#suddenly i wanted to draw phoenix

[avoiltaire]

WRIGHTO!

[kradogsrats]

Now we know What Viren Did(tm), and...

My personal side-eye aside, that denouement is actually an incredibly elegant application of the story's themes, within the scope of restrictions imposed by this particular medium (i.e. a cartoon targeted for pre-teens and younger). Like, I personally assumed for a long time that we would simply never find out the details, because it would be either too grim and/or violent for the story's intended rating or... kind of a let-down. On the surface, what we got seems like the second.

Most of us have looked at Claudia killing the baby deer to heal Soren's paralysis and went "well, it was obviously that, but y'know... worse, somehow," which is a completely reasonable assumption to make. It was definitely what was narratively implied, which makes the supposedly-damning ingredient being "your mother's tears" instead of like... idk, "your mother was pregnant again and I used the life of that unborn child to save you" or something kind of "... oh. Okay, then."

To be fair, that might also be why they went so hard in the IMO inadvisable male-dominated writer room direction of "so I held her down and took what I wanted" to convey the requisite "he's doing A Bad," which is what all my side-eye is toward. But here's the thing:

On some level, dark magic is about violation—of nature, of others, and of the self. Even violation by Aaravos, ultimately.

But it's also not just that.

Dark magic also sits at the center of one of the primary themes of the whole story, which is the evil of denying others' personhood. We see it again and again from the angle of the heroic cast: "You keep calling it a monster," "You knew he was a person, just like you," "She's not 'the elf.' She's Rayla." The evil they do not allow to take root is seeing people as things, the place where all other evils begin. (GNU Terry Pratchett, IYKYK.)

So Viren's damning crime, the crime that is dark magic, is this:

In that moment, he looks at his wife, and sees only a source of what he needs. One that he can take from as he wills. That's why Lissa leaves—Viren has pulled the circle he draws around "people" versus "abstractions, things to be used" in so tightly that she has found herself suddenly on the outside of it. That's not something you come back from, in a relationship.

As for it all being over something as innocent as Lissa's tears, as opposed to something like her blood, her unborn child, her heart, her last breath—that's also, I think, part of the point. It's a renewable resource, harvested without doing permanent physical harm, but it's still a violation of her. This is the ultimate refutation of the "but what if ethically-sourced phoenix feathers" argument as being, for the final time, bullshit.

When Viren bursts in looking like he walked straight out of hell and demands use of her tears, could Lissa have given them freely? Sure... but she didn't. Could he have talked her around, if he invested the time and respect for her that would require? Probably, but again, he didn't! He took what he'd decided was necessary, did what he decided he had to do, because he could.

And like, he knew, even then. Because while dark magic twists your perceptions and reasoning, dragging you deeper each time—it can't twist you so much that you no longer have a choice. It will do everything it can to make you rationalize making that choice, over and over, but it can't erase that it is a choice.

Like, I'm honestly kind of emotional about it because while the surface level watching experience is kind of hmmmmm, it delivers so well on a thematic and meta level that I'm just like idk. Fuck. It's good.

[charliemwrites]

Government Asset Soap! This is half of the last part (the smut got too long and I wanted to post this dammit).

Original concept comes from @ceilidho’s military asset Soap. Further inspiration came from @391780’s Nikto version “The Summons”. Both are very good and you should definitely check out!!

Content: Post-trauma coping, Non-Con Touching and Kissing, Violence (mentioned), Unstable Soap

It’s probably a fire hazard, the candles. They’re sprinkled across your little cabin like fireflies, feeble but steady heartbeats of a home you’re failing to build. Too many of them, likely. Two, sometimes three, per room. Tiny tealights, smokeless soy, scented pine. It would be easier, safer, to just turn on the lamps you foolishly invested in.

You can’t bear anything brighter than golden halogen anymore, though. The glare drags you back to a tiny cell bisected by cruel metal, holding back an even crueler fate. No, you’d much rather wade through pools of shadow and firelight, fire code be damned.

It’s a small cabin, but you’ve already cluttered it up with furniture and rugs, a theme for each room. Yellow and blue for the kitchen. Purple and cream for the den. Green and brown for your bedroom. Nooks to hide in, spaces to squeeze into, big shapes to huddle behind. You’ll never be caught out in a cold, barren room ever again.

Your days are long regardless of the time of year. Get groceries in town every day, making a point to be friendly and seen so that someone might notice if you suddenly stop coming. Clean incessantly, so many surfaces to dust. Pick hobbies like daisies. Knitting and crocheting, different paint styles, felting. You’re contemplating carpentry, would like to build shelves for all the books stacked up in the den. Keep a dream journal by your bed that you neglect for weeks at a time.

You draw out the nights until you can count the hours until dawn on one hand. Stay up baking, making homemade ink, learning new ways to style your hair, anything, anything, anything—

It’s not the sleeping – or at least that’s not the worst of it. It’s the waking.

Laswell suggested a cat.

You told her to stop suggesting pussy to unstable people.

But it’s still not a bad idea. Another living thing to keep you accountable; the plants are pretty and time-consuming, but not good company.

You talk yourself out of it every time, knowing the worst-case scenario. It’s not catastrophizing if it actually happens, and you can feel an invisible time weighing on your shoulders like another gravity. Tick, tick, tick. Heavier, heavier, heavier. It’s hard to breathe beneath the wait.

The military doesn’t do apologies. It does platitudes at best. Well wishes and good intentions are painted in brushstrokes of blood. Victory flags are planted on bodies, living or otherwise. Laswell apologized. She swore that if there had been another way – any other way…

She didn’t promise to leave you alone. Didn’t assure you that you’d never see her or her goons again.

If you thought it would do any good, you’d tip one of the candles over and set it all aflame. Rebirth through fire. But you never did figure yourself for a phoenix. And besides, a phoenix is still itself, even when the ash falls away.

So, you spool out your time like picking at tapestry threads, one thin string at time.

Tonight, it’s bread. Cinnamon chocolate babka, to be specific. You were craving something sweet. Are debating the merits of some sort of cream cheese icing while you shower off the long, ever-busy day.

Have decided on an optimistic why not as you slip out to begin your overly complicated self-care routine. Moisturizers, hair oils, lotion. An unexpected benefit of overloading yourself, you suppose. Even when you first got out of the military, you didn’t take such good care of yourself. You have a jogging route now. You’re handling your trauma every possible way except therapy. (And sleeping.) Better than nothing, you figure.

The candles have gone out in your bedroom. You click your tongue in annoyance, trying to remember where you left the matches this time. Bedside table?

You pad across the soft carpet, using the edge of the bed as a guide in the pitch black. The only other problem with candles is that their humble light doesn’t reach very far. But you know this house and keep the floors tidy enough that you’re confident you won’t trip.

Make it to the nightstand without incident and pat around. Knock the side of your hand into the little carton and only just catch it before it hits the deck. Let out a little huff and start to fumble it open.

“Nice catch, bonnie.”

You gasp, but your voice doesn’t get any farther than the back of your tongue. The box slips from your numb fingers, matchsticks scattering across the floor. He tsks.

“Shame that. We’ll get ‘em later.”

You can’t move. Can barely breathe. You’re just frozen, heart thundering with a sudden storm of fear and confusion. Hands still aloft in front of you, spine rigid, knees locked.

You feel more than hear movement behind you, and then the warmth of his body seeping into your naked skin. Not quite touching. Not yet.

“Missed you, little bird,” he rasps in your ear.

You always thought that in a moment like this you would scream. Kick and elbow and fight, damn your certain loss. But when it comes down to it, survival drowns out all those stupid, haughty ideas about pride and dignity. So you don’t curse and shout like you always fancied you would.

You whisper, “Soap.”

He hums but it sounds like a growl in your panicked state. “Missed me too, aye? You’re already naked fer me.”

His hands are searing when they settle on your waist like they belong there. He pulls you back against him; in the dark he’s bigger, broader than you remember. At least, you think, he’s fully clothed for now.

“What are you… how are you here?” you ask.

He barks a laugh, mean and rough. “Was only a matter of time after that shite they pulled.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and see it recreated in the phosphenes behind your lids.

Soap buried balls deep inside of you, murmuring a constant stream of filth as he got harder and harder inside you. Filling you up as you twitched around him, oversensitive and teary, afraid of what would come next.

Then the lights flashed, flicked red. An alarm sounded, Laswell’s voice ordering Soap away from you. But he just snarled and hunched over you, hips snapping to bury himself right back inside while you cried out.

The locked door swung in, armed guards swarming in. Yanked Soap off you while you scrambled to cover yourself. Someone grabbing your arm none too gently to pull you from the room. Soap wild-eyed and snarling like something possessed, until he was overtaken by struggling guards and you were trembling naked in that damned hallway.

“Was mad at you, at first, cannae lie,” he says, almost conversational. Your eyes snap open, though you know it’ll do you no good. “But I’ve had time to think on it. Wasnae yer fault, was it? Saw them drag you out.”

An awful relief floods you. Fuck dignity, fuck honesty. This is Soap right behind you, completely unrestrained and unsupervised.

“Yeah,” you answer, voice small. “I didn’t know they would do that. What… um. What happened to you?”

He presses his face into your damp hair, pressing closer, snaking his arms to squeeze you against him.

“Sent me off on some shite mission,” he explains, “probably hoped I’d die out there. You smell so good, lass.”

You shiver as his breath ghosts over the sensitive skin of your neck. Hot, humid.

“And… and then what?” you insist, trying to stall.

You’re not sure what you’re stalling for. There will be no miraculous saves here – not that you really got any last time. It’s not like there’s any real plan to be made here, either. None that you’d be confident enough to risk his wrath on.

“Disappeared. Took care of business. Came to get my pretty little bird.”

A rough hand trails over the curve of your hip, brush the neat curls of your mound. You suck in a breath, hands twitching with the urge to stop him but not sure of putting up resistance when you’re still unsure of his mental state.

“And what about you, hm?” he rumbles. “Been a good girl while I’ve been away?”

His fingers dart down towards your entrance, not nearly prepared for anything. Least of all his thick digits.

“Y-yes!” you yelp, grabbing at his wrist. Relief makes you dizzy when you manage to stop him. “I-I’ve been good. Which means I’m not… I can’t just take you. I need… I need prep.”

He huffs, nips at the tender spot beneath your ear. The thrill that shoots through your stomach is terrifying.

“That’s what these are for, bonnie.”

And to your horror, he starts to push past your resistance like your staying hands aren’t there at all.

“John!”

He freezes. You shudder air into your burning lungs, feeling dizzy on panic.

You can get through this without pain, just think.

“I haven’t even got to see you,” you stutter, voice shaky. Can’t quite inject the disappointment you’re trying for, but hopefully it’ll work. “And I bet you’re all dirty from travel.”

He grumbles. “So what?”

You scramble to think of a satisfactory response. “S-so let’s get reacquainted in the shower, yeah? That way I can see your handsome face, at least.”

He chuckles, grazes his teeth “playfully” across your cheek. “Bossy thing.”

“You like it.”

And to your shock, he agrees with an amused huff. Hauls you up in his arms and walks you back to the still muggy bathroom. You’re set on your feet and spun around, chin jerked up to receive a savage kiss. All tongue and teeth, no finesse. He’s just licking into your mouth, hungry and animalistic, spit dribbling down your chin.

When he finally pulls away, you blink spots from your vision. Finally focus on his smug features and make a soft, horrified noise when you register the splatter of crimson across them.

“Och, that? My little bird had watchers.”

Of course you did. The horror ebbs a bit. Resentment has made you indiscriminately bitter.

“Oh,” you say, “th-thank you. Definitely glad we’re showering first, then.”

“Squeamish?”

You’d like to know when the world turned upside down and John fucking “Soap” MacTavish began teasing you about the blood on his face.

“A bit,” you admit.

“Poor dear,” he coos. “Hard to believe we were made for each other sometimes, aye? Complementary, we are.”

Is that what he thinks? Christ.

You turn to start the shower again, spine prickling with the weight of his eyes on your back. The water rushes down and then he’s crowding you against the cold wall beneath the (thankfully) warm spray.

“Y-you’re still dressed!” you protest between sharp nips to your collarbone.

“Fix it, then,” he snarls.

You claw his shirt up his back, get momentarily distracted by the impressive display of muscle hidden beneath. Draw your palms over his chest and feel him shudder.

“Fuckin’ heavenly, love,” he purrs. “Missed this.”

A vague memory comes back to you, him gripping you close because he felt you naked against him for the first time. Him admitting he hasn’t had affectionate touch in a while.

This… this you could work with.

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Masterlist

[hunterxmilo]

Defense attorney Miles Edgeworth and his chief Manfred Von Karma are here to face off against prosecutor Phoenix Wright and his mentor Lady Mia Fey! Miles may not have as much experience in court as others but he's determined to save the phoenix trapped in Lady Fey's gilded cage!

(I had this idea a few days ago where what if Edgeworth and Wright had their stories switched, even their personalities cause I've seen many versions of defense lawyer Edgeworth still being quite serious and goofy prosecutor Wright, but also their mentors also swapped roles too! (Honestly I just wanted to draw a young and good version of Manfred Von Karma and suddenly everyone is getting role/personality swaps!) I might (already am) be doing swapped roles for Franziska and Maya as well so I will have fun figuring out how they will turn out! (I'll go more in detail about the two girls and their roles when I have them finished!)

Also yes Mia killed Phoenix's Mother who was a defense attorney and then took him under her wing. Growing up, I like to imagine he is treated like a phoenix in a gilded cage where Mia flaunts her perfect pupil in public letting him out to prosecute and get a guilty verdict every time but when he is back in the manor he mainly hides away in his room to study and Mia barely interacts with him only telling him when to eat or what case he is to take next. Even when he grows up and gets a place of his own his night terrors keep him from fully getting rested and unannounced check ins from Mia always keeps him on his toes.)

(I'm driving myself insane (in a good way) thinking how this swapped universe works with these versions of these lawyers!)

[californiatowhee]

edgeworth: "i suddenly can't remember..........."

this is for the last line challenge! rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you feel like).

i was tagged by @phoenixmetaphor (thanks bestie <3) aaand will tag (though there is no pressure and please feel free to ignore if you want lolol) @makaira-art, @aawrightworth, and @doctorsiren, who unfortunately has to suffer my tagging anyway because this is her prosecutor wright AU! he's been on my dash lately and has a fun design and also my trash brain was like "wait this is an excuse to draw a moody phoenix in a waistcoat, HELL YEAH". apparently i am imagining him having a dumb fancy chair in his office so he can pose dramatically in it when people come to see him

[roosterforme]

Feelings Involved | Rooster x Reader

Summary: After months of dancing around your feelings, you're about to leave San Diego and Bradley behind. But on your last night in California, you realize you're not the only one with your heart on the line.

Warnings: Angst, smut and swearing

Length: 2500 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Check out my masterlist for more!

"You're so lucky, Chaser. Naval Air Station in Key West? Damn, that sounds even better than San Diego."

It took you a beat to realize that Phoenix was talking to you, and you had to force your gaze away from the man sitting at the bar to focus on her and Hangman. "Oh. Yeah. It's fine," you told her, barely able to return her smile as she handed you a shot. 

But It wasn't fine. You didn't want to move to Key West. You didn't want to leave San Diego. Or him. But you had been here for nearly two years, and you'd never gone for it. You'd never made a move.

And neither had he. 

