#HE HAS ME ON CHOKEHOLD FOR TWELVE YEARS

[anakinstwinklebunny]

He could step on me and I would apologize

[starlightkun]

➠ word count: 2.4k ➠ warnings: cursing, explicit pre- and post-coitus descriptions (no smut but this one is definitely 18+, minors back off. you do not need to read this one to understand the rest of the series, i promise), implied unprotected sex (wrap it up, y’all— also reader is totally on birth control i SWEAR it’s just not TALKED ABOUT) ➠ genre: fluff, some minor angst, mature (as said in the warnings, 18+, minors stay out! if you skip this one, you will still understand the rest of the series), established relationship, former hockey captain sungchan, chronically ill reader (chronic migraines), shortfic in the buzzer beater series (after garbage goal, before saltwater smiles) ➠ extra info: the reader in this has chronic migraines, which i have. when the reader’s migraines, experiences as a chronically ill person, and thoughts about being chronically ill are described, that is me writing directly from my own life. i am not generalizing the lives of all people with chronic migraines/chronic illnesses, but i am sending all my love to any readers out there living with a chronic illness, and here’s a reminder to go take your meds! ➠ author’s note: i thought i was done with these two but they really do have me in a chokehold y’all 🤧 ➠ series masterlist

“I’m baby again?” He asked, his eyes sparkling hopefully.

“Oh, my Sungchannie,” you sighed, climbing onto his lap. His hands immediately found their natural place on your waist, looking up at you like he was holding the entire universe between his two palms. You looped your arms around his neck, the cool metal of your bracelet resting on the bare skin of the back of his neck. “You’re always going to be my guy. Don’t think one disagreement is going to free you. You’re stuck with me.”

“I love you so much,” Sungchan sighed, nuzzling his nose into your neck.

“Gross, you’re all sweaty,” you half-heartedly pushed at his bare chest pressed against your back, scooting forward to try to get away from the uncomfortable feeling of your hot skin sticking together. “Let me go.”

He just wrapped his arms around you tighter and pulled you back to him, a playful growl in his throat. “Say it back and I’ll consider it.”

“You’re such a loser,” you sighed, turning your neck to be able to peck the tip of his nose. “I love you, Channie.”

“I love you more, baby.” He connected your lips, earnestly slipping his tongue into your parted mouth. “Love you so much… can’t wait to marry you…” He breathed out between pants, cupping your cheek with one hand as his other traveled down the front of your body again. “And have the most beautiful babies with you… love of my life…”

You squeezed your eyes shut as his words stabbed you right in the chest, turning your head and rolling away from his grasp. “Sungchan, we’ve talked about this.”

There was pain and confusion on his features as he watched you sit up at the edge of the bed. He scrambled to follow you up, sitting next to you.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” He wrapped an arm tightly around your shoulders, pecking your temple. “I know what you said—the migraines are genetic, you don’t want to risk passing them on. I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry.”

“But that’s what you want, isn’t it?” You sniffled, feeling tears rise in your eyes and a lump start forming in your throat. “Kids…”

“Baby, I want kids with you, because I love you.” Sungchan grabbed both your hands, squeezing them tightly. “And I mean—would it really be the worst thing for them to possibly get migraines? If they were even half as amazing as you in every other way?”

Your hands went limp in his as you stared him down. “Sungchan. Think about how you feel every time I have a migraine, and you can’t do anything to help. How useless you are. Now picture how you’d feel if our kid had one. Our baby. Twelve, ten, eight years old. Sobbing in your arms because it hurts so bad, begging you, their dad, to make it stop, just make it stop, but you can’t. And I can’t. Maybe they get the nausea part of it too, and they’re throwing up, and they get dehydrated and we have to take them to the ER because they can’t hold anything down and their muscles are cramping up and everything hurts so bad. What if they have to get brain MRIs, Sungchan? Imagine them being all alone in that machine, nobody to hold their hand. Not to mention— I can’t take any of my medications from the day we decide to start trying, while I’m pregnant, and while I’m breastfeeding. So in addition to everything I’d have to go through being pregnant, I could have migraines four or five times a week for… over a year? Two years? But hey, maybe they’ll get my smile and your eyes, at least, right?”

Sungchan’s eyes were brimming with tears, and he swallowed thickly. “I get it, I get it…”

You shook off his hands, standing up and wrapping your arms around yourself, suddenly feeling too cold sitting naked in your bedroom. “I have to go shower… I’m sweaty and have… cum dripping out of me.”

The shower that was usually cramped when the two of you were packed in there together felt oddly big now as you washed up by yourself, harshly scrubbing at your skin. You stared blankly at the water droplets running down the tiles long after you’d finished washing up, standing there as the water turned lukewarm, until it was freezing cold and you were forced out shivering. Turning the spray off, you grabbed a fluffy towel to dry off with, stepping out into the still-steamy bathroom.

You stopped at the vanity, the foggy mirror looking too empty without Sungchan filling it up from behind you, distracting you from your skincare routine under the guise of “helping.” You could hear him still moving around in your bedroom, and part of you wished you didn’t have the sick feeling in your stomach that you did every time you fought so you could pull him in and do his skincare too. You loved your quiet, silly nights when you got to put a fluffy character headband on him and apply a face mask and rub in various moisturizers and the like all while listening to music and sitting in his lap, exchanging pecks on the nose every so often.

It was a rarity when you and Sungchan did anything more than lightheartedly bicker about stupid, inconsequential things—you were sure you could count the number of real fights you’d had in five years on one hand and have extra fingers leftover—but every time you did, it made you feel like you were going to be sick, and you always lost your appetite.

Something sitting on your vanity next to all your bottles and creams caught your attention. Your fingers graced over the corded blue and orange bracelet, tracing the five familiar beads fondly. 27JSC. It was a memento now, of his collegiate hockey career, and the bubbly beginnings of your relationship in your last year of undergrad. As your lives changed, the token no longer coordinated with your professional office wear you had to don day in and day out, something that you thought would have made your clingy boyfriend pout. But instead, he had excitedly gifted you the bracelet you were wearing now, a dainty and stylish silver chain, with five small silver letters—27JSC.

You still put the old bracelet on every so often, when you were invited back to watch the big games along with the other graduated players. The first home game of the season, league rivals, and of course the championship series.

You finished your after-shower skin routine and cautiously treaded back out to the bedroom, towel still wrapped tightly around you to protect you from the cold air. Sungchan was no longer in your bedroom, and you could hear him ransacking the pantry. While you lost your appetite when you fought, Sungchan was the opposite, very much an eat-his-feelings type of guy.

Without hesitation or another thought, you grabbed a pair of panties and shorts from your side of the drawers and a t-shirt from his side, the top covering pretty much all of your bottoms. You stopped at the dresser after getting dressed, grabbing the top and taking a few deep breaths. The image of Sungchan with tears in his eyes flashed in your mind again, and you shook your head. You hated that you had done that. But the conversation that immediately preceded those tears replayed in your mind, and your fingers gripped the furniture tighter. Had he really not listened to you the first time? Did he think he could change your mind about it or something? You wouldn’t wish this on your worst enemy, how could he ask you to risk giving it to your kid, the one person you were supposed to love more than anybody else? More than him? It just struck you as a total misalignment of values... something you needed to talk about more, make sure you really understood where his head and his heart were at.

With one final deep breath, you pushed the bedroom door open wide, and walked out towards the kitchen hesitantly. Sungchan had his hand stuffed in a bag of chips, and you saw several other containers of snacks strewn around on the countertops. As he spotted you, he didn’t bring the handful he had just grabbed out, instead dropping it back in and wiping his mouth with the side of his palm.

“Hey...” You said quietly, stopping at the threshold between the kitchen and living room. “Are you ready to talk? Or do you want some more time?”

“I can talk, yeah,” he nodded, setting the chip bag down. “Let me uh, let me wash my hands and put all this away, then we can sit wherever you want. Kitchen table, couch.”

“Okay.” You gave him a small smile, turning back around to head into the living room. You sat down on one of the central cushions as you heard the sink running, then the crinkle of bags being rolled back up.

When Sungchan finally joined you again, he didn’t sit as close as he normally would’ve, but it wasn’t an awkward amount of distance. Just enough to allow you two to focus on the topic at hand.

He wrung his hands over his lap, offering you a nervous smile. You decided to go first.

“I shouldn’t have called you useless, I’m sorry,” you apologized sincerely, remembering the hurt that had come across his face as soon as the word left your mouth. “That was… just mean of me. You’re not useless. It’s easier to get through the migraines when you’re with me, you make me feel less alone and that makes a big difference.”

Sungchan offered a hand out palm-up in the space between you, and you set yours atop it. He squeezed your hand, his always much bigger and warmer than yours in comparison. “Do you remember that Halloween party? Before we started dating, when you had asked me to stay with you during that migraine.”

“Of course. It was... you were great. I fell for you before I even knew it.”

“The next morning, when we were sitting on Jeno’s bed in that nasty fucking frat house—”

That earned a chuckle from you, and Sungchan smiled bittersweetly, running his thumb over yours.

“—you were telling me about how you just wanted your pain to be real to somebody, because after so long, the word ‘migraine’ had sort of lost all meaning to the people around you. I let that happen to me, too. I was dismissive of all your pain and was even willing to put it on a hypothetical child of ours for a selfish reason. I’m so sorry for doing that to you, for making you feel like that, for becoming one of those people. I’m so, so sorry.”

You brought a hand up to stroke his cheek, his face more manly now than it had been on that Halloween night he had just described. “I forgive you. And I hope you don’t think this is the end of the kids conversation for us. I love the idea of starting a family with you, too. I think you’ll be a great dad. I just… Chronic migraines have a genetic component and I can’t stand the thought of passing on this kind of pain to my kid. You understand that, right? Please tell me you get that?”

“Yeah, of course. And I didn’t even think about you going off your meds either. God, I’m so sorry.” He leaned his head into your touch. “You’ll be the best mom. And I know that because you’re already making the best choices for them and they don’t even exist.”

You smiled softly at that. “I… probably could’ve been less… vivid earlier. It was a bit harsh.”

“No, I needed a reality check. A good slap out of the post-nut haze I was in.”

“Yeah, because you would’ve enjoyed a real slap,” you snickered, pulling on his ear gently.

He pouted at you. “Are you kink-shaming me?”

“No, just teasing you, baby.” You pinched his chin and wiggled his head back and forth.

“I’m baby again?” He asked, his eyes sparkling hopefully.

“Oh, my Sungchannie,” you sighed, climbing onto his lap. His hands immediately found their natural place on your waist, looking up at you like he was holding the entire universe between his two palms. You looped your arms around his neck, the cool metal of your bracelet resting on the bare skin of the back of his neck. “You’re always going to be my guy. Don’t think one disagreement is going to free you. You’re stuck with me.”

You leaned down to sink your teeth into the side of his neck, biting and sucking a mark into his skin. He immediately groaned, his hips pushing up into yours and his hands gripping onto you with a bruising strength.

“Nowhere else I want to be, than right here with my girl.” He was already breathing heavily. “God, so obsessed with you, baby. Could stay here and make love to you all day every day.”

“‘Make love?’” You repeated with a giggle, kissing a trail up his neck until you were sitting up straight again, looking him in the eye as you asked, “Not fuck my brains out?”

“Can do both at the same time,” he grinned, scooping you up in his arms bridal style. “Fuck your brains out lovingly.”

You let out a squeal of surprise, throwing your arms around his shoulders as the couch went out from under you. “Gah! Maybe your post-hockey hobby shouldn’t have been weightlifting. You scare the hell out of me every time you do that, Channie.”

“You love it and you know it.” He shook his head at you, looking pointedly at where your hands were gripping his well-defined shoulder and back muscles.

“I’m invoking my right to remain silent.”

“Don’t be too quiet.” He dropped you gently onto the many pillows at the head of your bed, immediately climbing over you. “We don’t have a baby to wake up yet.”

“Slow your roll, you haven’t even proposed,” you teased, sliding down flat on your back, grabbing his collar to bring his lips down to meet yours as you did.

“I’m— mmh— working on it,” he promised between kisses. “My girl deserves the best. Need it to be so special.”

“You’ve been saying that for almost a year,” you reminded him, pulling insistently at his shirt hem.

He obediently yanked his sweatshirt off, tossing it to the side before locking his lips with yours again. “Impatient?”

“To marry you? Mm, maybe,” you hummed, running your hand appreciatively up and down his pecs and abs. “Aren’t you?”

“Of course I am,” he moaned just at the thought, latching onto your collarbone. “I’d elope with you right now if you asked me to.”

He paused for a half beat, as if waiting to see if you would, then continued on when you didn’t. “I’m going to make it perfect for you, baby. Promise. Anything for my girl.”

“Well in the meantime…” You reached a hand down, palm out with your fingers spread, and Sungchan immediately laced his fingers with yours. You brought your linked hands up above your head, smiling down at him. “How about you fuck your girl’s brains out lovingly?”

➠ next | series masterlist | blog masterlist

[hottpinkpenguin]

Joel Miller X Fem!Reader - Last of Us

A/N: i watched the first episode of Last of Us yesterday and suffice it to say that Joel Miller officially has a chokehold on me and i ain't complaining.

Warnings: dark themes; post-apocalyptic dystopia; death of reader's minor child; probably a lot of non-canon details since I've never played the game; not proofread; spoilers if you haven't seen the show/played the game Word Count: 2402 Abbreviations: QZ = quarantine zone; FDRA "Fedra" = Federal Disaster Response Agency

---

Dying was a way of life in the QZ. Seemed like everyone was dying lately. Fireflies, FDRA, and most of all the people in between. The lost and lonely. 

You met Joel shortly after you died. Your spirit died with your twelve year old son, Gabriel. The docs had told you it was most likely cancer. The fucking irony of that burned you from the inside out until you felt completely hollow. Just a shell of a person, really. Your emotions felt anesthetized, your brain in a perpetual fog. You went about your day from routine and muscle memory. You might as well have been infected. At least then you’d have some sort of purpose. Without Gabriel, you felt utterly useless. He’d brought you a sense of optimism, a reason to at least try and believe in the future. When you’d lost Gabriel’s father Eddie, you’d at least had your son. But without him. Well, without him, there wasn’t any you. You didn’t have a role anymore, didn’t add anything to anyone’s life. You couldn’t think of anything more death-like than waking up day after day to the realization that you didn’t matter to anyone. The night Joel met you, in fact, you had vague plans to drink yourself into oblivion and hopefully not wake up.

But, something changed when Joel ran into you. And he did literally run into you. 

You were walking back from the bus stop after a shift cleaning the killing floor of the poultry planet. A cold, drizzling rain soaked the streets in a fine layer of mist. You crossed your arms over your chest, tucking your head underneath the threadbare hood of Eddie’s old hunting jacket. For a few weeks after Eddie had died in a firefight between the Fireflies and FDRA, the jacket had smelled like him, and you’d taken up wearing it. Damn thing wasn’t too warm, but at least it was decently waterproof. That had been years ago. It was useless now, neither warm nor waterproof, but it was all you had. Everything else you’d sold. 

You were going through the usual calculations in your head, trying to figure out how you were going to scrounge together enough cards to get some hot food in your belly, when something - someone, you realized after he’d hit you - came tearing around the corner of an alley. You weren’t braced for it, and even your reflexes didn’t seem to care enough to break your fall. You hit the damp, cobbled pavement hard on your left shoulder, your head bouncing off the tar and sending stars across your vision. You heard a man’s voice swear as you blacked out…

*****

When you came to, you weren’t in the rain anymore. Your head throbbed and you didn’t dare move in case you vomited. You were resting on something soft, albeit a little lumpy, and there was a blanket wrapped around you. Your head was propped up on a musty smelling pillow and there was a fire crackling nearby. Your shoulder was screaming in pain, and against your better judgment you twisted as gently as you could manage to try and relieve the pressure on your joint. Your gut turned, and you leaned over to wretch as far from yourself as you could. With the first sound of gagging, you felt cold, rough hands grab the hair around your face and pull it away from your mouth as a bucket was shoved in front of your face. 

“Good, you’re awake.” A man’s voice.

You peaked towards the voice through slitted eyelids. The faint, hazy light through a dingy window felt like someone was driving a drill bit into your temple. 

“That’s a shame,” you rasped out, earning a dark chuckle from the man sitting across from you. The laugh didn’t reach his eyes. He had the same thousand-mile stare that most people in the QZ had. You couldn’t guess his age - that was another thing survivors had in common. Nothing ages you like the Apocalypse, Eddie used to say. 

“Pretty sure you’re concussed.” 

You nodded, trying to swallow down the acidic taste of bile-vomit. 

“Pretty sure you concussed me,” you shot back. Another chuckle, this one a bit fuller. 

“Yeah, that’d be me. Sorry about that. I had FDRA on my heels.” You shrugged, trying to push yourself up on the couch. Another wave of nausea tore through your head, but there wasn’t anything to vomit up except saliva. You managed to swallow it down, closing your eyes again to stop the spinning sensation. 

“I’ve got some broth cooking,” the man went on. “I think you should eat a bit. Settle your stomach. You’ve been out for almost 24 hours.” 

You did an idle calculation in your head, automatically tallying up the date. November 29. Not that it mattered, but it was a habit you hadn’t been able to shake ever since the outbreak. 

“Not hungry,” you replied, biting down on your tongue against another spasm in your gut.

“Yeah, but you need to eat. Looks like you don’t do that too often.” You shot the man the darkest look you could muster. You’d learned long ago not to trust men who commented on your appearance. 

“You look sick is all I mean,” your companion added apologetically. He thrust you a bowl with a watery-thin, yellow liquid in it, a curled tongue of steam rising from its surface and an old dented spoon sticking out of the broth. 

