. was the name of the book Akaashi Keiji gave you. it was one of your favourite books when you had read it in highschool, yet you haven't picked up a copy of it ever since. you flipped over to the page where a small blue sticky note marked. you opened it to find a highlighted quote, and another sticky note writing something underneath it.

“You are a wonderful creation. You know more than you think you know, just as you know less than you want to know.” y/n, have i not been obvious enough? I have tried to show you that I love you. maybe my cheeks weren't a bright enough shade of crimson when you kissed each pad of my finger on both my hands, maybe i didn't use my body language enough. Bokuto says that for a genius I am truly stupid. and I cannot help but agree. i hope, that instead of study sessions, we could go on real study dates, as a couple. but i’ll ask you this later. I love you, l/n y/n. please tell me you do too.

that was it. that was enough to make you realise what you had done and why he was ignoring you. you hadn’t told him.

—

“hey, y/n.” spoke akaashi, seeing you the next day after your date. you smiled softly at him and greeted him with a hug.

“hi, keiji. are we going to study today?” you asked, tightening your grasp on the straps of your black backpack. you noticed how akaashi’s hands twitched, he was going to hug you, or maybe hold your hand, but he restrained himself.

“i.. uh.. i have to go, y/n. see you around.”

—

he had expected you to open the book as soon as you got home, and didn't think about the fact that you wanted to give all your time and attention to it. it didn't make sense. it didn't make sense how all this time you expected to be rejected by akaashi when you’d confess (which you thought about never doing), but you unknowingly rejected him.

once again, your body worked faster than your brain could register and you were right out the door, on your way to akaashi’s dorm.

“y/n? what are you doing here?” keiji asked, his head slightly tilted to the side, signifying that he was confused. he was wearing that gray university hoodie of his and some black sweatpants, and you swore you had never wanted to embrace someone in a hug as much as you did now.

without even saying anything, you embraced his lips in a passionate kiss. akaashi’s mind raced with multiple thoughts, but nonetheless his warm hands travelled to the groove of your waist. you two made out with the open door for about two minutes until either of you realised it was even open. akaashi thanked the gods that no one saw and that bokuto wasn't over at that time, because he would've made funny remarks, that neither you or akaashi would've found funny.

“i love you too, akaashi keiji. i’ve always loved you.” you smiled after you two caught your breath. “i read the highlighted page, and i’m sorry that it took me so long. we could've avoided the whole… ignoring that went on if i had opened it sooner and i- i love you, akaashi.”

“i know you do, y/n. i love you too.” akaashi smiled, placing a kiss on your forehead. “how about a study date at the library?”

© all work written by sakuric is not to be posted on any other writing app or website without notice. if it is found to be reposted without consent, rightful action will be taken.

[shakspeare]

faith is the ache

→ dean/cas fic → circa season four. it’s the emo soldier of god for me.  → this is 90% kink y’all, most definitely rated r.  → ao3 link here if you’d rather read there → first time destiel writer the renaissance rly hit hard

Cas and Dean’s first kiss is a battlefield kiss.

It’s raw and desperate and bloody, torn from Cas’s lips like salvation, a prayer. Dean’s never been a praying man, but if this is faith, he’s a goddamn saint. He can taste blood on Cas’s tongue, feel Cas’s breath through his ribs, rushed and angry and brutal.

This is faith.

Faith is the way his fingers feel like they’re about to break. Faith is the way he’s holding Cas to him the same way he’d hold onto his gun. Faith is Cas’s eyelashes, dark and wet, ghosting against his cheek. Faith is every stolen breath and broken bone, every stabbing pain, every gasp, every tear, every loss.

Faith is the ache.

The world burns red through his eyelids; he opens his eyes. Releases his angel.

“Sam!” he roars, spinning on his heel, staring into the fray. The woodland’s half on fire, some demon coughing up its guts at his feet. He slams his heel down on its throat, scanning the tree line.

“Sam!”

“Let’s move!” Sam’s spat out of the forest like a rocket, tearing over the waste ground between them. Dean doesn’t need telling twice. He hauls Cas to his feet and they run.

The forest blurs past them in shadow and ash. The night’s dark; freakishly so. No stars. A volley of sparks explodes in the air above their heads; they flinch, keep running. Things had gone wrong, gone very badly wrong. Dean stumbles on the broken earth, curses under his breath. It was a trap, that should’ve been obvious. He was off his game.

“Dean?” The angel’s voice is curious, not yet practised in concern. Dean jerks his head; keep moving.

“I’m fine,” he barks, and Cas turns, keeps going.

“Here!” Sam’s voice comes low through the trees, and Dean gives a sigh of relief. He thought they’d overshot by a mile, but the Impala is just visible in the darkness. Least something’s gone to plan. His heart’s hammering against his ribs and something feels really wrong there. Broken, he’s guessing. He drops into the driver’s seat, fumbles for the keys. Half a second to breathe, and then he’s gunning baby’s engine to freaking Timbuktu. He reaches out to yank the door shut, but Cas is there, suddenly, holding it still. He stares down at Dean, eyes wide, hair going every which way.

“I’ll lead them off,” he says, and his voice is rough and low. “I doubt we will go undisturbed.”

Dean blinks, Cas takes a step back—

“Wait, Cas!”

He tilts his head, frowns at Dean. Dean gives himself a shake; man, he’s losing it.

“Get in the car.” The angel looks at him almost pityingly.

“No, thank you. I’m much faster out of it.”

“I’m not offering you a lift, you goddamn hippie,” There’s something moving in the trees. He slides the key into the ignition, keeps his voice low.

“You going off alone, that’s exactly what they’ll be expecting.” Castiel hesitates, still staring at him.

“Get in the damn car!”

Cas slides into the backseat just as he guns the engine and the angels break the clearing; the Impala snarls and jerks forward over the rough earth, spraying up dirt and stone in her wake, and if he said that didn’t satisfy him to hell, he’d be lying. He yanks the steering wheel hard left, spinning them out onto the freeway, and in 30 seconds he’s put miles between them and their heavenly little tete a tete. Cars flicker past either side of them, and Dean’s eyes flick up to the rearview. Cas’s baby blues are fixed firmly on the road ahead, that little frown quirking his brow.

“So it was a trap,” Sam grimaces, running a finger down the gash in his arm.

“Woah, dude!” Dean exclaims. “Upholstery, blood; blood, upholstery!” Sam ignores him, reaching out a bloody finger and daubing some hokey symbol on the passenger side window.

“Angel proofing, dumb-ass. They won’t be able to find us.”

Angel proofing. Right. Dean grumbles under his breath. It’s not the worst idea in the world. The pain in his ribs flares and he winces.

Yeah, they need some off-radar time.

“Check the map,” he nods at the roadmap on the floor at Sam’s feet. “Find us somewhere to crash. My four hours is calling my name.” His eyes flick back up to the rearview. No reason why.

***

The nearest motel’s about an hour’s drive. Sam falls asleep in his seat; Dean flicks on the radio. Adrenaline’s coursing through him like a freight train; it always does, after a hunt. He flexes his fingers against the wheel, shifts in his seat. Feels good. Feels strong.

His lips are burning.

“You ok?” The words come out a little gruffer than he’d intended. He clears his throat, keeps his eyes fixed on the road. It’s just the polite thing to do. Ask. For a minute he thinks Cas might’ve angel-ed out, but then—

“I am uninjured.” Right. “Great.” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, itching to do… something. He needs a drink. A sleazy bar. Pounding music.

“But I… feel strange.”

He can’t help it; he glances up at Cas’s reflection. Cas is gazing out at the night, frowning.

“Strange how?”

“I should have known it was a trap,” Cas murmurs. “There were warning signs. I failed to notice them. I failed to keep you safe.”

“Guilt. That’s called guilt, Cas.”

Cas sighs.

“It’s not a big deal, no one got hurt.” He ignores the stabbing pain in his side; he’s had worse. “Everyone make mistakes. It’s uh, human.”

Cas’s searching gaze meets his and he swallows, looks quickly back to the road. Jesus. A scattergun of images flicker past in his mind’s eye; Cas, bright-eyed, burning, in the split second before he kissed him; Cas, in the barn, sparks exploding in the air around him, hair lit up like some dollar store invocation of Jesus Christ; and another, something he’s not sure he’s ready to think about yet; Cas, with bruised lips, shirt collar open and staring at him like he’s seeing for the first time.

Yeah, he’s itching to do something, alright.

“Dean.”

He jerks out of his reverie, slides the steering wheel left a little, keeps them straight. Eyes on the road. Get it together. Right. He shifts a little in his seat, pretends like Cas’s gaze isn’t burning a hole in the back of his neck. His cock twitches in his jeans.

“Alright!” He clears his throat, reaches over to the radio. “If you’re gonna slum it on earth with the rest of us, you gotta live the whole experience. Guilt, shame, the whole nine yards. Now this,” he raises his voice over House of the Rising Sun, “this is a whole experience of it’s own.”

Cas frowns a little. Dean sighs, leans back in his seat. Resists the urge to shift his hips, let the denim friction graze his dick. Jesus Christ, there’s something in the air. He risks a glance at Cas again; he’s gazing out his window now, thank god, watching headlights flicker past.

Alright. It’s not like he hasn’t been with men before. It’s no big deal, right? Except — and this is the kicker — sucking some trucker off for twenty dollars is pretty fucking different. Isn’t it? His heart skips a little in his chest, imagines Cas looking down at him, Cas running deft fingers through his hair. Yeah, it’s different. Different like, there’s a part of him that wants to pull the car over and get on his knees right now. He remembers the heat of Cas pressing against his chest, rough and aching; remembers the sting of his angel blade, caught between them and digging into his side.

Is Cas thinking about it? Do angels get turned on?

He’s not even sure why he did it, why he stepped over the angel Cas had just gutted and wrapped his fist in Cas’s shirt. He remembers the last time he had sex; in that strip joint with some hooker — he’d barely started railing her when all hell broke loose and he and Cas had to book it out the back. Does this feel like that? His dick twitches at the memory; the chick buck naked and spreading her legs, widening her come-fuck-me eyes. He frowns, shifts, remembers the puzzled expression on Cas’s face before he kissed him.

Nah, this is different. He doesn’t know why — the chick was hot, Cas is hot, his dick’s sure as hell into both. But it is. It is different.

Cas is still silent in the backseat. What’s he thinking about? I feel strange. Probably still grappling with his newfound guilt, whatever that feels like for an angel. I failed to keep you safe. Dean snorts. Right. Safe. When has anyone ever worried about his safety before? He barely worries about it himself. His mind fritzes for a hot second; faceless men in truck stop bathrooms; this week’s monster, teeth bared and barrelling out of the darkness; dad, waking him up at three in the morning and thrusting a sawn-off into his hands.

Safe doesn’t figure. It just doesn’t. And if he slammed on the brakes and insisted the angel in the backseat fuck him in the next lay-by, there’d be nothing safe about that either. He shifts, presses his dick against the rough fabric of his jeans. A single streetlamp bursts overhead as they fly beneath it, and in the shower of sparks, he sees Cas, bright blue eyes, one hand gripping the back of Dean’s neck like he owns him.

They make it to the motel somewhere round two in the morning. Seeing Cas properly for the first time since he kissed him is a freaking test. It starts to rain as they haul their bags out the trunk, and Cas has done nothing to fix his shirt, where Dean had wrapped his fingers in his collar and claimed him just hours before. He looks a goddamn mess. Dean swallows, slams the car door, wonders if there’s a bar anywhere nearby. Cas maintains his angelic silence as they cross the lot, stumble into the motel reception. Sam stays awake just long enough to check in, scrawl a bunch of sigils on the window, and then collapse on his twin bed, shoes on, dead to the world.

Dean slings his duffel onto the vacant bed. He’d gotten a twin room on autopilot, hadn’t even thought about it. Now it feels weird. He clears his throat, gives himself a shake. Tries to ignore the ache in his throat. God, he needs a drink. Or something.

Cas is stood at the window, gazing out at the blinking neon sign. White Rose Motel.

“Uh, Cas— ” Cas turns, looks at him expectantly. “What are you, uh—”

He was going to ask what Cas was gonna do all night, going to ask if he wanted his own room, hell, maybe angels like their privacy, he doesn’t know. But Cas is gazing at him, throat exposed, and Christ, he doesn’t remember the last time he wanted to fuck someone this badly. Dean glances at Sammy, passed out on the bed, and clears his throat.

“Outside?”

Cas narrows his eyes a fraction, and then nods, the tiniest movement. He closes the space between them, and when he presses his hand to Dean’s shoulder, Dean’s knees almost give way.

***

The air vanishes, twists; rain glitters on the sidewalk; the night fills Dean’s lungs, and he can’t wait, can’t wait another goddamn second. His fists find Cas’s shirt and he seizes him, pulls him close; his head collides with the wall behind him; the pain in his ribs flares like an open wound, and he doesn’t give a damn, doesn’t give a damn about anything. He’s done thinking. Sex is sex, and he’s a freaking cowboy. He needs this.

He can taste Cas’s blood on his tongue, feel Cas's lips against his, rough and punishing and claiming. Mine, mine, mine, and oh god, he wants to die here. Suddenly, Cas’s hand locks onto his wrist like a vice, and he steps back; Dean’s eyes snap up to meet his; strange, blue—

There are unspoken questions in Cas’s eyes, in the persistent frown that quirks his brow. His grip tightens on Dean’s wrist, and he presses Dean back against the wall; he can feel the damp coming through his shirt, feel the rain, soft, on his forehead. Dean can’t remember the last time he was this turned on; he doesn’t want to stop, to think, he just wants Cas—

“Cas, please—” It falls unbidden from his lips, and in the silent seconds that follow it feels like heresy. He’s hard as hell, and the angel at his throat is looking at him like he wants to tear him apart, and god, if that doesn’t turn him on more. Dean finds his voice, chokes out a word.

“Please.”

Cas’s fingers wrap around Dean’s throat, and he can’t tell if he’s about to kiss him, or kill him, or both—

Then Cas kisses him and he moans; a prayer that’s snuffed out by the press of Cas’s mouth against his own and suddenly he’s desperate, starving; his hands find the back of Castiel’s neck and he holds him to him, panting, pressing into Cas’s kiss like he wants to die on the altar of his lips. He gasps into Cas’s mouth, inhaling liquor and salt and copper. Cas shifts against him, open palm against his chest and—

The pain in his ribs flares suddenly, sharp and hot.

“You lied,” Cas whispers. “You’re hurt.”

Dean nods, doesn’t know how he manages it, but he does.

“Ah— yeah. It’s nothing. It’s nothing, Cas.”

He doesn’t want this to be over, he can’t have this be over, not yet. Cas passes a hand over his ribs, gazing at Dean like he’s lost in thought. Dean winces as his hand slides across the break; he can’t help it. Cas’s eyes flicker silver.

“You should let me heal it.”

“Right. Yes. Okay, Cas. Heal it, please— and then—”

“Pray to me,” Cas murmurs.

“Wh— what?” 

His eyes are gleaming, hair lit up by the street-lamps, glittering with the fallen rain. He looks fucking otherworldly, divine. He loosens his grip on Dean’s throat, and suddenly he’s full of something Dean doesn’t recognise. All he knows is that he craves it, needs it, dark and bright and strong and holy.