"Not a chance," Hangman drawled. "One hurricane and you'll be California dreamin'."

You rolled your eyes at him. "Give me a little credit. I can probably stomach two hurricanes." You tapped your shot glass to his and downed your drink. 

"You need a chaser, Chaser?" Rooster said from behind you.

The involuntary little shiver that you felt at the sound of his raspy voice made you realize that leaving for Florida in the morning was probably exactly what you needed. 

When you glanced at him over your shoulder, his brown eyes looked intense. Focused. "No, Rooster. I'm a big girl. Do you need one?"

His lips quirked into a soft smile. "Do I need a Chaser? Maybe."

His warmth at your back did nothing to coax the chill out of your body. You and he had been doing this for months, inching closer to each other, but instead of so much as a kiss, he always inevitably pulled back. Shut it down before it started. You'd see him with a fling. Or suddenly he'd have a new girlfriend. He'd leave you alone in your feelings every single time.

"Do you want me to get you a Coke from Penny? Maybe a Sprite?" you asked him sweetly. But instead of laughing it off or pulling away, you felt his hand on your lower back.

He dipped his head a little closer to yours, voice pitched for your ears only. "That's not the kind of Chaser I want tonight." 

Your lips parted slowly, drawing his eyes down to your mouth as you turned to face him. His hand stayed on your back, pulling you gently against him. Right in front of the others. 

"What are you doing, Rooster?"

"Fuck," he whispered, swallowing hard. "I don't know." He looked like he was on the verge of panicking, so you tried to pull yourself out of his grasp. "No, stay here. Just...I..."

But you shook your head and tried your best to want to move away from him. "You can't do this tonight," you told him, your voice small and vulnerable. Your personality was neither of those things, and he knew that as well as you did.

"I should have done it different with you," he said with a self-deprecating little laugh that had you all mixed up inside. 

"Bradley, why now? You're like a year too late to be doing this." Your heart swelled with hope at the same time tears started to prick your eyes. "It's not fair."

"You're not gone yet." And then you pulled yourself away from him, glaring over your shoulder as you walked past Phoenix and Hangman and toward the bar. But Bradley caught up to you right away. "I shouldn't have said that," he rasped, reaching for you again. "I'm sorry."

You pushed him away and stood up to your full height. "Fuck you, Rooster. I'm not fucking disposable."

"I know!" he said, getting in your face. "That's why I never told you how I feel."

A scathing retort was ready and waiting on your lips, but then his lips found their way there instead. His kiss was soft and tentative as you pushed him away with your palm on his chest, but almost instantly you gave in. Your fingers scrunched up the fabric of his tropical print shirt as you pulled him closer. 

When you could feel the rough denim of his jeans against your bare thighs, he released your lips, leaving you dizzy. Bradley gently took your chin between his thumb and index finger until you snapped out of your daze. And then he said, "I'd tell you how I feel, but I don't want to make this harder."

You nodded gently, and his thumb skimmed along your skin until it was pressed to your bottom lip. And you heard Bradley whimper as you kissed the tip of his thumb. "Oh, god," you gasped.

And then his lips were back on yours, unrelenting as he used his long fingers to tip your face up to his. You dropped your empty shot glass onto the bartop and dug your fingers into his wavy hair. He eased his other hand down along your body as you pressed yourself against him. You felt his fingers graze your leg just below your shorts before his hand settled back up at your waist. 

You wanted his hands everywhere. Was he even single? Did you even care?

When you pulled his bottom lip between yours, you could feel that he was getting hard, and you whined his name against his mouth. 

"Bradley," you moaned. "Aren't you still dating that girl?"

"No," he grunted. "And even if I was, I'd call her right now and end it if that's what it took."

"You would?" you asked, tipping your head to the side as his lips found your neck. "For one night?"

"Yes," he promised, running his nose along your earlobe and making you shiver. "It's my fault. I should have told you that you meant something. But I've never been with someone I really care about before."

He was breathing heavier now, and you were in the middle of the Hard Deck with your fingers at the back of his neck and your leg wrapped around his thigh. He cared about you. You had one night left.

"Meet me in the bathroom," you whispered, and then he was easing himself away from you with a sad look on his face.

"I'm not meeting you in the bathroom, Chaser. That's not what this is."

"Yeah..." you told him. "You're right. Take me home with you."

His eyes went a little wide. "Yeah? You sure? Because this is about to mean something to me."

You paused for a moment to consider his words. You might never see him again. But after all this time wanting, you knew you needed to let yourself have just this one opportunity with him. You'd regret leaving the bar by yourself too much. "It already means something to me. Take me home with you."

Bradley tossed some cash on the bar and laced his fingers with yours. "Let's go," he whispered, kissing your forehead. And once you were outside in the cool air under the flickering streetlight, he pulled you close again. "God, baby, I'm so fucking stupid," he whispered, kissing you a little harder. 

"Mmm," you moaned, sliding your arms around his neck and tasting the whiskey he had been sipping on. Your tongue teased his as he eased his hands up your shirt and spread his fingers along your back.

The two of you slowly made your way across the parking lot, stumbling and laughing softly, unwilling to let go of each other. "Can you forgive me?" he asked once he had you pushed up against his Bronco.

"Yeah," you told him, feeling tears in your eyes. He kissed your cheeks and your nose. "I can forgive you."

With one more soft kiss, he opened the door and helped you climb in. You scrambled across the seat and unlocked his door for him. And then he was inside with you, and you were kissing him as he started the engine. You weren't rushing this, and neither was he. He backed out of the parking spot and then took your hand in his as the radio filled the space with a song that was familiar to you. 

Neither of you said anything as you played with his fingers and pressed kisses to his palm. He didn't live too far from the Hard Deck; you'd been to his house many times before with the others. But when he hurried around the Bronco once he was parked in the driveway, you let him pull you down into his arms. He carried you inside the front door while you kissed the scars on his cheek and dug your fingers back into his gorgeous hair. 

As he carried you to his bedroom, you couldn't stop yourself. It was just the softest whisper, but you knew he heard you. "I'm going to miss you."

"Me too, baby," he promised, setting you on his bed, never letting you go. You managed to kick your shoes off with his big body on top of yours. And then those kisses. He had been holding back before, you were sure of that now. "You feel so good," he whispered, running his fingers along your cheek and around the back of your neck.

You chased his lips as you unbuttoned his shirt, needing to feel his skin all over your body. When he removed your top, you arched your back to help him, and then his lips were on your chest. He tossed your bra aside as well, tasting you everywhere. The feel of his lips and mustache on your breasts had your fingers stalling on his buttons, so you just tugged it over his head instead. Then he yanked off his undershirt, and you pulled him down to you.

"You're so warm," you told him, melting into his touch as his lips found yours again. As your hands glided up his arms to his shoulders, you rubbed yourself up along his hard length. All the friction of denim on denim had your head tipping back.

"Are you really going to let me love you like this, Chaser? I've been thinking about it for so long." He unzipped your shorts slowly, the sound of it making you wild for him.

"Yes," you groaned, squeezing your eyes shut and memorizing the feel of his hands on your waist and then hips as he pulled your shorts and underwear off. When you reached for the front of his jeans, he was already between your thighs, kissing his way down from your belly button to your pussy.

"Oh, Rooster," you gasped, propping yourself up on your elbows, but he was already there. Lips on your clit and tongue everywhere. "Oh."

"You're making me crazy," he promised, looking up at you. You let him lick and tease you until you were both panting with need. The gentle roll of your hips and the rub of his facial hair were enough to get you softly clenching.

"Bradley," you gasped at that first squeeze. 

"Okay," he agreed, finally stripping off his jeans while you ran your fingers through his hair again. "Do I need a condom?"

"No." You pulled him on top of you as he pushed himself inside, and you moved along with his languid movements. He tipped your chin up, kissing your lips and swiping his tongue against yours. You body cradled him just right, and he was hitting every sweet spot inside as he rubbed along your clit. You held on as long as you could, looking up at his perfect face, but it felt like he knew exactly what to do. 

"Oh," you whined, face scrunched in pleasure as he sucked in a breath and worked himself a little faster. Your fingers were tight in his hair as you shook. You pulsed around him. "So good."

And then you were cumming hard, right leg wrapped tight around his hip as you jerked up against his body.

"Look at you," he groaned, watching you come undone beneath him. "Fucking perfection."

And then he fucked you so good as you whined for him, filling you over and over again before he spilled himself inside you. You kissed him as he whispered your name, getting softer like a prayer against your skin. And then you let that bittersweet feeling hit you square in the chest. 

You tried to hide your little sobs by turning away from him, but he knew. Bradley buried his face in the crook of your neck and kissed you there while your fingers drifted through his hair and down to his neck. You could feel the tears now as he said, "You're not disposable. You're special. I should have got over my fears so I could be with you." He kissed the tears away from your cheeks. "Please, please tell me you don't regret this."

"No," you told him, pulling his head down to your shoulder. "I don't regret it. I'm never going to regret it."

You were both quiet for a few minutes. He was still buried deep inside you, and you held your tears back as much as you could. "I've never done that with someone like you before," he whispered. "I've been too afraid to get close to someone and then leave them alone. I know I could lose myself in you, but you'd regret it if I didn't come back home from a deployment. Anyone would."

"Bradley-"

But he cut you off with his lips on yours, and then he said, "Will you stay with me? For the night? Longer?"

You nodded and sniffed. "I'll stay with you."

Your body fit perfectly with his, and he held you all night. When his hand came up to cup your cheek, he kissed your forehead. Every little movement of his body against yours had you scrambling to memorize the feel of him. And the way he smelled. And the way his sheets felt against your legs. Occasionally he would whisper your name, and you would kiss him before you both pretended you were going to sleep. And then he'd whisper for you again.

As the first early sunlight crept into his bedroom, Bradley pulled you closer to him as you shook your head. The urge to leave him before your tears fell kicked in, and you climbed out of his bed and started to gather your clothes and pull them on. 

"Chaser," he whispered miserably. But you could barely look at him. "Will you call me or text me? Something?"

You wanted to. You really wanted to. "Bradley." Your voice was hoarse, and you knew you needed to leave, but when he reached for you, it was hopeless. You were in his arms one last time. 

"Will you?" he asked, and you kissed him softly, savoring the feeling of your fingers threaded through his hair.

You met his eyes through your tears. "Maybe I'll see you again."

"Baby," he gasped as you pulled away from him.

And as he leaned back against his pillow with his palms pressed to his eyes, you whispered, "Goodbye, Rooster." And you ran from his room before you could turn back.

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

An angsty goodbye to what could have been. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls.

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[mvjerbs]

I can't take it anymore.

I have nimona aus in my head that are just making me shake in place because I have to hold back the urge to scream and run around. I need to share them, might draw them soon if I can.

I'll start with Shapeshifter!Ballister au:

same events happened but with Ballister being the shape shifter.

despite being the monster that everyone feared, Ballister still believed that he can change the mindset of people by becoming a knight and protecting them. So he snuck in and, through the power and kindness of the queen(bless her), he was given a chance to become a knight.

he plans to reveal his true self once he accomplishes a big goal which is to save people from a great danger and gain their trust.

during the knighting of knights when the queen got killed, Ballister escaped by shapeshifting which made the people panic because "aaaa the monster is here and he is a part of the knights!". (Am torn if I should let him lose his arm or not)

ballister hides away in a tower that he accidentally stumbles upon.

the tower turns out to be nimona's hideout (she's human here).

nimona is an outcast orphan and infamous troublemaker that ambrosius had to constantly catch, but despite that, both are close to one another.

ambrosius is aware of her problems and is trying to help her out. So he's pretty soft for her.

she found him and recognized him as the shapeshifter in the news. she immediately asked him to shapeshift cause she thinks it's cool.

upon hearing what happened, nimona helps Ballister in proving his innocence.

skip to the part where he and nimona argue, Ballister tries to push her away because nimona almost died and that he starts to accept that he really is a monster who is bound to bring destruction and despair wherever he goes.

nimona tries to argue back but the institute found the hideout, Ballister escapes to the wishing well.

consumed in his grief, he transforms into a monster and enters the kingdom. Instead of walking to the statue to kill himself like what nimona did in the movie, he stays in one place instead and let's the institute kill him.

ambrosius notices how Ballister just stayed in one place and did not attack at all. It made him reconsider because it's literally the love of his life, they spend years together and there was not a single moment where Ballister had harmed him at all.

he ordered the knights to stand down but was ignored as they shoot Ballister, who in turn cried in pain. It made ambrosius's heart ache. He begged them to stand down

ballister stands up and shows his weak point so the knights can kill him. Ambrosius yells out.

but before they can shoot Ballister and kill him, nimona rushes in to stop everything. She talks him out of killing himself and ballister turns back into a human again.

both hugged and cried in each other's arms, meanwhile ambrosius looks at them from a far. He wants to hug Ballister and apologize for everything that he had done to him but opted to stay at a distance because he doesn't want to disturb them.

ballister looks up though and he can tell that ambrosius really wants to apologize and make things right. Nimona notices this tension and goes to ambrosius to nudge him towards ballister.

he approached ballister before stopping in a few inches to leave some space between him and Ballister. He apologized to Ballister about everything. Ballister accepted the apology with a hug and kiss.

it was happy for moment when suddenly they all heard a loud noise and see that the cannon was being turned towards the kingdom by the director herself because everyone doesn't wanna hurt Ballister anymore.

panic sets in and ambrosius tells everyone to evacuate in hopes that they might make it in time.

Ballister knows other wise. He's made up his mind and plans to save the people by sacrificing himself.

he hugs nimona and kisses ambrosius before sprinting away. Both nimona and ambrosius realizes what he is trying to do but were to late to stop him.

Ballister turns into a phoenix and destroys the cannon before it could hit the kingdom.

nimona and ambrosius hoped and prayed that Ballister would come back, but as the lights starts to fade nimona hugged ambrosius who, in turn, hugs her back. Both mourning over what happened.

time skip, nimona gets adopted by ambrosius and everyone sees Ballister as a hero and honored him.

nimona goes back to the lair where she first met Ballister. She goes inside looking around her, reminiscing of the things they did together there.

she smiled as she picked up one of the characters in the board game they played before.

she held the piece close, then-

"hey kid."

"HOLY SH-"

she called ambrosius afterwards and they all hugged each other.

That's all I have. Might change or add some stuff in the future, but for now have this. Feel free to make fanfics of this.

Actually please make a fanfic of this, I am bad at writing.

Next au is prince Ballister.

[miniaturecollectiveendermen]

hihi! hope you’re doing well :)

i was wondering if you could write headcannons for phoenix drop high Gene, Garroth & Blaze with a popular reader? like reader is well known in phoenix drop high, super energetic, kind and captain/leader of a big sports team/club? maybe just general headcannons (including how the two get together?)

tysm <33

A/N: i had a lot of fun writing this!! im sorry it took a while, i was sick when the request was sent and got sick again in the middle of writing im good now - for the most part at least

i hope you enjoy read this! :3

!! WARNINGS !! i feel like PDH!gene needs a warning of his own, gn!reader, you/your pronouns used

Gene: 

You were the volleyball club president, the cheery type who had a knack for making friends.

Gene is in no way fond of the popular types; so then why did you catch his attention? 

Why does his heartbeat pick up when he sees you smile, when he hears your laugh?

Gene is a selfish person, he takes what he wants - and in this case he wants you.

