#kinda just boils down to like. i kinda want it to remain untouched with nothing added or removed if that makes sense

[waywardsalt]

Hi! I hope you’re doing good in life.

What do you think of a phantom hourglass remake? Tbh I don’t know how they could remake it without basically remaking it from the ground-up. It would probably play more like windwaker, which I see as a both a good and bad thing. On the one hand, if it was more like windwaker a lot more people would probably play and it would be more popular since I know the touch controls were a turn off for most people for both Spirit Tracks and Phantom hourglass. But on the other hand, remaking it to be more like windwaker would make the game lose some of it’s previous identity. Like, Phantom hourglass was so unique because of the touch controls and the puzzles you can make and solve by having two screens and touch controls. And it was so nifty and handy to be able to write notes on your map. Idk, I still would like it to be remade in general even if it ends up a basically different game, but I wouldn’t change the story or the characters, especially Linebeck. The only other change I would make is the music. Phantom hourglass had rather weak themes, mainly because they re-used the same theme for the islands and the dungeons. The only songs that were really good were the few orginal tracks made for the game, so Linebeck’s theme, Oshus’s theme, both Bellum boss battle themes and the and that music that plays when you first follow the Ghost Ship. But what would you want out of a phantom hourglass remake?

Hey, I’m doing good, and I hope you are too!

I’ve thought a bit about a possible Phantom Hourglass remake, but not too much recently. I don’t really know if I’d want one, since you’d lose a lot of what really makes it special, and you can still play it through other means. I’m personally fond of the graphics and the music- yes, even the dungeon theme has grown on me- so I don’t really want a remake too badly, especially since I fear any additions/changes they might make with story or characters in a remake. The touch controls make it, and playing it on pc recreates that feeling decently well, but I don't think it'll be just the same if you had to control it with joysticks or anything.

Not to mention, there's so much emphasis on having the two screens, too, not just for map stuff, but almost every single boss had a mechanic related to the top screen! I have no fucking clue how you'd replicate that very well on something like the switch without just fucking with the mechanics altogether.

I would kill to hear some of Phantom Hourglasses tracks be orchestrated or otherwise rearranged in a higher quality. I wouldn't want any of the more notable themes altered in any way, no adding or removing of melodies and only very very small changes to the instrumentation, but I think it'd be neat to see what could be done with dungeon themes. I think a while back I had a fleeting desire to write some short tracks for each dungeon, with some ideas like mostly using instruments heard in Bellum's themes for the dungeons while each individual one gets a leading instrument unique to and reflective of the dungeon, while the Ghost Ship maybe gets a song that's a bit of a expanded version of the fog theme, while the Temple of the Ocean King could have slightly different themes the further in you got, starting with instruments more common to Oshus's theme or the great sea theme, while the further in you got the more instruments from Bellum's theme would be heard, plus some harpsichord thrown in for the hell of it.

Leave the original dungeon theme for stuff like the minor pyramids and some larger cave areas, idk. It's grown on me.

I think the only story rearranging I'd want is mayyyyybe unfridging Tetra? You could very easily shuffle some things around with her and just not damsel her for the whole game and honestly it'd still go off perfectly without a hitch. But you'd still have to deal with the World of the Ocean King being a whole other world, so either bring her and her crew in and have them as wandering ship npcs (the better idea) or just leave them out (not a good idea) but either way it's better than what they actually did. I just don't think I'd want it to switch to Tetra being a major reoccurring character tbh, the main character dynamics in PH are good as they are.

I think I like Phantom Hourglass too much as it is to really want a remake at all. I'd rather we get something like an anime adaptation. That's what I think about more. Give me animated Phantom Hourglass with some fun takes on the dungeons and fights and some fun slice of life stuff with the group between the islands what I want is a Phantom Hourglass anime

[dickwheelie]

Touching 18, squishing the other's cheeks, for Jmart?

this one kinda got away from me, ended up longer than intended, but whaddayagonnado. hope you enjoy oran!

______________

The first thing Martin does when they finish unpacking is make tea, which doesn't surprise Jon. He sits on the worn sofa and watches Martin plug in the kettle, drop tea bags into the mugs, portion out the sugar. He watches Martin watch the water boil.

Jon doesn't particularly want tea. He's never particularly wanted tea; it's never been his favorite. But when he'd come in for his second day as head archivist, there had been a steaming mug sitting on his desk along with a note that said, Really sorry about yesterday. Hope this helps make up for it. --Martin B. And so Jon had drank the tea, and he kept drinking it every time Martin brought some. He's never known why he didn't just tell Martin he didn't like tea very much. Martin would have understood. He probably would have just asked if Jon would prefer coffee instead.

But Jon's never said anything. And now, staring at Martin stare at the steeping tea bags, his hair ruffled from travel and the corner of his lip red from anxious biting, his eyes so, so tired, Jon thinks he knows why.

Martin blinks, and apparently deciding that he's stared for long enough, removes the tea bags and brings the mugs over to the sofa. Jon lets him set his on the end table, but doesn't reach for it. Martin sits on the sofa's far corner, just out of Jon's reach. It isn't on purpose, Jon knows. It's just what Martin is used to, now.

"Thank you," Jon says.

"Sure," Martin says. He smiles at him, over the lip of the mug, and Jon wants to rub away the bags under his eyes. "You should have some before it gets cold."

Jon finally reaches for his mug and takes a few sips. It's just the way he likes it, which is to say perfectly serviceable, but nothing Jon would get excited about. It doesn't matter what it tastes like, really. It's never mattered. It was never about the tea, anyway.

"It's good," Jon says.

"Good," Martin says, nodding.

Martin drinks his tea. Jon can't stop staring at him. Martin keeps glancing up and meeting Jon's eyes, shooting him awkward little half-smiles before looking quickly away again. Jon doesn't blame him; he knows he's acting weird. This is weird. But he doesn't know how to stop. It isn't the Eye. It's just Jon's momentary inability to look away from Martin's hands curling around his mug, so wide that they cover its surface entirely, or the practiced little sips he takes to avoid burning the roof of his mouth, or the way his lashes hide his eyes from view when he stares down at his lap.

By the time Martin's finished his tea, Jon's is almost untouched and gone cold. He holds it, inert, in his hands, as he stares at Martin's hands tapping patterns on his empty mug.

