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timelesslords · 3 years

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it’s just around the corner darling (‘cause it lives in me)

8-year-old Annabeth is supposed to be sleeping. Instead, she overhears a few things she probably shouldn't.

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Aka I get very in my feels about pre-TLT found family and baby Annabeth

“She’s a little kid, of course she’s fuckin’ slow.”

Thalia’s words seemed to turn Annabeth’s blood to ice.

She was supposed to be sleeping, and she almost had been before Grover and Thalia had started yelling at each other outside the door of the safe house they’d just barely made it too.

Well, until Thalia had started yelling at Grover, because Grover didn’t really yell, and he definitely didn’t yell at Thalia, who he always seemed particularly nervous and twitchy around.

All thoughts of sleeping were immediately banished as panic seized Annabeth instead.

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She kept herself as still as possible, eyes shut like she was sleeping. She heard Luke shift, maybe looking over his shoulder.

Annabeth wished she could see his face. Did he think she was slow too? Did Grover want to leave her behind? Luke would never let that happen, Annabeth knew that much, but she couldn’t help the guilt from washing over her anyway. Luke had had to carry her the last few miles tonight because her legs just wouldn’t work anymore, not matter how hard she tried to push them. That had only happened a few times ever, Annabeth made sure of it, but she knew they were trying to go fast now, and they were walking and running more than they ever had before. Luke hadn’t been mad, just scooped her up when he saw her stumbling. But they had gone slower after that, and it was her fault.

Annabeth felt her eyes prickle with tears, and she blinked them into her makeshift pillow. Crying was stupid, and it wasnt going to make her faster. She willed herself to stop before anyone could hear— Luke thought she was asleep, and she didn’t want to admit that she wasn’t.

Thalia and Grover were talking again, but their voices were just barely too quiet for her to make out the words. Thalia sounded mad, and Grover was talking fast, like he was trying to get the words out before Thalia yelled at him again. Annabeth picked up Grover saying “please” a few times, and then Thalia saying “no” very forcefully. They argued for another minute, Annabeth’s heart beating in nervous anticipation for each word.

“Don’t bring it up again,” Thalia snapped, loud enough for Annabeth to hear, and then she heard the door of the safe house being pulled back, and soft footsteps walking inside.

“Is she asleep?” Thalia asked, her voice barely above a whisper. It was a sharp contrast from the tone she’d been using outside with Grover. Luke must have nodded, because Thalia sighed, and Annabeth heard her sitting down.

“What was that all about?” Luke asked. Annabeth could hear the forced casual tone he was putting on. If Annabeth had heard part of the conversation then Luke must have too, but he seemed like he wanted Thalia herself to tell him. Thalia made a displeased noise.

“Grover wants me and him to go ahead. Without you two,” she said, lowering her voice even more than she had when she first entered the safe house. Despite how quiet they were, Annabeth could still practically feel the distaste in her words. Annabeth could feel her heart speeding up uncomfortably. Was Thalia going to leave them behind? But she didn’t sound happy about it at all, and that calmed Annabeth’s nerves a little.

“What did you say?” Luke asked. The forced tone was gone, replaced by irritation, Annabeth thought. It was harder to tell without being able to see his expression, but Annabeth could imagine the frown on his face pretty well.

“I told him where he could stick his furry little hooves,” Thalia muttered bitterly. Annabeth didn’t quite understand what that meant, but judging from the way Luke snorted it was probably kind of rude.

“Bet he liked that,” Luke said, sarcastically.

“Whatever. He’s the reason we’re behind anyway,” Thalia said.

She sounded angry. Annabeth knew that shouldn’t make her feel good. Thalia being mad never tended to end well, regardless of where her anger was directed. But Annabeth couldn’t help but feel a rush of relief anyway. If Thalia was angry at Grover’s suggestion then that meant wasn’t leaving.

At the same time, her words filled Annabeth with dread. They were behind, and that was bad, and Annabeth was slowing them down. Even Thalia had said so.

“Why did he want to split up at all? Isn’t three fighters better than one?” Luke asked. The forced casualness was back, and Annabeth didn’t like it, but she couldn’t help but feel a little burst of pride that he’d counted her as one of the fighters in the group.

Thalia sighed again, and Annabeth heard a scraping noise. A second later the heat from the campfire flared.

“He said it would be faster,” Thalia said finally, reluctantly, “And that it might be safer for you two to not have me around.”

“That’s bullshit,” Luke said, angrily.

“I… I don’t know. Maybe.”

“What, you think you’re special?” Luke said, though now his tone was laced with amusement.

“Well apparently I smell extra tasty,” Thalia replied, only a hint sarcastic. Luke laughed, low and quiet.

“I don’t think it matters,” he said, “Annie had monsters crawling all over her all by herself.”

Annabeth had to actively repress a shudder at the thought. She couldn’t move, couldn’t let them figure out she was awake— they would stop talking about adult things and she would miss it.

“That’s true,” Thalia said, though she didn’t sound entirely convinced.

“You’re not thinking about it, are you?”

“Of course I’m not,” Thalia said, sounding offended that Luke had even asked, “I’m pissed he even brought it up, especially after Annabeth was the one to save all our asses from that cyclops. He kept saying she’s slowing us down but we’d all be dead without her.”

Annabeth felt the same mixture of dread and pride as before. She was useful enough to not leave behind. Even if she was slow, and thinking of the cyclops cave made her want to cry.

“Asshole. He’s the one slowing us down, not knowing where the fuck he’s going,” Luke muttered darkly.

“I almost feel bad for the guy,” Thalia sighed. Annabeth heard more scraping and felt the fire flare again. “I mean he’s a kid just like us.”

“A kid who’s going to get us all killed if we’re not careful.”

Thalia hummed in agreement, and they were quiet for a minute. Annabeth didn’t really know what to think. She liked Grover— he was funny and he let her touch his hooves and he taught her how to play hacky sack— but she could tell that Luke didn’t and Thalia was starting not to. And Grover apparently didn’t like her. Or he thought she was slow, at least— but that made Thalia and Luke mad, even if they thought it was true. It was all very confusing, but she thought Luke and Thalia were on her side, at least.

“Is it weird I like watching her sleep?” Thalia asked, finally. With a start Annabeth realized they were talking about her. She tried extra hard to keep her breathing even.

“Why, ‘cause she’s not chattering your ear off?” Luke teased. Annabeth heard a soft thump and Luke’s laughter, and knew Thalia had probably punched him in the arm.

“I’d have her chat my ear off any day than have her be quiet like she’s been,” Thalia said. Luke didn’t reply. The only sound in the room was the crackling of the campfire. Annabeth could feel both their eyes on her, and she forced herself to keep looking asleep.

“I think the whole cyclops thing really freaked her out,” Thalia sighed, when Luke hadn’t spoken for a minute.

“Of course it freaked her out, she watched us all almost get eaten,” he snapped, his voice angry. Annabeth’s stomach turned. She tried to keep her expression smooth, even though she could practically smell the cyclops’ lair again. She resisted the urge to wrinkle her nose, or better yet, open her eyes and confirm that she wasn’t back there again. Their voices weren’t good enough to do that anymore, not after the monster had stolen them. She repressed another shudder.

“Well that’s why we have to get to this camp thing, right? So she doesn’t have to see shit like that anymore.”

Thalia sounded calm, not mad, but when Luke spoke again he still sounded angry.

“Bit late for that,” he said, voice quiet and bitter, and Thalia sighed again.

“Better late than never.”

Luke didn’t say anything.

Annabeth felt nerves swoop through her stomach. Did Luke not want to go to camp? He’d made it sound nice when he’d told her about it, but now he just sounded mad. Thalia wanted to, and that was a comforting thought for a minute until Annabeth remembered that Grover had wanted to split them up. But Thalia had also said she wasn’t leaving, and she’d sounded sure about that. Everything was so confusing, and Annabeth didn’t know how to figure it out. It didn’t help that her brain felt dizzy from being tired.

It took a while for either of them to talk again, to the point where Annabeth had almost drifted off to sleep for real. When Thalia spoke again her voice was quiet, so much so that Annabeth almost thought she dreamed it.

“She looks relaxed. Like a normal kid on a camping trip or something. That’s why I like watching her sleep.”

Luke sighed, heavy and deep.

“You should get some too,” he said, not really acknowledging Thalia’s words.

“You need to rest too,” Thalia said, lightly, “Grover’s keeping watch.”

Luke snorted again at that, but it was much less humorous this time. Thalia didn’t seem amused, anyway.

“Come on. You’re exhausted.”

“I’ll wake you up in a few hours and we can switch,” Luke said. Thalia made an annoyed noise, but didn’t say anything else. Annabeth felt someone lie down next to her, felt light fingers adjust the jacket she was using as a blanket so it covered her arms more fully.

Annabeth didn’t want to sleep. She knew there would be nightmares waiting for her the second she slipped out of consciousness, and she didn’t want to see them again.

But they would be walking a lot tomorrow, and she couldn’t walk if she was tired. And if she couldn’t walk then she would slow them down even more than she already was.

So instead of resisting it anymore, she let the exhaustion wash over her, pulling her into bad dreams. It would be okay in the morning. Her family would be there when she woke up, and she wasn’t going to let them down.

#it’s about the found family of it all ya know #annabeth chase #pre-TLT #Thalia grace #luke castellan #PJO #PJO fic #baby Annabeth #percy jackson fanfiction #Percy Jackson fic #percy jackson #pjo #pjo fic #I swear I’m still working on the PD2 AU!!! this just hit me over the head I had to write it #I made this on mobile so I’m sorry if the formatting is ass lol

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lumosandnoxwriting · 3 years

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Doing Me Right - Fred Weasley

Title: Doing Me Right Pairing: Fred x Fem!Reader Warnings: NSFW!! Dirty talk, semi-public sex, fingering, mentions of choking, unprotected sex, comments that def could be construed as a breeding kink bc im trash Summary: Fred knows he shouldn’t be eavesdropping on the girls, but when his girlfriend starts to sing a song about getting it on all night, all his concerns go away and all he can think about is 34+35. A/N: not requested, just the product of my own brain!! Inspired by 34+35 by Ariana Grande, all lyrics used are in italics. Feedback is always welcome!!

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“No way!”

Fred pauses with his hand hovering over the knob on his bedroom door at the sound of Hermione’s voice. Y/N, Ginny and Hermione had gone upstairs over an hour ago, but clearly they lied about going straight to bed. They obviously deemed whatever conversation they’re having unsuitable for the boys to hear and Fred can’t help but wonder what they’re talking about. Unable to help himself, Fred inches down the hall closer to Ginny’s room, hoping to catch more of their conversation.

“Yes way!” Ginny responds with a giggle. “Harry is very talented on and off the Quidditch pitch, if you catch my drift.”

Fred grimaces as Y/N and Hermione burst out into laughter, and he makes a silent note to hit a few bludgers a bit harder than normal at Harry during their daily Quidditch game tomorrow. Fred settles on the floor outside of Ginny’s room, peering in through the slit in the nearly fully closed door and his breath catches in his throat when his eyes land on Y/N. She’s sitting cross legged on Ginny’s floor wearing a thin tank top and a pair of sleep shorts. They’ve been together for nearly five years, but the sight of Y/N never fails to make Fred’s heart race.

“Who would have thought, eh? Seems the chosen one isn’t as innocent as everyone thinks,” Y/N teases. Someone, Fred figures it’s Ginny, throws a pillow at her and Y/N dodges it with a laugh. “No need to be so feisty, Gin. You’re the one who brought it up!”

“That’s enough out of you,” Ginny responds playfully. “I would have smothered you with that pillow, but we all know how much you enjoy that, don’t we, ‘Mione?”

Fred watches Y/N’s cheeks flush red and she picks up the pillow to hurl it at Hermione and Ginny, who are both laughing hysterically. Fred knows he should forget he ever heard any of this and go back to his room but listening to the girls talk so openly is addictive. Especially since one of the participants is his girlfriend.

“I’m never talking about my sex life with any of you ever again,” Y/N grumbles, flipping both Hermione and Ginny off.

“Why? Tired of bragging?” Hermione teases, and Fred can practically hear the grin on her face.

Y/N shrugs and Fred doesn’t miss the smug look on her features. “No need to be jealous, Hermione. It’s not my fault the Weasley brother I chose is a sex God. I’m sure with a few more years of practice Ron will nearly be as good as Fred.”

Fred can hear Ginny gag as his chest swells with pride. Of course he knows that he’s good in bed and Y/N reminds him just how great it is every time, but it’s different hearing her brag about it to her friends.

“You know the rule!” Ginny shrieks as another pillow comes flying at Y/N. “If you’re gonna talk about your sex life you’re not allowed to use their names! It ruins the whole conversation for me when I’m reminded that my two best friends are with two of my brothers.”

“Sorry, Ginny. I couldn’t resist,” Y/N apologizes.

All three of them are quite for a few moments, and just when Fred is about to sneak away to his room, Hermione makes a noise, and the faint music that was playing in the background turns up.

“Oo, I love this song!” He hears Hermione get up and then her hands come into view as she pulls Y/N up off of the floor. Fred’s eyes widen as he watches Y/N sway to the beat, singing to the lyrics of the song.

“So what you doing tonight?, better say, "Doing you right", watching movies but we ain't seeing a thing tonight,” Y/N sings along, her hips moving in time to the beat.

Fred’s mesmerized by the way Y/N’s hips move, and he can feel himself starting to get turned on from the words she’s singing alone. Despite the fact that they’re both adults and have been together for years, his Mum still insists that Y/N stay in Ginny’s room when they spend the night, so it’s been a few days of nothing but lustful glances and teasing touches between them, and the scene in front of him is making Fred crave more.

Y/N tilts her head back as she sings, and Fred picture himself sinking his teeth into the sensitive sink of her throat. “Can you stay up all night? Fuck me 'til the daylight, thirty-four, thirty-five. Can you stay up all night? Fuck me 'til the daylight, thirty-four, thirty-five.”

Fred watches the way Y/N’s mouth forms around the words, unable to stop himself from imagining them wrapping around his cock. He’d give anything to be with her all night long, and before he can stop himself Fred is reach down and squeezing his hardening cock through his pajama bottoms.

Y/N bends over, giving Fred the perfect view of her ass. She starts to move her hips again, and Fred has to bite down on his index finger to muffle the noise that rips from his throat. The shorts she’s wearing are far too short, so the bottom of her bum cheeks are visible as they bounce, and Fred can’t look away.

“Baby you might need a seat-belt when I ride it, I'ma leave it open like a door come inside it, even though I'm wifey, you can hit it like a side chick, don't need no side dick, no,” Y/N sings, and Fred starts to palm himself harder. It’s taking all of his willpower not to storm in there and drag Y/N into his room so they can do all of the dirty things she’s singing about.

“We started at midnight, got 'til the sunrise, done at the same time, but who's counting the time, when we got it for life?”

Fred watches Y/N move sensually as the song starts to end, in complete and utter awe that he’s going to spend his life with her. Not only does she have an amazing personality, but she’s beautiful and downright sexy. She can drive him crazy with just one look, and Fred knows he’ll never get tired of being with her.

Someone turns the music down as another song switches on and Y/N settles back on the floor, slightly out of breath. Her eyes pass over the door, and for a second Fred thinks she’s missed him, but then her attention refocuses on the opening in the door and their eyes lock. Fred holds his finger up to his mouth and winks at Y/N, before motioning for her to meet him in the bathroom down the hall.

Y/N swallows thickly as Fred disappears from outside Ginny’s door, refocusing her attention on her friends. She has no idea how long he’d been sitting there watching her, and the thought that he’d just witnessed her dancing instantly makes her wet. Once she’s sure Fred is gone, Y/N clears her throat and stands up.

“I’m gonna run to the loo. Brush my teeth and wash my face, all that jazz.” Y/N hopes her voice sounds casual, and she has to focus hard on walking away at a normal pace, even though her mind is telling her to run towards Fred. They’d been teasing each other on and off all day, and with the lustful look Fred had given her when their eyes met a few minutes ago Y/N can’t get to him fast enough.

“Fucking finally,” Fred groans when Y/N meets him in the bathroom. He slams the door shut behind her and presses her up against it, his hands landing on her hips. Fred kisses Y/N desperately, licking into her mouth almost immediately. “Do you know how fucking sexy you are?” Fred starts to trail open-mouthed kisses down her neck as he presses his erection into her stomach. “Got me so fucking hard just from watching you shake that sweet ass of yours.”

“Fred,” Y/N moans as his teeth dig into her collarbone. “You ah, you weren’t supposed to see that.�� Fred’s hands have traveled up her shirt and are now cupping and massaging her breasts. “But I’m so fucking glad you did,” she gasps as Fred’s thumbs start to swirls around her nipples.

Fred kisses Y/N again, needing to feel her lips on his. Kissing her has to be one of Fred’s favorite things in the world, and over the past few days all he’s had to get by are a few random pecks here and there. “Such a little slut, Y/N. Singing about fucking me for anyone to hear. You just want everyone to know how good I fuck you, don’t you?”

Fred lifts Y/N up by her thighs and moves so he can place her down on the edge of the sink. He pulls her tank top off over her head before pushing her thighs apart to give him room to stand. One of his hands immediately moves to her breast, starting to massage it, while his head dips down at takes the nipple of her other breast into his mouth.

“Oh my fucking God, Fred,” Y/N moans as his tongue starts to flick at her nipple. Y/N lets out another noise as Fred’s free hand covers her mouth, pressing against it hard.

“Gotta be quiet, Y/N. Don’t want my family to hear how much of a desperate slut you are for me,” he teases before taking her other nipple into his mouth. He lets his teeth nibble at it, and the moan Y/N tries to let out goes right to his cock. “Can’t wait to fuck you and have you writhing on my cock,” he continues, as his mouth nibbles and sucks on her breasts. “Always fuck you so good, don’t I baby? You’re always begging for more when I’m done with you.” Fred’s hands start to play with Y/N’s breasts again so he can press hot kisses to her neck, just below her ear lobe. “You always come so hard on my cock, don’t you baby? I make you feel so good that you can’t help but brag to all of your friends, isn’t that right? Letting them know how hard your sex God boyfriend fucks you.”

Y/N face heats up at Fred’s words and she tries to moan as he presses his hand to her mouth harder. She’s absolutely dripping in her panties, and as much as she’s enjoying the teasing, her core is aching to be filled.

Fred lets one of his hands travel down Y/N’s torso towards the waistband of her sleep shorts. “Bet you’re pretty pussy is soaking wet for me. Probably so wet I could drink it like water,” he teases, referencing the song Y/N had just been singing along too. Fred moans as Y/N’s hands tangle in his hair and tug and he feels her tongue lick at his hand. “Something to say, darling?” He shoves his hand into her shorts and panties, just barely letting his index finger graze her clit.

Y/N tilts her head back and lets out a whine as Fred starts to tease her clit. She tugs on his hair once again, desperately trying to ask him for more. She can feel Fred smirk against her neck as he sucks a mark into it, and she tries to let out a groan in frustration.

“You always make such pretty noises when I rail you,” Fred praises, teasing her entrance with his index finger. “Always love making you scream my name.” He sinks his index finger all the way into Y/N’s heat, and the noise she tries to make sends a shiver down his spine. “Bet you love having my hand wrapped around your mouth? Don’t you, my dirty girl?” When Y/N nods he smirks and pushes another finger into her heat. “Though you probably wish it was wrapped around your neck, don’t you?” Y/N’s hips have started to grind against his hand, and he starts to rub her clit as his fingers curl inside of her. “You fucking love it when I choke you, don’t you? Such a dirty whore. My dirty whore,” Fred growls.

Fred feels like he might burst out of his trousers if he keeps teasing Y/N like this, so he reluctantly steps away from her and takes his hand from her shorts so he can rid himself of his bottoms. It’s a bit hard with his hand still clasped over Y/N’s mouth, but he makes it work. Once he’s naked from the waist down, Fred wraps his hand around himself and starts to slowly stroke his cock. “Am I ‘up’ enough for you?” he teases. “I’m gonna take my hand off of your mouth, but I want you to be a good girl and stay quiet for me, okay?”

“Need you so fucking bad, Freddie,” Y/N pants as soon as he’s removed his hand. “Need you to fuck me like the dirty whore I am.” Y/N lifts her hips up, helping Fred to rip her shorts and panties from her body. As soon as she’s naked, Y/N grabs Fred’s shoulders and pulls him in, kissing him hard. “You heard what the song said, just give me them babies.”

Fred clasps his hand around Y/N’s mouth once again as he shoves hips forward, fucking into her wet heat until their hips are flush together. He can feel her trying to make noises against his hand, and he starts to move his hips, fucking her at a fast pace. “Can’t wait until we’re back at home,” he growls, leaning forward so he can whisper in her ear. Y/N’s legs have started to shake as they wind around Fred’s waist, and he shoves a hand in between them to rub at her clit. “Gonna fuck you all night long, my hand around your throat as you scream my name.”

