#and now it has nowhere to go except everywhere. it's spilling out. overflowing. the world is wrong and hal can fix it!

[mindshelter]

“you go blank inside” babygirl. you are dissociating

the abuse that hal suffered at martin jordan’s hands (and words) are. pretty indispensable to understanding hal’s time as a GL leading up to becoming parallax... hal became part of the corps pre-conditioned and primed for easy indoctrination. despite recognizing martin’s behaviour as abusive, and hoping to never become like him, compliance at one’s own expense was all hal knew. it was what felt safe, what felt familiar, and made up that last tendril of sanity—the universe couldn’t be that cruel, and a parent wouldn’t be so hateful for no reason. there must be something hal can fix—can compromise—to be accepted. if only hal could have given martin what he wanted, whatever that may have been. if, if, if. 

fealty won’t earn you happiness—only survival. 

when that illusion finally crumbles—when the realization that decades of loyalty to the corps and to the long-deceased father has reaped zero reward—so does the remainder of hal’s belief system. 

captions below: 

1. dc comics presents: green lantern (2004)

Willpower. Absolute concentration. Split second timing. Where does that come from?

Instead it’s all feed in more trim and if you’re still nose-down, put your feet in the stirrups and blow the canopy before you red out. You do what you do. You go blank inside.

2. back issue #80, on Green Lantern

Fearless people tend to be cocksure of their actions and tend not to question anything, including authority. I recall a number of John Broome[-written] stories where Hal was totally (and happily) subservient to the Guardians of the Universe. 

3. zero hour: crisis in time (1994) #0

I used to be the errand boy for the Guardians of the Universe. It was a thankless job. I knew that. I had never asked for anything. 

The one time I did, I was denied. It dawned on my just how unfair the universe really was…

4. green lantern (1990) #63

Your rules. Your rules kept me from any happiness. I served the corps more faithfully than anyone, and my loyalty got me nothing. 

5. dc comics presents: green lantern (2004)

Like what you learn at the end of someone’s arm. You learn to go blank. 

Like maybe things with him would change if could just give him what he wants. If you would just take it like a man. But nothing ever did change. He just kept calling you a loser. And if he ever had a warmer opinion, you never heard about it. You took that like a man, too. 

6. back issue #80, on Green Lantern

I always believe it is very hard for people to actually change their personalities. So the best Hal could do was reach a happy medium, intellectually realizing he should be feeling differently about a situation, but emotionally having trouble doing so.

7. dc comics presents: green lantern (2004)

I don’t think I can do this anymore. “Fearless.” It’s all a crock.

8. green lantern (1990) #50

9. dc comics presents: green lantern (2004)

You go blank inside. 

Maybe sometimes that’s all that stands between this thing on my finger and the hot green end of everything. 

#i have NO idea if this makes any sense at all but. yeah. hal's character arc makes me crazy actually #hal jordan #martin jordan #dc #green lantern #comic blogging #another day of pretending the parallax parasite retcon doesn't exist because this is infinitely more compelling #and a perfect conduit to provide commentary on anti-authoritarianism through characters like kyle #instead of. you know. the green lantern corps as space cops #anyway. yeah. hal is extremely traumatized and evidently got zero support for it for decades. tfw you're in your forties and #your inner child believes that there was something wrong with YOU and that if you just behaved RIGHT and became what your dad wanted #he wouldn't have hated your guts #resentment was already brewing but emerald twilight was really all about the realization that all that self-hatred and blame #was being misdirected #and now it has nowhere to go except everywhere. it's spilling out. overflowing. the world is wrong and hal can fix it! #i'll make everything better! everyone gets to be happy but not in this SHITSTAIN universe #just you guys wait and see #you'll understand eventually. you all will. just like i did.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Your Clothes Say Different (Ben Hardy x Reader) (One-Shot)

Summary: You and Ben have called it quits, but old habits die hard.  

Inspiration: Bedroom Floor by Liam Payne. 

Warnings: Language, smutty, 18+.

Link to all my writing HERE.