Martin must notice his cold tea, because he says, "Didn't like it much, huh?"

His tone isn't accusatory or sarcastic, just melancholy. A pang of guilt goes through Jon. "N-No, it's good. I'm just not in the mood, I suppose."

"Oh." Martin laughs, but it's hollow. "Didn't know it was possible for someone to not be in the mood for tea."

Jon laughs too, trying to make Martin feel better. "Yeah. Guess it's just been a . . . weird day."

"Yeah." Martin keeps staring down at his empty mug. Jon could stretch out his legs across the sofa and touch his thigh. He could put them in Martin's lap, easily. But Jon remains pressed to his side of the sofa. "Well, if you want me to make a fresh cup, just say so."

I don't, Jon thinks. More tea isn't what I want.

But he doesn't say no when, later that night as the sun goes down and the temperature drops, Martin offers to make him a nice hot cuppa. Once again, Jon watches from the sofa, a blanket around his shoulders, not wanting tea. Martin's hands are so practiced in their movements. He's done this so, so many times. He knows exactly how much sugar Jon takes. Jon wants nothing more than to reach out and still his hands. I don't want it, he thinks, staring at Martin's thumb as he wipes a drop of tea from the countertop.

Martin carries the mug to him in both hands, one on the handle and one under the mug, keeping it steady. This time Jon reaches for it. He's not done that many times, he realizes. Usually it's placed on his desk before he gets the chance to reach out. But now his hands slide over Martin's, which are pliable and warm, and achingly familiar, though they've never held hands. Jon's hands itch when Martin pulls away, leaving him holding only the piping hot mug of tea that Jon doesn't want.

Jon is about to take an obligatory sip, but then for whatever reason, Martin lingers by the sofa, standing over Jon, just inches away. They stare at one another. Very slowly, Jon lowers the mug from his lips, and sets it gently aside, on the end table. Martin's eyes follow it, and his expression twitches with confusion, and he opens his mouth to ask a question, but before he can make a sound Jon is sitting up, pulling his knees up onto the sofa to lean over the armrest so he can reach up towards Martin, placing his hands on his shoulders and then on either side of his face, gently tugging him closer, and Martin follows, leans down to meet Jon's gaze, bracing his hands on the armrest on either side of Jon's elbows. Jon pulls their faces close, their foreheads nearly touching, and seeing Martin's still-puzzled expression, Jon tightens his grip on his freckled, chubby cheeks, which fill his palms perfectly, and squeezes. It's a gentle but insistent action, a kind of impulsive affection that Jon doesn't know how else to express. Martin blinks at him, his face distorted a bit comically with his cheeks pressed inwards by Jon's hands, but he huffs a laugh and doesn't pull away, and Jon thinks he might be beginning to understand. So keeping his grip on his cheeks Jon pulls him closer, closes his eyes as he taps their foreheads together, and their noses follow suit, squishing against one another almost painfully. Jon doesn't know what to do after that. All he wants is to get closer to Martin, but they're at an awkward angle, and he can do nothing except raise himself up further from the sofa and nudge their faces closer together.

His heart leaps when, a moment later, Jon feels Martin's hands slowly come up to hold either side of his face in turn, his broad palms so gentle as he pulls Jon further up towards him, supporting his weight as Jon kneels up on the armrest and throws his arms around Martin's neck. Yes, Jon thinks, sinking into Martin's soft, assuring weight, this is what I want. Martin's hands and chest are warmer than any cup of tea Jon's ever had.

"I don't like tea," Jon tells him then, leaning back slightly so they can look each other in the eye.

"I--what?" Martin's completely thrown. His hair is ruffled, and his cheeks are still rosy from Jon's hands on them.

"I mean, I don't hate it, it's alright," Jon says. "It's just not one of my favorites."

"But you . . . you like my tea."

"Not really, no. You make very good tea, Martin, I don't think that's disputable. But I just . . . don't like tea very much."

"I--" Martin still looks utterly confused. "But you drink my tea. You always drink it. Until today, apparently."

"I don't like tea. But I like you." Jon bumps their noses together for emphasis. "I didn't want you to think I didn't. And for a while your tea was all I had of you. And it is good tea. But today I guess I just . . . I guess I realized there was no reason to pretend anymore. Because now you're here, we're both here, and we know how we feel about each other, so . . ." Jon drifts off, some of his steam lost, but judging by the look in his eyes he thinks Martin understands.

"You like me, huh?" Martin says, and there's a twinkle in his eye that Jon has missed of late. "Could've made it more obvious."

Jon, who is clinging to Martin like a lifeline, huffs. "I thought I was being obvious."

"Jon," Martin laughs, and he says nothing more, just holds him close as Jon's tea, forgotten on the end table, gets colder and colder.

[sloppy-butcher]

Jealous David king and jake park headcannons I demand of you (in the least demanding way possible uwu) 🥺❤️

haha don’t you worry anon. i got you owo. thank you for the ask and thank you for waiting for so long <3 hope these are good enough for you <333

its kinda nsfw? its only kissing but like.. yknow..

Headcanons for Jealous! David King and Jake Park

David King

Don’t let this guy's tough exterior fool you, deep down inside he is really a sensitive fellow. You can tell when his mood shifts merely, by the way, he looks at you or by the way his hands flexes on your knee. He has a keen sense of all others around you, watching like a hawk for any signs of trouble or danger even if you were only surrounded by friends. He acts broody and unbothered - he has to when considering what labels life has put on his because of the masculine physique, but truly, he is smart and knows when your graze lingers on another for a suspicious amount of time.

David is naturally friends with all other survivors - he’s the dedicated bodyguard. An intrinsic desire to protect those weaker than him (which happens to include almost every other survivor) drives David to befriend all other survivors and instinctively they flock to him. He is safety, he is light and all things good. So when David notices that you start to hang around another person more than you would with him, laughing more and touching their shoulder as you talked, it takes a lot for him to get angry. Sure, his chest puffs out and he marches over to you, draping his beefy arm over your body and leaning into your conversation, but he never actively pushes the other person away or even throws them a glare. He hopes that through these simple gestures you will understand what he is so upset about.