He considered trying to find something to blackmail you with, and get you to join the shadowknights.

But you always had people around you, and everyone knew what he was like, so there was no way they'd let him pull you away for a private conversation. 

But he found himself with the perfect opportunity one day after school. 

Your teammates had other obligations they needed to attend to; this left you to put away the equipment. 

He dismissed Sasha and Zenix (mainly Zenix as he had a tendency to speak without thinking). 

He approached you, and offered to help clean up. 

It was almost unnerving how nice he was being - you may have been a friendly person but you weren't stupid. you knew he was planning something.

You chose to be nice to him, but you kept your guard up. 

Time passes and you guys finish cleaning up, you say goodbye to Gene, and leave. 

Only after you leave does he realize he didn't even bring up you joining the shadow-knights. 

He just spent time with you, talking and hanging out like you were old friends. 

This is the first thing that made him question his plan.

PDH gene is by no means a good person - but even he has some morals. 

After this you would say hello to him in passing and make small talk - again acting like you two had been friends for years. 

You were just too sweet, and it chipped away at him. 

Eventually he completely forgot about forcing you to join the shadowknights. 

Although you weren't a shadowknight, you were friends. 

And not just with him, you were nice to Sasha and Zenix too. 

Sasha had gotten rather attached to you, and although Zenix would rather die than admit it - he quite liked having you around. 

Of course other people questioned why someone as sweet as you would be friends with them. Were you being forced?

you would always respond with “they're actually really nice” - Which no one believed of course.

But Gene quickly shut down all the questions, and no one really wanted to get on his bad side; so they stopped asking you about it.

Your relationship with Gene slowly changed, you two never acknowledged it.

but you both knew you weren't just “friends” anymore. 

Gene isn't the type to be explicitly romantic or loud with his affections - he's more subtle about it. 

He asked you out in a very casual way - you two were hanging out at his house. 

You were scrolling on your phone absentmindedly while he was playing a game, when he suddenly asked:

“Do you wanna go to the coffee shop this weekend?” “Sure!” “It's a date then.” 

No beating around the bush with this man. 

It's an interesting dynamic between you two - but he wouldn't have it any other way. 

Garroth: 

Garroth is a naturally charismatic and sociable person.

This, along with him being the baseball team captain, meant it was only natural for Garroth to be well acquainted with other sports captains. 

You were the track and field team captain. 

Much like Garroth you were charming and peppy, and had a tendency to naturally draw people to you. 

On the first day of the new school year, you were tending to the track and field club’s stand. 

Some other club leaders asked for your help; because of this a handful of nearby freshmen got the impression that you were helping with everything, and not just your own stand. 

You were happy to help, but you didn't anticipate being suddenly surrounded by a large group of over-excited freshmen who kept talking over each other.

You tried to help them all, but it was getting overwhelming.

As if he could hear your thoughts, Garroth redirected the freshmen to the mentors - he also offered to help out with the track and field stand. 

He wasn't very busy with the other members tending to the baseball stand.

You gladly accepted his help - although you and Garroth were friendly before this, you weren't very close.

After this day your friendship blossomed; the two of you would often spend free time together and even help each other with team captain responsibilities.

If either of you had a match, the other would be sure to come and cheer. 

With the two of you being as popular as you were, it was only inevitable for rumors to start about you two dating.

Garroth brushed it off and acted as though he wasn't affected by the silly rumors - but that wasn't really the case.

Truthfully he had been harboring feelings for you for some time, and these rumors gave him a chance to see how you'd react to the idea of you two dating. 

He did sometimes flirt with you, but played it off as a joke causing you to respond with joking flirtation of your own (was it really a joke tho). 

When you didn't seem opposed to the idea, his heart jumped out of his chest.

He took the first chance he got and asked you out. 

He's so cute guys I love him.

Blaze: 

You had been the tennis team captain for over a year - your popularity grew along with the tennis club as you led the team to win many matches.

had been receiving complaints by team members about a group of werewolves that kept stealing tennis balls in the middle of matches.

A few lost balls wouldn't be much of a problem, but they kept doing this until the players had none left.

You knew if you went to the werewolves responsible yourself the chances of them listening to you were little.

So you opted to go directly to the principal - so far she seemed a lot more competent than the previous principal, so you had hoped she'd be able to help you.

But these hopes were quickly diminished when she said she couldn't intervene as it was a “werewolf issue”.

You argued it was affecting the tennis club members who were human and meif'wa as well.

But she made some vague excuse about having a meeting and told you to talk to the werewolf studies teacher about it. 

After having any and all hope in the new principal destroyed, you went off to find the werewolf studies teacher.

When you explained the situation to him he informed you that this was the responsibility of the “alpha” and he couldn't do much.

By this point you were getting very frustrated - you had to run all over the school to find someone to help, only for them to tell you that they couldn't do anything. 

To your relief you were informed that the werewolf alpha was Aphmau (you decided to not ask why a human was the werewolf alpha). 

You weren't super close with Aphmau, but you met her once when you and Katelyn were playing tennis - you’d had some friendly interactions since and you had hoped that she wouldn't dismiss you like the last two people.

You managed to find her as she was talking to a red haired werewolf - you had seen him around a few times. His name was Blaze if you remembered correctly.

She was friendly as usual when you approached her, but you noticed she seemed more tired and even a bit frazzled.

You explained the situation to her and she was very understanding, but you could see that just thinking about handling this made her look even more tired.

That's when Blaze interrupted and said he was happy to help, as aphmau had to focus on choosing an alpha male - whatever that means.

You were ecstatic, after all that running around you finally found someone who could help.

Blaze was very sweet- and although he was a tad clueless when it came to certain things, he certainly had the spirit.

You helped Blaze find the responsible werewolves and at first he was explaining to them that they shouldn't steal things that don't belong to them. 

However after they were not very receptive to this, he took a more,, “hands on” approach.

You knew after going to this school for some time that werewolves would often solve conflict by fighting.

But you didn't expect blaze to throw the werewolves out the nearest window and then jump out after them??? 

You just wanted your team members to be able to practice in peace.. How did this happen-?

By the time that you reached downstairs where they were, the group of werewolves were standing in front of Blaze, looking down silently.

Blaze was grinning and looked very proud of himself - he seemed to be waiting for you to tell him he did a good job.

You didn't expect a 6’3 werewolf to be so.. Cute? 

You thanked him for his help and told him he was welcome to play with the tennis team whenever he pleased.

In the following weeks your friendship grew - he would join your practice in his free time. 

Although when he did it was mostly him chasing after the ball and forgetting he's supposed to hit it with the racket. 

As you grew closer, Blaze started noticing that his feelings towards you were changing. 

He always thought you were rather cute but he didnt think too deeply about it. 

But his desire to be around you grew.

subtlety isn't Blaze’s strong suit - the second he realizes he has a crush on someone, he starts following them around everywhere and his affection grows tenfold. 

He's a naturally affectionate person towards his loved ones, but you noticed that it's different with you. 

One day you decide to ask him about it and he just looks at you and just flat out confesses.

He was under the impression that he was being quite obvious. 

He's so <3333

I love him 

Immensely

[all-about-kyu]

Summary: Whatever you did to mess up the recipe really has you desperate for Kun. Pairing: Wizard!Kun x fem apprentince!reader Tropes: magic au, wizardry au Genre: smut Rating: R 18+ Warnings: language, magic, fictional herbs Smut Warnings: aphrodisiacs, overstimulation, fingering, oral sex (f receive), sudden female orgasm, unprotected sex, marking, crying, aftercare Word Count: 1,700 Host Tags: @sanjoongie @thelargefrye Note: thank you to @stardragongalaxy for proofreading! Before You Interact February Filth Masterlist

Listen to ♡ Same Scent by Oneus

“Watch this brew while I handle the inventory for a moment.” Kun smiles sweetly.

“Are you sure? I can do inventory. I don’t want to mess–”

Kun shakes his head, “I trust you.”

You nod and move toward the cauldron. The bubbling brew smells sweet, almost as if to draw you in more. You vaguely hear Kun talking to himself in the storage room, likely checking how many phoenix feathers you have left. You started running low, but your pet phoenix just rebirthed, and its feathers are nowhere ready to molt yet. That or maybe he’s checking the progress on the pixie dust crystalization. Either way, you swear you hear him call you. Whipping your head around, you see him still deep in the store room, not even attempting to get your attention. When you turn, though, you move the spoon and knock it into a small vile next to the cauldron. You close your eyes and slowly turn your head back to the large cast iron pot. When you open your eyes, it looks the same. It just smells the slightest bit sweeter— the vile lies on its side, with barely a drop still inside it. 

“The brew should be done! Put the fire out, okay?” 

You nod, even if he might not see it, “O-okay!”

“Also,” Kun says, walking back into the kitchen, “I want you to try a little bit of it. It’s a romantic-based potion, but just one sip won’t do anything.”

You don’t want to seem suspicious, so you nod, take a small spoon from the side table, and dip it into the metallic pink liquid. After blowing on it a few times, you place the spoon against your lips and sip it. Instantly, a rush of heat goes through your body. Everything is hypersensitive. You’re far more aware of everything around you than you’d like to be. When you look back at Kun, he can immediately tell something is off with you. You suddenly feel the need to fuck him like your life depends on it. You’ve always respected the line of Wizard and apprentice, no matter how hot he is. Now, though, all you can imagine is being absolutely railed by him to the point that you can’t form a coherent word in your mind.

“Are you okay?”

“Kun,” your voice comes out almost like a moan.

His eyes go wide as saucers. Then his eyes darted to the cauldron. He leans over and smells the sweeter scent. Before even thinking to check his surroundings, he dips his hand in, using it as a cup of sorts, and sips the liquid as well. Suddenly, in his peripheral, he notices the knocked-over vile. Amorus.

“You knocked over the Amorus.” He states with a slight groan, picking up the small glass container, “How much– fuck…” 

“I didn’t want to upset you.” You pout and step closer, “Kun, could we maybe…”

He was starting to feel the effects of the potion as well, and damn, did he need to see you fall apart for him right now. He finds himself leaning in slowly, and you are, too. There are so many lines being blurred right now, but with the effects of the botched potion, neither of you can think about anything other than fucking each other. Kun places his hand on your waist, and you feel goosebumps on your skin when his hand makes contact. Finally, his lips are on yours. It’s not a very coordinated kiss, but it’s desperate, needy, sloppy. You absolutely melt at the sensation. Kun whispers something against your lips. It’s a spell you don’t know yet. You’re so fixated on him that when you finally let your hands wander, and you don’t feel fabric, you moan against his lips.

“That’s a fun little spell I can teach you once these potions wear off.” Kun chuckles, “It’s very handy, no?”

“Kun, please?”

He wraps his arms around your waist fully and tells you to jump. You wrap your legs around his waist tightly. A whimper escapes your lips at the feeling of your clit pressed against his bare skin. His cock stands tall and is perfectly pressed against your ass. You find yourself seated on one of the worn wooden tables. It’s not the most comfortable, but it’s more than enough for Kun to lay you out and fuck you stupid.

You hear the sound of jars and dishes being pushed to the side haphazardly as Kun guides you to lay back fully on the table. His kisses finally start trailing down your throat and between the valley of your breasts. You have a constant stream of moans and profanities falling from your mouth as Kun hungrily lays wet kisses everywhere he can. When his kisses finally reach your lower belly, you can’t help but let your hips jerk. Each kiss grows just a bit closer to where you need him. 

Even though he’s just as desperate as you are, the fact that he’s putting you first has your belly swooping and flipping. He continues to place kisses against the area just above your soaked entrance. You tangle your hand in his hair, and that gives him the last bit of push to lick a wide stripe up your folds. He eats you out like a starved man. After a few licks, he sucks on your clit. Kun continues this pattern for a while. Your other hand finds a place in his hair as well, tugging at the reddish-brown strands as he makes you melt into a feral puddle. He brings a hand up to your folds while his mouth is focused on your clit. Kun presses two fingers against your cunt, barely teasing your entrance. 

“Kun,” you moan, “Please just put them in, don’t tease me!”

Kun releases your clit for a moment, chuckling through a smirk. He pushes his fingers into you. You knew you were sensitive, but you suddenly feel arousal burn through you so hot that your orgasm tumbles through you. Your thighs shake around his head, wanting desperately to close. Kun holds one of your thighs down, stopping you from fully closing them. Kun doesn’t stop; he continues to lap at your clit while pistoning his fingers into you. The overstimulation burns through you in the most pleasurable pain you’ve ever known.

“You’re still so needy.” Kun muses, pulling away from your pussy, face still covered in your arousal, “You want me to fuck you?”

Your eyes are glazed over and needy. His fingers still pushing in and out of you render your brain completely empty. Your mental space is nothing more than an aroused fog. Kun chuckles again as you nod so hard you nearly smack your head against the hardwood of the table. When he pulls his fingers out of you, you whimper at the lack of contact. A moment later, you feel him rubbing his tip through your folds, and that same painful pleasure returns as he pushes his cock against your clit.

“Ready? I’m gonna make you see god, maybe even more.” He practically growls.

“Kun, please!” You moan, reaching up to wrap your arms around his shoulders.

He pushes into you and immediately pistons his hips against yours. You scream out at the feeling of the overstimulation. Kun pulls your legs up beside your chest on either side and holds them there before pressing his body against yours. The feeling of his bare skin on yours makes you have a fresh shot of arousal course through your body. 

Neither of you is going to last very long. The potion won’t allow that. You’re already well on your way to your second orgasm as it is. Kun hides his face against the junction of your neck and shoulder. He starts to bite the bare skin, leaving teeth marks and hickeys. You dig your nails into his skin, leaving small crescent moons behind. Locking your legs around his hips, you feel your second orgasm burst forth almost painfully.

“So fucking good.” He growls, “You feel so fucking good. Maybe I should stay wrapped up in this pussy all day, every day.” “Please!” You gasp, starting to come back down from your orgasm.

The overstimulation is almost too painful, but you also don’t want to stop. Kun starts to moan more often, which you assume to be an alert to his impending orgasm. You hardly come down from your second orgasm when the third forces its way through. Tears start rolling down your cheeks as the nearly painful orgasm wrecks you. As you scream and moan at the feeling, Kun’s orgasm finally hits him. He pulls out and cums across your belly. He pushes his fingers back into you and presses his thumb to your clit to help you ride out the rest of your orgasm. 

When you finally start to catch your breath, Kun has already manifested two glasses of water and wiped your belly clean. He pulls you to sit up and then onto his lap. Your body is shaky and weak from the intensity of three orgasms and crying. The wizard continually rubs your back and presses kisses to your hair.

“The potion wear off for you?” He asks quietly.

“Mmm,” is all you can muster at the moment.

“You did so good, sweetheart. I’m proud of you.”

You shift in his lap, wincing slightly at your sore state.

“Was it too much?”

“I think we both needed to fuck it out.” You mumble, still very much out of it.

Kun nods and holds you a bit tighter, “If you accidentally mess up a potion again, just tell me, okay?”

“Okay,” you respond, “Kun?”

“Hmm?”

“What does this mean?”

Kun sighs in thought, “It doesn’t need to mean anything. But– you want honesty?”

“Complete.”

“I wouldn’t mind taking you out on a date or two if you let me.”

You pull your head away from his shoulder, “I’m your apprentice… is that allowed?”

He shrugs at you, “There are plenty of witches and wizards who have their partners as their apprentices.”