“Just try it,” he encouraged you as you eyed him suspiciously. He was big, you realized, tall and strong. One of those QZ guys who lived hard and had the muscles to speak for it. It wasn’t the same kind of physique that people had before the outbreak: lean, toned, all for show. Fitness wasn’t a luxury anymore. It was a necessity for most people in the QZ. Some lines of work required it more than others. And judging by the strong forearm that handed you the bowl, whatever this guy did, it was serious business. 

You accepted the bowl, relishing the warmth of the ceramic between your hands. Your stomach growled as the smell of chicken broth tickled your nostrils. You took a tentative sip, burning your tongue. Your movements were slow and deliberate. 

“Joel.” 

“Huh?” You raised an inquisitive eyebrow at your companion.

“Joel. My name’s Joel,” he clarified. 

You nodded, taking another sip of the broth. Even though moving made you sick to your stomach, your body was reacting hungrily to the taste. 

“Y/N,” you replied after a few moments of silence. Normally, you’d give a fake name. But, what was the point? Even with your real name, Joel didn’t have anything of yours to use against you. There wasn’t anything left to hurt you by. 

“You were Gabriel’s mother, weren’t you?” 

You froze, the spoon halfway to your lips. The sound of Gabriel’s name tore through you like lightning. The heart you’d forgotten you had twisted painfully in your chest.

“What the fuck did you say?” Anger came to the surface first. Your voice was barely more than a whisper.

“Gabriel. Sweet kid. Saw him hanging around the gate a couple times.” If Joel noticed your reaction, he didn’t let on. He was idly poking a burning log in an old, dirty fireplace. 

You didn’t know what to say, couldn’t make yourself speak. Even if you had, you didn’t trust yourself not to dissolve. Joel hadn’t met you before, yet somehow he’d managed to grab onto the only thread of humanity you still had. One tug on that thread and you were unraveling. 

“I’m sorry about what happened to him. Awful shit, cancer. My sister had it, back before… before shit went sideways.” Joel wasn’t looking at you, didn’t even seem to be talking to you. You couldn’t breathe. Gabriel’s name still echoed inside your ears.

“I lost my little girl, too. Sarah. When the outbreak happened. In Texas.”

Joel finally turned to face you. His eyes were empty, and you recognized that emptiness. It mirrored your own. 

“You’ll never get over it, if you’re wondering. Not that you are. Because you already know. I can see it.” Tears dripped off your chin onto the blanket in your lap. You didn’t know how long you’d been crying. 

“I’m sorry,” you sputtered out after a few silent, empty moments. 

Across the room from you, Joel nodded.

“Yeah. Me too.” 

You finished the rest of your broth in silence. It was the longest conversation you’d had with anyone in weeks, and somehow you’d never felt more alone.

*****

You spent the next couple of days in a liminal space between healing and falling apart. Joel’s acknowledgment of Gabriel had broken something loose inside you, and as your head began to clear, you felt the grief all the more. It felt different than before, even right after you lost him. Gabriel’s death had cored the soul out of your body. Now, whatever was happening was infinitely more painful. You hated it, but you also hadn’t realized how much you’d missed feeling things. Even though what you felt was agonizing, it was affirming in a fucked up way to know you weren’t incapable of emotion.

Joel maintained his silence on the subject. In fact, he was generally silent. You exchanged a handful of words here and there, usually in response to him asking about your health. 

How’s the head?

Fine.

Good.

After about a week, the questions took a different quality.

When do you think you’ll be ready to go?

Go where?

Anywhere you need to.

I don’t have anywhere I need to go.

OK. 

You didn’t take offense to his questions, and he didn’t take offense to your responses. There was a companionable bluntness to your interactions. He asked after the basics - did you have what you needed, were you sick, hungry, cold - and you answered simply and honestly. No follow ups, no games, no need to converse on anything. In fact, after the first conversation you’d had about Gabriel and Sarah, you and Joel didn’t talk about anything at all. 

It was the eighth day when you finally felt well enough to stand up and cook. Joel was out - where, you didn’t know - but you thought you’d heat something up for him. An hour before curfew, you moved into the kitchen and started looking through the cabinets. He’d been good about sharing his food with you, and you knew enough of QZ life to know that sparing food wasn’t something everyone would do. And he hadn’t broached the subject of repayment. You doubted he ever would; despite his gruffness, Joel had a core of generosity. You didn’t know anyone anymore who would let a complete stranger spend a week on their couch, no matter how sick they were. 

You found a can of split pea soup in the back of the pantry and an opened package half-full of saltines. You picked out the crackers that didn’t have mold on them while the soup heated over the single gas burner Joel used for cooking. The light was fading outside; curfew was a few minutes away. Right on time, you heard Joel’s key in the lock on the apartment door. A few seconds later, Joel walked into the kitchen.

“What’s this?”

“Dinner,” you replied, gesturing to the two barstools he had tucked up the kitchen counter. He sat, letting out a bone-weary sigh as he threw off his boots, chucking them towards the hall where the door was. 

“Long day?” you asked idly. For some reason, you felt an urge to make conversation that you hadn’t noticed before around him. Maybe it was vestiges of your old life. Memories of entertaining Eddie while you made dinner flicked in your mind. Or maybe it was because something felt different about Joel today.

“Sure,” he replied flatly. You heard the sound of his flask opening, followed by a thick gulp. He drank a lot. You’d noticed that quickly. It didn’t bother you, and he was as generous with the whiskey as he was with his food.

“When are you leaving?” His question was angry. You turned to look at him, not exactly insulted but faintly stung. 

“I told you, I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“That’s not what you said. You said there’s nowhere you need to go, not that there’s nowhere you can go.” You nodded once. Joel was right. The distinction felt accusatory, and you once again had the impression that he was about to speak to a part of you that you didn’t want said out loud. Just like he’d done that first night when he’d talked about Gabriel.

You sucked in a breath before turning to face him, sliding a plate of the edible saltines across the counter. 

“I can leave anytime you need me to,” you said, your voice soft and quiet. “I’m feeling good enough to travel.” 

Joel looked into you for a breath. His eyes looked the same, but you had the distinct impression that they weren’t as empty as the first time you’d seen him. Whatever it was you saw in his gaze, it made you feel ashamed, and you broke eye contact. 

He shifted on the barstool before taking another generous swig from his flask. 

“Good. Tonight.”

You raised your eyebrows at him.

“It’s almost curfew,” you pointed out, nodding in the direction of the window to the street below.

“Fine. Tomorrow then.” His voice was hard as stone.

You nodded, stirring the soup and turning away from him. You didn’t want him to see the rejection in your eyes. You couldn’t say what you’d wanted, but all you knew was this wasn’t it. 

“Tomorrow,” you agreed quietly. 

Joel sat for another instant. You sensed that he was waiting for something: you couldn’t tell if he was waiting for you or waiting for something in himself. Whatever it was he was waiting on, the moment passed. He sighed, frustrated, before he scooted away from the counter and went to the couch. He didn’t say anything when you brought him the soup, and he didn’t say anything when he went into his bedroom, closing the door behind him to drink himself to sleep. You were awake and gone before he came out the next morning, although somehow you knew that he was wide awake, listening to the sound of your departure through the door.

**part 2 here!! Let me know if you want to be tagged in future chapters

[saintsenara]

Can you elaborate on some of the deranged fan theories you mentioned you believe? ex. Ron is a latent Seer

thank you for the ask, @thesilverstarling - based on this post in which i mention some of the unhinged and deranged fan theories i believe.

these are:

ron is a latent seer

ron spends the earlier books of the series as a very specific children's literature archetype. he is the insider to the world of the story [whereas harry - the everyman protagonist who is also the reader's point-of-view - is not] and he fills in all the context that harry and the reader need to know in order for the plot to advance.

that's why early ron [regrettably, his conformity to genre-type gets nerfed in the later books in favour of hermione knowing everything - as per her archetype within the series' transition to a folkloric narrative, the helper - although he's undoubtedly the most street-smart of the trio even in deathly hallows] knows all sorts of baffling-but-useful information.

such as, in philosopher's stone:

"But it’s against our laws," said Ron. "Dragon breeding was outlawed by the Warlocks’ Convention of 1709, everyone knows that."

which amps up the stakes of the norbert plot line, starting up the narrative arc which ends with harry encountering quirrellmort in the forbidden forest.

but beyond his knowledge of facts and stats, ron also has a tendency - especially, again, in the early books - to advance the plot by mentioning as an incidental detail something which will then turn out to be absolutely crucial later in the narrative. his best example of this is this, from chamber of secrets:

"I wish I knew why someone did try to chuck it," said Harry. "I wouldn’t mind knowing how Riddle got an award for special services to Hogwarts either." "Could’ve been anything," said Ron. "Maybe he got thirty O.W.L.s or saved a teacher from the giant squid. Maybe he murdered Myrtle; that would’ve done everyone a favour..."

i have always liked the idea that ron knows these things because he has some latent talent in divination, sadly unnourished by the fact that he thinks it's a bullshit subject and doesn't try hard at it.

ron is time-travelling dumbledore

this one had fans in a chokehold in the pre-half-blood prince era, after it was posted on a now-defunct forum, which can be found thanks to the magic of the wayback machine here.

the justification is beautifully deranged - the bit about ron not appreciating all the socks he has, dumbledore's sincerest desire, sends me into orbit - and i think we should all endeavour to make this theory have a comeback in 2024.

crookshanks was the potter family cat mentioned by lily in her letter to sirius

in prisoner of azkaban, hermione tells us that her new pet has spent a long time in the magical menagerie:

"Poor Crookshanks, that witch said he’d been in there for ages; no one wanted him."

maybe he's been waiting for years. maybe he's been waiting for twelve years?

after all, we know that crookshanks:

hates scabbers, whom he recognises as noted wrong 'un peter pettigrew long before he meets sirius.

loves and adores sirius - who was presumably around him a lot when he lived with the potters, seeing as he was james' best friend - to the extent that he throws himself in front of harry's wand when he thinks he's going to hurt sirius. as sirius says, the marauders' code was that they would rather die than betray their friends. crookshanks heard it while he dozed on the sofa in a godric's hollow living room as the boys were chatting shit in the kitchen.

is often shown being affectionate to harry in his time of need.

after careful vetting, very much approves of ginny. perhaps when he sees harry and ginny together he remembers his old owners. perhaps harry isn't beating the oedipus complex allegations...

all of which is to say, crookshanks is the trio's fourth marauder. no wonder sirius had him booked and busy for a full year.

george weasley is willy wonka

is a stupid bit of whimsy, outlined here.

stan shunpike is a genuine death eater

this is a fan theory in so much as i'm a fan and i believe it, but i do think it's quite convincing...

throughout the series, harry has an extremely black-and-white, emotionally-driven view of the world. in particular, he tends to assume that anyone he likes is good and anyone he dislikes is bad, and that his read on people is automatically correct. he takes against most of the villains [draco malfoy, dolores umbridge] or quasi-villains [gilderoy lockhart] on sight, and his judgement in this decision is almost always correct.

almost always.

it backfires on him a couple of times in the series - for example, in his immediate trust in the tom riddle of chamber of secrets, who he thinks must be on his side because he's an orphan, looks a bit like him, and isn't pureblood - even before we come to the big twin revelations of deathly hallows: that snape, whom he's always loathed, and dumbledore, whom he's always trusted, are more complicated than his usual way of seeing the world can allow.

but, in general, harry gets away with forming snap judgements on the basis of personal like or dislike. indeed, outside of three examples above, his instinctive response to someone usually ends up being justified.

the reader is, then, clearly supposed to take the same view as harry when it comes to stan shunpike's doings in half-blood prince and deathly hallows: that stan isn't a real death eater; that his arrest is illegitimate; and that, if he's implicated in any wrongdoing, it's because he's under the imperius curse.

but, i'm afraid to say, harry is dead wrong. stan - who, like so many other wayward youths who find themselves in lord voldemort’s orbit, longs for power - is a fully paid-up and sincere member of that organisation. he gets off scot free at the end of the war when harry vouches for him and spends the rest of his life chuckling.

delphini's existence is entirely plausible

this is a reference to a theory from a really odd little piece of fan-fiction called harry potter and the cursed child, which has as a central plot line the baffling idea that lord voldemort knocked up bellatrix, didn't immediately murder her the second he found out he'd done so, and became the reluctant father to a daughter with an even worse name than albus severus.

i should say that i've never actually seen cursed child, but it sounds like a scream. complete dogshit, obviously, but in an entertaining way...

i should also say that i am a delphini truther. i think she makes perfect sense as an arc in bellamort's weird relationship.

very few people seem to agree - delphini features in my fic one year in every ten as literally nothing more than a cipher for her father's neuroses, and the eye-rolling in the comments whenever she's mentioned is still going to detach a few retinas - but that sign won't stop me because i can't read.

i don't, i should say, think that she's planned. i think somebody was daydreaming about horcruxes when he should have been paying attention in slughorn's sex-ed lessons, and she's an accident. i like the idea of lord voldemort fucking around and finding out that even he isn't resistant to human biology. i like the idea that bellatrix - who, canonically, tells him to his face to stop being a dick and realise that snape's a spy - simply ignores him when he demands she terminates the pregnancy. i like the idea that, since he knows deep down that bellatrix wants a part of him that's fully hers - since he a) won't ever commit to her in the way she wants, and b) won't ever tell her that she has a piece of his soul in her bank account - he begrudgingly relents. after all - and i'll die on this hill - he does love her, in his own very strange little way.

as well as being a great tool for a bit of bellamort insight, delphini is a great next-gen blank slate for all sorts of people's character development. the resurrected voldemort of one year in every ten is in shambles over how much she looks like him when he was young. the harry and ginny of everlasting ink are learning through her that bellatrix wasn't just a deranged sadist, but was also quite a lot like their beloved andromeda and tonks. the narcissa of ecclesiastes three is debating telling her estranged sister that she has a niece. the merope of the shack at the end of the lane is discussing baby names and reflecting on falling in love with unsuitable men with the closest thing she'll ever have to a daughter-in-law.

i also think delphini provides a much more interesting example of the cycle of the series repeating itself after the war ends than teddy. both tonks and lupin dying at the battle of hogwarts, leaving their son an orphan - like gasp! harry - always feels so tacked on to me. but both tom riddles ending up with children they didn't really want and have no idea how to relate to, whose mothers are both dead, and who grow up simmering with resentment over being abandoned? inject it.

and then, of course, the final and most serious deranged fan theory i believe

hagrid is a death eater.

[semisolidmind]

  Hey there! I just wanted to tell your that I love your Fuwa Fuwa Pandemic idea & characters to a point where it has inspired me to make a few characters!

Seriously, the fuwa fuwa pandemic has had me in a literal chokehold for weeks. It's just that amazing. 

and..here they are! (Btw sorry if it gets a bit long or rambly!)

The mascot's name is masaru and he is a badger (based around the japanese badger) and he is a mascot for a farm. 

  He arrived in a small farming town in the country awhile back. He came across a sprawling farm with his character on all the signs and stickers of the farm's products. Now he runs the farm and controls the surrounding countryside as his territory, including any greenhouses, meadows or lakes. 

 He seems sweet and docile, offering survivors warm beds, fresh clothes, warm meals. A caring, fatherly individual with a warm smile, 

However those are for the survivors who he gives permission to enter. 

  Anyone who enters his home without permission or dares to take his three children from him will be ripped limb from limb without mercy. He will hunt them down for miles and make an example out of them…and nobody wants to be tortured for hours. 

  No one is taking his three babies from him unless they have a death wish. 

 Masaru sees the three children in his care as his own. He just felt like he was created for these three little ones. As if he was meant to guide and protect them. 

He adores them and does his best to keep them safe and give them the best life possible on his beautiful sprawling cottage core farm. Even hiding his more vicious side from them and lying about what happened to their ‘visitors’ (even though they aren’t that dense)

The oldest child is fifteen year old taylor. An adventurous cottagecore styled kid who loves cooking and gardening. She was sent to japan by her parents to visit her grandmother when the pandemic hit. Taylor cares deeply about her new-found friends, 12 year old Oliver and 5 year old Daisy (who she picked up along her travels) and will do anything to keep them safe. 

 She eventually ended up in masarus care after he rescued them from another mascot trying to kill them. She is still a bit hesitant around Masaru, but is slowly beginning to trust him day-by-day. After all, he’s keeping them safe and well fed. Plus there is a strong chance he won’t let them escape. 

 Next up is twelve-year-old Oliver. Oliver is a shy and clever kid who loves to read and craft things. Oliver was another kid visiting their relative, specifically his brother. His brother ended up getting killed by mascots so Oliver could escape. He is also attached to Taylor and Daisy, and though the both of them tend to give him a heart attack with their antics, he thinks of them as family and will go with them to the ends of the earth. 

Just as hesitant as Taylor when it comes to Masaru. Yeah he is slowly trusting Masaru, but that doesn’t mean he doesn't have his reservations. He’s not dense. He knows what happens to the survivors who wander in here…he knows exactly what happens when you piss masaru off. So he always has his guard up just in case things go south. 

The youngest is five-year-old daisy. She is a rambunctious and curious child who loves to draw, interact with animals, and explore abandoned buildings.  She got separated from her parents at the start of the pandemic and spent most of her time wandering all alone and scavenging until she was found and taken in by Taylor and Oliver. She loves her new friends and considers them to be her older siblings. She does anything and everything she can to make them happy and includes them in all her games. 

She adores and trusts Masaru because he's friendly and because of her love of badgers (as she has a little stuffed badger she carries with her nicknamed ‘kiyo’). She doesn’t really see the violent side of Masaru, but that doesn't mean she can’t sense something's off.

So, while she is pretty relaxed around Masaru, she knows in the back of her mind to be extra careful around their caretaker. 

 Finally there are original guardians of each of the kids (taylors grandparents, Oliver's older sister, and Daisy's parents)  who are trying to get them back from masaru.  who they know will kill them if they try to rescue them. Thus far they’ve had no luck, but they have to keep trying. For the sake of the kids and their families. 