If by some miracle, you do not pick up on his souring mood, David would shift his tactics into overdrive. He’s a big guy and he knows it and he certainly knows how to use it. When next you are in a trial with him and the other survivor in question, David arrives shirtless. You lose blood at the sight alone, feeling weak in the knees and light-headed. He was heavenly, glowing in pride, and god-like beauty. He was foolishly brave for exposing himself in such an indecent (but not unappreciated) manner, and you made sure to scold him every chance you got. “Why are you doing this?” You whisper-shout at him from the other side of a gen. David shrugs, passing a cool eye over the third party member who shuddered under his gaze. He stretched his chest and tensed his arms accentuating the glorious muscle. “No reason.”

He would become overly-protective of you to the point that it was self-damaging. He’d throw himself recklessly between you and the killer, going in for risky hook saves without a care for the killer's whereabouts. It was you he only cared about - only you. He had just unhooked you from your second stage and had led you to the corner of the area to heal. Though your clothes grew red with blood, you bit back the whimpers of pain and instead looked up at the man you loved. You knew something was wrong. “David,” You called, a small hand reaching up and cupping his bruised face gently. At your touch, he softened and hummed, leaning into your palm, seeking your comfort and warmth. “Why are you acting like this?” For a moment he debated where to ignore your question or not. But at the look in your eye, the desperately sweet and tender embrace of compassion, he relented and sighed, feeling horrid guilt crawl up his spine like sickening spiders. “You do love me, right?” He asked, attention downcast. Had you not trying to be quiet you would have gasped in disbelief. “David, of course! A thousand times, of course! How could I ever love anyone else when you exist?” You lift your other hand to his face and careful brush back stray strands of brown hair. Still, he refuses to look at you. Of course, you loved him. Yet he still allowed himself to doubt you - he felt ashamed. You lean forward and press your forehead to his, trying with all your might to radiate your love for the stupid man. After a moment he smiles and finally brings his eyes up to yours - they were filled with tears.

“Oh, my love.” You coo closing the distance and kissing him tenderly. He gives in to you, pushing back with force restricted, he had much more to give you but restrained himself and allowed you to lead. A large hand finds its way up to your back and offers you structure as the embrace deepens, tongues flickering about and dancing in each other's mouths. David feels heat replace shame and love replace jealousy. There was no way this was not real love for if it was then you were the greatest actor in all the world. After a few minutes, you break apart, a trail of saliva connecting your two lips. He's panting hard, trying to remain aware enough to hear you speak. At this point, he wanted nothing more than to bury himself in you, bleed into your love like how the sun breaks the evening sky. “I should get you jealous more often,” You hum, feeling him chuckle in response.

Jake Park  

Jake is a most peculiar case. He acts aloof, floating above all other humans and their mortal troubles in an untouchable manner. To be jealous of another person is a complete waste of energy and time for him. He looks down at melodrama and scoffs at things so simple. But if you can get Jake to open up, to get him to take you in and love you, then his whole previous attitude changes.

Jake is never overly clingy, never the first to initiate any form of physical affection - in front of other people that is. In the quiet woods when the only eyes are yours and his, he reaches for you like a child with fingers twitching and expression desperate. Do not shun him away and he will bloom under your light. He is a thirsty man, always in need of your watering embrace. While you are in the presence of other people, however, Jake is more reversed, only ever standing near you and only occasionally holding your hand. He watches you constantly and notices immediately when your gaze shifts to another survivor and stays there for much longer than his liking.

He wouldn’t call it being jealous - it’s more like he’s being overprotective. If you are found sitting alone at the campfire, he practically sprints over and sits beside you without a word or a look. If you are on-hook, he will drop all previous activities to travel across the realm to save you before anyone else has the chance. It is sweet and enduring, to be doted upon so totally and devotedly, but you start to realize his true intentions when one day you catch the look he gives the other survivors.

Never had you seen such a dark expression on your man before, the lines around his gentle hazel eyes growing incredibly heavy and dirty. He glares pure poison at anyone near you, spitting at them with nothing but a mere downward twitch on his mouth. The others would react violently, hands raising up in a defenseless gesture as they backed away from you and your fuming partner. You’d feel pressure on your shoulder and looking over you’d see Jake pushing himself into you, his attention following the retreating survivor. Jake was digging a trench between himself and the others, isolating himself in the saddest and heartbreaking manner.

“Why are you so angry, Jake? What has happened to you?” You ask him one evening while the two of you sit alone in a forest clearing, earning nothing but a soft ‘hmm’ from the man as his hands worked masterfully on repairing his toolbox. You sigh and shuffle closer, knowing full well that he could not deny you if he felt you so near him. He visibly stiffens as your hand overlaps his, fingers snaking into his own. “I have never seen you so angry before. Has anyone hurt you? Want me to go beat them up?” He laughs at your suggestion, finally relenting to your advances and passing you a soft side-eye. At the comfort of your furrowed brow, Jake felt his jealous boil and seethe and eventually soothe - you were so calm and understanding and he felt terrible for harboring such negative emotions.

“I have seen how you look at the other survivor. How you... long for them.” Jake falls despondent and quiet, retreating back into himself where nothing could hurt him, sinking down to a place where would he be safe. Just as the total blackness would threaten to take him all, you grabbed his hand and pulled his head out of the murky water.

“Jake. You are the only one for me. The others come and go but you,” You cup his cheek in your hand, “, are forever.” All the world leaves his body at your words and he leans into you. “You must stop shutting yourself away from everyone else,” You scolding tone failed as it barely had the strength to stand on its own as he distracted you with his expression and Jake closes his eyes and covers your hand with his gloved one. He moves it over his mouth and you feel him start to kiss your palm. You shiver at his butterfly touches. “I’m sorry.” He breathes in between kisses, talking directly into your skin. His other hand moves towards your head and suddenly he’s pulling you towards him, facing you completely. Gaining confidence he glides up your arm and to your eagerly offered neck. His lips are cold and there is hard stumble on his chin that tickles your sensitive neck wonderfully. You gasp as he bites down, teething you until he left a red, sore spot. He grins at your reaction. Jake then spends the next few minutes branding you with his mark, awarding your skin with the sign of his presence there. You were his alone and though you may wonder and gaze out the window at passers-by, you would always return to him.