You smile, “I’d like that then, only if you promise we can have fun with this new brew sometimes still.”

“Deal.”

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[art-missy]

Overwhelmed (Gekko x Reader)

Part. 1 Part. 3

Part. 2

Sorry in advance for my terrible English. I'm actually more of an English reader and listener than an actual speaker or writer. I also apologize for the dull writing style that could seem quite childish. I just wanted to test something by posting this.

If a few months ago somebody had told you that you would be spotted by a secret organization whose job is to protect your world against the threat of agents from another dimension, you would have laughed so hard that your guts would have spitted out. If that ‘somebody’ had continued with the fact that this organization would contact you in some way to recruit you just because you maybe took down a K-SEC facility by yourself and also because your skills interested them, you would have told them to sell their idea to a filmmaker. If that ‘somebody’ had then insisted that you would spend one of your days off with a few other agents of that organization by watching Disney movies and hearing them sing their guts out, you would have told them to stop.

Well, look at you now, exchanging astounded glances with Iso as Neon reached a note so terrifying that you were pretty sure she could have won the Oscar of the best scream in a horror movie. You were slightly worried about the state of her vocal cords. 

“And she’s not even drunk.” Muttered Yoru when he saw your dumbfounded expression as he finished his can of soda. Phoenix let out a booming laugh and nudged your and Iso’s arms playfully.

What the hell were you doing here ? You were so at peace in your hideout. How did Valorant find you ? Oh yeah. Cypher. No one can hide from the Moroccan sentinel and you understood it quite quickly when he appeared in each of your hideouts everytime you tried to run away. Hard to hide from someone whose eyes are literally everywhere. It has been quite hard for him too to convince you that the intentions of Valorant were noble when he appeared each time in the middle of the night like a sleep paralysis demon. The process of convincing you had been long and hard but Cypher was patient and quite stubborn. Especially when it came to visiting each of your hideouts (even the one under the Mediterranean Sea) and finishing all your different packs of tea. Well, at least you had now Big Brother as a mentor.

You jolted a little, startled when Raze and Killjoy suddenly stood up to start a duet while waltzing around the room. The level of love and affection in their eyes made you wonder if they weren't from a Disney movie themselves. You could literally see their eyes changing form to turn into hearts as their souls were screaming ‘I love you’ in their respective languages. And you found it adorable despite your exhaustion.

Jett playfully threw some popcorn at the couple, telling them to get a room. You’re pretty sure she didn't notice the few candy and crumbs of snacks in her ponytail. 

Clove were jumping on the different bean bag chairs, singing as if their life depended on it while Wingman cheered at their antics.

And you, you let out a small sigh as you took a sip of your bubbletea. All this chaos because of Frozen.

You swore that if you heard the songs ‘Love is an open door’ or ‘Let it go’ again, you would go apeshit.

You maybe should have join Deadlock for a reading session in her quarters instead of accepting Gekko’s invitation. Or just listening to music in your room. Or maybe drawing. You were certain that it would have been more peaceful and less mentally draining than this Disney night. And when you shared another glance with Iso, you knew he thought the same thing. It was visibly way too much for your introverted asses.

“Hey,” Gekko put a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Are you okay ?”

You shot him a tired look. 

You sometimes miss your old life. You missed your different hideouts where you could see the sunset over the mountains, the sea creatures under the Mediterranean Sea, the snow in the Siberian desert or the rain falling on the trees of a random forest. Where you didn't have to interact with people every single day of the week.

You loved the Valorant protocol and you got along with the people you met there. But sometimes it was too much. You took down this K-SEC facility because you knew how shady the experimentations they were running were, not because you wanted to attract the attention of a secret organization. You sometimes resented Cypher for finding you, for stealing you from these calm moments, even though you knew that you accepted to be an agent of Valorant of your own free will and for a good cause. 

“Hey,” Repeated Gekko. “Are you okay ?”

You gently pushed his hand off your shoulder and stood up from your bean bag chair.

“Sorry.” You muttered.

And you rushed out of the room as Gekko called for you, his tone full of worry. You speed-walked towards the garden of the base, putting your headphones on your ears and slightly relaxing when the music reached your brain. You took a deep breath and the wind caressed your skin as you finally walked into the gardens. You took off your shoes and let the grass tickle your bare feet. The night sky watched over you as you finally took a seat on a bench.

Better.

You felt better. You breathed better. You lived better. The music in your ears relaxed your muscles, and the wind murmured on your skin, bringing the fragrance of the different flowers of the garden. You definitely had to compliment Sky and Sage. 

Your phone suddenly vibrated and you noticed that Iso sent you a link to a playlist. 

⟨Here. To relax your nerves.⟩

You internally smiled and sent a text message to the Chinese duelist to thank him. You started the playlist and relaxed even more when the first note of the first song reached your ears. Iso really did have good taste in music.

You were about to close your eyes when you suddenly felt a finger patting your shoulder. You jolted a little and turned your head to the side to see Cypher’s blue lenses staring back at you. You pulled your headphones down and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Big Brother is watching me ?” 

The sentinel let out a small chuckle and sat down beside you, a trap wire traveling on his knuckles.

“Overwhelmed ?”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“I thought I was Big Brother.”

You rolled your eyes but a small smile tugged the corners of your lips. You leaned on the backrest of the bench and let out a deep sigh.

“I’m not in the mood for a game of chess, Cypher.” 

The masked man nodded and hummed softly.

“I suspected it.”

“Then why are you here, Optimus Prime ?” You groaned, stretching your arms over your head.

Cypher’s head tilted slightly and by his body language you suspected a smirk to be present under his mask.

“To check on you, dear.”

You raised a skeptical eyebrow and your eyes squinted slightly.

“Right. And may I ask why, dear ?” You scoffed as you rolled your eyes again. “Wait. Let me guess. You saw me walking away from the common room through these cute little cameras of yours, got curious when you couldn't see me then came here.” You interrupted yourself then shook your head. “Nope. There are also cameras in the garden. Then why did you come here ?”

Cypher let out another small chuckle and patted your head with an odd but paternal affection. 

“Look who’s playing Sherlock, now.” 

You let out an annoyed groan as you tried to push his hand away from your head but Cypher’s mood stayed playful.

“What kind of mentor would I be if I didn't worry about my protégé ?”

You snorted but nodded with a sarcastic smile.“More of a stalker than a mentor.” 

“A stalker who is worried about you, then.”

You couldn't see it but you heard the soft smile in his voice. He leaned a bit more towards you, the brim of his long hat hid you from the night sky and the usual faint glow of his blue lenses looked like two little will-o’-the-wisps in the obscurity of the garden. It reminded you of the first time you met each other, a few days after you took down this K-SEC facility. It was in a dark alleyway and the first thing you saw was these blue lenses before you could make out his long and slender figure. But because of his long hat and the darkness of the alleyway, you had almost taken him for a mutated palm tree. Even today you facepalmed yourself when you remembered those thoughts as your eyes stared into his lenses.

“Who eats alone, chokes alone.” He finally whispered with a conspiratorial tone. Something was telling you that he winked under his mask.

“What ?” You facepalmed.

“It’s an Arabic proverb.” He leaned back and his head tilted again. “Loneliness is neither your ally, nor your enemy. It is impartial. In your case, you use it to recharge yourself, but it can also drain you without you noticing, making you depend on it. Use your loneliness but don’t be alone.” His voice dropped a few octaves lower and you felt his eyes sinking deeply into yours. “Use your balance.”

Something was telling you that he was speaking from experience. A slight twitch in his body language maybe. Or a tiny heaviness in his already thick accent, indication of the unusual emotions in his voice. And you realized just now how little you knew about your mentor.

Cypher nodded, as if satisfied by your visible confusion, stood up from the bench and started to walk away.

“Wait a minute, Darth Vader !” You exclaimed, pointing a frustrated finger at him. “I don't speak proverbial shit and neither does google translate. Come back here or I’ll tell Sky you put cameras in the garden !”

Cypher kept walking away, humming a soft tune.

“Speaking of balance…”

“I don’t understand the proverbial shit, you cheap Cyberpunk shit !”

“Have a good night, dear.” He turned towards you briefly. “Oh, and your strawberry teas are delicious.”

This fucker.

He kept walking away until going back inside and you suddenly heard hurried footsteps. You turned your head and saw Gekko and Wingman running in your direction before stopping in front of you. 

How did you know it was Gekko with the lack of light ? First of all, Wingman. Second of all, his hair.

Gekko was catching his breath with his hands on his knees while Wingman jumped on your lap, making a few garbling sounds. You raised an eyebrow and looked at them, confused.

“Are you dying ?” You asked Gekko and your eyes widened slightly when he started to wheeze. “Gekko ?”

“Dios !” He exclaimed as he finally caught his breath. “I looked for you throughout the whole base !”

“Did you have to run a marathon for that ?” 

Despite your dry tone, your eyes only showed concern for him. You patted the space beside you on the bench and he gladly sat down. He then looked at you and despite the obscurity, you were certain his brows furrowed in worry.

“Are you okay ?”

You shot him a deadpanned look.

“You put your legs through a nocturnal torture by running like a possessed fool throughout the whole base, found me here relaxing in the garden while the soft fragrance of flowers and the night sky kept me company, and ended up wheezing like a dying man about to spew his lungs out and you are asking me if I’m okay ?” 

You looked at his figure from head to toe as he chuckled at your small outburst. He was still a bit out of breath from his little run but he seemed quite fine.

“Damn ! Your descriptions are always so…special. Clove would definitely love you to be the Dungeon Master of their next DnD game.” His laugh calmed down and he nervously cleared his throat. “Anyway. I wanted to check on you. You didn't seem fine in the common room. Are you feeling a bit better now ?”

You shot him a bored look and let a deep sigh out of your lungs. Wingman made a few high chirped noises indicating his worry.

“You really love wasting your time, don’t you ?” Your eyes wandered on the night sky. “Aren't you missing the end of the movie ? Shouldn't you be inside with your friends ?”

Gekko frowned and looked at you funny.

“You’re my friend too.”

You let out a small snort that only deepened his frown.

“I’m serious.” He insisted. “We’re maybe not as close as you are with Cypher or Deadlock or… Iso, but I see you as my friend and I will always have your back.”

You looked back at him and even though you couldn't see him clearly because of the obscurity, you felt his eyes looking at you with a fierce determination.

“Plus,” he continued, “you always have my back on the field, fighting like a total badass against the enemies. Remember our last mission in Lotus ? I would have been dead meat if you weren't there.”

Wingman (who had gotten comfy on your lap) nodded with vehemence, agreeing with Gekko’s words.

“I’m not quite sure if you can be ‘dead meat’ when someone like Sage is around.” You said, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

Gekko made a noise between an amused chuckle and a sigh of frustration. You couldn't figure out what was on his mind, which is quite surprising since he was usually so expressive. He then suddenly got closer to you on the bench, grabbed your shoulders and leaned a bit more towards you.

“My point is : you got my back and I got yours. You're my friend and I won’t leave you alone.” His fingers gently squeezed your shoulders. “And I’m sorry.”

It was now your turn to frown as you did not understand why he was apologizing for.

“I invited you to this movie night so I could have an occasion to get to know you better, so we could get to know each other and bond on something that is not mission related.” He explained. “But you clearly weren't at ease. I thought you were about to have a panic attack, back there.”

You felt his thumbs caressing your shoulders as his hands squeezed you a bit more tightly.

“I’m sorry.”

You shook your head and let out another sigh. “Don’t apologize. Your intentions were innocent and sweet.”

You couldn't see the blush on his cheeks but you noticed the slight twitch in his body language.

“Everything's fine.” You insisted. “I’m perfectly fine. Plus, with the new playlist Iso sent me, I can just relax and enjoy the quietude of the garden.”

“Oh.” He said simply.

His voice showed disappointment, sadness even. You vaguely felt his grip on your shoulder faltering a little while Wingman made a few sad garbling sounds.

“Gekko ?”

You couldn't see his face, but his body language showed a slight dispiritedness that didn't match his usual playful and confident personality.

“You and Iso are really close, huh.” He said with an uncharacteristically neutral tone.

His shoulders were now slightly slumped.

“Well, we had heard about each other before we joined Valorant. It was funny to finally meet the infamous ‘Dead Lilac’ in this secret organization.” You chuckled a little, finding the circumstances of your first meeting with the Chinese duelist quite embarrassing. You remembered knocking your head so hard against his chest that it spinned a little.

“That’s…uhm…kinda cute, I guess.”

You wondered what was on the mind of the piece of sweet-woman-heartthrob-trope that Gekko was.

“Well I don't know if it’s cute, but we’ve been exchanging playlists and book recommendations since.” You shrugged and Gekko’s hands slided down your arms at your action. “He’s cool. He has a sweet ‘older sibling’ vibe that put me at ease.”

The young initiator seemed to perk at your words and so was his radivore critter.

“‘Older sibling’ vibe ?” He repeated. “What do you mean ?”

“Well, you see how siblings sometimes banter with each other but always have each other's back ?” You started to explain and you saw his figure tilting his head. “Well that's our relationship with Iso. You probably know what I’m talking about. I noticed that you had quite the same thing with Neon.” You shrugged again.

His whole demeanor seemed to relax when he let out a laugh filled with relief. You frowned a little, not understanding this sudden outburst of joy.

“You alright ?” You raised a worried eyebrow and squinted your eyes a little. “Maybe you should get some sleep.”

It was at this moment that the moon finally decided to come out of behind the clouds, illuminating both of your faces. You both looked at each other, admiring your features. Your eyes wandered on his freckles without noticing his lovestruck gaze on you. 

“Maybe I'm a bit tired.” He whispered with a lost tone, as if he didn't understand what he just said.

“Hm.” You looked down on your lap to notice Wingman shrinking and hopping towards Gekko’s shoulder. “Wanna go back inside ?”

“You’re going back inside ?” Gekko asked.

“No.”

“Then I’ll stay with you.” He got more comfortable on the bench and you felt him lean a bit more towards you. “Unless my presence is overwhelming.”

You shook your head and leaned against the backrest of the bench. 

“No. You’re fine.”

“Cool.” He nodded and let out a small sigh of relief.

A comfortable silence settled between you, slightly disturbed by the faint music from your headphones. Your eyes wandered on the night sky, unaware of Gekko’s longing glances in your direction. You were completely oblivious to his poor heart beating so fast and so loud that he feared you could hear it. You did not notice. You never did. Ever since you set your foot into the base for the first time, his eyes were always on you. At first it was curiosity. Curious about the agent recommended by the mysterious man that was Cypher. Then it was admiration for the fierce fighter that you turned into once on the field. And finally, it bloomed to be a small crush that never ceased to grow. Your charisma hypnotized him. His feelings for you were so obvious that his friends never stopped to tease him. Even Reyna said that he looked like a lost puppy everytime you were around and Harbor often asked him to focus when you were in his field of view. And of course, he was jealous of how close Iso was with you. The duelist could talk to you without any problem, he could receive your smiles, your laughs, your friendly fist-bumps while the only times Gekko could have a proper interaction with you was during missions or briefings. Even during training you stayed in your corner, avoiding interactions.

But right now, he felt so happy. This was the longest interaction you’ve ever had with each other and he couldn't help but smile.

He turned his head in your direction and softly called you.

“Yeah ?”

“I heard that you love to draw.” He nervously rubbed his neck but kept his eyes on yours. “We could someday, you know, draw together while chilling in my room. If it’s okay with you of course.”