When he falls to his knees, it doesn’t feel anything other than right. He doesn’t question it, doesn’t think. When Cas runs his fingers through his hair, tilts his chin up to the sky, the ache in his chest subsides. The rain continues to fall, and the cold is creeping into his bones, but he doesn’t care. This is different.

He prays. He wants to. He wants Cas to be his, and he wants to be Cas’s, forever. Cas whispers to him softly, voice almost lost in this hiss of the falling rain. He lets him drag his tongue over his cock, lets him taste it, kiss it, and then — once he’s asked and begged and prayed a hundred times — Cas answers his prayer, thrusts his cock between his lips. He tastes like ichor and iron and wine and his fingers wind a little tighter in Dean’s hair. Dean’s never wanted to please someone this badly in his goddamn life. He’s good at sucking cock, he knows he is, but for Cas, he wants to be better than good. He wants Cas to need him, to know him, to never leave him. He runs his tongue down the length of Cas’s cock, wraps his hand around the base. He drags his tongue over the head, slow and rough and teasing. He keeps his eyes on Cas’s. When his cock hits the back of his throat, Dean feels like he’s about to fucking ascend. When Cas pulls him to his feet it feels like rapture. His legs are shaking; he all but collapses against him, his angel, and then Cas’s lips find his and Cas holds him up, pressing softer kisses on him now, sweet and deft and silent.

“Good boy,” he murmurs, and Dean feels lightheaded.

“Yeah?” he manages to breathe, in between Cas’s soft, persistent kisses.

“Yes,” Cas murmurs simply. “That was good,” and Jesus Christ, why does hearing that drive him crazy? Cas’s hand finds the tear in Dean’s ribs, palm like an open flower, and there’s a moment, warmth, and the pain is gone. Dean moans into Cas’s kiss, keening, presses his hips against him. For a moment Cas pulls back; Dean’s left breathless, aching, Cas’s fingers tracing the line of his jaw. Then the air around them rents itself in two, and suddenly Cas’s lips are on him again, but the world is upside down; the wall is gone; the air is closer, drier—

He tries to right himself, get purchase, and realises he’s flat out, sheets beneath his head. Cas’s had is still at his jaw, gentle, kind, and he realises with a lurch that the angel is fucking straddling him. He gasps, pressing up into Cas’s kiss so hard he can feel the bruise it’s going to leave on his lips.

“Where—” he manages to breathe out, the last vestige of his dignity wondering where exactly they are, though right now he’s so turned on he’d gladly beg Cas to fuck him in front of a freaking bar full of people — his dick twitches in his pants at that thought and he thinks he notices Cas’s eyes darken — that’s a thought to explore at a later date —

“An unoccupied room. This motel is not popular,” Cas murmurs, his lips grazing the hollow of Dean’s throat. His hands find Dean’s, loosening his grip on him, and Dean whines in protest; he wants to pull him closer, find some goddamn friction, never let go.

“Quiet,” Cas murmurs. His hands slide along Dean’s wrists, guide them up over his head, press them into the mattress, and Dean’s breath comes out in a little stutter. Cas blinks at him with those fucking weird, cosmic eyes, and then he’s closer still, pressing little butterfly kisses to his neck. Dean tilts his head back to the stars and gasps. The ache in his chest feels like holy fire, and he forgets everything — god, girls, demons, devils. All he can be sure of are the hands on his wrists, the mouth at his throat, the blood on his tongue, the split in his lip.

“Dean,” Cas’s voice vibrates, soft, just by his ear. A shiver runs down his spine; his eyes flutter shut.

“Yeah?”

“Are you sure?” Cas’s weight shifts slightly; Dean opens his eyes.

Cas’s eyes are bright in the shadows; he’s tossed his coat aside. There’s still blood on his shirt, staining the white, patterning his throat. He can see it when Cas looks away, lifts his chin and gazes across the room He shifts beneath him, a little, til his cock is pressing into Cas’s thigh.

“What?”

“Are you sure?” Cas’s gaze meets his, and there’s no challenge, no threat. Dean’s stomach flips over when he recognises the glimmer in his eyes. There’s no challenge because it’s all possession. Quiet, unyielding, simple. As if it’s all there is.

He swallows. “Yes. I’m sure.”

There’s a split second where Cas doesn’t move, only blinks at him, and he grinds his hips up into Cas in frustration, voice coming out in a whine—

“Please.”

And then Cas’s kissing him like he’s about to die. The press of his body against Dean’s is like a blessing, something otherworldly and dangerous and close to god. Dean can’t think, can’t breathe, can only arch up into the angel at his throat and pray, a broken string of words and sounds and promises that tumble from his lips without thought. When Cas lets go his wrists, his hands tangle in Cas’s hair, trace the curve of his jaw, the hollow of his throat. Cas’s shirt is gone, and he jerks his own off over his head, rough and careless, and when Cas’s palm presses against the brand on his shoulder like it’s a prayer, a rite, some secret sacred invocation that only they know, only they will ever know, Dean loses his mind, desperate, aching—

Cas draws back for a split second. His hair is tousled, his skin like marble in the half light. Dean’s heart is hammering like it’s going to leap out of his chest; he gasps, breathes, collapses back onto the bed.

“Cas,” he whispers, hands restless, reaching. “Come back, come back, please.”

He feels Cas’s weight shift, move, and when he opens his eyes Cas is beside him, eyelashes ghosting against his cheek. His lips press softly against Dean’s jaw, just below his ear, and suddenly Dean’s eyes are wet, and he has no idea why. His hands find his belt; he slips free of his jeans, his pants. He knows what he wants, and he doesn’t want to stop, to think. The air is warm against his naked skin but he feels vulnerable, strange; he rolls towards Cas, shields himself against his body.

Cas catches his chin with the pad of his thumb; soft, tender. He traces the sides of his body with the tips of his fingers, and his eyes are dark, brilliant, and Dean’s trembling because this is different, this is different from any guy, any girl, anyone he’s ever been with before. No one has ever looked at him like this before. The way Cas touches him, it’s like he’s the one who’s divine.

Cas presses him gently onto his back with a kiss, reverent, and his hand drifts down, over his stomach, his hips, finds his cock. He drags his fingers along the length of it, slow, playful, and Dean whines into the kiss, pleading. Suddenly his dick is slick, wet, and he moans, twisting in Cas’s hand.

“How—” he gasps, and Cas’s voice is just a breath in his ear.

“I’m an angel, Dean.”

When Cas pushes his legs open, and slips between them — when he trails kisses down Dean’s stomach, runs his tongue down the crease where his thigh meets his hip — when he kisses Dean so hard he draws blood, and then slips his fingers into Dean’s mouth — Dean’s gone. He can feel his own cock leaking against his stomach, so exposed and vulnerable and untouched. He needs this, needs Cas to touch him, hold him, want him. He swears out loud when Cas’s spit slick fingers slide between his asscheeks, tease at his hole. He pushes into his touch, craving more, needing to feel—

And then Cas’s tongue grazes his cock, his thigh, his asshole, and he’s trembling, bucking on the bed beneath him; his hands find Cas’s shoulders and he grabs him, pleading, as Cas’s tongue, hot and wet and obscene, teases at his fluttering hole. Cas’s gaze flicks up to meet his, eyes glittering, lips bruised, the column of his throat stark in the half light, and Dean is suddenly hit by the fact that this is an angel, this is not a man, this is an angel, a soldier of god, a force of nature, divine and unknowable and sacred. Cas slips up over him and presses a kiss against his open mouth, presses his palm against his aching dick, and slowly, agonisingly, pushes his cock inside him.

Dean’s lost. His throat is tipped back to the stars, stars obscured by a plywood and mortar and brick. He rocks onto Cas’s cock, and Cas whispers in his ear; soft, calm, quiet, tender. He moves slowly, gently, like Dean is fragile, sacred. Like he matters. He presses kisses to his lips, his throat, his shoulders as he pushes deeper in, as Dean gasps and presses up to meet him, wanting, always wanting. His hand grips Dean’s cock, thumb flicking lazily over the head, smearing pre-come and Dean could swear he’s enjoying this, toying with him, making him wait. He whimpers beneath him, tries to arch his hips in time with Cas’s lazy, teasing thrusts.

Cas lowers his mouth to Dean’s ear, whispers, his voice rough.

“Wait.”

Dean can’t wait, can’t think about anything but the ache between his thighs, the gentle fingers teasing him, the fact Cas pushed in even further as he whispered wait, bottomed out, flush against Dean’s prostate and just holding him there, not moving. He shakes his head, protests, tries to grind into Cas’s palm, but Cas tuts, sighs, brushes his thumb across his lips.

“I told you to wait.”

“Please, Cas— I can’t wait, I— please—”

Cas’s eyes are bright, searching.

“What do you want?”

“You know, Cas— you—”

“I want you to say it.”

“Please— Cas, please—”

Cas’s gaze flicks down, over his throat, the expanse of his chest, his leaking cock. He shifts, and Dean moans beneath him. His hand comes to meet Dean’s jaw, dragging the pad of his thumb down over his lower lip, gazing as if he’s curious, thoughtful.

“I want you to say it.”

His voice is low and rough and it sends a shiver down Dean’s spine. He’s a mess; he needs this, like he doesn’t remember needing before; and the fact Cas wants him to say it is somehow even better, even more—

“I want you to fuck me. Please. Please.”

Cas doesn’t move, still watching him, as if lost in thought. He twitches his hand a little around Dean’s cock, rubs his thumb over his aching head, and something in Dean snaps, and the words tumble from his lips before he can stop them—

“I need you to fuck me, Cas, I need it, I’m begging you, I need it, I need you, I need you here, please, god, please, Cas, please, please, just fuck me, touch me, make me yours, I can’t—”

And then his words are cut off by Cas’s kiss, hard, rough, dominant; one hand on Dean’s throat, the other like a vice around his leaking cock, and he’s fucking him so hard Dean cries out, sound lost on Cas’s lips. Dean wraps his legs around him, pulls him closer, closer, closer, and Cas’s hand finds his shoulder, palm like fire against Dean’s brand. Dean’s hips stutter and he gasps, his cum hot and wet against his ribs. Cas’s mouth is at his throat, his lips, and then he pulls Dean toward him, Dean’s forehead pressed against him as he comes, head tipped back and moaning, eyes lidded, lips parted, dishevelled and messy and divine and his.

***

He falls asleep in his arms.

There is a split in his lip; Cas brushes it softly with his finger. His healing touch is light, deft.

He moves very little; he doesn’t want to wake Dean.

Sleep. It looks peaceful. The warring emotions that usually colour Dean’s brow have all but faded. For a brief moment, Cas considers closing his eyes; perhaps there is bliss in the wilful dulling of the senses.

But that would mean taking his eyes off Dean.

Anger — unfamiliar, strange — courses through him; he had failed last night. Failed to protect the man who sleeps, now, mercifully whole, in his arms.

He would not make the same mistake again.

Dean turns in his sleep, turns toward him, nestles into Cas’s chest. His eyelashes flutter against him, his breath warm on Cas’s skin.

Cas feels — peaceful. Anger, guilt, joy; the messy milieu of human emotion is startling and strange. But this is different.

He knows this. The ache in his chest, the fire that burns. Faith. It is, perhaps, the only thing he has ever truly known. And for millennia, he had never questioned where to place it.

Dean murmurs in his sleep, and Cas traces his fingers over his chest, sweet and gentle and slow. By morning, there are a hundred Enochian love letters patterned, invisible, onto Dean’s ribs.

The stars fade, and the sun rises, and Cas watches over Dean.

This is faith.

[that-sw-writer]

13 for Kylo!! don’t care if reader or kylo is jealous, I just love me some good ol jealousy

Sorry this has taken me so long!! Hope you like it xo

13: “Oh!  You are so jealous!”

Word count: 1251

Warnings: jealousy, but like fluffy kinda jealousy nothing rly malicious 

“Oh!  You are so jealous!”

You weren't a jealous person.  If anything, Kylo was the jealous one out of you both.  If he so much as saw someone lay a finger on you without your explicit permission, the likelihood is that he would kill them on the spot.

You on the other hand, you didn't get jealous.  Or so you kept telling yourself as you watched the stunning Duchess of Contria, a tiny planet in the outer rim, attempt to court your boyfriend.

Of course you were used to watching people throw themselves at Kylo.  That was just an occupational hazard that came with dating the Supreme Leader, everyone wanted to be in your shoes, and many people weren't afraid to step over you to try and get there.

"I don't know what she's trying to achieve, Contria's just a pile of bantha fodder anyway."  You huffed, venting your frustrations to the slightly bemused General Hux.

"If you're that concerned, why don't you go over there and say something?"  He cooly suggested.  The First Order was hosting an evening for diplomatic allies, new and old alike, to mix with one another and give their input into the direction of the Order.

"Because I'm not concerned.  I'm just pointing out that even if I was concerned, her planet is useless to Kylo and the First Order."  You were only fooling yourself, but Hux elected to not wind you up any further.

"I'm sure Ren is telling her exactly that."  Hux only commented to try and put your mind at ease, but you were definitely still in denial about your own jealousy.

You had nothing to fear, you were a princess from a promising planet, chosen by the Supreme Leader not for political gain, but because he had fallen for you.  When he had visited your planet on a diplomatic quest, you had been charged with representing the royal family and accompanying the Supreme Leader wherever he went.  Things had simply escalated from there, and now your place was at his side, helping rule the First Order.

"Do you see that?"  You whacked Hux on the arm to get his attention, despite the fact that you already had his attention.

"What?"  He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.  He was completely used to watching Ren behave like this when you were being pursued by someone else, but this was the first time he had seen the roles reversed.

"Look at her!  She's all over him!"  You protested, perhaps a bit too loudly but thankfully nobody was stood too nearby.

Hux indulged you for a moment and looked over at the exchange between Kylo and the Duchess.  He was stood in his usual rigid manner, hands firmly clasped behind his back.  Meanwhile the Duchess, who even Hux could admit was an attractive woman, seemed to be finding any excuse to flash him a smile and gently touch his arm as she laughed.

"Maker knows what she's laughing at."  Hux muttered, disdain written all over his facial expression, "Ren's not funny."

His comment was only further reflected in Kylo's stock expression, his lips were set in a straight line.  He looked to be the exact antithesis of the Duchess.  Whilst she smiled and laughed, his face remained a deadpan.  Even down to their clothing - she was dressed in lavish fabrics, adorned with bright colours whilst he wore his usual black tunic and cape.

"She probably thinks she's the funny one."  You snorted, swiping a champagne flute from a passing serving droid and taking a generous swig of the liquid... a swig that was slightly beyond what was deemed 'socially acceptable.'

"Even the way she's touching his arm is embarrassing."  Hux remarked, barely registering that he was now stood by your side staring at Ren and the Duchess, looking just as disgusted as you.

"It is isn't it."  You were quick to agree.  Hux was unknowingly throwing fuel on the fire, and simultaneously justifying your feelings.

The feelings definitely weren't jealousy though.  You were still reminding yourself that you didn't get jealous.

You both watched Kylo excuse himself and turn away from the Duchess, who scowled at the notion of being discarded.  When he turned to face you and Hux, his brow immediately furrowed when he caught you both standing and staring at him.