Y/N starts to breathe harder as her orgasm approaches, her hips moving in tandem with Fred’s. The tip of his cock drags against her g-spot with each thrust, and the dirty things he’s whispering in her ear are quickly pushing her towards her climax.

“Gonna make you ride my face and then ride my cock,” Fred whispers, nibbling on her ear lobe. Y/N clenches around him and his hips stutter as he moans. “You like that idea, huh? Love having your pussy eaten, don’t you? My dirty whore.” Fred starts to thrust harder as he feels his orgasm start to build. “Gonna have to choke you for a bit on my cock too, yeah? I know how much you love to gag around me as I fuck your throat.”

Y/N reaches her peak then, her whole body shaking from pleasure as she cums around Fred’s cock. Her hips to continue to move with Fred as her walls convulse and twitch around him, wanting him to reach his orgasm as well.

Fred rests his forehead on Y/N’s shoulder as his thrusts turn sloppy, his orgasm nearing. “So fucking tight for me, baby. Feels so fucking good around my cock. Gonna cum. But that’s what you wanted, isn’t it baby? Wanted me to fuck you raw and pump you full of my seed, my little cum slut.” Y/N clenches around Fred one more time and it pushes him over the edge. He rolls his hips slowly to help him through his orgasm, his cock twitching as he releases deep inside Y/N.

“Fred,” Y/N whispers when his hand finally falls from her face again, before she pulls her face to hers. They kiss slowly as they both comes down from their highs, and Y/N whines against Fred’s mouth when he slowly pulls out of her. But a moan falls from her mouth as Fred slides two of his fingers back inside of her.

“Can’t let any of it leak out yet. Not if I’m gonna give you my babies,” he teases, pecking Y/N’s lips several times.

Y/N rolls her eyes, and pulls Fred closer, kissing him deeply. “Pretty sure the potion I’m on is gonna prevent that from happening no matter how long you keep your fingers inside of me.”

“A guy can dream, can’t he?” Fred asks playfully. He slowly pulls his fingers out of her and brings them up to Y/N’s mouth. Fred groans as she takes them into her mouth and sucks them clean, unable to look away. “This is our last night here, no matter what my mum says. We’re gonna be back in our bed tomorrow night so I can fuck you into the mattress.”

“Now who’s the desperate slut?” Y/N teases before kissing Fred again. She winces as he helps her off of the sink, before starting to collect her clothes. “Although I would much prefer a bed to the sink.”

They both get dresses quickly, not wanting to be gone for too much longer. Fred kisses Y/N deeply for a few moments before he lets her leave the bathroom, watching her hips sway as she walks away.

“Finally,” Ginny comments as Y/N reenters her bedroom. “You were gone for ages.”

Y/N can’t help the grin that takes over her face. “Sorry. I had to wait for Fr- I mean someone to finish doing me right. If you catch my drift.”

#fred weasley #Fred Weasley smut #Fred Weasley imagine #Fred Weasley fanfiction #fw #golden

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

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WIJ: “Stop!”

For day 15, the @whumpmasinjuly prompt is “Stop!”

CW: Adult child of whumper and whumpee, emotional manipulation, Savvie is a manipulative piece of shit as always, references to trauma, panic

Her voice over the line is slightly flattened. It doesn’t have the sharp edges that come so effortlessly in person. Izzy still feels a chill wash down her spine, though, from the very first hello.

“Mom?” Her voice is soft, almost a whisper. Her eyes go rapidly towards the open door to her old bedroom. She’s over for the weekend for Jamie’s birthday, and they’re meant to be getting ready to go out for dinner somewhere, his pick. She’d come in here to find the pair of shoes she wanted when her phone rang and... normally she’d never answer a call if she didn’t know the number and expect it, but...

Something had made her pick this one up.

“Of course it’s me, Bella.” There’s laughter around the edges of her mother’s voice, and that only makes the flip of Izzy’s stomach feel worse. Her heart starts to pound in a very, very old need to run with nowhere to go.

“How-... how did you get a phone? Aren’t you in prison?”

Oh God, what if she’s escaped-

Izzy hears the whimper escape her own mouth before the panic has even fully begun to take her over. Her knees buckle and she drops to seated on the bed, the mattress giving beneath her weight. If she’d been anywhere else in the room she’d have simply collapsed on the floor.

What if she’s out of prison? What if she’s coming back for them all? What if she’s right outside the fucking house? What if she’s-

She mouths the word Dad, but no sound comes out, nothing but a high whistle of air from a rapidly closing throat. She can hear her fathers and brother talking in the living room, chatting over what place they’ll go to, what movie Jamie wants to see tonight after. Bright and cheerful.

If she’s out, it’s over.

Izzy should warn them but she can’t remember how to breathe.

“Oh, you silly girl.” The laughter shifts to mockery. She speaks to Izzy like she might to a particularly dull-witted hamster. “You got your brains from your father’s side of the family, clearly. Of course I’m in prison, and how do you get anything in prison, baby girl? With money.”

All the air trapped in Izzy’s throat rushes out of her all at once, head spinning with dizziness.

She’s not out. She’s not here. She’s still in the States, she’s still hours and hours of plane rides away, locked up behind doors and thick walls and only allowed outside an hour a day, she’s not coming for them, she’s not-

“Then wh-... why did you call me? How did you kn-know my number? How-” Izzy’s mind is spinning. The room feels distant from her, disconnected. Like she’s here and not-here, like part of her is eighteen years old about to celebrate her brother’s sixteenth birthday but the rest of her is still a little girl who has never seen a place that isn’t her mother’s house or Isaac’s.

“I haven’t gotten a letter from you,” Savvie says, the pout audible, her mother’s patented perfect childish sadness at not getting her way. It doesn’t sit well on a woman who must be edging in on fifty years old or more. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

No you didn’t. You don’t care about me.

Somehow she can’t quite make the words come out. What she says instead is, “But, Mom, how-... how did you get my number-”

“Where are you right now?” Her mother interrupts her with breezy carelessness, changing the subject, dancing around Izzy verbally in a way that the girl has never been prepared for. She didn’t spend years as an adult learning how to handle it like her father did.

She could call him in here. He’d do something - phone his lawyer back in the states, the one who still sends them little souvenirs from all the places they’ve visited and handles everything with Savvie on Jax’s behalf without him needing to travel. The lawyer that sued the company that published Savvie’s book on the case and won, got the profits from sales put into a trust for Izzy and Jamie instead. The lawyer that treats Jax like family. Her father would be on the phone with them in a second and get Savvie’s stupid contraband cell phone taken away, he’d help, he’d take over and hang up on her.

Izzy can’t.

“I’m at-... home,” She whispers. “Mom, you’re not supposed to call me. Us. Contact us at all. You can’t do this.”

“Well, I am doing it, so that ship has already sailed, Bella. I just wanted to hear my daughter’s voice. What’s so wrong about a woman wanting to speak to her little girl?”

I’m not your little girl.

Her mouth still won’t shape the things she wants to say. Under the panic, though, anger begins to burn hot, wearing away at the fear. Her pounding heart is so loud she can’t really hear her family in the living room any longer. Someone says her name out there. She doesn’t answer.

“You don’t want to speak to me. You want to talk to Dad.”

“You know I’m not allowed to speak with your father.”

“You’re not allowed to speak with me, either.” Why is she doing this? Why does she keep acting like one day her words will sink in to her mother’s skull and change something?

“Hm. Fair. How is your father, anyway? Is he-” Savvie’s voice catches, an unusual note of sincerity. Or maybe that’s an act, too. “Is he doing well?”

“I’m not going to talk about Dad to you.”

“Bella, please, I’m just asking-”

“Mom. You can’t. You need to hang up now.”

“Isabella Nicole Marcoset, how dare you speak to me that way?”

“Gallagher-”

“Absolutely not. I will not recognize your father’s attempt to erase me from your existence. I am the entire reason you exist, not that you’ve ever shown me much gratitude. Still, that’s not why I called. I wanted to ask - your brother’s birthday is coming up next month, right?”

Izzy swallows, and her throat clicks. Someone says her name in the living room again. Then she hears footsteps in the hall. “Tomorrow,” She says, lips barely moving. “His birthday is tomorrow.”

“Oh.” There’s an embarrassed silence. Or probably not - Izzy is fairly certain her mother is incapable of being ashamed of herself for anything she’s ever done. “Well. I suppose my present for him will arrive a little late then, won’t it?”

“Mom. No. Don’t send stuff. You have to stop doing that. The card for me was bad enough, but you can’t do this to him, too.”

“Why should I-”

“Stop! Mom, just stop! Stop trying to talk to us, stop trying to send things! You don’t even know our birthdays and you’re in fucking prison! Just stop! Stop pretending to give a shit because of your fucking, your stupid bonkers image of yourself in your head as being a good mom, you’re a rubbish one, you’re awful! Just, just, just l-leave me the fuck alone!”

There’s another pause, and this time it’s frosty. Offended and angry.

Izzy’s stomach twists in anxious knots again, as though even now, across an ocean, her mother can somehow punish her.

The line goes dead.

Izzy drops the phone on her bed and rakes a hand back through the long side of her hair, furiously closing her eyes until they hurt to keep the tears from falling. Her teeth grind together, all her anger turned inward, hands closing into fists against it to force it back down.

“Iz?”

She exhales, shaky, and looks up to see Jamie at the door. At sixteen he’s inches taller than her and much heavier, too. He’s got the Marcoset genes more than she does - bulky and big like most of Savvie’s male relatives, but Jamie’s not like any of them at al - he’s gentle in every way there is.

This is his birthday night, and he just wants to go to dinner and see a movie. That’s all he wants. Just a night with his family.

And Savvie has tried, once again, to ruin it.

“Hey, Jamie.” She does her best to keep her voice level. Her palms ache from her nails digging into them. But if she relaxes, she’s afraid she’ll cry.

“You okay? You sounded, um, upset, so I just-”

“I’m just fine. Just, um, my... my ex called, that’s all.” She feels like shit for lying, but the twist of disgust in his face shows that he believes her. She shrugs and pushes herself to her feet, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jeans just in case her palms are bleeding again. “Are Kie and Dad ready to go?”

“Just about. Oh, hey, your phone’s still on the bed.”

She glances back at it, and feels her heart skip a beat. Then she looks back at her brother.

He doesn’t deserve to have his night affected in the least by having a shitty mother eight hours away.

She gives him a slight, faded smile and moves to join him in the hall. “Let’s just leave it. I’m tired of being tied to that thing all the time anyway. What movie are we going to see tonight, did you three decide?”

No one has to know.

And if Jax doesn’t find out, Savvie can’t hold it over him, either.

Izzy can carry this alone.

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @burtlederp @wildfaewhump @whump-tr0pes @iaminamoodymoodtoday@orchidscript @sableflynn @pretty-face-breaker @raigash @whumptywhumpdump@eatyourdamnpears

Jax and Kieran (referenced) belong to @comfy-whumpee

#izzy fucking gallagher #wij21day15 #whumpmasinjuly #prompt: stop!#whump #emotional whump #angst #traumatized whumpee #recovering whumpee #child of whumpee #child of whumper #creepy whumper #adult child of whumper and whumpee #obsessive whumper #possessive whumper #emotional manipulation #emotional abuse tw #parental abuse tw #it's all emotional but still

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touyasdoll · 3 years

Note

Heya Babe! Here’s another NSFW pwp smut gift that just popped into mind~! 😉😏😏

Particular warning for Adult!Shinsou being rather big down there. 😳😳

- IR

————— EXPLICIT CONTENT BELOW —————

It was weird, she thought hazily, watching as her naked boyfriend commanded her equally naked body to move a certain way. It felt like an out of body experience, just overseeing everything that went on, but she could also view everything that was right in front of her eyes.

Surreal, she amended, listening as a moan came from her own mouth and yet didn’t as she was fingered open by her boyfriend. Another moan, breath picking up as the sensation of spreading fingers could be felt from within her body and yet not. A soft, whine escaped with the next breath her body breathed, her boyfriend having withdrawn his fingers fully.

She cocked an eyebrow in her overseeing, out of body experience form, wondering what his plan was next… Oh. He began to finger her ass open slowly, a sensation of odd, different, slightly uncomfortable penetrated her mind, as at the very same moment he penetrated her, with his fingers and she continued to watch.

She felt like she was essentially the live studio audience to her own sex tape, somehow feeling all the sensations yet making none of the movements or personal adjustments.

His fingers spread her open and another hitched breath, another moan escaped her own mouth and yet didn’t. Her boyfriend smirked, opening his own mouth to ask her a question;

“Feel good, Kitten? Use your words.”

‘Kitten.’ You were Kitten. And you definitely felt good. You were back in the front seat of your body fully, though still under Toshi— Master’s control. Master had asked a question.

“Master makes Kitten feel good,” you almost purred, the sound of your voice coming out a bit oddly as you spoke, emotion showing through despite the control and haze.

“Just good?” Master asked, teasingly. He didn’t put the command to answer behind it, but you were still able to and took the chance to elaborate.

“Kitten feels so good, more than good, Master. There was slight pain when you began to finger my pussy open, but Kitten was so wet already it did not last long. Kitten felt different when you began to finger my ass. It could be categorized as odd, different and slightly uncomfortable, but Master is amazing and always makes Kitten feel wonderful no matter what. Kitten feels anticipatory for what happens next. It is different than when Kitten was outside her body, more and deeper sensations,” you slightly babbled your oral report, unable to see how your boyfriend, your Master’s eyebrows raised and then eyes widen as you gave your answer.

‘Out of body?’, his brain wanted to stay on that point, because he hadn’t had that response to using his Quirk before, but there was more to what you had said that caught his interest, too. ‘I hurt her… Logically, it was unavoidable, but dammit! This isn’t one of those times for us.’

He brooded a bit as he continued to make sure you were well opened, even going so far as to add more lube and make sure your walls were well coated with each hand, one in your pussy, one in your ass. He slowly got up and went to the bathroom, water running as he washed his hands.

Left panting softly in your position, you tried to take stock of everything. It was hard as with the feeling of being spread open so well was so recent in your mind that it tried to keep its place as your central focus. If you hadn’t been willingly under your Master’s control, you wouldn’t of been able to keep from fucking yourself on his fingers. Your body was still working despite being empty, dripping from both holes and clenching around nothing, nothing but the remembered feeling of his warm digits.

You wondered what he was going to do next. He had opened you and so there was logically a reason for doing such.

Somewhere between your hyperfocused thoughts, you absently realized you were bound by Master’s scarf in such a way it looked as if you were in stocks. It held you up as the rest of your body was bent over a well cushioned sawhorse. The one you had begged Master to get so you could be good for him in even more ways. This was to be one of those ways, you assumed.

You heard your Master’s foot steps and the sound of wheels, he was obviously toting something along, but you couldn’t see it as you were stuck facing forward and whatever it was went directly behind you. The ‘clink-snap’ of four wheels being locked in place one-by-one sounded out through the room and upped the anticipation you had spoken of earlier.

“You’re probably curious, Kitten, like usual, over what I’m making all this noise with, huh?” Master teased and within your mind you felt a bit of embarrassment. Your thirst for figuring things out, for knowing was a source of much amusement for Master, as well as other positive words connected with it, he still teased you about it. You replied to the question, still. The same as you had last time.

“Yes, Master. Kitten is very curious and anticipation levels are high. Kitten is also feeling slight embarrassment,” you informed him in your report giving tone, feeling your pussy clench again on nothing.

“Sorry, Kitten,” he chuckled, giving you a playful smirk, his eyes roving over your body in inspection. “But you’re gonna have to be curious a bit longer. You can do that for me, can’t you? You can be a good kitty?”

“Kitten is good for Master!”, more emotion leaked through as your words came out in a whine. You had thought you were already being good? Why would you ever change that?

“Oh? I suppose you are, my Pretty. Little. Pet. My mostly well behaved Kitten,” his words elicited a groan from you, one that turned louder as you felt a hand stroke down your spine and all the way to the tip of your tail. You loved to be praised, to be complimented and Master usually tried to hold those tight until you earned them. “Hmm. One more thing, Kitten, and then you can join me again fully.”

Master moved around you, giving you views of his body as he searched his things. Internally you were pouting. His dick was right there, dammit, and you were right here. You wanted it. Craved. To feel it, to have a taste. You wanted to make Master feel good and couldn’t! You didn’t care that it looked too big for you to swallow just yet. You. Craved.

You whimpered softly just as Master lets lose a “Got it!”

His eyes turned to look over your perfectly poised body again. What a good Kitten he had. He moved to in front of you, the height of your head, your mouth just perfectly equaled the height of his very blessed in size cock and heat flooded you as a small internal chant began. ‘Please, please, please…’

“Okay, Kitten.”, Master spoke up, his voice a little gentler, knowing you would probably feel a lot bit disappointed at the next part, but refusing to back down. “I know you want to get your hungry, slutty mouth on me and drink up whatever I give you into, putting it straight into that greedy little tummy of yours,but if I take you right now, Kitten…”

“Kitten, I’m gonna choke you or cause you to sprain something. Maybe even break. You haven’t had practice or been trained up to the level to take me, so I could really harm you. I don’t want that. So, you’re getting a new toy! Three of them. And a new accessory to use one. I know it’s not what you wanted, but baby, I promise you’ll enjoy this. You’ll enjoy it so much now and when you reach higher levels.”

If you could show your disappointment you would have, which is probably why he hadn’t released you from his Quirk. He may be your Master, but even he had a limit on how much “Kitten Eyes” he could withstand before giving in.

You didn’t mean to sound ungrateful, but you were tired of toys. You just wanted Master. So far all of your time with Master had been with him using toys on you, in you. He had let you lick up his cum from his fingers (usually mixed with your own juices), and shared many kisses of many types, he had even used his mouth all over you!, but you hadn’t gotten all of Master yet. You had’t got that D, but damn did you want it.

But if he said not yet, you knew he meant it. Especially when it came to your care. Despite his rougher moments and the times he had to discipline you, he made sure you weren’t harmed in a bad way.

Master crouched down in front of you with something blurry in his hand. “Open your mouth, Kitten. Wide as you can.”

You felt something latch onto a part of your mouth and another and another and another and so on as you were fitted with a Spider Gag, your mouth held open as wide as it could go and the device set firmly in place, attached to head properly. It was better than an O-Ring for holding you open and upsizing, but felt weird at first. You hoped that sensation went away soon.

So distracted with the gag that you didn’t hear another set of wheels roll forward and lock in place. You did notice when you head was held still as a very large dildo was placed at the opening of your mouth.

“Kitten,” Master’s voice sounded from behind you this time as you felt something else being placed at the entrance of each hole and a ‘squick’ sound that you recognized as lube being slathered on something. “At each of your gorgeous, slutty little holes is a sex machine. I’m going to turn them on and they’re going to take you. I’ll start off slow, watching you from over here on this chair, and then once you can take the whole thing they’ll start to speed up. Eventually they’ll be changed out for a bigger size until you can take one close to my size.”

He spoke clearly, voice deepening with lust and it hit you that all this training, all this playing and “leveling up” was probably just as hard on him as it was you. Your disappointment faded and frustration lowered to a bare simmer. You would be a good Kitten for Master now and eventually you would be the best Kitten later.

“Get ready,”he warned, falling back into his chair. He held a remote in one hand and the other was already on his dick. “You can cum as much as you want, Kitten, because these toys? They’re going to wreck you oh-so beautifully, baby.”

You suddenly felt his hold on you snap, ending and everything hit you at once. The sensations that were once distant were right up in your face, your emotions bold and there, a light returned to your eyes that you couldn’t see, but your Master could and it made something within him heat up. Your mouth watered around the gag, as you stared the machine head on. The dildos looked massive and you subconsciously gulped. But you were a good Kitten. You would take them in all of your slutty, wet and ready little holes until Master thought you ready. Because you were going to have that dick.

Breathing deeply, you let your tongue slip forward a little, ready to have your mouth fucked and be on shown for your Master.

“Hope your ready, Kitten, because these double as fleshlights and collect your partner’s cum to use at just the right moments.”

Your eyes quickly peered to the side in surprise, unable to move your head to do so. He was smirking devilishly. The one that made you feel weak in the knees and get wet instantly. Oh, Master was very good to you.

“3, 2, take them well and I’ll let you clean me up with that pretty little mouth of yours, 1!”

Very, very good to you.

— End.