You shot him an indescribable glance and he suddenly felt so stupid for not using drawing as a way to bond with you sooner instead of the movie night. But he relaxed a little when you ended up shrugging.

“Why not.”

It was a start. He will not confess his feelings for now. It was way too soon. But he will certainly enjoy these moments with you. He will enjoy bonding with you and get to know you better.

Anecdote : the Arabic proverb mentioned by Cypher is something the father of a friend once told me when I was a kid. It's stuck in my mind, ever since.

I'm not proud of the ending ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ But it's fine. It is just a test, after all.

I don't know if I'll post the part. 2. I'll most probably keep it in my drafts.

Thank you for taking the time to read this. I wish you a lovely day/night.

[project-sekai-facts]

Mod are you excited for the ace attorney trailer on September 29?

rereading the announcement i noticed that it's for a sorta summary PV for the franchise as a whole and not a game announcement which is a bit disappointing BUT i'm still hopeful for something. especially with the fact they have 1. now released every canon title on modern consoles, and 2. did you see how much money they threw at marketing aai collection? and yeah i get that aai2 went 10+ years without an english translation but they didn't even focus on that aspect that much. they really pushed the boat out on marketing with multiple collabs and so much social media promotion plus announcing it during the nintendo direct. they really want to put aa on the map.

they've been interacting with fan creators and have been tweeting outside of marketing related stuff since the gap between aj trilogy release & aai announcement as well, and updated the website with timelines and such. they've suddenly become a lot more active than before and really like they're trying to get an active fanbase and get people knowing ace attorney for... something. i dunno maybe it's because they've finally got every game localised on modern platforms but i wouldn't exactly be surprised if the marketing (as well as the specifics of catering towards non-fans) meant that they're gonna drop something at some point, even if not on the 29th (though a confirmation that aa7 is still a thing 7 years or whenever after it was announced would be nice).

anyway you didn't want me to talk about how media is marketed you wanted a yes or no answer.

yes because i'm like 98% sure this is a new drawing of phoenix in the DD-onwards animation style.

[blueorchid-95]

a phoenix among thieves

Both heralded EOD member Agent Phoenix and nationally known superthief Carmen Sandiego have found themselves in a tight spot. Luckily, neither of them are alone.

The story is under the cut! I hope you enjoy :)

Agent Phoenix’s current predicament is… deeply embarrassing.

He supposes that if your palms are already slick with blood, your grip on your weapon has to slip eventually. It’s happened to his handler, it’s happened to Juniper, it’s happened to Zor, even. Everybody in their field mucks up sometimes.

Regardless, irritation still festers in his chest. Just three soldiers! Heavily armed and well trained soldiers, sure, but only three! He’s fought off more with nothing but a single grenade and a set of stage controls! Look, he’s never exactly been one for pride, but this situation still stings.

They have him securely restrained to a cold metal chair, hands cuffed on the armrests. The lighting is poor, but there’s a startling amount of green visible, which… doesn’t make sense. Zoraxis’ company colors were red and gold, and Phoenix has gone on enough infiltration missions to know that the opposition doesn’t skimp on the branding. The deviation is enough to set his skin crawling, despite how indignant he’s trying to be.

Reginald’s probably looking for me, he thinks. It is not nearly as reassuring as he’d like it to be.

The echo of distant footsteps reaches him, and he grits his teeth. There’s a good chance they’re not even approaching his cell, but he wants to be ready anyways.

His captor draws closer and closer, their paces harsh and heavy. The sound is unfamiliar enough that Phoenix struggles to identify it. It’s similar to Caliente, but there’s not enough swagger, and the rest of Zoraxis Co.’s administrative board don’t walk like this. Considering the Violinist’s defection, it’s very possible that Dr. Zor promoted someone, but the Agency’s spies would’ve leaked that knowledge ages ago.

A previously unseen door swings open, and fluorescent light spills into the room. Wincing, he squeezes his eyes shut, turning his head away from the sudden brightness.

As his eyes adjust, he feels the cuffs around his wrists suddenly click free. Rough hands pull him out of his seat, and he barely manages not to stumble over himself as he catches his balance. Blowing out a breath, Phoenix stands up as straight as he can. If he’s going to escape—and he will—he needs to get himself together.

Two grim-faced old men stand on either side of him, each clutching one of his elbows. They don’t look like much, but Phoenix is not a fool—their grip is light, and yet still tight enough to hurt. Anyone who’s this strong in their later years is someone he doesn’t want to mess with, and besides, he doesn’t even know where he is. Trying to run now would most certainly end badly.

One of the old men tugs at his arm, and he inches forward a bit. Frankly, he’d rather do anything than comply with Zor’s henchmen, but he can’t really see another out in this situation. He’s a captive, and he’s got to act like it.

He’s marched down a long series of hallways, twisting left and right like there’s no tomorrow. Phoenix doesn’t understand it—Zoraxis agents have to live here too, right? How can they stop escapes or invasions if they have to navigate these endless halls? There’s no practical sense to it.

They’re either avoiding something important, or ensuring that he’ll struggle to find his way out later. Either way, it’s working, and he doesn’t like it.

Eventually, they stop by a rather unimpressive door. One of the old men leans forward and swipes a keycard through the reader, and they progress forward, into what is indisputably a prison block—except that every single enclosure is empty.

He’s unceremoniously shoved into a cell, and the door is locked behind him. By the time he’s turned around, the keycard-activated door is hissing shut. So much for that.

Then—

“Hello?”

Two strangers occupy the cell across the hall. They’re evidently siblings, sharing the same ginger hair and the same facial structure, and they’re both staring at him with the biggest, most surprised eyes he’s ever seen. They look like modern, everyday teenagers—but if they’ve been imprisoned here, they must be anything but.

Oh, right. Conversation.

“Hi,” Phoenix answers, coming up to the cell bars. This isn’t his first spin as a prisoner, but this is the first time he’s had others to talk to. It’s a bit awkward, really. “What’s… going on?”

The girl frowns. “What’d you do to get on VILE’s bad side?”

“Vile?” he answers. “Is that what they’re called here?”

“You don’t know?” Her eyebrows shoot up. “You’re in their jail, and you don’t know?”

Her brother speaks up. “Well, they are a secret organization…”

“He’s in their jail!” the girl repeats, scowling at her brother.

“Excuse me,” he interrupts, “but… who exactly are you?”

She turns back towards him, eyes narrowing. “You really don’t know?”

As an agent of the EOD, he‘s not really one for admitting such weakness, but the situation calls for it. “I know nothing.”

“You must be one unlucky guy, then,” the boy says.

Phoenix snorts a bit. “You have no idea.”

“You got a name?” the girl asks, crossing her arms.

“Agent Phoenix, at your service,” he answers, putting on his friendliest grin.

“Agent?” the boy repeats. “Your first name is agent?”

“That’s the part you’re having trouble with?” his sister deadpans. “Not that his last name is Phoenix?”

“C’mon, Ivyyyyyyy,” the boy groans.

Phoenix chuckles a bit. “You can just call me Phoenix, if you’d like. I really don’t mind.”

Ivy sighs. “Got it. Well, you know me now. He—“ she points at her brother— “is Zack.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” he nods, allowing his gaze to drift. There has to be something he can use here—some method of escape. He just needs to find it. “So—mind explaining what’s going on?”

———

Carmen’s an hour and a half out from her flight to Monte-Carlo when a man slides into the seat across from her, a newspaper in his left hand.

She raises her head instinctively, opens her mouth to speak, because that seat’s taken, sir, my friends will be back in a minute. But Zack and Ivy aren’t here, and she’d managed to somehow convince Player to take a nap before the next caper, and she’s—

she’s alone.

Determinedly ignoring the ragged sensation in her chest, Carmen lowers her gaze. He doesn’t know what’s going on, she reminds herself bitterly. He doesn’t know you’re waiting for someone who isn’t here.

Something ever so slightly slides into her peripherals, and she glances its way without moving her head. It’s a business card—elegant, yet simplistic—with a strange logo stamped in the center. Beneath the logo, the name Reginald Crane is printed, and right next to that is a hastily-written scribble: Flip me.

Carmen looks up at the man sitting next to her, narrowing her eyes. He doesn’t look like much, between his graying hair and lined face, but looks can be deceiving.

Silently, she picks up the business card and flips it over.

Miss Sandiego, it reads, in the same messy handwriting, I would like to talk.

She clenches one hand into a fist under the table. The man can’t be an ACME agent—he’s not wearing the proper uniform, and the business card doesn’t line up—but some irrational part of brain insists that she should run. “Well?”

“Miss Sandiego.” The man raises his head and sets his newspaper down on the table between them. His tone is too stiff to be natural, and it sends a chill down her spine. “It’s a pleasure.”

“You wanted to talk?” She holds up the card, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes.” He clears his throat. “I believe that you and I have a common goal.”

The man—Reginald?—reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out a full-to-bursting file folder. He carefully searches through the file’s contents, pulling out a single photograph with a muted flourish and putting it on the table next to him.

Carmen’s breath seizes.

A young man in a grey trench coat is surrounded by three uncomfortably familiar faces. Tigress, Paper Star, Le Chevre—all ganging up on a stranger in a dark alley. Considering this interaction, Carmen doubts the photographed victim is an everyday civilian, but her breath comes as short as it did that day in Morocco anyways.

“As a representative of the Agency,” Reginald continues, “I have come to offer you an alliance.”

She takes a moment to center herself. “The Agency?”

Everyone in the world knows about the Agency at this point—considering the events of the Peace Summit, she’d be surprised if someone didn’t. Still, the revelation comes out of left field. Why would an organization dedicated to controlling illegal syndicates want to deal with criminals?

Necessity, she thinks, eyeing the photo between them. “… You want me to help save your agent.”

“That’s part of it,” he hums, although the underlying tension ruins his noncommittal air. “We’d also like to offer you an extended alliance. Our tech crew has noted that you—“ he taps at the photo— “often are in opposition to these costumed strangers whenever they appear, and by estimate, they are also likely linked to Zoraxis. Undermining both organizations would prove beneficial to all involved.”

“You’re real good at this sort of thing,” Carmen observes.

He shrugs, smirking a bit. “I’m just stating fact.”

She leans back in her seat, frowning slightly as she thinks it over. The Agency isn’t government-owned, but that’s all she really knows about them. Even after the events at Zoraxis brought them into the limelight, information about them had been practically impossible to gather. Almost everything Player had found online was highly contested or hearsay, and they had barely any online presence to track—just a small hiring site for HR, and it wasn’t even connected to the organization’s servers.

Carmen may as well be putting her trust in the hands of a ghost.

“I’d need time to figure out anything solid,” she says loftily,  leaning back. “But I suppose I’m willing to work with you on this one. Just…. give me some time.”

“Of course.” Reginald grabs the photo and stands up, not bothering to hide the relief in his voice. “Thank you, Miss Sandiego.”

Despite her situation, she can’t hold back a smirk.

“Call me Carmen.”

[roosterbruiser]

𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 — 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄 —— 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎

—𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍 𝐎𝐍 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒. —𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 𝟕.𝟐𝐊 —𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 —𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐀𝐊𝐒, 𝐌𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟏𝐒𝐓, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

Payback draws the first short straw. His face falters, falls, crumples. His bottom lip trembles and his eyes are wet suddenly. He is just about to take a quivering breath, just about to swallow his pride and beg everyone to let him stay, when Fanboy suddenly squares his jaw. 

“I’ll go,” he says. “I’ll go with him.”

Payback doesn't have the strength to say anything at all. But the urge to beg evades him instantaneously. He claps his hand on his best friend’s shoulder and holds it there for a long time. 

Fanboy’s heart is hammering in his chest. He knows it’s the right thing to do and he almost always does the right thing--even if it makes his stomach sour. 

“Someone should probably go to Paul’s cabin, too--just to…eliminate or whatever,” Phoenix says. She’s trembling. “Maybe he’s still…” 

Bradley glances at you--you won’t even look at him anymore. And Jake still won’t look at you. Fuck. Everything’s fucked up right now. This isn’t how this summer was supposed to go. 

You nod, sighing. 

“Good idea,” you comment softly. You’re staring at your hands. “Someone should go.”

God, there’s so much blood beneath your fingernails. You haven’t been able to wash off at all. Mentally, you’re thinking about everything that needs to be packed in Fanboy and Payback’s packs when they go. But really, you wish you could even just think about washing off. You think even just that would make you feel cleaner. 

“I’ll go,” Bradley volunteers. “Don’t need to draw sticks again.” 

Coyote glances at Bradley--he’s watching you intently as you pick at your fingers and furrow your brows. Then he glances at Jake, who won’t look up from the ground. It’d do the three of you good to have some distance--maybe he can even talk some sense into Bradley if they’re alone together. 

“Me too,” Coyote agrees. “We should get on outta here, though. It’s gonna get dark soon.”

“Right,” Bradley answers. He takes a deep breath. “Let’s boogie.” 

So, now you’re here, standing at the edge of camp before Payback and Fanboy. Jake is in the mess hall with all the campers, guarding the front door with the shotgun. Phoenix hasn’t left Bob’s side once. Coyote and Bradley are trekking through the thick trees to get to Paul’s cabin. 

Fanboy and Payback have their backpacks on--sleeping bags, bandages, rations, water, flashlights, kitchen knives included. They’re each holding an ax, which was your idea, and Coyote gave each of them walkies with an extra battery. 

The sun is beginning to set. Everything is orange and pink as you look at the long and winding path before them, your breath caught in your throat. 

“Got everything?” You ask. 

They nod identically. Payback fiddles with the switch on the flashlight--he can never stop moving when he’s nervous. 

“Got enough food to feed a horse,” Fanboy says. 

You smile small--the dry blood on your face cracks. 

“Didn’t want you to go hungry,” you say softly. 

As if hunger is what’s going to kill them. 

The wind kisses the tips of your nose, your ears. It smells overwhelmingly of iris. All three of you look up towards the trees, the sky. It’s going to be dark very soon. They need to start moving. 

“You believe in monsters, Gale?” Payback asks, hands on his hips. He didn’t until a few hours ago. 

Biting your lip, you nod. 

“Have to in my line of work,” you whisper.

“Think they live under the bed?” Fanboy follows. 

“Sure,” you say with a shrug. “What do you think?” 

Payback pauses, eyes unfocused as he stares past you. 

“I think they’re sneakier than that.” 

A pregnant pause fills the air. You don’t know quite what to say to these men that you’re sending off into the dark night, all the spirits and ghouls and boogeymen hiding behind trees just waiting for them with watering mouths. 

“Two days,” you finally say softly. “Two days and then everything’ll be hunky dory again.” 

You don’t even believe yourself when you say it. 

Fanboy nods. Beads of sweat are rolling down the back of his neck. 

“Yeah,” he says, voice thin. “We’ll be back, okay?”

“With a horde of rescuers,” Payback adds softly. The smile gracing his lips is sad and small. “We’ve probably got a better chance than y’all, huh?” 

Nodding, you shift all your weight to one side. 

“Probably.” 

It doesn’t make any of you feel better to say it. 

Payback clenches his fists--they’re sweaty. He doesn’t want to go. And he doesn’t want to stay, either. He wants to go back home to his girlfriend and her awful tiny dog and eat good barbecue and forget all of this ever happened.

