#And almost a year and half since it visited . (So it's been building strength since and came back with a vengeance lol)

[familyofpaladins]

You've heard of [person/character/show/story/media/art] living rent free in your head right?

Now get ready for: that, but each is a little bird in the nest of you mind, some birds are there for a long time and some just a little while, as they come and go and theres some you feed more than others And it's not until you realize that suddenly "theres less birds here" "where'd the other babies go?" That the bird you started to feed a couple days ago is Cuckoo bird

[raspberry-cannibalz]

PLEASE DO YANDERE ANDREW SEEING READER WHIT A FRIEND AND THINKING THAT SHE IS BETRAYING HIM AND DOING A WHOLE SCENE WHEN SHE GET HOME I BEG YOU I BEG YOU

Alright!! I'm guessing this is fem reader!

Also I'm gonna start attaching one song I listened to while writing these! It's just a little fun thing I thought to do! I'll add the songs at the end of each fic<3

Yandere Andrew x Fem!reader

Word count: ####

Story contains: yandere themes, obsession, stalking, y/n, not proof read

You sit there on your phone in Andrew's livingroom as he takes a shower. You and him were always close. Ever since you were in middle school. Though you were the opposite gender, your mom trusted Andrew enough for you guys to stay the night with each other. Andrew's family never really visits him since hes going to college abroad, aka your college. He wanted to go abroad as soon as he heard you had to move across the country in your last year of high school. You both were apart for a year and a half before you reunited for college, but you and him would call every day all day. In classes, asleep, studying, and even if you guys needed to shower or use the washroom. Ofcourse you always muted for stuff like that. You two were inseparable. The longest call you guys have been on lasted almost a week and a half. It would've been longer if Andrew's power didn't go out. You guys new everything about each other. Well as much as you seemed important to tell him. He arrived a week ago into his dorm, so he was still unpacking. He had two other dorm mate's. Jano and Tate. They were kind towards you so you didn't mind them. Andrew hasn't met any of your new friends but hes heard of them.

Andrew walks out of the bathroom with shorts on and a towel around his neck.

"You hungry?" Andrew asks

You look up from your phone

"Ah, I actually had to head out to meet up with a friend of mine for lunch. I owe them" you say in a calm and upbeat manner.

"I was just waiting for you to get out of the shower to say bye."

You get up from the couch and grab your backpack. Andrew looks almost disappointed to know that you're going to lunch with someone hes never met, but he shrugs it off.

"Bye dude!" You smile and wave at him and head out the door. Andrew just stands there jealousy building up in him. He quickly gets dressed and heads out of the door also. He needed to follow you. To make sure that no one would take you away from him.

He soon catches up to see you from a far. You seem to be heading to the cafe that's on campus. Andrew didn't like the fact that he didn't know any of your new friends, it but I'm in a position where he could bearly keep his eye on you.

You sit down at an outside table with the person you were meeting with, Andrew couldn't get a good look at the person with you so he decided to move from behind a bush to a closer tree. He moved just enough to see both of your faces but he wasn't able to hear the conversation. The person you were sitting with was a male. You were smiling and laughing with him. That bad Andrew's blood boil, he had to restrain himself from reacting physically. He soon gained enough strength to move himself from the situation and walk back to his dorm.

After an hour or two of talking with your friend it started to get dark, the sun was almost set and the atmosphere was a nice orange.

"Ah its getting dark, I should probably head back to Andrews dorm!" You say in a calm tone.

"Andrew huh? Have I met him before?" Your friends voice is curious.

"Ahh no. He just started to unpack from coming here a few days ago." You smile.

"You should let me meet him, he sounds pretty cool from how much you rambled about him in our last year of high school. You got a little crush y/n~?" He says in a teasing tone and a grin.

"WHAATT? PFFF NOOO!" your tone sounds genuine to your words, but your heart says something else.

"Mmmhhmmm.. well I have to get back to my dorm anyway so I'll see you in class tomorrow?" He asks.

"Yep! Bye dude." You say and get up with your stuff and start to head towards Andrew's dorm.

You open the door. "Andrew I'm backk!" You say in a positive tone. His dorm is dark and really quiet. You wonder If anyone is even there, but why would they leave the door unlocked.

"Andrew?" You call out his name but there was no reply. You take off your shoes and wander farther into the dorm.

"Maybe in his room?" You think to yourself. You make your way to his room and open the door.

"Andrew, you in here?" You say softly. You see that hes laying on his bed. Is he asleep or something?

You walk over to his bed to see but as you got close you feel him pull you onto him. "Andrew!?" You were caught off guard with us actions. He hugs you tightly. His face is nuzzled into the top of your head.

"Who was he.?" He mumbles in a deep voice.

"Who? You okay and-" you were cut off.

"The guy you were having lunch with." His grip on you tightened.

"Oh. That's just evy, hes been my friend since I moved. Don't worry!"

Andrew just grumbled in response.

"Hmmm? Are you jealous?" You say playfully. He just stays silent. You start to softly pet his head.

"Don't worry, hes dating someone at the moment. If that's what you're worried about~" you smile and hug him back.

Suddenly you get a call. You look t your phone. Its Evy. You decide to ignore the call but a moment later he calls again. You sigh and pick up.

"Hell-" you get cut off.

"SHIT. Hey y/n..! Someone trapped My dorm. Fuck.." he sound in pain.

"Wait what the hell happened?!"

"I don't really know.. I just got back from the café and went to go inside and there was a trip wire.." you can hear the pain in his voice.

"I tripped and there was a knife facing up to where I fell. I'm so lucky I missed and it only caught my left shoulder.." you can hear him scuffling around.

"Holy shit. I'll be right there dude." You say in a concerning tone and hang up the phone.

You sit up in the bed and look at Andrew.

"I have to go help a friend, sorry Andy.." you say in a panic and leap onto your feet.

After you leave, Andrew sits there.

Smiling at his success.

(Guys I had to cut it off at the end I can't write this one anymore..)

[accidentally-in-fictional-love]

Can I please request 🤹📖🩹❤️

Please Stay a While Longer (Please Stay Forever) - Abner Krill/Reader

Warnings: Hurt/comfort, angst, doctor!reader, gender-neutral reader, no use of Y/N, S.T.A.R. Labs era!Abner, training injuries, brief implications of parental abuse/neglect.

Wordcount: 1600

Summary: He was in your office again today, and you really wished you'd never have to see him sitting there ever again.

Notes: If you wanna join me in the Misery Parade, listen to this song as you read ;w; this ended up being a LOT more angsty than I expected when I saw the prompts, but man sometimes things just write themselves and you gotta go with the flow, y'know? I'll do something more comfort than hurt the next time I get that prompt, I promise!

The sight before you was a familiar one, you’d seen it almost every day since you’d started working there a year and a half ago. You were in your office when they’d arrived, almost as if on cue, the clock reading just after 4PM; training had started an hour ago, 3PM sharp as usual, he’d lasted longer this time, but still, he was there all the same, outfit torn and body sporting new burns.

You’d commended him at first at the growing knowledge of his strength, impressed with his ability to hold it in as salve was pressed to circular marks, angry and blistered but never drawing blood, so unlike the people he’d gone up against. Now you just felt sad, knowing that it wasn’t strength, it was resolve, acceptance, something forced upon him so they could drag him out again the next day to do it all over again.

He was used to it, numb to it, that’s all it truly was.

His jumpsuit was undone and bunched around his hips as you examined him, his eyes anywhere but on you and himself as he occasionally let out the odd hiss or whimper when your medical tools poked and prodded a little too hard, a whisper of apology falling from your lips each time. You didn’t want to hurt him any more than he already was, you’d learned during your short time here that that was always a possibility for him and his siblings, but he’d gotten banged up pretty hard during the training session today and it needed to be taken care of before She let it get worse.

And She would, if you didn’t do anything about it now, he was only allowed to visit your little office because it was close to Her personal corner of the building and he complained too much otherwise, after all.

‘This will only hurt a little,’ you promised him, seeing the way he braced himself as his hand clenched over his thigh when you raised the antiseptic-coated cotton swab to his side where one of his older wounds had been reopened. The coldness of it made him flinch for just a second as you offered another apology, but he didn’t accept it, something like that was nothing compared to what he was there for. Thankfully, his powers would do most of the work, the colourful dots inside of him mercifully offering him the ability to heal faster along with the curse to destroy in an instant, but you still wanted to do this much for him before it faded away to yet another scar.

He was covered in them by now, the dots never breaking the skin unlike his targets but still leaving behind reminders that he hadn’t been careful enough, he’d been too distracted or tired or, worst of all, stopped caring enough to want to defend himself anymore, and you once again found yourself wanting to offer him more than just a fresh bandage and a silent wish (plea) that you wouldn’t have to see him again the next day. But it was an impossible dream, more impossible than the virus that showed itself under his skin if he didn’t keep training, lighting him up from the inside with the constant threat of bursting, his scars a mesh to hold it all in until they couldn’t any longer.

Your hands hesitated as the peroxide bubbled over the wound, your throat tightening as he waited patiently for you to be done so he could go back to his room and wait to do this all over again tomorrow.

‘Why do you let her do this to you?’ you couldn’t help but ask, fingertip brushing against the edges of a pale scar long since healed. He didn’t answer at first, you two never talked when he could get away with staying silent, and today your voice seemed to catch him off guard, your soft tone so unlike what he normally had to hear.

‘Do what?’ he asked back just as softly, like he truly didn’t know what you were talking about.

‘Hurt you like this.’ The liquid ran down his side and soaked into his outfit, three more polka-dots needing to be sewn into it to show everyone of today’s fumbles along with all the previous ones.

‘It was my own fault, I wasn’t paying attention, I’ll do better next time, I’m sorry.’ It came out so calmly, practiced like he’d said it a million times before and he probably might have considering who his mother was. It made your chest hurt to hear it, your lip quivering as you tried to be strong for him, but for all his silence and refusal to pay attention to himself, he was so observant of you, his eyes finally landing on the top of your head as you kneeled by the wax paper covered bed. ‘Why’re you sad?’ he whispered, like if he raised his voice any higher then his own might break, and when you blinked your vision blurred for just a moment.

‘If you could leave this place, would you?’ you wanted to know, his body stiffening in your peripherals as he thought about it, the silence stretching on for so long that it made you wonder if you’d offended him for making him think of freedom, of a life outside of the windowless room he called home, away from his remaining siblings and the woman who kept them all there.

‘I… I don’t know,’ he answered honestly, back arching as he slumped forward, his shoulders sagging and dark eyes so tired as you looked up at him.

‘Abner, you don’t have to stay here,’ you tried to tell him, your hand finding his on his lap, the first real contact you’d ever made outside of fixing him up; his fingers instinctively curled over you as he cautiously flipped his own hand to hold yours, probably the only kind touch he’d received in years. His eyes rested on your clasped hands before they finally met your own, a sadness unlike anything you’d ever experienced before hiding behind them making your breath catch in your throat like all the air had been sucked out of the room.

‘Yes I do.’

A tear rolled down your cheek before you could stop it, a miserable smile on his face at your empathy for someone as unworthy as him. The hand not holding yours reached up to brush it away before he caught himself, said sorry for touching you even as he held your hand a little tighter, unable to let himself let go. You let out a shaky sob as you rested your head on his lap, feeling him still again before letting his free hand lay over your head, almost pulling away at first before deciding otherwise. He ran his fingers through your hair, offered you comfort even though he was the one who was hurting, and you once again wished (begged) that you wouldn’t see him again tomorrow.

I love you, your mouth longed to say, you having fallen for him more and more with every visit ever since the first time you’d met him; your breaking heart was torn between longing to see him, this the only time he was allowed to leave the highly secured and reinforced floors he roamed, and never wanting him to have to visit ever again. Not seeing him meant he was fine, safe, unhurt for once in his life between the testing and the training and the pain and the loss that haunted him like a growing collection of phantoms. Not seeing him meant that he was okay.

You wanted so badly to get him out of there, to let him experience the world again after a near lifetime of knowing only this, but as you sighed into the costume that’d been so painstakingly tailored just for him, his rainbow-speckled prison suit with the gauntlets that allowed him not only the ability to destroy but also to keep himself alive as his silver slotted shackles that bound him to this place, to his siblings, to Her, you knew that it was impossible.

I love you, so please don’t go back there.

One of the scientists working for Her appeared in the doorway, still flipping through his clipboard and giving you just enough time to sit back up, his hands leaving you as he stood on command, suit back in place once more before you could finish your work; it’d still heal, but it’d be messy compared to the others without your bandages to shield him, the only protection you could offer as the man in the door motioned for him to follow.

He had a few more tests to do now that he’d ruined their training session, the man told him without even looking up, She wanted to see if exposing him to the dimension the dots came from again would allow him a little more resistance against them, maybe remove the need to expel them five times a day, your body frozen on the floor in the most unprofessional manner as he glanced back at you over his shoulder, a forced smile trying to tell you it’d be okay, he’d be okay.

‘Don’t go…’ you finally managed to say but it was too late, he was gone again.

It’d be okay though, just like he promised, you knew it would be as you curled in on yourself now that you were alone again, your hand burning like a peroxide-dabbed wound or a beautiful and deadly polka-dot.

He’d be back again tomorrow, after all.

[spidernerdsblog]

See you again

A/N : This is my attempt to a happy ending. Its also a part of my ironheart au and can be read after you belong with me. Hope you like this. Let me know what you think.

Summary : you discover an old video diary and its sends a whiplash of forgotten memories buried deep inside your mind reminding you of a promise you made to your best friend.

Pairing : Peter Parker x Stark! Reader

Warnings : NWH spoilers

You are back home from Stanford for your winter break and like every other visit to the cabin you have been cooped up in the basement or your father’s workshop since morning. You loved to sit there in peace toying around with the different gadgets, some finished some unfinished because most of your fond memories with your dad are when you used to build things together. It’s been almost two years now but the painful reminder of his absence still remains in your lives.

“Y/N you better clean out the junk from the basement or I’m going to throw them out myself!” you hear Pepper’s voice coming from upstairs.

“Mom you can’t do that!” you shout from the basement.

“Oh yes I will” she yells back. You quickly climb up the stairs to find her in the kitchen preparing sandwiches for breakfast.

“Those are all dad’s stuff, mom. You can’t just throw them away.”

“Y/N you have to understand not long ago the company was confiscated and things got really messy for us to get cleared of all the charges so we made it mandatory to put all our acquired assets and technology into a public record to avoid any kind of legal trouble in future. And all those tech you have kept stored in the basement can put us in trouble again.”

“But they are all unfinished tech which doesn’t work at all.” you argue. “Moreover, why were we confiscated? I never got to know the whole story.”

“It’s still a mystery to us but someone anonymously reported about us possessing lethal weapons having the potential for mass destruction.” she shrugs “but that’s not the point you still got to sort out the stuff. Keep whatever you think is useful and dispose of the rest.”

Your face falls as you mumble. “I can’t mom”

Pepper softens reaching out a hand to cup the side of your face. “Y/N I know you miss him, we all do but you can’t always dwell in the past you have to learn to let go.”

“I-I just feel if I throw them away I’ll be removing him from my life too.”

“That’s never going to happen, he lives in you and Morgan. You’re his legacy, do you understand?” you nod. “Now have your breakfast and then start with the cleaning up of the basement.”

Later on you are back down in the basement as you half heartedly segregate the items in two separate boxes labeled to keep and to throw when you hear soft footsteps coming down the stairs. Morgan comes and stands beside you quietly.

“Y/N are you sad?” she asks.

“A little.” you reply.

“If you want you can hide them under my bed I won’t tell mom.” she says innocently and a smile spreads across your face.

“That’s fine kiddo it was about time.” you say ruffling her hair.