[slutinacan]

Black Sheep

envy adams x fem!reader

Warnings: kinda suggestive, not too heavy. (Sorry) ((kinda out of character for my kind of blog (((uwu horny sideblog))) but i just felt like writing this idk)). Swearing. A droplet of angst in the beginning but iT DOESN'T LAST TOO LONG I PROMISE.

Prompt: You've seemed to make it away from the heaviness of the group's troubles with Ramona's evil exes, and in an angered fit after getting in a brief argument with Scott due to his sheer recklessness, allowing not only himself to be put in danger, but everyone around him, you clasp Wallace's hand and race downtown to a local venue in high annoyance, only wanting to get away and enjoy the night away from all of this havoc in a flood of rock bands. Of course, everything starts out fine, as it always does, but as soon as an unexpected guest performer arrives onstage, you begin to receive more attention than expected.

Note: I'm aware that there is a shit ton of magical realism in this entire franchise, especially in the movie seeing as it was derived from a very vibrant comic series, so I'll try to incorporate as much of that in it as I can, promise. I'm not very good with magical realism/fantasy yet but I'll give it my all! Enjoy!

---

"You know what, Pilgrim? Fuck you." You let out an angry breath after his previous remark, tears flooding into your eyes.

You stood with nothing but sad anger running through your system, watching his face slowly cloud down into regret at his words, the room physically deflated at the broken atmosphere.

"I get that you want to be happy, and I am in full support of that, I just want you to be happy, Scott. But, when it comes at the cost of the people who want nothing but the best for you? Your friends? The people who have had it up to here with your shit but have always loved you too much to ever mind it because that's what pals are fucking for? You're too reckless. You always have been. Keep your head screwed on right for once and fucking look at what is in front of you, Pilgrim. Wake up." You ranted with a huff, fist clenched tight.

Scott made a move to step forward and take your hand, his own eyes teary, but you pulled back. Making a move for the door you grabbed your keys, and coat, without even taking the time to listen to his pleas. Your insides were boiling hot with rage but the exterior of your body stung cold with bitten ice that practically chilled the room below average temperature.

"Wallace. You want a ride or not, nerd." You asked, stepping outside and already finding yourself halfway to your car already as the wind kicking beneath your feet only accentuated your angry swiftness through the bitten evening.

With that, Wallace sprung up from his seat, grabbing his jacket, house key, and scarf. Ramona let out a quiet scoff of disbelief towards the brown haired boy, seeing as he was actually following you. Though, he gave nothing but a shrug to the group with a small, apologetic, look in return; then, he was out the door after sending one knowing look to Scott that said it all: When we get back, you're fixing this. All you, guy.

---

"Tickets please." The front attendee asked, his voice bellowing in your ears, breaking through the burning ice and sadness clouding your senses, chipping away at the practically frozen armor you guarded yourself with. Falling back into reality, you maintained your focus.

"Oh yeah, sorry, here you go." You refocused on his outstretched hand, placing both your ticket, and Wallace's into the presented palm. He tore off the stubs, grabbing two identification wristbands, and handed you both which you took with a small thank you.

Wallace took notice of your form, chilled and quiet. Soft and small and entirely too timid to be considered normal. You looked present but as if your brain was drifting far, far, away from the current scene. He nudged you with his elbow, sending a reassuring smile as you were cleared to enter the venue, being the lucky few to get there first at that. That alone chipped away at the frosted armor encasing your haunted form once again.

"Look, hun," he leaned against you reassuringly as you two snagged a spot near the front, his hands deep in his own pockets seeing how unusually cold the night was. His muscles tightened up to constrict any warmth in his body and keep it there, now feeling the bitter, unwavering, depressive, frost radiating from you.

"I think you were totally right back there. He's been really reckless as of lately, more so than usual, and yes, it has put a damper on things and, yeah, it has put his loved ones in danger. Also, yeah, its not really an ideal situation at all, completely unruly in fact. It is completely messy and depressing and unfair and it has put everyone he knows, we know, in harms way-" "Wallace is this supposed to be helping me? Because, I love and appreciate you and all, but you are absolutely shit at pep-talks-"

The two of you paused seeing the room already crowded with punk teens, adults, and misfits of the kind all murmuring and diving into their own conversations as the lights dimmed, one spotlight on the host of the venue who stood in the middle of the stage. He was all that could be seen, the light focused on his warm yellow jacket and his matching scarf. He was usually very peppy but seemed just as cold as everyone else on this frosted evening, legs visibly trembling as the ice chilled his scrawny form.

"Welcome everyone! Thanks for coming out tonight, we're real excited to show you what treats we have in store tonight because boy do we have a surprise." He grinned through his chattering teeth, tossing a thumbs up.

You watched intently, not as phased as all the screaming teens beside you had been. You toned him out. In fact, you toned everyone out. The host, Wallace, the screaming crowd of one hundred around you, all became muted. Your eyes honed in on the silhouettes that could not be identified in the shadows behind the current announcer. It seemed as though your concern for everything began to wear thinner and thinner as the cold night caressed your face to numbness, the fortress of ice around your body stilling the need to express, slowing you down and leaving you haunted.

You felt as though you could only bring your eyes to move, watching as the once obnoxious host started backing up off stage into the sidelines. You followed his mouth, watching every shaky trace of a pronunciation through chattering teeth mouthed something that visibly brightened the room and completely tore through your brain as the crowd began an uproar of excitement.

"Please welcome, The Clash at Demonhead!" His lips touched together slowly to form the words and you watched every second of it until he ran offstage, your eyes darting to the main portion of the venue to see the lights flicker on into a warm orange and red hue. Wallace, the crowd beside you, was long forgotten and you stood still among the chaos, relapsing the events that occured throughout the day. You shut your eyes to block it out, and reopened them to meet burning hazel. Your bitter, iced, armor suffered a severe blow at that, those hot eyes tearing right into your chest.

(Oh yeah)

(Oh yeah)

(Oh yeah)

Hello again

Friend of a friend

I knew you when

Your eyes were focused on one thing, the blonde who stood tall and confident in the middle of the stage, bright, pouty, red lips clouding your vision as she sung the opening words strictly, her own eyes on you.

Time moved faster and faster yet it felt like she was all you could see. A flame huddled in the cold dark, chipping further and further at you. You stood still, enjoying the music at that, but only standing to watch her while the excited chaos ensued around you as the music picked up.