Yeah? Idk either. I cut several pages if unnecessary bits but. Yeaaah. Not my best. IwI and they pronoun me in inner. I need a nap 💤😅

Ahhh I meant to post this ages ago when I got it, I'm sorry it took so long! But oh my goodness did this do something to me 😩

#invisible ribbitch #ir thirst #shinsou thirst #minors dni

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sunnysviolin · 3 years

Note

God I love your blog I spent all day just looking at it and I’m like yes more Omori brain worms

Also, what do you think the Omori gang’s jobs would be when they’re adults? I kinda meta’d and thought Sunny would be a little comic book artist with the character Omoriboy but I’m curious on your thoughts

Awww thank you! Also you have given me the perfect excuse to show off my happiest AU aka the ‘everyone stays in town together, and lowkey they all live at Hero’s house’ I have a lot of different ideas for what they could end up being, so if this isn’t your cup of tea it’s not my firm canon haha! I actually do have an artist sunny series which would probably be up your alley if you were interested in hearing about that too! Alsooooo this got long again it’s under a read more. I’m calling it Come Home series and I really like it if you guys are interested in hearing more 0-0 I only talk about Basil Sunny and Kel here haha because it got long long, but there’s defintiely another part coming to this if you guys want it!

Basil starts going back to school post-canon, and he ends up doing pretty good for his last two years, but it’s still a struggle considering he missed so much school over the last four years. The idea of going to college is particularly stressful to him, so Polly doesn’t push it on him. She didn’t end up finishing college, and she turned out alright.

Polly does want Basil to be thinking about his future though, and so she encourages him to find something related to what he’s passionate about. Which leads to Basil working part time at Fix-It in the gardening section.

He quickly branches out of just gardening, although that is still his favorite. There’s something deeply gratifying about seeing what he’s created with his own two hands, and having people ask for his help only with simple things he can fix for them.

Basil starts up a deep mentoring relationship with the couple who owns Fix-It. They like to hear his passionate rambles about the flowers, and they like the ideas he has. Basil starts to lead flower arrangement classes, and they end up being a big hit.

When he’s in the spring of his senior year, they ask him about his plans. When they find out he isn’t really all that interested in college, they ask if he could come on full time, and maybe even apprentice. They have a son of their own, but he is a lawyer and has no interest in the shop. Basil is excited by this, and he almost immediately agrees.

There’s a lot more to running the shop then he thought, but he loves it. He’s content just to be the manager for now, but the couple has assured him that within the next five years they plan to retire and the shop will be his for good.

Kel does end up getting a scholarship for basketball. It’s to a good school (not quite Hero’s level, but better than his parents expected). It’s a big state school compared to Hero’s tiny private, but his parents are happy and they have a winning basketball team. The problem is that Kel has no idea what he would want to do.

He had some ideas, but I think that learning the truth really affected him. He had thought he wanted to be a basketball star, or something to do with the sports industry, but that all feels so juvenile now. Now Kel wants to do something real and good. He wants to work with people, but he isn’t sure what that might mean.

Kel goes to school as an undecided major, and they stick him in a bunch of different types of classes. Most of them are painfully boring, hard, and he just isn’t interested. He briefly considers dropping out, but he knows how disappointed his mom and dad would be. They didn’t get the opportunity to get a college degree, so it kind of feels like slapping them in the face if he gave back all the money he got just because he didn’t have any passion.

There is one class that Kel really enjoys. The class is called Child’s Play and it’s a psychology course. Specifically a class on the influence of play children’s lives. It’s still hard for him, and he struggles to fully comprehend the material, but it’s something he’s passionate about.

He talks with his advisor about it, and the man suggests combining all of the things he’s been passionate about so far. He wants to do good for other people, he is interested in sports, and he liked learning about how children work. His advisor puts him in an education couse and a few physical health courses, and Kel enters his sophomore year with a physical education major.

Kel doesn’t graduate with honors like Hero, but he does graduate with a plan. He does his student teaching at Faraway High, his connections with his coach and the school helping to grease the wheels. (It doesn’t hurt that he’s living with Sunny by this point, and Sunny got a job offer in Faraway that he’s going to accept...but more on that later)

They offer him a tentative position at the end of the year, and he accepts it. He also takes on the basketball team, and they win the playoffs for the first time since he graduated, which cinches his job in tight.

Sunny also doesn’t end up going to college. Not only did he not have the grades, it just wasn’t something he thought he would be very good at. He doesn’t really have a plan, just that he wants to still be by his friends. Hero is far from them now, and Aubrey is planning on going away too, but Basil and Kel are staying close by

He ends up talking to Kel about it late one night, and Kel proposes a great idea. They’ll get an apartment together off campus instead of him living in the dorms, and Sunny can figure his life out while Kel gets a friend and study partner.

Sunny’s mother is very happy with this idea, and Kel’s parents are satisfied that he won’t be off partying every night if he has Sunny with him, so they agree as well. What Sunny’s mother isn’t excited about is the idea of her baby not getting any degree or anything. So she makes a compromise. She and Sunny will find a good trade school near Kel’s college, and Sunny will take classes in something he enjoys

She assumes he will pick art classes or something that she knows he likes, but Sunny surprisingly picks veterinary certification. It feels out of left field, but if it makes Sunny happy and he’s going to go to his internships and his classes then so be it.

Sunny is never top of the class, but he is serious about doing well. There are aspects of the job that he does not do well with, but he manages. He gets his vet tech certification and finds a starting position near where he lives with Kel

Living with Kel is a breath of fresh air. It feels good to have a partner in life who doesn’t expect him to talk or to act like everyone else. Kel is a master at reading Sunny, and it’s a bone deep relaxation to not have to try and express himself. Most of the time Sunny can just listen and let Kel talk to him. They work well with chores and food and generally everything. Every day feels like a sleepover honestly, and Sunny starts to smile a bit more and reach just a little father out of his comfort zone.

Kel loves living with Sunny. Every night they get to just spend time together and enjoy each others presence, and sometimes Basil will come up and they all get to eat dinner together in their little shoebox apartment. One of their windowsills is full of plants that Basil has brought them.

At the end of their four years Kel knows that he wants to go back to Faraway to work. He has been commuting there for student teaching, and while it’s only an hour, it’s still pretty far. The problem is that he can’t imagine leaving Sunny alone. Not after four years of them being together every single day. Then Sunny reveals that he found a job in the town next to Faraway that he wants to take. He doesn’t want to leave Kel though, and he’s not sure what to do.

They have a long conversation that night, and they both agree that they want to stay together. It’s been an unspoken thing, but neither of them ended up having any long term partner in the last four years. They don’t have romantic feelings for one another, but they want to continue what they have. It’s safe, it’s lovely, and they feel secure in their bond. Whatever happens they want to decide as a team, as a partnership.

With Kel and Sunny both coming back to Faraway they assume that they’re going to have to try and find a place to live closer. They’re going to stay with Kel’s parents until they do, but Basil has a better idea.

Polly loves Basil a lot. She has adored getting to raise him and helping him and guiding him the last six years. But now her quiet sweet boy is a grown man, and his parents stopped paying her for caring for him over a year ago. She knows that the best thing to do would be to detach herself and to let him continue to grow without her constant presence.

Basil isn’t sure he’s ready to be all by himself, and when he finds out Kel and Sunny are coming back to Faraway, he offers to let them stay at his house. It might be a bit cramped all three of them, and they don’t have to, but it could be nice. They say yes before he can even begin to second guess himself

So as bright and bushy 21/22 year olds, Kel, Basil, and Sunny all have Come Home.

#asks #agentmaplficent #omori #omori headcanons #omori headcanon #omori au #omori post canon #Come Home series #omori sunny #omori kel #omori basil #A bit of #queerplatonic suntan #omori suntan #kind of morphing into #queerplatonic sunkissed #they're homies okay #they just like to be together #omori polly

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jupitermelichios · 3 years

Text

On a more possitive note, I’ve started watching Sword Art Online. It’s one of the worst things I’ve ever seen (and the last film I saw in cinemas was Cats to give you context for the scale i’m working on here) and I kind of adore it in much the same way I love garbage like Smallville or Twilight. It’s so stupid on so many levels. You could challenge someone to write the worst anime, and it would almost certainly be better than SAO. It’s almost hypnotic how terrible it is.

No one should watch this terrible terrible show so I therefore don’t feel at all bad that I’m about the spoil absolutely everything, but honestly if you do also hate-watch this please come talk to me about how terrible it is. I don’t know anyone else who watches it.

Highlights of Season 1 include:

everyone is trapped in an MMO, and if you die in the MMO you die IRL. but if you were a beta-tester you’re probably fine because they just let them keep all their levels and items from the testing, so they’re all massively OP and everyone just accepts this as a normal and non-game-breaking thing

it’s a fantasy MMO but there’s no races, no magic system, no weapons except swords and maces, and not even an option to dual wield - literally all you can do in this fucking game is stand in front of an enemy and mash the attack button. I’m pretty sure they’re trapped there because the devs realised no one would play this post launch-day otherwise because it’s boring as shit

when the villain traps everyone he also just changs all their avatars to look like they do IRL for absolutely no reason, like actually none, he doesn’t even say he thinks it would be funny, he just does it and no one questions it and it is literally never mentioned again because this is the worst TV show ever animated.

in the second episode the main character deliberately witholds information about how to defeat a boss, indirectly causing multiple deaths. there is absolutely no reason for him to withhold it, he was just being a jerk because he doesn’t like people

in the third episode they reset his entire personality and he’s now a selfless hero pretending to be a lower level than he really is so people will find him more relateable and be his friend because all he wants is to help people. this is not a consequence of episode 2, they just decided they didnt like the character as he’d previously been written.

he makes some new friends who are all objectively terrible people who have decided for no season that the twelve year old who doesn’t really know how to play and keeps having anxiety attacks about the very real possibility of death has to be the guild tank. the MC is high enough level to be functionally immortal in like half the levels, but doesn’t tell anyone this he just lets them go on bullying this child

none of his friends survive that episode, in the game or IRL. which is also a christmas epsiode. a child dies in battle because she’s a terrible tank and then a man commits suicide out of guilt, so then the main character murders santa to try and bring them back from the actual dead but it doesn’t work because again, this is a video game and they are dead IRL, so then he walks off into the snow alone. Christmas!

we meet the best character in the entire show in episode 4, Rosalia, who has gone evil and started just straight murdering people because she’s sick of being an attractive adult woman who can’t get a date because she’s surrounded by lolicons who are only interested in the preteen characters (not a joke, that comes up, the show is firmly on the side of the lolicons)

in the same episode we get an extended bra and panty sequence staring an actual fucking child, like canonically this character is maybe 13 at best. this is one of only 2 occaisions when they feel the need to undress a character and it’s the fucking 12 year old, it’s so gross it reads like a parody of itself

literally every single named female character aged over 8 who talks to the MC falls in love with him after like 5 minutes (and in season 2 this includes his actual sister). he shows absolutely no interest in any of them (including his sister, thank god) until...

the main character gets engaged to a girl he only knows from an MMO after a virtual single date (he doesn’t actually win her in a PVP match but only because he looses the match, he 100% canonically tries to win her in a match, which she is apparently fine with). he then doesn’t bother to ask for her real name until the final episode, he just calls her by her screen name

(that’s okay though becuase it turns out that this moron of a love interest used her real name, on a local server, in a game where your character looks like you do IRL, because apparently getting doxxed is her hobby)

they then get in-game married off screen. there’s not even like a still of a wedding photo. nothing. the main character proposes and then the show immediately jumps to the honeymoon, it’s fucking bizarre.

they find a creepy child dressed all in white with no memory alone in the woods a week into their honeymoon who starts calling them mommy and daddy literally seconds after they first meet her, and they don’t suspect anything suss is going on and adopt her

for hilarity bear in mind the main character may only be 15 at this point (he says he’s only just turned 16 in the last epsiode, but his actual birthday is never mentioned), and his virtual wifu is 16, but no one ever questions the marriage or the adoption, even though ‘hey marriage in a video game is as important and meaningful as marriage in real life’ is an actual conversation people have multiple times. also they think the child they adopt is an actual IRL 8 year old who thinks these randos she met in an MMO are her mum and dad and everyone just goes with that like it’s a totally normal thing

a character called ‘Thinker’ agrees to meet an enemy faction leader for peace talks. the “peace talks” take place in a high level dungeon and he is told to come alone with no weapons and no fast travel. he does this. no one ever comments that his name is ironic, and in fact they seem to think that being betrayed and trapped in a dungeon with a boss is a totally unexpected turn of events Thinker could never have planned for

they take their new baby into the dungeon to rescue thinker, because they went to the jean grey school of baby rearing, and she imediately reveals that she’s actually a magical maggufin with infinite power, murders the grim reaper, and then dies. In literally the second episode she’s in

after she dies the MC hacks the admin account of the game, converts her corpse into an in game item, and saves to the local storage on his console, with the intention of bringing her back to life as a robot once they’re saved from the game. I’m not joking, that’s an actual thing that happens.

the fact that the main character can just access the main admin account and make massive game-breaking changes isn’t used again in that game and he never thinks to try and use it to force log people out or give himself infinite life so he can just rush the game and free everyone. nope, convert a corpse into an item and then never think about it again.

there’s an entire episode where all they do is go fishing. its the only filler episode in the season, and it immediately follows the death of a small child. it’s the most tone-deaf beach episode in writing history

it turns out this game, this game where they didn’t bother coding in any difference races, weapons, or any kind of magic system, was intended to have fully sentient AI therapists, because why the fuck not at this point honestly

oh also the game has PVP and you can trick the game into thinking a sleeping player is in PVP with you in order to actually murder a real person without it flagging in-game as a murder making the crime impossible for the real life legal system to investigate even though you just murdered a person. and they expect us to believe this game had actual beta testers. at least cyberpunk wasn’t played on microwaves you connected straight to your brain (also not a joke, the VR consoles canonically work by sending microwave radiation into your brain, no wonder VR never caught on)

the set up for the show is that they have to reach level 100 of a dungeon in order to win. At level 75, the writers got bored and the show just ends.

it turns out the power of love allows you to just break the fucking game and the main villain literally has a line about how ‘love allows you to remove debuffs, huh, we didn’t think to plan for that’ because again, there’s no metaphors in this show, everything is 100% literal including the fact that falling in love with another player means you’re immune to the paralysis status effect

power of love also allows you to very briefly become a poltergeist after being killed, but only for like 2 seconds. again not a joke or a metaphor, main character is killed but then gets to hang around as a ghost for a little bit to enable him to defeat the boss. he also doesn’t die in real life despite that being the entire fucking premise of the show, again because power of love.

the bad guy literally has no plan, he’s just doing shit for the sake of having something to do. His actions directly cause the deaths of more than 4,000 people, and it’s not even in aid of anything. they ask him why he trapped 10,000 people in an MMO and allowed them to slowly die, and he’s just like ‘huh, i forgot i did that, random’ and then just fucking peaces out

the fact that he committed one of the largest mass killings outside of war never really comes up again, as far as we know he doesn’t even go to jail. i think the show actually kind of thinks he’s a good guy, which is a fucking WILD moral stance to take on the deaths of 4000 completely innocent people for absolutely no reason

If this sounds hilari-bad but you don’t want to invest the time to watch a show which is objectively garbage, it has an abridged series which is famously better than the show it’s parodying (i’m dead serious, people have character arcs, the getting married after one date thing is properly addressed, the mc has to deal with PTSD because of all his friends dying in epsidode 3, they don’t immediately follow the death of a child with an extended fishing montage, the villain has an actual plan). It’s mostly actually pretty good, but this is the internet and it’s an abridged series, so while there are a lot fewer yikes moments than most it still has enough that I’m not comfortable recommending it without the caveat. that said I still enjoyed it a lot, although possibly not at much as pointing and laughing at the garbage that is the actual show.

#sao bashing #kirito bashing #sao abridged #good bad shows #i love this garbage show so much #it's one of the funniest things i've watched all year #and none of that is intentional #sword art online bashing #if you also love hate this show please come talk to me about how terrible it is

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official-weasley · 3 years

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The Extraordinary Dragon (Part 6/6)

A fluffy story about Charlie training a dragon with a sad and mysterious past.

A/N: I am so happy with this story and since it's a story of a dragon, I never thought you guys would like to so much but I am glad that you enjoyed reading it. Thank you so much for everyone who liked it and comment on it! And thank you again to @am-i-space @madelineorionswan & @the-al-chemist for naming the dragons for me 💙

Warnings: Nothing but the cute conclusion to this story 💙 Word Count: 2,264

“Asterin, what did we talk about? You have teeth, you can chew.” I shook my head, sitting on the ground a few meters away from the Hebridean Black.

It’s been 3 months since I came back from Scotland.

When I read that letter, I needed to sit down and just breathe for a minute. Every second I spent with Asterin to that point rolled in front of my eyes and everything started to make sense.

The fact that she didn’t want to eat anything but chicken blood and brandy. That MacFusty’s were curious why she acted as if she didn’t have any teeth. Why she was so afraid and needed such a long time to get used to the new environment. The fact that she hurt me when I levitated a rock.

She was merely 5 months old when they found her. A dragon that young is supposed to be with its mother – barely even starting the blood and brandy diet. Their teeth are usually ready for solid food around 6-7 months and there is a law to never transport a dragon younger than 10 months if it can be avoided. They are either still too attached to their mother or they are with the other dragonlings.

A dragon that thinks it's 5 months old would still cuddle with its mother at night, eat the food she would provide, and play with its siblings. Being transported to the other side of Europe, meeting so many new people, and staying alone in a habitat suited for a 1-year-old dragon is not the right way to approach the situation.

Being in such a big enclosure with no one she knew around her was very stressful for Asterin. That’s why she ran into the forest the first night – she tried to hide.

And when we thought she attacked me, it was her trying to play. Since her mindset is stuck at 5-months-old she isn’t aware that she is 3 times the size she was back then and that trying to jump on me can be fatal and not being cute and playful.

The second I came back, we started to change her habitat. We made it dragonling friendly by putting in lots of things to chew on, some toys we use to play and train with the younger dragons, a big tire in which she can sleep and Matthew and Jim helped me made a wooden house that can house an adult Hebridean Black because baby dragons like to feel safe and have a feeling their mother is by their side, so having a house in which she can hide and feel snug seemed like the best idea.

We asked Marcus and John to come and stay with us for a week so that Asterin could be around as many people she knows to make her as comfortable as we possibly can.

After two days of sniffing around and starting to play with her toys, we could already see progress bigger than I’ve made in 2 months before we found out what happened to her. She became less fearful, she didn’t dig her claws in the ground anymore and she became playful.

She might be over a year old and is halfway to her adult size but she acts like Hephaestus – the Hebridean Black I got the chance to meet while I was staying with the MacFusty’s in Scotland. She jumps around, awkwardly tries to fly, and is fun to be around.

When I got back, I sat down with the healers that examined her. They told me that due to the damage the hit caused her, her brain will never properly develop. In her mind, Asterin will always be a 5-month-old dragon. They told me everything that is suited for a dragon her mind age and I spent the next 3 days coming up with a plan – how to train her, how to feed her, how to try and tame her, and what to do with her habitat.

We needed about a week to finish everything with the help of other dragonologists and both Marcus and John MacFusty. I asked two researchers to observe her from afar as she gets used to her newly decorated home and to see how she responds to things so they could report back to me to see if we would need to make any changes.

They were over the roof working with her because none of them ever had a case like this. None of us had, truth be told. Matthew still couldn’t believe that that can happen. Marcus and John felt bad that they missed such an important piece of evidence and on the last day of their stay went to Asterin and apologized for mistreating her.

I told them that it’s not their fault and that it was more than evident that they wanted to help her and put her in the right hands.

I have been with her every day since I came back and I can’t express how proud I am of her. She hasn’t hurt me, she hasn’t even roared in my face once since I started treating her like a dragonling. I couldn’t be happier that she was assigned to me and that I have a chance not only to work with a Hebridean Black but to work with such a special one.

She might have a sad past but since she is growing every day, is as healthy as a dragon her age can be and she is showing progress every day, I dare to say she is going to be just fine with us.

After the researchers recorded her behavior and saw that she is doing okay and as the healers gave the green light that everything else is fine, I started working with her. Of course, I am taking a completely different approach than I did before and right now I am trying to teach her how to eat anything other than the liquids we have been giving her so far.

It’s not that we can’t provide that much chicken blood and brandy for her but even though her brain doesn’t see how big she is getting, her body needs solid food to grow into a big healthy dragon. Every day after work, I go to the infirmary where I work with a healer and a researcher and we are trying our best to come up with a plan on how we could trick someone who thinks it's 5 months old to eat a steak.

14 days ago we tried mincing the meat and putting it in her liquids. Asterin was hesitant because of the smell at first but the second day she swallowed it. We did that for a week slowly adding more meat and less blood and brandy. Last week, we started giving her pieces of deer meat that are small enough for her to swallow whole since a 5-month-old dragon isn’t supposed to know how to use its teeth fully yet.

Today is the first day that I tried and gave her a proper steak. The researchers thought it would be good if she gets used to the taste and texture of the food she is supposed to eat. I have been trying for two hours and the best I got was her playing with the steak.

“Asterin, don’t play with your food. It’s not a toy. You’re supposed to eat it.” I put my hands in front of my face, expecting a steak thrown my way any second now.

She looked up at me as I spoke, the steak that was half in her mouth now fell to the ground. I couldn’t help but chuckle, she was adorable.