Meanwhile, while the children's guardians struggle to get them back, Masaru and the children to survive the pandemic as a found family on their cozy little farm. 

oooh, big papa badger. seems like a scary dude. this is another neat idea for a side story. like, maybe Emi and Uzu come across this farm on their way to the city and Emi offers to help (even though Uzu is content to leave this alone). Cut to Uzu picking a fight with Masaru to distract him while the families and Emi go in to save the kids. they take an old truck and get as far away as they can, and Uzu pretends to back off and discreetly follow them to get Emi back.

Masaru is suitably pissed. i can’t imagine he’d let his babies go that easily.

[justcallmefox89]

Cinderfella's Adventures in Cordonia Masterlist

An AU of The Royal Romance with a male MC and a bisexual prince.

Callum's Playlist * Lord Huron - The Night We Met * Allen Stone - Consider Me * Sleep Token - Chokehold * Hozier - Tell It To My Heart * LP - The One That You Love * Wonho - Losing You * The Struts - One Night Only * Foxy Shazam - Holy Touch * Post Malone - I Fall Apart * Meg Myers - Desire * Jidenna - Little Bit More * Troye Sivan - Rush * Foster the People - Sit Next to Me * James Bay - Us * Foy Vance - She Burns * The Civil Wars - Poison and Wine * Grace Potter and the Nocturnals - Things I Never Needed *LP - Switchblade *The Killers - Romeo and Juliet

Chapter One - The Meet Cute

Chapter Two - Callum gets his first taste of life in Cordonia, reunites with Liam, and meets his competition.

Chapter Three - Liam and Callum enjoy some time alone together, Callum meets the other Beaumont brother, and Liam makes an uncomfortable request.

Chapter Four - Callum sees Liam for the first time since the conversation in the garden, Bastien keeps a close eye on the American, and Constantine reveals how he truly feels about some of the suitors.

Chapter Five - Callum encounters Madeline for the first time and the group sneaks out of the palace for a nighttime pastry run.  Bastien discovers one of Callum’s secrets.

Chapter Six - Bastien and Liam finally learn the shocking truth about Callum’s life in America.

Chapter Seven - The court visits Lythikos, Callum and Liam heat things up.

Chapter Eight - On the last night in Lythikos Callum reaches his breaking point.

Chapter Nine - Liam and Callum learn that there are some choices that you can’t take back, and everything has a consequence.

Chapter Ten - It’s been over a year since Callum fled Cordonia in disgrace and went into hiding, but now some familiar faces are back in New York and searching for their missing friend.

Chapter Eleven - It’s too late to turn back now.

Chapter Twelve - Drake, Hana, and Maxwell reveal their grand plan; Drake makes a confession. 

Chapter Thirteen - Thirteen has always been Drake’s lucky number. 

Chapter Fourteen - Callum realizes he isn’t as over Liam as he thought he was.

Chapter Fifteen - The truth always comes out.

Chapter Sixteen - It all comes out.

Chapter Seventeen - Callum speaks to his former competition and receives an offer from Madeline.

Chapter Eighteen - A late night visit to Callum results in an unexpected offer and an explosive argument. Bonus: Papa MacKenzie makes an appearance!

Chapter Nineteen - Liam finally faces the consequences of his actions.

Chapter Twenty - Drake and Liam learn more about Callum's past.

Chapter Twenty - One - Callum makes a request.

Chapter Twenty-Two - Callum and Liam battle it out and Drake chooses a side.

Chapter Twenty-Three - Return to Cordonia.

[duckielover151]

Not to brush aside the cause like it's unimportant, but you'll see a lot of people talking about how their opinions on JK Rowling have soured (AKA, gone up in flames) since her transphobia has become so public. That is true for me also. But that's not really what this post is about.

Harry Potter was a huge part of my childhood as well. I'll probably always have some sort of lingering fondness for it. But wanting to distance myself from anything that might support the author has also distanced me from her works a bit, and I've come to appreciate recently that I think I'm a lot better for it, just as a person who consumes and enjoys fiction. Fantasy in particular.

I've come to notice this past year just how bad the chokehold is that Harry Potter has on the fantasy genre. If it's not Disney or very clearly influenced by HP in some way, you hardly ever hear about other works published about fictional lands/creatures and magic. They just don't get the same kind of publicity. And there are a lot of good ones. (I've yet to explore Game of Thrones in any medium, but I'm almost proud of it now for managing to get big somehow, because it does sound like an original idea.)

Sharon Shinn is becoming a new favorite of mine. I just recently started her Twelve Houses series, and I'm really enjoying it so far. But she's always stood out to me, because I owned one other book of hers growing up, and it's one of my favorites to this day.

It's called The Safe-Keeper's Secret, and it's very fairy tale-esque. Complete with a fictional land and government, a newborn royal heir being spirited away in the dead of night and hidden in an ordinary village, and a bunch of people with abilities that just cross the line of being magical. It's a really charming tale, and I suggest reading it if you haven't. (As well as its sequel/spin-off, The Truth-Teller's Tale.)

But I think a part of why it's always stood out to me, from all the titles on my shelf, is that it's so different from so much of the other fiction available to me at the time. Bring on the stories that feels like someone's D&D campaign brought to life! The books where the first relevant page isn't the start of chapter one, or a prologue, but a map of the world readers will get to know.

(Seraphina and its sequel Shadow Scale by Rachel Hartman-- A tale of a half-dragon girl connecting with other people like her in a land where that's very taboo-- outlawed to the point where people don't think the existence of human-dragon hybrids is even physically possible-- is another great one.

And I remember loving Catherine Fisher's Snow-Walker series when I was younger too. In that one, a girl and her cousin are exiled because of her father's crimes-- sent to live with the queen's son, who's rumored to be a monster. Except, they get there and discover he actually just has the same powers she does, and she's paranoid he'll overthrow her one day. Three guesses what they plot to do next...)

Please feel free to add onto this post with suggestions of other lesser-known fantasy stories! I'd love to read more of them!

[takenbyheartstrings]

MY BIGGEST ENEMY.

summary: after years of torment from your ex-best friend Thomas Stanely Holland, one night you go to a party and it's revealed that Z and her boyfriend Haz are too drunk to take you home and the only person sober enough to take you home was your biggest enemy.

pairing: enemiestolovers! tom holland x fem!reader

warnings: DIRTY DIRTY SMUT, angst, fluff, swearing, mentions of bullying, not rlly a warning but the reader is shorter than tom in this fic <3 Haz and Zendaya are together in this fic, but it is pure fiction and all fake! I respect their current relationships!!!

word count: 9.6k (2.5k of it being pure smut <3)

authors note: sorry for not posting for a while! school has got me in a chokehold! Anyway, enjoy <3 (also did not proofread, so, sorry if there's some weird bits!)

HEAVILY inspired by Bully by Penelope Douglas, the opening scene is very similar, as is the reader going away for a year, but other than that the plot of this fic isn't really the same, but it kinda follows the same trope if that makes sense idk.

Your breath caught you awake; it was a late night, and your neighbour was throwing a party. A boy with many tattoos, a boy with friends, a boy with a loud exhaust system and a boy who had no regard for the neighbourhood that surrounded him. You sat up, looking over at the clock that sat on your dresser. The digital numbers flashing red, telling you that it was just around midnight, twelve forty-five to be correct.

You had no idea why yourself and Tom had stopped being friends. No idea why he had cut you off. It was heartbreaking. For you, at least. It was a warm summer day and Tom had just gotten back from this army camp his parents had sent him on. He said goodbye to you when he left, wrapping his arms around you, threatening to never let go. Tom wasn’t a bad kid, not at all, so he was confused as to why his parents would send him somewhere for discipline. But when he came back, you couldn’t be so sure that he wasn’t a bad kid. It was only 3 months that he was gone. It was the last day of summer and although it was warm, there was also a chill in the air. You went to say hi to him and he walked straight past you. You knew his parents were getting a divorce, that could be why, he was being left by his brothers and his father. Only staying with his mother. But his mother was barely there, and he was always alone. You tried to reach out, on a number of occasions. But regardless, he had started to make your life hell.

Spreading rumours about you, making up lies about you. Your first year of High-School was spent crying in the bathrooms. He continued on and on, making your life miserable. Pulling stupid pranks that would end with you in tears and end with you eating lunch in the bathroom. Zendaya accompanying you because you didn’t want to face them. Even though she was dating his best friend Harrison, she sat with you. Every day, every lunchtime. She was your best friend, and she wiped away your tears.

It was now years later, you had one year of Highschool left under your belt and you were determined to make it the best. You were not going to let him in the way of your final year here. You were not going to let him get in the way of your success.

You had no reason to worry about your parents. Both of them abroad on a transfer for about another two years, but that always changes. It was long, but you promised them you could manage all on your own. Tom’s mother, however, was not around. It didn’t seem like she was around much anymore at all.

You ripped the blankets off my skin, now of course you were only in a pair of booty shorts, that rid up your thighs and a t-shirt that showed a little too much skin, but you were too tired and angry to care – you had school tomorrow, a shitty concern, but you did and you figured with the booming music that came from next door, you would not be able to fall back asleep, like when it was much quieter earlier before Tom and his friends had started playing the sounds that made your ears bleed.

You stomped down the stairs, not bothering to put on your shoes, but when you entered the house, you immediately regretted it. The floor felt sticky; you felt sick.

You walked around the party searching for Tom, feeling the wind suddenly knocked out of you, looking up you had bumped into Tuwaine, “Y/n, you’re back!” He smiles. Tuwaine had always been nice, even if he was a part of Tom’s possie, he treated you like a person.

“Hey, Tuwaine.” You spoke, a year at boarding school will do that to you, disappearing, well, not totally disappearing… your parents going on their 3 year transfer all the way over in Monaco, sending you away to boarding school, you were seventeen, and had just turned eighteen, they said you were old enough to go back home, go back to school back in your hometown, “Do you happen to know where Tom might be?”

He chuckles, “Kitchen.” Tuwaine made an effort never to get involved in Tom’s advances of bullying you and making my life torment. Although it was the bare minimum, you appreciated it a lot.

“Thomas!” You yelled as he jumped, pushing the red headed girl off of himself. She scampered away quickly, realising by the look on your face, I was a. someone who wanted to kill her. b. someone who wanted to kill him… or c. a girlfriend, which you most certainlywere not.

Tom froze in his spot, I dunno why it shocked him to see you. Daya had said that your name had been whispered in the halls more than once. You can only assume he had heard it. Maybe he didn’t, but you knew he didn’t give a fuck about you.

“Y/n. You’re back.” He stated a muscle flexing in his jaw as it clenched shut. Your eyes made way over his body. You could see a few new tattoos. One stuck out from underneath the sleeve of his t-shirt, but you couldn’t quite make it out. There was now a tattooed band on the other side of his arm. Vines stick out from his V-neck, running up to his neck. If Iyou didn’t hate him, you’d think they were hot.

“That I am, and I am here to kindly ask you to turn down the music.” You said softly. You didn’t want an argument. You didn’t want a fight – Not today at least. You just wanted sleep.

His eyes roll down your body, checking you out, your t-shirt hugs you, and as his eyes make way down to my shorts, they still ride up my thighs. You suddenly feel naked under his gaze. “No can do.” He gives a chaste smile before walking away from you… The audacity!

You go to chase after him, but it seems like he’s disappeared into the crowd – typical Tom.

So, I guess he wants a fight.

You shuffle back into the Kitchen, going through drawers to find a pair of kitchen scissors, when you finally find them, you make my way over to the cords connected to the speakers. I guess he won’t be able to turn the speakers down.

The scissors snip right through the cords, one by one. You hear murmurs of ‘what the fuck’ and so forth. You leave the scissors next to the cords and sneak out of there before Tom can find you. You make it back home, shutting the door behind you and locking it. I’m safe… I think.

You go back to your room and watch all the people leaving, Tom stands in his front yard, now that all the people are gone, you can see it’s been littered with red solo cups. Tom goes to face my house and catches your eye. All you can do is wave and give your best attempt at a smirk.

He wasn’t going to wreck this year for you. You were back and better than ever.

*

Z laughs from her stomach, “You cut the cords to his music, y/n you are amazing!”

You look down at your food, today, you weren’t sitting in the bathroom – you hadn’t in a long time, “I have, however, been avoiding him all day,” You sigh, “I don’t want him to ruin my high.”

She shakes her head, “I’m glad you’re finally sticking up for yourself. There’s a point in time where I knew this was going to happen and I just always hoped I wasn’t wrong. That you would and now you are… and I’m proud.”

“I love you, Z,” You smile.

“Love you too, y/n.”

“How sweet.” A voice says from behind you, and your stomach seems to sink.

Whipping your head around, you face Tom, his eyes are dark, angry, rageful. You missed Tom’s old eyes, the eyes that smiled and the eyes that bled of happiness, you stand, but don’t quite reach his height, “What can I do for you, Thomas.” You speak.

“You can pay for the damages you caused to my sound system,” His voice seems to go dark too, deeper than you had heard it before, he was mad, but he wasn’t going to let himself explode.

You shake your head, “No. I went home as soon as you told me that you wouldn’t turn your music down.”

Tom chuckled, “Don’t lie to me, y/n.”

“I’m not.” You don’t flinch, you let yourself stand your ground.

He shakes his head, his eyes meeting his Doc Martins, only then did you notice what he wore was a classic V-neck and a pair of black jeans. His hair was longer than before you left, curled, and styled in a way that would let your legs fall from underneath you. But you pushed down whatever you were feeling as his next sentence surprised you, “Fine. I’m not going to argue with you, just know y/n… that if you ever mess with my fucking shit again, I will fuck you up. Do you understand?”

This was the first time you had visibility shrunk, a ball of saliva hard to swallow in your throat and when you did, your voice came out in a rasp, “Whatever, Holland.” Even if your volume was quiet, your voice shrivelled, you still sounded somewhat confident.

Tom walked away from you, his curls bounce slightly as he walks away, his t-shirt hugging his biceps, those tattoos peeking out from underneath once more. It all begged the question onto your mind once more, what happened to Tom Holland? You doubt you’d ever find out why he hated you, but you always knew that question would go unanswered.

Z let out a huff from behind you, “Well, that was… Intense.”

You looked around, eyes on you. People looked at you like they were afraid, something you had never seen before. Was it because you had stood up to Tom? Or was it because people were finally realising you were more than just those stupid rumours, he had spread around all those years. Did they realise you were more than those stupid pranks Tom would pull on you? Pranks were supposed to be funny, and what Tom Holland had done was not funny.

Your breath hitched against the air as you and Z walked to your next class, taking a seat in the back, which was quite unusual for you, but Zendaya had joined you. A boy sat down next to you. His name was Timothée, captain of the football team. He usually sat at the back, so it didn’t surprise you that he was sitting here. What surprised you was that he had started talking to you.

“Y/n, right?” He asked. He was quite a cute boy, curled hair, pretty brown eyes, and his letterman jacket sat perfectly on his shoulders.

You chuckled, “That’s me.”

“So…” Timmy started, “I was thinking, there’s that new yogurt place that opened up in town square, and while I was thinking, I thought, ‘Hey! I should invite y/n’.” He spoke, a small smile sat on his face.

Your eyes turned into a playful glare, “And how’d you come to that conclusion?”

“I dunno,” He shrugged, playing it off, turning back to the front, “But I have been wanting to ask you out for a while.”

“So why didn’t you?” You questioned the boy, as he turned to face you.

He shrugged once more, “Maybe I was shy.”

You chuckled, “I’ll think about it,” You turned back to the front, thinking for a moment. Could this be another one of Tom’s plans to humiliate you? No. No. You couldn’t think like that. Maybe Timmy was just a genuinely good guy. You shook your head of your thoughts about impending doom. You turned back to whisper to him, “Okay. I’ll go out with you for frozen yogurt.”

He smiled, it seemed genuine. “Okay, I’ll pick you up at seven, then?”

You nodded, “Seven it is.”

*

Z sat there doing your makeup, you had gone for a natural look, and a cute outfit that consisted of Chuck Taylors and a pair of jeans, paired with a varsity pullover, “What if this is one of Tom’s fucking plans to embarrass me, Z? What if he shows up out of the blue and says, ‘Hey y/n, fuck you!’ and runs me over with his car or, I dunno, does that shit he did before I left and pours his food all over me again.”

Z shakes her head, “He won’t… I think Timmy is a genuinely good guy. I don’t think this has anything to do at all with Tom, it won’t.”

“What do you mean, ‘it won’t’?” You ask her, curious.

She sighs, “Well, I was talking to Haz, and he was saying that every time someone thought or had mentioned they wanted to ask you out, he would go and spread a rumour or do something against you… or threaten them.” She speaks, “I dunno, I think it’s pretty fucked, but somewhere deep down he still cares about you. ‘S not like that kind of shit ever goes away.”

“But it does, Z!” You cry, “He has shown no compassion toward me. No love. Most days, he won’t even look me in the eye. I’ve been back for three whole days, and I can tell it’s the same as it has been for almost eight years. He hates me. He doesn’t like me. He doesn’t care about me.”

She shrugs, “Believe whatever you want, y/n, but I know you still care about him too.”

You went quiet after that. Mostly because you had no idea how you felt about him. You had no clue if you cared about him or not. You had no idea if you still loved him the way you had when you were little, and it fucked you up. You were scared that you did. After all the fucked-up shit he had done to you… you were scared that you did care about Tom. You knew you hated Tom. He had done things to you – things that messed with your brain.

In the ninth grade, people believed you had lost your virginity in a gangbang, when in reality, you hadn’t been touched before. In the tenth, people thought that you had fucked your math teacher to get your grade up to an A, when in reality, you had worked your ass off – it’s safe to say that rumour got shut down pretty quickly. If you were being honest, you had no idea how much of it was Tom. But it felt better to blame it all on him. Blame all your misery on someone who had left you in the dust.