She only broke your gaze to dance around the stage, completely strong in her movements and unwavering under the still present ice within the evening. She remained untouched.

During a small instrumental breakdown she strutted closer to the edge of the stage, right where you stood. You watched her, all of her. Her mouth and the way it moved as she sung intimately into the microphone, the way her warmth enveloped you and brushed across your paled face, completely melting any icy exterior you had left, any fight you had left.

Send you my love on a wire

Lift you up, every time,

everyone, ooh,

pulls away, ooh

From you

She was face to face with you now, on her knees in front of you like a panther while her aura burned into you unforgivingly. You gave in, sending a small smile and nodding your head along with the music which contrasted your haunted, frozen, stilled persona from before. You let go, and gave into the warmth. You were sure that there were tons of fans seething in jealousy and in simultaneous excitement seeing her so close to you, and of course they were probably screaming and jumping into chaos, but she was all you could see. With the next few lyrics, you mouthed the words along with her.

Send you my love on a wire

Lift you up, every time, everyone, ooh, pulls away, ooh

It's a mechanical bull, the number one

You'll take a ride from anyone

Everyone wants a ride, pulls away, ooh, from you

She smirked widely once the song slowed, then leaned forward and just managed to catch your mouth in a heated kiss as the lights faded into darkness. You melted completely, kissing back with fever at how overwhelmingly, comfortably, numbing the warmth was. She grabbed your collar, pulling you close so her mouth was at your ear.

"Meet me behind the venue in 20"

[xoluvx]

Hii , if you are still doing requests could I do a reader x Peter Parker ? Where the reader has "the Phoenix force" as her powers . Reader is fighting along side with Spider-Man but she cannot fully control her powers and it can be dangerous at full force . But she had to to save her friends and she kinda uses it at full force and Peter has to go save her . C: thank you . I hope it's an okay idea ...

Of course! Always accepting requests :)

I love your request. It’s different and it pushed me out of my comfort zone, which I appreciate you for that. Personally, I feel like my actual writing of it is trash and could have been done much better. Also, I kinda switched it up a bit from the request. BUT I hope that you enjoy it.

Peter Parker x Reader

- - -

It’d been less than 365 days since you’d stumbled onto the grounds of the compound. The place was that meant to be a temporary refuge had soon turned into your home.

Being one of the youngest in the group, you were top priority in the safety department. You’d rarely been out to missions, everyone far too afraid you’d get hurt. The state you were in when you’d arrived was all the more reason for them to worry about you.

During your time at the compound, you’d spend copious amounts of time trying to hone your powers. Just trying to learn who the hell you were. You knew only so much - they were too massive for you to even begin to understand. And you weren’t the only one, everyone in the compound was curious about your abilities.

You couldn’t recall how it’d happen. You just remember the surge of power, almost like electricity, coursing through your veins.

“There’s an attack near the school - yeah, yeah Peter’s school. We need to get everyone there,” you heard Tony speak into the earpiece attached at his ear almost 24/7. Your ears perched at the mention of Peter’s name getting to your feet in a matter of seconds.

You’d gotten to know Peter over the course of the year. Being the other youngest in the group, you’d bonded over the unfairness of being excluded from certain missions. And the lectures you were constantly given about learning how to control your powers before implementing.

You walked near Tony trying to tag along. This was Peter. Peter who was possibly in danger. Peter whose friends attended his school and you’d gotten to know through the stories he told you when he came to the compound after school. Peter … who you couldn’t deny had your heart on the palm of his hand and he didn’t even know it.

Tony motioned with hands that you could not go before flying out of sight.

There was no way you were going to sit pretty while everyone was out there. When the boy, the boy with those endearing brown eyes, was somewhere out there needing your help.

- - -

“What are you doing here, y/n?” You heard the sweet, but panicked, voice of the boy call out through the tiny chip resting near your ear.

“I’m here to save your butt,” you joked, a sad attempt at lightening the mood. Nothing about this situation was light. There were students running towards safety, the loud honking of cars ringing in your ears.

You tried to remember everything that Wanda had taught you over the course of the year. She was the only person had begun to understand the great power that vested within you. Concentrate. You repeated in your head as you formed a path for people to exit the crowded areas filled with debris.

Peter was flinging from his webs, trying to distract the entity while you and some of the other Avengers tried to get people to safety.

You’d been caught up in lifting discarded cars and remains of fallen bridges that you didn’t hear Peter call out your name through the chip. In one swift movement you were wrapped up in his arms as he swept you off your feet, helplessly swinging away from the threat.

“Peter, you have to let me down.” You say moving your body so he could release you from his grip. “Are you insane? You’ll get killed!” He argued his grip tightening around your waist.

“Please, Peter. I know what I need to do.” Lies. You didn’t, but you couldn’t watch people get hurt. You tried rationalizing with the boy, but it seemed like no use. He wasn’t going to budge.

In the blink of an eye, however, Peter had lost grip on his web and the two of you went tumbling down on to the concrete.

You groaned, holding the side of your body. The pain unbearable. But not as unbearable as the scene you were currently witnessing. Innocent people being hurt.

You shook, as you felt your body temperature increase. You felt it in every inch of your body, from the very tip of your toes to the top of your head. It was unexplainable. Almost familiar, though.

Holding yourself up on your knees, you looked down at your hands emitting an orangy yellow force. Your body boiling.

Peter’s eyes, even over his suit, were bulging as he saw the flaming aura encompassing your frame. Your eyes, he’d never seen your eyes like that before. Quite frankly, it scared the hell out of him.

“Y/n, what are you doing?” He called out reaching out gripping to the side of his torso, his legs far too weak to make any sudden movements.

You, it was like your soul had left your body. In place was a being unrecognizable, untouchable. Concentrate. You repeated in your head over and over. Focusing your attention on the threat, you let the energy that’d been bottling up surge towards the entity that had caused so much pain and so much hurt.

Peter covered his eyes, letting out a scream. He had no clue what you had just done. He had no clue if you even knew what you had just down.

When the damage was done, he ran to your side. His pain long forgotten, replaced with adrenaline and his worry for you. He picked your motionless body into his arms, shaking you. His hand clutching to the side of your face, trying to bring back consciousness. “Y/n, please wake up. What the hell did you do?” He whispered almost to himself his eyes watering, causing his mask to fog up.