You lift the to throw box to carry it outside when you bump against another box on your way as it topples over spilling its contents all over the floor.

“Shit!” you curse and cover your mouth quickly realizing you were not allowed to swear in front of your little sister. “don’t tell mom”

Morgan giggles while you crouch down to pick up the scattered stuff which were mostly pages after pages of research work. Your brows draw into a frown as you arrange them one by one. The pages were filled with chemical formulas you figured it was to make a fluid with super tensile strength. But when were you or your dad working on something like that? And the handwriting isn’t yours but seems so familiar to you. You scour more to find models of cartridges, tasers and then you come across a memory card without any label.

“Y/N what is this?” Morgan asks curiously.

“Hmm…I’ve no idea” you examine the drive. “Let’s check it shall we?” she nods excitedly as if you were doing some sort of treasure hunt.

You quickly power up the computer and a screen appears which runs a quick facial recognition of you.

Credentials verified. Good Morning Miss Y/N Stark. You’re now securely logged into the Stark private server. Friday's computerized voice reverberates in the room.

You inserted the card in the port to let Friday read it and after it is done a video starts to play automatically on the screen.

“Woah I can’t believe I’m attending a Christmas party in the avengers compound.” says the person behind the camera. The boyishness in his voice seemed awfully familiar to you.

“What is this Y/N?” Morgan asks.

“Looks like an old video recording of a Christmas party at the compound”

The camera pans around the whole room. You can see your dad with Steve and Thor arguing about something. You feel a slight pang in your heart when you see Nat with Wanda, your mom and agent hill. Everyone looked so happy which in turn brought a smile on your face as well. It made you wish for everything to go back to as it was where the team was back together and no one dead.

Then the camera zooms at you. You are seen standing near the dessert table busy stuffing your mouth with chocolate truffles and mocha brownies.

“Will you stop recording while I’m eating?” you say with your mouth full.

“As we can see we have spotted a wild Y/N in her natural habitat that is the sweets counter.” the boy giggles behind the camera.

“You little shit!” you set down your plate and aggressively reach your hand out to snatch his camera but he was quick to run away. He turns the camera to himself laughing.

“Also beware when provoked she attacks too.”

“I’m gonna kill you Peter Parker if you show that to anyone.” you say chasing after him.

And the video ends.

“Peter Parker…” you repeat the name under your breath as you try to think hard. Where have you seen him? And why do you don’t remember him?

And just then you feel like you’ve been hit by a truckload of memories as everything starts to come back in bits and pieces to you. Spiderman…Peter Parker, you begin to remember the fight at the airport, your first day at midtown high, Washington monument, the prom night, you accidentally kissing him, fighting thanos, the summer trip to Europe, you secretly falling for him but he was already in love with MJ, mysterio revealing his identity, Strange’s spell going wrong causing a rift in the multiverse and bringing all of spider man's enemies from other universes along with two different variants of Peter. Yes you remember it all.

“Y/N there’s no other way.” he says defeatedly.

“I understand Peter.” you say softly.

“You’re not going to talk me out of it this time?”

You sigh, the corner of your mouth lifts up to form the faintest of a smile. “You’ve already made up your mind Peter and this is for the greater good so as your best friend I’m not going to stop you this time”

He pulls you in a hug as tears trickle down the corners of your eyes. “Thank you for everything Y/N. Goodbye.”

“Mmhmm” you shake your head pulling back to look at his face. “Don’t say goodbye. We’re going to meet again, okay?”

“But you won’t remember me after the spell is done.”

You cradle his face in your palms. “Hey don’t forget I’m a Stark, my dad figured out time travel so finding a loophole to this spell will not be that hard for me. However long it takes Peter I’ll find you. I promise.”

“Y/N…” his voice quavers.

“See you soon, Parker.” you say pressing your foreheads together.

“Y/N, who is Peter? Is he your boyfriend?” Morgan's voice breaks you out of your thoughts.

“No, he is my best friend.” you reply.

“Where is he now?”

“I don’t know Morgan but I gotta go find him.” you set everything aside and turn to leave.

“I wanna go with you” she pouts.

“Sorry kiddo, I can't take you with me. Just tell mom something important came up but I'll be back soon.” You quickly grab your coat and purse and head to the garage.

While driving back to New York you try to search for more information about Peter’s whereabouts but as expected there’s no trace of him anywhere. It was as if he never existed on this earth. So you go for the only option left, instructing Friday to dig up information about all the recent sightings on Spiderman and that did the trick. All the sightings narrow down to one place 410, Chelsea street.

Reaching at the location you park your car near the curb and step out as snow drizzles down upon you. The air was chilly as you stuff your hands inside your pockets and walk inside the nearest bodega.

“Can I help you with anything, miss?” a young man asks from behind the counter.

“Hey, hi..um..do you happen to know someone named Peter Parker?” you enquire. “I was told he lives somewhere in this neighborhood”

“Peter Parker?”

“Yeah.” you confirm. He gives the name a thought for a second then shakes his head.

“Sorry miss, I don't recall anyone by that name.”

“Oh that's fine, sorry for bothering you.” you say and leave the shop.

Like this you stroll past different shops stopping by at each of them to enquire about if they have seen or heard about someone named Peter Parker but to your dismay nobody could give you a satisfactory answer. You had lost all hope when you reached in front of a French bakery at the end of the street but your heart wasn’t ready to give up without a last try.

The bell chimes overhead as you push the door open to the bakery.

“Bonjour chérie.” a middle aged lady appears smiling behind the counter. “What can I get you?”

“Bonjour.” you return a smile. “Well I’m looking for a guy actually, average height, brown hair, brown eyes, dresses up like a nerd and is a little awkward around people. Do you recall anyone like that?”

Her brows pinches together thoughtfully. “I think I might. Not long ago Mr. Muggins rented their apartment on the fifth floor to a young man who perfectly fits your description. He comes here occasionally, nice boy but speaks very little.” she says with her french accent and you were finally seeing some hope after all.

“Where’s the apartment?” you ask immediately.

“It’s right across the street, turn left it’s a red brick building.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” you couldn’t thank her enough.

“ma plaisir” she smiles widely.

Your eyes then go to the cherry pie displayed on the top shelf. “Also I would like to take this.” “Sure. I’ll pack it for you.” She takes it out from the shelf and packs in it a box and hands it to you.

“Thank you and please keep this.” you slide a hundred dollar bill to her.

Her brows arched up in surprise at the amount. “This is way more than it costs.”

“You don’t know how much you’ve helped me today. Just take it please, it’s the least I can do.”

“I hope you find who you’re looking for, cherie. Merry christmas.” She says, smiling softly.

“Thank you and merry christmas.”

You exit the shop and walk down across the street and as the lady had told you could clearly see the red brick building to the left. It was quite old with very poor maintenance. There was no buzzer at the main door so you just entered the building and climbed up the rickety staircase to the fifth floor.

Upon reaching the apartment door you suddenly start to feel nervous as your hands get sweaty at the thought of what if the door opens and it’s not Peter. You really don’t think you can handle the disappointment but still you take a deep breath gathering all your courage and knock on the door. After a few seconds of silence you hear light footsteps approach the door followed by the unlocking of the latch and bolt.

The door finally swings open and you’re met with those familiar honey brown eyes. It’s really him, you found him. For a moment you and Peter stare at each other in shock and joy.

“Y/N?” his voice comes out shaky.

“Oh my god, Peter!” you cry out throwing your arms around him. He has to take a step back to steady himself. “I finally found you”

“You remember me?” He looks at your face.

“Of course I remember you.” you hug him again tightly thinking that if you let go he might disappear again. Peter sighs in your warm embrace, inhaling the familiar scent of yours. He had no idea how much he had missed you until now. You cry in each other's arms for how long you don’t know by the time you break away your eyes are puffy red but you are both smiling.

“I still can’t believe you are here.” he sniffles. “How did this happen? And how did you find me?”

“I'd have to thank mom for this if she hadn’t forced me to clear out the basement then I wouldn’t have found the memory card which turned out to be your video diary you made on Christmas six years ago.” you chuckle lightly. “But finding you was the most difficult part because there are no official records for Peter Parker but thank god for spiderman he helped me a lot. See I told you I’d find you.”

“And I’m glad you did.” he smiles. “I’m so happy to see you again Y/N.”

“Me too.”

“I still don’t know how this is possible because Strange’s spells are quite strong.”

“Not as strong as our friendship. Let’s just call it the starker paradox.” you grin.

“Yeah starker paradox. Good name.”

“I know!. By the way it's Christmas eve so I brought you your favorite.” you hold the box in front of him. “Cherry pie.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Yeah I know but I’m hungry so let’s eat.” you take off your coat and hand it over to Peter who hangs it on the rack while you head to the kitchen to grab two forks. You sit across from each other on the dining nook placing the pie in between.

“Bon appetit.” you snicker digging into the pie. “Mmmm this tastes heavenly.”

“Yeah it does.” he agrees, taking a bite as he watches you eat. Peter can’t express in words how much he had missed you, your voice, your laughter, everything. He still thinks he is dreaming and once he wakes you’ll be gone. The last few months were tough for him being all alone and figuring his life out. No one to talk to, no one to share his grief with.

“So how are you? And what are you upto these days?” you ask in between.

“I’m doing good now.” he grins. “Preparing for GED and then will apply at the Empire State University.”

“That’s good but why not MIT?”

“I don’t want to put any more lives in danger, it's better I keep my distance and stay low.”

You figured he was talking about Ned and MJ. “Did you ever go and meet them?”

“Yeah I tried but I couldn't. They have a bright future and deserve to be happy which will only be possible if I’m not in their lives.”

“Peter, you deserve to be happy too.” you place your hand above his gently. “You sure you’re ok with this? I mean Ned was your best friend and MJ you loved her right?”

“I’ll be ok plus I have you now” he says with a smile. “Speaking of you, you didn’t go to MIT as well. I was about to go see you but then got to know you already left for Stanford.”

“Never had plans to go to MIT in the first place.” you shrug.

“Wait even if this all never had happened you would have left?” he frowns.

“Uh huh” you nod casually.

“Why?”

“I had my reasons plus whatever they teach over there is school level science for me and I got a business empire to take over in future so mom thought its better I get a business degree.” you explain. “But don’t worry I’ll come and see you when I return home during the semester breaks.”

“So how is your spidermanning going on?”

“I think I’m done looking out for the little guy.” he lets out a long resigning sigh. “I mean look where it brought me no friends, no family, just me all alone.”

“Peter, I know how hard it is to lose someone you love. And now we both speak for the dead. " you pause for a second remembering those moments you both wished never happened. "But if you lose hope. Aunt May, dad, they died for nothing.”

“I don’t know, Y/N…I don’t know how to go on. It was all my fault that she is dead.”

“Don’t. Take her with you. I mean look at me I’m not the same arrogant girl anymore who was silly enough to think of changing the world with advanced A.I’s. But now I know what it actually means to be a true hero always thinking about the greater good and seeing the good in people and Peter that is what defines you…always remember what May said that with great power comes great responsibility.” you say and he nods in understanding.

“Also I know you can’t use your old suit anymore so if you want I can set you up on our private server no one would know.” you offer.

“I really appreciate the help Y/N but I need a fresh start and that means no stark tech.” he says with a smile.

“Ok as you wish” you say “you know I sometimes wonder what the other Peters are doing in their universes.”

“I’m sure they are doing fine but I do remember you and Peter 3 became quite good friends.”

“We’re indeed good friends” you snicker. “He was really witty and funny, also he told me I reminded him of his best friend in his universe.”

“Another version of you? Now that would lead to a world apocalypse.” he jokes.

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood or I would have shown you the world apocalypse right now.” you retort and then both of you burst out laughing. The whole night you stayed up talking about your lives just like old times. Peter couldn't be anymore grateful, he didn't had to spend Christmas alone and you remembering him is the best gift he can ever wish for.

……………………………………………………………………….

Reblogs are appreciated ❤️

[imthebadguyyy]

Hi. This is mine request

Y/n is a teammate of max verstappen, they are in a relationship, y/n crashes and max is worried about her, and he is gonna visit her in the hospital, and when she is released he takes care of her, with a lott of fluff thanks

You Scared Me To Death !

Pairing - Max Verstappen x Reader

Fandom - F1

Summary - When you get hurt, Max realizes just how much you mean to him.

Warnings - mentions of injury, fire, explosion, violence, angst, crash details.

75 laps. That's all that you had to do. Drive for 75 laps. The Bahrain Grand Prix had always been one of your favourite races of the year, and you were so excited. But that excitement had soon ebbed away, after you had missed qualifying because your car wasn't ready for the quali session. The RedBull mechanics had apologised and you had brushed them off, buy you would be lying if you said you weren't angry. It hadn't helped when your teammate and boyfriend Max qualified P1, beating the Mercedes by mere tenths of a second. You had swallowed your hurt and congratulated Max, forcing yourself to feel happy for him.

All it had done was made you determined to win the race tomorrow, even if you had to fight 19 other drivers to do so. Starting P20 on the grid sucked big time, but as Martin Brundle said, "If anyone can fight back from the back of the grid to the podium places, its Y/N L/N" and you had done it before, at the German GP the previous year, fighting back from P19 to P3, winning Driver of The Day as well.

But this race was different. There was a building intensity in the air, you felt it in the air around you. You felt tense and nervous, and you were never nervous. It scared you, but you were going to be damned if you let it show on your face. In your drivers room, you paced back and forth, trying desperately to stop your hands from shaking. Was this what anxiety felt like? you wondered, shaking your head as your heart started hammering against your chest. Far to consumed in your own panicked thoughts, you didn't see your boyfriend walk up to your door, and open it to walk inside.

Max walked into your room, expecting to see you vibing to some R&B music, or something by Rihanna. But you weren't. You were pacing, your brow furrowed and he could see the irregular rise and fall of your chest. He walked up behind you silently, before wrapping his arms around your waist, like he normally did. What he wasn't expecting was your reaction. Usually, you would giggle and let your head fall onto his shoulder, and he would kiss your neck and you two would share a moment. But not this time. This time, you jumped, and nearly fell over onto your bed. "Woah schtaje ! It's just me' he said, eyes softening in concern. "I'm sorry I didn't see you and I shouldn't have jumped, I'm sorry I'm just so klutzy today and I'm also so nervous I-" your nervous rambling was cut off by a pair of warm lip pressing onto your own, as Max's hands cupped your face, instantly calming down your nerves.

You stayed like that for a moment, before pulling away softly, and letting him press his forehead down to yours, fingers gently tracing patterns on your hip. "Why are you nervous mijn geliefde ?" he asked, as he moved his lips to your neck, pressing little kisses along the sensitive skin. "I don't know" you confessed, tilting your head back to give him more access to the expanse of skin, while he stopped at a pulse point to suck at the soft skin, earning. soft moan from you. "Then stop stressing" he mumbled against your neck, word muffling against your skin. "I can't" you replied, struggling to keep the lump in your throat fro growing. "Well," Max said, biting down onto your neck and licking the spot to soothe it, 'Let me help you calm down"

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

20 seconds to lights out.

Your heart was thumping so hard against your chest. God, were your hands always so clammy? Was the car always so stuffy ? Was the space always so confined? Was your helmet always that tight?

Your thoughts were muddled. You knew your goal. It was simple. Get to the podium. Except, right now, that goal seemed somewhat impossible. Before you knew, the first red light was flashing, and then the second, and the third and the fourth and the fifth, and then it was 'lights out and away we go!' you sped off, immediately overtaking Magnussen in the car ahead of you. Then, you overtook one of the Williams, but you could feel your breath wavering, and your heart threatening just burst out of your chest. And before you knew it, you were overtaking Giovinazzi in his Alfa Romeo, and the sight of Grosjean's Haas came into view, "And it looks like L/N has already taken over 4 places, making her P16, and we are on lap 2 of 75! It looks like we're going to see her on the podium after, all, but all we can do is wait and see- and oh! that's a terrible, terrible crash!"