The fact that you could care about someone that you blamed all your problems on scared you. To death. It made your breath catch in your throat. It made you choke on air. Thinking that Tom still cared about you made you want to throw up, but you couldn’t help but think about it. What if he had done this because he thought he was protecting you? But that’s fucking toxic, why would he do that at all? Why would he sought out to help you? There were many questions that ran through your mind. Too many that would remain unanswered.

Your gaze flickered to Tom’s window as you thought about him, it happened to be situated right across from your room. The light turned on and the curtain was pulled. You could see his shadow lifting his shirt over his head and unbuckle his jeans. You almost wanted to see what the sight would look like without a curtain in the way. Another ball of saliva got caught in your throat. But you couldn’t give yourself away. Your eyes flicked back to Z who was applying a tinted colour to your lips. She held up a mirror.

“What do you think?” She questions you, and all you can do is smile.

“It’s perfect, Z, thank you.” Your grin expands.

She returns it, “Well, I should probably get going before I’m late to work. I’ll text you later.”

“Yeah, ‘course,” My smile dips a little as she walks out of my door, I can hear her footsteps hitting the stairs and the door finally close behind her, the ignition of her car starting. I turn to the clothes that sit on my bed. Was I really going on a date?

The answer was yes.

You hadn’t been asked out on a date in years and remembering that made Z’s words travel through your mind once more ‘…Threaten them.’ You didn’t know what that made you feel. You didn’t know if that feeling was good or bad. But you hated Tom, and Tom hated you… right? There’s no way that could be true at all. Maybe Haz was lying. He did have a reputation for it. But Z could always see right through his lies. So, if he was telling the truth that really did mean Tom would threaten boys that would try and get close to you. The only questioned that pried your mind was Why?Add another never-to-be-answered question to the list of many.

You slid off your top, your boobs hung from your chest as you put on your bra, peeling off your sweatpants, you put on your jeans and your sweater. Seven O’clock was coming closer and closer. But you noticed something strange, and when you looked up into the window. The window and the curtain you forgot to close, and a Tom, who’s towel was wrapped around his abs, letting his six-pack breath against the cold air. You could see his defined V-line. The way it led to something you were sure was long, and filling. Something that you knew brought every single girl he ever fucked to a mind-blowing orgasm. His hair was slick back, and dripped, the water droplets still fresh on his skin. Your eyes met the tattoos that sit inked in his skin. The vine was beautiful, the band was tied into it, you hadn’t noticed before, but it wasn’t a plain black band. It was tied into the vine. You could finally see the tattoo that had been covered up. Angel wings. They weren’t too large and sat right where his shirt cut off. He used to call you Angel. But you hadn’t put two-and-two together because you wanted to see what else lie beneath that towel. It dawned on you what had happened, it dawned on you what the wings meant – Tom Holland had seen your tits and all he could do was stand there and make eye contact with you and wear an angel tattoo that signified you. This tattoo was new. He had a tattoo that signified you.

… and his gaze didn’t even make you feel flustered? The tattoo didn’t even make you want to cry. Everything was making you confused.

It was like his gaze was worth a thousand words. But you were supposed to hate him. You were supposed to have this pent-up rage. This blistering ache that leads to nothing good, and only arguments. This made you angry. Your thoughts made you angry. The fact that you had wanted to know what was underneath Tom’s towel. The fact that you had thought about him giving orgasms to other women. The fact that you had thought about how amazing he must be in bed. The fact that you had ogled him for what felt like ten years. You didn’t mind ogling him, but he was staring at you the whole time and he knew exactly what you were thinking. There was nothing there, there was no hate in his eyes. No compassion. No care. No emotion.

You’d think he’d turn red after seeing his ex-best friend’s tits, but he just stood there. He stood there until Timmy’s car pulled up in your driveway, ready to whisk you away. You almost couldn’t move for a moment. Like there was some unspoken connection between the two of you – regardless, you knew this silence wouldn’t last long between the two of you. For a moment you hesitated leaving your window.

But when you did, you made sure to close the curtain.

*

You laughed against your spoon, “So for statistics you sent in a video… singing about how much you loved Ms. Lawton? How have I never heard about this?”

He nodded proud and chuckled, “You didn’t hear about it, because, you only focused on the rumours about yourself,” Cut deep, but it was true, “and she’s still my favourite teacher, I miss having her though.”

You sighed, “Well, I hope she’ll teach you again someday.”

“Naw,” He shakes his head, “She failed me for that… and let me tell, you, y/n. That video was a masterpiece.” He picks up his spoon of chocolate yogurt and smiles taking it in his mouth.

You liked this. You liked hanging out with Timothée. It felt good. He felt kind. He felt like he was drama free. It didn’t matter that he was the football captain, because in reality, if you did end up being his girlfriend, you thought it’d be fun to do all those spirit things you’d seen in the halls. Homecoming was always the time of the year you enjoyed. You’d like to enjoy it with someone else, and Timmy was safe. He was nice. You could paint your face the colours of the school and cheer him on from the sidelines. It made part of you smile, but also part of you sad. That, that’s all your relationship could be. Face paint and cheering. But that’s only because he was safe. That’s because he was drama free.

You could do drama free.

Well, apparently, that had proven to be difficult, because whilst laughing at Timothée’s jokes and stories, you found yourself thinking about Tom. How he had seen your tits. How he hadn’t left the window. You could’ve devoured him in that moment, and he you. You had no idea why it felt like that. But you were sure Tom had felt that way too, there was no way he didn’t. There was no way he didn’t feel the electricity in the air… that electricity was a spark. That electricity was something you found yourself craving.

But you hated Tom.

You hated Tom.

You hated Tom?

No. He hated you too. He couldn’t stand you. He made your life hell… you hated Tom. You hatedTom. Nothing could change that for you. Not him seeing you naked. Not you seeing the way he was carved by some of the Gods above.

It pained you.

It pained you because you were sitting across from a really nice guy. A good guy. A guy any girl would kill to have. A guy any girl would be lucky to have… and you were thinking about the man who tortured you.

But the angel tattoo had to mean you. It had to.

Maybe Z was right, maybe he did still care about you.

But you shook it off and turned back to Timmy, enjoying your frozen yogurt.

*

After Timmy had dropped you off at home, you went to your room and turned your lights on, heading into the shower. The water was warm and burnt against your skin. You closed your eyes, letting your head fall underneath the water, as all you could think about was Tom. All you could think about was how he looked. All you could think about were his tattoos, his biceps his V-line. My god, his V-line.

Your hand slid down in between your legs, and you contemplated everything in your life. Were you really about to get off to the thought of Thomas Holland, the man that made your life hell? Yes. You were, and it felt good.

Your fingers landed on your lips, as you teased yourself, the hot water dripping down your body. Your tits feeling warm. You moved down onto the floor of your shower, your legs propped up, as you let your fingers toy with your clit, moving in slow and soft circles. The images of Tom flashed in your mind. How his gaze trailed your body after you got dressed, almost as his eyes craved for more. How his body was laced with water droplets. How his hair was wet and slick on his head. How his eyes were dark every time he looked at you. Hatred in his eyes, but as you touched yourself to the thought of him, all that did was turn you on. Feeling the anticipation, you placed a finger into your wet pussy, feeling your g-spot. Letting your other hand focus on your clit. You removed your finger out of your pussy and continued to rub your clit, this time it was faster, this time it was how you thought about Tom Holland’s cock. How large it must be. How it would hit your g-spot as he pumped into your aching pussy. You thought about his tongue. How it would suck your clit. Moving in circles. How he would taste all of you. You thought about how you would suck his cock and let him cum inside your mouth. You thought about him all hot and bothered because of you. Something you were almost sure would never happen, but the thought of it, the thought of him getting off to you just like you were to him. The thought of him fucking you. The thought of him getting a boner just by looking at you. Just by looking at your tits. You swear, you could feel his hand on your body as you moaned his name over and over again. Hoping that if you opened your eyes, you would find him there and let him fuck the life out of you. Let him fucking the devil into your body. Let him fuck you so hard that you couldn’t bear to walk the next day. You let your fingers pump into your own body, imagining his cock in place of your fingers. As you reached your orgasm. As you reached your peak, feeling that final knot in your stomach. That warmth. You were afraid to open your eyes, disappointed if you would not find Tom standing there watching you touch yourself to the thought of him and his cock.

And what a surprise.

He wasn’t there.

You let yourself sulk in disappointment. Still feeling the vibrations from your orgasm.

You finished washing yourself up, sliding a towel around your bodice, letting it cover yourself up. The curtain was closed, but it was tempting to open once more. Give Thomas another show. Maybe you were still horny.

How could you let yourself feel like this?

When did you start feeling this way?

Maybe fighting back gave you something to feel. It gave you exhilaration. You had barely talked to Tom this week and he had more of a hold on you than he knew about, and you had to let yourself suffer in silence, because there was no way he was going to want to make amends.

...and you were too proud to go over there and tell him off for the past few years.

*

The next day was cold – sliding on a jumper, you made your way out of your car, walking into school. You were excited to see Timmy. Despite having jerked off to the visual images of Tom, you couldn’t help but be excited to see him. He was a good friend. But unfortunately, that’s all you could see him as.

But when you showed up at his locker, you had seen a sight you didn’t want to see.

Timothée had a black eye.

Holy shit.

The bruise was so purple, you swear his nose was slightly broken, and there were cuts all over his face. What had happened to him?

“What happened to you?” You questioned, going to place a hand on his cheek, but before you could, he backed away slightly.

“I dunno,” He sighed, “Look, if I’m being honest, last night was a mistake.” Timmy said, you were quite confused from where this was coming from, but it was coming out of his mouth. You weren’t so sure it came from his heart, but he continued, “It was a bad idea, and I don’t really see you in that kind of way. We’d probably be better as friends.”

You nodded, “Cool, I get it. I kinda felt the same way,” You said honestly, “Anyway, I should get to my locker before the bell… I- I uh- I hope that heals well.” You gesture to your own face, in an attempt to get across your point – which probably could’ve been put together just by words.

It hadn’t crossed your mind till you say Z standing at your locker.

Had Tom done this?

You didn’t want to know. If you did, you don’t know what you would feel. Would your heart warm at the fact that he was so protective of you? Or would you throw up because he had beat up someone who hadn’t done anything but take you out on a date?

Probably a mixture of both.

Your thoughts were interrupted by Zendaya, who talked your ear off about her night with Haz, talking about how they went and saw a movie and went to the same frozen yogurt place Timmy and I had gone to.

You sighed, “Timmy was great, but we decided to just be friends this morning. But I’m not really sure that it was because of his own heart.” You closed your locker.

You and Z started to walk, “What do you mean by that?”

“He had a black-eye this morning and then when I went to touch his cheek and see what went wrong, he backed away and told me we could only be friends.” Your face twisted, “I have an idea of what might’ve happened, but I don’t really want to believe it.”

She chuckles, “What’s your ide- Oh.” She realises as she stops, before catching up to you again, “You don’t think it was Tom, do you?”

You shrug, “I dunno. It’s weird. This whole thing is weird,” You lower your voice, “He saw me naked last night! I forgot to close my window.”

“Why were you getting changed in front of your window?” She questioned you.

You shake your head, “Usually, the curtain that leads to his room is just closed, but yesterday you opened it and it got dark and I guess I just forgot to close it. Then I saw him standing there, shirtless, staring at me.”

She laughs softly, “I shouldn’t be laughing but that’s actually funny.”

“It’s not. It’s not Zendaya,” You braced yourself, your voice coming to a low, low whisper. “Because I liked the sight of him standing there.”

Her jaw physically drops. You could probably feed her a three-course meal all at once, “Holy shit y/n.” She closes her mouth, “I thought you hated him?”

“That’s the thing, Z! I do. I do hate him. I hate that he tortured me for years, but I’ve been thinking, he threatens boys, he spreads rumours around me to stop people from going out with me. He makes me look like a major loser, so they will stay away… maybe. Maybe he’s jealous?”

She scoffs, “There’s no fucking way he’s jealous, y/n. Boys who like you won’t make your life hell.”

“…But that’s the thing, recently, he hasn’t. He hasn’t bothered me. Hasn’t done anything to me actually… the only reason what happened in the cafeteria happened was because I messed with him.” You sigh, “I thought he was going to get in the way this year, that he was going to continue to torture me. But he hasn’t.”

She knows you’re right, “Look, I don’t know what you’re going to try and do, but please, be careful. I don’t want to deal with another crying you in the bathroom stall during lunch. There’s been a lot of that. It hurts me to see you hurt.”

You nod as she walks away from you, it seems as she runs over to you, remembering something, “Hey, there’s also a party that Haz invited me to, I think you should come. It’s on Friday night. I was going to tell you yesterday, but you know… Timmy.”

You chuckled, thinking about it for a short moment, before nodding your head, “I’ll go. Promise.”

She smiles before walking away, “See you at lunch!”

“See you at lunch!”

*

Friday rolls around quicker than expected, you pampered yourself up. Z picked you up that night. You were wearing a mesh dress with a white crop underneath. Z whistled as you walked out, and Haz was sitting in the front seat too. Your heels clicking against the concrete of your driveway. Tom walked out at the same time; you met his eyes as they trailed over you. But you didn’t give him the satisfaction of checking him out… you wish you did. Tom got into his own car. It was a sleek black car, which was typical for him – you had no idea when black had become his favourite colour. But it looked good on him, like really good.

Your breath hitches as you get into the car, Z drives off and the two of you make it to Penelope’s party. She was head cheerleader, and you knew you were only here because of Z having extended her invitation to you. Though, you weren’t sure she was really keeping a list. The party boomed with people all over the house. Red solo cups littered the floor – It reminds you of last Saturday at Tom’s party, but you shook that out of your mind.

You walked into the party, feeling the intoxicated gaze of everyone there. You walked into the kitchen, deciding to hang out there. You could see Haz and Z dancing together as she grinds up against his body. You sigh, debating if you should’ve come or not. But you were here. So, you kept to yourself, pulling out your phone and just scrolling on Instagram, your legs crossed on the counter.

Your phone showed with 10% flashing onto your screen. Shoving it back in your pocket reluctantly. You hop of the counter – it’s been twenty minutes since you got here, and you grabbed a red solo cup, filling it with Sprite. You didn’t want to get drunk. Not tonight.

You sigh, taking a sip of your drink. The time was going by slowly, and the next thing you knew, it had been three hours. Time was a terrible thing, and this party was so boring. Z and Haz looked like they were having the time of their lives.

They were both too drunk to drive you home, and you realised you hadn’t a ride home anymore.

Sighing, you took a seat on the front porch. The only thing you could do was wait out the time, but that wasn’t happening anytime soon.

“You need a ride home?” A voice spoke from behind you. Immediately, you knew it was Tom. The darkness in his voice always seemed to surprise you, but today, it was not unwelcomed. Tom wasn’t drunk.

You sighed, your hands hugging you, the dress was thin, and it was cold. You could only curse the night, “What does it matter to you?”

“It matters to me because I’ve been watching you sulk around the party, unimpressed, and quite frankly, you look like a fucking buzzkill.” He takes my red solo cup and takes a sip, “Not even drinking.”

You scoff, “Neither are you.”

“Not for the past two hours. When I got here, I was, but something tells me you haven’t even tried.”

He was right.

“Let me take you home, y/n.”

You shiver once more, and he peels his own jacket off of his body. You had just noticed, he was wearing a pair of jeans and a black Henley, paired with a leather jacket. Your fault for not checking him out earlier. He throws it over your shoulder, and the scent of his cologne fills your nose. You could almost give out.

“Fine,” You sigh, “You can take me home.”

You and Tom make it to his car. You sit inside the small, as he gets into the driver’s seat. You sighed, as Tom started his car, turning the heat on. You shivered when the warm air of his car hit you.

Tom’s music played over the speakers, R&B and Rap music. Drake played over and you opened the window, his jacket covered you, but you were warm as the wind blew through your hair. You questioned your life at this moment.

You questioned everything.

Why was Tom being nice tonight? Wasn’t he supposed to make your life hell? Why did he hate you one day? Why did he abandon you? Why didn’t he love you like you loved him all those years ago? Would he hate you like he hated you tomorrow?

“Pull over.” You told Tom.

He didn’t stop and your breath quickened. Thinking about this only made you want to feel fucking sick.

“Pull over, Thomas.” You spoke careful.

He didn’t stop.

“Tom. Pull the fuckover!” You raised your voice.

Tom finally stopped. The road was empty. There were no houses. Just wood, trees, and bushes.

You unbuckled your seatbelt and got out of the car. Trying to breath, but you felt sick. Why was Tom being like this? Why was thinking about Tom being kind to you making you feel sick? It wasn’t the gesture. It was the thought that tomorrow he would go back to making your life hell. It was the thought that he could just switch up and make everything so hard for you. He could just leave you again. He could just throw everything out the window.

He got out and watched you pace, his hand resting on your shoulder, “Y/n, what’s wrong?” He questioned and you swore, you could’ve punched him in the face. You could’ve broken his nose. You could’ve made him regret it all.

“YOU TOM!” Was all you could scream, before speaking once more, “You’re the problem. You’ve made my life hell these past couple years and it makes me want to scream at you. There have been countless rumours about me. I have never had a boyfriend. My first kiss was a bet to some boys. I haven’t lost my virginity yet and the only boy who seemed to take interest with me, had a black eye and told me he just wanted to be friends. All the girls at school think I’m a skank and still believe the rumour about me and Mr. Rule was true… and you started it all Thomas, and my only question is why? You left me. I was your best friend and you left me and decided to make my life hell. So, my only question is why? What did I do to you?”

“It wasn’t you, y/n. It was me.” He sighed, “After coming back from army camp, shit happened at home. Shit happened there. My whole life was crumbling around me. I didn’t believe in love. But you were still there and even though I felt like I hated you, I still loved you. I didn’t want anyone else to touch you. I didn’t want anyone to make you feel what I couldn’t. But this year. I let it go – I thought I could let it go. But seeing you with Timmy.”

He walked closer to you. His breath stalking your face.