But then he glances at Fanboy and Fanboy is looking at him already, squinting under the sun. And he thinks that he is the most friend-looking creature to ever grace this earth. He thinks that he didn’t stutter at all when he volunteered to come with Payback. And then he feels a little bit better about doing this--about leaving and getting help. 

“We’ll be heroes, right?” Fanboy asks, a mischievous smile tugging on his lips pathetically. 

“Yeah,” Payback answers. Then he glances at you. He knows you feel guilty, but he knows you’re backed in a corner, too. You’re doing what you can--just like him, just like Fanboy. “Hold it down, alright?” 

Choked up on all the apologies and all the grief and all the anger of today and yesterday, you can only nod. Alright, you’ll hold it down. 

“We’ll check in every half hour,” Fanboy says. 

You nod again. You grab his wrist, glance at his watch--it’s a Mickey Mouse watch, one you’re sure was a gag gift given his first name, but that he dons proudly all the same. But then your eyes are watery because you hope you see this watch on this wrist again soon. So, so, so soon. 

“It’s eight now,” you tell them. You let go of Fanboy’s wrist. 

“And we’ll be out of range…shit, like, a couple miles out, I think. So, if we don’t respond…” Payback says. He doesn’t finish his sentence and neither you nor Fanboy jumps at the opportunity to either. 

The three of you just stand there for another moment. It’s getting darker--a lavender light is starting to fall all over camp. Shit. Bradley and Javy still aren’t back from their trek to Paul’s cabin yet. But at least all the campers are back inside the mess hall. 

“Don’t die,” you tell them. 

They nod solemnly. 

“No doy,” Fanboy says. “Ditto.”

And then they turn around, their backpacks bulging, and start to walk away from Camp Arcadia. Just for a moment, as the white rice moon untethers itself from the pink clouds, you wonder if this is the last time you’ll ever see them. 

But then you shake your head and look down because the thought is too vicious to bear. 

Payback’s heart is racing as they start down the path, the trees tall and the cicadas loud. He’s gripping the handle of his ax hard, hard enough that it’s splintering his skin. And he’s taking deep, deep breaths.

“Hey,” Fanboy says because he can practically hear Payback’s heart hammering out of his chest. “Maybe we got out scott-free.” 

“Doesn’t feel that way,” Payback whispers. 

“It will when we get to town and have a couple cold ones,” Fanboy says. “Hopefully everyone else is still alive by then.” 

Finally, when their figures disappear behind the treeline, you turn around and face camp again. The day is fading very fast now. You’ll only just have time to wash yourself off in the lake. 

You don’t bother getting naked--you don’t even bother taking your shoes off. You just walk down the incline of pebbles, the warm water lapping at your ankles and pulling you in until you’re standing on your tip-toes with your chin atop the water. 

How could someplace as Camp Arcadia be so beautiful--the towering trees, the deep green leaves, the cotton candy skies, the white stones, the blue-green water--and so horrifying all together in utter tandem? 

Trying to move quickly, you dunk your head beneath the surface and begin to scrub your scalp. God, it’s so quiet under here beneath the water. The continuous hum of underwater life, the muffled cicadas and crickets, the soft moss-bottom. It’s the quietest it’s been in your head in hours and hours. You wish you could stay here forever, dunked just below the rippling surface. 

Jake watches you go under from the mess hall windows. He’s watching you closely--has been since you escorted Fanboy and Payback to the edge of camp, which looked more like a death march than anything else. Bubbles race to the surface as you exhale and then it all goes still. 

“C’mon, Gale,” he whispers to himself, eyes narrowed. He’s waiting for you to bob back up to the surface, to exhale and wipe your eyes now that they’re clean of blood. “C’mon, baby.” 

He imagines something is wrong--that the killer somehow found you in the lake, as ridiculous and sleep-deprived a thought that is. He imagines blood and bubbles and flesh and you resurfacing just to scream his name before you’re pulled back under. He’s so tired, so scared just thinking about it, that his palms begin to sweat. 

Ignoring all the ruckus of the kids behind him, he stands with his hands firmly on the shotgun. He has half a mind to stomp out there and pull you out of the water, but then you finally come up and oh. You’re fine. Totally and completely fine. 

He glances behind him--everyone is settling in. The kids are playing. Phoenix is with Bob. You’re probably the one that needs the most protection right now, anyway, all alone out there. So, he very quietly slinks out the door and starts for the shore. 

You can hear him coming--somehow, you just know that it’s Jake. Maybe because he likes to get you when you’re alone or maybe because you just know what his footsteps sound like on the gravel. 

But either way, you know he’s there, watching you wash off. 

“Can we talk?” He asks softly. 

“Yeah,” you answer, not looking at him. You’re picking the blood out from under your fingernails. “Go ahead.” 

Jake sighs. He’s thinking about how you yelled at him--how he felt like a kicked dog after. You were right, of course. He needed to calm down, grow up, realize there are bigger things in life than what’s going on between you and Bradley and himself. 

“Listen, I…” he trails, scratching the back of his head. But he can’t think of anything to say. 

“I don’t want to talk about me and you or me and Bradley, alright? So, if that’s your prerogative, then just march on back to the mess hall,” you say. Your tone is even and quiet.

You turn your face so he can see your profile against the dying sky. He’s already looking at you, shirt crumpled and face soft and hair messy. 

“Okay,” he answers. He doesn’t wanna leave you. “Can I sit down?” 

If you weren’t so exhausted, you’d tell him he can do whatever he wants on account of it being a free country. But instead, you nod. You just nod. 

He sits on the rocks with the shotgun across his lap, sniffing and digging his fingers into the soil. 

“Are you pissed?” You ask finally. You aren’t looking at him again, busy scratching blood off your calves.

“About what?” He asks, brows furrowed. 

“That I slept with Bradley,” you whisper. 

“Thought you didn’t wanna talk about it,” he says quietly. 

You shrug, sighing. 

“Changed my mind,” you whisper. “I just…I wanna get on the same page, you know? I feel like I’ve been so confused and everything’s just been so--so…muddled. Best to just get it all out there, right?” 

What you mean is: above it all, all the shit and the gore and the horror, you don’t want Jake to be mad at you. You don’t want to wreck what you had. And you just don’t know what you’re doing. 

“Not pissed,” Jake answers. “Confused, maybe.” 

“Why?” You ask. 

“‘Cause of our night together,” he answers. “I thought things…changed that night.” 

“They did,” you insist, brows furrowed. “I mean, I thought they did.” 

“Then why him?” 

You turn to him and finally, he can look at you. You aren’t slathered in blood anymore. You’re washed off now--as washed off as the lake water can get you.  

“Because you can only look at me when I’m clean.”

Jake swallows hard. He doesn’t want it to be true, but he knows that in your private way, it is. He can’t look at blood and you’ve been covered in it for hours and hours. 

“I can’t help it,” he says. He sounds like he’s pleading. 

“I know,” you answer. Casting your gaze back on the rippling water, you bite your lip. “I know.” 

“Are you…in love with him?” He asks. His heart is in his throat. 

“I’m not in anything with anyone,” you tell him. It’s a half-truth, you think. You could be in love with Bradley easily--very easily. But you’re standing on that edge, your toes just barely breaching the murky air. You won’t fall. You won’t let go. “Are you in love with me?” 

Jake laughs--it’s short and humorless. 

“Baby, look at you. Of course I’m in love with you.” 

You nod, a smile tugging on your lips. 

“What are we gonna do?” 

Jake almost says love each other. Be together. But then he realizes that you mean right now, right here. What are you going to do to stay alive? 

“Maybe Bradley and Javy found something,��� he says. “Like, a radio or something.” 

“Fat chance,” you answer. 

And then you wash the last of the blood off your skin and start to wade back towards Jake--the sun is almost entirely set now. Your fingers are numb when you think about so many of your co-counselors being out there in the dark, thick woods. 

Jake stands up, leaving the gun on the rocks beside the two of you. You’re soaking wet and the air is getting cooler--he knows your skin must be goosed, he knows your scalp must be prickling. 

“Here,” he offers, opening his arms. He watches you, your lips a tint bluer than they were before, eye him carefully with all the skepticism of a mutt eyeing the dogcatcher. Then he rolls his eyes and beckons you closer with a cut nod of his head. “C’mon, you’re freezing.”

You submit then because you are freezing. You’re freezing and you’re exhausted and you’re scared and you feel like nothing in the world is going your way. 

Falling into his arms, you bury your cold nose in his chest and inhale him. He smells like he always does, like deodorant and sweat and grass--but mainly sweat and grass. It’s a good smell, one you inhale as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you close to him. And you remember that just a few days ago, being in his arms was good. Comforting. Warm. Safe. Soft. But now everything is different. Everything is gone. Everyone is gone--or at least, that’s what it feels like. 

“Jesus, your nose is an icicle,” Jake says, holding the back of your head and pushing your face further into his chest. “You’re shivering.” 

But you’re not shivering just because you’re cold. You’re shivering because you’re suddenly crying so hard that you can hardly breathe. Your shoulders are shaking and your spine is curved and your eyes are wet. You don’t even know when the dam broke, when you started sobbing, but you are. You’re so exhausted that your cries are silent. 

He’s stroking your back as the bullfrogs begin singing, his hands warm against your soaked clothing. But then he feels how warm your face is suddenly, how quiet you are. He’s just about to ask if you’re alright when you suck in a deep, quivering breath and sob into his chest. 

He’s never seen you cry before. You’re level-headed, cool, calm, collected. It must mean something, Jake decides, that you’re falling apart right here and now in his arms. It must mean something--it has to. 

Jake isn’t going to say anything. He doesn’t know what to say right now that would make you feel any better. He just holds you close, holds you tight. You’re fisting his shirt and he’s stroking your hair. And because he’s a weak man, because he’s a weak man who is in love with you, he sinks his face into your hair and breathes you in. 

You are hardly clean right now and he’s able to do this. He thinks, if he really tries, if he keeps being in love with you, he’ll be able to stomach anything just to look at you.

“Jake,” you whimper. “Jake, I feel like--I feel like we’re being punished for something awful.” 

He tuts softly, stroking your hair gently. 

“Whatcha mean, baby?” He asks quietly. “Who’s punishing us? For what?” 

“God,” is all you can manage to choke. 

You don’t know why you feel like this, why you feel like something bigger than you, than everyone, is punishing you. But it is an ever-present knot in your gut. 

“Shh,” he whispers. “You’re just tired, baby. That’s all.” 

But now a rock sinks in his belly.  

♀

Jake is sitting on the ground by the mess hall doors, the shotgun laying just beside him. It’s late now--so late that there’s not even a speck of light outside. He’s been the one checking in with Payback and Fanboy every half hour, he’s been the one sitting up and watching the doors, he’s been the one peering over his shoulder at the slumbering campers in their sleeping bags. Phoenix is asleep with Bob in the kitchen and you--finally--laid your head down on his lap and fell asleep after he told you to lay down for the eightieth time. 

“But they’re not back yet,” you said softly, glancing out the windows into the dusk. “What if something happened?” 

Jake swallowed, squaring his shoulders. Your face was still puffy from crying and your hair was still wet. 

“I’ll check it out if they aren’t back by midnight, okay?” 

You bit your lip, considering your options. You really didn’t think it would take this long for Coyote and Bradley to go to Paul’s cabin and come back. There’s a knot in your belly and a headache behind your eyes just thinking about it. But over everything else, you’re so fucking tired. So tired that you’re delirious. 

“Okay,” you whispered. “But you’ll wake me up if you go, right?” 

“Of course,” Jake said, face serious as ever before. “C’mon. Get some shut-eye.” 

The clock is racing towards midnight--only a few minutes ‘til. Jake doesn’t want to wake you up. Quite frankly, he doesn’t wanna go out there in the dark. But then he thinks of Coyote hurt--Hell, he even thinks of Bradley hurt--and a strange sense of duty tightens his sense of right and wrong. 

“Mr. Jake?”

He jumps--cranes his neck to look beside him. Mable is standing there, her hands clasped before her. She’s red in the face and there are tear tracks marking her cheeks. 

He’s just about to ask what’s wrong when he sees it instead--her bandage is bright red with blood. 

“Oh,” he says softly. His stomach turns, his saliva grows thick. But still, he looks at Mable. “It open again?” 

She nods. She had a nightmare about the Devil--the one who wanders the camp, the one who cut her with the Swiss army knife, the one who she is so petrified of. And then she woke up with her cut oozing hot, hot blood. 

“Can you--can you help me?” She asks. 

She sees you, clear as day, sleeping on Jake’s lap. She would much prefer if you helped her bandage the cut, but she doesn’t want to wake you. And she knows, somehow, that Jake doesn’t wanna wake you either. 

“Sure,” Jake says after a few moments of silence. “Like, just…reapply the bandage?” 

Mable shrugs. Right. She’s a kid. 

So, as carefully as Jake can, he slips out from under you, carefully laying your head on the wool blanket you’re laying on. And then he leaves the shot gun behind, ventures to one of the tables where you set up your nurse’s station. Mable follows behind him, wiping her face. 

“So…a bandage, probably. And maybe some cotton, right?” He glances at her. She shrugs again. “Didn’t you watch her bandage you?” Jake asks. 

“No,” Mable says quietly. “I was scared.” 

Jake nods. He gets it. 

“Well, okay. Um…just--why don’t you take off your bandage and put it on the table.” 

He’s preparing himself--steeling his gut, straightening his shoulders, taking a few deep breaths when he starts to feel lightheaded. 

Mable unwraps her wound--a few deep red drops of blood fall onto the floor. Jake squints, lips wrinkled as he tries his hardest not to start gagging. 

“Good,” he says weakly. He presses cotton to the wound and sighs in relief for a moment--at least he can’t see it anymore. But then he can feel it--hot and velvety beneath the pads of his fingers. “Shit--uh, alright. Yeah. You hold it there, okay?” 

Mable does as she’s told. 

Jake struggles with the bandage for a second, unraveling it before wrapping it around Mable’s thin arm a few times. The cotton bulges beneath it, but at least he can’t see the slice anymore. 

He holds the bandage in place then glances at Mable, who’s already looking at him. 

“Now what?” He asks quietly. 

“The tape,” she whispers, nodding to the roll on the table. 

“Right,” he says. He smiles weakly. “I knew that.” 

He rips the tape with his teeth, carefully applying it to the jagged end of the bandage while Mable watches carefully.

“There,” he offers quietly. “All better, right?” 

She nods, examining the shoddy work. It surely isn’t as good as it is when you do it, but it’ll do. It’ll do. 

There’s a pause between the two of them. Jake is proud of himself--he bandaged a bleeding kid all by himself. He almost wants to wake you up just to tell you that he did it. And if he can do that, he’s certain he can do anything else. Mable is chewing on her lip now, too afraid to go back and lay down, but still sleepy.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Mable whispers. “When I said he was coming for you.” 

Jake swallows hard, shrugs. 

“All in the past,” he sighs. 

She struggles for a moment, sniffling. 

“But I wasn’t lying,” she tells him. She looks at his face--his furrowed brows, his twisted lips. “He still is.” 

Jake isn’t mad exactly. But he’s scared and he’s tired and he wants this to be over and done with. 

“Why?” Jake asks because he knows it’s no use arguing. “Why me?”

“Because he wants all of us and you know how to shoot the gun.” 

In your restless slumber, you’re standing outside in the middle of the courtyard. You’re by yourself, covered in blood again, feet planted firmly in the gravel. It’s dark and windy and the waves of the lake are crashing against the white stone uncarefully. 