It happened so fast. One moment, you were going round the outside of the Haas, and the next the back of the Haas was hitting your front, sending you crashing into one of the barriers, your car spinning a full 360 in the process. The impact as you crashed into the barriers was so intense, you felt yourself blackout for a few seconds.

"That was a horrible crash, between, the RedBull of Y/N L/N and the Haas, I believe of Romain Grosjean. This race has been red flagged and -oh no!' The cry summed it up. Your car had just burst into flames.

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

In P1, Max was unaware of the chaos at the back, until he looked in his rear mirrors to see something enveloping into a ball of fire. "Holy shit, whose car is that?" he asked, watching as the flames grew higher. "Um.. Max, I need you to stay calm, but its Y/N" "Are you fucking serious?!" his angry voice burst through his race engineer's headphones, making him flinch. "Is she okay?! Tell me she's okay, damn it!' "Max, I need you to come into the pit lane. We have no information on her yet. Come into the pit lane"

As the 18 other cars came into the pitman, everyone knew better than to park in the way of an anxious Max Verstappen. He jumped out of the car, running to the garage upto Christian, who was watching the screen with his eyebrow furrowed. "Is she alright? Tell me she got out?! Did she get out?!" he was practically spitting the words out, and his engineer and his trainer had to physically restrain him from going to shake Christian. "She hasn't got out yet Max, but the fire Marshalls and the medical guys are there-" "What do you mean she hasn't got out? verdomme, blijf hier niet zitten! doe iets!!"

As his race engineer manoeuvred him to his chair, he yelled at whoever was around, eyes desperately searching to screen for some sign that you were still alive. Outside the RedBull garage, the other drivers were pooling around the garage for some sign that Y/N was okay. The panic had been evident in all their radios.

Charles - "Fuck, fuck, fuck, who was that? Y/N?! Tell me she's okay!"

Carlos - "Joder, ¿quién era ese?" I just saw the car go into flames, tell me they got out okay.

Lewis - oh shit, that was a big crash, fucking hell, is she okay?

Checo- oh no, that was a big one, I hope everyone is okay!

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

Back in the car, you felt dazed. Since when was the track this hot, and since when when was your car red ? Were you driving for Ferrari ? No, you drove for RedBull, alongside Max. Your boyfriend Max. Why wasn't he here?

And why did you feel like you were sitting in a sauna? As you begain to regain your consciousness, you felt a searing pain on your hands, and finally clearing the fogginess of your mind, you became fully aware of what was happening. This was your RedBull car. But it was on fire. Almost instantly, your body went into survival mode, ripping the half burnt straps holding your body down, and forcing your limbs to stand up. Looking down you could see your racing gloves glow before they seemed to disintegrate into black dust before your eyes, the flames licking your hands. A scream started in your chest, only to be jammed in your throat, as you opened your mouth to gasp. Big mistake.

The smoke filled your mouth and lungs, and you choked, clawing at your race suit, begging some higher power to help you. Finally, using some courage and adrenaline you didn't know you had, you pulled your body up, bare hands coming in contact with searing hot metal, as your eyes filled with tears of pain. As you jumped out of the car, you became vaguely aware of 3 or 4 people signaling and screaming at you. Too exhausted to even think, you used whatever remaining adrenaline you had to stumble to the barrier and collapse into the first pair of arms.

"Can you hear me? Are you okay? Can you tell me if you're hurt?" The questions were hurled at you from all directions, but you couldn't speak. The head marshall walked up, bracing your body, and checking for injuries. In a hurried voice he asked for the stretcher, but you shook your head. The exhaustion was setting in but you knew you had to let the others know you were okay. But he insisted, and you found yourself sitting on the stretcher instead of lying down, as a medic gently removed your helmet and peeled off the remaining burnt glove, and pressed some ice gently against your burn. Mustering up your remaining strength, you turned to one of the broadcasting cameras and flashed them a tight smile and a thumbs up.

"And as you can see, she has managed to get out of the wreckage, by God's miracle. Thank God she's walked away from that, but how, I cannot comprehend! She went barelling into the barrier and burst into flames and she walked out alive! And I can hear the cheers of the RedBull team, and I think her race engineer is in tears. I can't begin to imagine how Max Verstappen must be feeling"

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

Max Verstappen wasn't sure how he was feeling either. He had felt fear, anger, anxiety, more fear, devastation and dread in the longest 15 minutes of his life. But you were alive. And he felt like breaking down, but he had to be strong for you. He watched your tired form on the screen, feeling giddy with relief, and ignoring the others around him, he ran to the medical hospitality center. No one stopped him.

As the white building came into sight, he heaved a sigh of relief as Michael Masi appeared in front of the cameras to give the anxious fans an update. "Y/N is alright. She's currently in recovery, and I can inform you that she is okay. She has minor burns on her hands, and is exhausted, but she will be okay. 2 weeks healing time for the burns, and some proper rest should be fine for her. That's all I know, and I would ask the media, press, social media fans, and others to give her the time she needs to cope and recover. What she has been through is traumatizing and I hope you will respect her privacy at this time. Thank you"

Seeing his hesitation, the nurse turned to the driver, "It's okay. She's fine now. She's on some painkillers and I've cleaned her burns and dressed them. She will be fine, and you can hug her or whatever you want, she won't be hurt. I've kept some painkillers on the table, she should take some again in 2 hours or so" All Max could do was nod, suddenly feeling a lump grow in his throat. With a smile in your direction, the nurse walked out of the room, leaving you alone with Max.

Max turned to nod at the race director, before hurrying through the brown door that led to the medical room you were in. When he walked in, his entire body relaxed. You were alive and safe. Seeing you sitting up in bed, a bottle of water by your side as a nurse wrapped your burnt hand in a white bandage. Looking, your tired eyes met his blue ones, as a tired smile made his way to your face. "Y/N",he said breathily, "Thank God you're alive" he said, practically running over to you, but he stopped himself from hugging, unsure of if it would hurt you.

"Hey baby". All it took was two words for him to rush towards you, gently wrapping his arms around your form, burying his head in the crook of your neck, as a gasping sob left his mouth, and you could have sworn you felt your heart shatter. "I'm okay baby, I'm okay. I'm not going anywhere, and I'm okay" your mantra of "I'm okay" was soothing, as he sobbed into your shoulder. "I thought I'd lost you, you scared me to death!" "I know my love but I'm here and I'm okay" "I thought you were gone. When I saw the flames behind me I didn't even know it was you in the car. When they told me it was you I swear my fucking heart stopped, and all I could do was pray to whatever higher power exists to save you, because I'm nothing without you. If you hadn't made it, I wouldn't survive. You make me better, you help me love, and you let me heal. I love you, and I never, ever want to see you in a situation like that again"

"I love you too" you said, your eyes filling with tears as you listened to him speak. "I love you too" you repeated, gently lifting his chin so his eyes could meet yours, his tear stained cheeks and red eyes breaking your heart, as you tilted your lips to meet his. He returned the kiss with desperation, he needed even more proof that you were alive, and feeling your lips on his were a reminder that you were alive and weren't going anywhere. He kissed you with fervour, hands moving to your hair, one cupping your cheek as his thumb traced your cheekbone, your hands clutching his broad chest.

"Ouch" the soft cry made you two break apart, as you rubbed your stinging hands. "Did I hurt you?" He said, his eyes filling with worry. "No its just the burn. It'll be fine" you replied, shifting in your bed and patting the spot next to you. After a moments hesitation, he climbed in, raising the sterile white sheet and tucking the both of you in. You snuggled up to him, arms wrapping around him as you rested your head on his chest. He rested his chin on your head, one hand running through your hair, the other keeping you stable on his chest. Within seconds, you were asleep.

Looking down at your sleeping form, his eyes lingered on the white bandage covering your burn, his eyes filling again as it stood out against your skin. He hated it. It was a reminder that you had nearly died. He had nearly lost you. His train of thought was cut off by his phone ringing, his mum's caller ID flashing across the screen.

"Hi mum" "Is she okay?" His greeting was pushed aside, his mom far too concerned about Y/N. "Yes she's alright now. She's sleeping now, Yeah I'm with her now" "Y/N's mom is with me too, I'll let her know she's okay" "Thanks mum" "Don't forget to rest as well Max" his mum said, knowing full well that her son would forget about taking care of himself when it came to his love. "I will"

And he cut the line. He looked down at you one more time, pressing his lips to your forehead, and swearing to himself that he would protect you for all his life. He let his eyes close, the exhaustion finally getting to him, all his adrenaline and energy draining out his body, and finally content that you were going to be okay, he let his eyes close.

You were going to be okay.

[sweetreichel]

Finally got to figure out a Sabito lived AU that feels faithful to the story and characters (imo ofc)

(long ramble under the cut)

This diverges from canon at Giyuu's and Sabito's Final Selection. Giyuu is hurt all the same, and Sabito kills all demons... Except for one. On the last night there, he runs into the Hand Demon, who tells him that he hates Urokodaki and starts teasing Sabito. He pulls his arm so hard that Sabito almost loses all strength there. Then, as he is about to crush his head, Sabito snaps and cuts the hands holding him with his left hand. The Hand Demon gets mad and throws him, knocking Sabito out like it did to Tanjiro. Makomo, who had seen them training, appears to him because she doesn't want Urokodaki to lose another pupil (and, basically, son). She convinces Sabito to run away because the Demon cannot be defeated. Sabito, unable to move his right arm and having lost his left eye, decides that's the wisest decision and hides for the rest of the night, succeeding at the Final Selection.

As they're recovering, Giyuu confesses he feels like he doesn't deserve to be part of the Corps, it almost seems like he wants to quit. Sabito gets real mad, because he can't understand how Giyuu, who is capable of continuing the fight, doesn't want to, while he, who is ashamed of running away from a demon (therefore allowing it to kill more people) and wants to make up for it killing as many demons as possible, doesn't know if he'll ever be able to use his right arm again. Sabito keeps the secret of the Hand Demon because of the shame he feels and because he doesn't want to cause Urokodaki more pain. Giyuu feels guilty because he thinks that Sabito is the one who deserved to come out unharmed, and after seeing Sabito so frustrated, he decides to train until he can no more. These feelings they keep from each other create a little fracture in their relationship.

Giyuu starts on missions and in between he comes back to Urokodaki's, but it slowly becomes less frequent. Sabito starts rehabilitation and after half a year or more, he's able to control his right arm more or less like before the injury, but realizes he'll never have the same strength in that arm. So he has to re learn Water Breathing, now to execute it with his non dominant arm.

He starts getting harder missions and therefore climbing ranks. One day (he is Tsuchinoto or tsuchinoe), and not having seen Giyuu for months, he learns from Urokodaki that he became a Hashira. Sabito is far from jealous but he is hurt that Giyuu didn't tell him himself. It's been a long since Giyuu last sent him a letter. Sabito trains harder and he sends a request to become Giyuu's tsuguko. Giyuu does not take him in. Giyuu still feels like he doesn't deserve the position and thinks that he has nothing to teach Sabito, but Sabito has no idea this is how Giyuu feels and just doesn't understand why Giyuu is rejecting him.

Sabito reaches rank Kinoe and also achieves the requirements to become a Hashira, but the Water Pillar seat is still occupied. By this time, Giyuu saves Tanjiro and Nezuko. Sabito no longer lives with Urokodaki, although he visits from time to time. Sabito feels like he is at a stalemate. He goes to mount Sagiri looking for Urokodaki's advise and some inspiration. He learns of Tanjiro and Nezuko, and wonders again why Giyuu didn't tell him that either. He feels like Giyuu is building a wall between them (and he is). Sabito finds Tanjiro training and beats him just like in canon. Makomo guides Tanjiro in his training in between his rare encounters with Sabito, who secretly puts his trust in Tanjiro to defeat the Hand Demon. Makomo appears to Sabito again, and reminds him that Water Breathing is about adaptability and that he can take that to further lengths. Sabito realizes that his growth was slow and eventually stopped because he should've adapted Breathing to his capabilities and not the other way around. During the six months of Tanjiro's training, Sabito comes up with a new Breathing (I'm inclined to call it something like Snow or Ice Breathing). Then, when Tanjiro is about to effectively hit him for the first time, Sabito dodges and that's when he breaks the rock. Tanjiro leaves for the Final Selection and Sabito goes back to missions.

When Rengoku falls, and seeing that they might be getting close to fighting Muzan, Sabito is called to occupy the position of Hashira. With his Pillar privileges he finally goes and confronts Giyuu. But Giyuu still doesn't open up to him, and instead is internally bitter that Sabito did not become the Water Pillar in his stead.

Tanjiro, by Oyakata-sama's request, talks sense into Giyuu, and makes him remember that it is for Tsutako and the very same Sabito that he got to where he is, to protect others with all he's got regardless of the outcome. Giyuu is able to have a small chat with Sabito--mostly, he apologizes and struggles to explain himself, but Sabito is just grateful he is trying to make amends. Sabito participates in the Pillar training (probably challenging them to fight without using all their limbs or senses, because he tells them that such a wound should not make them retire from the fight) (Giyuu's training would focus on a defensive style based on flexibility, much like what Dead Calm is about).

Sabito fights side to side with the rest of the Hashiras. (In a similar to canon setting, he'd probably fall. But this is a nice AU, so everyone survives). In post canon, he and Giyuu finally confess all they went through and go back to Urokodaki to enjoy some peaceful time together.

[redrobin-detective]

Ben 10 lore that exists in my heart regardless of canon

- Ben’s personality in his mid-late teens is a mix of his Alien Force and Omniverse self. On the surface, he’s very cheerful and kind even if he is a bit of arrogant showoff. He makes jokes and plays around and acts as if he isn’t bothered by the things in his life. Those who know him best understand a good portion of his outward confidence and cockiness is just a facade to cover up his insecurities and to project the ideal, effortless hero. While sometimes seen as immature, most beings know Ben 10 means business as he takes his unofficial job and people’s safety very seriously. He’s clever, adaptable, charismatic and empathetic which makes him a formidable opponent and a loyal friend. Doesn’t open up easily but if you get to him, he become so dearly attached. 

- Drinks smoothies so much for several reasons. Comfort food go brrr, reminds him of the good easy times with him Gwen and Kev. It’s also a light but generally nutritous food to give him energy for heroing. Anything too heavy and he’ll be puking (both from physical and emotional stress). Though he jokes about his mom’s health foods, his are a crazy concoction of add in proteins and vitamins/minerals bc he knows he’ll out and out collapse without it. (Still has on occasion bc boy still doesn’t eat right/enough)

- While Fame is exciting for him at first he soon begins to detest it. Not the fans, no, he can’t bring himself to hate the people who look up to him. But he hates the constant attention, that he can’t walk outside without being mobbed. the only place he feels safe is his hometown where most people are so used to him and his weirdness that they don’t react much anymore. Takes to wearing a cape and face shield when going out anywhere so he can actually get things done without being recognized and mobbed.

- Part of the reason Bellwood isn’t concerned with Ben is partially because ben’s been weird and alien for as long as they can remember but also many don’t realize how famous/powerful he is. Yeah that’s just Ben Tennyson over there, sometimes he turns into funny creatures- wait what do you MEAN he’s the savior of the universe?? He cried over a spilled smoothie the other day.