Wanda rushed to your side placing a hand on Peter’s shoulder, her eyes full of worry. “I saw what she did.” She sighed trying to sort her thoughts. “What was that?” Peter asked, his voice muffled by the mask.

“She went full force.” She pressed her ear against your chest. “I hear her heartbeat,” she’s sighs in relieve, but the tears forming in her eyes were unstoppable. The thoughts of what could have happened stung her very core. She couldn’t lose someone again.

Your eyes shot open, body convulsing. Your breathing heavy. Lungs inhaling every bit of air.

Peter’s body lit up watching you awaken. He brought his masked face down to you pressing his forehead on yours. “What were you thinking?” He asked, you could hear his heavy breathing through the mask and you could feel the warmth of his breath on your lips.

You had blacked out. You didn’t remember what happened after your body temperature rose. You couldn’t answer Peter. Because you weren’t thinking.

Peter’s gloved hands got lost in your hair, pulling your body and face closer to him. His other arm still cradling your body. His forehead was still pressed on yours and he wished he could remove the stupid mask so he could feel your soft touch.

I almost died. Should have been your thoughts. But all you could think about was confessing your feelings for Peter because now you knew your powers were bigger than you. Bigger than Peter. And you didn’t want to go another day knowing you could lose yourself or Peter.

- 

I don’t know .. I tried ya’ll. I really did lmao

[cutegirlmayra]

Do you ever think sonic would ever kiss Amy in the heat of the moment and not even realize he’s doing it until it’s too late in the modern universe? And if so can you write a prompt about it?

Emm… EMMMM.. the Canon me wants to say that SEGA would have to really have loosened their previous grip on keeping Sonic and Amy all about the ‘chase’ factor. But the me who studies Character and sees Sonic progressing throughout his life would say that ‘spur of the moment’ kissing–especially a first one– would definitely be a plausible way to get Sonamy progressing and show that Sonic has grown as well.

But not realizing it? I could see him doing it quickly and then realizing ‘hey, this isn’t bad.’ (kinda like SheldonxAmy from Big Bang moment.) and after a minute of figuring himself out, he may actually allow another to slip, but that would require a huge emotion surge with an intensity that was built through high-stakes. (my theory that Sonamy can only really work through tragedy, or a great deal of emotions and drama that compels them together.)

But having said that… here’s an idea I had on the matter of Modern Sonamy… *Please imagine that great stakes already happened and they’ve been through a lot since presently opening with this scene…

Prompt:

Amy walked ahead of Sonic, hands together and in front of her, bouncing with each cute, peacefully charming step she took through the woods.

Her head was down, chatting up about random things, as Sonic listened to the echoes of the forest… the rivers and birds… then he looked straight at Amy’s back.

Muscles moving, nothing new.

He raised his eyes a little bit.

Her hair bobbed with each stepped, and she animated herself by moving her head up and around at the pretty forest scenery, then giggling and looking ahead again.

She turned back only once and smiled by squinting her eyes in glee towards him, seeing him slightly paying attention to her anyway, or seeming like it, and advanced on.

He found himself drawn towards the middle part of her large, bundled quills. Each strand pressed down and securely with the others.

Something heated up in his fingers, and he itched to at least touch one out of place.

Something about making her imperfect all of a sudden graced his mind and he took the small tip of her large bundle of back quills and felt around at the ends that slightly poked at his fingertips.

It was the sensation they wanted, he realized. As the fire simmered down and he flicked one out, rubbing it to stand up straight as was the nature of when quills were activated.

He kept a neutral face the entire time, but his eyes kept her in the corner of his attention, making sure she didn’t notice.

Then, his finger twitched for another feeling.

He looked down at the white rim of her red dress.

He lowered his eyes further to see her tail and feet, disappearing with each flap of its hop-like design bouncing with her movements.

He smiled in his mind, thinking her kinda funny, before allowing his hand to lightly, making sure once more he went undetected with a fast shift of his lazy eyes to the back of her head and then began to fell the fabric through his gloved hand.

Some grim from his glove inked a bit off into the white, but that only made his mental smile expose itself for a fleeting second to his face.

He had made her imperfect. Touchable. It wasn’t such a sin anymore to want to feel what it was like. Having even a little bit of her between his fingertips…

He felt like an infant, gripping the ends of a woman’s dress and following after her, but at the same time… he didn’t want to let go.

These feelings had started to boil under the surface of his skin since that horribly suspenseful adventure where he had grabbed Amy from certain doom. Clinging to her hand that felt faint and unsavable, as her body hung from the cliff of magma.

He honestly thought, for a quick moment, that he hadn’t saved her.

That thought had been haunting him. It was if it had happened, and perhaps he kept feeling like he needed to touch her to remind himself she was still alive, still well and with him.

But there was something else too.. something that dared him to never let her out of his sights again.

That was what troubled him the most…

“Sonic? Hey! Are you even listening to me!?”

His hand, as quickly as she had stopped to turn, sprang as fast as a darting thief back to his side and gripped his hip.

He turned too, still an avoiding and neutral expression to his face, scanning the scenery on the side of the route they traveled through.

Amy had suggested a walk. He silently conceded, but walks let his mind wander too much, which was why he didn’t prefer them as much…

“Sonic? Hey, are you ignoring me?” She peeked around his frame and leaned herself more into his line of view, cutely tilting her head as if questioning he was playing with her or not.

She really was something… so pure and untouched… well, not anymore.

“Hmph.” she leaned back, deciding it was play, he concluded. “You usually snap back with a quick… well… quip at this point! Hehe!”

She had one of those laughs and faces you knew were sincere. Straight down to her core, you knew she was giggling. No masks, no mistakes… she was the living embodiment of perfect self-awareness and expression.

“Sometimes… I just like to listen and be quiet, Amy.”

She found that a strange reply and he quickly decided to let her believe he was playing with her.

He felt strange but didn’t want to let her on to it. And if he wasn’t careful, she would start to investigate, and that would be a whirlpool of suffocation for him right now.

He flicked his itching pointer finger up into the air, tipped his lazy toes up, and leaned with a cocky smile to her. “I like to listen to nature. Hear the music or sounds it makes.” he walked around her, and then turned his head to the shifting trees and named some of the sounds around him.

“-And you’re just one sound that adds to that experience, Amy.” he smiled, hands on his hips in a confident manner.