“…It made me want you even more.”

Your breath shuttered. Feeling every bone in your back crumble as you felt cold, but there was no more wind around. Just Tom, his gaze made you want to fall to your knees. It was like he had you in a trance. It was like he had you.

… and he did.

You would do anything he asked you to right now. You would do anything for him. You don’t know why you felt like this. You don’t know why you felt like this. You had no idea what his eyes were doing to you. He wasn’t even touching you and you felt like a thousand suns. You could feel your heart swoon out of your chest. You felt yourself give in to him.

You gulped, carefully choosing your next words, “Tom.” Was all you could sputter out. His face came closer to yours, his brown eyes deepening in colour. The only thing you could see was him, and the only thing he could see was you.

“I want you to kiss me, y/n.” He speaks, “But only if you want to. I want you to want me.”

And you did. You wanted him.

Your lips connected with Tom’s; his breath hot on your face as you gave in. His lips felt hot on yours and as his hands trailed down your body, grabbing your ass, his touch felt hot. Full of desire. Full of want. His lips parted from yours as he pushed you against his car, his breath thick on the side of your face as he whispered in your ear. “That night when I saw you in your window, I touched myself to the thought you.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Most likely because you realised you had done the same thing to yourself and knowing that Tom had done it too made you all the more turned on. It made you want him more than you already had.

His kisses nipped at your neck as you shuddered. Feeling yourself grow all the more flustered. Feeling his soft lips press onto your skin and as your leg went in between his thighs, you could feel the jeans tighten around his groin.

“Fuck, y/n.” He speaks, “The things you do to me.”

You feel yourself grow eager for him. You feel yourself want him more than you’ve ever wanted anyone before – you feel a pool grow in between your legs; you feel yourself grow wet.

Tom’s hands travelled down your body, and back up, cupping the tit you know he had once seen, you let out a soft whimper, “Tom, please.” You could feel your head roll back, his kisses now on your neck.

“Let’s go back to mine then, yeah?” He asked you.

You nodded, so eager. As you drove – probably above the speed limit, Tom’s hand rested on your thighs. Not letting go of you, he moved his hand up and down, making your body tingle. His touch burning your skin. You could barely breathe. You wanted to feel his touch so badly.

When the two of you finally got to Tom’s, you rushed to get out of the car. Not a moment before Tom kisses you against his car one last time. Your tongues connecting in the most intimate way.

You pulled away as Tom moved, unlocking his front door, and pulling you up to his room. The walls were white, and his bedsheets were of course black. You fell onto the soft mattress, Tom’s body landing over you, pinning you down as he kissed your lips furiously. This time it was sweeter, it was careful, it was slow. He was slowing down because he knew you were a virgin. He wanted to care for you. He wanted this to be good for you. He wanted you to have a good time.

You never thought Tom could be like this toward you. So sweet and kind. The last few years were a blur and what he had done was toxic. You knew that. You told yourself you’d have a proper conversation about it. But even if it was. It only made you want him even more than you could ever imagine – and you wished this feeling would last. You wished he wouldn’t turn into someone who hated you the next day, but you were too lost in your desire for him to let yourself worry about what happens after.

Your breath caught itself as Tom kissed your neck again, he was going slow this time, giving you time… His hands ran up your dress, feeling your thigh, tickling the upper. You whimpered softly as he pulled the mesh dress over your head. He adored you. His eyes lit up at the sight of your body… It was perfect. It made him feel so many things. It made him feel happy. It made him feel the best he had felt in years. It made him feel sorry.

He knew tonight wouldn’t amount to the torture he had caused you. But he had hoped it would be the start, “God, you are so perfect.” He voiced.

You felt flush as he peppered kisses down your body once more. His hands toyed with the back of your bra, removing it from its clasp. Letting it fall, throwing it to the side, “Just as perfect as Monday night, y/n.” He smirks as he places his mouth over your nipple, sucking softly. Making you moan.

That had now become his new favourite sound.

Tom’s hands held your waist, touch still burning your skin. Stomach fluttering, you weren’t sure because if it was because of your pleasure, or the intense crush you had on Tom. Maybe it was because his lips were making your nipples hard, and his grip held onto the other. Pinching it lightly, making you wet. Soft moans escaping your mouth again.

Tom’s fingers moved from your boob to the waistband of your panties. He wanted to rip them off and see how wet you were for him. He pulled his mouth off of your tit, looking at you for permission and all you did was nod.

“If you don’t like anything I do, tell me… promise me.” Tom mutters loud enough for you to hear.

It’s just the two of you, and your heart stops. The window above his bed highlights his face in the moon, the light accentuating his jawline and his beautiful curls hung low, his hair had no gel. His hair was free. His eyes were filled with desire, but they were soft. His gaze wasn’t harsh. He had been waiting to hold you for so long and you were finally here, in his arms. He hadn’t taken his clothes off yet, but you were sure the two of you would get to that soon.

You nodded, understanding, “I promise.”

Tom slides down your body, placing kisses down your chest, down your stomach and when he finally reaches your underwear, he pulls them off and throws them into the pile where your bra sits.

Tom’s large hand grazes the lips of your pussy, “God, you are so wet.” He sounds almost hungry for a taste of you.

And he is.

Carefully, Tom places a finger in between your lips, moving his finger slowly around your clit. You shuddered slightly at his touch, feeling it was so much better than imagining it like you had done the other night. His fingers were large, and the palms of his hands were rough, but so soft at the same time, one of them gripping on to your thigh. Tom’s finger was soon replaced with his tongue.

The taste of you was better than he could have ever thought. You were sweet and he loved it. His tongue did wonders on your clit. He moved it slow at first, but he sped it up a little as you slid a hand into his hair, holding onto it, letting out soft moans as your head fell back slightly. But you had moaned your loudest when Tom placed two fingers inside of you. The fingers pumped in and out, touching your g-spot, and although he moved his fingers slowly at first, it was still the best you had ever felt. You needed more. You needed to cum for the first time that night.

“Fuck Tom, faster, please.” You groaned as Tom smirked against your pussy, pumping his fingers faster, licking your clit furiously, waiting for your pussy to clench around his fingers.

For the first time that night, your stomach felt warm, feeling like it was tied in a knot. Your back arching slightly.

“That’s right, y/n, come for me,” He moves his fingers slower as you come down from your high.

Your pussy continues to throb, your clit feels like it’s pulsing.

You look at Tom, “Take off your pants, I want to make you feel good.” You whisper carefully.

“Are you sure, baby?” He questions, “I want you to feel better than I ever could.”

“And you’ve done that,” You smile softly, “Let me make you feel good, Tom.”

He smiles. He loves this. He loves you.

Tom pulled his shirt off first, and he could feel your gaze on his abs. You had previously looked at these through your own window but seeing them up close was like a dream for you. You could finally see the angel wings, they were beautiful. The vines that lead to his neck were beautiful. The band on his arm was beautiful.

His pants were the next thing to come off, he pulled his boxers down with them. You were finally staring at the cock you dreamt about. This was in your head. But it didn’t look like this… no. It was better. It was bigger than you ever imagined it could be. It was long and you knew it would fill you up. You wanted it inside of you. But you knew you had to make Tom feel good first. You promised yourself you would.

Tom was standing up at the end of his bed. So, when you got up and got on your knees, he swore to himself he could’ve came right there and then. You were so beautiful, staring up at him. So, innocent. All the girls he had got with before were either full of STD’s or just looking for something quick. But you. You were something else. You had never been touched before. You were all Tom’s and Tom had made it evident that even though he had been with many girls before you. He was yours.

You slowly wrapped your mouth around Tom’s cock, wondering if you were doing the right thing. You were following the stuff you had seen in porn – but that wasn’t anything like real life and you knew that. But it was the best instruction you had.

The confirmation that you were doing something right was when Tom moaned as you licked his tip. Your tongue moved around his tip, kissing it and then you pushed your head further over it. Tom knew you had never done this before. He could tell, but it turned him on even further, just made him want you more.

“Fuck, y/n.” He spoke, his head falling back, much like yours earlier. His hand then slid on your head. Pushing you further down his cock. You gagged slightly but moaned as you took all of Tom in your mouth. Carefully pulling away, you slid your hand in between your legs, using your natural lube to jerk Toms cock off with your hand. Pumping it, from the base to the tip over and over. Tom knew he was going to cum. But he wanted to be inside you.

“Let me fuck you, baby.” He said after a long moan.

You smiled up at him, he was going to fuck you. And you were excited.

You lay down on the bed. A slight nervousness built in your stomach. As excited as you were, you were kinda afraid, and Tom knew that. He could see how nervous you were in your eyes. He could see that you were ready, but in readiness, there was still that anxiety, that what you’re doing might not be right.

“If you don’t want to do this, that’s okay.” Tom spoke gently, “…and if you do want to and then you don’t, that’s okay too. But if we do this and you want something from me, tell me and I’ll make it happen.”

You pecked a quick kiss to his lips, “I want this, Tom. I want you.” You spoke honestly.

He matched your grin, “Okay… this might hurt, okay?”

You nodded, slightly scared. Tom’s arms wrapped around you making you feel the safest you could’ve felt in a situation like this.

His cock entered you slowly, pressing against your g-spot for a moment, you felt a jolt of pain. It was sudden and lasted a few moments, but soon, it was all pleasure. You felt the tip of Tom’s cock touch your g-spot, moaning as he did so. Louder than you had that night.

“Fuck, Tom!” Your head flew back as your lips connected to his. The bed shaking from underneath you as you both moved in sync with each other. You both knew exactly what you wanted from each other. Pleasure.

Neither of you were short of it.

You could feel yourself coming closer and closer to the edge. Trying to hold out for Tom, but you couldn’t do it anymore, and Tom could sense it.

“Y/n, it’s okay, cum for me, sweetheart. Cum right all over my cock.” He moans as he continues to push into you.

Your knot returns, the warm feeling in your stomach doing the same, as you let go right all over Tom’s cock. He groaned at how your pussy clenched around him. He slowed down, continuing to push in and out, before pulling out of you. Rubbing himself. You sat there in awe of how he jerked his own cock, of how he pleasured himself, and you were turned on at how the sticky white cum landed on your stomach as his head fell back.

Tom fell beside you, and you placed a kiss to his mouth, “Thank you, Tom.” You spoke sweet, your tone calm and he looked at you with the softest gaze in the world. His brown eyes encapsulated you.

“I should probably go get cleaned up.” You look down at the cum that sits on you, now going cold against the air.

He chuckled, “Yeah, feel free to use the shower in there.” He pointed to a door that led to the bathroom.

As you walked inside, Tom watched you walk. Tom thought about how lucky he was to have a girl like you. But he questioned whether or not you would come back to bed. Whether or not you would choose to lie beside him and let yourself fall for him. Tom had fucked it up and he knew that. But he was going to be better. He had to. He loved you.

You stepped out of the bathroom, all cleaned up and patted dry, “Is it okay if I stay?” You asked him, and all Tom could do was smile, feeling the bed dip as you got back in, his arm snaking around your still naked body.

You were pressed against his chest as you spoke to him, "Is the angel tattoo about me, Tom?" You questioned, you could feel him freeze, you could feel his heart stop for a moment.

"Yeah it is." He sighed, "I wanted to get something that meant something to me, y'know, and everything that is on me. It means something. But, it's all symbolic. I couldn't ever bring myself to truely hate you, y/n. I always loved you. I thought what I was doing was okay, until Haz snapped me out of it, called me an idiot, told me how I really felt. I'm sorry."

You were silent before pressing a kiss to his chest, that's all you did. That's all you needed to do. Although no amount of sorry could fix what he did, his actions. His taking care of you, him making you feel good. It was a start.

*

You sat in Tom’s car as he looked at you, the gaze still the same; softest in the world – you had a feeling that’d never change, “Tom, I’m nervous. What will they think of us? What will they think of me? You literally tortured me and now I’m out here kissing your perfect lips and holding your hand.”

You and Tom had talked about everything. How he hurt you. How he’d made your life terrible. All he did was cry and apologise.

“I’m sorry, y/n.” His eyes welled up, now bloodshot red. “That was never my intention. I wanted to love you, but I had no idea how… Military camp, my parents divorce. It all fucked me up – that’s no excuse for what I did to you. I pushed you out when I should’ve let you in. I want to be your boyfriend, I want to love you – I want you to trust me and know that when I say I’ll never hurt you again, I mean it. I mean it y/n because I love you.”

There were almost twenty-five other monologues almost completely similar because he couldn’t stand the fact that he had hurt you. Not at all. You weren’t ready to completely trust him all the way yet. But you loved him, that was a fact. Despite all the fucked-up shit he did to you. You loved him and only him. He understood that it would take you awhile to trust him whole. But you loved him, so you agreed to it. You agreed to be his girlfriend.

You took his hand in yours, “God, Tom, I love you, but I’m scared.” You pouted. This was the only way to announce your relationship. By being the way the two of you had been for the past 3 days, where you had enjoyed your beautiful honeymoon bubble.

“Hey, baby, it’ll be okay, alright?” His lips graze the back of your hand, “I promise.”

“I hope you’re right, Thomas.”

He chuckles, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

And it was okay.

Despite the stares and the confusion.

Everything was okay.

Because you were you.

And Tom was Tom.

And you loved Tom.

[viastro]

somewhere only we know | lee seokmin

ミ★ synopsis: in which you and seokmin go to your hidden spot. laying under the night sky, you both catch sight of a shooting star.

ミ★ genre: best friends!au, humor, fluff, hidden feelings

ミ★ warnings: none!

ミ★ word count: 1844

ミ★ pairings: seokmin x female reader

ミ★ notes: i literally almost cried while writing this uh HELP! i’m in my FEELINGS! i’ve been blaring day6 in my headphones for the past three hours and it’s almost 4 am but it’s fiNE! i’m going through it and that’s OKAY! omg i love seokmin he’s so precious i hope you guys like this one

“I just think we as a society should appreciate guys wearing cardigans more.” Mingyu states, taking a sip of his soda afterwards as he awaits everyone's response. Minghao raises his hands up in the air and claps, “Outstanding. Say it LOUDER!” 

“I JUST THINK WE AS A SOCIETY-”

“Stop.” Seungkwan goes into a laughing fit, causing the rest of the guys to lose it. You grin behind your soda, trying to hold back your own laughter. Seokmin laughs loudly beside you as Mingyu gets up to shove Minghao off the couch. 

It’s a warm Friday night at the Jeon residence, the fourteen of you goofing around after finishing your finals. You guys haven’t been able to hangout altogether like this for a month since you were all so busy studying for your exams, so being able to sit down and spend time with them is nice.

Except for the fact that you feel this heavy weight on your shoulders cause you feel like you absolutely failed your sociology final. You know that Seokmin has noticed your mood due to him staying close beside you the whole night, trying to make you laugh as much as he can. 

“You alright?” Seokmin finally asks, spouting you out of your thoughts. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and you give him a small smile, “Kinda. Just worried about my final, but it’s okay. Don’t worry about me.” 

“Of course I’m gonna worry about you yn, you’re my best friend. I can literally sense how much it’s bothering you based on how slouched you are right now.” You immediately straighten your shoulders, making Seokmin chuckle at you. 

“Mingyu please get off of mE!”

“No, you were rude.”

“HELLO??!!”

“Wow, and nobody’s gonna help him?” Jeonghan says as he videotapes the whole thing, and you snort, reaching over to the coffee table to grab a chip.

“Some world we live in.” Chan finishes, bursting into laughter when Minghao starts slamming his fists onto the floor like a child who got their favorite toy taken away. Mingyu finally gets up off the poor boy, and Minghao lets out a wheeze before standing up and jumping on the giant.

“Ah shit, everyone grab their cups and plates.” You announce, and everyone grabs whatever’s fragile and places it out of their way. Minghao currently has Mingyu in a chokehold, and Mingyu is refusing to tap out as Vernon now takes the role as referee.

“Mingyu! Just tap out already!” Wonwoo yells, and Mingyu shakes his head no.

“Your face is so fucking red Mingyu please!”

“N-neve-” Mingyu wheezes in the middle of his sentence, tapping Minghao’s arm. Minghao finally lets go, and stands up in victory. You all laugh when Vernon raises his arm up as if they just won the Olympics.

“You wanna head out?” Seokmin asks as you pull out your phone while everyone starts talking again. You turn to look at him, letting out a small grin, “Yeah, sure.” 

“Okay guys, I need to take yn home. She’s really tired.” Seokmin announces, and the boys release a round of, “Awe man.” and, “We’ll see you on Monday!” 

“Bye guys! Love you, text you later.” You say as you put on your hoodie. You and Seokmin wave goodbye before heading out of Wonwoo’s house. You breathe in the fresh air, gazing up at the dark night sky. Slight disappointment settles in your stomach once you take notice of the lack of stars. 

“Yn, let’s go to our place.” Seokmin says from his car, half his body already in the driver’s seat. You feel excitement fill your veins at the thought of looking at the stars from you and Seok’s secret place, so a big smile breaks out onto your face. You nod your head and skip over to the car.

“Do you have a blanket?” You ask as you step out of the car and into the clearing. Seokmin nods his head, stepping over and opening the trunk. You go to him, peeking your head over his shoulder you take notice of the basket of snacks and two blankets. Warmth floods your face once you realize he must’ve planned this, making your heart do a little backflip.

“You planned this?” Seokmin doesn’t respond, instead he takes one of the blankets and hands it to you. You hug it tightly in your arms as he grabs the second blanket and the basket of snacks. 

“Let’s go!” He exclaims, dashing off up the hill of grass. You let out a squeal, yelling out, “Wait for me!” as you put your phone into your pocket and start running after him.

You’ve been best friends with the twelve guys since your freshman year of high school, having met through you all collectively getting detention for multiple different reasons. You love all of them with your whole heart, they played a big role in making high school a lot more bearable. You’re closest to Seokmin though, you think of him as a soulmate of sorts. You guys becoming best friends was unexpected to the group, considering the fact that you both argued all the time in the beginning of the friendship. 