Like two deer caught in headlights, yours and Hux's eyes widened and you quickly turned to one another as if you were in the middle of a conversation amongst yourselves, although it was painfully obvious that this was just a ruse.

"What's going on?"  Kylo slowly asked, "Y/N?"  He raised an eyebrow at you first, and you feigned innocence by taking a sip of your champagne and shrugging your shoulders.

"Nothing, what's going on with you?"  Your voice was perhaps an octave too high, but Kylo decided that Hux was going to be the weaker link out of the two of you.

"General?"  He pressed, and Hux also gave a shrug of his shoulders.

"We were just discussing Contria after we saw you talking to the Duchess."  Thankfully he was clearly a better liar than you.

"And?"  Kylo clearly knew there was something more to tell.

"And nothing, I think Princess Y/N was against an alliance with them is all."  There was a slightly pointed tone to Hux's comment and you looked at him with daggers in your eyes.  He had just dropped you right in it.

"Why would you be against an alliance?"  Kylo asked.  His interest was peaked - he had no intention in investing himself in Contria at all, but the way you and Hux had been looking at him had raised his suspicions.

"I just don't agree with their leadership is all..."  You quietly said, your voice trailing off towards the end of the sentence, masking your clear insult to the duchess by taking another sip of champagne.  Although now your glass was empty, which meant you couldn't keep hiding behind it.

"The Duchess?"  The corners of Kylo's lips were beginning to tug upwards in a smirk, "Not jealous are you my love?"

"What?  No, of course not."  You quickly huffed, looking at Hux for some support but he just grimaced and turned to leave you both alone.  "I just think she's after more than a political alliance is all..."

"Oh!  You are so jealous!"  Kylo bore a rare smile, one that never usually appeared in public, but now he just couldn't help himself.  The tables had truly turned.

"I'm not!"  You continued to protest, "She just clearly has ulterior motives, and when I'm stood right here watching I just think it's rude."  You told him very matter-of-factly.

A quiet, low chuckle left his lips, "And I agree, but there's no need to be jealous Princess."  He dipped his head to whisper in your ear, "I only have eyes for you."  His lips brushed your cheek as he pulled away, a smirk on his face.  "Come on, we have other guests to attend to."  He then teased you, offering you his arm.

Your heart was still aflutter from his words, your cheek tingling from his touch.  But you pulled yourself together, at least for the rest of the evening you did.

It certainly didn't hurt for the Duchess of Contria to have to stand and watch Kylo spend the night keeping you firmly by his side.  But the second you were alone Kylo would not stop relentlessly teasing you about your sudden burst of jealousy - and something told you you would never heard the end of it.

[hermannsthumb]

Please do 6 , bed sharing is my only (well one of them) weakness :)

6. we always carpool home for the holidays from college but a storm hit and now we’re taking the last room at the local b&b (bonus: bedsharing! we’re adults!)

from winter writing prompts here

bedsharing…..the trope of the gods…i could write this same scenario over and over again and never get tired of it. heres some vague professors au

--------------------------------------------------

“Unbelievable,” Hermann says. “Bloody unbelievable. This is your fault, you realize.”

“How the fuck is this my fault?” Newt says. He slams the car door hard enough it shakes snow off from the other side of the hood and onto Hermann, which he derives a petty joy from. Not that it fucking makes a difference--they’re both already ankle-deep in it, both already shielding their eyes against it and squinting through it just to argue. “I didn’t will a storm into existence.”

“You made us late,” Hermann says.

“Bullshit!”

“I was all set to go—”

“Until you made us stop for coffee,” Newt says.

“I was tired—”

The rest of his words are drowned out in a howling gust of wind, which sweeps even more snow into their faces. Hermann slams his car door, too, and curses. Newt hears that without a problem. “Let’s just get inside,” he shouts over. “I don’t want to die of hypothermia because you decided to be a bitch.”

They trudge up to the front door of the Bed and Breakfast (Newt lunging away from Hermann’s sharp jabs at his ankles with the end of his cane all the while), the first one they could find on the literal shortest notice possible. Judging by the packed parking lot they’re not the only ones with that idea. Newt wonders how many of them are coming from the college, too, students or—like them—otherwise. “I hope there’s room for us,” he says.

“For your sake, I hope so too,” Hermann says, ominously.

The inside of the lobby isn’t very encouraging. There’s at least half a dozen other people shivering in line at the front desk, most of whom are toting suitcases, some of them even wrapped Christmas presents. A lot of exhausted college students, like Newt expected. One older couple in matching Christmas sweaters. “Yeesh,” Newt says. 

Scowling all the while, Hermann muscles himself into line just as the door opens and more people come bustling in. “Unbelievable,” he mutters again.

Newt squeezes in behind him. He wishes he’d thought to bring their luggage in, too; if they manage to get a room, and that’s a big if, he’ll either have to go without pajamas and a toothbrush or brave the blizzard again. Neither option sounds appealing. Staying at the B&B doesn’t exactly sound appealing, either, especially not with the promise of Geiszler homecooked dinners and his actual (well, childhood) bed just out of reach on the horizon. He told his dad he’d be home tonight, too, damn it. “At least it’s warmer in here,” he finally sighs.

“Only just,” Hermann says, casting his scowl towards the door, which has opened again. He draws his coat tighter around himself and hmphs.

The good news, they discover when they finally reach the front of the line, is that the B&B has space for them. The bad news… “I’m afraid we’ve only got one room left open,” the receptionist says apologetically, “and it’s a queen, not twins. Would you guys mind sharing?”

“Sharing?” Newt and Hermann say.

“We’d be happy to give it to you at a reduced rate, considering the circumstances,” the receptionist continues, just as apologetic.

“Sharing,” Hermann repeats. He sniffs. “Are you certain you’ve got no other rooms?”

The receptionist nods. Someone behind them in line coughs; they’re not the only ones vying for that last queen bed, Newt realizes. And unless they want to keep trying to navigate the snowstorm, unless Hermann’s stubborn, stubborn ass wants to stay up in the B&B lobby all night long, they better fucking claim it now. “We’ll take the queen,” Newt says.

Hermann bitches at him all the way up the stairs to their room, and he continues to bitch at him while he strips out of his winter coat and hat, and he doesn’t even stop when Newt shuts himself in the bathroom to brush his teeth with the (complementary) toothbrush he got from the front desk. It has built in toothpaste. It’s kind of weird, to be honest. “We didn’t have to resort to this,” Hermann insists through the crack in the door. “We could’ve—”

“Camped out in the car?” Newt says. He spits out his toothpaste foam and wipes his mouth on the back of his wrist. “Turned around and driven all the way back to campus, which is also shut down because of the snow?”

“Taken a plane,” Hermann sniffs.

“Airport’s closed too, buddy,” Newt says. “This is literally our only option.” No lobbies for him, thank you. 

He pushes open the door; Hermann turns a bright red and drops his eyes to the carpet quickly, like Newt’s done something terrifically scandalous. “Where on Earth is your clothing?”

Maybe Newt has done something scandalous. It’s just makeshift pjs, is all: the old t-shirt he’d already been wearing under his fifty layers of sweater and jacket, and his boxers. His wet jeans are spread out across the small radiator in the bathroom. “My suitcase is in the car, man, and I just wanna be comfy,” he says. “No way in hell I’m going back out there to get my pajamas.” When Hermann still looks disgruntled, Newt starts to tug at the waistband of his boxers. “I can go full commando, if you want.”

“No,” Hermann says. “No. That’s quite enough.”

Newt drops his hand, grinning. “Take off your stupid coat already. You’re sweating. Here—” He drags it off of a ragdoll-limp Hermann himself, then (after a second of consideration) does similarly with his blazer and sweater. He looks almost naked in just the button-up—it’s weird. Newt rarely sees him in anything that bare. “Take off your pants.”

“No,” Hermann repeats. “Absolutely not.”

“They’re not gonna dry otherwise,” Newt says. “Come on, just—”

Hermann swats him away twice, then raises his cane threateningly. Newt holds up his hands and takes a deliberate step back. “Fine, fine.”

Hermann lowers his cane.

Neither of them fall asleep very fast. Or at all. Newt, because Hermann is a blanket hog, and as a result he can’t stop shivering; Hermann, because Newt can’t as much so breathe without apparently annoying the everloving shit out of him and keeping him up. Finally (after Newt yawns, and Hermann hisses like an angry cat), Newt just rolls over and prods Hermann’s shoulder. “I’m gonna get a snack from the vending machine,” he says. “Do you want anything?”

He half expects Hermann to ignore him and pretend to be asleep or something, so he’s surprised when he’s answered with a quiet, terse “Pretzels.”

Newt smiles. “Got it.”

Hermann’s sitting up and wrapped in the comforter when he gets back. He shakes his head when Newt tucks his snacks under one arm and makes to turn on the light. “Don’t,” he says. “I’d rather it dark. Is it still snowing?”

“Yeah.” Pretty badly, in fact: the vending machine was in a small alcove across from a window, and Newt peeked through the curtains before he came back here. It’s a white wasteland out there. He can barely see the cars in the parking lot. “I don’t think we’re gonna be out of here any time soon.”

He nudges Hermann’s side until Hermann finally relents his grip on the comforter, scoots in next to him, and passes him his pretzels. Hermann wrinkles his nose at the package. “Peanut butter?”

“It was either that or the cheese kind,” Newt says. “Be grateful I got you anything.”

Hermann glares, but opens the package and begins munching away with more venom than Newt thinks pretzels strictly require. Newt, meanwhile, eats his M&Ms and drafts a quick text to his dad, just to keep him from having a heart attack when he wakes up tomorrow and Newt’s still MIA. not sure when i’ll be getting in. storm is rly bad. me and herm are stuck at hotel

Four years of carpooling up the east coast for the university’s winter break (Newt back to his dad’s place in Boston, Hermann just a short bus ride north of that, where he stays in his sister’s guest room), and this is the first year he and Hermann have ever been incapacitated by a storm like this. “Did you text you sister yet?” he says.

“Mm?” Hermann says. “Ah. No, I haven’t. I left my mobile in the car.”

“You left it in the car?”

“Well, it’s not as if I bloody well need it,” Hermann snaps. “The only person who texts me is in my bed.” He fidgets. “Besides. I never told my sister we left in the first place, so there’s no point..”

“Oh,” Newt says.

Hermann fidgets again. “Truthfully, Newton—if we never made it up at all, I don’t imagine I’d be too heartbroken. My sister will be hosting our entire family this year, and many of us...don’t get along.”

“With each other, or with you?” Newt jokes.

“With me,” Hermann sighs.

Okay. Newt made that five times more awkward than it needed to be. He supposes he should’ve guessed that there was a reason Hermann only ever seems to talk about his sister out of his immediate family of six, and even then he does like she’s his business partner. “Do you want to. Uh. Talk about it?” he says.

“Not particularly,” Hermann says.

They sit in mildly uncomfortable silence. Newt kicks his heel back against the bed. He’s about to say something very, very dumb, but if he’s lucky, Hermann might not mind. (Though, if he doesn’t, Newt can’t say the same for his dad when Newt breaks the news.) “We don’t have to go up at all,” he blurts out. “We can just stay right here.”

Hermann looks up at him sharply. “Here?”

Newt likes Hermann. He’s...weird. Crazy smart, and funny, with big brown eyes to die for, but most importantly, he’s bitchy, and he’s weird. He likes Hermann as a colleague, and he likes Hermann as a frenemy, and he likes Hermann in the sense that he daydreams about holding his hand and brushing his stupid hair out of his face more than is probably healthy. He would, frankly, love nothing more than to blow off all of his holiday plans to eat Chinese food and watch movies or something with the guy instead. “Okay, maybe not here-here, but if the storm clears we could just go back home. And. Y’know. Do something fun together.” He grins, mostly just to diffuse the tension. “And if it doesn’t clear and we’re stuck here, I did pack your Hanukkah present with me, so it’s not a total bust.”

“Ha,” Hermann says. Newt watches him worry at his lower lip. “I wouldn’t...mind that,” he continues. “Going back home. Or just staying here together.”

“Good,” Newt says. His mouth feels dry; his heart is racing, just a bit. “That’s...good.”

Hermann smiles at him, and ducks a little closer under the comforter.

[angstmatsuscenarios]

How about an Ichimatsu sickfic? I believe that’s within the limits of the rules. I dunno, maybe he tried to play it off as nothing, but stuff happens? I’ll just leave the rest to you. I rly like this blog and I’m excited to see the ask box open again!

Sickfic is not only welcome but also my forte, hehe. Here is some Ichi sickfic for you, hope you enjoy!

Warning for a brief mention of needles (drawing blood, very brief and non-graphic) under the cut:

At first Ichimatsu didn’t give much thought to the fatigue and sore throat he’d been suffering through all day--it had been annoying, but he figured it was probably just allergies, and had kept his face mask on the whole day. He’d felt lousy for the past couple of weeks, and figured it was nothing too bad.

By that night, though, he felt worse--he’d had no appetite at dinner, and it took nearly all of his energy to follow his brothers to the bathhouse. The soak in the hot water felt good to his aching muscles, but the walk home was excruciating, his legs trudging along slowly and his whole body shivering even though it wasn’t that cold out. When they finally got back home all he could do was crawl into the futon the second it was laid out and curl up in his spot, burying his face deep in the blankets.

“Does Ichimatsu seem okay to you?” he overheard Osomatsu ask the remaining brothers. 

“He looks rather pale, and he’s shaking…” Karamatsu noted, a hint of concern in his voice. “Perhaps he’s fallen ill?”

“Then we should force him to sleep in the other room,” Todomatsu asserted. “What if he’s contagious?”

“Have some heart for once, Todomatsu,” Choromatsu admonished him. “He’s wearing a mask, and besides, when has splitting us up ever stopped us from catching each other’s colds anyway?”

“I’m sure he’ll be okay!” Jyushimatsu said with assurance. “But he looks tired, we should let him rest.”

“Fine...but if we’re all coughing and sneezing by the next morning, don’t blame me,” Todomatsu replied curtly.

Ichimatsu would’ve chimed in with a “shut up and die, Todomatsu” had his throat not hurt so badly. Instead he hunkered down deeper in bed and closed his eyes, willing himself to fall asleep and hoping he’d feel better in the morning.

-----------

Mhhh….I feel horrible….

It was the first thought to flicker in Ichimatsu’s mind as he sluggishly came to the next morning. He felt truly miserable, it had been a long time since he’d ever felt this sick...if he had before, now that he thought of it. He was dripping in sweat and wracked with chills all at once, his throat burned more painfully than it ever had before, and he was aware of a dull ache in his side. Not to mention, he was exhausted.

He sat up, slowly, but that brought on a wave of dizziness that made him feel like laying right back down again. His temples pulsated with an awful headache, and he brought his hands up to rub his bleary eyes and will some of the wooziness to go away. It didn’t.

Dammit….guess it wasn’t just allergies after all….

He groaned, reluctantly crawling out from under the futon. He was alone in the room--he assumed his brothers had gotten up to go eat breakfast and had left him to rest. The thought of food suddenly made him feel nauseous, but as much as he wanted to just go straight back to sleep he knew he at least needed to get medicine.

He stood slowly, the room swaying and his head spinning. He shuffled on wobbly legs into the hallway, pressing his hand against the wall for support. Every step was grueling, requiring so much effort it caused sweat to bead up on his forehead. 