“What’s it going to be? Are you going to eat it or should I?” I smirked.

Saying that gave me an idea.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes, Asterin.” I got up and waved at her as I did every time I left her enclosure to let her know we will see each other again.

I went to the Sanctuary kitchen and asked one of the cooks to make me a steak. Perhaps if she would see me eat it and chew on it, she might copy my behavior. That is how she learned how to roll over and jump in the air. The latter wasn’t such a good idea because now she likes to jump all the time and sometimes shakes the ground so much that I fall backward.

I thanked the cook that made the steak for me and hurried back to Asterin’s habitat.

“I’m back. Did you miss me?” I smiled.

Asterin was sitting on the ground, her tail playfully moving around, her head tilted in curiosity about what I brought her.

“This isn’t for you. It’s lunch for me. Now let me show you how to eat a steak.” I sat back down to where I was before I left and took the steak from the plate with my hand. “And remember, Asterin, you have teeth, you can chew just like I can.”

I bit into the steak as hard as I could and tore away a piece.

“See…not…that…hard,” I said while chewing. “Now you try.” I pointed at her raw piece of meat with my steak.

Asterin stared at me for a few seconds more before looking down at her steak. She looked back up at me as I took another bite and back down. She lowered her head and sniffed the steak then did the whole routine 2 more times.

“It’s delicious, Asterin. Come on, eat with me.” I encouraged her.

If she could narrow her eyes, she would. I could see her brain being hard at work trying to figure out what she is supposed to do but I understood that she needed time because nobody sane would give a 5-month-old dragon a steak of that size.

Much to my surprise, Asterin picked the steak up with her front teeth and lifted her head abruptly. I thought the steak was going to fly out of the enclosure but she held on to it.

“That’s it. Good girl, Asterin! Now put it in your mouth and chew.” I took another bite of my meal and slowly and exaggeratedly chewed to show her how it’s done.

Asterin slowly put the entire steak inside her mouth and tried chewing on it. She shook her head as if she got confused about what was going on and let the meat fall from her mouth to the ground.

“Okay, that wasn’t bad. You did great! Now repeat the gesture. Pick it up again, Asterin.” I put my plate down and clapped a few times to let her know she is making progress.

Asterin listened to me and picked up the steak again. She threw it on the ground a few more times but every time she chewed a little longer.

After 5 tries she didn’t stop chewing on the steak and suddenly I heard a swallowing sound.

“Did you…did you just eat the steak?” I asked astonished. It’s not like I didn’t believe that she could do it but I didn’t dare to think that she was going to progress so quickly.

“You did it, Asterin!” I stood up carefully not to startle her too much even though I wanted to burst from excitement and jump around.

“I don’t even know where to begin to tell you how proud I am of you!” I walked toward her not even caring if she does something to me. I wanted to show her that what she just accomplished is a big deal and that the behavior is very much desired and encouraged.

“If you continue to eat like this, you will be able to fully transition to deer meat and admit it, it was more delicious than chicken blood and brandy.” I laughed and with a bowed head approached her.

I was now so close that if I would extend my hand I would be able to pat her. Without thinking twice about it, I offered her my hand so she could sniff it and let her know that I mean no harm. She did so immediately and huffed.

“I know. My hand smells like cooked meat which doesn’t smell as delicious to you as to me.” I giggled.

I took a deep breath knowing that Matthew would kill me if he saw me stand so close to Asterin – making progress or not – and touched her rough skin and rubbed a few circles on it.

“You ate your first steak, Asterin. I am so proud. The progress we have made in the past few weeks is admirable.” I whispered to her.

She lowered her head and what I think she wanted to do was rub her head against my side but because she is so big and so much heavier than me she pushed me to the ground.

I started laughing when I saw her confused expression. I know she didn’t expect me to fall to the ground and probably thinks that I am the weakest human not being able to handle her friendly gesture.

I got up, dusted myself, and approached her again.

“The next thing we work on is to make you realize how big you are.” I chuckled.

Asterin replied with a jump in the air and hurried to get one of her balls, indicating she wants to play.

“You want to catch the ball? You got it!” I clapped my hands together and ran after her, feeling like the luckiest dragonologist in the world.

#charlie weasley #charlie weasley harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #the weasleys #dragon boy #charles weasley #hebridean black #dragons #a dragon story #charie weasley hphm #dragonologist

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scoopsgf · 4 years

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can i get a good night’s sleep? can i PLEASE get a good night’s sleep?!

or: five times peter parker doesn’t sleep + the one time he does

my contribution to the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange! this is for @snarky-drabbles - I hope you enjoy it!

The first time is actually just the first in a while. Peter’s had problems sleeping ever since he was a little kid; it was just one issue of many that stacked up on top of each other, resulting in his personal belief that he must be the most difficult kid to look after on the planet.

Asthma meant hundreds of dollars spent on inhalers, covering what their shitty insurance didn’t. His poor eyesight was the same story and the bullies that used to break his glasses had never helped. But it wasn’t just physical crap, of course: he’s had anxiety for as long as he can remember.

There are cute side-effects like panic attacks and nausea, not to mention the constant sense of impending doom he’s been nursing since… well, birth, probably. When he was younger he’d worry about whether or not the taxi driver had enough gas in his car to get them where they needed to go, or maybe Ben would get shot at work (ironically enough, he’d never worried that Ben would get shot off-duty, and there is a teeny superstitious sliver of him that believes maybe if he had considered the possibility it never would have happened, like some kind of a reverse jinx or something).

One of the other cute things that comes along with it is insomnia.

So here he is, pacing in his kitchen at three in the morning because May isn’t home yet.

Her shift ended at two. She’s usually back within a half hour considering the hospital isn’t far, hence his agitation.

He’s tried calling and texting to no avail, and he keeps telling himself that everything is fine, that she probably just got held up; meanwhile his subconscious provides a great slideshow of mental images that speak to the opposite—her getting kidnapped because somehow someone links her to Spider-Man, her getting hit with a car, mugged, shot, slipping on black ice—and that’s actually not far-fetched considering it’s January, there’s a lot of it, and so he pulls out his phone and types, You didn’t slip on black ice and die did you? to May.

No little dots appear to signify that she’s typing. The message doesn’t even change from ‘delivered’ to ‘read’.

She has her read receipts on. She’s promised him. There’s no reason she’d change that, right? But maybe she accidentally switched them off when she was scrolling through her settings.

He calls her.

“Hi, this is May Parker, I’m unavailable at the moment but if you leave me a message I’ll get back to you as soon as—”

Peter hangs up with a dissatisfied grunt.

It’s only then that he realises, to his great dismay, that he’s paced all the way onto the ceiling.

In his shock he loses concentration and falls. “Ow, fuck.” He pulls his aching knee to his chest. It’ll no doubt be bruised soon. “God has forsaken me.”

He picks up his now cracked phone and texts Ned:

I just fell off the ceiling at 3 AM in the morning

Don’t ask me what I was doing on it

Every bone in my body is broken :(

No reply comes which is pretty typical; Ned probably passed out in front of his PC like, hours ago. Peter can picture it: the light of his computer screen casting a blue glow over everything in the room, his head probably tucked into his arms to muffle his snores (and there’s also probably a bowl of stale popcorn spilled across his floor at this point), his creepy mother lurking in the doorway—or worse, trying to find out how to snoop through his laptop while he’s out of it.

Peter could totally go swing down there and help the guy out. It would be something to do anyway.

But no. The door is too far. His suit… too much work. It’s definitely better to just stay here curled up under the table like a little turtle.

But wait—a blanket.

Is it worth the effort? Probably. Peter scans his immediate surroundings and, oh boy, Lady Fate is actually on his side tonight because there’s a gigantic purple fluffy one hanging off the couch and it only takes a little bit of physical exertion to yank it down and wrap it around his body.

He burrows deeper into it and scrolls through Instagram. MJ posted a picture of a banana today. Literally like, just a banana. No caption, no explanation on her story, nothing.

Peter double taps it and comments: i hope u asked before u took his jacket

No like. No reply. That makes sense. It is three in the fucking morning, after all.

No. Three thirty. It’s been an hour and a half.

What had May said once? That it was okay to call someone if she was two hours late?

Peter tries texting and calling one more time and then just sits there, staring at his home screen and watching the minutes pass. At exactly four AM after much deliberation and stomach churning, he calls someone else.

Three rings later: “I’m in Vienna right now so this better be good.”

Peter feels even more nauseous than before. “Oh,” he says. “I guess—never mind, then. Sorry.”

“Wait, wait, that was just for show and I’m greatly intrigued as to why you’re calling me so… early? Late? Anyway I’m out of the conference room now so lay it on me.”

Against his will, Peter’s lip quirks up. “Um, it’s kind of stupid—”

“Nothing is ever stupid,” Tony says. “Especially when it’s coming from the brain of a kid with an intelligence quotient of 260.��

He feels his cheeks heat up and then it all just comes tumbling out, “It’s really late and May was supposed to be off at two and home by two-thirty, but she’s not and I don’t know what to do. I tried calling and texting but she’s not replying and I know that I’m probably just building it up in my head but I can’t help freaking out because like, what if she got stabbed or slipped on black ice or—”

“Hey Pete?”

“Yeah?”

“Breathe.”

Tony’s voice has softened immeasurably. Something uncoils in Peter’s stomach. He flops onto his side and closes his eyes. “I’m breathing.”

“That’s good, kiddo. Now just hang on a sec, I’m gonna call the hospital.”

“What? Why?”

“Well she works there, right?”

“...Yeah.”

“And you haven’t tried calling them yet, correct?”

“...Correct.”

“Ergo,” Tony says.

“But I—”

“Yeah?”

Peter bites his lip and then he just blurts it: “I don’t want you to hang up.”

He feels like such a child but the thought of losing connection with Tony is literally making his heart palpitate and his palms sweat. He needs someone. He needs an adult.

“Well lucky for us both I have two phones.”

Peter cracks an eye. “You what?”

“I’m Tony Stark, don’t question it. Hang on, let me just—hello, hi, um, I need this room. No, it can’t wait. Yes the whole room. Yes locked. I don’t know, five minutes? Ten? An hour? No, I’m not joking. Thank you. Thanks. Yeah. Okay. Bye now.” Something slams shut—the door to the office Tony just stole, probably. “Okay, just a sec, I have the number for the reception desk she works at in my phone.”

Peter, for some reason, feels immeasurably comforted by that. He sits in silence gnawing on his lip while Tony has a somewhat muffled conversation he can’t hear the other side of. Then, “You still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Okay, well, they said she’s covering for someone and can’t get to the phone because a baby had to have emergency surgery so she’s literally in the OR as we speak. Pretty badass and not bad as far as excuses go. Now that you know she’s fine and not dead by ice, how about you get some shut-eye, okay kid?”

Peter swallows. “Yeah. Okay. Thank you, Tony.”

“No Mr. Stark this time, huh?”

“It’s too late for formalities.”

“I see,” Tony replies. “Sleep, okay?”

“Okay.”

The line goes dead. Peter, slightly relieved but not fully consoled, rolls over to face the door. He doesn’t sleep at all that night and is still there when May comes home at six in the morning with bagels and apologies.

—

The anniversary of Ben’s death is always super weird.

This time it takes him a few minutes to remember what day it is: he’s in the middle of brushing his teeth and then it hits him like a train: oh, it’s been three years.

Then comes May. She usually tries to cook something for breakfast but like always it burns. He leaves the bathroom to the sound of the smoke alarm and fans a cookie sheet at the screeching little device while she swears up and down in Italian.

“It’s okay, May, really—”

“No, it’s not!” She snaps, tossing a batch of blackened cinnamon rolls into the trash. “I just want this day to be easy for you!”

Peter goes over to her and, after kicking the oven door shut with his foot, pulls her into his arms. May starts to cry even though she tries not to; sniffles turn into barely stifled sobs. He knows that it’s harder for her than it is for him. Ben was her husband and they’d been married for thirteen years when he died. Sometimes he still catches her looking to see if he’s laughing too when they watch TV, only to find an empty recliner.

“It’s okay for it to be a bad day,” he whispers. “You know that, right? I mean, I love you to pieces, May, but I don’t wanna see you bending over backwards for me.”

“But that’s my job, doofus.”

Peter pulls back. He’s an inch taller than her now. “No it’s not. We take care of each other, okay?”

Then comes school. Ned usually hovers nervously like an agitated gnat, too afraid to say anything, not sure if he should act normal or be sad in solidarity, which means it’s kind of Peter’s job to set the tone. As he’s putting his combination in for his locker he asks, “So did you beat that level of Obra Dinn last night?”

Ned, shoulders slumping with relief, starts to ramble on about how hard it was to do and how it took him like, thirty whole tries.

They go to class. Peter zones out. He doesn’t bother making more web fluid or ditching and he gets so inside his own head that Coach Wilson compliments him again during gym class. Peter deliberately slows down after that, even if it’s kind of irritating; being physically active actually helps work off his anger.

Because that’s what he is more than anything else: angry. At the mugger, yeah, but at himself more than anything else. It was his fault that they were out that night, anyway. It’s a wonder that May doesn’t hate his fucking guts.

When school is up Peter comes home to an empty house. He thinks about going on patrol but doesn’t really feel up to it, and then he feels bad for not wanting to do it because like, what if someone is dying?

So he puts on the suit and swings from rooftop to rooftop, but there’s no action today. Peter eventually settles on a fire escape with a burrito. A stray cat hops up after a while and, despite his matted fur and crazy eyes, Peter decides he has a kind of quiet dignity about him and names him Charles.

“Do you like beef?” He asks, holding some out for Charles to sniff. The cat yowls and, without any warning other than that, nearly chomps Peter’s fingers off to get the meat.

“Ow, jeez!” Peter shakes his wrist. “I was literally giving it to you for free, but go off I guess.”

Charles blinks his big brown marble eyes and then literally jumps off the fucking ledge. Peter leans over and watches him scamper across the street, somehow not getting hit by any traffic. Sometimes he thinks his spidey sense is more like feline sense in that way: he could probably manage the same thing with his eyes closed.

After a while the sun sets and all of the streetlights turn on. Peter does another patrol around the immediate vicinity but again, nothing. He stays out anyway though because he’d rather do his Chemistry homework behind a dumpster than sit alone in the apartment with nothing but the quiet for company. At least out and about there are sewer rats and mangy dogs and shady characters who actually just turn out to be skateboarders.

Peter is almost done with his assignment when the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

He looks up and finds Iron Man himself coming in for a landing. The suit drops with a barely audible clunk; it’s Mark 54, the sleekest and most lightweight model yet.

“Oh thank God,” says Tony’s voice, “you’re not dead.”

Peter frowns even though Tony can’t see it. “No,” he agrees slowly. “Why would I be dead? What are you doing here?”

“Well, your aunt called me in a panic at around four when she got home and you weren’t there, and then I checked the scanners and saw that you’d been here, completely stationary, for like five whole hours—needless to say I had a little bit of a heart attack and here I am, relieved and also mildly infuriated. Care to explain, young padawan?”

Peter opens his mouth to speak. Closes it. Opens it again and, “It’s four AM?”

“Four fifteen,” Tony corrects.

“I didn’t even—I didn’t know! Shit, May’s totally gonna kill me, I might as well be dead—”

“Woah woah woah,” the faceplate lifts, “calm down, okay? No one is mad. Just, uh, concerned, I promise.”

Peter is still frantically packing up his school supplies and not really listening. He only stops when Tony gently touches him by lightly gripping his elbow. “Kid?”

Peter stares down at the older man’s hand. Behind the mask his eyes start to burn. “Ben died.”

“Pardon?”

“Ben died,” he repeats louder. “In this alley. Two years ago.”

All at once Tony’s face falls. He moves to sit by Peter on the grimy floor of the alley while the suit hovers nearby, a hollow shell, just the way Peter feels now.

“Kid,” Tony says, “take off the mask.”

“What? No, I’m in public—”

“No one’s around,” Tony says. “Just take it off, okay?”

Peter does, reluctantly peeling it back to reveal his tear-stained cheeks. Tony stares for a second and then, almost hesitantly, he wraps his arms around Peter. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“I—” he chokes. “I’m just so tired. I’m tired of having to watch May be strong for me when I can’t be strong back, and I’m tired of Ben not being around. I miss him and it—it’s not fair.”

“Of course it’s not. It’s never fair. That’s why it hurts, kiddo. You’ve got all this love and no place to put it.”

Peter bites his lip to stop it from quivering and looks away, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I just feel pathetic.”

“Don’t,” Tony says firmly. “I felt the same way after my mom died and it… In some ways I don’t think the feeling ever actually went away, but uh, take it from someone who’s had a lot more time to process: no one is expecting anything from you, okay? And I can guarantee there’s not a single human that thinks two years is long enough to be perfectly fine again. You’re allowed to still be upset about this.”

And Peter is. He’s really, really fucking upset about it and so tired of holding it in. Tony pulls him against his chest when Peter starts to cry and it sort of seems like he’ll never be able to stop. There’s just so much, so much guilt and pain and all kinds of other bullshit that he refuses to lay on May.

So he lays it on Tony. And it’s surprisingly not horrible or awkward or even the end of the world.

“You good?” the older man asks, when Peter finally sobers up enough to wipe his cheeks dry and take a few steadying breaths.

“Yeah,” he says, voice ragged and awful-sounding. “Um, sorry. For freaking you and May out and ruining your shirt, I mean.”

“You know there’s this really snazzy invention called a washing machine—”

“Oh my god, shut up.”

Tony laughs and it makes Peter laugh too, and the tension between them just sort of dissipates. “Speaking of clothes,” Tony claps his hands together, “you got any to wear in that backpack?”

“Uh, jeans and a hoodie?”

“Fantastic, incredible. Throw them on, I’m taking you out for breakfast.”

“But what if someone sees?!”

“Let ’em. I’ll have Pep release a statement claiming you as my personal assistant or head intern or something.”

“That’s totally unrealistic.”

“Do I care? No. Just—okay? Up and at ’em, make haste, come on. What do you feel like, pancakes or waffles?”

They bicker about which is better the entire way to the little diner Tony choses, and Peter comes home full an hour later. May is fast asleep at the kitchen table. He kisses her forehead and starts on breakfast for her.

—

He’s thirty minutes into helping MJ study for her AP French test when she finally gets a question wrong. “‘Il n'est pas clair que’?” Peter queries, holding up the flash card.

“‘It’s not certain that’?”

He makes a pitying noise. “Close. ‘It’s not clear that’.”

“What’s not clear, exactly? That if I see one more word in French I’m gonna blow my brains out?”

Peter snorts. “No, actually it says more clarification is required on how much you like your boyfriend. Suggestions to improve that include: a hug, a kiss, both—”

“Neither?”

He pouts. “Mean.”

MJ rolls her eyes, but she kisses him first. She tastes like the Twizzlers they’ve been eating and her hands are in his hair and she laughs when he presses his lips to her cheeks and nose and forehead.

They somehow end up in an incredibly compromising position. “You know,” MJ muses, “I don’t think I’ve been studying the right kind of French.”

Peter, hovering over her (oops), nods in agreement. “This kind is definitely way better.”

She wraps her arms around his neck and he’s so consumed with this: her and him and the smell of her jasmine shampoo—that he almost doesn’t hear it.

Almost.

Peter rips away abruptly. “What was that?”

She groans. “God, you’re such a dog sometimes.”

He ignores her, sitting alert with his eyes narrowed at the window and, sure enough, there it is again: a faint, blood-curdling scream. “Someone’s being attacked or something. Maybe four blocks away tops.”

MJ squints. “Don’t tell me you can echolocate.”

“I—” Peter’s mouth snaps shut and then opens again. “I actually don’t know. Anyway, I gotta go.”

He presses a quick kiss to her cheek, throws on his jacket, and quickly ducks out her fire escape (which happens to be the same way that he came in). He slips the mask on and tosses his hood up; it’s raining in heavy, icy sheets and Peter is drenched within seconds of swinging. He remembers the first time he’d gone out during a storm; the webbing he’d made hadn’t held up because the chemical formula hadn’t accounted for the massive amounts of water-based reaction, so the biocables had evaporated as they left his shooters. Thankfully he hadn’t jumped first that day, otherwise he would be a Peter Pancake.

Another scream sounds. Peter follows it and winds up latched onto the side of a two-story brick building. There’s an incredibly dark alley below, but a quick flash of lightning tells him everything he needs to know: one man is trying to wrestle a woman down, while another is rifling through her purse. He’s also holding a gun.

“Oh, cute,” he mutters sarcastically.

Peter tries to time it right: he takes aim and shoots a web right at the weapon with the next bout of lightning, but to his immense misfortune, the armed mugger had already seen him and was aiming right back. The bullet hits Peter in the side.

“Ow,” he says, “that was uncalled for.”