The knock at the door is so loud that the glass flies out of your fingertips, exploding across the floor, ruby wine flowing like blood over the hardwood. “Oh, great,” you sigh, stepping over the mess. You throw down a dish towel and haphazardly whip it around with your toes. You’ll have to clean up the rest later. You hurry to unlock the door.

You really shouldn’t have been drinking anyway. You were already tipsy when the Uber dropped you off at home thirty minutes ago. Ben’s text had come in at 4pm, and Joe had taken you clubbing at 9. He knew you needed something to take the edge off, something fun and numbing. Now it was almost midnight. The world had a warm, rushing, off-balance sort of feeling.

“Do you want me to be there?” Joe had asked. “I’ll be there if you want me to be.” He was always such a good friend to you. Probably better than you deserved.

“No, I can do it,” you had replied. But could you really? Ben’s text said this: Hey, I’m in town. Can I swing by and get my stuff tonight? It’d have to be pretty late. Now it was pretty late. Now it was time.

Your hand flicks the deadbolt and turns the knob. The door opens, harsh yellow light from the apartment corridor falling into the living room. And there, in the doorway, is Ben. His eyebrows are raised, the edges of his full lips curled upwards, just barely. He doesn’t think he should smile, but he doesn’t know what else to do. He staggers, just a bit, and then you realize that he’s been drinking too. He’s holding a cardboard box. There’s a lit cigarette between the index and middle fingers of his right hand. He’s wearing dark jeans, a cerulean tank top, a slick black jacket thrown messily overtop. And if the phrase goes you look like a million bucks then he looks like Bill fucking Gates. 

The last six months come rushing back, hitting you like radiation, sinking into your bones layer by layer. It starts with a fortuitous meeting at a club your friends dragged you to; it starts with days spent in tangled bedsheets and covert dates to museums and beaches and middle-of-nowhere diners. He always makes sure you know how much he cares. He always calls you babe. It starts thrilling and fateful, feeling like it will last forever. It ends with Ben landing more roles, endless promotional events, salacious articles in gossip magazines about how close he’s gotten with his famous, otherworldly-gorgeous costars, blurry pictures of him grinning under exotic dancers. It ends with you breaking down under the pressure, like ancient remains compressed into oil, screaming as Joe snatches away your phone and drags you into his arms.

It’s been a month since the phone call. Ben’s been in the Mediterranean filming. He’s tan and glowing and perfect, like a British Adonis. It’s infuriating, actually. You don’t want to feel it, but you do: bitterness, rage, jealousy. Who’s going to be the next woman to run their hands over his pecs and shoulders and the back of his neck, to feel him moving inside her? Who has he replaced you with already? You’re still on the pill, like you have been for years. It suddenly feels like such a waste.

“So, uh,” Ben begins. His voice is deep and husky, even more beautiful than you remember. It stuns you, knocks you off your figurative feet. He looks around the room. He looks everywhere except at you. “How have you been?”

You cross your arms over your chest like armor. “You’re here for your things. That’s all, right? Don’t feel like you have to make conversation.”

“I...” Ben looks at his feet. He feels guilty. But that doesn’t mean he wants you, and you need to remember that. You steel yourself, picture metal architecture for inspiration, the Brooklyn Bridge and the Empire State Building and the Eiffel Tower. No, scratch that last one. The Eiffel Tower is no good. He was the one who took you there.

You step aside and gesture towards the bedroom. “Off you go.”

He sweeps quickly through the apartment, filling his cardboard box with the things he’d left with you: his books, his clothes, his sunglasses, his favorite pillow, the custom lighter that his father gave him with We’re so proud of you, Ben! etched into the side. You realize with stabbing clarity that soon they’ll really be gone, these remnants of the time you shared, the only proof that you and Ben ever existed as a couple at all.

When he’s finished, he stands by the front door with the overflowing box at his feet. His hands are in the pockets of his jacket. He’s looking at you now. You feel overwhelmed with something more than just sorrow or nostalgia; you feel like you want him again. You’re trembling everywhere.

“I guess you should go now,” you tell him.

“Is that what you want?”