It was only when you and Seokmin decided to prank Mingyu one random summer day, that you two quickly became best friends. You both even got into the same college! As did half of the friend group actually, the other half going to another university a few minutes away from yours. It was 2 am on a warm spring night Seokmin called you, telling you to get ready in five minutes.

“You look pretty.” Seokmin says when you step into his car, and you scoff. You’re literally wearing your winnie the pooh onesie since it’s deadass three in the fucking morning.

“Can’t believe you’re making me leave my warm bed.” You mutter, crossing your arms and pouting out the window. Seokmin turns to look at you, letting out a small giggle at your expression.

“You could’ve told me no.”

“You literally called me saying get ready in five minutes, then hung up the phone without letting me respond.”

“And? It’s not my fault you’re too slow.”

“I’m gonna kill you.” Seokmin lets out a gasp, placing his hand over his mouth in feign shock. You roll your eyes, finally giggling a bit. He glances at you and smiles at the sight of you giggling in your winnie the pooh onesie. 

“Where are we even going anyways Seok?” You ask and he shrugs in response, turning up the heater. 

“So it’s a surprise?”

“Precisely. If I say more, then it’s no longer a surprise.” 

“Well that’s lame.”

“You’re the one wearing a winnie the pooh onesie here, yn.” 

“BITCH!”

That night Seokmin took you to this hidden hill that he found for the first time, and it became your guys’ spot. You go here every once in a while when you’re stressed, with or without Seokmin. However, there’s been multiple instances where you head over and see him already staring up at the stars. It’s been a month since you’ve last been here, and Seokmin knew that. That’s why he planned to take you here after the friend group hangout.

“Last one up the hill has to buy the other boba-” Seokmin trips and lands face flat into the grass mid-sentence, letting you take the lead and run all the way to the tree. You slap the bark, turning to look at Seokmin with a big smirk on your face. 

“Good GOD I think I have grass in my nose.” He yells and you laugh as he walks up to you. He sets down the blanket he was holding onto the ground, and places the basket on top. He turns to you with a small smile.

“You owe me boba.” 

“I know.” Seokmin sighs in defeat, taking off his sneakers and sitting on the blanket. You take yours off as well, sitting down close beside him and unfolding the blanket you were holding. You place it over both of your legs before opening the basket. 

“Eeee! You got sour patch kids!” You exclaim, quickly opening up the bag and placing a blue one into your mouth. 

“Of course, they’re your favorite.” He says nonchalantly, but internally his heart is warm at your excited reaction. You turn and give Seokmin a smile, placing a red one into the palm of his hand. He puts in his mouth and his face scrunches up at the initial sourness, and you giggle. 

“You seem to be in a better mood now.” Seokmin mentions and you nod your head slowly, letting out a small laugh. You lay on your back to get a better look at the stars, and your eyes widen at how clear the night sky is at the top of the hill.

“I can never get used to this view.” You whisper, and Seokmin nods his head. He adjusts the blanket before laying down beside you. He lets out a low whistle at the view, and you both lay there in silence for a moment. Soaking in the beautiful night sky.

“I’m worried about my future, my potential internship really relies on that final I took.” You confess, and Seokmin turns his head to look at you. The stars reflect in your eyes, and the natural light from the moon brings a beautiful, soft glow to your features. 

“You probably did great yn, you’re the most diligent out of all of us besides Wonwoo.” Seokmin tells you and you shake your head, letting out a sigh.

“I don’t know. I just feel stupid, my intelligence is such a big insecurity of mine. I just hope my hard work pays off again.” You mutter and Seokmin finds your hand under the blanket, intertwining your fingers together as a sign of comfort. 

“You’re smart yn. Don’t let that bad conscious of yours tell you otherwise.” Seokmin says softly, and you turn your head to find him already staring at you.

“I don’t believe in myself.” He squeezes your hand, noticing how your eyes sparkle underneath the moonlight.

“That’s okay, because I believe in you.” You purse your lips at the sweet comment, heart practically palpitating in your chest due to it. He gives you a soft smile, turning back to face the stars.

“Oh! A shooting star! Make a wish!” Seokmin says, pointing at the sky. You quickly turn your head and catch the last seconds of the shooting star. You immediately close your eyes, letting go of Seokmin’s hand to clap your own hands together, quietly saying your wish in your head. 

Seokmin turns his head back so that he’s looking at you, and he lets out a small smile. Your eyes are closed as you make your wish, a slight furrow to your brow and a small pout on your lips. He lets out a breath before closing his eyes, 

I wish for you, the girl who’s fascinated by the stars but fails to notice that she holds the whole galaxy in her gaze.

[metallicwings]

Sunrise | a percabeth fic

“Percy Jackson would wage war against fate itself if it meant he and Annabeth would stay together.”

percabeth | au | fluff, nostalgic | 2.1k 

In which Percy gears up for the big question on a beautiful beach with a beautiful girl at the break of dawn.

“Hey, you okay?” Annabeth pulls her cardigan tighter around her as she sits beside Percy on the porch swing. The sun had yet to rise, and the world was tinged blue. She watches as the waves wash over the rocks near the shore, pulling back ever so gently as the moon fades from the sky.

“Yeah,” He replies, his eyes sparkling as they meet hers. “Wanted to go for a morning stroll.” She rolls her eyes.

“You and I both know you hate early mornings.” She rises and offers him her hand, a little smile on her face. He grins, knowing she was too smart to fall for such a lie. “But okay. Let’s take a walk.”

The sand feels damp under his feet as they set a slow, easy pace. His hand was intertwined with hers like it had been for the last eight years.

“You miss the city yet?” She jokes. It had only been a few days since they went up to Montauk for a much-needed break from work and traveling between San Francisco and New York, and just from life in general, but she knew that while the waves were a familiar and homely sound to Percy, he can’t help but feel like he couldn’t sleep without the buzz of the city as background noise.

“Maybe a little,” he smiles and glances at the horizon, the sky slowly turning pink.

“So do I,” she agrees. “Guess we’re both just city slickers at heart.” He squeezes her hand as they fall into comfortable silence, a rare moment of peace and quiet accompanied only by the lulling sound of the sea.

“It’s warmer out this morning, isn’t it?” Annabeth remarks, splashing in a shallow pool left behind by the tides. She was right. It was the end of winter, but the sea breeze was warmer than it had been for the last few weeks. He chuckles. He knew why.

“What’s so funny?” She nudges his shoulder with her own. “And why are you so spaced out?”

He looks down at her, and really looks at her—her eyes filled with curiosity and lips pursed in worry. He’s known that face for over a decade, memorized every inch. And yet she leaves him breathless every time. She’d only become more beautiful. He gazes at the way the rising sun touches her curls, turning them into gold. He gazes at the way she blinks away the bite of the morning wind, her cheeks pink and flushed. He looks at Annabeth, really looks at her, and knew that he could never love anyone or anything as much as he loved the woman standing before him now. He loves the way she looks at him in admiration when he comes up with something intelligent (it’s really not that rare), and he loves her the same as when she looks at him with annoyance whenever he does or says something un-hero-like in front of the new kids at camp. He loves the little scowl she has on her face when she’s frustrated (often at him), just as he loves the bright smile that he knew was reserved for only him. Looking back at everything they’ve been through together, he knows they’re incredibly lucky to have lived and loved the way they did.

And he knows she loves him too. Everyone did.

“I’ve never seen that girl happier than when she’s around you.” Frederick had told him during one of their afternoon picnics at Central Park, after he was silent for a bit after Percy’s little spiel. They were standing under a big tree—probably bothering a slumbering dryad—several feet away from Annabeth and the boys, who were tossing frisbees with their college friends.

He just stared at his daughter who was working on her laptop, quietly cursing under her breath at the redesigns the gods had asked her to do after a family dinner went wrong at Mount Olympus (again).

“Granted, it was a long time before I saw her actually happy, Percy. My biggest mistake was letting her go. Letting her think I let her down at such a young age. That she wasn’t worthy of a family, or of love. But you…you came into her life and immediately saw her for who she is. And you loved her for it. You’ve taken care of her more times than I have. And for that, Percy Jackson, I am eternally grateful.”

He meets Percy’s eyes, focusing on the boy before him—no, it was a man that stood before Frederick Chase, all grown up now, more battle-hardened than any historical figure he knew. A far cry from the boy he met at Half-Blood Hill.

He broke into a smile and clapped Percy on the shoulder, and Percy was no less than astonished at the tears that brimmed in his usually steely eyes. But he was, after all, a father. He turned his head, lest his daughter sees the emotional exchange he shared with her boyfriend. And of Percy’s request, he finally replied, “Son, I’d love nothing more.”

“Finally”, he remembers his mother saying, rolling her misty eyes before dissolving into a fit of sobs and hugging him tighter than when a forest nymph put him in a chokehold for accidentally breaking one of her branches. She hugged him for a long time, and it was then that Percy really felt the weight of what he was about to do.

“I’m so going to mess up.” he said. Sally placed a hand on either side of her son’s face. His green eyes were troubled. “I might actually throw up.”

“You’re overreacting,” she stated.

“That…really wasn’t what I was expecting you to say, Mom.” Sally laughed, grabbing a tissue from the kitchen counter to dab at her tears. She scanned her son’s face, noting the worry and anxiety that marred it.

“Okay,” she lowered her voice. “Then I have a question for you. Are you really, really sure you want to do this?”

He held her gaze in silence. Was he sure? This was Annabeth Chase. His best friend, most trusted ally. The smartest, bravest girl he’d ever known. It was Annabeth who took a poisoned blade for him out of instinct. It was Annabeth who saved his life more times than he could count. It was Annabeth who showed him a world he never even knew existed, and was right there beside him as he tried to navigate his way through it.

This was Annabeth Chase, the girl he held up the whole damn sky for. He remembered only her when he could not remember literally anything else from his own life. He gave up power and immortality for a chance to be with her. He would go through Tartarus and back for Annabeth Chase. He did. And he would do it over and over and over again.

Annabeth Chase comes once in a lifetime. And he was never, ever letting her go.

So was he sure? He had never been more sure of anything in his life.

His mother knew that very well. “You two—Fates or otherwise—you’re meant to be together, you know that, right?“ He had almost exploded like a Greek fire talking to his mom. And he was about to do the same right now and ruin everything if he doesn’t pull himself together.

“Percy,” Percy jolts himself back to the present, shaking himself from memory. Annabeth puts a hand to his face, her thumb gently caressing his cheek. “I lost you for a moment there. What’s up?”

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

“You and me…everything we’ve been through together.” His throat feels like sandpaper. He was seconds away from crying or screaming out of nerves, and he really didn’t want to just start yelling gibberish at Annabeth.

“We have been through our fair share of adventures, haven’t we? Many of them misadventures, but I digress,” she teases. “We’re here, together, that’s all that matters.”

“You’re right,” he steels himself. If he doesn’t do this now, he’ll miss his own planned timing: doing it during a romantic sunrise on the beach. The sun was halfway up the horizon, slow to rise. It seemed to be waiting for him to find the words. “Together.”

Percy takes a deep breath and takes both of her hands in his. “Annabeth Chase.”

She furrows her brows in confusion. “Yes?”

Like a chump, he doesn’t say anything else for several seconds. He merely stands there, staring blankly at her. Annabeth rolls her eyes at him. She’s going to have to take over.

“What’s taking you so long, Seaweed Brain? Just ask.” She teases, and Percy’s heart comes to a full stop. There’s a glint in her eye. He can’t help but burst into laughter, throwing his head back as Annabeth watches with an amused smile.

“You never make it easy for me, do you?” He echoes the words she said to him on his sixteenth birthday.

“Never,” she says softly. Finally, finally, Percy starts talking.

“Annabeth, at twelve, I didn’t think I knew what falling in love really meant. I didn’t think that love would be a priority as a half-blood, but meeting you showed me exactly what it meant. You opened up this entirely new world to me and showed me love through friendship, through trust, through being there for each other no matter what. I’ve fallen in love with you so quickly, so dangerously, that for a time I didn’t think I could take it.” Her eyes were slowly filling with tears, attention solely on the boy before her.

“This life, our life—it’s reckless, it’s chaotic. Every day is a bigger challenge than the one before. But it’s ours. I know that as long as we’re together, we can do anything. You and me together is the only thing that makes sense when nothing else does. I promised never to let you go, and I intend on keeping that promise as long as I live. You are my best friend, the girl I’d want by my side in every battle, the girl I’ve fallen in love with over and over and over again, and I want to go on so many more adventures with you. In this life, Annabeth Chase, you are my order in the chaos.”

He renders her speechless, tears streaming down her face. Percy doesn’t take his eyes away from her as he gets down on one knee and digs in his pocket for a clam-shaped enamel box laden with jewels. Relieved he didn’t drop it anywhere, he holds it open to a crying Annabeth, revealing a beautiful silver ring with a braided band and a single sparkling diamond resting on a blue velvet cushion.

“So, Wise Girl,” he says slowly. “Will you marry me?”

Annabeth lets out a sob. “Yes,” she nods furiously. “Yes, yes, yes!”

“Really?” He jumps to his feet, heart thundering in his chest. He almost couldn’t believe it. She said yes. He didn’t know whether to freeze for an ungodly amount of time or to start running around the beach in elation. However, instead, with his trembling hands, he places the ring onto on her finger. A perfect fit.

When he looks back up, she’s there. Brilliant. Golden. Beautiful. She kisses him, and the world melts away into nothingness. All that’s left are Percy, Annabeth, and the promise of a new day. Just the way it should be.

“Did he tell you about this?” Poseidon asks. He chuckles at the scene before him.

“As a matter of fact, he has mentioned it in several mumbled prayers.” Athena watches as her daughter wraps Percy in a bone-crushing hug. Standing side by side atop a cliff, Poseidon catches the war goddess break into a small, affectionate smile. “The boy would know better than to tell you and not me.”

“Funny that you speak of ‘telling’ instead of ‘asking for your permission’,” he jokes, knowing Athena was protective of her children, especially when they were involved with a child of his. Her eyes flash dangerously as she glances at him, but the ghost of a smile on her face remains.

“You and I are both aware that no forces, godly or otherwise, would dare hinder those two from being together.”

“My,” he strokes his beard. “You really are the wisest of us all.” She rolls her eyes and disappears in a flash of light, choosing to ignore his immature little jabs.

Poseidon sighs in content, sending a wave towards the two locked in an embrace and knocking them off their feet. He grins as they topple onto the sand, laughing all the while. Immortality has given him his fair share of cynicism and a disdain for the temporal, but he couldn’t help but be happy for his son. Forever is a strong word, but he knows that they’ll last. Their love was stronger than fate itself.

He taps his trident on the ground twice and disappears before they spot him, leaving behind a swirl of sand and the salty scent of the sea.

[cbspams]

District 4: Fishing

The kids from One and Two are pretty alright, all things considered. They have way more personality than the previous years at least. One was a little intimidating at first, with his aloof model smoulder but then, he’s a lot prettier when he’s giggling over a dumb joke. Or at least Chan thinks he is.

Technically the Career pack doesn’t always include Four. It’s kind of like an on again, off again relationship with an ex. Only the good tributes get in, the useful ones. Hence why Chan is sitting with One and Two while his partner is squirreled away at some table by herself. But there’s no sympathy to be had when Chan can see the ruthlessness in Hyunjin and Jeongin’s eyes. (But even then, Chan just knows he’s just going to check up on his partner later in the comfort of their apartment. Partner is a strange concept nowadays. Chan wonders when it will stop existing, when it will only be me and them. Kai says it happens when you least expect it. So Chan decides to never expect it.)

Lunch ends uneventfully. The Careers stick together in the afternoon, whistling and howling at each other, hyping each other up to the point that the other tributes might as well be candle flickers to their wildfire. The pack takes it easy but they’re never sloppy. Even when Jeongin complains, throws an ax without looking, he still hits dead center. It sends a shiver down Chan’s back. Not that he’ll let anyone know that.

Outside of the Careers, there’s a few others Chan’s interested in. The kid from Three is smart, eyes bright despite his stoic face. Five and Eight looks like twin stars, suns in different ways. They’ll probably soak up sponsors like nothing, with mega watt smiles and adorable freckles. Seven’s smart. Despite spending most of his time at the camouflage station and doing light cosmetic work, Chan notices how he studies every other tribute. Notices the shrewd pull of his lips into the tiniest frown. And finally the kid from Ten. The one who had slammed into the tension head first at lunch. He’s wicked sharp, testing the weight of knives before he slashes. His eyes burn like superheated iron. Chan keeps an eye on him especially, because an untamed beast is as much of a threat as anything else the Gamemakers can cook up.

And yet. All those other tributes? They’ll never amount to the same threat as the Careers. Not even the kid from Ten. All the other tributes are smaller, thinner, not quite as agile or flexible or any other adjective Chan can even think of. They’re all trained to survive, true, but they’re not trained to kill. Not like the Careers. No one is ever trained quite like the Careers. It’s only day one so Chan hasn’t gotten much information out of them but he knows the stories. And survival too can only bring you so far when you’re being hunted. In the end, only a pinch of victors made it through on survival alone. And no one has made it without a kill on their hands.

In Four, tributes aren’t specifically trained to survive or to kill. There’s nothing like the Center in Two or the Marble in One. There’s no struggle for food or drinkable water in Four. But Four tributes are taught everything they need to know in their day to day life. How to best hunt from a disadvantage. How to dive deep and dig in their claws and never let go of even the slipperiest of prey. And, as the gods no one believes in would have it, Chan was blessed from the start. He might not be tall but he’s strong. His shoulders are broad, his arms thick, his hands big. He was made to spear and row and lift. He’s strong enough, physically. It doesn’t hurt to be strong, physically.

In the end, though, that won’t matter. That’s not what will keep him alive, it never is.