What...the hell...is wrong with me…?

He was close to the stairs, just a few more steps...he gingerly put one foot in front of the other, then again…

But suddenly his legs gave out on him, folding so that he hit the floor with a weak grunt. He leaned all his weight against the wall, unable to support himself, whimpering quietly as he rubbed the sore spot on his side. 

Something’s wrong...this isn’t just the flu, is it…?

“Ichimatsu-niisan!”

Ichimatsu had been so zoned out he didn’t notice Jyushimatsu thundering up the stairs until he was by his side, kneeling next to him with a worried expression on his face. 

“Are you okay? I heard a thud, did you fall?” Jyushimatsu asked, and although he wasn’t exactly shouting his voice was loud enough to Ichimatsu’s pounding head to make his ears ring.

“N-no...don’t feel good…” Ichimatsu managed to groan out a response, his throat stinging so badly it made his eyes water. 

Jyushimatsu frowned. “You look awful...look at your neck, your glands are really swollen. And you’re super pale…” 

Still rambling, Jyushimatsu helped Ichimatsu slowly back to his feet. Ichimatsu was just barely aware as his brother practically carried him back to the sextuplets’ room and tucked him back into bed. All the while he wore an anxious expression that was very unlike the sunny fifth son’s usual disposition.

“I’m gonna get Mom, okay?” Jyushimatsu said, lightly patting Ichimatsu’s head. “She’ll help you, she always knows what to do.”

Ichimatsu only managed a feeble moan in response, closing his eyes. He’d never been this miserable when sick before, and it scared him...even scarier was that he didn’t have the energy to be as scared as he probably should be. He could only hope his mother could help him, though he doubted he would be cured by her gentle touch and homemade soup.

What’s going on…?

----------

After hearing that Ichimatsu had nearly passed out, Matsuyo insisted on taking him to the doctor. He hated doctors, but he was so out-of-it that he simply put up with the poking and prodding and blood-taking without much fuss (that was a real sign of how sick he was--he didn’t put up a fight when he saw the needle, just turned his head in the other direction and kept his eyes shut tight when his blood was drawn).

Fortunately, it wasn’t long before they received a diagnosis...but unfortunately, it was more serious than anticipated. According to the doctor Ichimatsu had mononucleosis. That explained why he’d felt so run-down for the last few weeks, and also why the glands in his neck were so swollen. The doctor went on to explain that it was the reason Ichimatsu’s side hurt, too--his spleen was swollen, a fact that thoroughly freaked him out, though the doctor said as long as he was careful not to injure his spleen and cause it to rupture the swelling would most likely go down sooner rather than later (the word “rupture” only induced more panic).  

There wasn’t much that could be done to treat mono, either--the most vital thing was rest. It could take weeks, even months, for someone to recover completely from mono, Ichimatsu discovered, and while it didn’t affect him too much since he had no job or school to worry about...the idea of being sick for so long was scary. He couldn’t imagine going more than a few days feeling this crappy, but weeks? Months?! Not to mention, it meant staying home and resting that whole time...he wasn’t much for leaving the house to begin with, but not be able to visit his cat friends in the alley, or join his brothers when they went to Chibita’s? He hated the thought of being excluded from all of that for who knew how long.

The doctor tried to be reassuring, insisting it was possible to have a speedier recovery as long as he took good care of himself, but all Ichimatsu felt was dread. It was awful news, he couldn’t even pretend there was a bright side to it. 

When Ichimatsu got home from the doctor, he’d found his brothers had set up a temporary room for him in the spare room. It wasn’t just that his mono was potentially contagious, but they insisted it would be easier for him to recuperate if he had peace and quiet while he rested. He wanted to call bull on that last claim, but was so tired that he just crawled right into his futon in his “new” room and went right to sleep without protest.

Days passed by. It wasn’t long before Ichimatsu started to feel bored and lonely. He felt marginally better than he had the first couple of days, but he was still nowhere near well, and the thought was depressing to him that he’d have a long time of feeling this way.  

He spent most of his time sleeping. He didn’t have the energy for much else. Sometimes his mother popped in to give him food (which he hardly ate—his throat hurt too much and his appetite was pretty much nonexistent), and other times one of his brothers would pay a quick visit (wearing a mask, not surprisingly). It was nice, but not the same as being with them like usual, and once they left he felt sad again. 

Gradually, though, Jyushimatsu began spending more and more time with him. He’d sit at Ichimatsu’s bedside for hours, playing a game or reading a manga or sorting his baseball cards—activities he didn’t always possess much patience for, being as active as he was. He made light conversation with Ichimatsu, though kept it to a minimum, knowing Ichimatsu wasn’t much for talking. It was the quietest and most still Jyushimatsu had ever been.

Ichimatsu was grateful for the company, but he felt guilty as well. Surely this wasn’t what Jyushimatsu felt like doing—this had to be cutting into his baseball time, which he treasured. Ichimatsu didn’t want both of them to be trapped inside all the time, not when Jyushimatsu was well and could do whatever he wanted.

“Jyushi,” Ichimatsu spoke up one afternoon, his voice rusty. Jyushimatsu had been poring over a baseball book, but perked up at the sound of Ichimatsu’s voice. “You don’t have to stay with me all the time...you can go outside and play baseball or whatever you want. I feel bad if you’re staying in all the time because of me.”

Jyushimatsu offered a bright smile. “But, Ichimatsu-niisan, I am doing what I want!” he insisted, crawling closer to his brother. “It must suck being sick in bed for so long. I wouldn’t want to be alone all the time if it were me. Besides, I have my most fun when I’m with you—even if you can’t do much now, I like being with you. And baseball isn’t the same without you there, either.”

“Really…?” Ichimatsu wasn’t so sure about that. How much fun could he be?

“Really!” Jyushimatsu nodded enthusiastically. “You’re my best friend, I’ll always stay by your side! And it won’t be like this forever either, sooner or later you’ll recover and we can get right back to playing! So just keep your chin up, okay, Niisan?”

Ichimatsu blinked, just a little surprised...not to mention touched. Jyushimatsu really did just want to spend time with him, even if that time consisted of doing nothing more than hanging out in the same room together while he slept. Jyushimatsu really was his best friend, and even though he still felt terrible that realization made him feel just a little better.

“Thank you, Jyushi...I’ll try.”

“You’ll be back to yourself in no time!” Jyushimatsu enthused with a grin that made Ichimatsu believe it. “Anyway, why don’t I read to you from my book until you fall asleep?”

“I’d like that. Thanks.”

With that, Jyushimatsu settled down right beside Ichimatsu and started reading, angling the book so they could both see inside. Ichimatsu wasn’t particularly interested in baseball facts and stats, but it was comforting being read to, and Jyushimatsu’s surprisingly soft voice soon lulled him into sleep.

It would take time for him to get better, but with Jyushimatsu by his side, maybe the road to recovery wouldn’t be as awful as it seemed.

[starkravinghazelnoots]

Orange or yellow and Peter or Tony for the drabble thing! (rly predictable ik sorry!)

ORANGE

Energy, balance, warmth, enthusiasm, vitality, expansion, flamboyancy, and autumn.

This turned into way longer than a drabble. I couldn't resist the pull of writing some Biderman in honor of Pride. I had a ton of fun writing this, so I hope this lives up your expectations and that all of you enjoy!

I apologize in advance if the line break doesn't work. Tumblr really hates when I try to use line breaks.

xXx

How to be Proud

Peter was pretty confident in himself. What's more, he had an extremely supportive family and group of friends, some of whom understood what he was going through better than others.

But that didn't mean it was always easy to be proud of himself. It wasn't for Peter, at least.

But Spider-Man? He didn't have that problem.

"Don't fucking touch me, homo!"

Peter rolled his eyes behind the mask as he shot a web over the criminal's mouth. "Trust me, buddy, I'm not gonna touch someone as nasty as you." He gestured to the purple, pink, and blue cape tied around his neck. "And for the record, Mr. Homophobe, I'm bisexual. If you're going to insult me, at least get it right."

Peter called the police to report the location of the tied-up criminal before swinging away. His curfew was in ten minutes, which meant he had to hurry if he wanted to make it back to his apartment on time.

He dove through his window right as the clock on his dresser changed to midnight - on Fridays he was allowed that extra hour, but he did have a tendency to push it.

"How was patrol?" May asked. She was leaning against the door frame of his room. She must have just gotten back from her shift at the hospital, because she was still in her scrubs.

"Pretty good!" Peter said, standing up. The Iron Spider mask disappeared from his face. "Stopped a bank robbery and some petty theft. I also rescued Mrs. Post's cat again. He keeps escaping and climbing up the tree next to her house." Peter snickered. "It's still so funny to me that she named her cat Jeff."

May smiled at his amusement. "Well, I'm sure she was very grateful."

He laughed. "Yeah. She always tries to give me cookies or some other kind of sweet before I leave." Peter snapped his fingers, remembering the last thing he did before returning home. "Oh, I also stopped a kid from being beat up. I don't know who he was, because he ran away when I swung down into the alley, but I took care of his attacker." He untied the flag from his neck and hung it over the chair in front of his desk. "He was a nasty guy, too. Homophobic. Smelled like hot garbage."

May chuckled. "Well, it's a good thing you were there to take care of him." She gestured to his bisexual flag. "Get any compliments on that?"

Peter beamed at her. "Yes! It was so great. A girl actually burst into tears when she saw me because she was so happy her favorite superhero was bisexual, too."

May held her arms out, and he eagerly accepted her hug. "I'm so proud of you, Peter."

Peter smiled. "Thank you, May." His voice was muffled by her shirt. "I love you."

May pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "Well, I love you more."

"I love you most."

"Then I love you more than the most!"

Peter laughed. "You're the worst."

"Oh, I know."

xXx

MJ slid into the chair in front of Peter, startling him out of a daydream that definitely had not involved the aforementioned girl. "We're still on for Pride tomorrow, right?"

"I am," Ned said excitedly. "I can't wait!"

Peter nodded, taking a sip from the cup of coffee in front of him. He loved this little café. "Yep. It's gonna be so cool to go with both of you." He'd been looking forward to Pride all week. It would be his first time going as openly bi, and he wasn't sure whether he was excited or terrified.

MJ smiled. "Nice. Because I had a little idea that I thought the two of you might be interested in."

Peter glanced at Ned, who shrugged. "Alright," he said, turning back to MJ. "What's your idea?"

She smirked. "There is a third person I propose we bring to Pride. But I wanted your approval before I invited him."

"Sure. Who is it?"

MJ's grin widened. "Spider-Man."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "You want to invite Spider-Man?" It was always weird having to refer to himself in the third person. "Why?"

MJ shrugged. "He's an out and proud bisexual superhero. I think a lot of people, especially the teens at Pride, could use that kind of confidence boost."

Peter felt the blood rush to his cheeks, simultaneously embarrassed and flattered. "Oh. Okay."

"Do you have a specific thing you want Spider-Man to do at Pride?" Ned asked.

"I'm glad you brought that up." MJ pulled her sketchbook seemingly out of nowhere and placed it on Peter's desk. "I drew some concept art for what I think Spider-Man should wear."

Peter looked at her sketch. "Don't you think that's a bit flamboyant for a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man?"

MJ shrugged. "So what? Sure, Spider-Man is pretty down-to-earth. But if he was going to be flamboyant, wouldn't Pride be the perfect time for him to do it?"

Confidence surged through Peter's veins. "Yeah. You're right."

MJ rolled her eyes, smirking. "Of course I am."

xXx

Tony stared down in disbelief at the picture in his hands. "Parker, you want me to do what to the Iron Spider suit?"

Peter beamed at him. "Just follow the picture. You're the best Mr. Stark! Okay bye now."

Tony sighed as his intern dashed out of the building. "That kid is going to be the death of me."

xXx

"How's the suit?" MJ asked, popping her gum.

Peter smirked, gesturing to the watch on his wrist. "It's ready whenever. And can I say that it looks cool as hell?"

"Of course it does. I designed it."

"I can't wait," Ned added. "You're gonna look so badass, Peter."

Peter laughed. "Well, I don't know about that."

Pride was in full swing around them. Both Peter and MJ had bisexual flags painted on their cheeks, and Ned had a classic rainbow. Peter also had his bisexual flag tied around his neck, and MJ had an ace flag tied in the same way. Ned had turned down wearing a flag as a cape, instead choosing to wear a long-sleeved black shirt with rainbow patches running down the arms.

Time flew by. The trio marched for over an hour, maybe two, before breaking off to go to a drag queen comedy performance, then went to lunch together.

"So there's a concert in about thirty minutes," MJ said as they were leaving the restaurant. "Want to go to that?"

Peter shrugged. "I'm down with whatever."

"As long as it doesn't last too late in the afternoon," Ned pointed out. "Spider-Man is planned for what - 4ish?"

Peter laughed. "Don't worry, Ned. I'm watching the clock." His heart was racing, and he wasn't sure if that was from nerves or from excitement - either way, he couldn't wait.

The concert itself was decent. Peter thought he might have enjoyed it better had he actually known who the band was. Not to mention he was distracted, glancing at his watch so often he couldn't truthfully say he was paying attention. He a made a mental note to look into more of the band's albums later.

"Hey, Peter," MJ said, smirking at him. "It's 4 o'clock."

Peter rolled his eyes. "You guys are really living for this, aren't you?"

"Duh," Ned said, beaming. "Do it, dude!"

Peter laughed. "Alright, alright." He ducked into an empty alleyway - how fitting that the concert had been so close to one. Apparently the universe was rooting for Spider-Man to show some pride.

After making sure no one was around him, Peter crouched behind a dumpster and tapped at his watch. Within seconds the Iron Spider suit rolled out and covered him. He blinked for a moment to adjust to his sharper vision.

Peter then shot a few webs at the side of the building in front of him, getting a running start before swinging up onto the top of it.

He looked down at the crowd below him. The bright colors of a hundred LGBT+ flags filled him with elation and immense confidence. He'd never be able to replicate that feeling.

Peter shot a web at a pole near the crowd, swinging down and around so that he landed on top of it.

"Hey! New York Pride!" he shouted. His suit magnified his voice. A quick glance at his arm revealed that the suit was doing exactly what it was supposed to do - shift through the colors of as many pride flags as possible. "Your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man is here to remind you that you should never be ashamed of who you are! You are all amazing, beautiful, inspiring people. If it weren't for you guys, then I'd never have been able to feel comfortable expressing myself." As if on cue, the wind picked up, causing his bisexual cape to flutter behind him. "I'm able to be who I am because of this city. Thank you, New York!"

The crowd started cheering, and Peter swung down into the middle of it, managing to hold short conversations with various people before being whisked off to talk with someone else.

He ended up in front of a young boy who had the trans flag painted on both of his cheeks and a pan flag tied around his neck.

"H-Hi," the boy stammered. "I love you, Spider-Man! You're my favorite hero!"

Peter smiled at the kid. He looked to be maybe around 13 or 14. "I'm flattered. Have you been having fun today?"

The kid didn't answer, instead staring intensely at Peter. Finally he blurted out, "Thank you for saving me!"

Peter blinked. "Saving you?"

The boy nodded. "Y-Yes! A few nights ago, my stepfather, he - he kicked me out of the house, and he followed me away, and he... He started hitting me, but then - then you showed up and you saved me!"