Hell yeah, I want you to go, you almost say. Get out. Don’t look back. I don’t want half of a life with you, or one-third or one-fourth, or whatever obscene fraction it works out to be when you’re the wife of an actor. I want to never see you again.

But you don’t say that. Instead, you say: “What do you want?”

He smiles. He was waiting for this. His eyes, jade-colored, burning, trace your body from your ankles to your lips. He whispers: “I want you, babe.”

That does it. Nothing about you is steel.

As you nod, struggling to catch your breath, he bolts for you. You crumble into his arms. Ben is kissing you deeply, urgently, his hands pulling your shirt over your head. Your lips are following his messily, frantically. You bit down on his tongue, like he likes you to. “Oh my god,” he moans.

He throws you down onto the couch. You tear off his jacket and tank top as he fumbles with his belt. You’re soaking wet, you know that already. You can see his erection through his jeans. He hikes up your skirt and slides your panties down your legs, where they catch around your ankles.

“You really want this, right?” Ben asks, breathless. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m taking advantage of you. I don’t want you to think I’m using you for anything. I’m not.”

“No, no,” you whisper, your lips against his neck. You bite him there, leaving violet shadows. “Fuck me, Ben. I want you to fuck me.”

He kisses you again, his lips smiling into yours. “I can handle that.” He yanks down his jeans and boxers, and suddenly his hips are locked with yours. He reaches down and thumbs your clit as he slides his cock inside you. “You like that, babe? Huh?”

“Yes,” you breathe, clutching him to you. You could never get close enough to him. You never want this to end.

Ben’s thick cock pumps in and out of you, slowly at first, then with arresting force. He cradles the back of your head with his left hand as you writhe against him. His right hand is working expertly against your clit. As he thrusts, he says: “God you feel so good, you feel amazing around my cock, I missed this so much.”

You’re shuddering, your mind is fantastically blank. Nothing lives there—no heartbreak, no fear, no guilt—nothing except ecstasy. “Don’t stop,” you whine. “Don’t stop, don’t stop...”

“I’m not stopping,” he pants into your ear. “Come for me, babe.”

You’re getting close. You turn your face into the couch cushions, gasping. Ben puts two fingers against your cheek and brings you back so you’re facing him. His eyes are piercing through you.

“Look at me, babe,” he says. “Look at me when you come. Come on, come for me.” He shakes his head, laughing. “You gotta come, I can’t wait, I haven’t been with anyone since you.”

His words register through the fog—haven’t been with anyone since you, since you, since you—and you plummet off the edge, the orgasm unraveling like a spilled secret. You scream as you come, grinding against him, your fingertips locked in his tousled blond hair. He thrusts once, twice more, and he finishes as well, collapsing onto your bare chest, sighing your name. You kiss his shoulders, his forehead. You glance over at your clothes, an interwoven mess on the living room floor.

I still love you, you think, helplessly. I fucking love you, Ben.

And you don’t need to say anything. Because he already knows. He knows.

And he feels it, too. 

#ben hardy #borhap fanfic #borhap #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy fic

[pamphletstoinspire]

What Is Pornography - Part 5 - THE STRUGGLE WITH PORN - Part 23

23. I will never be able to regain my spouse’s trust after sneaking around with porn.

When you stood before your family, slipped that ring on your spouse’s finger, and told her you would “forsake all others”, I doubt there was some small print written somewhere that read: “Except when I want to sneak off to masturbate before digital prostitutes.”

Deep down, despite all the excuses, this is not the kind of husband or wife any of us wants to be. Do you want to be the kind of person who loves someone for the rest of your life, gladly sacrificing yourself for the good of that person experiencing an intimate personal and sexual bond? Or do you want to be the person who sneaks off late at night to have an intimate encounter with your computer? Which one of these sounds closer to the wedding vows you spoke and the person you wish to become?

Still, when a spouse discovers that her husband or his wife has been sneaking around watching porn, it can feel absolutely devastating. It is a traumatic discovery in the truest sense of the word. When dealing with a husband’s sexual betrayal, approximately 70 percent of wives fit the criteria for post-traumatic stress disorder, often manifesting symptoms of fear, depression, anxiety, obsessive thinking, insomnia, hyper-vigilance, and nightmares.