- Does mostly online schooling by the time he’s 15. At first he tries to do half day things to maintain something of a normal life but it quickly becomes overwhelming and dangerous him/the school. Finishes his GED early but the Plumbers and Azmuth make him take additional college level and alien courses to prepare him for his future role. Ben gripes but really does love learning all these things, especially on his terms (ADHD and stress + the public school system do not always go hand in hand). He’s a quick learner when he deems the information important and is made accessible to his learning needs.

- Ben definitely has ADHD speaking of which, it was nearly uncontrollable as a child bc his free-spirited parents didn’t believe in medicating. Ben convinced them he needed it and after some trial and error, found meds that worked. As he became more involved in heroics/growing up he had to change his medicine regimen (resulting in him being a bit more off the rails in OV) and needed antidepressants and therapy to manage it better. As an adult he has a whole litany of coping mechanisms (good and bad yes) and regularly checks in with his therapist and doctors to keep things under control. 

- Has a complicated relationship with his necrofriggian children. Considers himself their mother and worries after them. They too feel a connection to their parent despite this being unusual for their species. A few visit (some more than others) while they grow while others maintain distance. Ben never breathes a word of them to the media for fear of them being targeted. Still he keeps an eye on them and ensures all 14 mature to adulthood (another rarity for the species). Checks in every now and again with the ones who don’t want to see him and those that do. Two join the Plumbers and Ben is both proud and worried. His youngest becomes partners with Rook Ben.

- Just in general loves kids, they’re his favorite fans and while he’ll grumble at pushy adult fans he always smiles and kneels down for the little ones. Not so secretly wanted to have children of his own but knew it was a risk overall and used a lot of that energy with mentoring and teaching. Eventually had Kenny later in life (late 30s-40s) and was over the moon, becoming such a loving and doing parent or as much as he could be with his hectic schedule. 

- Omnitrix can’t come off, never has at any point since it first latched onto Ben’s arm. Azmuth tried and failed to get the device off, doesn’t let Ben know for many years as he feared the consequences. The watch loves and protects Ben even beyond it’s programming making him much more durable to damage and releasing energy charges when he’s threatened. Not even removing Ben’s arm would separate them. They’re stuck for life.

- Ben does have Anodite heritage but the Omnitrix actively suppresses it and uses the built up energy to power the transformations which is why ben is mostly unaffected by what should cause a massive energy drain on him. Theoretically if Ben learned to harness and safely use his Mana at an early age like Gwen he would have been fine but letting it build up without safe outlet meant activation would have killed him. Omnitrix Ben, however, went his whole life not knowing of his latent abilities and how the watch saved his life.

- Ben’s eyes get more green and glowy as time passes from the Omnitrix. At first they think its a trick of the light but by the time he’s an adult his eyes are pretty much glow in the dark. His veins light up too after long stretches of using the Omnitrix. Its vaguely unsettling to people who aren’t used to Ben.

- Max and the Earth Plumbers work so, so hard to keep teen Ben on Earth when half the universe is blowing up their comm lines asking for The Ben 10 to help with whatever problem of the day. Ben himself doesn’t quite understand when he’s younger the prestige and expectations on his shoulders. Max throws up a million and one roadblocks so Ben can live as normal a life as possible while he still can. Still, while doing that he Still overloads Ben with expectations and responsibilities on earth and beyond. He becomes a soldier again with Ben as their greatest weapon. He never forgave himself of losing sight of his grandson underneath the hero esp after Ben’s breakdown. 

- Rook partnership with Ben ends not long after Omniverse with his promotion to Magister. Ben tries to play it cool but the thought of another loved one/teammate leaving his tears him apart. Max revealing that Ben most likely wouldn’t get a new Plumber assigned partner since he’s almost an adult and won’t need it and Rook accidentally missing their last smoothie run due to a scheduling mishap causes Ben to snap and have the nervous breakdown that had been building for almost a decade. He completely loses it for a little while and needs to take an extended leave of absence from school and heroics that lasts about a year. Spends time recovering both on Earth and Galvan Prime, does some diplomatic training, learns about aliens, actually confronts the stress and loneliness of his life. He comes out the other side stronger but still fragile and exhausted.

- Ben’s above mentioned breakdown brings him closer to all his friends who didn’t quite realize the extent of Ben’s burden. Rook had been under the impression Ben didn’t like him all that much so the knowledge that his departure was the final straw for friend/hero’s collapse was shocking. Ben and Azmuth also become closer, the Galvan becoming fiercely protective of the boy seeing as his Earth family didn’t do well to keep him safe. It takes years for him to get over his anger at Max for putting so much on his grandchild. Ben makes more friends, in and out of the hero business, finally gets a therapist and gets some of his burdens eased a bit. It’s not a sure fire fix and Ben has several smaller breakdowns the rest of his life but its something.

- Azmuth was straight up suicidal before he met Ben for the first time. Ben gave him back hope for the universe and his ability to create items for peace not weapons. The boy infuriates him, frightens him, frustrates him but Azmuth cannot deny in his heart of hearts that he loves Ben dearly. He’s very upset at Ben’s breakdown and doesn’t know how to handle the worst of the initail outbursts. Azmuth talks Ben down from a suicide attempt. He reaches out to Ben that he Too felt overwhelmed by pressure, thought himself only good for war. Ben’s arrival in his life saved him and now he will do the same for Ben. It’s the first positive step forward in Ben’s recovery.

- For no other reason than I like it, Azmuth primarily refers to Ben as Benjamin (mostly to annoy the kid but he likes the way it sounds too) and Ben in softer, more serious moments. 

- Professor Paradox continues to flit in and out of Ben’s life. He says its because Ben is the most equipped to handle universal peril (true) but he’s also just very fond of the boy. Ben, existing in so many forms and having such importance also exists a beat outside of normal reality which Paradox identifies with. Ben is naturally attuned to time related problems because of this (instantly IDing Spanner as from the future before being told later deducing him to be his unborn son). Plus Ben named him, way back when. He’s just drawn to Ben.

- Adult Ben, while being seen as an impressively skilled fighter and champion, really has his strength as a universal diplomat of sorts. Based out of Earth, he helps mediate and defuse conflicts, advocate against tyranny and overall preserve peace and balance. He’s not perfect, he makes mistakes and sometimes is forced to become violent (and yes kill) but overall is regarded as a peacekeeper, something younger ben simply couldn’t understand. 

- Gwen gets her degree and primarily does work with advocacy and teaching about magic/alien culture. While she and Ben are still close, there’s a bit of a frustrated divide in that she isn’t helping him share the burden of the universe. Gwen never wanted to be a hero and has enough worth to not shackle herself to a job that’ll burn her out. Ben loves heroing but gives too much of himself away trying to fix everything. They get into screaming arguments that it wouldn’t be so bad out there if she just helped him but she refuses to budge and says he shouldn’t make himself do so much. They always make up and thy still are each other’s closest relationships.

- Ben marries Kai in a political move, Kai is Asexual and Ben Aromantic. They didn’t love each other but they got on well enough and Ben was really feeling the stress of carrying the hero burden so Kai also being involved made him feel like he wasn’t alone. Both were also so tired of the universe constantly asking about their love life and said ‘fuck it we’re married leave us alone’. Gwen was always mad about it feeling Ben deserved better but the two of them were happy with it. They had separate rooms, mostly separate lives but they became strong friends and supports with their strictly platonic marriage. They had Ken via Invitro in an incubator and were loving if extremely busy parents. 

- Also from the moment he appeared, Ben knew that Spanner was his future son, Kenny. He played ignorant and then was kind of deliberately teasing him in future encounters. He knew the rules of time and didn’t want to disrupt things further even if he was angry and worried as heck about why Ken felt the need to time travel. When future Ben catches up in the timeline, Kenny gets SUCH a lecture. 

- Ben isn’t quite immortal but he’s also not entirely human anymore either. The Omnitrix not only keeps him safe from most harm but it lightens the effect of aging. Ben 10 is active many, many years when most humans would have been forced to retire. He’s not sure how long the watch will keep him alive and it terrifies him. Gwen too is functionally immortal however she ages like a normal human, then when her natural death came, shed her skin and became a fulltime Anodite. So in the end, it was her and Ben together wondering which of them will die first. Gwen has trouble retaining her humanity as pure energy and swears she’ll let herself fizzle out when Ben goes. When that’ll be however...

[songmingisthighs]

[21.57] mafia!wooyoung × reader

⇀ nothing's as concerning as wooyoung's 180° change, it's all or nothing for him. And you ? You just became his everything.

⇁ tw : violence, mafia life

⇁ part. 1 / 2 / 3

⇁ disclaimer : the author does not support any and all criminal/illegal acts. the narrative written in this story is purely fiction out of the author's imagination. the things written here does not portray real mafia life nor is the author aware of how the mafia life is like. the author is a hermit loser.

Five days went by and you still haven't regained consciousness and Wooyoung had not left your side for even one second.

Neglecting not only his duties but also his own well-being. He wouldn't leave you for a single second, afraid that if he does, someone might come in and finished you off. So he had San be on standby in the guest room, taking his place for when he needs to shower or go for a bathroom break. Said man even attempted to spoon-feed Wooyoung when he found out that his friend had denied the food his house staff brought to him, to which Wooyoung finally gave in and feed himself after San tied him up in his chair and threaten to feed him mother bird style.

When Yeosang came back in the day after you were first found, Wooyoung almost stab one of the nurses when he tried to take you to get checked.

"Seriously? I brought my machines and staff here and literally, within the first 2 minutes here, there are no signs of gratitude and you almost injured one of my staffs? Are you freaking high again?" Yeosang nagged after pulling the petrified nurse to the side.

Honestly, Wooyoung felt bad for scaring the man, but he had to hold onto you no matter what. You have to be within his peripheral vision because the last time he (stupidly) let (drove; shove) you out of his sight (turned all cctvs off which then directly caused you to get kidnapped), he almost didn't get the chance to regret what he did (and said) to you.

But Wooyoung wasn't gonna let other people know that he has remorse. Heck no.

He's the Jung family head mafia and there isn't anyone allowed to know how he's actually like.

Except you.

Right after you wake up.

So instead of letting Yeosang's staffs take you away, Wooyoung swooped you in his deceptively strong arms and put you on the gurney.

Once he's sure that you're secured, he looked at Yeosang and his staffs with narrowed eyes, "no offense, man, but I don't trust any of them," Wooyoung then look to his men who's stationed by his door, "get their details and do thorough background checks on them," he said before pushing the gurney down, forcing Yeosang to personally help him.

He made sure that his men were stationed at every entrance, ran background checks on every staff that entered his place, heck even put out a curfew for everyone including his visiting friends.

"Dude, you gotta get out of here, you look like a zombie," San said as he entered the room, walking towards Wooyoung who had moved his desk closer to the bed where you lied motionless. He slightly cringed when he saw the needles that poked through the skin of your hand.

Without looking up from his work, Wooyoung sighed and shook his head, "she could wake up any second, I wanna be here when she does" he muttered, eyes flitting to your form on the bed for a second.

San approached his friend, leaning both hands on the table, "Wooyoung, you missed 3 important meetings, 2 briefings, and you haven't delegated workloads other than security details for your own place, the organization will be in shambles soon," he said sternly.

Hearing facts behind his words irked Wooyoung, he knew about the current vulnerability in his organization because he's only been taking care of you since you came back to him. He didn't want to be reminded of his previous neglect.

He was about to tell San off when suddenly a voice chimed in.

"You should go do your job, Wooyoung," you called, coughing a little from scratchy throat.

It took him some time to fully realize that you had woken up after five days. He immediately run to your side and help you sit up, ordering San to get you a glass of water.

Once your throat had been soothed by the water, Wooyoung held your hand in his, kissing the back side of it multiple times to express how glad he is, "thank God you woke up, I-I don't know what I'd do if you don't," he choked, feeling tears start to brim on his eyes.

You initially didn't pull away from his touch nor his affection, maybe it's the fact that you had just woken up, maybe you think you're hallucinating, because the Jung Wooyoung you knew would never talk to you or treat you like this.

Though it hurts, you pulled your hand away from his grip, cringing a bit, "F-funny you say that, last time we spoke you said you wanted me dead," you muttered bitterly at him.

Sensing that this is a personal conversation, San slipped away before hearing anything else.

Wooyoung stared at you with sad eyes, "No, baby, I would never," he reached forward, trying to take your hand in his once again. But you scooted further into the bed, your eyes started watering, "liar," you choked out, "you said you've been planning my assassination since the beginning and you wanted to go through with it,"

"I-I did, didn't I? I can't deny I've said that to you, but please, losing you was the hardest thing that ever happened to me-"

"Well what about me!?" You exclaimed, cutting him off, surprising him at the tone you used.

By now tears had streamed down your face, your hands were clutching the blanket on your lap tightly as you began sobbing, "f-for a year, I've been nothing but understanding to you and your actions, I've done nothing but try to stay out of your way, all I asked in return was to be treated like a human being, but you couldn't even do that now, could you ? I even had to get kidnapped by whoever's after you for you to finally give half a fuck about me," you were choking the words out, your raw emotion evident with the way you speak.

Wooyoung never once seen this side of you, the side that is so raw and vulnerable. Sure, he'd occassionally hear your soft sobs through the en suite bathroom or came across your quivering figure in the gardens. But never once did you bore yourself to him like this.

Despite knowing that you might push him away, Wooyoung climbed into bed as quick as he can and enveloped you tightly in his arms.

At first you tried pushing him off with all your strength, not wanting to be comforted by him. But he held on, he knew his way around people's movement so using his knowledge against you was an easy feat.

It took you a while, you still struggled for a bit but you eventually gave in, letting his arms wrap around you and tucking your head under his chin. By now you had somehow situated between his legs, him carefully minding the IV on your right hand as he pulled you in deeper (as if it's possible).

"I know that I don't deserve it, heck, I deserve nothing from you after putting you in hell like that, but I sincerely apopogize and I will do anything and everything I can in order to gain your trust and maybe..." he pulled back slightly and tilt your chin up so he can meet your gaze, "...we can go forth and build a relationship?"

Stranger things had happened in your life but this, by far, is the strangest. Never in a million years would you ever thought that you'd be able to see the great Jung Wooyoung blush like a high school girl. It's honestly cute.

But not as cute as when he bit his lips to prevent his mouth from tearing due to the large grin that bloomed on his face once you gave him a nod, agreeing to him after leaving him nervous for a solid 5 minutes.

[narraboths]

[read on Ao3]

Come over, Kara texts her at 5:41 pm, followed up by New Year’s Eve party :) when Lena doesn’t respond.

It makes her heart sink.

They are supposed to be over it. They’ve talked – fought, yelled, ugly-cried, circled each other like wounded animals for weeks and weeks, and now they are supposed to be healed . Stronger together. Kara gives her hugs and visits her office to bring her lunch and beams at Lena with her old, boundless affection again.

Lena can hardly bear it.

With every gentle word exchanged, every friendly touch and easy smile, Lena only feels the shame and doubt and bitter guilt that’s been gnawing at her multiply thousandfold. Kara’s sheer presence in her life is too great a gift, too undeserved, yet Lena yearns for it too, fiercely, endlessly, as starved for Kara’s love as she feels unworthy to receive it. It’s a pained, maddening struggle with no end in sight.

I’m busy, she texts back now, the playfulness that would’ve come naturally to her before being measured carefully so that the declination wouldn’t seem brusque: No rest for the wicked.

And you’re divine, the answer comes without even missing a beat, making Lena almost drop her phone, her heart rattling madly in her chest and her fingers shaky as she types her reply:

Trying to trick me with your wordsmithery?

Trying to get you to give yourself a break. Lena cannot help but smile: Kara’s ability for unintended, rampant flirting is only surpassed by her capacity for caring. And I really need a partner to break Alex and Kelly’s winning streak at charades. They’re getting annoying about it. Lena hesitates, rereading the words again and again, eyes getting stuck on I need a partner every time, until the three little dots pop up at the bottom of her screen once more: Pretty, pretty please?