Peter was thankful his mask hid his shocked expression. He remembered that encounter all too well. "That was you?"

"Yes. And I live with my aunt now so everything is okay but I just - I just wanted to say thank you."

Peter almost asked why the boy's stepfather had kicked him out, but given that the trans flags on his cheeks were streaked with tears... That told Peter everything he needed to know.

"Hey," Peter said, placing his hands on the kid's shoulders. "I want you to know that you should always be proud of who you are, okay? No matter what anyone tries to tell you, your identity is beautiful." He winked at the boy. "Remember, Spider-Man will always be on your side."

It was no coincidence, Peter figured, that at that moment his suit shifted from the colors of the trans flag to the pan one.

He said goodbye to the boy before swinging up and out of the crowd, high fiving people as he went.

Pride.

It was a funny word, really.

Pride meant a mixture of confidence in oneself and trust in others.

And in that moment, Peter had never been prouder.

xXx

Mr. Stark: quite a stunt you pulled at NY pride today, Mr. Parker

Peter: lol sorry i didn't tell you that was what the suit was for

Mr. Stark: first of all, it was so obvious that was what the suit was for. second, why didn't you tell me? did you think I'd disapprove? kid you know I've been out since the 90s

Peter: I was worried you might think it was too flamboyant for a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man

Mr. Stark: there's no such thing as being too flamboyant. I made a few modifications to my own armor for a trip I myself plan on making to pride tomorrow

Peter: what?! without me, Mr. Stark? how could you

Mr. Stark: Pete. I never said you couldn't go with me

Peter: so I'm invited?!

Mr. Stark: whatever you want, kid

Peter: yesssss tomorrow is gonna be awesome

Mr. Stark: uh huh. Sure.

Peter: :D

Mr. Stark: hey, kid?

Peter: yeah?

Mr. Stark: I'm proud of you. You know that, right?

A single tear fell onto the screen of Peter's phone. Maybe of happiness. Maybe of thanks. Maybe even just of sentiment.

Peter: thank you, sir.

Mr. Stark: but don't get used to the compliments

Mr. Stark: i have a reputation to maintain

Peter: sure, Mr. Stark. sure

Peter put his phone on his dresser, falling backwards onto his bed. The day had been perfect. Even if he had chickened out yet again in confessing his feelings to MJ. But that was okay.

At least he'd made Mr. Stark proud.

Huh.

Peter chuckled to himself.

Maybe he should pull flamboyant stunts more often.

xXx

Thank you for requesting this! Other drabbles probably (for my sake lol) will not be this long. If anyone else wants to send a request, please feel free to do so. Again, thank you for reading!

[onegayastronaut]

Mysterious Stranger (Hippolyta and Antiope x Reader)

Requested by @subjectx17 : Maybe that R is like a meta-human (Logan - but rly self conscious about it/tries to hide it cuz it's just not natural/normal) she was washed up at Temyscera. And is stuck there?  Some amazons are hostile, Antiope and Hippolyta protective/have a crush on her? Managed to fight off Stephenwolf or smth when invaded?

Words: 1706

Being a metahuman sucked in your opinion. Why were you chosen to be different? You didn't want to be different in the past, and you sure as hell didn't want to be different now. But there was nothing you could do about that now. Those scientists who experimented on you didn't exactly give you a choice in the matter, and now you had adamantium claws which drew attention to you wherever you went.

It was this sort of unwanted attention that drove thugs in your direction tonight. After beating you unconscious with a lead pipe, they decided to dump in the harbor where they hoped you wouldn't be traced back to them. The last thing that you remembered before fully passing out was that you hoped those assholes will eventually get what's coming to them.

The first thing that you noticed when you came to was that there was a very bright light shining down on you. At first, you thought that it was the after effect of another bad hangover, but when you felt sea waves repeatedly wash up your legs, you started to remember what had happened the night before.

Ugh, what now? Getting up, you take a first real look at where you washed up. You seemed to have woken up at this paradise-like beach, but as with all things, you were very suspicious of how welcoming this place was. As if on cue, your hearing detected what seemed like several horses arriving in your direction. It didn't take long for the people who resided here to reach you. When you realized that these people were a group of women armed to the teeth, your defense mechanisms immediately caused claws to come out of your hands. This, in turn, caused several of the warriors to point their spears at you.

Their leader seemed to not want to immediately attack and gestured at her fighters to stand down. "My name is Antiope, general of the Amazons. What is your purpose here?"

The Amazons? You had always believed them to be a myth, but apparently, they were as real as you. "I am (y/n), and as you can see I'm not completely human. I don't know how I got here but I want to be here as little as you want me here. So if it's okay with you, I'll be on my way now. There's no need for any trouble."

Antiope seemed satisfied with your answer, but none of the Amazons looked like they wanted to trust you. "I must bring you to our queen so she can make a final judgment as to what to do with you."

With that, the Amazons surrounded you with their spear tips pointed at you. The trip to the top of the mountain was a silent one, as no one wanted to antagonize you and risk a fight. When you reached the clearing where it seemed as if meetings took place, it was apparent that word had already reached their leader.

"You are now in the presence of our queen, Hippolyta. Kneel before her."

"I don't kneel to anyone and I'm not going to start now. If you're going to do something to me, you might as well get along with it."

Seemingly both impressed and shocked at your nerve, one of the Amazons took out a shiny, golden rope and tied it around your hands. Tried as you might, you couldn't get your hands free.

"What the hell is this?"

"It is the Lasso of Truth. It compels anyone tied with it to tell the truth."

"Well as I said before, I don't know how I got here. All I want to get back to where I came from. I'm not here to make trouble, so if we're done here, I'll be on my way."

Seemingly satisfied with your answer, Antiope takes the rope off your hands. "That is all we needed to know. We will get you a boat as soon as possible so you can leave. In the meantime, you can live in our guest quarters."

It didn't take you long to get settled into your new living quarters as you didn't bring anything with you to begin with. Throughout the next few days, you observed the Amazons go about their daily business. The Amazons seemed to be a fairly peaceful people, although everyone was tall, very physically fit and seemed ready for war at a moment's notice. There were a few Amazons who were on the beach fashioning a boat for you, but for the most part, everyone left you alone. Most of them, including the children, gave you suspicious side-eyes when they thought you weren't looking, but you were used to that by now. No one gave you any trouble, which was more than you could ask for in most places.

After a week, Antiope decided that if you were going to be there, you might as well train with the other Amazons. You didn't think that was the best idea, but Antiope was quite insistent. Having nothing better to do, you decided it would be best to have some sort of combat training before you left.

When Antiope handed you a spear, you waved it off. "Don't worry about that, I've got these," showing off your claws.

"Suit yourself."

Your impression within the first 5 minutes of training was that these women were not playing around. Never in your life had you felt so incompetent. Usually, you were able to land in at least a good punch or two, but these women were so quick that even with your enhance abilities you hardly managed to not be beaten into a pulp.

"It seems as if our guest has some catching up to do." A voice coming from above made you realize that Hippolyta had been watching from on top of the cliff. This made you even more embarrassed than a few minutes before.

Thankfully after a few days of training, your abilities were very much improved. Antiope helped you train with when to retract your claws and when to bring them out for maximum damage. Before you knew it, you had stayed on the island for three weeks. At the end of the week, Antiope and Hippolyta met with you to discuss your future.

"How do you like Themyscira, (Y/N)?"

"I like it here very much. I don't want to be imposing, but I feel like I'm enjoying this place."

Both Antiope and Hippolyta had to stop themselves from smiling. They both had a crush on you but neither of them had said anything, and they wanted you to stay. "Well (Y/N), you can stay for as long as you like."

With that, you stayed on Themyscira, training with Antiope and the rest of the Amazons every day. This was the first time for as long as you could remember that you felt like you were home, and both Antiope and Hippolyta took you out on separate dates. Because you never had much experience in the dating realm, you thought they were just being nice to you. After training, Antiope would always patch you up, whereas Hippolyta got you whatever you needed. There was an ongoing bet between the Amazons on which one of these women would tell you about their crush first, and the money pot grew larger every month. It was frustrating to everyone involved that neither one had said anything yet.

It was definitely a good life from what you had known before, but you knew it was too good to last. One day when you were out on patrol, a box that had been locked in a secure vault started shaking. From what you've heard about the box, it was used to trap a villain named Steppenwolf, someone who had been trapped for countless years in another realm. The threat of his presence had faded into distant memory, but apparently, Steppenwolf did not want to be forgotten. It didn't take long for chaos to rain down on Themyscira.

Before Steppenwolf himself came to get the box, parademons rained down on the Amazons like a plague. For the most part, they were fairly easy to bat off, but the real threat came quickly behind them. Steppenwolf came crashing onto the island like the demon that he was, crushing Amazons left and right. Knowing that you had to help, you ran over to him with your claws extended and swiped at him, causing a large gash on his face. Not to be outmaneuvered, Steppenwolf swung at you with his ax and sent you flying. Antiope looked at you with worry, but there was no time for her to ask if you were okay. Thankfully it didn't take you long to recover, and you managed to make a last ditch effort to run Steppenwolf over a cliff and away from the other fighters. With a final bellow of frustration, Steppenwolf batted you away and flew off. Not prepared for such a bulky demon to actually be able to fly, you fell through the air 100 feet into the water. The last thing you managed to think before your head hit the water was that you could not believe that the Amazons would find you face down on the beach again.

On the island, the immediate threat of Steppenwolf was gone, but he had made off with motherbox that the Amazon's were in charge of. The situation was dire, and the Amazons needed to figure out a game plan to stop Steppenwolf from becoming powerful again. The plan was to send a signal out to Diana so that she could find help from other groups.

One of the Amazons yelled out, "Since (Y/N) has such an affinity for jumping into the water, let's send her to help Diana!"

Knowing the dangers you would face fighting Steppenwolf, Hippolyta and Antiope were hesitant to send you out. But they also knew that you and Diana would make a great team, and only together did you have a chance of defeating this evil. It was decided that you would be sent to Paris to meet with Diana. Right after you were fished out of the water of course.

[ennergetics]

FILLED REQUEST: prince linlin, or the prince and me reimagining with lai guanlin 

(image credit)

pairing: prince! lai guanlin x reader genre: fluff summary:  You have no time for boys, but Lai Guanlin insists on being a royal pain in the ass. warnings: none!!  (lol tbh i’m so...soft...after writing this. hope you like it!) 

PRINCE SERIES: guanlin | sungwoon

so you’re a star student, a top-notch and idolized senior at your high school

“sunbaenim is so good at everything!!!” 

you’re on the science competition team and the student council, and you’re in the top ten of your batch

and on the surface you look like you’re so put together but??? tbh it’s exhausting

you’re desperate to be accepted to a good university and your family doesn’t exactly have the money

so you work your ass off to do well at school and extra-curriculars because you know it’s what you need to obtain a scholarship at a top school

one day the principal’s secretary calls you to her office

and you roll your eyes because she always makes you do the most useless things in an effort to get you to “live the student life” 

there’s someone else at her office and you’re afraid she’s trying to set you up on another date

but when you get there you’re ushered into the principal’s office ???

and so is the boy outside 

he’s rly tall and you find his gaze mesm er izing

but you’re not going to do anything about it!! 

the principal smiles wanly at the both of you, handing you an envelope before opening her mouth to speak

“Y/N, this is lai guanlin, an exchange student from…let’s say ‘taipei,’ and you’ll be acting as his guide and buddy while he’s here!!!”

you narrow your eyes at the principal bc there’s something fishy about all this and she notes your expression and sighs, leaning closer to you

“he’s not,” she whispers, “really from taipei”

guanlin’s actually a prince from a country you don’t recognize???

it’s impossible for him to get a regular education in his home country bc he’d be mobbed every day and there’d be security concerns 

and guanlin’s determined to experience the regular high school life 

so here he is, smiling at you like he’s not about to be a hassle for the next couple of months

“does he speak korean?” you say, a fake smile plastered on your face

“a little,” he replies, “but i know more english” 

you try to look on the bright side and at least you’ll be better at another language by the time this term is over

“you’re—won’t you be recognized?” 

and he grins brightly 

“i’ve got glasses on!” 

god this boy better be clark kent or else you’ll have trouble on your hands

you bow to your principal with a stiff smile (“i’ll be increasing the budget of the student council, Y/N!”) before walking out 

“it’s my study break in two hours, so I can give you a tour then. do you know where your classroom is?” 

and he’s predictably a lost baby chick freshman

so you sigh and check the envelope for his schedule and lead him to his first class

“do you have a cellphone?” you say in korean, and when he looks clueless, you say it again in your slow, measured english

he nods and hands his phone over, and you quickly save your contact number on his phone and rush off to class

later you pick him up from his classroom and bring him around the school

he lights up when he sees the basketball court where the varsity’s playing lunch games for fun 

and he just runs up to them and asks to join

like this boy has no shame tbh and you’re amazed because it works??? and he joins one of the teams 

and he’s pretty good, which surprises the varsity boys who invite him to try out for the team next semester

the people watching on the bleachers are amazed 

and okay you’re worried bc the more people see him, the more they’ll wonder about him, meaning it’ll be harder to keep his identity under wraps

but the mom side of you is glad because you’re now sure he won’t have too hard a time making friends???

the campus is a little small so you’re done with the tour in no time

you tell guanlin you’ll be spending your last twenty minutes of your study period in the library while you bring him to his next class 

and he nods dutifully before entering his classroom 

when you check your phone in the library you see a text 

thank you noona ~ 

and you think, at least he’s polite

but LORDT does he text you all the time 

for the littlest things

he’s pretty smart??? but the language barrier is a huge thing 

you’re okay being his translator because it’s a good practice for english

and you’re starting to enjoy the enforced time off you have when you spend time with guanlin in between classes

he’s content to sit quietly with you at the lunch table, studying his korean intently and asking for help every so often 

guanlin’s got a huge appetite and you always see him unsubtly eyeing your food so you always set some aside for him

it’s for the budget, you tell yourself, but more and more you love seeing his gummy smile??

but then as midterm examinations approach and your practice test scores start dropping, you snap into panic mode

this is no time for you to be slacking off and college examinations both here and abroad are coming up and you need to be flawless

you’re out late at coffee shops studying your ass off and guanlin still sits with you

and tbh you have no reason to be angry but somehow his presence pisses you off

because he’s a prince and you bet he has all the money in the world to do whatever he wants 

so when he accidentally nudges your pile of notes you growl at him

and he cowers and you feel bad but you really have no time

“i can’t deal with you right now, guanlin,” you say blankly, and he nods without looking at you and pack your things

you ace your exams

but you feel really guilty the whole time, especially when you remember the dejected look on guanlin’s face

he’s stopped sending you translation questions and he’s nowhere to be found during lunch breaks 

it makes you a little sad bc guanlin never had any expectations for you to live up to

so you text him asking where he is and suddenly he’s at your lunch table with a lunch box

“i heard you did well!! congrats, noona!!” 

and he’s smiling and showing you his wonky attempts to cook korean food—that’s where the burnt smell was coming from—and you’re laughing and sharing your lunch with him 

you spend the rest of the term like you had before, but you can’t help but grow fond of guanlin 

he starts bringing you chocolates and floral stationery and you think he might be trying to court you???

and you confront him about it like

“guanlin, when are you going to ask me out on a date?” 

and he looks amazed

“you’re always so smart!!!”

and he’s really cute so you stand on your tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek

“maybe in a couple of years, baby chick”

soon he has to leave and you’re trying not to be emotional about it 

you skip the first day of holiday review class to bid him goodbye at the airport

and he looks really grown-up all of a sudden and you have to remind yourself this is the same guanlin who asked you how to eat jokbal and who laughs at the silliest things

but you’re??? crying in the vip lounge as you wish him a safe flight

and he comes close, wiping the tears from your face and leaning down to kiss you lightly on the lips 

and you’re in shock as he pulls you into a tight hug and murmurs into your ear

“i’ll be back for you, noona”

and he’s walking away when you come to your senses enough to shout

“that was too cool, guanlin-ah!!! you’d better keep your promises!!!”