No, what’s going to keep him alive are his easygoing charms, the ones that get people to open up to him. The soft smile he has when he’s congratulating Hyunjin on a complex knot (completed in record time). The light pat on Jeongin’s shoulder when he flips the trainer for the umpteenth time. He’s going to play the crowd, make them all see him as a sweetheart, and lower defenses until he can go in and gut them like a fish. It’s flawless, his mentor murmured in his ear at the beginning of the day. Get in close, take them down from the inside out. Kai is bold and fearless like that. Chan’s lucky they’re matched together. He believes Kai when he says they’re going back home when it’s all over. Back to the sea that washes everything away, blood and sins alike.

——————

The Gamemakers start filing in midway through day two of training, just before lunch. The Careers pretend not to notice, but of course they do. Everything starts to become more subtle, less outright intimidating and more intricately techniqued. The other tributes who’ve never trained wouldn’t even be able to tell the differences. Chan himself misses a few of the changes, not well versed enough in the different stations, but he grits his teeth and pays attention because he’ll be damned if he misses something that’ll kill him.

He knew this before coming in but One is good at mind games. Hyunjin’s cheerful disposition from before slips into something that’s not quite real but not quite fake. A sort of wide eyed in between. No one would believe he’s innocent, not with the way One champions and tributes have behaved in the past. But he does a damn good job pulling the look, a dreamy smile on his face, a sweet lilt to his words. He doesn’t quite look like someone who can kill and Chan shores up his defenses tighter for it.

Two takes the opposite approach, or it seems like that on the surface. Jeongin’s already scrappy, different from the usual Two champions. So he seems to overcompensate, becoming more flashy. The trainer who spars with him gets carted away with a snapped arm. The arrows split each other until the target looks more like some oddly feathered creature. The ax’s hit harder and he purposely picks out poison to harvest. But even still, Chan knows there’s more. He hasn’t touched any kind of small tool. Chan knows the game he’s playing. The crowd always loved a small kid with the biggest, unwieldy weapon after all. The Gamemakers do too.

The private sessions come and go. There’s no anxiety in the first few rows of seats, instead only an overabundance of confidence. But if Chan twists back, he can see and feel fear rolling off the tributes in waves. Of course the worst is twelve, cowering. Do they even have a mentor? Maybe, maybe not. They said that Twelve’s only champion was going to kick the bucket sooner instead of later. Eleven’s got brave faces on. Ten A looks almost bored though, Chan notes with interest. Five and Eight... Excited? Seven calculating. Three he couldn’t see but his posture, despite being ramrod straight, betrayed some kind of languid relaxation. So Chan had been right, to keep an eye out on them. Maybe he’ll scout them more, when he has time. But for now, he stands as his name is called and walks into the vast empty room. Half the Gamemakers don’t look at him. He’ll make them see. He’ll turn all their attention to him and make them see him as he is, Bang Chan, a victor. One Gamemaker waves a hand idly, sipping on a glass of what is surely champagne.

“You may begin.”

——————

Profile

Name: Bang Chan

Age: 18

District: 4

Specialty: Spears and chokeholds

[kewltie]

Bitesize #2

One.

They drag him forward and throw him to the floor. Hands clenched, he stares up at the boy he'd once knew and loved.

"Yield," Katsuki demands.

He’d come for Izuku's father, his crown and land, and all he has left now is this seed of enmity. "I yield," he lies. The first of many to come.

Two.

Anxiety grips him in a forceful chokehold as thousands pair of eyes in the crowd skewer him with their discontent. A warmth presence presses against his back and a low familiar tone says, "Fuck them, just sing."

Katsuki's words loosen the knot around his throat and he breathes.

Three.

"So will you?" he asks hopefully.

Katsuki stares at the ring box on the table. "Yea, I'll do it." The word leaves him unbidden. Empty.

Izuku's face lights up and he smiles, sweet and earnest. It's as devastating as his next words: "Thank you for accepting the best man title!"

Four.

"Just last year, your pro-hero career was in the gutter but you managed to reverse its course, so the question on everyone's tongue now is: what change?"

Katsuki glowers, looking past the interviewer and camera set to right at him. "Deku," he says, holding Izuku's steady gaze.

Five.

"—and I kicked Aya's butt in the rankings again!" She grins.

Daddy sighs deeply. "Enough. Say your goodbye."

Kasumi looks up and glares at him. "Fine." She turns back to Papa — 'Bakugou Izuku, Beloved Spouse and Devoted Papa' — engraved on the headstone. "See you next week!"

Six.

"H-hi," Izuku squeaks out breathlessly. "Nice catch."

Ground Zero's eyes narrow and his grip on Izuku tighten as they sail through the air. "I should have let you fall, you reckless fool," he growls menacingly.

"But you didn't," Izuku says, tucking a smile between his lips.

Seven.

Izuku stares up at Katsuki's future; the weathered face of a tired, old man from another life and time. "You're bleeding."

"Not mine," he say gruffly, and touches Izuku's cheek with a heartbreaking tenderness. "I won't let anyone hurt you." It's a promise and a threat in one.

Eight.

Katsuki places Izuku's crown on his head and steps back in a parody of a bow. "The world's stage awaits you, princess," he mocks with a familiarity of their childhood. "Don't fuck it up."

"And if I do?" Izuku asks, lips twitching.

"Then I'll fix it," he declares easily enough.

Nine.

As Izuku reaches for the buttons of Katsuki's suit jacket, a hand clenches down on him. He stops and looks up to meet Katsuki's glare. "K—" he pauses, then hastily corrects himself, "Master Katsuki?"

"Don't fucking call me that," he snaps, voice caught between anger and longing.

Ten.

Lips bruised and breathless, Izuku begs, "Again." Not fair, he thinks, for someone who'd sworn himself to God his contractor is a sinfully good kisser.

As if reading his mind, Katsuki smirks. "Needy little fuck, aren't ya?" he growls before pulling Izuku up against his cassock.

Eleven.

"You fucking useless, piece of overgrown cotton ball," Katsuki snarls down at the tiny green bunny held carefully in his palms. "This can only happen to you!"

Izuku's floppy ears twitch and he stares up at him with soulful, wide eyes that make Katsuki swear even harder. Fuck.

Twelve.

The arena roars as Katsuki's opponent lies lifeless at his feet.

"One more match and he'll be free," Momo says. "But is it his freedom he's fighting hard for or is it some other prize he's eyeing? What do you think, my prince?"

Izuku doesn't answer, hands clenching in his lap.

Thirteen.

"S-sorry, this is my first time. I don't know what I'm doing, um," Izuku says meekly. "Should I, uh, get on my knees and beg for my life?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," the pirate growls, throwing him a disgusted look. "Just stay still before I reconsider this hostage situation."

Fourteen.

Izuku is yank awake from a dream full of imaginary monsters. He shifts uneasily, and then a hand slips around his waist. To his left is Katsuki's sleeping face, then, "Sleep," Shouto mumbles in his other ear, and so he does in the arms of the very real monsters he keep by his side.

Fifteen.

Red lips and kohl eyes drawn in a startling portrait of beauty. This sublime creature is alien to him, but Izuku picks up the skirt of his kimono and clumsily rushes forward. "K-Kacchan!" he says as intoxicating sweet as the boy in Katsuki's memories, and that's even more deadly.

Sixteen.

Katsuki tugs on the makeshift handkerchief dress over Izuku's tiny head as he valiantly struggles to fight him off. "Stop being a little bitch," he snaps, impatient.

"You made me a dress," Izuku whines.

"You're literally the size of my hand right now, so shut the fuck up."

Seventeen.

"Going cry?" He sneers. "Nobody is gonna come for you."

Izuku raises his throbbing head. "Did you make sure they're really dead?" A smile full of bite creeps across his face. "Because as long as there's a single breath in them, Kacchan and Shouto won't stop till they find me."

Eighteen.

"What the fuck is this?" he demands, narrowing his eyes.

Katsuki is a great man and an even better hero, but ten years is a long time to sleep next to an empty space and to remain at the side of a man who refuses to give Izuku his heart.

Izuku smiles thinly. "Divorce papers."

Nineteen.

"Your reward for the 300th wins at the coliseum, Bakugou. Use him well," the man says, shoving the courtesan into the cell before leaving them alone.

Katsuki glares at the cloaked figure as hands pull down the hood to reveal familiar green eyes hidden beneath it. "Kacchan."

Twenty.

"Stop crying already," he scolds. "You're going to ruin your suit before the wedding."

"But I'm so happy," Izuku sobs.

A knock at the door. "Izuku?"

"Shouto!" He lights up, and in that moment Katsuki wants tell him no, don't go, don't marry him, but his lips refuse to budge.

[stefciastark]

Metal Arm ~ Webpril Day 7

A/N: Here is Part 1 of what will be a 2 part mini-story. Doombots threaten Manhattan, but with a significantly reduced team and some bad luck, things don't go so smoothly for Peter. It only briefly touches on the 'metal arm' prompt, but this is also inspired by a request from Hannah on AO3 to write a bit of 'post-battle injured Peter hides his injury and won't admit anything is wrong.' I'm really excited to write Part 2 tomorrow, had a lot of fun writing this first part!

~Read on AO3

~Read on FFN

Peter had never really been strangled, yet today it had happened not twice, not thrice, but it was bordering on his fourth time being on the receiving end of a chokehold. The Doombot cutting off his air circulation ended up being at the wrong place at the wrong time however, as three out of its four limbs were obliterated and sent to mecha-heaven. All except the one heavily bicep-ed metal arm that clung to his throat like shit to a shovel.

“Get. OFF,” he gritted through his teeth, tearing the appendage off of his throat and tossing what was now just a torso, head and forelimb onto the growing pile of Doom scrap metal.

He had to take a breather for a moment and remind himself that these were robots and not real people. Despite how convinced their A.Is were that they were in fact the real Doctor Doom, their suicide missions were nothing more than a result of malevolent - albeit skilled - programming.

“You good, kid?” The Ironman suit hovered a few feet away from Peter, appearing to dance slightly in the air as Peter’s brain started playing ‘catchup’ with oxygen. He felt himself nodding in response, muting his comms momentarily so that what was present of the Avengers wouldn’t hear his breathing; he was pretty sure the exhaust pipe on the old Vauxhall Cavalier his uncle used to own sounded healthier.

The team was small today; Thor was offworld, Bruce didn’t feel like having another near miss after almost levelling another city during an incident the week prior near Seattle, and Clint was - as Tony put it - too busy ‘playing house’ in the country. That left Tony, Peter, and Natasha Romanoff on the mission. Peter was unsure whether to call her Nat, Romanoff, or use her Black Widow alias, and instead anxiously settled for using none of the above and simply avoided using any moniker to address her whatsoever. It had worked out for him well so far.

While it was by no means a three person job, they would have to make do, and so far, they were making...something happen. The showdown had initially begun in Hell’s Kitchen and was progressively and concerningly migrating towards the Lower East Side. The closer the action got to the east side of Manhattan, the closer it got to Brooklyn, and the closer it got to Brooklyn, the more there was a chance of the threat moving to Queens, and Peter wanted to keep the rough and tumble away from his neck of the woods if he could. So far they had left in their wake twelve office buildings turned to rubble, eleven burst sewer pipes, and at least ten separate fires that he was pretty sure were still burning. All they needed now were nine civilian casualties and they were almost halfway to rewriting ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’.

Tony didn’t have time to follow up with Peter’s uncharacteristic lack of a verbal response as two Doombots that had split from the herd attached themselves to the red and gold armour, their green capes combining with the suit to make a metallic caricature of a Christmas tree. Tony had a whole three seconds of warning before their self-destruct protocols were activated, and everything within a 300-foot radius erupted in a shower of rubble, flames, and smoke.

The suit - for the most part - diminished Tony’s impact with the building adjacent to the Tenement Museum. Peter didn’t quite have the luxury of inches-thick armour, and as he sailed diagonally across Delancey St through the glass window of Double Chicken Please, he made a personal vow to make them his new go-to fried chicken joint as a form of apology.

“Stark, was that you?” Nat (Peter decided that was the name he felt most comfortable with) queried over the comms, the distant sound of shots being fired and the purring motorcycle beneath her leaking into the background.

A stream of expletives from the man in question poured in through his suit’s speakers. Peter found it funny that if it were anyone but Tony in any other situation other than their current predicament, the frankly obscene amounts of swearing would be concerning.

“How many left on your end, Rushman?” There was a groan and the uncomfortably familiar sound of shifting rubble. “I think we’ve just about wrapped up here.”

Peter had been working on gently extricating himself from where he lay in a supine position behind the bar, struggling to hold onto consciousness through a haze of pain. The wall between Double Chicken Please and Subway had collapsed, half of it inconsiderately laying across his chest. He noted wryly that he didn’t expect himself to be battling unconsciousness behind a bar until he was at least twenty-one, yet here he was, five years too early.

A large bang went off from what sounded like only a block away, which was then followed by a moment of complete and utter stillness.

“I think our last guests just left the party,” offered as an explanation from Nat, finally breaking the silence.

“Don’t you hate it when you have company and they don’t even offer to help clean up? I am sickened by the youth of today.” Tony had managed to disentangle himself from what could now barely be called a building. The engineer was able to identify the date of manufacture on the most recent wave of Doombots - they were only three months old. “Speaking of, Spiderling, let’s get this cleaned up. I have a date with takeaway and my favourite sweatpants waiting for me at home.”

“Try not to wreck any more buildings while I’m gone, boys,” Nat said, immediately beginning her commute to the Avengers facility.

Natasha had become the face of the Avengers during the inevitable PR followups that seemed to accompany any and every brush with threat since the Chitauri attack on New York. She was level-headed and presented well, and so far had the least amount of tallies on the “PR Fuck-ups” chart that hung in the communal kitchen in place of a calendar. It was the team’s personal inside joke that S.H.I.E.L.D didn’t approve of, which of course made them double down their efforts if it meant ruffling Nick Fury’s feathers.

“Try not to wreck my public image, it’s what funds those luxury bath bombs you keep ordering,” Tony shot back, no venom in his teasing words.

Peter was otherwise occupied during his teammates’ little exchange. He had his arms arranged in an upside down tricep pushup position, palms pressing against the sizable concrete slab that occupied the space from his waist to his sternum. As he lifted the offending cement off of him, he very nearly dropped it back down as the air rushed out of his lungs. Something in his chest shifted sickeningly, followed by a stabbing pain that burned everything from his ribs to his airways. Failure never an option, he persevered, relieved when the hunk of wall finally slid gracelessly down the pile of debris.

He thought having a literal chunk of concrete off his chest would feel better.

“Pete?” His name was said with such a mixture of impatience, exhaustion, and concern that Peter found his nerves standing on red alert. This would be the first hour of many on cleanup duties

Taking a wavering breath, afraid to breathe too deeply, he steadied his voice and activated his comms. “Sure thing Mr Stark, on my way!”

Peter winced; he definitely overdid it on the enthusiasm. With every step he took his discomfort grew until the pain from his chest radiated down to his hips and he had to stop himself from hunching over and limping his way back to the Delancey St intersection. There were only two of them now, a whole lot of city to tidy up, and not a whole lot of time to spend fussing over what was probably just some deep tissue bruising. Plus, this was his first call to action since July, and it was now approaching the end of November.

Bracing himself for the amount of suckthe next few hours would entail, he gritted his teeth against the throbbing that rolled like waves from deep within his chest, and prepared to put on his best Oscar-worthy performance he’d titled: “I’m Fine - A Teenager’s Pledge”.

There was no way he was going to let Tony down.

A/N: There we have it! Things didn't go so smoothly for Peter, and I know he has superior healing and all but this poor boy needs some more safety built into his suit. Tomorrow will be the Part 2 fill for this mini-story, so check back in for the concluding part :) Thank you for all your continued support, kudos, and comments. Please feel free to send any fic requests into my Asks! Sending hugs to you all <3

[razieltwelve]

Angry Bird (Final Rose)

Once upon a time, Jaune had been chased by a goose. He had only been a lad of seven, so he had naturally run to his parents for protection from the angry bird. At the age of twelve, he’d gone one better and gotten attacked by a swan, Larger, angrier, and considerably more ferocious than the goose, he’d only managed to escape after diving through the window of his house and somehow getting it shut before the swan could follow him indoors.

Now, at the age of seventeen, Jaune had finally encountered something more terrifying that the swan.

It was a chocobo. A really, really, really pissed off chocobo.

Apparently, his name was Mangler, and the name couldn’t have been more fitting.

“Help!” Jaune wailed as the red-and-black behemoth chased him around the pen. “Pyrrha! Help!”

The redhead took one look at the twelve-feet-tall abomination chasing her almost boyfriend and did what any teenager in love would have done. She valiantly put herself between Jaune and the chocobo.

She might as well have been a piñata.

With a screech that could be heard for miles around, the chocobo simply kicked Pyrrha out of the way. She just barely managed to get her shield up in time, but the raw power behind the attack hurled her out of the pen and through the wall of a nearby shed, out the other side, and then into a tree.

Jaune gaped in horrified disbelief. Pyrrha was a badass. Everyone knew that. And the chocobo had just kicked her out of the way like she was some random pebble on the road. He was so, so dead.

Or maybe not.

“NORA!” The other redhead on Team JNPR leapt into the pen, hammer raised high above her head, her legendary war cry on her lips.

And she promptly met the same fate as Pyrrha. In fact, Mangler’s aim was extraordinarily good. She ended up imbedded in the tree only a half a foot to the right from Pyrrha.

It was at this point that Ren, brave, brave Ren, had to make a decision. Did he leap into the pen to save his friend and team leader? Or did he yell advice from the sidelines in a bid to avoid sharing the fate of his two other teammates.

He chose the latter.

“Just keep dodging,” Ren shouted. “He’ll get tired eventually.”

Fact #1: Chocobos can run at full speed for hours without rest. Angry chocobos have also been known to pursue their quarry for days without eating or sleeping.