It’s a mistake, Lena well knows. She should excuse herself and cut the conversation short, arrange for another, less loaded meeting like a brunch next weekend or a lunch when she’d next swing by CatCo to placate Kara, and leave it at that.

Can’t refuse such a cry for help, she types back instead, and the reply comes almost immediately:

My hero ❤️

Lena doesn’t realize she’s clutching her phone to her chest as she leaves her office until she sees her reflection on the elevator doors.

–

It takes ten minutes for Lena’s car to reach Kara’s building, then three to climb the stairs. It takes another ten minutes of nervous pacing at the end of the hallway, nails digging into her palm, for Lena to actually decide to walk to Kara’s door and dare to knock.

The door flies open and Kara tugs her into a tight hug before Lena could even blink. She lets herself sink into its comfort, lets herself enjoy the solid mass of Kara’s body pressing against her own for longer than it would be advisable before she finally disentangles herself.

“I’m so glad you came,” Kara breathes, smiling wide. Lena only nods, tongue-tied under the sudden, affectionate attention as Kara helps her out of her coat, then moves toward the kitchen immediately, hand wrapped around Lena’s own. “Can I get you anything? We haven’t popped the champagne yet but–”

“I’m fine,” Lena finally manages. She’s anything but. She does manage to wave hello to Kelly and Nia chatting at the other end of the kitchen, and nod to Alex and J’onn, engaged in deep conversation in the living room. “So,” she turns back to Kara, forcing a playful smile on her face and staunchly ignoring the tremor in her hands, the way her heart rattles in her chest. “Is it time for some game night ass-kicking?”

“Sure,” Kara nods, but her face is strangely distracted. She looks down at their intertwined fingers, her thumb gently stroking the back of Lena’s hand. “Could I show you something first, though?”

The something turns out to be the view from her bedroom window: the night sky towers above them with remarkable clarity, its inky blue spattered with the white gleam of the stars. 

“You wanted to show me…” Lena follows the arc of Kara’s outstretched hand, and narrows her eyes, confused. “The new moon?”

“It’s Rosh Chodesh too,” Kara smiles. “What a coincidence, right? The perfect night for new beginnings.”

“New beginnings,” Lena repeats mechanically, and Kara nods.

“At the start of this year, I didn’t know if I could ever see you as a friend again.” Lena casts down her eyes: there’s something so awfully tender in Kara’s face, her voice, that she can hardly bear hearing it, much less holding Kara’s gaze. She’s ready to hear the next words – that it’s been a failure since, that Kara doesn’t want her in her life after all, that she knows Lena’s not okay and doesn’t care to keep up the charade any longer. But those words never come. Instead, Kara only draws closer, her free hand reaching up to cup Lena’s face, an electric, world-rending touch. “And now I wouldn’t have wanted to spend this night without you here.”

The room spins, Lena’s heartbeat grows into a thunderous beat in her ears. She’s gasping, feeling like she’s burning up, stammering something unintelligible, but Kara’s still there, the touch of her hands mooring Lena’s entire world.

“I know it’s been hard to see eye to eye again,” she whispers. “For both of us. But I’ve learned that… If we just keep drowning in hurt, we can’t move forward. And I want to face this new year with you. Together.”

Lena risks raising her eyes again. It feels like a drunken, feverish dream to meet Kara’s gaze again and see it glisten with tears, and beneath it only gentle, unshakeable love.

“I want that too.” The words come out half-rasped, barely daring to be voiced first, then gaining strength as the gnawing feeling in Lena’s chest grows smaller. “Really, really much.”

When she feels Kara’s lips pressed against her temple, Lena dares to hope again.

(They are still holdings hands when the clock strikes twelve.)

[kirahana21]

Hello lovely people of tumblr!! It’s been a loooong while since I posted any oc content but I am finally back with a new character that I can’t wait to share. Lately I’ve been re-watching Lego Monkie Kid and hearing about Nezha’s title of being the Lotus Prince gave me a cool idea I could use and implement into the LMK plot!!

Here is my LMK oc Jia Wèi! I do have a bit of info fleshed out for her but for now I will give the basic history and dynamics with the other characters!

Here is a simple recap of her family history!!

Jia’s 10000x great grandfather traveled to the king of the time to tend to his beautiful garden as a florist and meets an half immortal residing there. the two grow close in the time he cares for the garden and they fall in love. The king noticing this happy relationship pardon’s the man and wife from their duties serving them and they get married and head off west to start their life. However, in one of Sun Wukong’s hasty dashes out of the celestial realm, a cherry blossom branch falls from he sky and in front of the couple’s path. The two, seeing this as a task from the jade emperor in proving their love and compatibility, care for the branch until it grows into a beautiful tree and they build their house around it. The tree is found to have healing properties in its petals and soon word spreads of the healing tree and the greed of wanting it surges throughout the country

After a few years a few thousand demons/spirits find out the couple have been guarding the tree and try to steal it. Luckily, sun Wukong is in the area and decides to help out two and wipes out most of the demons, however the last group of spirits end up getting close to the tree, causing the half immortal to protect the tree with her own body, gravely injuring herself in the process. SWK gets rid of the rest of the demons and goes to check on the half immortal who doesn’t have a lot of strength left to live for much longer. The man tries to use the petals to heal his lover but it is not enough and she is left in a comatose state. Monkey king seeing how selflessly the woman put herself in danger to keep the tree safe asked the jade emperor to let her spirit reside in the tree she vowed to protect, letting her watch over her family even as a spirit. The jade emperor agreed and allowed her spirit to be reincarnated into the 7th guardian of the cherry blossom tree (Aka Jia). The husband not wanting the tree or his wife to be in danger asked monkey king to put a protective spell around the house and tree, concealing their location from everyone who dares to seek it. SWK recites a spell that he remembers one of the celestial beings reciting and allows only himself and any family members to see around the barrier. To repay his generosity, the man allows SWK to take a small silk pouch of cherry blossom petals to use in any situation where he is injured and needs to be healed and he says he’ll be there to protect the family’s history.

From that point in SWK goes to visit the family every 50 or so years (excluding the time he was trapped under the mountain for 500 years) and takes his time to catch up with them. Over the years, the family and SWK call each other very close friends and he is there to witness the first moments of Jia’s life and many more after that. Jia had known the great monkey king was a part of her family history but didn’t get to spend time with him much until she was saved by him after traveling outside of the barrier and almost being attacked by demons. After that, the two grow close and have a cool uncle/curious niece dynamic. He teaches her some of the basics of how to wield a staff and re-tells all of his journeys and adventures which she absolutely adores. He stays with them for a few months or so during his retirement years until the start of the series where he has to go back and watch MK get the staff from DBK. They reunite during the events of early s3 and she joins him on the group’s adventure to claim the samadhi fire.

With the backstory out of the way, here are some of the relationship dynamics she has with the cast!

NOTE: NONE OF THESE MEANT FOR ROMANTIC SHIPPING!!

MK: see’s him as a brother and gives him some helpful advice in stressful situations regarding his powers/staff, they bond over their love and passion for monkey king stories

Mei: they are very much besties and Mei teaches Jia about modern inventions and Jia teaches Mei about different flowers and fan dancing!

Pigsy: they both learn a lot from each other in the art of cooking, she learns how to make noodles and food with more ingredients and Jia teaches him how to make mochi and other sweets (despite him not being the best at making them)

Tang: looks up to him a lot with his vast knowledge of Monkey King information and facts and calls him ‘Mr. Aster’ bc he is full of wisdom and brightens up with excitement like a star

Sandy: THEY ARE TEA BUDDIES, she loves visiting Sandy and they enjoy spending time together with all of his cats (especially Mo) usually confides in him when she has a problem or is stressed

Sun Wukong: see’s him as a family friend or the cool uncle that swings around from time to time to check on his sibling’s kids. Admires him for the noble feats he did on his JTTW, and calls him ‘Mr. Sunny’ or ‘Mr. Sunflower’

Macaque: doesn’t have much of an opinion on him, wants to help him feel happy again but they don’t talk much.

Nezha: do interact on a few occasions, post s3 got closer in bonds and communication. She calls him ‘Brother Lotus’ and she asks him about the celestial realm. They are good friends who admire each other and share the same amount of respect and curtesy for others.

Bai He (the girl LBD possessed): Post s3 they have a strong bond, Jia plays a older sister role and helps her with her nightmares about the period of time she was possessed by LBD.

[itsmadamehydra]

My Savior || Wayne McCullough

A/N: Just some teenage girl trying to write the story inside her head, hope u like it.

Pairing: Wayne McCullough x oc

Warnings: rape, intention of rape, harassment, blood mention, bullying, language (a little strong)

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I've always like to watch him by far, he just seems different from the rest (and oh boy, he is).

The first time I saw him I was in 7th grade. I was just one more girl of the many others that her tities just had started to show and my period started to visit me. I remember that day clearly, I was sitting at the hallway with my bestfriend at the time, eating infront of our lockers when I saw him.

"Am telling ya girl, the answer of number 5 was c." I said trying to reason with her about the science test answers "I told you that if u needed help to study, I could help ya." I smile at her and move my arm upward to touch her shoulder

"Yeah, yeah, I know...are you sure it was not D?" she said frowning her eyebrows once more. We stayed in silence for a sec before bursting into laughter and tears

Little by little our laughs started to fade, allowing ears to hear the background and aswell some loud voices, it sounded like an argument but by the hears of it a fight was going to start soon. "What you think is happening over there?" Cassie murmured, I stared at the end of the hallway where apparently was were the voices were coming from.

"I don't know..." my lips formed a thin line while I was thinking about what could have been happening in there, "You wanna, you know, go and see?" I looked back at my friend

"Freak yeah" she laughed grabbing my hand and running down the hallway to see the soon to be fight.

Once we got there, there was a mass of students surrounding what appeared to be the ones who where arguing. "Ugh, I can't see, I hate been so small." I said, "Hey, that smallness is beautiful and you know you can use that in your own benefit" Cassia said and winked at me.

"I mean, yeah but I can't-" my word stopped at the moment I heard a want sounded and I believe to be a punch in the face. "You saw that!?" Cassie said, "That was freaking awesome, please tell me you saw it!" "Um, nah Cassie, I cant see a crap" i said while trying to find a whole where to see through.

It was only a matter of seconds until more punches were heard. I started pushing people more frantically, I wanted to see what was happening. When I get pass a few amount of studens I almost slipped, looked sown to see what was it and it was stains of blood, only a few but still.

"Oh gosh, disgusting." When I look up only a few students are still in the cafeteria and a guy wearing a grey hoddie was just there, staring at the bloodie face of another guy. I stared back at the hoddie guy and noticed a little hammer in his hand, and the words just came out of my mouth without even noticing, "Why the hammer? Want to be a constructed or something?" He just stared at me and pass by me without saying a word and keeping a neutral face.

"Who the hell was that crazy ass weirdo?" I hear Cassie's voice behind me. "I don't know" I responded, "But I will know...one day."

"Ok,ok, am not going to get in between your little search thingi but am sure he is not good news." Cassie said, "You saw what he did, and he has a FREAKING hammer, y/n! Covered in blood y/n!" She grabbed my shoulders from behind, "I think we all understood the message, stay the fuck away from him, honey."

And I just smiled.

Months later I learned his name. Wayne, Wayne McCullough. Fits the ring if you ask me. Everyone was speaking about how violent, crazy and wierdo he was, about how he was going to show up at your house to beat the hell put of you.

I just observed him by far, well, I like to think that I noticed him. I noticed how he usually beats up those who are some assholes jerks that have only one brain cell as much. Noticed that he is not much of a talker and a shy boy. Noticed how he makes his lips thin when he gets lost in thoughts. How he closes his fist when he is about to do something. His strangely high pain tolerance. His pale skin and dark hair appeared to me to be very llamative and aswell his strength. He was and is skinny but somehow has a great strength, maybe do to the unincredible amounts of fights he gets in. Experience makes the master is what the say...right?

Years went by, we entered to highschool and the nervousness along with the fast beating, sweating and butterflies were still there every time i either tought about him or saw him walking around.

Cassie stayed with me for a while until she decided to join the group of nasty ass bitches with no brain cells who believed no one was better than them. While I...well, I stayed small for a big part I guess, always with good grades, teachers love me and try to be nice with every one I guess.

Everything was going great until Cassie along with some guys recorded me somehow while being drunk and them trying to overpass the boundaries, and let me tell ya.. that was just the start.

The had videos of me at the school bathroom, pictures of my underwear under my skirts and dresses, them trying to touch me. I had to learn to defend myself, stopped using skirts, dresses, shorts even do I loved wearing the. Replace my shoes with tennis and always had hair ties.

"Y/n, wake up! You're going to be late for school, don't think ama wait for you!" I mom yelled.

"Yes, mom! Dont worry, am up!" I run down the stairs with my backpack, went to the kitchen, grabbed an apple and went straight to the car.

"Oh for God sake, y/n" she said went she looked at me and noticed my new hair style.

"What? You don't like it? I just cut it a little." I satered at her innocently

"Your father is not gonna like it and you know it." She said and the stress lines appeared in her forehead, "You know this is his weekend and-"

She couldn't finish her sentence because I started taking, "Am not going to that dickheads house, mother." I said strainly, "Don't want to see his and face of that bitch he cheated you with..." i lowly said but loud enough to hear.

"I know, honey but you have to and besides you get to see your brother!" She patted my thigh, "Haven't seen him in a while right?" She said with a sad tone

"You should be the one seeing him...not me." I stared outside the window, there were just some trees and houses and garbage.

Mom and dad divorced a while back, he cheated on her. The house was a mess that day, screams and broken glass everywhere. Sammy was lucky, he was at grandma's but I was home...listening to every single word. That was also the first time a sneaked out and the first time I sort-of spoke to Wayne.

"What are you doing here?" I heard someone said behind me, I looked and it was fucking Wayne

"Just trying to have some quietness i guess..." I stared at my fingers and started playing with them because of my nervousness, "...What are you doing here?" I asked softly

And he stayed silent...the whole time after that. Either way, his company was nice and the side profile, ufff, amazing.

"Ok, we are here." I stared at the building for a sec before giving my mother a kiss in her cheek and entered to the building.

"Hey y/n! Nice ass!" That was the jerk of all jerks, Jonathan.

I turned around and stared at him, "Oh yeah?" He nodded, "Want to see me shop of your dick?" Changed my tone while saying that into a lower and more serious tone. He just stared at me with sealed lips and left.

I continued walking to my locker and I come to see tgat my freaking lock is broken, I search in all the spaces but nothing is missing.

"Come on! They had just changed me of locker!" I silently yelled. Started grabbing my books for the next few classes when I felt a hand in my shoulder, by instinct I grabbed the wrist, pushed the person against the locker and added pressure in the throat with my other arm.

"Hey y/n" Orlando smiled, "New move?" I chuckled and removed my arm, now, standing face to face I respond

"You know you shouldn't do that Orlando bunny." I laugh st the nickname I gave him a few time ago. Orlando was one of the few FEW people who talked to me, well, he talked to everyone but still.

"I know... I just forgot I guess man." He looked down, "Y/n...have your tities grown bigger?" His face looked confused.

I slapped his head and punched his shoulder, "Could you please stop looking and thinking 'bout tities when am around you?"

"I mean, yeah sure...and sorry about your lock." He points the locker, "Wayne thought it was still his but since-" I cut him off before he could continue

"Wayne?" I asked confused

"Yeah, Is tha-" i cut him off again

"Why did he tho?" I murmured staring at my lock in hand.

"It used to be his locker but oh well...he missed school for 3 weeks and yeah." He grabs his backpacks laces after explaining.