Spouses in this situation often begin to doubt themselves, caught in the immense insecurity of feeling the need to compete with a world of fantasy. Not surprisingly, these spouses often feel angry, lonely, exhausted, and in deep despair. Is it possible to regain the trust of a spouse who feels so hurt?

In his book Partners: Healing from His Addiction, Dr. Doug Weiss uses a key phrase over and over: believe behavior. If you want your spouse to begin trusting you again, you must demonstrate trustworthy behaviors. Talk is cheap, and in the case of a partner who has been sneaking around watching porn for a long time, talk is even cheaper. Making promises or stating mere words of reassurance cannot rebuild trust. New behavior can.

I want to outline seven vital steps for rebuilding trust. For the sake of simplicity, I’ll assume that the offending party is a husband who is attempting to regain his wife’s trust, but the same steps equally apply to a woman attempting to regain her husband’s trust.

1. Fully acknowledge the wrong.

It is vital for your wife to hear from you a clear, humble, honest admission of wrong. Don’t just acknowledge the action: “I have been looking at pornography.” Acknowledge the nature of the action: “I have wronged you by my selfishness, lust, and deception.”

Also acknowledge that you don’t fully understand just how badly you’ve hurt your wife and that you agree that her mistrust of you is warranted: “I know I have crippled your trust in me, and I don’t blame you. Still, I won’t pretend to understand how difficult this is for you, but I want to understand it better.” Promise to listen to her — uninterrupted and without being defensive — then follow through with that promise, no matter how painful it is to hear her words.

2. Never shift the blame.

Acknowledge that, although there may be underlying reasons why you have been obsessed with porn, you take full responsibility for your actions. Perhaps you were exposed to porn at a young age, or perhaps you think your parents could have given you a much better sex education. Perhaps you feel as if your habit has spiraled out of control into an addiction and you need professional help. These are fine things to share with your wife, but don’t ever treat them as excuses. Your wife needs to hear you take full ownership of the problem.

It is also common for a woman to feel as if the problem is at least partially hers. If she had only been sexier or less of a nag, maybe you wouldn’t have gone down this path of fantasy and deception. You must remind your wife that this is a lie.

Tell her that porn is cleverly edited, high-octane sex, and no woman can (or should) compete with this. Women everywhere are told that they need to be younger, prettier, and bustier. The last person a woman should hear this message from is her husband. In the arms of her husband, she should feel beautiful — because she is.

3. Purge all access points to porn.

Do everything in your power to close off access to porn. Just as important, let your wife know what you are doing to close access.

Many husbands are tempted, especially after a while, to feel as if all the safeguards are a bit childish and over the top. Don’t think this way. It probably took you years to build up your porn habit. Don’t be a fool and think it will go away in days or weeks. It takes a mature man to acknowledge where he is weak.

By closing off all the access points (and potential access points), you will show your wife exactly what she needs to see: that you love her more than your iPhone, more than unmonitored time online, more than your route to work that passes the adult bookstore, more than your private e-mail account, more than your secluded life, where no one knows the real you or the real temptations you face.

4. Encourage your wife to seek advice and help.

Though you are the one with the problem, your problem has spilled over into your wife’s life. Encourage her to talk to someone else about her feelings of hurt, betrayal, and confusion. Resist the urge you might feel to save your precious reputation by telling her to keep your porn problem a total secret. This only discourages your wife from getting outside help.

Often those hurt by their spouse’s porn use don’t want or feel that they need any help, but since your problem caused your wife great trauma, let her know that no one should have to face that kind of trauma alone. Encourage her to speak to a good friend or a counselor. There are counselors trained to help spouses of sex and porn addicts (called APSATS, the Association of Partners of Sex Addicts Trauma Specialists).

5. Be incredibly patient with her.

If you’ve been secretly hooked on porn for a long time, when the secret finally comes out, it can feel paradoxically frightening and relieving all at the same time. For you, the secrecy or the resistance to change has been an enormous burden, but now things look brighter and more hopeful — nowhere to go but up.