[pinksweatergettingbetter]

“at least the jury is still out on that one, so to speak”

so to speak is right, phoenix :T

-

“I WANTED TO KILL YOU. WAAHHHH”

ok rayfa. easy there.

-

aw. the dad is so strong that he cant even bear to see the murder brat sad. 

hdgdhfgh im gonna die he’s trying to cheer her up by acting like the bad guy

at the risk of sounding tumblry, phoenix wright is a cinnamon roll, to pure or whatever 

-

...is this kooraheen’s ‘happy people’?

.....i don't like it

-

ahlbi doesn’t get to be an assistant but he does get to carry all my unwanted crap!

-

“first the high priest, and then his disciple! maya fey will pay for this!”

ah yes, she’ll pay for killing off people we recently proved to be dangerous insurgents. 

-

WHOA OK GRAPHIC 

-

well ok there’s no possible way Maya could have killed him that night.

“they think she came down the stairs and stabbed him” yes in front of 200 praying people. no, they weren't looking up but probably the sound of a knife being driven into flesh and also footsteps may have alerted them???

-

rayfa wants to know how a time of death is determined, not for real... but because she wants to know what the idiot groundlings believe ?

either she’s an idiot and she doesn’t realize its completely legitimate, or the writers are still trying to make fun of religion via the “science and religion don't mix” joke which quite frankly is getting REALLY TIRESOME

-

ok... well I'm not scientific expert but doesn’t the body eventually reach a steady temperature? how could you determine how long the body took to cool down if it was cooled down for a long enough period of time? also, it was really cold on that mountain. 

something tells me this will be useful later.

-

again capcom, pointing out how unlikely your plot is doesnt make it better. it makes it worse.

-

“I will curse you and your disciples for eight generations!”

I'm pretty sure apollo and the series has already been cursed, mrs. inmee.

-

every time she kisses his picture i cry 

-

Zehlot arrived at the same time as Maya, but Mrs. Inmee is more inclined to believe that Maya is a murderer? I mean yes she supposedly killed off the other two, but jeez. Talk about favouritism. 

-

they let us check out the trash again... simply for a joke about phoenix digging through trash. I'm not sure how to feel about this.

-

katchu-dehmal, eh? Pokémon gonna sue 

-

hey um mrs. inmee

you've got a little something on your wrist...............

-

“Puhray always prayed a lot”

the terrible naming convention just makes that sound incredibly stupid

-

“She may say these terrible things, but it was just the way she was raised, I guess”

um... a lesson in tolerance i guess

-

“I didn’t know him very well”

you didnt know the guy you stayed with for two years?? man i guess Puhray really did pray the most.

-

i love that theyre mentioning ramen and burgers

and also that phoenix is offering to buy for maya

its the little things that make this game liveable 

-

everybody loves steel samurai!!!

-

“Whooops... its coming undone... WHOA!”

yes, it is indeed a very sexy picture. nice legs.

-

“tentacled hag frog”

what is this, last airbender??

-

“a spirit’s memory is cut off at the moment of death”

well of course. that’s how Mia was able to come to court knowing what was going on and being able to set phoenix on the right direction!

genius retcon there, guys. I guess that’s why Mia doesn’t make a comeback in this game :/

-

“helped neighbouring countries seek counsel”

actually thats an interesting callback to the original games where they state that before DL-6, Misty and Kurain village were famous for helping out people in high places. this i do not mind so much.

... though i doubt this would prevent you being invaded, Kooraheen. Also considering she mentions ‘keeping their unique culture’ as an aside to that fact, and the fact that a lot of this fictional country is based off of Tibet... Ouch.

-

“ILLEGAL IMMIGRANTS!!!”

hey, there’s that ol’ Khumerican spirit!

-

“so the queen can perform the dance of devotion? that’d be a sight to see”

Phoenix stop imaging the queen in a mini skirt.

-

“theres no reason to panic, the police are on his trail”

the police that let him run on foot out of a crowded courtroom. 

id say you can panic now.

-

in exchange for his visual youthfulness, phoenix has physically aged considerably.

meanwhile, Gregory Edgeworth was rocking major wrinkles at 35 and he was fit as a fiddle.

Oh Capcom, when will your beauty-based cruelty end??

-

are we legit going to search for Datz

-

ok now i rly wanna hear what a Warb’aad sounds like.

-

further proof that phoenix is a huge carnivore. i am pleased.

-

boy kooraheen isn't very accessible is it. stairs everywhere

-

i love that no matter where he is, phoenix is always buying food for children.

-

alright enough fun stuff. into the absurdly spacious sewer we go!

-

I'm legitimately laughing my ass off why is it so funny that Ahlbi didn’t know his dog could track scents????

-

AAA WE’RE IN

WE’RE IN A FUCKIN SEWER

IM YELLIN

-

...oh my god no... i stg... dont you dare 

OH GOD 

OHHH GOD 

fuck....

i dont know who’s stupider: the rebels or the police

-

he... can eat... an entire apple... that is half the size of his face... in one bite.

this, truly, is a man to be feared

ranger hobo, your new nickname is Potential Vore Machine

-

>phoenix likes apples

further proof he is a good boy

-

wow thats even worse

i thought they’d just put their base in the sewers, but no; their base is an OLD LAW OFFICE AKA THE FIRST PLACE YOU’D LOOK FOR LAWYER REBELS

again, not sure who’s stupider: the rebels, or the police?

-

“public enemy #1 is a lawyer? didnt see that coming”

clearly you expect more from this game, phoenix

-

“Im gonna sell out my best friend!”

>doubt

-

OH OK NEVER LOOK SURPRISED AGAIN CLOSE YOUR VORE MOUTH JESUS CHRIST

-

if he wasnt a rebel anymore he'd have kicked your ass since youre a lawyer, phoenix. its not that hard to put together that he’s lying. ...for some reason. 

-

LAME. YOU cant show him your badge??? bullshit.

-

fucking christ even when he whistles his mouth is larger than it should be. 

-

he really is rebel!larry isn’t he

-

so Dhurke has a power glare, huh? 

GLARE OFF WITH EDGEWORTH, GLARE OFF WITH EDGEWORTH, GLARE OFF WITH EDGEWORTH

-

“is this a law book? the dragon’s mark has been branded onto the cover...”

pfffttt edgy 

-

hmm. must be a new law-book if the defence culpability act is in it, since if i remember correctly that law was only recently introduced.

-

i love that Dhurke’s shit is just everywhere in this stupid house

-

...no way is he actually doing to

i...

like

i can’t even say punk’d. Phoenix, why would you try on a jacket that once belonged to a rebel leader while inside a rebel base that you’re not even sure is friendly to you? 

like i 

sense of preservation just goes out the window at the idea of looking cool?? actually to be fair that kind of makes sense for Phoenix so 

phoenix you should take it home and get it dry-cleaned.

-

“hmm this is an old photo...” says phoenix looking at a photo that’s as bright and shiny as the day it was taken. also he correctly guesses that it was taken 20 years ago based on... what evidence??

actually if he actually acknowledged that thats OBVIOUSLY APOLLO THERE then he’d have an actual metric to go by but NOPE! just bullshit magic deductions!

-

yeah or Nahyuta’s pulling a long game and you assholes are too impatient 

i cant believe I'm defending sadmad :/

-

WAIT A SECOND. ARE YOU TELLING ME....... THAT KID WHO LOOKS EXACTLY LIKE APOLLO....... IS APOLLO?!?!?!??!?!?!?!?

-

somehow Datz carried Phoenix through a tiny trapdoor and into this room huh

-

yay psyche locks!

-

YES!!!! YEEEEES!!! I GOT TO PRESENT MY BADGE

Soj... you may not be... completely horrible.

-

yeah phoenix, he was going to stab you if he thought you were on the side of the Queen

feel even stupider about that jacket now?

-

“Keera was working with the government the whole time?!”

well i mean what other motivation would they have? even if they were doing it for religious reasons that still lines up with the government’s intentions. 

this whole thing has a blacklisting smell on it too.

-

“a lawyer killed the queen, so the public turned against lawyers”

if that was how things worked, America would loath actors. 

-

“why does he have to jump like that before running off”

cause he’s a cartoon character 

-

“Well I guess we’re friends now”

oh phoenix 

my lonely baby

-

also where the fuck is Shah’do? That dog is a better policeman than every official in Kooraheen.

and i love that nobody notices people entering and exiting a sewer in broad daylight.  

-

well that was exactly where i thought it was

-

WOW GOOD GOING PHOENIX YOU DUMBFUCK

“HURRRHH I THINK ILL GO FIDN TH  SOOPER SECRET REBEL BASE WITH THE FUCKING PRINCESS IN-TOW. GENIUS!!!!”

OH YES, AND THEN TELL HER EXACTLY WHAT IT IS. AND THEN LET HER COME INSIDE WITH YOU WITHOUT THE INTENT TO SHUT HER UP

BRILLIANT!!

PHOENIX WRIGHT, TRULY THE REBEL’S GREATEST ALLY.

-

ohhhhHHHHHhhhh

well well well well well well

this is interesting

-

“I think I’ll take a picture of this super secret rebel base”

hhhnnngghhhh

-

search every nook and cranny eh

-

“if the rebellion ever happens, i hope its bloodless”

while that’s sweet of you phoenix, you can count on it now, sincE YOU’VE REVEALED THE SOURCE OF THEIR WEAPONRY TO THE ENEMY

-

“What’s this? A bloodstain?”

Hope it is not Chris’ bloodstain...

-

CURSED NOISE

CURSED NOISE

TURN IT OFF!!!

-

this is where capcom hides characters they don’t like

Klavier is somehwere in this room....... festering

-

well we’ve come to the end of another investigation 

tbh I'm starting to get into the storyline, though it still doesn’t feel like an Ace Attorney game

it’s more like... it’s like someone took their Ace Attorney AU and made an entire game about it. It’s got some cool points to it, but all in all, it just doesn’t... fit, I guess?

Oh well. onto trial #2 and saving Maya’s butt once again

[dragonbagel]

Retrograde - Part 6

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

[thank u all for interacting, i rly appreciate it!]

Jack had never met Sasha before, but he already knew he hated her. He’d only seen her in one of Rhys’ old photos that he took out when he was feeling nostalgic, although Jack knew that he kept it in the nightstand drawer on his side of the bed.

Sometimes, when Rhys wasn’t home, Jack would carefully take it out and look at it. Although he’d never say it to Rhys, he loved the goofy smile that he wore on his face in the photograph. It was the same one he wore whenever Jack cracked a stupid joke or said he loved him, but it looked different on his younger features. He had to have been no older than 17 when the photo was taken, sprawled out on a couch with his friends. One of them, a girl in a weird hat whose paleness nearly rivaled Rhys’, had her arms folded in mock annoyance. The blonde next to her, whom Jack recognized as Athena’s girlfriend Janey, was cracking a wide grin that showed off her braces. A Hispanic-looking kid could be seen lurking in the background, a bandana holding his ponytailed hair from his face and thick goggles hanging around his neck. He appeared to be laughing at what someone had said off camera. Jack wished he could ask Rhys what had been so funny– he knew that Rhys still remembered– but Rhys wasn’t particularly fond of talking about his life on Pandora, and Jack didn’t want to push him.

And then there was Sasha, whose mere presence pissed him off. She was on the couch next to Rhys, snuggled against his side. He had his right arm wrapped around her shoulders– his real arm, not the cybernetic one he had now– and Jack felt a twinge of jealousy. When was the last time Rhys had held him like that? He ached to be near him, to lean against his chest, to breathe in the sweet smell of his skin. After the fight, it was like he’d forgotten how to live on his own. He made a mental note to work in some extra cuddle time when this whole ordeal was over. But first, he thought grimly to himself, he needed Sasha’s help.

“Is this the place?” Nisha asked, nodding in the direction of the closed apartment door in front of them. Jack nodded, checking one last time that the coordinates matched up before slamming his fist against the door.

“Open up, sweet cheeks! There’s a fucking emergency!” he shouted, ignoring Nisha’s quite obvious eye roll.

After a moment, the door cracked open a little, and Jack could see a bright green eye staring at him from within the darkened interior. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Handsome goddamn Jack, pumpkin,” he said as he threw his weight against the door, forcing it to open and knocking Sasha backwards in the process.

“What the fuck?” Sasha yelled, reaching towards her ankle to grab her pistol and force these lunatics out of her apartment.

She hadn’t even managed to get the safety off before she felt a gun press against the back of her skull, the unmistakable sound of a bullet clicking into the chamber causing her to drop her weapon and slowly raise her hands in surrender.

“Alright, you win,” she snapped. Jack signaled to Nisha, who’d managed to slip through the door behind Jack unbeknownst to Sasha. She pouted at Jack before lowering her weapon.

“So then, now that you’ve broken into my apartment, what do you want from me?” Sasha asked, eyeing Jack and Nisha suspiciously.

“We want…” Jack faltered, unsure of what to say. “We want your help.”

Sasha snorted. “With what?”

Jack remained silent, beginning to fidget. There was a piece to this puzzle Rhys had created that he couldn’t see, but he wasn’t exactly the type to ask for help.

“There’s been a kidnapping,” Nisha said finally, shrugging at Jack’s immediate glare. “What? We don’t have enough time for you to swallow your entire ego.”

Jack continued to glower, but Sasha cut in. “I’m sorry, but what does this have to do with me?”

“Listen, honey, I wish you weren’t involved, I really do,” Jack said, stepping closer to Sasha to make his height advantage clear. “But unfortunately, Rhys wanted his Pandoran trash whore involved in this little operation.”

Sasha’s hand came down across Jack’s face with a sharp crack before he could even react, grinding his mask against his always-sensitive scar. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

Jack snarled, recoiling. “You think I don’t know about you and Rhys? About you putting your filthy hands all over my boyfriend?”

There was a murderous glint in Sasha’s eyes as she responded. “I always knew you were dense, but I never thought you’d be such an idiot.”

She walked closer to Jack, jabbing her finger against his chest. “If you think you can bust in here asking for my help then accuse me of messing around with my ex, then you need to get to get your head checked.”

Nisha placed her hands on Jack’s shoulders and slowly dragged him backwards before he actually started getting violent. “I’m sorry Sasha, Jackie here just gets a little… overprotective.”

Jack still looked like he wanted to strangle her, but at least he hadn’t pulled out his gun. The rational part of him (as small as it was) knew that Rhys was as good as dead if he killed her, but oh, what he wouldn’t give to wrap his fingers around her throat.