However, he knew it was a facade. Unlike her heart on her delicately smooth sleeve that carried it, he was almost always feeling vulnerable and shy around her.

One wrong move and her perfectness would slip. He would ruin that perfect smile, that headstrong wit, that beautiful way her quills rested down and never spiked up at anyone, not even once.

Jealous suddenly of how anyone could approach her without them defending her, he found his eyes darting to the ground and shifting about.

He sometimes hated thinking.

“So… I’m just noise then?” She folded her arms, musing with a smile and furrowed eyebrows.

She was playing back, he noticed.

He was noticing a lot about her lately…

He looked up and grinned right back with a charming smile. “A special kind of noise.”

“Special?” she beamed, leaning forward and dropping her hands, widely outstretched behind her in excited hopes of grandeur meanings.

He leaned back and winked, allowing her hope to linger a moment before walking on. He positioned his fiery hands back behind his head, realizing they wanted a little bit longer of a time to taint her again, but he would have to wait for another ideal moment to do so without her knowledge of it.

He wouldn’t plan it. He decided it would just happen the way things always tended to happen when it came to being around Amy Rose…

“Ohh…” she seemed to sound disappointed he abandoned the rest of their game, but he didn’t mind her protest.

He heard a moment later the scattering of leaves under her feet, quickly catching up to him, and kept his resting smile so she wouldn’t suspect anything now that he was leading the scenic walk.

He closed his hungry eyes, decided to starve himself from looking at the contrast between the pink and green view he once took in a moment ago.

He felt her hurry up along the edge of his side, leaning her head forward to inquire again, as most of the time, her questions were surrounding things about him anyway.

“Hey, Sonic… what’cha been thinking about?”

He removed a hand to give it the satisfaction of at least itching inside his ears, tilting his head lazily to do so. He really didn’t have the energy to bolt away, so he allowed himself to remain by her perfect kindnesses and just enjoy the quiet peace that always retained itself around her when she was being restfully pleasant and quaintly chill.

“I don’t know. Stuff, I suppose. Sometimes I can think of nothing at all.” he could imagine her confused and slightly annoyed expression from not understanding his answer at all, and it amused him to think of her trying to figure it out.

His fingers kept burning so he put them down and looked at them, rubbing and flicking them out as he placed them down and in front of himself.

“Nothing? At all? Even with me right here by your side? Aww…” she sighed, once again disappointed in his reply.

But he expected disappointment, was used to it because he knew how imperfect he was. Even if her image of himself was perfect, he knew he could never be anything more than just… well… what he wanted himself to be.

And he never dreamed of being perfect.

Amy suddenly let out another giggle, and he shifted his eyes to her in curiosity, knowing that was usually the sign that she was playful yet again for another teasing round of the same game with him.

Flirting…

Amy was a master and amateur at flirting.

He knew this, but he kept it to himself. Because it would be dangerous to inform her that at times she was perfect, and at other times, he was glad she wasn’t.

To resist her at her perfect attraction would be the ultimate test, but no sin. However, to fake that her charms were off at her worst, would be to insult nature’s beautiful way of giving you an escape from temptation.

So he would appease her. Nature and its child. Perfect little Amy Rose. A symbol of its love for life and vitality. Encompassed in one perfect little lady.

She pranced around near some small opening from the road and refused to give him a chance to continue on.

She stopped him in his tracks with every movement of her hyper little body. The way the crevices folded together when she bent, or the sway of her hair as she turned.

She smiled. She never stopped. Perfect people can’t feel anything but perfect.

He stopped and watched with what looked to be little interest.

But inside was a roaring to embrace her. To carry her into his arms, and to smother her with the fire of his fingertips, and keep her prickly hairs standing on end in hopes they might push him away.

He hoped they would be able to push him away.

He wanted to get away.

His eyes lingered but his will was too powerful.

He ripped his eyes from the portrait of her enjoying the grassy dirt and light beams of sunlight through the canopies of the trees.

His eyes stung by the pain of his harsh tear from the object they were so fixated on thinking about, but he just kept them close to heal…

Something perfect… gravitates to those who are imperfect.

So they may taint them.

Sonic couldn’t be perfect and he wouldn’t ever be.

But he knew the sin to taint her was unforgivable. Not enough perfects existed in the world.

He growled out the side of his mouth.

They could make perfect little babies to add to their perfect little numbers of scarce and few.

Amy called and her voice rang through the pronounced sensations of his mind trying to overcome his body.

He turned back to her, almost as if summoned to a fate he couldn’t avoid and looked at her puzzlingly.

“Well? What? You looked fine without me.” He played, always playing… never more serious than a taunt or flaunting of knowing she wanted him to be closer and that he never would dare step further into the fire.

Like a kid and a match. Though there was only one match left, and he didn’t want to waste the fun he had with it by lighting it watching it burn out.

What a sad thing to savor… something that burnt out so quickly.

But Amy… was perfect.

“I’d never be fine without you~ Teehee!” she skipped up to him, wanting to fan the fire he constantly put out with a tight clasp whenever she tried to bring the thought of lighting the single match back.

She was on-point in her game today, where he mentally had to slap his hands together to make sure the flame was fully killed again, but…

He turned his head away from her being so close. Something about today didn’t feel quite right.

She was insulted by his indifference and turned away, swishing her arms to move her dress to sway and then held a stance of thought.

He dared to take a quick second to look over and analyze her reaction. A dangerous move… but he ended up caring too much and letting some of the fire slip out to warm her if she began to cry…

“Sonic… do you… like me?”

He felt hot water immediately begin to wash his skin off his bones.

“Like.. who I am? As a person?” she swayed her body back and forth, left to right, looking innocently to the ground as he swallowed, letting a wave of cool spit bring down the warmth inside of him.

Was fate testing him?

Why does it always do that!?

The whites of his eyes showed how truly scared he was of ever letting the fire slip, ever allowing it to touch and burn away the perfectness from her.

Worry-struck, he remained frozen and silent.

“…Do you ever…” she looked up, tilting her head, “Think of me?”

When she turned her head to him, she giggled innocently and kicked the ground before hopping over some grass, as though her perfectness wouldn’t allow her to trample over what her mother, Nature, had created in the same likeness of herself.