This is often not how the offended spouses feel. The revelation of your secret or the burden of carrying your secret has been crushing. Trust has been shattered. The world as your wife knows it now seems unreal to her. She might be questioning everything she ever believed about her marriage and about you.

Be patient. Don’t expect her to “be over this” because the secret is out or because you have made vows to change.

And don’t push sexual intimacy with your wife soon after divulging your secret either. Spouses vary in their responses when it comes to discovering that their husbands have a porn problem. Your wife may find the idea of sex with you repulsive, wondering whether you are just using her as a warm body as you replay pornographic scenes in your mind. Or she might be the opposite: sex might help to reassure her that things are still okay. Either response is very natural.

Whatever her reaction, you should pursue romance with your wife in nonsexual ways. Porn unfortunately trains us to desire sex without emotional engagement, to approach sex with a consumer mentality. To counteract this, you should pursue emotional engagement with your wife and let sex be the overflow. Show nonsexual physical affection — cuddle, hug, kiss. Be vulnerable: have heart-to-heart conversations about your memories, dreams, and hopes. Spend quality time together. Find ways to serve her. Surprise her with romantic gestures.

6. Become accountable for your technology use.

Most people who have a dysfunctional relationship with porn also have a dysfunctional relationship with technology. You might have the mentality: “What I do online is my own business, no one else’s. It is my time.” This has enabled you to create a private world of fantasy.

This mentality needs to change. One of the best ways to do this — it has helped me and countless others—is to use accountability software. Unlike filtering software that is typically used for kids and blocks adult websites, accountability software doesn’t block anything. It lets you go wherever you want. But every week or so, an Internet report is e-mailed to someone of your choosing (such as a friend, mentor, spouse, or counselor).

This reporting has great benefits. For one, just the knowledge that someone will likely see a record of all the questionable places you’ve been online is enough to nip temptation in the bud for a lot of guys. Second, if you do slip up and watch porn, you’ve already made your confession to others: they already know the dirty details, so there’s no option to hide or to minimize things. This keeps you honest. Third, it really shows the people who love you how serious you are about changing. It tells them, “My life is open to you. I don’t want any more secrets.”

Although there are a few accountability-oriented programs out there, the only one really worth its salt is Covenant Eyes. After testing some of these programs, I found that this is the one that consistently works the best.

7. Seek man-to-man accountability.

The word “accountability” might leave a bad taste in your mouth. That’s okay; it used to leave a bad taste in mine as well.

The best definition of accountability I can give you is this: giving permission to someone you trust to remind you of the person you really want to be. Yes, accountability involves sharing your faults and struggles with someone, but admitting those struggles aloud should always be followed by a reminder of what you are fighting for and the kind of man you hope to become. Having this mentality in mind will keep accountability from degenerating into demoralizing condemnation or a surface relationship in which you put on a smile and say everything is just fine.

Ideally, good accountability friendships should be man-to-man (or woman-to-woman, as the case may be). Someone of the same sex is more likely to be able to see through your pretenses and help you to get to the bottom of things.

Should your wife be your accountability partner? In one sense, yes. In another sense, no.

It is easy for men who have had a secret porn life to develop a secret “recovery life”. Don’t do this. Don’t cut your wife out of the process. Yes, some things are best kept secret if you are in a professional recovery program. If you are in a support group, keep the identity of other members a secret (they don’t call those groups “Anonymous” for no reason). Also, don’t feel pressured to give a play-by-play of every detail you’ve confessed or said aloud to a counselor, a support group, or a minister. You can share these things if you want, but those settings are safe places for you to vent your sloppy, uncensored, and often confused thoughts, and they should be kept safe for you.

Still, as you make your plan for becoming a new man, make sure your wife knows the important details. If she is ever to trust you again, she needs to know what you intend to do and needs to see you doing it. Tell her what your porn “triggers” (tempting scenarios) have been in the past and how you plan to deal with them in the future. Tell her about the books you are reading. Tell her about the advice your minister, mentor, or counselor is giving you and how you are following that advice. Tell her who is holding you accountable. Liberally share the details of your plan for recovery so that she can see you living out the plan.