"Oh...ok, is he still here tho?" I looked at Orlando

"I guess..." he was about to say pther thing when the bell ring and we started to go toour classes, "See you later gorgeous!" He yells from the corner of the hallway.

I stayed there...just staring at my lock for a while, then order my things fast and left to class. What I didn't know was that someone was watching at me.

Three days later, i was walking back home and i heard s car going at full speed and nasty comments were started to be listend. I kept walking trying tk pretend they didn't exist when the car is suddenly over the sideway and infront of me.

"YOU COULD HAVE KILLED ME ASSHOLES!!" I yelled.

"But...you are bot dead right, bitch?" Jonathan said getting out of the car. There were five, 2 guys and 3 girls. "Don't prefer to suck my dick and be my slut, promise I'll pay a good amount." He said infront of me,

"She is already a slut baby." Veronica said

"I bet she has sleeped with half school, wouldn't surprise me if you haven been org*e or something." You know, comments are comments, you are the one who decide what hurt you and whats does not, but being Cassie the one who said that...broke my freaking heart.

I couldn't stand it anymore, wanted to leave the place so i came up with a plan very fast. I walked closer to Jonathan trying to be the most seductive I could, touched his chest, abs and got closer to his ear and said, "You are going to regret everything" Punched him with all my strenght in this genitiles, stomp on his feet, punched his nose and ran the faster I could out of there.

"You bitch!" I heard from far but i continued running, I couldn't stop, i was scared, didn't know what could happen if the get me. I could hear the car engines behind me, but i didn't stop.

I was close a bridge, ran underneath it, passed some houses but i could still hear the voices and car. My legs hurt, i needed to catch my breath, i could hear my heart beat, my body felt on fire. When I less expected am suddenly trapped, there were some abandoned buildings and warehouses but no way to get put of there. This was it, my end.

"Couldn't escape from me you nasty little bitch!?" I heard his voice, i was never one to pray but believe when i say i begged to God to save me. "You ain't going anywhere...bitch" he was behind me, I could sense it.

My hair was pulled, he pulls me by my hair to his car and i notice that it's just him and another guy. Am not getting out of here.

"We are going to have so much fun!" He licks my cheek and i try to kick him wherever.

"HELP!" I yelled, "SOMEBODY PLEASE, HELP!" my voice sounded horrific, like if i hadn't drank a single drop of water in ages, "please" y murmure my last pledge before he finally puts me over the capo of his car.

"No one's gonna help you, you slut." He says, the other guy was just watching and standing still, doing nothing.

I gave up, didn't even notice I was crying until I tasted the salt in my lips. I felt him over me, unbucking my pants and then...i didnt felt his weight anymore, instead, i heard a cry of pain, and then another cry, and another and another.

I lifted my head and there he was, grey hoddie and little hammer in hand...my savior. I smiled.

My smile just grew bigger and bigger every second I saw that boy swing that motherfucker hammer, every second that Jonathan's blood was spilled. I lool around in search pf the pther guy scared that he might try to grab but I get calm when i see him unconscious on the floor.

A few minuts later th cries stop and i look up, Jonathan was missing 3 teeths and face covered with blood, i think he could even have a brocken rib or something.

Am sitting on top of the car's capo when a feel a slight, fragile touch.

"You ok?" Wayne askes pulling a string of my hair behind my ear.

"...now I am." I smile to him and he returns a little small tiny one with a grin. I was about to say something else when he suddenly speaks

"Want to be my girlfriend or whatever?" He says looking exhausted, I chuckle

"Try a little harder and I might be." I say soflty with a small thin smile and he avoids my eyes but I still get to notice a small blush.

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Hey! So, yeah. This is my first ever published thing. Hope you enjoyed it and if you want a part two or to keep writing, am open to any suggestion! Am not very good with the warnings section so if you could help me with it, i would totally apreciate that!

Thank you for reading,

[givemeweasley]

Already Gone

George Weasley X Reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: this is inspired by the Already Gone cover by Sleeping At Last so angst (it's been a hard month), but also happy endings so no worries.

Masterlist

-----

Sometimes love was hard. It was a lesson you had to learn the older you got- the deeper you loved. It’s not that you would take a moment of that love back, but it definitely didn’t make it easier when you had to make hard choices for the people you loved.

And you were head over heels in love with George Weasley.

You fell for him slowly. Over time your best friend became something more to you. And you to him. Until the two of you became a couple in fifth year. And for two years you were the happiest you’d ever been, even with the death seemingly always knocking. You were just filled with memories of George's soft half smiles reserved for private moments, exuberant laughs that filled any room he was in, elaborate pranks that somehow you always managed to escape, and a fullness of love you had never felt before.

And now that fullness felt heavy.

It began to feel like weight the moment you walked up to Fred and Georges room at the Burrow the summer before seventh year. You thought George had been there, but he wasn’t. Instead you found plans for a shop. Weasleys Wizard Wheezes. Their inventions were listed out, priced, packaged, plans were drawn up for the outlay. Everything was seemingly planned.

At first you thought little of it, George was your person. You’d be beside him no matter what he wanted to do.

Until seventh year started.

And Umbridge came with it.

And you saw George begin to pull away.

Not from you, but from Hogwarts. You could see in his eyes he was done with Umbridge. Especially after he saw the scars on your hands one day after detention with her.

So it was no surprise when you heard him and Fred talking about leaving. You were coming down the stairs to the Gryffindor common room late at night when you heard them talking. You leaned against the wall of the staircase, out of sight while you eavesdropped.

“It’s time.” Fred spoke loud enough for you to hear.

You heard George sigh. You could practically see him run his hands through his messy hair. “Fred-”

“I know you’re worried about her, but she’ll be okay. She’s stronger than you think.”

“I know she’s strong, I just- I’m worried anyway. I don’t- I can’t leave her, Freddie.”

Your heart clenched. The pain in his voice was so- so raw.

You heard what sounded like Fred putting his arm around his brother. “I know. But this is our dream, George. She’d understand. You know she would.”

A long silence followed Fred’s statement. Your heart pounded in your chest. Silent tears slipped down your cheeks.

And then at last, he spoke. “I know.”

“You have to tell her, Georgie.”

“I know.”

A pat sounded before a sigh followed it. “So next Thursday?”

“Yeah.”

You waited until you heard their footsteps go up the boys staircase before sliding down the wall. Your head fell onto your knees as sobs began to wrack through your body. Your arms crossed over your knees in an attempt to muffle your cries. The last thing you needed was for Fred and George to hear you, although you were sure they were already dead asleep.

A piece of your heart bled as recalled George’s words. He couldn’t leave you. You’d known the handsome red head since first year. You knew how deep his love ran. How loyal he was to those he cared about. Leaving you? It would hurt him.

And that was something you couldn’t allow.

You would go to the ends of the world for him. You would do anything if it meant he would be happy.

Even if it meant sacrificing your own happiness.

So as the tears stopped, you steeled yourself for what you had to do. Stood up. And went to bed with an already broken heart.

------

The feeling of dread had a new taste that morning. Every step felt too heavy to take. Every breath felt nearly impossible. But you swallowed it all as you walked towards the library table George and Fred were sitting at with Angelina and Lee.

George looked up, a bright smile on his face. The smile he reserved for just you. It almost crippled you.

But it was the quiet pain you saw in his eyes that solidified your resolve.

“Hey, love.” George reached out for you. You let him, unable to deny yourself his touch. His fingers wrapped around your wrist and began to pull you onto his lap, when you lifted your free hand to his chest stopping him. It then traveled up to tuck a piece of loose hair behind his ear.

“Hey, Georgie.” You swallowed. “Do you mind if I steal you away for a minute or two?”

Freds laugh rang out across the table as a balled up piece of paper flew across the table and smacked George in the face. “A minute or two?” Fred looked to Lee. “I always knew he was a quick shooter!”

Lee and Angelinas laugh soon joined in as George’s face reddened. Yet he stood up and wrapped an arm around you to lead you out of the library. But not before he called back. “At least I’ve never had any complaints!”

Madam Pince hushed him at the same time as Fred started to shout back, but by that time George had led you past the library doors and down the hall.

You allowed yourself to lean into George’s hold. To feel the warmth and smell the scent that was so completely him. The muscles in his arm that were hidden underneath his robes. The curl of his fingers on your hip.

You let him lead you to a secluded bench in one of the more quiet hallways of Hogwarts. He let you sit down first before sitting next to you.

“So what did you need?” He lifted his hand to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing across your lip.

Utter pain flooded your body as you closed your eyes, unable to look at the person you loved most in the world.

“George-” You choked out. George’s hand fell. You opened your eyes to see his face. He looked like you had slapped him.

He shook his head. “No. Love, I know what you’re thinking. And no. Please-”

But you steeled yourself. Reminded yourself why you were doing this. You knew a part of George would be here with you, not focused on the shop. His dream. Him and his best friends dream that they had worked so hard to build.

What kind of girlfriend- what kind of friend would you be if you held him back from that?

That thought helped you.

“I- I think we should break up.” You looked into George’s warm brown eyes.

George’s hands grabbed yours. “What’s wrong, Y/N? Tell me. I’ll fix it. Just please don’t-”

It took every ounce of strength for you to continue to look at the man you loved and not cry- to not give in.

“I’m sorry, George.” You couldn’t help leaning over and pressing a kiss to his cheek. Your lips lingering for a second longer than they should’ve. “I love you.” You whispered before standing and walking away.

“Wait-” George’s hand grabbed your wrist. Tears had already begun pouring down your face unable to be held back anymore. So you knew better than to look backwards at him. He would be able to read you the moment he saw your tears. “Please, Y/N. I’ll do anything.” His hand was shaking around your wrist. His voice sounded broken.

It’s for his dream.

You sucked in a deep breath.

“Goodbye, George.”

You pulled your wrist from his grip and continued down the hall. Each step an effort as you heard his shout echo through the castle.

But he didn’t chase you.

Despite it being what you wanted, it hurt.

-----

The day George and Fred left felt like mercy. The days after the break up were some of the hardest you’d ever been through. It wasn’t that Fred or George were mean to you, in fact no one was.

It was the way George looked. And the way he looked at you whenever you failed at avoiding him.

His normally glowing skin was pale. He had a slump in his shoulders that had never been there before. The looks of utter longing and confusion he sent your way, broke a piece of you you didn’t even know you had.

Fred wasn’t better. He looked at you like he knew. Like he knew exactly what you were doing, and couldn’t tell whether to be grateful or upset.

But all that ended when they left.

Yet, all that began after they left was something new. On top of your hurt was Umbridge’s desire to make your life miserable. As the girlfriend- ex girlfriend of one half of her arch nemesis, she took all her anger out on you.

You took it.

The thought that rang loud and clear in your head as you carved I will be obedient into your hand was-

He’s living his dream.

He’s living his dream.

He’s living his dream.

And so you would bleed any amount. Feel any level of pain. Miss him more than you thought possible. Take his anger or blame. All if it meant he was happy.

-----

Somehow, despite working at Flourish and Blotts for six months, you hadn’t managed to work up the courage to visit Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes only a few doors down.

You passed it every morning on the way to work, and every night on the way back home.

Usually you’d avert your eyes. Sometimes you’d glance up, seeing the giant likeness of the twins lifting his hat. Very rare times, you stopped for only a second to glance in the windows. Every glimpse was something new. Sometimes there’d be a new product sitting in the windows. Once there was a laughing child, who’s face held nothing but pure joy.

But you’d never seen him.

Until one day, you decided to risk more than a glance.

You were walking home. Flourish and Blotts closed an hour before Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes did. As you began to pass the store, a strong desire you’d been suppressing for a year gripped you.

You desperately wanted to see what you sacrificed your heart for. You wanted to see what became of their dream.

With a deep breath, you turned and walked to the door of the shop. It glowed. Your hands pushed the door open and you walked into the most magnificent store you’d ever been in.

Color bloomed on every surface. Everything was labeled. You saw their earlier inventions, ones you had been a part of, sitting on a shelf off to the side. You took a few steps in and just let your feet guide you.

Your fingers grazed the Extendable Ears, the Nosebleed Nougats, the Love Potions, and newer inventions like the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. A smile lit up your face as you spun in the middle of the shop. Laughter was the music and joy seemed to radiate from every corner of the shop.

This was exactly what you hoped.

What you dreamed for them.

Then your eyes caught on a small display in the furthest corner of the shop. Your body carried you before you could think about it.

On the display were a collection of glass balls the size of a Bludger. They were all clear, with nothing inside. But what truly caught your eye were the glass balls hanging above the display, scattered like stars. Inside each of the hanging orbs were different scenes. You leaned towards one up to inspect it closer.

Inside danced two figures. One in a glittering silver gown and another in a brown tux with sparkling lights floating above them. It took a minute to realize it was you and George. You blinked back tears before turning to the next floating orb.

One figure was carrying another one running towards what appeared to be a lake-

You looked at the next one.

George kissing you under the moonlight after you admitted your feelings to each other in the Astronomy tower.

You and George sitting together in the Great Hall laughing about a stupid joke.

George running his fingers through your hair as you slept.

You stumbled back.

What were those memories doing here? You looked around to see the name and description of the product, your frantic need causing you to stumble back another step. But instead of falling, your back met a hard chest.

You froze.

You didn’t need to turn around to know exactly who it was.

“They’re Memory Ornaments. You can make copies of your favorite memories and hang them as decoration. They usually do better around the holidays.”

A sharp breath left your lips. It was the first time you’d heard his voice in almost a year. It was soft.

You wondered then if he knew who you were. If he ever became resentful of you after the breakup. You hoped not.

His arm came from behind you, reaching up to an ornament hanging a foot or so above your head.

“These are all my memories. But this one is my favorite.” He pulled it down and held it to your eyes.

Inside were two people sitting on a bench holding hands. One crying and the other trying not to. The last time you and him talked.

And this was his favorite?

You couldn’t help the question that bubbled out of your lips. “Why?”

You felt him lean down, his breath brushing your ear.

“Several reasons. First, it was the last time I talked to the only girl I’ve ever loved.” His free hand came up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. You should’ve known then. But you refused to believe it. “Second, she tells me how much she loves me-”

You whipped around tears in your eyes. “That’s not at all what she said. She broke up with you.”

You thought you were prepared to see the face of the man you were still head over heels in love with. But you weren’t.

He glowed with sheer and pure happiness. His hair was shorter. He was definitely taller. The bright suit fit him so well, you almost reached up to feel his biceps under the sleeves. You missed that cheeky curved smile that lit up for you. The kindness in those beautiful brown eyes, that looked down at you in that moment like he was dreaming.

He must’ve released the orb, because his hands settled on your cheeks. “I think we remember things differently, love.”

The tears did fall then as you tried to break his grip. But it was as firm as it was gentle. You lifted your hands to push against his chest. “No, George. I broke up with you-”

“So I could have this.” His eyes were earnest. You opened your mouth to lie but he cut you off again. “Fred told me after a few months. To be completely honest, after I’d gotten over the initial hurt, I’d guessed as much. It seemed exactly the kind of dumb self sacrifiice you’d do.” His thumb reached up to brush a few tears.

“I’m sorry, George.” You closed your eyes, unable to look at his kind and loving face. “I heard you that night. You and Fred were talking about leaving. You said you couldn’t leave me.” You opened your eyes. He had to know you didn’t want to do it. “But this is your dream. I couldn’t- I can’t keep you from that.”

George huffed a laugh before leaning down until his face was level with yours and inches away. It was an effort to maintain eye contact. But you knew it would take more effort to drag your eyes from his.

“Do you know what I’ve been dreaming of since the day we left Hogwarts?”

You shook your head as much as George’s grip allowed.