There’s a sense of something, like a sheer curtain shielding a sunny day, that you can’t quite put your finger on other than it is the feeling of loss. Everyone is dead and gone. Only you are left, all by yourself, barefoot in the onyx night. 

In your hands is the shotgun, but even it is slimy with blood--you can hardly get your grip on it. Rage and terror are fighting inside your cut--so vicious that bile is rising up your throat. 

And there, standing before the lake with that wicked curve in its neck, is the entity. It is as dark and fleshy as ever before, looming over you and everything else as it takes deep and rapid breaths. You don’t know how you know, but you know that its face is covered in blood, you know that it is waiting for you to make the first move. 

You’re going to fight it. Just you and just it. 

The wind is blowing something wicked. You’re scrambling to find the safety. The entity is twitching, snarling, snapping its teeth. It wants to press is mouth to yours, it wants to breath in your scent as it blunges a claw through your throat, it wants to feel the life drain out of you like it felt the life drain out of your friends--

The mess hall door rips open and the sound of clattering footsteps rips you out of your nightmare. And in the dim light, in your haze of upset and in your frenzy of panic, you sit up and reach for the shotgun beside you. Jake is gone--you don’t know where he is--but you know that you have to protect what you have. 

“Don’t fucking move!” You scream, cocking the shotgun and pressing the safety off. You’re still blinking yourself awake as you scramble to stand. “Get the fuck--!” 

Bradley blinks at you--Coyote’s eyes are wide. 

The barrel of the shotgun is aimed directly at them. 

“Whoa, whoa!” Jake calls, hurrying over to your rigid form and Bradley and Coyote. “Hey, hotshot, put the gun down!” 

Still in shock, you lower the weapon. Your heart is racing. Your mouth is dry. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, shaking your head, swallowing hard. “God, fuck--I’m so…I’m so sorry.” 

Jake takes the gun from your hands, stroking your hair as you stumble back. Your fingers are numb with panic. 

“Jesus Christ,” Bradley gasps, eyes narrowed at you. “Were you gonna fucking shoot us?” 

“No!” You answer, shaking your head. “No, I was just--I panicked. I didn’t know it was you coming in.” 

“Well, it’s not like you gave us a secret knock,” Bradley hisses. 

“I know,” you say, holding your face. 

“Christ, we’ve been busting our asses out there, running through the woods with a killer on the loose--and we come back to that?” Bradley cries. “Way to show your gratitude, Gale.”

He isn't calling you Birdie. 

“Lay off her, man,” Coyote insists, clapping Bradley’s shoulder. “We have bigger fish to fry.” 

Bradley looks at you long and hard--the way you’re holding your face, the way Jake is standing beside you like he belongs there. He’s burning from earlier still--angry at himself and at you and at Jake. 

“Here,” Bradley says, throwing a flurry of newspaper articles and papers at you and Jake. “Read ‘em and weep.” 

Coyote scoffs, slapping Bradley on the back of the head. 

“Don’t be a dick, man,” Coyote insists. 

“Fuck off,” Bradley grumbles. “They need to read ‘em.” 

“I didn’t know it was you!” You insist. “I never would’ve--Bradley, I wouldn’t--!” 

“--I really don’t care right now,” Bradley interrupts, holding a palm up to you. “Read the newspapers.” 

With quivering hands and wet eyes, you lean down and grab the newspapers. They’re old--yellowed and stained. The scent of old ink floods your nose as Jake claps Coyote on the shoulder. 

“Glad you’re back,” Jake tells him. “I was just about to send out the troops.” 

Coyote smiles weakly--he’s more afraid now than he was before. Not even just because they finally made their way back to camp, but because of what him and Bradley found. 

You’re reading as fast as you can, your brows furrowed, your stomach at your feet. 

HORROR AT CAMP ARCADIA. July 19th, 1957. 

“What…?” You whisper. 

Bradley is watching you with his hands on his hips. 

“Paul’s cabin was ransacked. He wasn’t there. God, there was--there was shit everywhere. And a fucking bulletin board full of shit like this.” 

“What is it?” Jake asks, brows furrowed. 

Phoenix peers out from the kitchen, her eyes heavy with sleep. 

“What’s going on?” She whispers. 

“What’s going on is that some shit went down in 1957. You know--like it’s going on now. Like, a guy running around fucking killing type shit. Read it.” 

Your stomach is in knots. 

“‘All seven of the camp counselors and the camp nurse were found brutally slain on camp grounds’,” you read aloud, your voice quivering. You’re lightheaded suddenly, choking on panic. “What the fuck is this?” 

“The Great Oaks Gazette,” Coyote answers. “As in…it’s real.” 

“What do you mean?” You ask. “This is--Jake, isn’t this the story you told at the bonfire?”

Jake swallows hard, eyes wide. 

“I thought it was--Jesus, I thought it was just some spooky story.” 

“Well, it’s not,” Bradley answers. “It happened. Like, it happened here thirty fucking years ago.” 

“‘The maniac’…” you whisper. Then you have to close your eyes and breathe through a bout of nausea. “Christ…what the fuck is going on?” 

“He’s here,” Coyote answers. “Whoever did that--he’s here.” 

“Except that he isn’t really ‘cause he was found dead, too,” Bradley says. “So, someone who knew about him is pretending to be him. And they’re trying to pick us off one by one.” 

“People got murdered here?” Phoenix asks, clutching another newspaper clipping. “Like--here? Camp Arcadia?” 

“Catch up,” Bradley snaps at her. “A whole staff. Just like us. Seven camp counselors and one nurse.” 

Coyote nods stiffly. 

“Two girls and five boys,” you whisper softly. “Just like us.” 

“Yeah,” Bradley confirms. “Just like us.” 

Jake’s head is spinning. He grips your shoulder, his eyes wide. 

“My God,” he mutters. “I didn’t know…I thought…”

That’s when all the bottled-up rage from today, all the fear and the horror, surfaces in Bradley’s chest in a puddle of red. He turns to Jake, his eyes narrowed. 

“How did you hear the story?” Bradley asks him, suddenly turning towards him. “Like, where did you hear about it?” 

Jake’s brows furrow. 

“I…I don’t remember,” he answers honestly. “I feel like I’ve just--like I’ve just always known about it.” 

“Why?” Bradley continues, narrowing his eyes. “None of us knew about it.” 

“C’mon,” Phoenix says, glancing between Jake and Bradley. “Cool it.” 

You’re too stunned to realize how lethal this argument between Bradley and Jake is going to be. If you were less shocked, less hurt, less tired, you would see in their eyes just how bad things are about to get. You would see it in Bradley’s red chest and Jake’s clenched fists. 

“No, no,” Bradley says. “‘Cause while we were out there, trying to get some fucking answers about what’s going on, I kept thinking about it. No one answered me earlier when I asked who would hike all the way out here. Shit, who knows we’re even out here, right?” 

“Someone who knows about Gwyar,” Phoenix says. His name tastes bitter on her tongue. “Someone from town. I don’t know.” 

“Right. You don’t know,” Bradley says, not ripping his gaze from Jake. “I’ll bet it was someone who knew about Gwyar, too.” 

The tips of Jake’s ears are bright red. His face contorts in rage as he scoffs at Bradley. 

“The fuck are you saying, man?” Jake asks. 

Bradley smiles. 

“I’m saying that maybe you’re the one who’s trying to slice and dice us.” 

“Fuck off,” you hiss at Bradley, stepping closer to the two of them. “You’re not helping!” 

“Oh, I’ve been helping,” Bradley insists. “I put my ass on line to get this information--but Jake already knew it, right? You already knew.” 

“It was just a story!” Jake insists. 

“Except that it wasn’t,” Bradley says. The toes of his tennis shoes are grazing Jake’s now. The men are eye-level, each of their gazes fiery as they stare at another. “You know, I was thinking on the way back: how could it be him? And then shit started to add up, you know? The stars really aligned.” 

Coyote is stunned into silence. Bradley never verbalized any of this on their trek back. 

“Fuck off,” you say again. You attempt to get between them when Bradley suddenly juts an arm out and puts it in the middle of your chest. “Hey-!”  

“Stay back,” Bradley says. “I think we found our killer.” 

“You can’t just say that, man,” Coyote says. “You need to check yourself.” 

“Where did you find the ax?” Bradley asks Jake. Jake swallows hard. “Right…your cabin. I remember now. And the Swiss army knife--that was in the bus barn, right? You found it. Didn’t he, Coyote?” 

“You’re making something out of nothing,” Coyote spits. “Leave him alone.” 

You’re watching the two men with your heart in your throat. This display of aggression, of dominance, is making your throat tight with anger. 

Jake’s grip tightens on the gun. 

“He can’t stand the sight of blood,” you say. “How’s he gonna chop Bob’s arm off?” 

“You know, did anyone ever know that Jake was in his school’s musicals?” Bradley asks. He recalled it during the long walk back through the dark woods--that tiny detail Jake shared a few summers back when he’d had one too many, slurring the lyrics to Suddenly Seymore. “‘Cause I remember that.” 

“Mr. Jake isn’t afraid,” Mable pipes up from behind everyone, her heart in her chest. From afar, she thinks that she’s coming to his defense. A sudden loyalty for Jake has sprouted in her chest. She holds her hands on her hips, then juts her arm out towards everyone. “He isn’t afraid of anything. He wrapped my arm back up.” 

Fuck. 

“Convenient,” Bradley sneers. “You can handle the sight of blood when all of us aren’t looking, huh? What else you doing when we’re not looking?” 

“Bradley, you’re way out of line,” Coyote says. 

“And didn’t you tell me that you were gonna kill me? Like, a few hours ago?”

“That’s taken way outta context!” Jake demands. “You were fucking--you were--!” 

“--I was what? Talking about your girl? And you didn’t like that?” 

Bile rises in your throat. 

“What are you talking about?” You demand. “Both of you--just--just quit it!” 

But they aren’t quitting it. They’re stepping closer to each other, not ripping their gazes from each other. 

“Coyote heard it,” Bradley says. “Didn’t you, Coyote?” 

Coyote doesn’t answer. He did hear Jake say it--but he knows…or at least, he thinks he knows, that Jake would never hurt anyone. He wasn't being serious. He was just angry. 

Jake glances at Coyote, whose face is pulled together in agony. 

“C’mon,” Jake says. “You know I didn’t mean it.” 

Your blood runs cold. 

“You said you were gonna kill Bradley?” You whisper. 

“He was talking about you,” Jake insists, incredulous. 

You turn your back on the two men, reeling. Your heart is beating out of your chest. What the fuck is going on? 

“You fuck,” Phoenix sneers. Her emotions are running high, her heart is ripping apart in her chest every moment she has to watch Bob settle in an agonizing slumber. “Did you fucking hurt Bob?” 

“No,” Jake gasps. “Phoenix--you know me. C’mon. We all know each other! I would never hurt Bob!” 

“Yeah, but you’d threaten to kill me,” Bradley insists. “You’re a man of your word, right? Maybe you thought Bob was me.” 

“We need to calm down,” Coyote says. “Let’s--fuck, let’s put the gun down and just talk this through?” 

Jake snaps his head in Coyote’s direction, rage burning the tips of his fingers. 

“Put the gun down?” Jake asks, gaping. “You think I’m gonna…you think I’m gonna hurt someone?” 

Coyote is sorrowful as he shrugs and shakes his head. 

“I don’t know what’s going on!” Coyote cries. “No one does!” 

“I do,” Bradley interrupts. “It’s you, isn’t it? You were gonna shoot me earlier today, too. I heard the safety click off.” 

“What?” You whisper. You look at Jake, who is looking like he’s about to start scrambling for purchase. “What did you do?” 

“No, I didn’t!” He looks at you--all that hurt in your eyes is making his chest ache. “Gale, baby, you’ve gotta believe me! I would never do that! You know me! You know me!” 

Bradley steps between the two of you. 

“Leave her out of it,” he sneers. “Give me the gun.” 

Jake tightens his grip on the gun. 

“No,” he says, shaking his head firmly. “I didn’t hurt anyone.” 

“Jake,” Phoenix says, sobbing. “Give him the fucking gun!” 

“No!” Jake yells, stepping back. “No, I won’t give Bradley the gun.” 

“Then give it to me,” you say quietly. Your face is softer now, your brows pulled together in anguish and your face twisted in confusion. “Give it to me, Jake. It’s okay.” 

In this tizzy, you’ve hardly thought about what’s real and what isn’t. Everything feels real and nothing feels real. You’re living a waking nightmare, you’re having nightmares when you close your eyes. You’re losing. Everywhere you turn, everywhere you look, there’s blood. 

“Gale…” Jake says. He’s crying now, staring at you. “I didn’t do it.” 

“Okay,” you whisper, stepping closer to him. “I believe you. Give me the gun.” 

Jake’s palms are sweaty. 

“Give it to her!” Phoenix sobs. “Jake, give her the fucking gun!” 

Jake gives you the gun and you take it slowly, not breaking your gaze from him. And then you swallow hard and look around at everyone. You’re just about to tell everyone to calm down, about to say that you should all calmly talk about what’s going on, when Bradley suddenly jumps on Jake. 

“What are you doing?” You scream at the two men. The campers start to russell in their sleeping bags, start to sit up. “What are you fucking doing?!” 

Coyote is panicking, holding his hands on top of his head. 

“Stop!” Coyote yells. 

The two men are a blur. It’s fists and blood and legs and hair until Jake is laid out flat on his belly and Bradley is sitting on top of him. 

“Get the fuck off me!” Jake demands. “You stupid son of a bitch! You fuck!” 

“We need to talk about this,” you cry. “Stop it! Stop it, Bradley!” 

“He’s gonna hurt someone else,” Bradley hisses at you, pressing his knees into Jake’s back. “He can’t be in here with us.” 

“What?” You screech. You’re quivering. “We don’t know that he did it! We don’t know what’s happening! He just--Christ, he just heard a story, okay?” 

“And he found the weapons. And he said he was gonna kill Bradley,” Phoenix says. She wipes her face, stares down at Jake. “I don’t want him in here.” 

You turn to her, flabbergasted. Phoenix, the pillar of maturity and level-headedness, suggesting that Jake be cast out when there’s a slasher on the loose. Your knees nearly buckle. 

“Phoenix,” you whisper quietly. Your throat is too choked to say anything else. 

“Please don’t do this,” Jake cries, stills struggling beneath Bradley. “Please, please don’t fucking do this!” 

“Get off of him,” Coyote snaps, pulling Bradley’s shoulder. “He isn’t hurting anyone!” 

“Not right now,” Bradley says. “But he could start again. Any fucking time.” 

All the campers are standing now, watching the showdown.

“You’re a son of a bitch,” you snap at Bradley. “Get the fuck off him!” 

“Why? So he can kill you? So he can kill me? Not a fucking chance, birdie.” 

Panicked, you shove Bradley’s shoulder. It’s enough to rock him but not enough to move him. And before Bradley can shove you away from him, Coyote’s gripping your elbow and pulling you beside him. 

“So, what? What do you wanna do now, Bradley? Wanna stick him outside? Fuck you!” Coyote says. 

“We’ll lock him in a cabin,” Bradley says. “No harm, no foul.” 

“You’re gonna kill me,” Jake screams. “You’re trying to fucking kill me!” 