He drops. His side is throbbing and hot but he ignores it in favour of disarming the guy who shot him. It’s a brief struggle but Peter ends up whacking the gun out of his hand and webbing it to the wall opposite. Then he knocks the guy out with a solid upper cross to the temple.

Peter rounds. The assailant has already fled, leaving the woman shivering but relatively unharmed.

“You okay, ma’am?” he asks.

“Me? That guy shot you!”

Peter looks down at his side which is now stained with blood. “Oh, yeah.”

He’d actually forgotten for half a second. Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, he’s starting to really feel it: a burning sensation in his abdomen, an aching that pulses from his stomach to his chest. Ah. Wonderful.

A little dazed, he shakes his head. “Don’t worry about me. Super healing. Are you good? You need me to call you a cab?”

“What? No, um—the police station is like, down the block, I can go get them.”

“Are you sure? Because I can totally do that—”

“I can handle myself,” she says sharply, bending down to pick up her purse and the discarded items within. “It’s just… there were two of them and there was a gun and—”

“I get it,” Peter says, his hand pressing harder into his side as the world grows blurrier around the edges. “You really don’t want me to at least walk you down?”

“I’ll take a taxi,” she says. “You just, um, get yourself fixed up, okay? And thanks.”

“Yeah, sure, anytime! But, y’know, preferably never again,” Peter says, and proceeds to swing away.

—

Tony doesn’t expect to get woken up at two AM after only just falling asleep five minutes before, but such is life; FRIDAY’s voice bleeds through the speakers above to inform him that Spider-Man is currently rifling through the Med-Bay and bleeding from a wound on his side.

Pepper looks at him. “You heard that too, right? That was real?”

“It was real.”

They both scramble out of bed. Tony takes the lead, throwing on his jacket as he runs toward the elevator. It’s times like these when every second stretches out into an eternity; it takes maybe five of them to get from their floor to the Med-Bay, but it feels like forever.

The doors open and there’s Peter, perched on a gurney with his shirt gone and a whole lot of blood staining his side. He’s bent awkwardly, clearly trying to feel his way around whatever wound he’s got.

“Um,” Tony says, approaching, “What.”

Peter looks up and—yeah, he’s lost a lot more blood than Tony had originally thought. His face is fucking drained. “Hey,” he says, offering a jaunty wave before returning his attention to his side. “I got shot.”

“Oh!” Tony nods. “Oh, okay. What the fuck, kiddo?”

“I know, right?” Peter glances up. “Hey, Pepper.”

“Peter,” she returns. “Do you mind if I wash my hands and take a look at that?”

“If you want. It’s kinda gross, though.”

“Believe me, I’ve seen worse.”

Through this exchange Tony was already washing up, and now he dons a pair of gloves and sits on the rolling stool. “Looks like it’s through and through,” he tells Pep over his shoulder. “Could you grab a couple suture kits and, uh, the stuff?”

Pepper makes a face. “The stuff?”

“You know,” Tony says, “The Good Stuff.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, that stuff.”

Tony feels around the area. “Do you know what kind of gun was used?”

“Looked like your standard nine mil,” Peter replies. His voice is growing a little slurred.

That’s good though, about the gun. Means there’s probably not any bullet fragments to worry about. Tony grabs a load of gauze and presses it against the wound. He checks Peter’s pulse while he’s at it and finds that it’s slowed considerably. “We’re gonna have to get you some blood, too. A neg, right?”

“Yuppers.”

Tony excuses that because after all, the kid is bleeding out on a table. Said kid actually starts to swing his legs back and forth and, yeah, that’s not gonna fly. “Do me a favour and lay back? I’m gonna put this towel right under you for now.”

Peter doesn’t have any arguments, or if he does, he doesn’t vocalise them. Pepper comes back in with the kits and drugs and, because she’s just smarter than him like that, bags of blood.

Tony grabs the vials first and loads up a syringe. Peter is pretty numb to all of it until the needle goes in. Then he frowns. “Why are you injecting me with alien blood?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “It’s not alien blood, it’s a pain killer. A serious one at that, so you’re probably gonna feel a little out of it for a while, okay?”

Peter frowns. “Is it for Steve?”

Tony tenses, but it’s only for a second. “Yes,” he says, somewhat tightly.

“Ugh. What a turd, Mr. Stark. You’re giving me turd vitamins!” Tony scoffs while Pepper laughs. Peter notices. “See? She thinks I’m funny.”

“You’re not helping me here,” Tony says to her.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Here, have some thread.”

Tony sighs. “Just stay still for me, okay?”

Peter does. Pepper passes him various supplies and they work together to sew up both ends of the gunshot wound. By the time they’re done, Peter hasn’t moved once, but his eyes are open and he’s frowning.

“How do you feel?”

“Wired,” he says.

“Seriously? Bruce never said anything about the side-effects, but I figured they’d be like normal pain-killers; make you drowsy and all that.”

“No,” Peter sits up quickly and doesn’t even flinch. “I feel like I just got steroids or something. Are you—are you actually telling me that Captain America’s drugs are infused with a stimulant? What, so he can keep fighting even when he’s in the middle of dying?”

Tony blinks. “Well that was smart of dear Banner.”

“Yeah, or insane.” Peter flexes his hands. “I feel like I need to go for a run, or like, break something.”

“Let’s avoid that,” Tony says, pushing him back down. “You need to heal, not mess yourself up even more, understood?”

Peter stares. “Is it normal to see sounds?”

Pepper bursts out laughing again. “I’m sorry,” she says when Tony glares. “Really, I am, I promise. Peter, honey, how about we get you to a bedroom where you can rest up? We’ll call your aunt and explain everything.”

—

Everything is going fine until May asks, “How did you get to the Tower so quick, then?”

Peter blinks. “Hmm? Pardon?”

“If you were at Ned’s,” May says, “how’d you manage to swing all the way across town?”

Peter opens his mouth and closes it. “I, uh… well, funny story, um… I wasn’t actually at Ned’s?”

There’s a pause over the phone. Pepper, who’s holding it, raises an eyebrow. May says: “You told me you were going to Ned’s, Peter.”

His face feels hot. He hopes it isn’t red. Both Pepper and Tony—from the doorway with his hands stuffed in his sweatpant pockets—are staring. It’s almost as bad as if May were really here.

“Well I was going to Ned’s, but then I changed my mind and went somewhere else and oh—look at the time! I think we’re going through a tunnel—”

“Don’t even try to pull that crap! That’s it, I’m coming over there—”

“May,” Peter says, serious now, “you’re in the middle of a shift, there’s people dying. Just—I’m perfectly fine, I took my Captain America drugs and everything is gonna be okay.”

“But you lied to me.”

“No, I changed my mind.”

“And went where?”

“Irrelevant.”

“Peter.”

“May.”

She groans from the other end of the line and demands to speak to Pepper one on one. Tony’s fiancé grins and switches off speaker, before slipping out with a bright laugh to finish off the conversation. Tony stares expectantly. “So where were you?”

“Oh my god, not you too. You know, on second thought, I actually am completely exhausted and—”

“Uh, nope,” Tony flops down onto the bed. “Fess up.”

Peter sighs. He squirms down and covers his pillow with a head. “No.”

Tony joins him under it. “Tell me.”

Peter scowls. He rolls onto his side so they’re facing one another. “I was with my girlfriend.”

“Oooo—”

“Shush! It’s… it’s really not a big deal and I haven’t told May yet because MJ and I haven’t even really talked about it and it all happened super fast and—” he remembers to breathe, “I just… I always tell May everything, you know? But I kind of just felt like… this was something I had to figure out first on my own. Maybe it’s stupid, but I know she’s gonna be super hurt when she finds out it’s been a month and I haven’t said anything—”

“Kid,” Tony cuts in. “Calm down.”

“I’m calm,” Peter promises, because he is. He’s also just incredibly hyper and stressed.

“It’s a normal instinct to want to figure things out and define them before you start announcing them to the world. I get that. But you’re still a kid, Pete, and even if you don’t want people prying into your love life, we still need to know where you are in case something goes wrong.”

Peter harrumphs as he turns away. “There’s a tracker on my phone and my suit. It would be easier to find me than anything else.”

Tony clicks his tongue. “You got a point there.”

“I just wanted time.”

“I know.”

“But I really like her, okay? Like she’s so smart and she’s got this really dark sense of humour and she’s actually kind of terrifying sometimes—”

“Oh, the scary ones are always fun.”

They stay up talking through the night and, when the sun comes up, Pepper joins them with a tray of freshly made blueberry waffles. May arrives around the same time and, looking too tired to be mad, simply drops onto the bed with them and steals what’s left of his food.

—

Peter is on patrol when he hears it:

a soft, quiet yelping coming from somewhere down below the rooftop he’s perched on.

At first he figures he’s imagining things, but then his ears perk again. He leans over the building’s edge to find the source of the noise.

In the dark it’s hard to make anything out, so he climbs slowly down the side of the wall, squinting. There’s another yelp and a low whine, almost pained. Peter zeroes in on the sound and creeps toward a set of dumpsters; they’re so full of trash they’re overflowing, and it’s underneath a broken down cardboard box that he finds it...

A puppy.

Now, Peter is no liar. He’s wanted a dog since he was like, a fetus. The words ‘A dog’ have been on every birthday and Christmas list for as long as he can remember. It’s only recently, in the years since Ben’s death, that he’s pretty much given up—after all, May is so overworked and they can barely afford to feed themselves. How could they afford a pet?

But also…

This is the cutest dog he’s ever seen.

It’s tiny and fluffy and brown and has the biggest, saddest eyes he’s ever seen.

Peter kind of just stands there staring like an idiot for a good few seconds and then slowly kneels down. “Um, hi,” he says, in the gentlest voice he can manage. The puppy, who can’t be older than a few weeks and looks completely starved and exhausted, whines in response.

Peter holds out his hand for the dog to sniff. It lifts its head lazily and leans forward, nose twitching and dry. “You need water, huh? Come on, I know a place.”

—

“Shelob,” Tony greets without looking up from whatever project he’s working on. “What can I do for you at… one in the fucking morning?”

“I need your help with something, but you have to promise you won’t get mad or make me get rid of him—”

“Oh, for God’s sake, what have you done now?”

“He was just so helpless and cold and small and…” Peter swallows and reveals the puppy, presently wrapped up in his hoodie. “Meet Nugget.”

Tony’s face is the epitome of Disappointed Dad. He stares, open-mouthed, and after a second his shoulders fall. “Well, fuck.”

Peter snuggles Nugget against his chest and steps closer, but then Tony holds up a hand to stop him. “Nah-ah! Not until that thing gets a flea bath!”

Hope sparks in Peter’s chest. “You mean we can keep him?”

“I mean there’s no way I’m getting near him until I know I won’t break out in hives.”

“That’s not how fleas work.”

“Do I care? No. Come on, let’s go to the bathroom.”

—

“Why do you have flea shampoo?”

Peter’s inquiry is made tentatively. They both have their hands in the sud-filled sink as they systematically wash Nugget’s fur.

“There was… an incident a while ago. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Peter stares. Blinks. “Okay. Well, I think he’s clean.”

Nugget barks as if in agreement, and so Peter and Tony lift him out of the basin and set him on a pile of no doubt expensive, fluffy white towels. Tony takes the lead after that. He’s surprisingly gentle and patient with the yapping, impatient puppy—even when Nugget tries to claw at him and shake himself dry, Tony never loses his cool.

A few minutes later they’re sitting on their stomachs watching Nugget stomp around on a blanket. There’s water in a bowl for him at one corner and a plate of chopped up chicken at another.

“I can’t take him home,” Peter says morosely after a few minutes. “May won’t let me keep him.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Where does she even think you are right now?”

“...In my bed.”

“Wow,” Tony says, deadpan. “Okay, well, I most certainly can’t keep him either.”

“What?! Why not?!”

Tony sighs. “I’m Iron Man, if you hadn’t noticed, kiddo—”

“Oh, what, so you’re too tough to look after him?”

“No, I’m too busy. I spend like, twenty-three out of twenty-four hours in a day in my shop and the rest of the time I’m on my knees apologising to Pepper and begging for forgiveness. There’s no time in-between to feed the pup, walk the pup—”

“I could come by,” Peter blurts. “Like, once a day, and I could make sure he’s eaten and play with him and stuff. You wouldn’t have to lift a finger—”

“Except to press ‘purchase’ on my shopping cart full of dog food—”

“Tony,” Peter cuts in, pleading, “please? I can’t just drop him off at some kennel so they can—” he covers the dog’s ears, “so they can euthanize him in a week when no one buys him. He deserves so much better, you know?”

Tony frowns, considering it, and Peter waits with his breath caught in his throat until, “God, fine.”

“Yes!”

“But! But! A pet is a serious responsibility, okay? You might as well be adopting a child—”

“What would you know about raising kids?” Peter asks, only jokingly, but Tony just stares and then, for some reason, smiles.

“You have to make sure he’s happy,” Tony says. “You have to be there for him in whatever way he needs, alright? I’ll set up a pen in the penthouse and you can make sure he works off his energy there, and if I have time I’ll even take you both to the park. And if he ever happens to pee on my carpet, I’m counting on you to clean it up.”

“Don’t you have, like, housekeepers for that sort of thing?”

“Yeah, but this is character building stuff.”

“Ugh, fine, I’ll clean up the pee.”

They continue to iron out the details for a while and bicker over whether Nugget’s last name should be Parker or Stark, and it’s only when Pepper walks in—still in her pajamas, bleary eyed and complaining that they woke her up—that they both decide it should be ‘Potts’.

—

5. (+1)

It starts with a headache.

He’s bent over his desk studying for a Calc test when the throbbing begins. It’s not so bad at first, but after a half hour or so his vision is swimming and he keeps having to take breaks to massage his temples and close his eyes. The equations are all blending together and he can’t think straight anymore.

Peter decides to give up right around then. After all, if he’s not gonna retain any of the information, why bother?

May pokes and prods through dinner. Peter tries to fool her by acting like everything is normal and okay and even manages to make her laugh once or twice.

Inside, dread is coiling through his stomach like an irritated snake. He knows what’s coming next; after all, he doesn’t really get sick anymore, so what else could it be?

Peter tries to sleep but ends up tossing and turning for most of the night. He falls into some kind of half-conscious daze at around four in the morning and rouses about twenty minutes later, soaked with sweat and aching everywhere.

Feeling like he’s gonna vomit, Peter kicks off his blankets and strips the sheets off his bed. He takes his shirt off because the fabric is too abrasive against his skin and it’s like he can feel every fibre tickling against it, grating and chafing. He curls up into a tight ball and covers his ears with his hands to block out the now amplified sounds of the city: car alarms, dogs barking, music playing.

Normally Peter loves the way New York is never silent. Now, he just wishes everyone would shut the fuck up for once.

When he stumbles out of his room a little while later, May is already gone. She’d told him the night before that she had an early shift and for once he’s actually grateful. Haltingly, Peter gets ready for school. He’s already skipped three days this month and if he misses this Calc quiz he’s gonna fucking bomb the class.

May would kill him.

It’s better to suffer a little than die.

Brushing his teeth makes his head spin and the minute he wriggles into his clothes he feels like a caged animal about to claw his skin off. Everything takes so much longer than normal. He doesn’t eat because the mere thought of food makes the back of his throat sting with bile.

On the train, he closes his eyes and rests his head against the cool glass of the window, trying to tune out the constant screeching of the rails. One day, on God, he will make it a personal project to oil every fucking line in the subway.

At his fifth stop, an old lady boards and all the seats are taken.

Peter swallows thickly and stands. Black spots dance in his vision and he grabs onto the overhead bar—something he hasn’t actually needed to use since he was a little kid—and tries not to pass out.

He almost misses the stop to get to school, but slips out at the last second, millimetres away from getting his backpack caught in the doors. Peter is hot all over and lightheaded as he makes his way out of the station. It’s even hotter up above, what with summer coming now and all.

Peter is late and he doesn’t need his watch to tell; Flash’s car is already parked out front instead of zooming through the drop off to run him over (which, hey, silver lining), and the majority of the student body is already inside.

Peter has to stop multiple times on his way to Spanish just to breathe. By the time he gets there he’s at least ten minutes late for roll call.

“Mr. Parker,” his teacher greets, unimpressed. “So glad you could join us.”

Peter makes a noise and takes the proffered quiz. He wonders absently why some people choose to teach. What is it, like, some kind of power trip for them?

He has five minutes to finish the quiz but doesn’t make it past the first question. Ned volunteers to collect them and stops at Peter’s desk while Professor Scott outlines today’s lesson plan.

“Dude,” he whisper-hisses, “you look like complete shit. What on Earth are you doing here right now?”

“Test,” Peter mutters dully, resting his cheek on his hand and closing his eyes. “Here you go. Didn’t finish it.”

Ned takes it carefully, holding it with two fingers like it’s covered in disease. “Do you want me to get the nurse or something?”

Peter hums. “No. Just… headache.”

Slowly Ned backs away. “Um—”

“Mr. Leeds!” Professor Scott says, loudly. Ned jumps. “Is there a problem back there?”

Yes, Peter thinks. You’re the human version of nails on a fucking chalk board. Please, for the love of all that is holy, just start on the vocab.

Only he accidentally says all of that out loud.

The whole class is staring. Flash is slack-jawed. Betty Brant’s eyes are the size of small moons.

“Parker,” Scott grits out—and Peter has denominated him to just Scott now out of reciprocation and spite; “You just earned yourself a shiny new detention. I’d like you to take this slip to the principal’s office. Please.”

Oh, thank God. At least it’ll be quiet there.

Peter stands and brushes past Ned and it literally feels like flames of hell are licking against his skin. He almost vomits. This is decidedly not good.

He takes the paper. “Gladly, good sir.”

When he’s gone, there’s an outburst of muttering that his enhancements let him hear. It only makes the overload worse. Peter covers his ears with his hands again and, overcome with a sudden wave of vertigo, ducks into the bathroom.

He barely makes it to the toilet before emptying his stomach of last night’s food.

Peter sags against the wall, panting. He keeps his eyes closed and waits for the world to stop spinning. About ten minutes later, the smell of jasmine shampoo—normally welcome—causes him to lean over and retch again.

MJ pokes her head inside the unlocked stall. “Jesus,” she whispers. The second her hands touch his body he flinches and she immediately retracts them. “Fuck, sorry. Ned said you wigged out in Spanish. I looked for you in the Principal's office but you weren’t there and... What’s—what’s wrong? I thought you couldn’t even get sick.”

“Bad headache,” he mutters, spitting into the toilet. It’s easier than explaining about his freakish mutations and how they sometimes go completely haywire, leaving him on edge and nauseous and irritable.

MJ grabs him some toilet paper to wipe his mouth with. “Did you take anything?”

“Pain meds don’t work on me.”

“Does May know? You should have called in.”

“Couldn’t. Can’t miss my test.”

She sighs. “Your final is like fifty percent of your grade and you could pass it with your eyes closed. You can miss your test, you’re just afraid of getting anything lower than an A.”

Peter is silent. “You got me there.”

MJ’s hand twitches like she wants to touch him but knows she can’t. “You need to go home. Lie down, get some rest.”

“May is working,” Peter says, “and if I have to take the subway again right now I’ll die. I really will. It’s so—the smell and the noise and I can’t sit down and—”

“Give me your phone.”

“What?”

“Just give it.”

She’s holding her hand out for it and giving him a no-nonsense expression that kind of reminds Peter of Pepper Potts on a rampage. He’s seen what happens to Tony when he crosses her, so he fishes his phone out of his pocket and hands it over.

“Hold on.”

She stands and leaves. Peter closes his eyes again. He tunes out her conversation because if he doesn’t, he’s absolutely gonna vomit again and nobody wants that.

MJ slips back inside the stall. “Okay, solved. Do you still feel like you’re gonna vomit?”

Peter thinks about it. “No.”

“Good. We’re gonna go to the nurse, okay?”

“Oh boy.”

—

Tony Stark walks into Peter’s school and finds the hallways empty. The classroom doors are shut and the muted sounds of teachers lecturing are the only signs that anyone is here at all.

He finds Peter in the infirmary, sitting on the examination table with the heels of his palms pressed against his eyes.

He’s at his side in an instant. “Kid?”

It’s surprise that gets Peter’s eyes open, but the little spider baby immediately regrets it. He flinches and sucks in a sharp breath. “Tony,” he whispers, like the name is all he can manage and the questions will have to wait for later.

Tony looks him over. There are no obvious injuries. The girl on the phone had said it was just a headache, but Tony is way more experienced with Peter’s brand of bullshit and knows there’s usually something else going on beneath the surface.

“I’m gonna go talk to the nurse and then get you out of here, okay?”

A nod.

It’s always a bad thing when he doesn’t argue. Peter Parker would start a fight about what kind of pizza to order, even if you suggest the kind he really wants, just to be a stubborn little shit about things.

Tony slips out of the exam room. The nurse looks up when he enters her office. “Oh my—Mr. Stark?!”