A gentle smile overtook his face before he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours.

You felt every thought and feeling pour into you from him. Everything he didn’t know how to say and yet knew exactly how to translate it through his kiss. Your hands, still pressed against his chest, wound around his neck pulling him impossibly closer. And in return, you sent your own love through the kiss. Hoping it could tell him what you struggled to.

That you loved him more than words could ever begin to describe.

Until he pulled back gently, his forehead resting on yours.

“You, love.”

You leaned back a fraction, looking at his still closed eyes.

His lashes fluttered as his eyes opened, staring straight at you.

“I dreamed of you.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. A smile you hadn’t smiled in a year. Your hand reaching up and tangling in his hair as you pulled him back to you. Your lips claiming each other again, promising without words to never let go again.

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[imagineyourworld]

Rockstar AU

Hunter x Genderneutral!Reader (Cinderella Story)  Wrecker x Genderneutral!Reader (Love at First Sight)  Tech x Genderneutral!Reader (Enemies to Lovers)  Crosshair x Genderneutral!Reader (Second Chance Romance) Echo x Genderneutral!Reader (Friends to Lovers) 

Warnings: Slight bit of language, mean fans in the last one 

Hunter

Hunter would for sure be the lead singer

He’d be the one most people simp for, including your friends 

The same friends who dragged you to the concert, and the same friends who abandoned you the next day because they just had to spend the afternoon at the bands known hang out spot to try to meet one of them 

Little did they know that Hunter wasn’t there that afternoon, in fact he had the same plans as you, to spend the day aimlessly wandering the city streets, a new city for you, one you’re just visiting for a few days, and a new home for him, one he still needs to familiarize himself with 

You exist a small café, where you had just gotten yourself a drink, when you first met. In real movie meet cute style you walked right into him and spilled your drink all over his shirt, and the light grey material did little to hide the stains 

“I am so, so sorry”, you said over and over again as you began to search for bag for a tissue to wipe off the worst of it. To your surprise he just chuckled. It was a low and raspy sound, one that sounded somewhat familiar. Only when you stopped your search and actually looked at him did you realize why you knew that chuckle, it was the one your friends had shown you over and over again in a ton of different videos. Just your luck, that you didn’t just spill your drink on anyone, it had to be Hunter from The Bad Batch. 

“I gotta say, this is a new way of meeting fans.”  You raised your eyebrow at his words.  “Who said I was a fan?”  There ist was again, that chuckle. Even though you told yourself that it didn’t affect you, you were only human and couldn’t deny that Hunter was incredibly attractive.  “The look in your eyes. It’s alright, I get it all the time.”  You scoffed. Who did he think he was? He was a singer, not some god.  Based on the expression now overshadowing his face that wasn’t the reaction he had been hoping for. 

You apologized once more, even offered to buy him a new shirt, before you made your goodbye and tried to walk past him.  Hunter’s hand on your wrist stopped you. To be honest, you were a second away from janking your wrist from his grasp and asking him who he thought he was, a question that wouldn’t stop running around in your head.  “Before you go, how about you buy me a coffee? You do kinda owe me for ruining my shirt”, he said. Though his words were arrogant, it was his kind, almost joking, tone and the hopeful expression in his eyes that made a small smile appear on your face.  “I don’t know, what’s in it for me?”, you asked, trying to match his tone.  Hunter just shrugged.  “At the very least an interesting conversation.”

Of course it wasn’t the conversation that made you agree, not at first at least. But it did turn out to be good. So good that it made you forget who you were actually talking to, and good enough that by the end you even gave Hunter your number.

When he texted just half an hour after you parted ways, asking you whether you wanted to have dinner the next day, you realized that you would have a lot of explaining to do with your friends. 

Wrecker 

I don’t know why, but I feel like Wrecker might be the guitarist. 

Other than Hunter I don’t think Wrecker would have the biggest fan base, but his fans would be the most dedicated and loyal 

Wrecker would be most likely to date a fan. While he might not be looking for a romantic partner amongst the fans, he does try a bit of flirting here and there if someone catches his eye. 

That’s actually how the two of you met. You had been saving to buy tickets for the concert and the following meet and greet and ever since Wrecker saw you in line his eyes had been glued to you.  “You’re not exactly subtle, you know”, Tech told his brother as he followed his stare.  Wrecker nudged him with his shoulder, which made Tech stumble a bit due to his strength. That’s when he heard it, the one sound that was better than music in his ears.  “That’s not very nice”, you told him with a sly grin. 

Honestly, you had no idea where you were getting your sudden confidence from. You were standing right in front of The Bad Batch and yet here you were, making a joke. 

Embarrassment coursed through Wrecker’s veins, making him rub the back of his head nervously.  “I know. It’s... a bad habit”, he finally admitted.  It was your laugh that told him you weren’t really mad or scolding him at all, and without thought he joined in. Your laugh, if possible, sounded even more beautiful than your voice. 

“What’s your name?”, he asked.  You told him, a small blush making its way to your cheeks. Of course you had expected the band to be friendly, but never in your wildest dreams did you ever imagine Wrecker being this kind. And if you weren’t mistaken he was even flirting with you. But that couldn’t be, right? He must have thousands who flirt with him every day, why would he be interested in you of all people?  “(Y/N)”, you told him.  After his next action there was no doubt left in your mind that he actually was flirting.  “(Y/N), Wrecker repeated as he lifted your hand to press a gentle kiss to your knuckles.  You didn’t know what to focus on. His soft lips on your skin, the way your hand felt and looked so much smaller in his big hand, or the way he said your name. 

Leave it to Tech to interrupt your little moment.  “You need to move it along, there are others waiting”, he informed his brother.  Of course he was right, of course you shouldn’t expect Wrecker to continue to talk to you when there were others waiting for his attention. But little did you know that letting you go was something Wrecker wouldn’t dream off. “This thing ends in half an hour. If you want to, you don’t have to but if you want to, you can wait for me in the lobby of the Park Hotel in about an hour and we’ll continue this conversation, (Y/N).” 

Part of you knew that there was the possibility that he was only looking for a one night stand, but the bigger part told you that Wrecker was genuinely interested in your company. It was that part that made you agree. And you were so glad you did, because the rest of the night spend with Wrecker couldn’t have been better. Apparently he felt the same, because just before you left he slipped a small note with his number in your pocket. 

Tech

The usual instrument for a band might be drums, but I cannot imagine Tech playing the drums. A keyboard however? That’s so Tech. 

I can’t see Tech dating a fan, but a fellow musician would be a dream come true! There is just one slight issue... 

“I can’t stand that guy! He never stops talking, every time he opens his mouth I just wanna punch his stupid glasses right into his eyes”, you grunted.  Tech had been about to round the corner, in his hands he had the setlist you had requested for your band, which was opening for The Bad Batch.  Now, after hearing those words and realizing that the friendship the two of you had been building had all been fake, that Tech had been right in trying to shove his developing feelings down, he just threw the pieces of paper in front of your feet.  “There”, he grumbled before turning around and leaving again.  You shot your friend, who you had been talking to, a confused look. 

Your band opened for The Bad Batch for a couple more shows before you parted ways. They went back to recording, while you had your first solo tour, which went incredibly well, since only a year later you reunited at a music festival where both bands were asked to play. 

“God, Wrecker, did you grow?”, you laughed while Wrecker enveloped you in a hug and lifted you a few feet into the air.  “I think I’m a bit too old to continue growing, but who knows”, he replied with a grin.  Tech tried his best not to roll his eyes. How could his brothers still be friendly with you? Wasn’t it obvious to them how much you hated him? Wasn’t blood thicker than water?  You moved away from Wrecker to greet Tech next. Your previously joyous smile growing nervous, but it still ignited something Tech wanted to put out.  “Hey, long time no see”, you started. You reached out to touch his shoulder, but before you could Tech took a step backwards, knocking over Hunter’s water bottle.  Tech saw this as his way of escape and quickly offered to get a new one, though Hunter, who knew what he was up to, shook his head.  “Take (Y/N) with you, they know the location better and can show you around.”  Tech wanted to disagree, he really did, but he knew there was no use in arguing with Hunter shortly before the concert. 

You did show Tech around, at least a little bit. You even tried to chat as best as you could, but his answers were reduced to “yes” and “no”, if he even gave you an answer that is.  Finally you reached a small supply closet in which you knew most of the snacks and drinks were kept.  “They have your favourite chocolate, I checked the second I heard you guys were showing up”, you told Tech with a smile, hoping at least your shared love for chocolate would break the ice. It didn’t.  What did break a second later, almost as soon as Tech followed you into the small room, was the door.  With a loud bang it closed behind Tech, and no matter how hard the two of you pushed or pulled, it wouldn’t budge. 

“What now?”, you asked, chewing on a piece of said chocolate.  Tech was just shoving his phone back in his pocket.  “I texted the others, one of them should come around with maintenance in a few minutes.” A moment of silence followed.  “Hey, Tech”, you started softly, nervously. “Why do you hate me?”  Finally Tech tore his eyes away from the water in his hands and looked at you, really looked at you.  “I didn’t hate you until I found out that you hate me. I still don’t hate you, no matter how hard I try-” The last part was mumbled, so quiet you almost didn’t catch it, but you did.  “I don’t hate you! Why would you think that? God, Tech, I was starting to fall in love with you during your last tour, but then you suddenly got all cold and never talked to me.”  This made Tech raise his eyebrow. He ran a hand through his hair and avoided eye contact.  “You were?”, he asked, his voice soft before it suddenly hardened again. “Then why did you tell your friend that you wanna punch me?”  Confusion and realization chased each other across your face, finally it dawned on you.  “Tech, you idiot, I wasn’t talking about you, I was talking about my neighbour.”  He opened his mouth and closed it again.  “Oh... So, you don’t hate me?”  You shook your head. “In fact, I’d like to take you out to dinner. As a date. If you’d like.”  Of course Tech said yes, there was lost time to catch up on after all. 

Crosshair 

Crosshair might play the drums, it gives him an opportunity to be in the background (and let all his aggressions out)

The two of you had been dating for only a few weeks when he left the band. Afterwards he told you that he needed a bit of space, wanted to be alone for a while. You weren’t exactly happy, but you understood, though when he still hasn’t reached out to you after almost two months you decided to give him a call, only to find out that his number had been disconnected. 

It wasn’t until a couple of years later that the two of you met again. It was actually your friend who pointed Crosshair out in the crowded café and encouraged you to talk to him, to find out why he had ghosted you instead of simply breaking up.  

“Why did you ghost me instead of simply breaking up with me?”, you opened, having stolen your friend’s exact words.  Crosshair, with sunglasses and the usual toothpick between his teeth, looked up from his phone. His face didn’t betray any emotions, but you knew him well enough to recognize a hint of shock in his eyes.  “What are you doing here?”  You didn’t answer, instead you pulled up the chair opposite of his and sat down at his table.  “I asked you first.”  There it was, that laugh you had first learned to love and later to hate. It wasn’t a mocking or cruel laugh, instead it reminded you of his reaction whenever you would do something he found cute.  “How old are you?  You rested your elbows on the table and glared at him, a look that you knew from experience was one of the few things to truly make him uncomfortable.  “Old enough to be tired of your bullshit. Now answer my question.” 

Crosshair had never been a man of many words, his answer just proved that all over again.  “I wanted to start my new life without any baggage from the old one.”  Even though you had been hurt after the initial breakup, you considered yourself to be stronger because of it and over Crosshair, but his statement hit you hard.  “Is that what I was? Baggage?”  Finally he reached up to take the sunglasses off and really look at you. You hated the part of your brain that thought that he still looked good, and as if this conversation didn’t affect him at all.  “You didn’t let me finish. I never thought of you as baggage, but you were a connection to my old life, my old band, that I couldn’t take with me into my new life. But I soon realized that I made a mistake, you were more than a connection, it only occured to me after it was too late that I loved you.” 

To say you were shocked was the understatement of the century. Of course you had liked Crosshair, but even back then you couldn’t say whether you were actually in love with him.  “I know I messed up, but maybe we could meet for dinner and try again.”  Those were the last words from the longest monologue you had ever heard him speak. Crosshair put his sunglasses on again and left without another word, though he did leave something behind. You picked the piece of paper up and realized that he had given you his new number, the number you would only have to call to rekindle your relationship, but was that what you really wanted after what he did? 

Echo 

No doubt, Echo plays the base. It’s the backbone of a band and often underestimated, just like Echo. 

The poor guy’s start with The Bad Batch wasn’t the easiest, he joined the band shortly before Crosshair left and many fans thought he was the reason behind the split (which of course he wasn’t, but you know fans). Needless to say that this resulted in some trust issues. 

You had been working for the band for what felt like ages, basically from the very beginning and the second you met Echo you were intrigued. It took a bit of time, but he finally started to open up to you and now the two of you were good friends, you were actually one of the few friends Echo had outside of the band. 

Though one day your friendship was put to the test.  You were backstage, in Echo’s private room, which on itself wasn’t unusual, you spend more time with him than any other band members. What was unusual, and made Echo stop in the doorway, was the fact that you were going through his mail.  “What are you doing?”, he asked, not yet angry, but not exactly calm either.  He could have sworn that you actually jumped in shock before you turned to face him, guilt written all over you.  “Echo, I was just...”  “Going through my mail?”, he finished the sentence for you.  You knew there was no use in lying, so you simply nodded.  “Why?” 

The million dollar question, to which you knew the answer would hurt Echo, and possibly your relationship.  “I was looking for fan mail.”  A gentle smile was now on Echo’s lips. He stepped closer to you, so close that he could take the envelope you were holding out of your hand.  “You’re doing a terrific job, but I don’t think you get any fan mail, especially not send to my room.”  As if to prove his point he opened the first envelope and started reading. At first his expression didn’t change, then it darkened. Before he could finish you ripped the piece of paper away and threw it in a far corner of the room.  “Is that what you were looking for? Hate mail?”  You knew there was no sense in denying it any longer.  “I’ve been trying to hide it from you, but you get a lot of letters like that. Everyone gets them once in a while, but ever since Crosshair left it’s been a lot.” Echo’s eyes flitted from your face to the letters you were still holding in your hand.  “You’ve been doing that all this time? Why?”  For some reason the obvious shock and disbelief in his voice broke you more than any words directed at him ever had.  “I don’t want you to take what those idiots say to heart. You... You’re perfect just the way you are”, you told him, whispering the last part.  Echo stepped even closer to you, so close that you could feel his body heat through both of your clothes. So close that you had to lift your head to continue looking him in the eyes.  Slowly Echo took your chin in his hand, his thumb caressing your jaw. The other hand found its way around your waist and you cold feel the cold prosthetic through your thin shirt.  “I think you’re perfect as well”, he whispered.  Your eyes widened at his words. He had heard you, and he thought you were perfect. Perfect!  “Echo, I-”, you started, but he interrupted you.  “Since we’re both perfect, maybe we’d be perfect for each other.” A blush crept up his neck as he said those words. You reached up to wrap your arms around the reddening skin.  “Maybe we could find out over dinner tonight.”  Echo smiled at you, a smile that made you question how anyone could hate him for what had to be the millionth time.  “I’d like that”, he said as he leaned his forehead against yours. 

-------

This AU just popped into my head and I had to write it down. At first I wanted to make the 501st a band, but I wasn’t quite sure what to do with Anakin and Ahsoka in that scenario, but then it occured to me that the Bad Batch as a band would fit even better, I hope you agree. 

[beatles-slash-fiction]

George Harrison isn’t quite how Pattie had imagined he would be.

She had always imagined that if she ever got to meet the Beatles, they would be arrogant and loud and boisterous, but the reality couldn’t be further from that. They’re all so sweet snd polite, especially to the girls who are extras on set, and she finds herself pleasantly surprised.