“Why don’t you go take a seat and let us gals chat,” Nisha said, herding Jack over to the armchair in the corner of the apartment. He didn’t reply, pressing his lips into a thin line. He sunk into the seat, thrumming his fingers against the armrest. His eyes were dark and unfocused, the image of Rhys’ bloodied face imprinted in his pupils as his tortured screams filled his ears.

“How can you stand that asshole?” Sasha said to Nisha as she stepped into the kitchenette. She wrinkled her nose. “How can Rhys stand him?”

Nisha shrugged, leaning against the countertop. “He’s not always that bad.” She paused, thinking. “Actually, yes he is. He’s just not this aggressive to people he doesn’t consider his enemies.”

“And what did I do to earn a spot on his hit list?” Sasha asked, filling a chipped purple mug with hot water before plopping a tea bag into it.

Nisha stared at her, her face growing serious. “He’s convinced himself that Rhys cheated on him with you.”

Sasha looked ready to interrupt and argue but Nisha quickly continued. “I know you didn’t, so no need trying to convince me. Unlike Jack, I can see past my own nose.”

Sasha chuckled at that, beginning to relax as she took a sip of her tea.

“Jackie, he just… he’s in deep. He loves that kid more than Hyperion itself, although he’d never admit it. And now that he might lose him, he’s blaming anyone he can so that he doesn’t have to take it all out on himself. Although,” she said, shooting a worried look in Jack’s direction. “I don’t think it’s working all that well.”

Sasha took another sip, considering. “So you both came all the way out here so he could use me as a punching bag?”

“God no,” came an obnoxiously cocky voice. “I’ve got an entire team of slackers in R & D I could yell at and airlock if I wanted to.”

The girls stared at Jack as he stepped into the room, his mask readjusted on his face and his features composed. “We really do need your help, pumpkin. And we’re in a bit of a time crunch.”

Jack launched into a quick rundown of the past 24 hours, impressively managing to keep his anger to a semi-normal level. “So, basically, he sent us here to find you,” he concluded.

Sasha’s face had paled, her fingers tightly clutching the mug.

“Do you know what he meant? About the vault key?” Nisha asked.

Sasha nodded, something dark and unreadable in her expression. “He wants us to create a fake. That way they’ll give us his location and we can make the trade.”

Jack gaped at her. “As much as I’d love for that to work, that son of a taint would see right through it, and none of us would be seeing a very happy ending.”

Sasha bit her lip before shaking her head. “I’ve done it before.”

Jack raised his eyebrows before letting out a low whistle. “Seriously?”

Sasha set her mug down onto the counter before walking over to the nearby closet, the other two trailing behind her. “It was one of the last cons Rhys helped me pull off before he came up to Helios, that’s how he knows it’ll work,” she explained as she began to rummage through the stacks of cardboard boxes inside.

“Hold up,” Jack said, folding his arms over his chest. “Cons?”

Sasha nodded as she found the box she was looking for, hoisting it up with a grunt and carrying it to the kitchen table. “Your boyfriend wasn’t always a goody-two-shoes programmer,” she said as she removed the box’s lid and dumped out its contents unceremoniously.

“I wouldn’t exactly say he’s a goody-two-shoes,” Jack said with a smirk, wagging his eyebrows.

Nisha socked him in the shoulder. “You’re disgusting.”

The nauseous looks on both her and Sasha’s faces caused him to laugh, the first time he’d done so in what felt like forever; at least, since the forever after he’d fought with Rhys.

“So you’ll help?” he asked.

Sasha nodded. “But I’m doing it for Rhys, not you. No offense, but you’re still an asshole.”

Jack shrugged. “None taken.”

“Then let’s get to work!” Nisha said, clapping her hands together before lifting up the lump of molding clay now laying on the table. “I’ll make the base and you do the decorating?”

“Sure,” Sasha replied, pulling out brushes, a few bottles of shiny-looking paints and a…flamethrower?

“What about him?” she asked, jerking her thumb towards Jack.

“I’m gonna call Tim Tams for a status update,” he said, sliding his ECHOcomm out from his jacket pocket. “Besides, you don’t want me messing around with all this arts and crafts shit. Rhys forced me to take a painting class with him once and I almost burned the room down.”

“Alright then,” Sasha said, readjusting her headband to keep her dreadlocks out of her face. “You can talk in my room for some privacy. Plus, I don’t need your annoying voice distracting me.”

Jack nodded, although a bit of his previous anger resurfaced as he glanced towards the bedroom. He grit his teeth to keep himself from making a snide comment, not wanting to break their still precarious truce. He fumbled to select Tim’s name from his contact list, pressing down just a bit too hard on the screen as he headed into the other room.

Sasha must’ve noticed, because she called his name, causing him to look at her over his shoulder. “I didn’t mess around with Rhys.” When Jack didn’t respond, she continued with a grin. “Besides, he always was lousy in bed.”

Jack cracked a slight smile at that. “Oh, honey, I’d beg to differ.”

He turned to slip into Sasha’s bedroom completely, closing the door behind him and leaving the two girls in the kitchen to continue with their work. He felt extremely uncomfortable, not just because he was in a stranger’s most private room, but also because a part of him still imagined Rhys tangled in the plain linen sheets. Even though Sasha had flat-out denied it, a part of Jack continued to feel ill at the image of someone other than himself seeing Rhys in such an intimate way.

“Hey Tim,” Jack said as a projection of his doppelganger’s face materialized from his phone.

Tim gave a small salute before rolling right into a status report. “Wilhelm was able to get a reading on the guy who nabbed Rhys. I’m sending you the info now.”

Jack raised his eyebrows at the file he’d just received, quickly opening it. “Hugo Vasquez, eh?”

Tim nodded. “Head of programming department.”

“He even looks like a douche,” Jack said, scowling. “Do you see that ridiculous combover?”

“I’m having Wilhelm try to get a read on his location,” Tim said, abstaining from Jack’s rude humor as usual. “He’d also looking into his computer files.”

Jack nodded, already planning out the precise way in which he’d kill him. After weeks of torturing, of course. He deserved no less after what he’d done to…

“How’s Rhys?” Jack asked, immediately feeling his heart stop at the nervous look on Tim’s face.

“Tim,” he repeated, his expression darkening. “How’s Rhys?”

“He’s, um, well,” Tim stammered, focusing most of his attention on avoiding eye contact. “You see, he’s–”

“Please!”

Tim froze at the sound, quickly turning to look over his shoulder.

“Please don’t! Please! I’ll do anything!”

Jack’s pulse quickened as he took in the sounds of Rhys’ pained cries. “Let me see him.”

Tim looked like he wanted to argue, but decided he valued his life a little too much and carried the ECHOcomm over to the arm. Wilhelm was nowhere to be seen, having determined that hunting this Vasquez character would be much easier to catch via his personal computer files rather than the crazy hacking maze he’d set up. Instead, a large projection of Rhys was the only thing Jack could see, and he immediately felt sick.

“They didn’t mean to! I swear, they didn’t mean to!” Jack watched Rhys shout. “I’ll finish the job, I’ll finish hundreds of jobs if you just stop hurting them!”

Rhys was struggling against his bonds, his single hazel eye blown wide and pupil dilated. There were tears staining his cheek, although they were barely visible amidst the dried blood.

“Who’s he talking about?” Jack hissed at Tim, his eyes still glued to Rhys’ face.

Tim shrugged, looking helpless. “I don’t know. There’s– there’s nobody in the room with him, Jack. That Vasquez guy hasn’t been here in hours.”

“M-mom!” Rhys shouted, his voice hitching as more tears fell. “No! You bitch! H-how c-c-could y-” he broke off into sobs again.

Jack stared forward, his features unmoving. “Is he asleep?” he asked finally.

Tim shook his head. “No, he’s been up for about an hour. At first he was just repeating the stuff about Sasha and the key, but now…” The confused, helpless look on his face spoke for itself. “Why do you ask?”

“He, um,” Jack said as he began to fidget with the corners of his mask. “He sometimes has these nightmares, wakes up yelling and all that jazz, and it just, well, it sounds a helluva lot like this.”

Tim seemed to think for a moment before suddenly disappearing from the corner of the screen, the sound of furious typing filling the speakers. Jack waited, raising his eyebrows.

“Y-you liar! You said if I did it you’d l-let them g-go, you promised. You pr-promised!”

Jack chewed on his bottom lip anxiously. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to comfort Rhys, to hold and soothe him like he did whenever Rhys woke up crying in the middle of the night. He’d never gotten any real information from Rhys about them, but he had enough of a brain to know that they had something to do with Pandora, something to do with the portion of Rhys’ life that he kept buried from everyone, even from Jack.

“I got it!” Tim said triumphantly, appearing back in front of the camera with a very familiar grin. “It’s some sort of synthetic eridium-based drug, basically a hallucinogen.”

Jack didn’t respond, the tightness in his chest worsening.

“It says here that it’s super hard to find, even on the black market,” Tim continued, reading off the database screen. “The only known mass underground producer was Atlas, and we all know what happened to them.”

Jack quickly nodded, already tuning Tim’s voice out as his hearing honed in on Rhys’ cries. I’m coming for you, babe, he thought as he felt something wet forming in his eyes (which was actually impossible, since Handsome Jack never cried; he didn’t even know if he had tear ducts). Don’t you worry.

[cutiesaeran]

A Day to Be Reckless

Based off the first bad end, featuring trans M!MC.

Word count: 1937

Pairing: Unknown/MC

Rating: T for some “strong language”

I’m not sure what drove me to download the mysterious app that popped up as ‘recommended for you’ on fakebook. I don’t usually make sure impulsive decisions, especially not ones that could be potentially dangerous. After all, it could’ve been anything from the simple messaging app it claimed to be up to a way for some creep to track me and possibly kidnap me. For whatever reason, I tapped on it and downloaded it, following the prompts to create a username (McOllie, a nickname I’d earned based on my Irish last name) and set up my own little profile. Because I still had at least a little of my sanity, I opted to use a picture of one of my favorite characters from a beloved book series - Lunar Lovegreat - rather than one of my own, just in case. Once it was all done, I poked around the rest of the app to try to see what else there was to do, but most of it seemed foreign to me at that particular moment. So I just kind of shrugged it off and closed it, finishing my lunch break before heading back to class.

The rest of the day went by as normal, with me chatting occasionally to my cousin and a few of my friends until classes were over. It was a Wednesday, one of the nights I reserved during the week for studying, so I packed up my stuff and headed home. The bus was crowded, like usual, and I stood in the middle, making sure to leave any open seats for someone who needed it more than me. With one hand on the strap to keep myself secure, I used the other to open my phone to tripter and flip through the most recent updates of my friends. Many of them were planning to go out tonight to various events, including a musical production that was pretty popular among the students of the university. I actually had tickets to go see it that weekend with my cousin; Soomin was a very big fan of the lead actor and had begged me to go with her for quite a while before I finally caved. Musicals… aren’t really my thing.

I was in the middle of reading a rather amusing thread between two of my friends holding a conversation entirely in music quotes when the new app beeped at me, drawing my attention to the notification flashing at the top of my screen. Most apps don’t do that, so I tapped it curiously to find that someone was messaging me. I didn’t know how to take that, exactly, since I hadn’t done anything to add any friends. How strange…?

Unknown: …Hello…?

Should I answer? Not only is this a stranger messaging me, but they apparently decided the best username would be something as ambiguous as “Unknown.”  Maybe… it wouldn’t hurt, just to see what they want.

McOllie: Hello?

Unknown: Can you see this?

McOllie: Um, I answered, so yeah, that’s a safe assumption to make.

The stranger started up a conversation about having found a missing phone that supposedly only had this messenger app on it - something I found to be highly unlikely, but okay, I’ll bite for now. I let them talk about wanting to return the phone and being unable to, raising an eyebrow at how strange the tale sounded. When I tried to inquire more into their identity, they deflected it fairly easily with excuses of being ‘just a student studying abroad’ and that they’re Korean… as though that’s supposed to placate me, somehow. They asked me to help them find the owner of the phone by going to an address (the only one, in theory) that was saved in the device, and, for the third time that day, I found myself doing something that I normally wouldn’t do.

I said yes.

When I input the address into my GPS, I found it to be in one of the nicer portions of town. Well, that was either a good sign… or a very, very bad one. I’d already passed the stop to get there easily, so I just hopped off at the next one and rode another bus back to the area. It didn’t take me too long to get there, and on the way I sent my cousin a text letting her know what I was doing. May as well warn someone about my recklessness, right?

Ollie [17:23] Hey, I’m trying to help someone return a lost phone. I don’t know either of the parties personally, so… if you don’t hear from me in an hour or so, try to reach me, okay?

Ollie [17:24] This is the address:

Soomin [17:25] K… this is rly weird for u. stay safe plz

The apartment door I stopped at was plain, the only thing making it stand out from the rest being the rather large password lock on the handle. The sight of that, as well as the engraved ‘RFA’ right above it, made me feel even more uneasy about the whole situation.

Unknown: Are you there? ^^ See. Nothing strange.

Unknown: Is there a password lock on the door?

I… don’t know what to do. How should I answer? This is just so strange, a situation I’d never thought I’d find myself in. Well, I was supposed to be returning a phone, so I rang the doorbell. No one answered, so I knocked, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other and glancing down the hallway. The more time that passed, the more the dread in the pit of my stomach grew.

McOllie: Uh… no. I don’t see one. Maybe I’m at the wrong place?

Unknown: That’s strange.

Unknown: There’s really nothing?

Unknown: There’s nothing to put in the password?

I sucked in a breath; no going back now. Typing out my answer, I chewed on the inside of my cheek while I waited.

McOllie: Nope, nothing here. Could you have sent me the wrong address?

Unknown: …

Unknown: You sure?

Oh my god, why did they keep asking? It’s like they knew I was lying. My eyes widened as it dawned on me that they probably did. Shit. I gotta get out of here.

McOllie: No, there’s nothing here. I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ll be able to help so I’m just… gonna go now.

Unknown: Really?

Unknown: That’s strange.

Unknown: I see with my own eyes that…

Unknown: You are standing in front of a password door lock.

Unknown: Are you going to continue lying?

My blood ran cold as I read those words; fuck, what had I gotten myself into? This was the exact reason I’d always stuck to the straight and narrow path in the past, for fear of danger or ruining my carefully planned future.

Shutting off my phone and shoving it in my pocket, I pulled the hood from my sweater over my head, glancing both ways before quickly turning on my heel to head back to the elevator. My reflexes aren’t particularly quick, so I didn’t have a chance to stop my forward momentum before I crashed into his chest. Jerking back a little too quickly, I pin wheeled my arms to try to catch my balance. He reached out one hand, placing it on my shoulder and quirking an eyebrow at me. A black mask obscured the lower half of his face yet I could tell he was smirking at me by the way one of his eyes was slightly crinkled. His hair was bleached to the point that it was nearly white, excluding the tips, which were a very pale pink. Bright red eyebrows drew attention to his eyes, which were a very unusual shade of green - something I’d almost call a mint color. He was taller than me, though not by more than an inch. Our frames were similar but he was much skinnier than I, something that made his strength somewhat unexpected. The grip on my shoulder was tight, almost to the point of hurting, and he didn’t release me when I regained my footing.