No… she couldn’t sin. It wasn’t allowed for something that Mother Nature gifted to be her perfect example of perfectness.

As he continued to remain prejudice and silent in his thoughts and words, she fluttered her eyes to him and then down, turning away again.

“Do you ever think I’m pretty?”

He tightened every muscle in his body.

‘Don’t you move…’ he commanded, his will stronger than the fires inside of him, heating up his 70 percent of imperfect water. Burning his flesh off would be worth keeping her perfect… it would be worth keeping her untouched and unhurt by the world that wasn’t perfect…

“Do you ever… just think of me?”

Her form… in the light of the trees as she stretched to absorb it. She was used to warmth… she may be able to withstand even fire…

It twisted and elongated. He could see the sharp curves, the long, thin legs protruding from her wide dress… a bell-shaped flower.. with her head as it’s sweet pollen’s resting place.

Ah, honeybees love to suck on those heads, but Sonic was a hedgehog, and a decent one at that.

Honeybees couldn’t manage their fires, but he would protect this Rose from any such flames that arose around her!

He closed his eyes and gripped his remaining skin on his arms, though he mentally knew they were fallen off his bone by now from the heat that rose and threatened his sanity.

Why did he want to? Why did he envy the perfectness of gentlemen honeybees?

Hedgehogs could maintain flowerbeds, sure. But he never really took up gardening…

Honeybees could fly lightly up to a flower’s lips,… hedgehogs scuffle along their toes…

“Do you ever think… I’m attractive?” she suddenly giggled, but he could hear her slight panic at his absolute still and silent frame.

His eyebrow twitched, and he immediately looked away from her, up at the trees, before closing his eyes.

He knew that would make her upset. But maybe that hammer could smash the flames, put him out of this deadly struggle to keep her unharmed.

Flowers burn up easily… perfectness gets tainted so quickly…

He had to hold back. He had to remain still and silent.

Oh, Amy… you tease and you flirt… you but you only hurt yourself.

She pursed her lips, making him realize his eyes were opened again, and couldn’t help but refocus on her pollen.

Why were honeybees so into the taste of pollen anyway?

The thought was dangerous, but so was when she pouted and glared at him, rushing right up to him in angry little huffs, feet skimming the ground at her upsetness to his indifference.

Suddenly, she shook out her and tried again, surprising him out of his act.

“Don’t you ever… want to hold me? Long to… to keep me close to you? Even sometimes?”

He turned away, his hand covering his face as he worried she saw something… something leak through… some fire blazing in his eyes that he tried to keep relatively to himself.

She turned away, stomping her foot to the ground. “Fine! I get it! You don’t… you haven’t yet… but you will! I’ll make sure of it! Because we’re destined to be together, Sonic! I just know it and-!”

She tensed up.

A fugitive hand had reached back behind him, skimmed her shoulder to the crevice of where her back met her arm and stole some perfectness from her body.

It was so fast, that Sonic hadn’t noticed his fingers had gone rogue.

In absolute terror, he looked up to see Amy turning her head to identify the perpetrator… and to realize it was attached to him.

He pulled it back with the darting spring of its last act beforehand, lightning would have been proud fo his speedy getaway, clinging to the moment it had stroked the perfectness off some of her skin… leaving a cooling feeling that alleviated some itching in them but without it… they burned once again for another robbery.

He was about to race away when she cried out to him- “Sonic! Wait!”

He mentally could comprehend the arms that were outstretched behind him, wanting to be burned up and fuel the rest of the fires that licked his exposed bones.

he felt vulnerable again. A child who had lit his match out of absolute necessity from waiting so long… but now…

He hadn’t realized.

He had flung himself around as if to the call of the wild, and let her will be done instead of his own.

He was tired of fighting a battle he feared he would always lose too. No matter how much he struggled.

He hadn’t realized that she lingered by his mouth.

That she waited as if permission.

That she stared into his eyes, her hands cooling his chest as they firmly rested there.

His arms encircled her and he hadn’t realized.

His breathing grew soft but heavy and he hadn’t realized.

He was breathing in her perfect little world, her perfect image of himself, her perfect way of things…

And he was inches from taking it all into him… from bringing her perfectness to himself.

In the heat and stir of the moment, he let out a breath, escaping the confines of his heart, “Yes…”

Her eyes raised as if she was blossoming before him.

“Sometimes… I do.”

It wouldn’t be the last time he said those last words.

It wouldn’t be the last time he said ‘yes’ either.

It was like he was answering years of her questions, all in one pivotal reply.

Then she moved up and closer to his face.

Then… he said goodbye to his love of imperfection.

And then… he kissed into her world…. of the perfect love.

(You said ‘heat of the moment’ right?)

He drew back the second he regained himself.

They were kneeling on the ground.

His hands were entangled in her spiked hair, which he instantly connected was because they must have been stimulated in some way.

He realized his face felt pressed and touched, several times in fact.

He panicked, feeling his heart moving so fast when he wasn’t racing through plains or mountainscapes.

He looked and listened.

His senes restored, he realized his sin and stepped away.

“Oh no..” he had given into perfect.

“Sonic?” she removed her hands and sat down, withdrawing and wondering what was wrong.

He kicked his feet away, gripping his head. “Oh no, oh no, oh no!!” he repeated through gritted teeth in his fright, getting up and moving away from her.

He had brought her into imperfection… and allowed her to bring him to perfect.

He realized what this meant. Amy would want perfect little kids. Say goodbye to Eggman. Get a JOB.

“Amy… I…I’m..” he felt the need to say he was sorry for kissing her. He felt the desire to just tell her it was all a misunderstanding. To forfeit the perfect he had received from her and reclaim some of his imperfect world.

But instead, he turned to see her there, something absolutely loyal to whatever world he may inhabit.

Perfect… because he knew she loved him perfectly.

“I..” he felt his entire being surrender once more to her reality and gave up what little freedom he thought he could muster of living without her perfect love.

“I love you.” it was unrehearsed, unthought of, and betrayed what he wanted to say.

But even just that tiny slimmer of perfect… still lingering in his body and on his lips… made him realize that he just couldn’t live without it.

It had to be in his world.

His… whatever it was… perfect and imperfect… a world that he would create for not only himself but now for the whims of a single rose he couldn’t leave unattended.

THE END.

(But it’s really never the end…)