“Yes, hello,” Tony takes a cautious step forward as she stands. He doesn’t bother to sit. “I’m here to pick up the little gremlin in there.”

Her face flushes. “I didn’t know you’d been called, I—I figured I would just let him wait it out, you know? He didn’t want to be touched, so it was hard to figure out what was up and—so it’s real? About the internship?”

“Of course. Why would he lie?”

She opens her mouth. Closes it. “Well… you know how kids can be.”

“Do I?”

She doesn’t seem to know what to say to that.

Tony sighs. “Look, Nurse—uh, Timms—Nurse Timms, can I please just sign the kid out and take him home? He’s clearly in pain here.”

She starts rifling through her desk for a form. “I mean, I can admit you to take him home, but I really suggest you talk with the principal first—Peter was given a detention before he was brought to my ward, see, and I was—” she shakes her head. “I thought he might be faking.”

Tony stares without blinking for a whole five seconds and then, “Detention? For what?”

“I heard he bad-mouthed a teacher or something. But to be fair, Professor Scott isn’t exactly what I’d call patient.”

“Well, be that as it may,” Tony takes the form she hands him to sign, “my kid doesn’t fake. He has a condition, see. Gets uh… overloaded. Sounds, smells, it can be too much for him. Probably why he snapped.”

“That… that makes sense.”

“Yes,” he says succinctly, and hands the paper back. “You’d know that if you bothered to ask. Anyway, I’ll be going. Thanks for the help, Nurse Times.”

“Uh, it’s—it’s Timms—”

The door shuts behind him.

—

MJ was forced to go back to class. She’d argued and protested but Nurse Timms was insistent. So, MJ had relented. She’d pressed the lightest of kisses on his forehead and it surprisingly hadn’t felt that bad, and then she’d gone.

Tony Stark had shown up about twenty minutes later and it’s just when Peter’s starting to think it was all just a vivid hallucination that the smell of coffee and motor oil fills his senses again. It’s overwhelming but not debilitating.

“Kiddo,” Tony whispers, “is it okay to touch you?”

Peter cracks an eye. Everything is bright but Tony’s suit is mercifully black, so he focuses on that. “I don’t know. I don’t wanna move.”

“Well I gotta get you outta here somehow.”

“But my detention—”

“I already got you out of it,” Tony says breezily. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Tony,” Peter says, cheeks flushing. “You can’t just bribe my principal into—”

“I didn’t bribe anyone. I just explained the situation and besides, Morita’s an old friend.”

Peter closes his eyes again as he frowns. “You’re friends with my principal?”

“I’m a benefactor for your school, too,” Tony says. “But don’t tell anyone, it’s a secret.”

Something shifts in the air. Tony is sitting now. “Happy’s waiting outside,” he says, “but whenever you’re ready.”

Peter thinks about it for a few seconds and decides it’s gonna have to happen at some point, anyway. Might as well rip the band-aid off now. Slowly he takes a deep breath and manages to sit up with Tony’s help. The older man tries to avoid touching him as much as possible, but surprisingly enough the weight of his hand against Peter’s spine isn’t crushing or aggravating. It doesn’t hurt.

“Baby steps,” Tony says softly. “We’ll take you out the side door, okay?”

Even getting to the door is slow going but Tony doesn’t seem to mind. Right before they open it, Tony stops and pulls his sunglasses off. “Here, try these.”

Peter puts them on. He feels ridiculous because like, they work on Tony who was literally born in the seventies, but Peter really doesn’t dig the groovy shades. Regardless they’re better than nothing and even help a little.

The halls are empty again. Most of the students will be in the gym right about now, or the cafeteria for lunch. They don’t run into anybody on the way out and as soon as they’re in the back of the car, Peter sags against Tony’s side. He feels like he’s just run ten miles.

“Drive, Hogan,” Tony says, and then the partition glides up.

For a few seconds it’s almost completely quiet. Noise suppression tech, Peter realises, and he feels like he could cry from relief. For the first time in hours there’s just… nothing. No traffic, no dozens of students talking at once. The air conditioning unit is filtered, so he’s not being attacked with the smell of body odour and clashing perfume scents and Axe cologne. There’s just Tony and beautiful, amazing, showstopping silence.

Tony shifts a little. “Better?”

Peter nods, figuring it’s still probably not safe to speak.

“We’ll be there soon,” Tony says softly.

—

Peter doesn’t remember much after the car ride. He can vaguely recall protesting getting out of the Audi, and he remembers Tony assuring him that everything would be okay, and the next thing he knows he’s lying on his back in an utterly dark bedroom. The walls are insulated just like the car had been, so there’s just no sound, and the bed sheets probably have the highest thread count of all time.

Something shifts beside Peter and he realises Tony is there, feeling his forehead.

“What—?”

“Oh, hey,” Tony greets. “I think you might’ve blacked out there. All the noise hit you at once when we got out of the car and you just…”

“I fainted?”

Tony snorts softly. “Relax. It happens to the best of us. How do you feel, Webster?”

Peter hums. “Bad.”

“Let’s try a scale of one to ten.”

“Okay,” Peter says. “Ten.” Tony lets out a little grunt at that and so Peter elaborates, “It was at like, a twenty this morning, so.”

“Ah, I see.” Tony’s grip shifts to Peter’s wrist to measure his pulse. “This okay?”

“It’s fine.”

And it really is. He doesn’t feel like burning his skin off or anything. Tony’s hands are just warm.

“Any idea what brought this on?”

Peter shifts a little. “I uh… haven’t been sleeping a lot lately.” He swallows. “Like, at all.”

“And how long’s that been going on for?”

“I don’t know. On and off for a few weeks, I guess.”

“Jesus,” Tony sighs and pulls his hand away. He rakes it through his hair. “Kiddo, what have we said about communication? Does May know?”

“....No?”

There’s a long pause where Tony just kind of sits there thinking, like he wants to say whatever comes next carefully. He massages his temples and then: “Alright, scooch over.”

“What?”

“Make room for me.”

Peter blinks and then, tentatively, scoots over a little to allow Tony room to lie down. The older man does, arching his back a little and grunting in pain because he’s like, ancient. They’re not touching, but very slowly Peter starts inching closer again. Eventually he works up the courage to try resting his head on Tony’s chest, which is terrifying not only because it’s Tony Stark, but also because he’d rather not have his brain implode.

Nothing happens. “Your fabric softener must be like, super expensive,” he whispers, because this is actually better than the sheets.

Tony snorts. “I’ll ask Pep about it.”

Peter makes a noncommittal noise and before he knows it, his eyes are closing. For once they actually feel heavy, and the steady rhythm of Tony’s heart beat is soothing, dependable.

Tony’s hands brush lightly over Peter’s hair and then thread through it. “Too much?”

“No,” Peter promises. “Good.”

And so Tony’s fingers run through his curls over and over, gently, lightly. His thumb sweeps over Peter’s cheek once, too, and then he starts muttering in Italian.

Peter cracks an eye. “Are you telling me your grocery shopping list?”

Tony laughs a little. “My mom used to do it for me,” he says. “Something about just hearing her speak the language made me feel… relaxed, I guess. Didn’t matter what she was saying.”

Peter smiles and wraps an arm around Tony’s torso. “Tell me something else.”

“You wanna hear about the time I almost blew up a Chem lab?”

“Uh, duh.”

So Tony launches into it, speaking in a low voice and absently twisting one of Peter’s curls around his finger. It feels nice and the headache is fading fast.

Peter sleeps.

#marvel #irondad #peter parker #tony stark #my writing #friendly neighborhood fic exchange #may parker #pepper potts #michelle jones #spideychelle #pepperony #nugget the dog #insomnia

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glass-rose-paperweight · 4 years

Text

Rosie Watson

I don’t see much talk about Rosie, which is understandable since she has so little screen time. However, a child is a pretty important part of anyone’s life. And I’m in a child psychology class right now, so this sort of stuff is on my mind. I often see her appear in fanfiction, usually inaccurately, which is understandable because writing children is hard. This post is going to talk about her development at the end of the show (about 18 months old), what her development would be like at 2 years old (a common age for her in fanfiction), and how Mary’s death might have affected her.

Physical Development

By 18 months old, the physical development of most babies is pretty well developed. They’re almost definitely going to be walking by this time, maybe still a little unsteadily, but most can get around pretty well without much assistance at 18 months. By two years old, most children can climb stairs, run, and jump. Other than growing bigger, their physical development is starting to come to a close. Fine motor skills are still developing at this age; gross motor skills are going to be more well developed. A common test used is stacking blocks. At 18 months, they can generally only stack about 3, but by 2 years, babies can usually stack 5 blocks. Their peripheral and color vision is basically completely developed by 2 years, and their eyes, unless there is something wrong with them, will probably be close to 20/20 vision. They have well developed depth perception and perceptual constancy (the idea that an object viewed from a different distance or a different angle is still the same object). By 18 months, their hearing is well developed, and babies of this age can locate the sources of sounds just as well as adults can.

Cognitive Development

Jean Piaget came up with 6 stages for cognitive development in babies. By 18 months, Rosie would be in either stage 5 (12-18 months) or stage 6 (18-24 months). By this age, Rosie would be quite inquisitive about the world. Babies at this age are described as ‘miniature scientists’: they are exploring and trying to figure out how things work, often getting into things they shouldn’t. And since they can move around pretty well by this age, they’re able to get into a lot of things. They will be engaging in trial and error behaviors in order to accomplish something, though at 18, the baby might be able to start mentally representing some objects and able to manipulate them in their head and figure it out that way. The example Piaget gives is an experiment he did on his own kids. At (I think) 18 months, he gave his daughter a stick that she wanted to pull into her crib. She was able to get it into her crib only by repeated trial and error of repeatedly turning the stick until it was able to fit through the bars. He repeated this experiment with a different kid when they were about 24 months old, and they were able to sit there and think about it for a moment before turning the stick and pulling it into the crib because they were able to mentally manipulate the stick. Object permanence is fully established around 12 months, so Rosie at this age would fully grasp it and go after objects that have left her view or been hidden. Deferred imitation (the ability to repeat an observed action after a waiting period) is also well established by 12 months - children are able to repeat actions seen 4 weeks prior. So it would be easy for Rosie to repeat the actions of others at 18 months, definitely by 2 years. This is because memory starts solidifying around 12 months. Toddlers 1-3 years old require 12-14 hours of sleep each day.

Language

I think this is the biggest mistake I see when it comes to writing really young children. Your 2 year old will not be speaking complete sentences. At 18 months, babies only have a vocabulary of about 50 words (though, they can understand far more words than this - probably twice as many words). Between 18 and 22 months, babies have a vocabulary explosion, going from 50 words to about 300. About 75% of the words gained during this time are nouns. What is common at this age is overextension, which is use of words in situations where meaning is extended. This usually happens with function or form. For example, if a baby is shown a small dog and told that is a ‘doggie’ and then shown a cow and told that is a ‘cow’, they child might think anything bigger than the small dog is a cow, even if its actually a dog. So medium to large dogs, sheep, horses, moose, and cows might all get called cows. By extension, anything about the size of the dog, or maybe even smaller, might get called ‘doggie’. Or, maybe the baby has a toy train that it calls a ‘choo-choo’. The baby might end up calling anything with wheels a ‘choo-coo’. At 18-24 months, babies will be using 2 word sentences. However, they do seem to understand syntax pretty well at this age - if they want you to sit in a chair, they will tell you ‘sit chair’, not ‘chair sit’. At this age, they will be using Telegraphic Speech, which are brief expressions that contain the meaning of the sentence but only essential words are used. Adults use this in their everyday life, such as if we text someone ‘home Tuesday’ instead of ‘I will be home on Tuesday’. If you want to go the route of showing Rosie as some sort of genius baby (or any baby of this age, for that matter), then you might have a baby using 3 word sentences with a vocabulary of 500 words. That would be a very smart baby. However, it’s almost impossible to tell how smart someone will be at this age. Baby’s brains are still developing, and even the smartest babies will have an upper limit on what they are capable of at this age. Most IQ tests can’t really start accurately predicting future intelligence until about 5 or 6. Even the tests that have been designed for babies 2 and younger are really only useful for telling if there’s some sort of cognitive impairment, not if the baby is exceptionally smart for its age. Even the ones that excel at the tests at that age might end up with only average intelligence. If you want Rosie to be a genius, it likely won’t really start showing until she is a little older.

Mary’s Death

Mary dies sometime between Rosie being about 6 months (when she throws the rattle at Sherlock) and 18 months (the end of TFP). We’ll just say 12 months for easy numbers. By this age, Rosie would have developed very strong attachments to her caregivers. Obviously John and Mary are her caregivers, but the scene where Rosie throws the rattle at Sherlock shows that Rosie has formed a strong attachment with Sherlock; 6 months is about the age where fear of strangers begins, and Rosie shows absolutely no discomfort with Sherlock, so he’s been around enough for the previous months to have a strong attachment with him. When Molly tells Sherlock that John doesn’t want to see him anymore at the end of T6T, we’re going to say that Rosie is about 12 months. This is about the time when fear of strangers starts declining, but if Rosie wasn’t pretty comfortable with Molly, she would be fussy at being taken away from her father, so it’s a pretty safe bet that Molly has also been pretty involved with taking care of Rosie. So, that’s 4 primary caregivers total. Some might think that, because Rosie is so young, Mary’s death wouldn’t affect her. And Rosie isn’t likely to remember Mary or that she died. However, babies are utterly dependent on those that take care of them. Consequently, they form very strong attachments to those that take care of them. As anyone who has been around a baby can tell you, they get upset when the person that takes care of them disappears and isn’t around to offer them safety and comfort. By 12, Rosie would have formed a very strong attachment with Mary; even with her other caregivers being around, she still would have noticed Mary’s absence and been affected by it. However, her other caregivers weren’t around. John tells Sherlock that he doesn’t want Sherlock around any more, and then Sherlock goes “off his tits” with drugs for a while. John is having to deal with his wife being dead and the anger he feels towards his friend over that. It’s shown that he’s not doing too well. He’s probably still Rosie’s primary caregiver, but he almost definitely wouldn’t be as involved as he was simply because he’s so emotionally distraught. Meaning that the person who was probably least involved with Rosie prior to Mary’s death (Molly) might have ended up becoming the main caregiver for Rosie for a little while there. She went from 4 to 1 and a half caregivers, more or less. And that would definitely have affected her. The most obvious way would be in her attachment style. Babies form different attachments to their caregivers, partially dependent on the baby’s own temperament, but usually dependent a lot more on the kind of care they receive. Most babies have secure attachment. Securely attached babies will show mild distress at a caregiver’s departure and will want to interact with the caregiver upon their return. However, they are easily comforted by the caregiver and go back to being happy and content pretty soon after being comforted. They use their caregiver as a secure base to explore the world around them. As long as the caregiver is close by, and giving positive signals as the baby is exploring if the baby becomes uncertain, they will remain content and explore just about everything they can. Securely attached babies are happier and more sociable with strangers, more cooperative with parents, get along better with peers, are better at problem solving, and having higher attention spans and lower impulsive behaviors. Contrast that with insecure attachment. There are actually 3 different types of insecure attachments, but I’m not going to go into them because this post is long enough as it is, and the individual types isn’t really important. There are some consistencies. Insecurely attached babies will be more emotionally distressed and less easily comforted by caregiver’s departure. They may initially show confusion or be dazed and disoriented with the caregiver first leaves. They may show contradictory behavior when the caregiver returns, alternating between pulling the caregiver close and pushing them away (though, there is one form of insecure attachment where the baby basically just ... doesn’t care about the caregiver. They show the least distress out of all babies when the caregiver leaves and basically ignores them when the caregiver returns). Rosie would most likely start out as a securely attached baby. She is surrounded by a lot of people that love her and engage with her and take very good care of her. Sherlock would absolutely encourage exploration and curiosity within Rosie. however, attachment styles can change, depending on the caregiving received. I think it likely that, after the events of T6T, her attachment style would change from secure to insecure. The good news is, that also means it can change back, from insecure to secure. Even though we see Sherlock and John interacting with her will at the end of TFP, she would likely still be insecurely attached. It takes time for anyone to get over that sort of thing. If you are writing her at 18-20 months, it would be completely believable to write her as being a bit of a ‘problem baby’, with all the issues that come from insecure attachment. However, by 2 years, she will likely have gone back to a secure attachment style, likely with no lasting consequences of what happened during season 4. Babies display a wonderful ability to bounce back from all sorts of harsh conditions they go through at a young age, showing almost no problems later in life as long as they are given the chance to have a better situation and improve.

I hope this helps anyone looking to write about Rosie or any babies about 18 to 24 months of age.

#rosie #rosie watson #sherlock #sherlock holmes #bbc #bbc sherlock #sherlock bbc #john watson #mary watson #mary morstan #writing advice #fanfiction help #babies #t6t #the six thatchers #tfp #the final problem

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amphxtrite · 4 years

Text

ginny weasley x fem!reader

Royalty Au

Warnings: spelling/grammar mistakes

Summary: the reader has to choose someone to marry from the Weasley family and she falls for the only girl.

enjoy <3

___________________________________

y/n l/n Princess of Felicitatem, next in line for the throne, treasure of the Kingdom of Prosperity.

Yawning as you sit yourself up in your lush 4-poster bed, you stretch your arms out and throw back your covers, swinging your legs off the edge of your mattress and sighing at the feeling of your feet meeting the cool marble of the floor beneath you.

“Good morning Princess.” you hear a voice call out to you from the doorway. “Good morning Melina, beautiful day isn’t it?” you answer back, gazing out your large window into the beautiful garden. “Yes it is indeed Princess, I’m here to fetch you for breakfast.” Melina steps into the room and closes the door behind her. You murmur a quick mhm before scooching over to face her.

Melina was like the older sister you never had, you two were very comfortable around each other, but she still liked to stick to formalities when she was unsure if anyone was around. “Mellie there’s no need for that Princess stuff around me, you know that!” you grin. “I know, but I thought I saw Sebastian coming around here, and you know how much of a blabbermouth he is.” She sighs, flopping down onto your bed. You shrug, standing fully up and heading to the bathroom, you begin to run a brush through your hair as Mellie informs you on the castle’s gossip. “So I heard the head chef and one of the chambermaids were caught snogging in a broom closet,” She giggles. “And, Alex says the gardener is pregnant, Oh, and we got a cute new stable boy.” She rattles on, you can feel her blush from here. You smile. Beginning to brush your teeth, Mellie comes into the bathroom and begins to braid her hair, “It’s parcel day too, I think I saw a whole stack with your name on them.” She looks over at you. You rinse out your mouth before answering.

“Oh yeah, the Potter’s kingdom is trying to sign a deal with my parents, and they think spoiling me will convince them.” you answer nonchalantly.

“Do you think it’ll work?” Mellie asks curiously. “Oh, Mother was going to sign it anyways, she's just a bit busy right now.” You snicker, “The fabric in their kingdom is to die for though and they send the most beautiful dresses, so I’m not complaining.” you turn and head towards your closet. “You want to borrow anything today?” you call out to the blonde trailing behind you. “Do you have that ribbon I like?” She asks as you walk to a drawer and pull out the baby blue silk hair ribbon and toss it over to her. “You can keep it, you know, since you like it so much.” You smile at her. She squeals and hugs you tightly, thanking you over and over again, you simply smile and hug her back. She helps you put on a casual white dress and you walk down to the dining room talking about the kingdom’s news, you separate once you arrive at your destination, waving goodbye as you open the large doors.

“Ah, y/n there you are!” Your father calls out to you as you step into the large room. “Good morning father.” You answer “Good morning mother” you greet your mother beside him at the head of the table. Your father stands and walks over to you, “We have guests today darling,” He says motioning to a large family of red-heads, you immediately recognize them as the Weasley’s from the Western Kingdom. You curtsey to them, “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” You greet. “Oh thank you darling.” A short woman with a kind face answers, she must be Mrs. Weasley. “You have a very kind daughter Charles.” Mr. Weasley compliments, you smile. You scan your eyes down the row of ginger children seven in total, skimming over each one of them, your eyes stop at the only girl there, the youngest one too you presumed. She sends you a small smile and you find yourself staring. She was so beautiful, long light ginger hair, ocean blue eyes and pretty pink lips. You grin back as you walk with your father to the head of the table taking a seat on the other right side of your him, directly in front of Mr. Weasley, The adults continue talking and you find your mind wandering, your eyes goes back to the girl you had made eye-contact with just a few moments ago, she’s picking at her eggs, you smile but catch yourself in the act, you shake your head slightly, you’ve never felt this way about a girl before, what was going on? Despite these thoughts there was a part of your brain saying to just go with it. You’re brought out of your thoughts by your father’s voice.