“Well, that plan failed,” he murmured under his breath, his eyes raking over my body in a manner that made me feel very self-conscious. Subconsciously I crossed my arms over my chest, though I had nothing to hide, it was just reflexive. “I’ll have to find someone else. Although,” he continued thoughtfully, tilting his head to the side and reaching forward to lower my hood. Running a hand through my shaggy dark brown hair, he continued the movement down to pinch my chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting my head to the side and staring at me. My eyes flickered down the hall, silently praying for someone, anyone to find us and save me.

“You’re rather handsome. I could get rid of you, but that’d be a shame. What should I do with you?” Retracting his hand, he pulled down his mask, smiling at me coldly. “What do you think, Ollie?”

I recoiled from the use of my name; that meant something I hadn’t wanted to admit even as all signs pointed to it: this was planned for me from the beginning. “I suppose it’s too much to ask for you to let me go?” I asked weakly, already knowing the answer. Should I be fighting him right now? Honestly, I probably should, and god knows I’ve taken my fair share of self-defense classes, but for some reason I can’t bring myself to raise my hand to him.

High-pitched laughter rang out, echoing in the empty corridor to form a weird playback effect that left my ears ringing. “You’ve seen me, so that’s not an option. Hmm. You know, he has an assistant; I think I deserve one as well.” The pause seemed pointed, as though he was waiting for me to say something, but I stayed silent. His eye twitched in annoyance before he said in a bored tone, “that would be you, Ollie. You’d be my assistant.” Moving his hand from my shoulder down my arm to grasp my wrist, he pulled me closer, his black leather jacket falling off of one shoulder to reveal a rather creepy looking eye tattoo. His eyes were trained on mine, an intensity swirling deep inside of them as he narrowed them. “What do you say? Wanna come with me to paradise, where you’ll find true happiness, and be my assistant? I promise I won’t hurt you… if you listen.” He cackled again and I flinched at how loud it was this close in proximity, my hand shaking at my side. I was scared shitless, but I was also… fascinated. Intrigued. I felt drawn to him in a manner I couldn’t comprehend.

Was this it? The end for me? Had I spent all those years at home, working so hard at school so I could be accepted into SKY University and travel to the country my mother was from to study, only to throw it all away? So far I had managed to achieve every single goal I had laid out for myself and my life was going the way I had planned, up until that moment. But I wasn’t happy. Not at all.

Maybe I needed something different. This was my chance to completely change everything.

Taking a deep breath, I nodded curtly. “Yes, I’ll do it.”

A flash of surprise rippled across his face before it was replaced with glee, and he spun around, pulling me toward the elevator. “Wonderful. Let’s not waste another moment then. A man like you deserves to enter paradise immediately.”

[charsimatic]

Therapy

Faye picked up the brochure Freeman had set down on the table, looking at the bright lettering paired with pictures of clients sitting on a couch, smiling. Some pictures had children looking apprehensively at the therapist, then smiling wide in the adjacent picture. Faye remembered being just like the kid in the first one. Scared, apprehensive, and angry. She hadn’t wanted to talk about her experience, but they didn’t let her stop seeing the therapist until she talked.

Why did they make her relive that night again? She had put all of her energy into repressing it. The song that was on the radio still gave her chills to this day. She remembered her mother’s scream, mixing with her own, and the sight of trees rushing up to meet the windshield as they went flying off of a cliff.

She still had nightmares about it sometimes.

“I don’t know, Freeman. What makes you think Sophia and Amora will want to talk to someone about this? They sure aren’t telling us anything.” Freeman stared at her, sitting on the opposite couch with his elbows resting against his knees.

“We aren’t professionally trained to get kids to tell us things. These people are.” He motioned towards the paper in her hand. He then got up and sat back down next to Faye, grabbing her hand.

“I know you had a bad experience with it. But we have to at least try.” Faye turned to look at him.

“It’s awful, Freeman. It’s like they’re poking around in your mind trying to turn every single word you say into some suppressed emotion. I felt like I was in a petri dish.” Freeman kissed the side of her head.

“That was twenty years ago. Who knows what advancements they’ve made since then.” Faye looked towards the girls room, where they were taking a nap. She did hate seeing them both so scared, even though they tried to hide it. They both woke up screaming most of the time, Amora still hadn’t said a word to them. Both of them limited their time outside of the apartment, when they used to love playing in the garden and walking to Jaymie’s house whenever they could.

“I miss Amora’s voice.”

“Is that a yes?” Freeman smiled at her, and she playfully shoved him.

“Don’t let it inflate your ego. I’m doing it for the girls.”

“And that’s exactly why you should be doing it, Babe.”

A week later, the entire family was bundled up, due to a cold front sweeping through, and loaded into the car. Amora quietly looked out the window while Sophia grabbed her tablet and turned on an education game. Freeman grabbed Faye’s hand and squeezed it tightly, bringing it up to his lips.

“This is the right thing.” Faye sighed, rolling her eyes.

“I know it is. I just know how much I disliked it.” She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, then pulled out her phone. She scrolled through a few things when a text message popped up.

Hey

Eli.

I know ur going thru a lot rn, but can I ask u something?

Sure?

I rly want to meet her.

Eli…

Just like, at lunch or something. Idc, I just need to see her.

Faye glanced at Freeman, who was humming along with the song on the radio. He HAD given her permission. So why did she feel so guilty about it?

Because you almost kissed him.

She shook the thought from her head, mentally cursing at herself. Having Eli meet Sophia wouldn’t be a bad thing. She didn’t even have to tell Sophia who he was, just a friend. They could work out the details later.

Fine. But on my terms.

Of course.

I’ll let you know. We are going through a lot. I want to make sure Sophia is okay.

I understand. Thank u.

She immediately deleted the conversation. She felt guilt wash over her again, but she pushed it aside. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. She’d tell Freeman once the plans were more concrete, she told herself.

“You okay?” He asked her, looking at her for a moment.

“Yeah, just...nervous. For them.” She looked at the girls in the rearview mirror. Amora was still staring out the window. Sophia was chewing on her thumbnail, watching something on the screen. Her face was scrunched up in concentration, and then she reached out and tapped something on the screen.

“They’ll be fine, Faye. No one is going to push them into anything they don’t want to do. We told them what’s going on, and why they’re coming here. No secrets.”

No secrets. Faye bit her lip to keep from crying. She felt awful, but she couldn’t bring herself to say anything. What was wrong with her? It wasn’t as if Freeman didn’t understand. He was a very compassionate person. Again, she resolved to tell him when she got the chance. For now, it was time to focus on the girls.

Freeman pulled into the parking lot and parked the car, turning around to face the girls.

“We’re here kiddos. You ready?” Sophia put her tablet down and nodded, unbuckling herself from her carseat. Amora shook her head.

“Amora, we talked about this, remember? Can you at least try?” She shook her head again. Both Freeman and Faye looked at each other.

“Take Sophie. I’ll stay here with Amora.” Freeman nodded, giving her a quick kiss and then getting out of the car.

“Come on, bug. Let’s go.” Sophia looked at Amora, then climbed out of the car, grabbing a hold of Freeman’s hand. Faye unbuckled herself and climbed into the backseat, helping Amora out of her own car seat and pulling her into her lap.

“It’s okay, baby. We can stay right here until you’re ready, okay?” Amora nodded, wrapping her arms around Faye’s neck. Faye hummed their favorite bedtime song and rocked Amora back and forth, playing with her hair.

“Sophia and Amora?” The therapist, Dr. Jody, had come out of her room and was smiling at different clients in the waiting room. Freeman stood, pulling Sophia up with him.

“It’s just Sophia today.” Freeman smiled.

“Oh, okay! That’s perfectly fine. We’ll have fun, won’t we, Sophia?” Sophia looked up at Freeman with a “do I have to?” look. Freeman smoothed back her hair and nodded.

“You can do it kiddo.”

“Can you go in with me?”

“I can walk you in, but I can’t stay. But I’ll be right here in this room, okay? You call me, I’ll come running.” Sophia nodded, a look of determination on her face. She walked with Freeman and Dr. Jody into the room, glancing around.

Sophia didn’t quite know what to think of the room, only that it was small and boring. Everything was brown. Brown walls, brown carpet, brown chairs. The only colorful things in the office were the toys that were against one of the walls. The windows even had brown window coverings. How boring.

She turned behind her, looking at the door. It was the only one. No surprise entrances, she noted. And no way to get out. But the bad man and bad woman couldn’t get her here. Her daddy was here, and Dr. Jody seemed pretty nice.

“I’m okay, Daddy.” She looked up at Freeman with a smile. Freeman winked at her, then left, closing the door behind him. Sophia stared at it for a moment, trying to be brave. She wanted him with her. Or Momo. Or her mommy. Anyone who could keep her safe.

“Okay, Sophia, would you like to sit down?” Dr. Jody gestured towards the big brown chair. It did look comfy, so Sophia climbed up and turned around, facing the room. Dr. Jody sat down in the other chair.

“So, what would you like to talk about today, Sophia?” Sophie looked at Dr. Jody skeptically. Her mommy had told her exactly what the therapist was going to want to talk about. She wanted to talk about them. The bad man and the bad woman. The people who had taken her and Momo. She didn’t want to talk about them, so she shrugged instead.

“Don’t know? That’s okay, we don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to. How about your haircut?” Was this lady serious? Her haircut had scared her, and she didn’t know why. She only remembered crying and being really, really scared, and she didn’t want to talk about that either.

“No thank you.” Sophia said politely. Dr. Jody smiled at her.

“Okay. Well, let’s talk about you a little bit then. How old are you?”

“Four and a half. I’m almost five.”

“That’s so cool! Are you starting school this fall Sophia?”

“I’m already in school. I’m in pre-kindergarten.”

“Do you like it?”

“Uh huh.”

“What’s your favorite thing to do there?” Sophia thought for a moment.

“Paint.”

“Would you like to paint here?” Dr. Jody pointed to a table that had some painting supplies on it.

“Okay.” Sophia slid off the couch and followed Dr. Jody to the table. She grabbed a paintbrush, and was surprised when Dr. Jody did too.

“I’ll paint with you! What are you going to paint?” Sophia thought for a moment.

“Mama and Daddy and Momo. And me.”

“That sounds lovely.” Dr. Jody started painting what Sophia thought was a flower, so Sophia started painting her family.

“What’s on her arm?” Dr. Jody pointed to Amora on the paper, and Sophia looked up at her.

“Her splint. Her arm got hurt.” Dr. Jody raised an eyebrow.

“How did her arm get hurt?” Sophia hung her head, remembering.

“I can’t believe you brought her. You weren’t supposed to grab her. Do you know how hard it’s going to be now? Two kids?”

“What? I’ll cut and dye her hair. Who gives a shit?”

“I do! You ruined the plan, you dumbass!” The man grabbed Sophia and forced her down onto the bed. He then grabbed a knife, held Sophia in place, and chopped off some of her hair.

“No!” Sophia screamed, but the mean lady put a hand over her mouth.

“Shut up! You’re going to get us in trouble. See? I told you!”

“She’s fine.” He chopped off more of her hair. Amora watched in horror, but knew better than to do anything. Once he was done, he moved Sophia off the bed and began cleaning up the extra hair. Sophia and Amora sat on a chair, and Sophia couldn’t stop herself from crying. He had just chopped off all of her hair. Where was her mommy? Where was her daddy?

“Stop crying, for fuck’s sake.” The mean lady rolled her eyes. “No one’s coming to find you, so you can just knock it off.”

“Our mommy and daddy are looking for us.” Amora said quietly.

“Look. Your ‘mommy’” she made quotation marks with her fingers. “And your ‘daddy’ aren’t coming to get you. And by the way, Faye isn’t your mother, Amora. I am.”

“No you aren’t.” Amora raised her chin in defiance.

“Yes, I am. And Freeman isn’t your father, Sophia.”

“He is.” Sophia sobbed.

“Stop CRYING.” The lady raised her hand, but Amora blocked Sophia out of harm’s way.

“Little brat.” she violently grabbed Amora’s arm and pulled her off the chair with tremendous force. Amora instantly screamed, holding her arm.

“Shut the fuck up!” The lady hissed.

“Stop it. They’re probably hungry. I’ll go get them food.” The man said, getting up off the bed and putting a coat on.

“Just lay low, okay? These girls’ faces are everywhere.”

“The mean lady grabbed it.” Sophia whispered, shuddering. “She was trying to help me, because I was crying after the bad man cut my hair.” Dr. Jody was silent. When Sophia didn’t elaborate, she took Sophia’s picture and examined it more.

“Both you and Amora aren’t smiling in this, Sophia. Is there a reason why?” Sophia looked up.

“Momo doesn’t talk anymore. It makes me sad.”

“I’m sure it does.”

“Momo won’t tell me what happened after they left.”

“After who left, Sophia?”

“I have to go potty.” Amora said quietly. The mean lady rolled her eyes.

“Then GO. Just...don’t try anything, understand?” Amora nodded, grabbing Sophia with her good hand.

“Why are you taking her?”

“My arm hurts. I need help.” The mean lady stared at them, then shrugged.

“Quickly. We have to go.” Amora nodded, pulling Sophia into the bathroom and shutting the door.

“Sophie, get in the bathtub.” She whispered.

“Why?”

“Just do it. And don’t say anything. At all.”

“Momo?”

“Did you hear her? She wants me. She doesn’t want you. Mommy and daddy will find you. And then they’ll find me. Aunt Mads will find me.”

“Momo!”

“Shhh! Don’t say anything!” Amora gently pushed Sophia to get into the bathtub, then closed the curtain right before the mean lady opened the door.

“What is taking you so long?”

“My arm hurts!” Amora screamed.

“Fucking kid, knock it off!” Sophia heard Amora yelp, and then someone banging on the door.

“Hey, what’s going on in there? We had a noise complaint. Open the door.”

“Fuck.” The mean lady slammed the bathroom door, and she could hear her saying stuff to Amora. The back door opened and closed, and then there was silence. Sophia was alone.

A few minutes later, the door opened again.

“I have food!” The mean man called out. “Aida?” He called again. She heard the bathroom door open, then slam shut. “AIDA.” The mean man called one more time, then the front door opened and slammed shut again. Sophia didn’t dare to move. She was paralyzed with fear. It was a long time before she heard her Aunt Madlaina’s voice in the room, and that was when she decided it was okay to say something.

“I don’t wanna talk anymore.” Sophia said quietly, tears slipping down her cheeks.

“That’s okay. We can be done for today. Do you want to be done for today?” Sophia nodded. Dr. Jody stood up, holding out her hand for Sophia to take. She then lead Sophia to the door, and when she opened it, Sophia ran to her daddy.

“What’s wrong bug?”

“I don’t wanna go anymore.”

“Okay, baby. Let’s go home.”

Faye woke up when the door opened. Freeman stood holding a crying Sophia in his arms.

“Sophie! What’s wrong sweetheart?” Amora woke up at the sound of Faye’s voice, jumping slightly. She scooted over as Freeman placed Sophia in Faye’s lap, then shut the door and got into the driver’s seat. Faye could see his jaw clenched.

“I don’t wanna go anymore, mommy.” Sophia said, burying her face in Faye’s neck. Faye held both girls tightly, unsure what to do. She knew how rough therapy was, especially when the therapist pulled the painful memories out of you without you even realizing it. But the girls needed something. Something neither her nor Freeman could provide.

@nonsimsical