It’s clear as day to you suddenly, reality. Jake wouldn’t hurt anyone. Jake didn’t do this. Jake would never hurt you. He would never hurt Bradley. Jake wouldn’t hurt anyone. It isn’t him. It isn’t him. 

“Please get off of him,” you cry. You’re sinking to your knees, still holding the shotgun in your hands. 

“Get her outta here, Phoenix,” Bradley says. “She’s hysterical.” 

“Fuck you,” you mutter, spitting at him. “I hate you!” 

“Yeah, yeah, you hate me so much for keeping you alive! I get it! That’s the thanks I get, baby!” Bradley sneers at you. “Nix--take her.” 

Phoenix wraps her arms around you, carefully tugging you up. You are shaking your head, crying, scrambling. But then Coyote is tugging you up, too. He nods towards the kitchen. 

You keep fighting, keep trying to get back to Jake and Bradley, when Coyote suddenly holds both of your cheeks in his hands. His nose grazes yours and his eyes are open and honest. 

“Bob needs you,” Coyote says very seriously. “Okay? You gotta keep your head. It’s okay. I won’t let anything happen to Jake, alright? I promise.” 

You don’t feel any better about it, still choked up on anger and grief, but you allow Phoenix to tug you back towards the kitchen. And just as you’re about to cross the threshold, Jake’s cries still echoing inside of the mess hall, you look at Bradley. For one moment, just a fleeting thing like the flap of a hummingbird’s wing, you see it: he winks at you. Or at least you think you see it. 

“C’mon,” Phoenix whispers to you. “Let them do it. It’s okay, it’s okay.” 

“Fuck off,” you mutter to her, voice trembling. You break from her grip. “You know it isn’t him! You know it.” 

The kitchen door swings shut. 

Bob’s feverish body lay crumpled on the floor. Phoenix looks at your face, her own stained with furious tears. 

“No, I don’t,” she says quietly. “But I know that my best friend in the whole fucking world is dying. And I want someone to pay. I don’t care if you’re fucking him or not.” Offended, you gape at her. She stares back at you. “Look outside your feelings for him,” she insists, softer now. “Don’t be one of those girls who wears horse-blinders when it comes to men.” 

Horse-blinders. 

“I’m not,” you spit. “I just know he didn’t do it.” 

“How?” She asks, voice hard. 

You can’t answer. 

“Right,” she answers. “‘Cause your word is lord.” 

The room is quiet. You stare at each other, chests heaving. 

“I don’t wanna fight,” you tell her, shoulders sloping. “I’m…I’m fucking scared.” 

“Me either,” Phoenix says. She wipes her nose with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry.” 

“Me too,” you tell her. “But I don’t think he did it.” 

She nods. 

“Okay. We’ll see.” 

Bradley throws Jake into his own cabin, the one he shared with the littles. Jake is bright red, cursing Bradley, shaking his head at him. 

“Fuck you,” Jake sneers as Bradley stands in the doorway with his arms crossed. “You’re trying to get me killed, you fuck!” 

“Look, man,” Bradley says. “I’m just trying to keep everyone else alive.”

And before Jake can respond, Bradley is slamming the door shut and locking it from the outside. Coyote watches with his head hung, his heart racing. Fuck. It wasn’t supposed to go this way. Nothing was supposed to be like this. 

“Hey, man,” Coyote calls to Jake. “I’ll…I’ll check in on you every thirty, alright?” 

“Fuck off,” Jake sneers, pacing the length of the dark cabin. Panic has seized his heart. “I’ll be dead by the fucking morning.” 

“Drama, drama,” Bradley says, rolling his eyes. “Don’t let him out, okay?” 

Coyote nods, not looking up. 

Jake sits on the floor, burying his head in his knees. Fuck. Fuck. 

“I’m gonna die,” Jake whispers. Coyote still hears him. “You’re fucking killing me, man.”

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: JAAAAAAAAAAAAKE!!!!

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒:

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[phoenixeclipse-lmkau]

Qi xiaotian never met his fathers, his dad, or his baba. His mother never really talked about them, only answering the questions that he asked but never elaborating. If he wanted to know something, he would have to ask exactly what he wanted fathers.

He never inquired much about them or asked who they were because he could see the sadness that it brought to his mother. However, everything changed when he and his mother left their home in the mountains to move to the city after he became an adult. He never anticipated that he would meet the Monkey Kings, and he sure as he'll didn't think they would try to kidnap him!

It was all because he picked up the Monkey King Wukong's staff. It messed with his glamour and sent power surging through his body. Right in front of Sun Wukong and The Six Eared Macaque.

He didn't mean to run. He didn't mean to take the staff. Everything just happened so fast and he couldn't help it. He didn't know weather to be excited about it or terrified and settled for somewhere in the middle.

"Hey mama," he muttered arms behind his back.

"Xiaotian, you're back," the smell of peach cobbler filled the room as she opened the oven.

"Yeah. Um... you know how you told me not to get into any trouble?" He gulped as he shuffled onto his feet.

Phoenix straightened up and turned to face him. A frown soon covering her face, mostly worried but also showed some annoyance. He had promised to stay out of trouble.

"What did you do?" She asked with a raised brow but seemed to cut herself as she looked at his appearance. The glamour on his headband was broken, and he was in his true form. It didn't take long before he responded to her question.

"Look what I found!" He suddenly shouted a grin splitting across his face.

"No, Xiaotian! Put that down!" The cobbler was roughly shoved onto the table as she ran up to her son and hit his wrist to make him drop the staff. Immediately, the staff hit the ground, causing it to sink into the wooden floor from its sheer weight.

Got a new iPad. It's not the best drawing I've made, but I still love it! Goofy monkey boy! 🩷

[aztarion]

oc in 15 (lying)

tagged by @nightwardenminthara thank you cole 🫶🫶 might be obsessed with their gideon after his oc in 15 but lets not get into that 👀 unless..

Rules: share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

**after realizing Deva is not an articulate woman i chose to include other details alongside dialogue to get across her general “same shit different supernatural” scrappy doo-ness and what she gets herself into. these are all bits and pieces from a longfic milk teeth

…

1. “Ten minutes already? Time for a break,” she announces, rising like a phoenix from the chair Felix had similarly abandoned ten minutes prior.

-

2. “Oh, fuck you,” she says, precisely – as precisely as the blood runs rivulets between her teeth.

-

3. “You know there’s going to be complaints to Agency HR about us.”

-

4. Dev throws a mock-salute and opens the passenger door with a deputy cluck. "All forces now protecting our collective ass.”

-

5. The door thuds in its frame again as she arches, hands tugging on his hair. He hums at the pleasant ripple it sends down his spine, even as she demands: “Bed,” in a breathy whisper, with another pull.

-

6. “That's my job, Bobby—debate it, pick at my words, but don't conflate your issues with ours. What you're doing," Detective Deleón scoffs, flicking her finger back-and-forth, "has nothing to do with the case. This is about a dead boy. This is about an order you were given to stay the fuck away and a concession I had to make."

It’s slight, but Nate shifts uncomfortably. Felix, however, looks like he is watching good TV.

-

7. “Lose the shirt.” Her voice is even and demanding — it always is when she wants something, he’s coming to realize. Mason's also been realizing he’s kind of into it.

-

8. “Well.” Deva takes a step back to survey. The trapper’s head is black, misshapen, and greatly reduced, as if shaven away. “That didn’t work.”

-

9. The Mother Deleón looks a little forlorn. The Daughter Deleón wants to say something smart, nonplussed, but her throat is too thick and sour. She keeps her gaze on the volt burn in her jeans. Her palms, hidden safely by the clench of her fingers, throb. "I don’t want to talk about this anymore, mom."

-

10. “You need two for a game of Good Cop/Bad Cop," she says, scowling around a busted lip and a black eye. “So if you’re going to make threats just fucking make them. Don’t waste time pretending to look out for me.”

-

11. Deva pauses suddenly, drawing back a few inches so she can meet his eyes. Her lips press into palpable wickedness. "Make me."

-

12. Mason snorts and lazily rolls his neck to look at the second-in-command. “Just say it looks like shit, Nate.”

“And it smells like ass,” says Deva.

“It does smell like ass,” Felix agrees.

-

13. “No, it’s nothing like that,” she says, then pauses for a beat. “I mean, I don’t know – fuck, maybe it is like that – look I’ll explain later. I’m fine though, but I think – well, um, I think someone’s been here. In my apartment. While I was sleeping.”

-

14. “Kinky.” Deva shoots a jackass grin at Adam. “How medieval of you.”

-

15. “This is as good as you’ll get,” she whispers to the bathroom mirror. The reflection that looks back is merciless, staid — milkiness with a suggestion of something hollow, like a baby tooth.

hehe title reference nudging myself

tagging: @sorceresslodge @devilbrakers @nsewell @saintalessia @dietgabbana @nat-seal-well @serenpedac @swordbards @recents @wetusb @deepinifhell @fauville @agentnatesewell and anyone else w OCs out the wazoo‼️👯‍♀️

TLDR;

[tgmsunmontue]

Where do I know you from? 6/10

Hangster crackfic. There are too many Jakes and Bradleys for Jake and Bradley to be dealing with. Or the Universe is just as fed up with them being blind.

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE PART FOUR PART FIVE

PART SIX

                Turns out that Maverick is not alive in every universe, and this Rooster, maybe number thirty-three, is hugging him and crying. Maverick seems a little overwhelmed, looking around at so many versions of his god-son, but he’s gathering the crying one up into his arms and hugging him, telling him it’s okay, drawing him away to a quieter corner and Jake catches Rooster’s eye and shrugs helplessly, not really sure what he can do, but then he sees himself, a version of himself, making a beeline for the crying Rooster who immediately reaches for him.

                “This is a very weird life experience for us to bond over…”

                “Yeah. Seeing so many of myself is definitely weirder than seeing so many of you,” Rooster says, and Jake’s starting to think that maybe he needs to call Rooster something else.

                “At least new ones have stopped arriving? Have they?” Jake asks, turning to Rooster Three, who has a Jake beside him now, hand in the back pocket of Rooster Three’s jeans like he’s laying claim. Jake raises an eyebrow at him, only to have the exact expression mirrored back at him, slightly more challenging and Jake’s confused. He doesn’t want Rooster Three.

                “Yeah, seems like you two being in closer proximity has stopped more of us coming through,” Rooster Five says.

                “That’s the theory anyway,” Rooster Three adds.

                “These are the smart versions of you,” Jake says to Rooster, feels a little spark of accomplishment when Rooster rolls his eyes. “He’s a professor and he has a PhD in physics.”

                “Nice to meet you?” Rooster asks, like he’s really not sure of the etiquette and Jake scoffs, although he really doesn’t know what to do or say to anyone right now either.

                Oh. He sees an older version of himself and okay, he can forgive Rooster looking good in the future if Jake still looks like that. He approves. He turns to find Rooster, at least he thinks it’s the Rooster from his Universe, watching him and he turns away, watches as his older-self fist-bumps Rooster Eight.

                “Switched body Bradley! I’m time traveler Jake…”

                “Nice!”

                “I think I’m hallucinating,” Jake mumbles, and when he looks up Rooster is nodding, having migrated to stand close to him, which he guesses is smart if proximity is what is stopping more of them from appearing.

                “Oh!” Maverick exclaims suddenly, and Jake turns, along with nearly everyone else.

                “What?” Three and Five ask, immediately there and Jake is immensely glad he only ever has to deal with a singular Rooster. Hopefully.

                “They just… disappeared.”

                “What did they do immediately before that?”

                “Kissed.”

                “I knew it!” Three and Five exclaim and Jake looks around, desperate for anyone to share his amusement with. Instead there are versions of himself looking proud, others looking horny, and then there’s the other members of the Dagger Squad who have gathered together who are watching with the intense focus of watching a train wreck. Rooster Six has found popcorn and given them a bowl each. Except for Phoenix and Halo who have collected all the female versions and the amount of laughter coming from that section of the Hard Deck is quite frankly worrying.

                “Okay! Listen up! No kissing until you’ve answered the questions on this sheet!” Rooster Three calls out, and his Jake is shaking his head, mumbling under his breath about something so quietly Jake can’t catch it. “We want to know the other side…”

                “What’s he going to do to us? Hunt us down? Come here babe,” one Jake says, then he’s pulling a Rooster to him, tipping him and kissing and they blink out of existence.

                “Shit!”

                “Bradley. These aren’t your students. You can’t tell them what to do. Asking might have gone down better,” Rooster Three’s Jake says, and Jake totally knows what he means.

                Rooster Three and Five have seemed to reach a frenzy, going around asking questions, and there are some Roosters and Jakes who have clearly found each other, ignoring the request and kissing, then immediately popping out of existence. He does see a couple of false-kisses, Jakes and Roosters from universes too similar maybe, but he’s quietly glad that the number of himself has decreased. He can see the ones left more clearly, although that maybe isn’t a good thing.

                “What the hell are you wearing?” Jake asks one version of himself, staring at the top with Roosters across the front.

                “Well, I didn’t think I was going to get pulled across time and space when I put it on. I thought only Bradley would be seeing it…”

                “I can remedy that,” a Rooster says, pushing his way through and then he’s gripping the shirt and kissing that version of Jake so possessively Jake’s eyebrows shoot up. Okay then. They pop out of existence and Jake doesn’t need to dwell on exactly what they’ll clearly be doing when they get back to their own universe.

                It feels a little calmer, although he notes Ten and Fifteen are still there, arms wrapped around different Jakes, they’re all in deep discussion about something and he guesses if you’re looking for a foursome, having it with alternate-universe versions of yourselves is definitely a way of it not messing things up back in your own universe. He wonders what the Jakes were like with Bradley, whether they flirted with him and were politely shot down or pushed away. None of his versions are sporting a black eye, so clearly none of them got too pushy.

                “Those two Seresin’s bonded over missing their kids…” Rooster tells him, jerking his head towards two Jakes, only one of which is in uniform. One is dressed very much like how Jake dresses when he’s at home on his parent’s ranch, cowboy boots and hat. When that version of himself pulls Rooster Eighteen, the cowboy without the whip, to his side he guesses that makes sense. Somehow.

                Rooster Seventeen, the one with the whip, is looking at a Jake who looks… polished. There’s no other way to describe it, he seems shinier than Jake, teeth whiter, hair glossy, clothes that look expensive, and Rooster Eighteen seems to be looking at him so fondly, so clearly in love with him that this other version of him is blushing and reaching out and grabbing the whip. Jake makes a little squeaking sound and then what Rooster said is processed by his overtaxed brain.

                “Wait. I have kids?”

                “Yeah. You’re a girl dad. He has a teenage daughter, and he has two little girls. Have you met the one from where we’re helping Coyote and Phoenix raise their kids? That was the first Hangman to turn up…”

                “Uh. Yeah. Maybe? Just… I’ve just had a thought,” Jake says, realization hitting him that this might be the dumbest or smartest idea he’s ever had. He grabs Rooster’s hand and tugs him toward the bar. “You need to talk to this guy. You, Six, tell him about where you come from…”

    ��           “Uh, what?”

                “Your universe. Where no one died. Tell him about it.”

                “Well, no one flies planes where I come from either. And I can do a little better than tell him about it.”

                Jake stares at the phone in Six’s hand, because holy shit, he hadn’t thought of that. Is that even going to work?

                Apparently.

                Because Six is leading Rooster across the bar to a quiet corner and handing him the phone.

PART SEVEN