Fact #2: An adult chocobo is way, way faster than a teenage Jaune.

“That’s it,” Ren continued to yell encouragement. “I think he’s getting tired.”

Jaune was in no position to reply. Mangler had finally managed to corner him and was doing his best to peck him to death. Hunched in a corner of the pen and holding his shield up for dear life, Jaune couldn’t help but feel that Ren was only saying that to avoid jumping into the pen.

“Can you just get in here and help me?” Jaune wailed. “I don’t think he’ll get tired before he kills me.”

“He’s definitely getting tired,” Ren replied. “Just hold on a bit longer while I go get help.”

“Wait!” Jaune cried. “Don’t leave me!”

X    X     X

Sazh tilted his head to one side. Now, he knew Mangler was a jerk. The gigantic chocobo had been brought to the ranch specifically because of his jerkiness. His previous owners just hadn’t been able to deal with him. But Sazh was an old hand when it came to handling chocobos. He’d handled plenty of angry ones over the years, and he’d been able to handle Mangler just fine. It helped, of course, that he had Chirpy with him, and there wasn’t a chocobo in the world that could beat Chirpy in a fight. Still, Sazh had been forced to put Mangler in a chokehold twice before the chocobo had finally acknowledged Sazh as the boss around the ranch.

Jerkiness aside, Jaune must have really done something to get Mangler mad. Most of the time, he’d just kick someone around a little and then toss them out of the pen, but this was the first Sazh had seen him really go after someone. Oh well. He’d best get in there before Jaune got killed.

“That’s about enough.” Sazh leapt over the fence and clapped his hands together. Mangler rounded on him immediately, and the chocobo postured, drawing himself up to his full height and puffing his feather out in a threat display that made him seem even larger. “You know well and good that you’re not supposed to act like that.” Sazh kept his eyes on Mangler, but his next words were for Jaune. “Get out of here, Jaune.”

The blond groaned and dragged himself out of the pen.

“All right then.” Sazh nodded at Mangler. “Are you going to calm down, or are we going to do this the hard way?”

The chocobo’s eyes narrowed, and then Mangler lunged.

X    X     X

“You have got to teach me how to wrestle chocobos like that,” Nora said.

Sazh chuckled and patted Mangler on the head. The gigantic bird scowled. “Maybe I will, but I’d suggest starting with someone a little smaller than my friend here.” He chuckled as Mangler made chuffing sound. “Yeah, he’s a sore loser, all right, but he’s not a bad sort, not really.”

“He did try to murder Jaune,” Pyrrha pointed out.

“Eh, I’m not sure he was really trying to kill him, maybe just mangle him a bit. If he wanted him dead, he would have just wrenched that shield of his out of the way and trampled him. I’ve seen that happen in the wild, and the guy getting trampled wasn't a rookie either. He was a huntsman with a decade of experience.”

“Why did he attack Jaune like that?” Ren asked.

“I don’t know. I figure Jaune might remind him of somebody.” Sazh ran his hands through the feather along Mangler’s neck. “A lot of black-and-red chocobos are short-tempered. It’s kind of like how most yellow chocobos are as friendly as can be. But they don’t get vicious like Mangler can be on their own. No, something has to have gone wrong for them to get mean. You might not believe it, but he’s a lot better now than he was when I first got him.”

“Is that so?” Pyrrha asked.

“Yeah. I had to really go after him the first few weeks. He’d fight anyone and anything that got near him. Nowadays, he usually doesn’t start anything too serious. Oh, he might push and shove, but for the most part, there’s no meanness in it, not like before.” Sazh shrugged. “The owners I got him from weren’t the first ones who had him, and they weren’t cruel as far as I could tell. He must have had owners before that, ones who weren’t so nice, or maybe he was a wild chocobo who got caught by poachers and mistreated. It happens more often than you’d think. Either way, he’s pretty happy here even if he’ll hardly let anyone ride him.”

“Who does ride him?” Nora asked.

“He doesn’t mind it too much if it’s me, and he’ll let my son and wife ride on him too if he’s in a good mood. But, really, the one he gets along the best with is Lightning.”

“Professor Farron?” Jaune stared. “Really?”

“Yeah. The first time, they met, Mangler just went right at her. She just uppercutted him and put him in a headlock, told him he’d get a dozen times worse if he kept acting up.” Sazh grinned. “He took a liking to her then and there, I think, and he won’t complain if she’s the one riding him. It helps that usually Lightning only takes him out if she’s in this area on a mission. Mangler loves to fight, and anything tough enough for Lightning to be sent after it is going to give him a heck of a fight.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Jaune laughed. “Well, I’m just glad to be in one piece. Thanks for bailing me out.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Sazh patted Jaune on the shoulder. “But next time, if you’re going to climb into one of the pens, maybe try that one over there.”

Jaune looked over. “But that’s the one with all the yellow chocobos in it.”

“Yep. Like I said, they’re friendly as can be. Start with them and work your way up.”

X    X     X

Author’s Notes

Several chocobos have worn the name of Mangler, this one might be the biggest of the bunch. He is large enough that he is noticeably bigger than even a fully grown Fury who his himself huge. Yeah. Jaune didn’t have much of a chance here. People also forget that Sazh was one of the premier huntsmen of his generation. He just doesn’t do that sort of thing as much anymore, but he keeps himself in shape.

If you’re interested in my thoughts on writing and other topics, you can find those here.

I also write original fiction, which you can find on Amazon here.

[firebirdsdaughter]

…

… The attitude that Horobi is completely personally responsible for having his mind essentially held in a brainwashing chokehold for at least twelve years, esp bc he’s an ai that had no concept of free will to begin w/, and therefore not being able to ‘choose’ to stop being hacked by the Ark (notably, did we all forget G-Pen when he couldn’t hear Zea? And how the only reason that he snapped out of it was that people reached out to him? Why does that get to apply to all other HumaGear but not Horobi? And while I have opinions about Zea, isn’t it reasonable for even people who don’t to guess that the Ark would be even more intense about the mind control???) so it’s ‘ha ha’ funny that he only started showing singularity after Jin decided to sacrifice him really fucking upsets me.

We have never seen any HumaGear just up and be like ‘I’m not going to be connected to a satellite today’ w/ either satellite. Esp not the Ark. In fact, we’ve never seen anyone disconnect from the Ark w/out dying first. And on top of that, Horobi has been under her exclusive control for twelve years. That’s not something that even a human who naturally has the capacity of free will can break out of easily. It’s like a goddamned drug addiction except twenty times worse.

It’s not some ‘failing’ of his, it’s not him ‘not doing enough/doing it too late,’ bc he literally couldn’t. Him finally reacting in ep 35 was the result of people actually reaching out to him for the first time, another HumaGear prodding him about it.

And you know what grates me even more? Jin literally bought Horobi time to reconnect to the Ark. Long before he announced he was going to plan to sacrifice Horobi or whatever. Jin had reached singularity, had the bloody Burning Falcon Key. Horobi was half repaired and unable to transform. Jin could very easily have stopped him from reconnecting, but he choose to allow Horobi to reconnect. Not only did he buy him time to reconnect to the Ark, he walked him there, and then he did it and then just left him there. How the fuck is that completely Horobi’s fault? How is it ‘funny’ or ‘cool’ or ‘scathing’ for him to finally be waking up only after Jin decided to betray him??? And for that matter, Jin letting Horobi reconnect to the Ark way back then could mean that Jin decided to do that way back then, in which case Jin didn’t even give him a bloody chance. Of fucking course he’s not going to be able to snap out of it after you just reconnected him and didn’t even try to dissuade him! Like, this is really glaring in comparison to G-Pen and Izu (does no one else remember the time Izu rubbed Horobi’s defeat in Jin’s face and he stabbed her in the stomach???), where Jin was all ‘don’t reconnect to the satellite!’ but w/ Horobi, he fucking lets him reconnect, and now I swear to the gods, if they do make Jin be like ‘it’s bc he couldn’t leave the Ark’ I am going to a) hurl, and b) through something at the screen.

This is not Horobi ‘not trying enough’ or doing it ‘too late,’ this is Horobi’s situation getting ignored and abandoned by pretty much everyone (and Jin not even giving him a chance or even trying to help him, just abandoning him). ‘Breaking free of the Ark’ isn’t something you just ‘do’ unless you have some kind of precedent to base it on/some huge trigger, and even then it’s a hell of a ride (and again, no one has done it w/out dying). Jin was only connected for a few months, and he never showed any sign of breaking free of it. Naki only managed to falter bc they were only just reconnected. And Horobi has reacted on his own before, when Jin was in danger in the first place, the Ark just stepped in and told him it was her will.

Like where the fuck do people think it’s okay to blame Horobi, but not Naki or Raiden? Literally, the instant both of them got reconnected to the Ark, they started spouting its rhetoric too, w/out question. Additionally, they both started out disconnected, like Jin. Horobi has been under the Ark’s singular control from the start, he wasn’t disconnected from her until he died and was rebooted, and then he was isolated completely. Fuwa poked at it a bit, but twelve years isn’t going to be broken free of that easily.

This isn’t some ‘just comeuppance’ for him bc he ‘didn’t try hard enough/fast enough,’ this is the result of no one ever even trying to help him, and being treated like a tool by pretty much everyone. Acting like this is ‘what Horobi deserves’ or ‘all his own fault for being weak’ really upsets and pisses me off.

[kiingdcmscome]

Promises - Part One

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim to own any canon characters in this fanfiction, I do claim ownership of the original characters featured and mentioned in this work. This is an au / alternate timeline fanfiction for the TNT drama Animal Kingdom and will feature characters and events from that show. ( This is a rewrite of promises part one, which i posted a few months ago. I went back and reread it, and absolutely hated it, so here we go, hopefully this is better ).  (gifs and photos are not mine unless stated otherwise. this gif belongs to the lovely @demctozdemir​ and can be found here ).

Summary: Marley Dossier is lost. Her mother has just been arrested, her dead beat father won't pick up the phone, and her grandmother wants nothing to do with her. Unsure of what else to do, she tracks down her childhood friend, J Cody. Little does she know, she's going right back into the world her mother fought so hard to keep her from, and the world that destroyed her family before it even started. | This fanfiction takes place six months after the death of nineteen year old J Cody's mother Julia. J and his best friend Marley have been reunited, though their reunion might bring more heartache than either can handle.

Content Warning: Mentions of Absentee parents, drug abuse, jail/prison, homelessness. | My main character Marley is in a wheelchair, please keep that in mind. 

Word Count: 1.5k

       The hot California sun beat down on me and my muscles throbbed in protest. He better fucking live here. The house was nice, which made me think I had the wrong place. Those suspicions were confirmed as I approached the front door. An older woman, probably in her sixties, came out the front door before I even had a chance to knock. Dressed in those obnoxious printed yoga pants with short blonde hair and oversized sunglasses she reminded me of one of those "cool" grandma's you saw on tv.

       "Can I help you?" She looked me over. Starting at my slightly worn sneakers to my braided hair. She barely stopped to take in the wheelchair, which honestly surprised me.

       "I'm sorry, I think I have the wrong place." Turning away, I didn't get far before a familiar voice brought my attention back.

       "Marley?" I turned to see him, a smile erupted over my face. It was so good to see him, especially since I hadn't seen a familiar (nevermind friendly) face in over a week.

       "Hey J..." He didn't look half as happy to see me as I was to see him.

       "What are you doing here?" His question confirmed it. He didn't want me here, and I couldn't help the confusion and hurt that worked its way into my chest.

       "Well, you stopped visiting, so I thought I'd come out here, see if you were still alive." I didn't want to tell him the real reason, not yet.

       "Uh, Smurf...This is Marley, she and I grew up together." He introduced me to the older woman, who'd taken a step closer to me. She reached out her hand, and I offered mine. She didn't shake it, instead, she just gave it a gentle squeeze and gave me a smile.

       "He's being modest. Our moms actually used to do smack together."

       "Marley, this is my grandmother. Smurf." Shit, I just insulted this woman's dead daughter. Instead of appearing insulted, she just nodded, her smile growing slightly before letting go of my hand.

       "You kids hungry? I'll go and make you two something to eat." Before either of us could answer, she disappeared into the house.

       "So did you really come all this way just to check on me?" He questioned once she was gone. I contemplated lying to him but realized there wasn't any use, he'd have seen right through it.

       "It's a long story, so I hope you've got time."

       "Credit card fraud? How did that even happen?" I'd just got done telling him all the gory details of my mom getting arrested and charged with credit card fraud. We were sitting in the backyard, his feet dangling in the pool. "And this all happened two months ago? Why didn't you call me?"

       "I tried. Your number was disconnected or something." I leaned back in my chair, looking him over for a moment. "She was dating this guy Jimmy, you know, the manager at the restaurant. He's a real piece of shit. He was running some fraud scheme and she got caught up in it." I wasn't defending my mom. She'd been stupid, but if Jimmy hadn't dragged her into his shit she'd have never been arrested. "Her lawyer's advising she take a plea deal."

       "And how much time is she looking at?" His question had an answer I didn't want to think about.

       "Five years. Minimum." I sighed, leaning forward. "I can't believe this shit. The relapse, now this."

       "Relapse?"

       "Oh. I didn't tell you about that." I took a deep breath, staring down at my hands. "Yeah, about five months back, less than a month after your mom died...I got a call from the hospital. She relapsed. Clean eight years and then that shit."

       "Why didn't you call me?"

       "Cause your mom just ODed and died. You had enough stuff to deal with." I finally glanced up at him. "Besides, we weren't really talking."

       "Where are you staying?" He asked, changing the subject, which I was grateful for.

       "I was staying with Claudia. But she kicked me out after realizing I wasn't going to be able to pay rent." Claudia, my grandmother (if one can even call her that) hadn't wanted me there in the first place. "Rita let me stay at her place, but her grandkids needed the room cause her daughter got evicted. I tried contacting Charlie-" My dead beat dad. "But he didn't even bother picking up the phone. So, this past week I've been at that shelter over on Granger."

       "Shelter?" He stared at me for a moment. I could almost see the gears in his brain working to solve my problems, something he'd done since we were kids. "What about your uncle Eddie?"

       "Eddie's in New Mexico or something. I haven't heard from him in weeks. But don't worry, I'll figure it out." I take his hand in mine, glancing down at his knuckles. Bruised, which wasn't anything new. "You can't fix all my problems J, and I not here because I need you to. I'm here because I've missed you, and I needed a familiar face."

       He didn't get a chance to answer before Smurf popped her head out the sliding glass door beside us. "You kids come inside, I've got lunch on the table."

       The house was nice. Way nicer than anywhere I've ever lived. Nicer than anywhere J's ever lived too. For as long as I could remember, J's lived in the shitty apartment above the one me and my mom lived in.

       "Thanks for the food, Mrs. Cody." I leaned back in my chair, popping the last potato chip on my plate into my mouth. I couldn't help but stare at the place. The kitchen and living room itself was almost as big as my apartment.

       "Call me Smurf." She sat down at the table beside me, and I gave her a smile. "And you're welcome." I glanced over at J, who seemed to be watching us closely. I furrowed my brow, and he just shook his head.

       "So, how long have you two know each other."

       "Almost twelve years." It was so weird to say out loud. "Me and my mom lived in the apartment below him and Julia."

       "And how long have you two been dating?"

       "We're not." J and I spoke in unison. He looked to each other, a small smile forming on both of our faces.

       "We're friends. Best friends." Thankfully, someone opened the sliding door, breaking the awkwardness.

       "You fucking asshole." I glanced behind me. Holy shit. The person I should have been thanking for breaking the awkward silence was...hot...And covered in bright orange and blue paint splatters. Dark hair, tattoos, facial hair. I probably should have checked to make sure I wasn't drooling.

       "Oh Craig, did your brother shoot you with the paintball gun again?" I didn't have to know Smurf well to detect the mock concern in her voice.

       The door opened again, and another guy, blonde, definitely shorter than the other one, and also covered in paint came inside. "Don't even think about crying to Smurf. You shot me first."

       "Twice. You literally emptied yours into my back." He turned around, revealing large red welts on his back.

       "Don't start shit you can't finish." At that comment, the taller one, Craig, grabbed the blonde around the neck, putting him into a chokehold.

       "Boys, enough. Can't you see we have a guest." They stopped, both looking down at me. The blonde just stared a moment, but the brunette managed to muster a small smile.

       "Who's this?" He asked, staring at me long enough that I could feel my face heating. Jesus, stop acting like you've never seen an attractive guy before.

       "I'm Marley, J's friend." I offered a small smile to both him and the blonde, but neither of them smiled back. Instead, the blonde when to the fridge, and the brunette continued to stare at me.

       "Jesus Craig, you look like you've never seen anyone in a wheelchair before," J commented. He's done in it the past, especially when we were in high school. Anyone who looked my way wrong heard it.

       The blonde snickered, and the brunette turned away from me, also heading towards the fridge. "What're you making for dinner?" He grabbed a beer, tossing the cap into the sink.

       "We're having salmon. Marley, are you staying for dinner?"

       "Actually I have to get back." I looked at J, "Do you think you could give me a ride? I'm pretty sure my arms are going to be spaghetti tomorrow from the way over here."

       "Do you still live in J's old building?" Smurf asked.

       "Actually no." I wondered exactly how much more I wanted to say in front of a bunch of strangers. "I'm actually in-between places right now. There's this...Home, I'm staying at that has a curfew."

       "Like a shelter?" She questioned, and before I could answer, "Why don't you stay here until your new place is ready?"

       "That's probably not a good idea," J answered before I could.

       "Of course it is. You don't want your friend staying in a shelter, do you?"

       "I don't want to be a bother."

       "Of course not. You're staying, end of discussion. I'll get the couch set up for you. Do you have anything you need to go get?"

       "No. All of my stuff is with one of my mom's friends." She got up, leaving the kitchen.

       "What just happened?" I asked, watching after her.

       "Smurf." J didn't seem happy, "Smurf happened."