“You’re probably wondering why the Weasleys are here?” Your father asks, reading your mind. You nod. “Well dear, we’ve decided to join our kingdoms and would like to have you and one of their children marry to unite us when you’re crowned queen.” He explains. You freeze. “So you’re arranging my marriage?” You ask, fear lacing your tone. “Well not exactly,” Your father tries to reason with you. “The Weasley’s have six boys in their family and 5 for you to choose from, aside from Bill the oldest who is already married, who you choose is your choice though of course.” You nod nervously, thinking back to the girl at the other side of the table. You glance in her direction and she’s looking back at you blushing. You feel a surge of happiness and turn back to your father. “Any… of the Weasley’s father?” You smile at him. “Of course darling, you have my word.” He nods to you unknowingly, your mother looks between you and the girl and back at you again, you raise one of your brows at her and she smiles, nodding. You feel a rush of excitement, quickly eating your oatmeal and drinking your tea before you stand hoping to greet the girl. “y/n why don’t you give the kids a tour around the castle?” Your father suggests, “to get to know them better.” He continues a grin on his face. “Um- of course! If you would kindly follow me?” you call out to the seven gingers, they all stand and walk towards the doors with you introducing themselves one by one. There was Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George, Ron and the beautiful girl that caught your eye's name was Ginny, what a gorgeous name. For the rest of the morning and afternoon you run around the castle, showing them every room and every crevasse you thought was important, but in the end most of your time was spent in the garden, playing football with the family, you grew tired after a couple games and decided to sit under your favourite cherry blossom tree to watch.

The Weasley’s were such kind people and you knew any of them would make a perfect partner, but only one of them had left you speechless. Ginny was absolutely perfect, she was so kind, strong and mature compared to most of her brothers, and on top of that, so very beautiful. You watch with heart-eyes as she runs around in her long dress throwing and catching a ball around with her brothers, you watch her eyes light up, her smile grow, and her hair sway and you knew she was the one you wanted to choose. You were conflicted though, you’ve never felt this way about a woman before, but with Ginny it just felt so natural, she made you laugh, blush and hang onto her every word, she was everything you could ever ask for and more, but you knew there was a problem, what if she didn’t feel that way about you? What if she found you disgusting for having these feelings for her? What if your father didn’t allow it… He did say sons after all. You could feel someone's gaze on you and you see Ginny standing with her twin brothers Fred and George, you smiled and waved at them, wondering what they’re talking about.

“Really?!” Fred says to his sister, his eyes wide in shock. Ginny rolls her eyes, “raise your voice a bit Fred I don’t think she heard you.” She whispers to her brother sarcastically. “But, you’re serious?… You like y/n?” George whispers back, Ginny glances back to you a pink dust on her cheeks and a smile spreading on her face, “Yes, she’s absolutely marvelous!” She answers George. “Look Gin, I’m happy for you, really, but what are mum and dad going to say?” Fred questions, slightly concerned. “Well, I haven’t really thought that far yet, but I’m sure they’d be fine with it!” Ginny answers looking back to you again, she sees your eyes raise to hers and she can almost see your future together in your eyes, baking in the kitchen together, running through your castle hand in hand, and kissing you under the moonlight, the thought made her blush. “I’m going to tell her!” Ginny confidently starts to walk over, George grabs her by the arm. “Gin wait a second, how can you tell she feels the same?” George asks worriedly, not wanting his sisters heart broken. Ginny only grins, turning back to look at your rosy cheeks, she says dreamily, “I just know,” before releasing her arm and walking over.

You see Ginny walking towards you and you start to panic. Did your hair look okay? Was there food on your face? Did your breath smell okay? Were there any stains on your dress? Ginny sits down next to you and as you look into her stunning eyes all your insecurities wash away. “You’re beautiful you know.” She says finally, grinning happily as she watches your face go bright pink again. “Thank you Ginny.” You respond meekly, feeling small under her intense gaze. “Really y/n, you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met.” She says tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You sat there stunned, wishing you could stay in this moment forever, Ginny staring into your eyes, her hand running through your hair, sitting under the pink cherry blossom tree, basking in the warm spring sunlight.

“I want to choose you.” you utter unconsciously, staring lovingly at the girl in front of you. Ginny freezes, did she just hear you correctly? Her jaw drops. You snap out of your daze, taking her silence as rejection and stand up quickly. “I-I’m so sorry, I’ll just go.” You say stuttering, rushing off, tears in your eyes. You must’ve read the signs wrong, oh how stupid you were for thinking she felt the same way…

Behind you Ginny shakes off her shock and stands up, following you and calling your name, you don’t stop and continue running until you reach a hidden alcove, your favourite one you had decorated with flowers, plants and pillows. You turn and drop into the alcove, hugging your knees to your chest. You hear Ginny calling for you again, you don’t answer, you hear her footsteps getting closer, you pray she doesn’t find you, but alas, luck wasn’t on your side. “Y/n! There you are!” She calls out. Great, you think to yourself, looking up at her with tears running down your face. Ginny steps into the alcove and wipes the tears from your eyes with her thumbs a small smile on her face, you turn away and hide your face from her embarrassed. She kneels in front of you and removes your hands from your face, holding them in her own. She takes a deep breath. “I want you to choose me too.” she says in a happy voice. “y/n, I’d love to be with you!” she breathes out with a smile on her face. “I know we’ve only just met today, but I feel something between us I don’t want to let go of, we can go slowly if you want. I'm in no rush. I just want to be with you.” She opens her mouth to speak again, but you shush her with a kiss, feeling her lips against yours was heavenly, your mouths moved in sync and you could feel her nibbling on your lips. You didn’t want it to stop, but you need to say something to her. You pull away reluctantly, and look deep into her eyes. “Then I choose you, Ginny Weasley, to be my queen, my love and my light, to stay by my side forever, do you accept?” You ask with a renewed feeling of confidence, “Yes, y/n I do.” She replies without hesitation, pulling you to her again and joining your lips together again, your hands on her soft cheeks and hers grasping the fabric of your dress. You would worry about any issues later on. Right now it was just you and your love sitting together in the hidden alcove.

#ginny weasley #harry potter imagine #fem x fem #ginny x reader #ginny weasley x reader #royalty au #weasley family

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sea-owl · 4 years

Text

Let me start off saying that do not take this seriously. This was an idea running rampant in my brain and wouldn't leave me alone.

So an AU where Sakura has some past lives too because Kishimoto did her dirty too many times and he could have at least given her this since the three man band was pushed on us so much along with the brothers idea. I mean it wouldn't be that hard either like Naruto and Sasuke are the sun and moon? Okay Sakura can be the stars or earth that helps balance/makes peace between the boys/brothers. One detail I liked imagining is that these past lives of Sakura's got killed the same way, by Naruto and Sasuke's past lives, and then shit that was already bad goes worse because now their peacekeeper is gone. I will go into this later.

I also imagine that her past lives were the wives or companions of Indra and Madara that's why she's so full of love for Sasuke. Yes all her past lives have pink hair that is non negotiable.

I've seen people use Shachi for Indra's wife's name and I've kinda adopted that, and I always called Madara's wife Haruka.

Shachi was a family friend in her youth that would come and go because her clan traveled during that periord. They were some sort of travelling medicine men basically. Indra developed a big ol crush on her, while Ashura, who was younger looked up to Shachi like a big sister. Years later after Indra leaves he finds Shachi again, he ends up teaching her how to use chakra she's pretty good at it, a fast learner. They get married and have kids. This is definitely Sakura's more loving, and kind side as the way Shachi was raised. Though that isn't to say Shachi couldn't be petty or passive aggressive. Shachi also gave birth to the start of the Uchiha clan and maybe Haruno if we're feeling spicy. Shachi always thought the brothers could rekindle if they just talked, she knew both of them and Indra never fully explained to her what happened that he left. Shachi tries to bring them together again, they fight, and end up killing Shachi as she tries to stop them.

Now onto Madara's and Hashirama's lives. Haruka was born to a clan that was more neutral in the wars, hell we can make it Haruno too to make things easier. She was a trained fighter, but she was more defensive. She was very knowledgeable in herbs like Shachi. This is kind of how she met Madara and Hashirama. They got hurt and she was passing by. She healed them both and refused to let them fight in front of her. Haruka was more stubborn and quick tempered than Shachi but that's ok because she had Madara and Hashirama's bullshit to deal with. As the boys were creating the leaf village she was there to help keep tempers in check and make sure things were realistic. Somehow during those talks Madara convinces Haruka to marry him. When tensions started rising up between the two again Haruka was there trying to get them to see the other's point o view, and to tell Tobirama to shut it when he got on her nerves. Haruka was heartbroken when Madara left and furious when he returned. She confronts him at the valley of the end with Hashirama. She ends up killed in that battle.

By the time Sakura is born Shachi and Haruka's names are long gone. There might be a small myth about then among the Uchiha but that's it.

Shachi and Haruka aren't just silent observer's over Sakura's life, they actually are more like those old gossiping aunties who Sakura can hear in her head all the time and sometimes can see if she focuses enough. Sakura who has had Inner since a child just fucking rolls with it.

Shachi and Haruka sees the reincarnations of their boys in Sasuke and Naruto immediately but they let Sakura navigate those relationships by herself with a comment or two from them. They are estatic when Sakura decides to become a medic ninja, taking their herb knowledge further. They never tell Sakura about how they died, it would be cruel of them to tell the young girl she will be killed by those closest to her.

When the rooftop fight happens and Sakura rushes forward Shachi and Haruka are terrified because they know this is it. This is the moment Sakura is to die by her boys' hands. They're horrified, she's too young they were both grown adults when they died.

They let out a sob of relief when Kakashi appears, saving their newest reincarnation. They begin to hope that maybe this life will be different.

Skip forward to the war and Haruka is pissed. Like ready to take to take over Sakura's body just to fight her husband herself pissed.

"I want a divorce!" Sakura can hear Haruka shout.

Shachi shakes her head in disappointed mom. "Don't look at me they get it from Indra."

When Naruto and Sasuke find out about their past lives Shachi and Haruka make themselves known. They show themselves after the boys battle. It's the first time they are seen by anyone that isn't Sakura.

"That damn bastard, wait till I get my hands on him in the after life." Haruka rants. "I wanted one of us to kill him! I can't believe some creep took that away!"

"Who is she talking about?" Naruto whispered to Sakura.

"Madara, her husband," Sakura answeres.

"Husband?!" Naruto exclaimed.

"Yeah I'm still unsure how that happened."

Shachi is pulling on Sasuke's ear still in disappointed mom mode. "If you ever put my reincarnation in a genjutsu like that again I will personally beat your ass little descendant. Your clan started in my womb, you will put respect on my name and to my reincarnation."

Sasuke can only grunt. Still confused by the whole thing.

In their adult lives Shachi and Haruka pop by for visits, but their working it out with their own boys, and falling back into their roles as their peacekeepers. They coo over baby Sadara, and still act like gossip aunties. They ship Boruto and Sadara, and make bets with Sakura on when they get together. Naruto and Sasuke just call them Sakura's realtives for when their talking to others about them.

Shachi is also trying to straighten out the whole Uchiha clan in the after life, no descendants of her's are gonna act out. She don't care if they're already dead, and who they gonna complain to, Indra? She's got hom whipped after so many years apart. Haruka gave hell to her husband for many years. Hashirama was on thin ice with her, but she had Mito to help with that.

Again don't take this seriously. This just wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it out.

#naruto #sakura haruno #sasuke uchiha #sasusaku #reincarnationau #reincarnation #it's been forever since ive stepped into this fandom #naruto shippuden #i guess indrasaku and madasaku #i mean its sakura but its her past lives #sasuke is forever her bitch #should i label this a crack fic?#i probably should #crack post

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snowflake-of-destruction · 3 years

Text

A House Divided

A little, silly kidfic Sorikai for the soul, and for @shaky-mayhemm

Note: The more times I try to change colors of the first letters of the first words in each paragraph, the more formatting glitches and scrambled paragraphs I get, so see if you can get the “oh so secret message” without it being completely pointed to.

Selphie was at fault to start with, though, if she was going to be ascribed the blame for the hurt feelings, she would have to be given credit for starting some wheels in their lives turning, which Riku and Sora both agreed she did not deserve, even if Kairi was more magnanimous. Thus, it became a habit just to talk of conversations and promises made when they were too young to fully weigh choices. Still, the most accurate account begins with: one day when they were all young-- too young to even be allowed to swim in the water surrounding play island without an adult in the surf with them--if that gives perspective--Selphie, to everyone's surprise, scored the winning goal in the game of land-blitzball the group of them were playing in order to decide what game they would really spend the day playing, and chose, to absolutely nobody's surprise, house.

How it went down, everyone accepted their fate and divided into family units with minimal grumbling, phrasing which means that Wakka threw the blitzball into the sea and lost it forever when Jecht--the parent chaperone on play island that day who was five minutes away from falling asleep on the sand and typically didn't care what they did, unlike most parents who at least had restrictions about not hitting each other in the head with wooden swords or throwing sand--refused to go into the water after it.

As it was, the game mistress, Selphie, who should have, by all rights, been content, found a problem with Sora, Riku, and Kairi's family. Specifically, she didn't like that the family was Riku, Kairi, and Sora all together parenting a yellow coconut Kairi was trying to rock to sleep while Riku built him a bed out of sand and palm fronds and Sora cooked dinner for the household--a savoury stew of sticks, sand, and mushroom. She stood with pursed lips and hands on hips, and declared that their proud coconut son, Rekka, couldn't have all three of them for parents because that wasn't how things worked.

Kool-aid stain lips pursed and Sora asked, with all the curiosity and innocence of a child, “Why can’t it work that way?”

Yearning to prove his maturity, Riku tried a more practical, solution based approach with, "Can we change the rules?"

Madly defending her rights as alpha-female of their friend group, Kairi was more direct and firm, her, "It does if I say so," leaving very little room to argue.

Already invested, Selphie stuck firm in her first assessment, voice gaining volume and rising in pitch to an affronted shriek that doubled down on, "It's just not how it works!" that was rooted in fear that they were trying to sabotage her game on purpose and embarrassment at being left as a single mother since Tidus and Wakka had happily coupled up and were introducing a piece of driftwood they had named Chappu to the newly dubbed Grandpa Mark IV Jecht who "just wanted a damn nap."

Young Sora provided the counter argument of bursting into tears while Kairi used every bit of her clout as the girl who had fallen out of the sky last year to put power behind the statement that she was going to launch Selphie to the moon, which caused Riku to wrap his arms around her from behind in a combination restraint and hug as the glare that he leveled at Selphie over Kairi's shoulder as he repeated his request to change the rules said that, while he'd stop Kairi from launching Selphie to the moon, he was just as upset by Sora's crying and would bury her in the ground.

Heroic duty calling him to intervene, Tidus left Chappu in Wakka's expert care, reminding him to support the baby's head, and padded over to see what was the matter. He proceed to have the situation explained to him by an increasingly agitated Selphie who refused to admit she was wrong when the other three were cheating and leaving her with no partner to raise her baby with after she'd won fair and square, and, in the end, took Kairi, Riku, and Sora's side. "I have two dads and a mom. It happens in real life. Isn't that right dad?" He yelled the last words and Jecht gave a thumbs up, undoubtedly having no idea what he was agreeing to and not caring.

Even presented with such evidence, Selphie stayed strong, however. "Your parents are dee-vorced and your dad second-married your Papa. You don't have two dads and one mom all in the same house together. That would be chaos!" She threw her arms out to demonstrate the extreme degree the universe would be thrown off by the anarchy of two dads and one mom all living together, "And a couple is a two. When you ask for a couple of cookies even if you want three cookies you only get two cookies."

“My grandmother always told me three cookies will make you sick!" Kairi argued, "So it’s because of stomach aches, not because a couple equals a two!"

“Mmm, no, she's right." Riku's arms slackened their grip on Kairi and defeat entered his voice. "A couple means two. Three is a few. Miss Rosa taught us that grammar rule."

In wake of that knowledge drop, the argument ended there. Riku was one year older and had been taught a great many things in school the rest didn't know yet, which made him a Trusted Authority. If he knew the rules, those had to be the Enforceable Law. Riku would have liked to lie, especially when Selphie started dragging the still distraught Sora away by his arm to be her husband and pick out a baby with her, but he couldn't compromise his Trusted Authority status. He also ruled out revenge when Kairi suggested throwing Rekka at Selphie's head ("I'm allowed. We're both girls.") both because the plan could "trauma-ato-rize" baby Rekka and cause one billion years of therapy but also because Selphie was not being mean. She was right. The three of them would never raise a baby together, or be married, or be a couple. A couple was two.

Luck decreed Sora and Selphie would divorce after fifteen minutes when Tidus and Sora started using Chappu and Sora and Selphie's baby, Spaceship Train, as swords in a fight over a spot of beach where both wanted to build a vacation home to get away from the hustle and bustle of the beach ten feet away. After a brief huddle, Riku and Kairi divorced amicably so Kairi could marry Sora with the promise that they in turn would divorce soon so Riku and Sora could get married. This triggered a new round of accusations of cheating and renewed fighting until Jecht was forced to intervene and decree that they could either all find a way to get along or he'd row them straight back to the main island. The children meant to choose the former, but the latter came true sooner rather than later

On the way back home, Sora, Riku, and Kairi were especially subdued, each lost in thought bigger than child brains usually were forced to hold in an afternoon of beach play. Sora was absorbed in planning how to train a pet dolphin, but Riku and Kairi were both still consumed by melancholy at the revelation about their future, or the restrictions on it.

Very carefully, Kairi traded spots in the boat, going from sitting beside a sulky Selphie, to hanging on to Tidus, to slipping beside Riku. He smiled at her, obviously faking, so she wasted no time in giving him a reason to smile for real. “You and Sora have known each other longer. You two should get to be the ones who get married when we grow up.” She had decided it, and when she decided something, she made sure it happened.

“Even if you knew you would always-and-forever-pinky-promise mean that, it doesn’t mean Sora would agree.” Riku replied after a too long pause, his face shifting into a frown that added centuries not just years to his rounded baby face. “You’re pretty special, Kairi, and pretty pretty too. He might choose you.” He knew then that he’d choose Kairi for himself over just about anyone else, using forever stakes as puppy-love often did when forever to the young mind often only lasted as long as five minutes (or ten, if you counted five as merely an eternity, less than forever).

“You know I can hear you,” Sora grumbled. Everyone could. Sora was just the only one that still cared about deciding how the friends would avoid becoming an illegal trio. “I should get to decide for myself.” Sora sucked in air to puff out his chest. “And I choose that I won’t choose. We’re going to all stick together, and we’re going to be a family. You two have to promise. Nothing can take us apart, and, even if it’s wrong, then we all go to jail together.”

On the bench behind him, Riku and Kairi shared a look, searching for one another’s reactions before forming their own. Riku was the first to nod, and give his word, clenching and unclenching his hands. “I’d make sure only I went to jail to protect the two of you.” Kairi screwed up her face like she was going to argue, so Riku took her hand to hold and squeezed it. “But it should be the three of us together. If you marry your very best friend, I have two of them now.” He paused again and waited, not getting the chance to say more when Kairi and Sora expressed their agreement by jumping to their feet and setting the boat to rock and Mr. Jecht to yell.

Undeniably, it wasn’t the most thorough or well informed discussion, and there were times where the childlike resolve that it was always to be the three of them equally, inseparably, and united in commitment (may the first to change their mind be launched right to the moon) was replaced with doubt or temporary jealousy, but all three would pinpoint that day as an early memory of being faced with the heartbreak that came trying to imagine a life not lived as one--and, yes, grudgingly, they would consider thanking Selphie for making them play house.

#sorikai #kingdom hearts fanfic #kingdom hearts #sora #riku #kairi #fluff fic #kid fic #snippets #you know I love a good acrostic

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icyharrington · 4 years

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Is It Wrong?- THE PREQUEL- Part 1 (Michael Langdon X Reader)

so basically,,,, i took my adhd meds for class this morning, and then suddenly got super inspired to write this, so i figured i couldnt waste the focus and wrote this whole ass thing in a few hours. this is the first part of a 3-part prequel series, which details the events leading up to the first part of iiw! just a whole lot more teen angst, drama, fuckboy michael, and more... there isn’t going to be any SMUT smut for obvious reasons, but in a future part there is going to be some dirty stuff ;) anyway i know this will prob flop but this is the first full length fic i’ve written in months and i had a lot of fun writing it, so ima post regardless ^__^

plot: things are turning upside for you now that the biggest fuckboy in school, michael langdon, is about to become your stepbrother. if you think shit is crazy now, wait til you find out that this is just the prequel 😏

warnings: underage drinking, talk of sexual shit, teen angst, sexual tension, taboo relationships

wc: 4.2k

It wasn’t like you didn’t want your dad to be happy.

You did, of course you did.

You’d seen him, engulfed in his loneliness, floating from day to listless day like some kind of cheesy Victorian spectre. Too many times you’d found him alone at night, one hand cradling a glass of sewer-brown liquor, the other thumbing through worn photo albums extracted from dust-ridden shelves in the living room. You hadn’t known your mother well- she’d died back when you were still in diapers, but what you did know was that she’d been a vibrant light in your father’s world that had been unjustly snuffed out in its prime. He was a good father to you, and you knew you made him happy despite the dull ache ever-present in his heart, but it was evident that deep down he craved a companionship you could never provide.