All the same, while your wife needs to know the details of your recovery, don’t make her your confessor — your sole confidant as you are taking steps to quit. Lean on others to do the heavy lifting of bearing your burdens, confessions, and difficult questions. Your wife should see you pursuing these kinds of friendships with men who can lend you solid personal and practical advice.

The healing of your marriage is possible. I know because I’ve seen many couples recover from the damage caused by porn. Pornography addiction thrives in the darkness of secrecy; it cannot survive in the light of accountability.

#what is pornography

[jellyfishline]

Whew, I’m a bit late, but I finally finished my fic for the first day of @promptisfanweek! The prompt was realization--the moment they knew it was love.

Also on AO3

It takes less than two days for Prompto to realize that coming on this trip was a mistake.

It’s one thing to have a crush on your best friend. It’s another thing to have an absolutely impossible crush on your best friend who, in addition to being royalty and literally 3000 miles out of your league, also happens to be engaged to someone who’s intelligent and pretty and also royalty (and kinda accidentally responsible for your crush in the first place.)

And as far as the shit Prompto has to put up with, this is like, not even close to being the worst of it. A little unrequited crushing isn’t all that bad, compared to the constant threat of invasion or passing the Crownsguard physical exams or the fact that he hasn’t seen either of his parents in two months and—really, it’s such a tiny thing. It was easy to lose in the rhythm of daily life, like a lone sock in the back of the dryer, or a spare key that he didn’t even really need. It barely even hurt anymore.

But now. Now they’re on this trip together, this big bachelor party roadtrip bash, and Prompto’s never been so happy or so miserable.

Now Prompto knows what it’s like to fall asleep with Noctis next to him—not across the room in a sleeping bag, but right next to him in the same motel bed. Now Prompto knows how Noct brushes his teeth, and how he puts on his socks in the morning, and the brand of his hair gel, and the smell of his soap. Prompto thought he knew everything about Noct, but he was so, so wrong. These things—these little specks of daily life that don’t make any difference to Noctis—suddenly, they mean the world to Prompto.

They’re always together. Every second of the day. No Ignis pulling up in a sleek black car to whisk Noct away to some council meeting or other, no part-time jobs or school schedules to coordinate—there’s nothing to come between them except their destination, and that’s weeks away. For weeks Prompto’s going to be so close to Noct that there’s nothing but self-control stopping him from wrapping his arms around those bony shoulders and telling Noct all the things he knows he should never say.

When they finally fix the car, Prompto sits up front with Iggy so he doesn’t have to watch Noct’s eyes light up when he talks. He kills time playing with the radio, making jokes he can’t remember, trying to distract himself with thoughts of other crushes so he doesn’t have to think about how Noct is different, has always been different.

It’s driving him crazy. These stupid feelings he should’ve grown out of when he was fourteen, sixteen, graduating highschool—if anything, age has made them stronger. They’ve matured, deepened. His heart doesn’t race when he meets Noct’s eye, but his chest aches like someone’s dug into him with a spoon. He’s hollowed-out and overflowing. He takes a picture of Noctis on the docks of Galdin Quay and almost cries when he sees how perfectly he captured the moment.

He takes more pictures. The light on the sea. Bare feet on the sand. Noct fishing off the pier. He doesn’t ever want to forget today. Not a single second of it.

 The night after Insomnia falls is rainy and humid. Prompto lies on his back, in the dark, staring up at the caravan ceiling. He’s too tired to sleep.

He rubs his eyes. The day’s events are on replay in his mind, but no matter how many times he sorts through them, he still can’t make them make sense. The city—his house—his parents—everything he’s ever known—how can it all be gone?

“Prompto?”

Prompto catches his breath. He’d thought Noctis was long asleep by now, but no—there he is, framed against the caravan window in the lights from Hammerhead.

“Oh, hey.” Prompto sits up on his elbows, seeking out Noct’s face in the dark. “What’s up?”

Noct shrugs halfway—crunches up his shoulders but doesn’t let them down again. “Can’t sleep,” he mutters.

Prompto sighs. He doesn’t mean to, but he’s not sure he could help it if he tried. He runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, me neither,” he admits.

He kind of expects that to be that—for Noct to lay back down and leave Prompto to his thoughts. Instead, there’s a long, slow moment where Noctis looks at him and Prompto looks back, and neither of them say a word. Rain drums on the roof of the caravan, and after the day they’ve had maybe it should sound like distant artillery, but honestly, it just sounds like rain.

Noct’s hand twitches against the comforter. It’s a strange, involuntary movement, like a little kid making grabby hands at something out of reach. It draws Prompto’s attention.

“Prompto.” He wrenches his eyes away, up to meet Noct’s again. It’s impossible to tell in the dark, but he thinks Noct might be blushing. “C-can I just…?”

Prompto’s nodding before he can think about it, before he knows what he’s agreeing to—because, really, since when has he ever said no to Noct?

And, true to the trust Prompto has in him, Noct doesn’t ask for more than Prompto’s willing to give.

He rolls over, slipping into Prompto’s side of the mattress. Prompto doesn’t even have time to gasp in surprise before Noct’s throwing his arms around Prompto’s waist and burying his face in Prompto’s chest, his cheek pressed right over the panicked beating of Prompto’s heart.

“N-Noct?” Prompto chokes.

Noct shakes his head—or maybe just shakes, it’s hard to tell. He’s wound so tight. His arms squeeze Prompto so hard he can barely breathe.

“Thank you,” Noct says, hard, like the words are clawing up his throat on the way out. “For—for joining the Guard. And coming with me.”

It takes Prompto a minute to realize what he means—what he really means.

Thank you for not staying behind in the city. Thank you for not dying when my father did.

He’s not really thanking Prompto—maybe he’s talking to the Astrals, or just letting out the fear and relief in his heart. But Prompto feels touched, all the same. Like it was his foresight or his dedication to Noctis that kept him from dying when he was supposed to, instead of pure dumb luck.

But then, Prompto only exists at all because of luck. He was lucky enough to get out of Niflheim, lucky enough to get away from the war and behind Insomnia’s Wall where it was safe, lucky enough to go to a nice school in the central district that a certain someone decided was reputable enough even for the child of a king.

Prompto’s gotta be the luckiest man alive.

He puts a hand in Noct’s hair. Hesitantly at first, and then firmly, when Noct doesn’t let go or flinch away.

“Hey, it’s cool,” he says, softly. “Honestly, there’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

There really isn’t. It doesn’t matter if this is temporary. If they die tomorrow, or next week, or eighty years from now surrounded by grandchildren—it doesn’t even matter if Noct really does marry Luna someday. What matters is that they have each other, here and now.

Here and now, in a lumpy worn-out mattress, with rain breaking the silence over their heads. Here and now, a warmth blossoming, spilling out from Prompto’s chest like a radiant light, so hot that it aches.

It should be a small thing. A silly, stupid little thing, that doesn’t have any place in a world of death and grief. But somehow it’s sweeter, realer, deeper than anything Prompto’s ever felt before. Somehow, when he wasn’t looking, that stupid little crush evolved. Leveled up. And now it’s love.

He’s in love with his best friend.

Maybe in the morning it’ll feel impossible. The weight of it might come to feel like a burden when he has to carry the knowledge around in his heart. But now, it feels more like a weight’s been lifted. Like he’s remembered something he never should have forgotten.

He’d already decided years ago, before he even joined the Crownsguard, that he would follow Noct anywhere. Out of the frying pan, into the fire, anywhere, everywhere, it doesn’t matter. And not out of duty, or loyalty, or some sense of obligation—simply because he can. Because he wants to. Because he loves him.

And Noct—maybe Noct doesn’t love him back in exactly the same way. Or maybe he does—but that’s a question for another time. Right now, it’s enough to know that Noct wants him here.

Noct’s arms are heavy and warm. His breaths are slow and even, soft on the edge of sleep. Prompto lets the sound drown out the thoughts in his head. He lets Noct pull him onward, out of the caravan and into a dream. Still together. Ever at his side.

#promptis #promptisfanweek #jellyfishwrites #geez I feel like it's been so long that I posted something #much less posted it on tumblr