So of course you were glad when he met Miriam. Of course you were glad when you’d seen his beaming smile, sharing the news, with the giddiness of a teenage girl in love, that he’d found somebody. He was practically glowing, that night he’d gone out for their first date. You’d known it’d been special to him, because he’d shelled out a few hundred to treat them both to a fancy dinner; he’d even gotten her a bouquet of flowers on the drive there.

You hadn’t said anything when he’d gushed to you the next day about how he’d found the one, despite having known her for only a week; sure, he was rushing into things, but at least he was happy! And that was all you wanted- for him to be happy.

That was why you were especially crushed when you finally met Miriam’s teenage son, whom your father had briefly mentioned with a passing “he goes to your high school, maybe you know him”.

There were so many boys at your school that it was impossible to guess who your potential stepbrother might be. The prospect that you might know him didn’t bother you too much, though you did think it might be a little awkward upon first meeting, but really what did it matter? A little bit of teenage shyness was a small price to pay for your father’s newfound happiness.

That is, until you met him.

So really, it wasn’t like you didn’t want your dad to be happy.

That wasn’t the case at all.

You just really, really, wished he’d fallen in love with anyone other than the mother of Michael fucking Langdon.

ii.

“Oh, you’re so pretty,” Miriam gushed over a glass of Chardonnay, which had already been defaced with aubergine lip prints around the golden rim. “Gosh, I just wish I had your hair. Mine was fried from years of coloring, so I just chopped it all off!”

You smiled sweetly, observing your father’s glimmering eyes as he hung onto every word that rolled off her tongue, menus still stacked neatly in the middle of the table as you awaited the fourth and final guest. The three of you had been there for fifteen minutes already, and still her son had not arrived.

I guess his study session is running late, she’d explained, after seeing your furrowed brows at her lack of accompaniment. It was the first time you were meeting your father’s new love interest and her son, and you were rapidly growing more and more anxious in anticipation of the big reveal.

Studying, you’d thought, racking your brain. So maybe he’s one of the nerdy teacher’s pet types? You could certainly live with that; there were a great deal of others you could think of who would be far worse to potentially become step-siblings with.

“Thanks, Ms… Mead, did you say it was?”

You weren’t sure you knew of any boys whose last name was Mead; he definitely had to be someone you hardly knew.

“Oh, honey, call me Miriam,” she said warmly, and you nodded, unsure of what to say next.

Miriam was certainly not what you’d imagined your father’s girlfriend to be like, not that you cared either way; she sported short, dark hair with vampy makeup, clad in all black with a tasteful leather jacket to match. She was also a bit older than you’d anticipated, with fine lines adorning her rounded face, but again, none of that mattered to you at all. She seemed perfectly sweet, and you had no complaints about her thus far.

“Okay, Miriam,” you said, feeling somewhat peculiar addressing an adult by their first name, “so, remind me, how’d you guys meet again?”

“Well, it’s a funny story, really,” Miriam chuckled, plucking a dinner roll from the woven basket across from her and dropping it onto her plate. Her dark eyes shifted from you to your father, poising an impeccably groomed raven brow. “Should you tell it, or should I?”

“Oh, you should, definitely,” your father said, sipping his wine.

“Okay, okay. Well, we were in the meat section at the grocery store when we both reached for the last steak on sale. So I looked at him, and I told him- oh my, this is embarrassing- (your dad’s name), you finish!”

Your father looked like he was about to bust out into laughter, and, suppressing a snort, he blurted, “she said she’d cut off my hands if I took it!”

Immediately after the words left his lips, the two fell into boisterous hysterics that ushered forward a few disapproving glances from the stuffy rich assholes at the next table over, and you couldn’t help but laugh a little yourself. Well… she definitely was a character, but as long as your father was being kept entertained…

“Hey mom,” came a sudden, inappropriately loud male voice from behind you, so out of place that you nearly jumped from your seat. “I was helping Dan with the world war three chapter in our textbook, he sucks at geography shit.”

The voice’s owner revealed himself as a tall, blond boy, who promptly slid into the empty chair beside you, chiseled face slightly obscured by the deep shadows resulting from the dimness of the restaurant’s ambient lighting.

This was, indeed, somebody that you knew, and you blinked twice to be sure that your eyes weren’t playing tricks on you.

It took you a few seconds to register the direness of the situation at hand, but once the thought processed in your mind, you about descended into an out-of-body experience.

This couldn’t be.

No way.

No motherfucking way.

You’d never been all too much of a religious person, but in that moment, you found yourself silently begging whatever higher power was out there that this was all just some sick, cosmic prank.

The boy turned his head to give you a good, uncomfortably long look, stupidly perfect mouth twisting into an amused sideways grin, and then he spoke. “Ohh shit, (y/n)? (Y/n) (y/l/n)?”

He spoke your name like it was a punchline, tongue darting out to lick his teeth like a lizard about to gobble up some poor, helpless cricket as you sat there with your jaw unhinged. You were at a loss for words, or at least almost, managing to croak out a pathetic, puny, “Michael.”

“Oh, good! You guys know each other already!” Miriam exclaimed, seemingly oblivious to the complete and utter horror that had just about finished swallowing you whole.

Michael let out a snort, roughly translating to ‘uhh, yeah, not that well… I’d never be caught dead hanging around with someone like (y/n)’, and you grimaced. “Yeah, a little bit. You were in math class with me last year, right?”

You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to regain your composure for fear of feeding into this complete asshole’s already massive ego. Yeah, in fact, you had been in math class with him last year, and, not-so-coincidentally, that very same class had turned out to be the one you dreaded the most.

Michael Langdon was the most insufferable, mind-numbing, self-obsessed asshole that you’d ever had the displeasure of knowing; he was easily the most popular boy in the grade, and it was clear he was fully aware of his own high school bullshit prestige. He was loud, cocky and obnoxious; the type of fuckboy- yes, you knew the word fuckboy was overplayed, but in this case there was no other way to describe him- who’d loudly brag about his sexual escapades in the middle of the hallway to his flock of adoring fuckboy minions. He was an I-don’t-do-relationships type, a U-up-text-at-3am type, a Yo-dude-did-you-see-Zoe-Benson’s-tits-today type, a bro-I’m-so-fucking-baked-right-now type. Just the sound of his voice from across a crowded hallway was enough to make you physically recoil. And the worst part?

Every-fucking-body loved him.

Your complaints about him during lunch would only result in your friends cooing dreamily, as though he were some kind of sympathetic creature that needed babying: But he’s so cute, they’d say, twirling locks of their hair and fiddling with their bracelets. I’m sure he’s not that bad.

But he was that bad, and if they took off their shit-stained, teenage hormone-clouded rose tinted glasses for only a second, they’d see exactly what you saw.

It wasn’t only the students, either. He was able to get away with everything and anything he pleased, whether it be sneaking sips of vodka in a water bottle between classes or ditching class to smoke a joint behind the bleachers. There’d even been rumors that he’d fucked some senior girl in the handicap stall during the autumn pep rally while the rest of the student body was packed like sardines in the sticky-hot gymnasium, subjected to incremental barks from the football coach to scream louder and louder.

How the hell was somebody as pleasant as Miriam the mother of such an incurable douchebag? And how, in all the unholy realms of hell, did your luck get so miserably bad that she ended up with your father?

It was all so fucking unfortunate that you almost wanted to laugh. And you probably would have, if not for the chance that you might puke all over your nice new sweater if you opened your mouth.

“You smell funny, hon,” said Miriam before you could reply. “Was Dan burning incense in his room?”

Oh, god. So she was one of those oblivious parents. You rolled your eyes; it made a lot of sense when you thought about it.

“Huh? Oh. Um, yeah. Incense,” Michael said, before suddenly extending his arm across the table to your father. “Oh shit, how rude of me. I’m Michael. Nice to meet you, man.”

Your father seemed unfazed my Michael’s distinct lack of manners as he accepted the boy’s hand and shook it, and you felt yet another knot twist up in the pit of your stomach as you realized that your father, too, had somehow been cast under Michael’s spell.

“Michael, we talked about this,” Miriam said under her breath, like she was scolding a child who didn’t know any better. “Keep the potty mouth to a minimal when we’re out in public, especially while we’re in such a nice restaurant.”

“Oh, sh…oot, sorry, mom,” Michael said with a faux-sheepish smile, his eyes flickering with amusement despite his supposed remorse. “And sorry to you too, sir. Bad habits.”

“Don’t worry about it, Mike- can I call you Mike?” your father said as they released hands, moving his to rest atop Miriam’s on the cloth-sheathed table. “I remember what it was like being a boy your age.”

You scoffed, loud enough that the table fell silent for a moment, and quickly you disguised it with a cough. Your cheeks went hot as all eyes laid on you, and you frantically scanned your brain for something to fill the silence with.

“So, um,” you said, clearing your throat. “Michael’s, uh, how come Michael’s last name isn’t Mead?”

Fuck. That sounded so fucking stupid. Instinctively, you felt your eyes wander to Michael to see if he was laughing at you, which you hated yourself for; why should his stupid, pea-brained opinion mean anything to you anyway? As much as you wanted to distance yourself from that idiotic, made-up high school hierarchy, you always wound up finding yourself being sucked back in, it seemed.

“Well, my late husband’s last name was Langdon, and since he was kind of a dirtbag, I decided not to keep his name after he passed,” Miriam said slowly, as if taking very careful thought to word herself correctly. You took in a breath; this seemed like a whole new can of worms that you hadn’t meant to open up.

“Hey, c’mon, don’t talk about dad like that,” said Michael, his tone only half-playful, eyebrow cocking as he flashed his mother a knowing look.

“You try being cheated on multiple times, Michael. Then you’ll see that dirtbag is really a nice way of putting it.”

Oh, sure, you thought bitterly. As if Michael fucking Langdon is even remotely capable of understanding someone else’s pain.

You took this as your cue to stand up from your seat, mumbling something about needing to use the restroom before scurrying off in the opposite direction as fast as you could without drawing attention to yourself. If ten minutes with Michael as your psuedo-stepbrother got to you this badly, you could only imagine how awful your life was about to get.

You could only hope that your father would find some reason to nip things in the bud with Miriam, but right now, that appeared to be an unlikely prospect.

iii.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t end my shit right here and now,” you griped to your best friend, who sat crosslegged on your bed as you stood idly before your floor-length mirror, arms dangling limply at your sides in an unintentional stance of defeat. Your face was one that you hardly recognized anymore, forehead creased with worry and eyes shadowed by bruise-colored rings from a seemingly endless barrage of sleepless nights; a week ago, your father had gleefully announced his and Miriam’s engagement; you of course, as his loving daughter, had to behave as though you hadn’t just received the worst news of your life, which somehow you’d pulled off (for a second you wondered why you’d never taken up theater, seeing at how convincing your acting could be sometimes). It was like you’d been plucked from the familiarity of your boring, normal world and dropped into your own personally tailored hell without any warning at all, though you couldn’t think of a single thing you’d done bad enough to warrant you deserving this. “The worst person on the planet is about to be my fucking stepbrother and nobody else seems to think this is a big deal!”

Your best friend shook her head, letting out a snort as if any of this was even remotely funny in the slightest. “So your stepbrother is hot and cool and he pisses you off. They literally make porn about that.”

You resisted the urge to take her by the shoulders and shake her until some semblance of sense entered her head, instead shoving your hands into the pockets of your jeans with a loud huff. “Yeah, but this isn’t fucking pornhub, (best friend’s name), this is real life! And I’d rather skin myself alive than sleep with that walking STD.”

“You have a lot more self respect than I do. It’s admirable,” she said, still startlingly calm for your liking, and you were beginning to believe that she’d never understand the mental turmoil you were currently suffering with. “Personally I’d ride him into the sunset, whether he had a herpes dick or not.”

You gagged, shaking your head with adamant disgust. Was she really that fucking horny? “You’re sick, you know that?”

“Sick for diiiiick,” she sang back, batting her eyelashes playfully at you. You turned away, scrounging up every weary shred of self restraint within you not to scream.

“Look, (b/f/n). I’m being serious right now. If you fuck him, or suck his dick, or whatever, I will literally never speak to you again.” Your tone was stern, and you faced her again to see whether your seriousness had computed in the hormonal wasteland that was her brain. There was an extended pause as she blinked at you, tilting her head to one side thoughtfully as she chewed her lipgloss-slick bottom lip.

“I mean, he wouldn’t fuck me anyways,” she finally said, still infuriatingly chipper. “I’m nobody. And he’s, like, royalty.”

“Jesus fucking Christ! I don’t care whether you think you have a chance with him!” You realized too late that you were nearly shouting, so you took in a shaky gulp of oxygen and coaxed yourself to soften your tone. The last thing you needed right now was for people to think you were losing your mind, although sometimes that was exactly what you felt like was happening. “Please, just promise me you won’t? I just need one aspect of my life not to involve him. Please?”

“Okay, fine,” she said, drawing her knees to her chest and settling her chin on top. “If it really matters that much to you, I’ll just shift my thirst to Dan Mott instead. That boy is a fucking snack and a half.”

A wave of almost-relief cascaded over your body, and you closed your eyes, letting yourself become one with this momentary victory.

One year. Just one stupid, insignificant year until I can go away to college and forget all about him.

If you could survive that much, you told yourself, you’d be able survive anything.

You just hoped that intoxicating spell of his wasn’t strong enough to bring your best friend into his web of bullshit, alongside all the other girls who’d become entangled along the way.

If she did, you’d be stranded, left to run from Michael and his ever-expanding army all on your own.

iv.

In what seemed like a blink of an eye, the dreaded date of your father’s wedding ceremony arrived; now you stood amidst a small group of distant relatives at the subdued reception party, seeking refuge from the disturbing thought that, legally, Michael Langdon was now your brother, at the open bar.

You and your best friend had decided to make something of a game out of how many drinks you could finagle from the bartender without any adults noticing, which had ultimately proved to be pointless- an hour into the reception, your father had staggered over with two overflowing dirty Shirleys, thrusting them towards the two of you with a big, sloppy grin on his face.

To say he was in a good mood would be a severe understatement- the man was jovial, and you almost felt guilty for hating the circumstances of his marriage so much. By the raised-brow looks your best friend had been shooting at you all night, you knew she was thinking the same thing: that you were being selfish for worrying so much about yourself when this was the best thing that’d happened to your father in years. And maybe it was true; maybe you’d been so wrapped up in your own teen angst bullshit that you’d willingly blinded yourself from the truth. So, with your father’s beaming face dancing in the back of your mind, you pushed any thought about Michael back to the dredges where they belonged.

Fuck Michael Langdon. You couldn’t allow him the satisfaction of knowing that you were distraught, though you’d surely already made that pretty obvious over the past few months (he’d wasted no time in taunting you about it, seeming to relish in your death glares and eye rolls- hey, future sis! he’d crooned at you as you passed his table in the cafeteria one afternoon, nearly causing you to trip and spill your perfectly mediocre iced coffee all over yourself as his friends cackled like demented hyenas).

I’m not gonna let him bother me anymore.

I’m not-

“SIS-TERRRRRR!”

Okay, this had to be some kind of divine test of will.

A blazer-glad arm flung itself around your shoulders and you flinched, immediately jerking away from your intoxicated stepbrother (god, it felt weird to refer to him that way) whose brash motions had sent you both stumbling.

“Getting shitfaced at your mom’s wedding… classy,” you spat, crossing your arms in front of your chest and narrowing your eyes at the blond-haired boy.

He was, admittedly, good-looking (only by conventional standards, of course); his lightly gelled blond hair had long since come undone, now soft and unkempt from hours of attention-whorish dancing, but you thought the disheveled look suited him better anyway (since his whole thing was to look like a grimy, rugged fuckboy, not because you personally found it attractive, obviously). He’d undone the top few buttons of his white top (no doubt the only formal article of clothing he owned), which was now stained beyond foreseeable repair with a colorful variety of liquids, and there was a bead of sweat traveling from his slick forehead to his model-sharp jaw. Even in disarray, he looked good, and you couldn’t help but hate him for it.

“God, you are so uptight,” he said, pale eyes flickering towards the multicolored ceiling in exaggerated annoyance as he dragged out his syllables with leisure. “You need to relax, set up a dick appointment or something. Or pussy appointment, I don’t know what you’re into.”

Your mouth fell open at this remark, too stunned by his vulgarity to even get angry with your friend, who had dissolved into a fit of giggles beside you; it wasn’t that you were some pearl-clutching grandmother- you had no issue discussing sexual matters with your friends, and in fact some would even say you had a perverted sense of humor. But this? This was different: something about the way those words had fallen from Michael’s mouth made you feel dirty.

At your lack of response, Michael flashed a pearly grin that could only be categorized as evil, and he crossed his arms to mimic your stance. “Oh, sorry. I forgot that you’re probably still a virgin.”

He glanced over to your friend, whose feeble attempts to suppress her second wave of laughter had proven unsuccessful, before averting his gaze back to you. “Aw, don’t feel bad, (y/n). There’s nothing wrong with being a late bloomer.”

Then, as if to punctuate his words, he smirked.

Your mouth pressed into a thin line, you felt something like a storm swirling inside of you, winds thick and unyielding and relentless, and you were almost positive that you’d tear him apart once the feeling aligned with the rest of your body.

It was then that the song blaring through the speakers switched to something inappropriately upbeat, each thump of the dance-friendly bass feeling like punches to the gut.

The storm inside you hadn’t been giving way to anger at all; it was sadness you were feeling in your belly, hopeless and humiliated sadness, though you couldn’t quite understand why: he’d made some stupid, generic joke to try and get a rise out of you- what else was new these days? Maybe it was the fact that your best friend was, by her passiveness and obvious amusement at your expense, encouraging his taunts when she was supposed to be there for you. Or maybe the reality had finally, finally sunken in, that this kind of interaction with Michael would now consume your life for the next year.

Either way, it didn’t make a difference, and as if on cue, the familiar sting of unshed tears arrived patiently at the back of your eyes.

All at once you were were dizzy; Michael’s perfect face was doubling and distorting before your eyes, and your friend’s pitched laughter rang like incessant, robotic television static in your ears.

With very last straw of self preservation you could grasp, you said nothing at all, walking away with the dazed sluggishness of a zombie on autopilot.

You considered yourself lucky; soon enough, you wouldn’t have the luxury of walking away at all.

“She’s too sensitive,” you heard your friend say, faintly, in the background of your thoughts.

You didn’t have the energy to wonder why she wasn’t coming with you, much less the energy to chastise her for being a bad friend, which was what you knew she deserved. If she cared more about getting Michael’s attention than preserving her friendship with you, you supposed there was no use in trying to stop her anymore.

He’s like a disease, you thought as you ambled your way towards the bathroom, surrounded by people but yet still so alone. He’s like a disease, infecting everyone he touches.

It was only a matter of time, you supposed, before he got to you, too.

Who knew? Maybe he already had.

tagging some people from my old iiw tag list!: (i’m sorry if i tagged anyone twice, i’m literally half asleep right now cuz i got like 2 hours of sleep in the past 24 hrs lol) @wroteclassicaly @ritualmichael @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @trelaney @kissydevil @sloppy-wrist @michael-langdon-appreciation @ccodyfern @sojournmichael @starwlkers @maso-xchrist @space-princesssss @ahslangdon101 @isabellaserpentiawesson @stupidocupido @bademliimagnum @nana15774 @urlocalgothb @hexqueensupreme @gold-dragon-slayer @langdonsboots @langdonstrash @fckinsupreme @hisgirlwonder @venusxxlangdon @obsessivenostalgicbaby @kleinegamerin @lambofcairo @kiiteiru @littledemondani @beriveri @grossgayartist @featherpool-852 @discocalico @cryptid-coalition @nu-tt @diamcndscarred @chocolateandhorror @michaelsfrenchtoast @sarcasticbxtch20 @ringpop-poppy @imjustasadhoe @melodylangdon @codycrazy @perfect-ginger-maniac @baphomet-wears-gucci @bigstudentpatrolbonk @jazzcowgirl @a-n-t-s @langdonsblood @ritualmichael @myluciferiscody @fentycoven @gracebtw @bongwaternation @king-of-mischief-and-bitchez @hoseokchild @witchywcmans @satanicbimbo @lvngdvns @langdonskillerqueen @aradevil @anemia-doll @muralskins @funtomimagines @mrssgtjamesbuckybarnes @our-mrlangdon @lotsofhunny @sevenwonderwitch @horrorstreet @kpopmademedo-it @naughtygranger @codyshands @krazycags01 @skullag

#michael langdon #is it wrong #michael langdon x reader #mine #michael langdon fic #ahs #american horror story #apocalypse #ahs apocalypse #cody fern #x reader #ahs x reader

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