George is the quietest of them all, and Pattie finds he’s the one she’s immediately drawn to. The conversation flows between them easily when he sits next to her at lunch, and it’s been a long time since since she’s got on so well with someone she’s only just met.

When they finish filming for the day, he asks her if she’d like to go out to dinner.

“Oh,” Pattie says, feeling a little embarrassed that she’s misread the situation. “It’s a lovely offer, but...I’m afraid I have a boyfriend.”

George chuckles and turns slightly red. “So do I. Sorry if that came off a little...well. I didn’t mean it like that. It just seems like you and I could be good friends and it would be nice to see you again. I don’t have a lot of friends outside the music business.”

He seems almost sad as he says that last part.

But Pattie smiles at him and agrees that dinner would be lovely.

*****

It’s only three weeks later that Pattie discovers George Harrison’s boyfriend is in fact Ringo Starr.

“Sorry you had to read about it in the newspaper,” George sighs with frustration. “We were trying to keep it quiet for a little while longer.”

He shoots a shy smile at Ringo, who has also joined them for dinner today.

“Now the world and his wife knows,” Ringo chuckles, but he looks happy as he laces his fingers with George’s.

Pattie is happy for them. They seem like a sweet couple, and it’s clear that their romance has blossomed from a strong friendship.

“You’ll have broken the hearts of half the men and women in Britain,” Pattie says softly.

The two of them share a secret smile, and Pattie wonders if she’ll ever have someone she can share a secret smile with.

*****

Pattie sees George as often as she can when he’s not on tour or working long hours in the studio.

He quickly becomes her best friend; they share everything with each other. George consoles Pattie every time a boy breaks her heart, as well as the odd time a girl does too. Pattie has never had a friend who she can be so open with; they talk about sex and their hopes and fears, and Pattie trusts George more than anyone.

She can’t help but feel a little bit sad when George moves to Surrey with Ringo.

She’s happy for them, of course she is. She knows that George has been wanting to leave London for a while; he’s desperate to get out of a flat and into a house with a nice big garden.

But it means that Pattie can’t just nip over to see George in less than ten minutes. Now she’ll have to settle for talking to him on the other end of the phone, and seeing him less frequently.

George does invite her to visit almost as soon as they’ve moved though, and as soon as Pattie sees the house she knows it’s perfect for him.

“You’re welcome any time,” George tells her cheerfully. “We have lots of rooms to spare.”

“Probably not for much longer though,” Pattie chuckles, and George just laughs shyly.

*****

Pattie feels rather honoured that she is the first person to find out that George and Ringo are engaged.

They’re in London for work and so suggest meeting up for dinner one night, and Pattie has barely given them both a hug before George is excitedly flashing a diamond ring at her.

“It’s gorgeous,” she says, trying not to sound jealous as she admires the beautiful ring. “I want to hear the story, of course.”

It sounds like it was a simple proposal; Ringo asked George to marry him before they went to bed one night, but it sounds really sweet and George looks over the moon.

“You’ll come to the wedding?” George says excitedly. “It would mean so much to us.”

Pattie accepts the invitation happily.

It turns out to be a small wedding. In addition to Pattie, George and Ringo invite their families, John, Paul, and Brian. It’s over in twenty minutes, but Pattie thinks it’s terribly romantic.

She wishes them nothing but a happy marriage, but she can’t help but wonder if she’s losing a little more of her best friend.

*****

Pattie finds her own husband and builds her own life, but she still can’t help but feel something is missing.

When George excitedly tells her that he’s expecting a baby, she wants to be nothing but happy for him.

But it only reminds her of her own struggles to get pregnant. That’s something she hasn’t yet shared with George.

When the baby is born Pattie visits George in the hospital and holds the little one in her arms and it just breaks her heart.

At that point she starts to live a little vicariously through George.

Pattie visits George and Ringo as often as she can to dote on the little one, and as the years pass they have more children while she is still left with none.

She tells George about her desire for the children she’ll never have, and he comforts her in just the way she needs. George has always made her feel like a part of the family, and she’ll be eternally grateful for that.

George keeps his word, of course. Pattie has an invitation to every birthday, every Christmas, every Easter. She watches George and Ringo’s children grow and she spoils them like they were her own.

Pattie may not ever have the family she once thought she might have, but she’s a part of something just as special.

*****

The second worst day of Pattie’s life is when George tells her he has cancer.

He sounds so calm when he says it, and Pattie really has to admire his strength. She ends up bawling her eyes out in his arms, and she can’t help but think it should be the other way around.

Pattie does everything she can to support him and Ringo and the children. She’s there to help with anything they need, and her heart breaks a little more each day as George gets weaker.

The worst day of Pattie’s life is when George dies.

Ringo phones her a little after four in the morning, and she’s never heard him sound so broken.

She drives over to the house right that instant, and holds Ringo while he cries and figures out what to say to the children.

She helps Ringo with the funeral arrangements, and flies with him to India to scatter George’s ashes. She’s glad she’s there for that.

She’s thinks of that beautiful boy she met all those years ago on that film set, and even though they never had romantic feelings towards one another, she can’t help but think he was the great love of her life.

[wevegottogetaway]

El Patrón

I’m so excited to finally be posting this piece. I’ve been working on it for the past few days and it’s been consuming my mind. If you like angst, smut, art student Harry, and great plot twists, this story is for you, so buckle up, cause you’ve got 13700 and then some waiting for you! And on that note, I don’t thing I have many words left in my brain... so, hope you enjoy xx

TW: smut, fool language

After her first day back to classes, Y/n is not surprised to see Harry Styles’ lanky frame standing behind the bar of Bottom’s Up. She hoped that he would bugger off to work some place else but alas, all her summer prayers were unanswered. For yet another semester, she would have to endure bartending by his sides, trying with all her might not to jab a corkscrew at his throat every time he opened his gob. Granted, she could have switched jobs herself, but the pay is too good to turn down and the bar sits literally right around the corner from her place; a match made in heaven if you ask her. Besides, she’s been mastering the art of tuning out the insufferable green-eyed prick for two years now, so what’s one more? Of course, knowing it is likely to be the last - having just kicked off the final year of her psychology major - makes the news easier to stomach. And with any luck, the fool did some sort of soul-searching over the break and came back a changed man.

"Well, well, well. Look who decided to grace us with her delightful presence again. Knew you couldn’t stand to live without me, y/l/n." Harry greets her with a smirk as he looks up from his phone. 

Well, some much for change, but luck has never been on y/n’s side anyway; she knew it was wishful thinking to entertain the idea of a pleasant or even tolerable Harry. "Shut it, Styles. I’m not in the mood for your bullshit," she quips back and goes straight to the employee’s locker room to dispose of her stuff and swap her top for one bearing the bar’s logo. Once done, she takes a brief look in the tattered mirror still hanging by the door to readjust her ponytail, before joining her co-worker behind the counter. The bar is rather quiet for now, clock having not chimes 6pm yet, but y/n expects the place to be soon crawling with students drinking the classes’ return off their mind. 

The next few minutes are spent in unexpected peaceful silence, y/n prepping for the upcoming rush while Harry idly sits by, not lifting a single finger to help her out. Admittedly, he’s completed all his pre-shift duties during the last hour, but y/n doesn’t think it warrants the smug look painted on his face as he watches her battle a jar of olives with an old opener and  a concentrated frown. So peaceful silence was a bit of a stretch, maybe.

Then to make matters worse he decides to taunt her, "I see you’ve grown zero muscle strength over the break. Too busy vegetating on the beach?" 

The surge of anger triggered by the provocation is enough impetus for her to crack the can open, but it doesn’t stop her from turning to face him, "I see you’ve grown zero neuron in that thick head of yours. Too busy making people miserable instead?" she counters with flaring nostrils and a look of disdain hardening her features.

"Ah, still got a feisty mouth on you. ‘Was worried you might turn soft on us." Harry sasses back, but y/n doesn’t bother telling him off this time. No matter how strong her comeback, he’ll just brush it off with that smile of his that irritates her to no end. That’s the thing with Harry, the bastard has the thickest skin of all, he’s downright unattainable. And believe it or not, bad-mouthing doesn’t come naturally to y/n, he just seems to draw it out of her, perhaps as the trigger of some kind of survival instinct. Time and time again she’s tried to come up with a quip that would leave him speechless, tail between his legs, but he always has a wittier reply to throw back at her. For so long they’ve been playing this debilitating game of ping pong and she has yet to claim a point to his countless wins. 

It’d been the case since their first meeting on that dreadful Friday two years ago. Y/n was about to embark on her second year at uni and decided to get a job so she could afford her own place instead of the dreary dorms she’d gotten used to. Bottom’s Up had seemed to be the perfect choice, a 2 minutes walk from the sweet little apartment she’d just visited a few days prior. She’d been excited for her first shift that night, air still warm from the Indian summer sun drawing a plethora of eager students to come enjoy their last day of freedom. Her happy jitters had quickly dissolved once she’d made her way in the staff-only area located behind the bar though. There, she’d walked in on a very frustrated Harry vociferating at a lost-looking colleague, "how many times do you have to fuck up before doing your bloody job, Steve? Stop sitting on your lazy ass, or I swear I’ll-" 

She’d come to this Steve guy’s defense then, furious at the tall curly hair jerk for bullying his way around, "stop it, you asshole. You can’t talk to people like trash, who do you think you are?" Granted, she didn’t know it at the time, but the lost look on Steve's face was in fact pretty standard for the amount of weed in his system; nor did she know that the lad could actually win the Olympics of lazy asses hands down, should such a discipline be appended. It was too late to call off the hostilities though. War had been declared, and aside maybe from that one time he had graciously accepted to cover for her when she’d had a trip to Brighton planned for one of her classes, no truce had ever been reached. Besides, she’s sure it was more so because he was low on cash rather than to fulfill the hidden desire to help her out for once in his life.

Now, as she finishes wiping her work surface with a wet cloth, y/n wishes more than ever to be teleported in a parallel universe where she doesn’t have to work with the bane of her existence, much less see his annoyingly handsome face four times a week. (Also, exams would only be optional in this alternate reality of hers, but that’s another fantasy for another day.) Mainly, she’s just glad she doesn’t see him around campus ever, the art building standing all the way across from the psychology department. At least she’s Harry-free the moment she steps out of the bar; she’d probably have a nervous breakdown if she had to put up with his antics outside of work.

                                                       ***

A month in the new semester, the novelty of it all has finally worn off to make way for routines to settle in. Y/n’s weeks now consist in a well-practiced cycle of sleep, study, eat, work and occasionally go out with her best friend Mia. Her shifts at Bottom’s Up still prove to be challenging because of the company she’s forced to keep but things seem to have calmed down at the bar too. Students are now less inclined to party the week away, mainly indulging during the second half of the week, but more importantly, Harry appears to be less of a smug bastard and more of a sulky sod. For some reason, the lad has been stuck in a sullen mood, constant frown wrinkling his forehead. He has reverted to distant one-word answers as though he is saving a dictionary worth of words for whatever conundrum is going on in his brain. Y/n doesn’t mind though, and almost welcomes the transition if it means less digs taken at her expense.

Now y/n finds herself on her way to the campus library for a much needed paper-writing cramming session (the assignment is due the following day and she barely has two thirds of the work completed). After a quick stop by the coffee shop down the block, she finally strides in the lobby of the library, ready to dive nose first into the riveting matters of cognitive psychology. She’s already so focused mulling over concepts’ definition in her mind, that it takes her a minute to realize something is going on.

It’s nothing major really, no big fire rushing around the premises or fist-fight breaking the crowd into a frenzy. No, just everyone seemingly hushing and gasping, bewildered expressions etched upon their faces as they keep pointing towards the nearby study room. Truthfully, y/n might have been completely oblivious to it, it she weren’t a psychology major; but reading people’s feelings and interactions is kind of her thing, so she does notice the bubbly energy infiltrating the usually quiet space. What could possibly have them so intrigued, she wonders as more students come out of the room with the same looks of wonder.

Her confusion is finally quelled when she steps into the study room in question and her eyes fall on what has everyone so engaged. On the wall to her right, between two sets of shelves brimming with decades-old books, hangs a life size canvas of audacious shapes and bold colors. Not one seems to have been left out, the painting seemingly transporting the viewer in a psychedelic albeit appealing trance. It’s full of contrasts, an embodiment of serenity and boldness at the same time, and y/n can’t stop ogling the masterpiece for the life of her. The amount of passion is so obviously overwhelming, yet she can feel all of the artist’s emotions underneath each of the brushstrokes.  

After another minute of wondrous observation, her thoughts are interrupted by a foreign voice. "El Patrón? I wonder who that could be," the stranger wonders aloud, and her eyes immediately drift off to the bottom right of the painting to catch the small but unmistakable signature: black cursive letter spelling the two words withholding the real artist’s identity. The mystery only adds up to the appeal of the work and y/n already feels a bubbling feeling in the pit of her stomach at the idea of ever finding out what beautiful soul is responsible for such mind-bending work. She hopes this won’t be last she sees of it. 

                                                       ***

It’s Friday night and unfortunately for y/n, she’s stuck at work with her least favorite person in the world. It’s all the more unfortunate that Harry seems to be back to his usual annoying self, his thoughts finally free from whatever trouble had plagued them, and eager to fall back into nuisance mode. Less unfortunate for y/n and much to Harry’s discontent, Mia decided to stop by and keep her company. Though she feels slightly sorry for her having the act as her buffer for the night, y/n figures she’s more than making up for it with every free cocktail she keeps sliding towards her friend. Their conversation is scattered at best since patrons keep interrupting them for a fresh pint of ale, but as the night slowly dies down they manage to talk longer than 20 seconds.

The manager of the bar has long clocked off and gone home, as per usual on Friday nights, leaving both her and Harry the pleasure to indulge in a few drinks of their own. They don’t do it every week and always keep it low-key of course; Mia’s tonight presence mostly accounting for y/n’s partaking while Harry just likes a nice glass of tequila when the week-end comes around and there’s nobody to tell him off about it. One thing they never do though, is drink together, like two friends celebrating yet another week they survived at uni. Come to think of it, the only thing they do share is a job position and their never-ending bickering. Cheers to that, y/n takes another sip of her gin martini in sarcasm. 

She’s brought back to reality by Mia as the tipsy brunette lets out a loud gasp before she inquires in a slightly high-pitched voice, "y/n! totally forgot to tell you, went by the library today and you’ll never guess what was there!" 

"Oh my god, you saw the painting too, didn’t you" y/n answers, excited at the idea of discussing the whole thing with her best friend. Truth be told, the majestic work of art hasn’t left her mind since she’d first seen it a few days before. 

"Yes" Mia squeals in confirmation, "I mean, it’s kinda impossible to miss. I wonder how they got it there without anyone seeing."

Y/n has wondered the same thing and she came to one conclusion, "they probably sneaked in last Sunday after the library closed, it’s the only time the building is empty," Mia humming in agreement. The campus library is opened 24/7 all days except on Sundays, so realistically speaking it is the only window of time that would allow for such an experiment. Whether said experiment required an actual break-in or was conducted in full legality remains a mystery but that is just bygones in y/n’s eyes. She’s much to mesmerized by the work to give a damn about how it got there in the first place. 

"Oi y/l/n! What are you two fawning over this time" Harry chirps in the conversation, uninvited as always, and y/n hates how condescending he just sounded.

"Not that you could ever understand something with substance, if your lack thereof is any indication, but it’s none of your damn business," y/n spats out dismissively but Mia’s Margarita-induced brain seems to have forgotten all about their concerted hatred for piss-taking bartenders.

"Harry, you’re an art major aren’t you? D’you know who’s behind that beautiful painting at the library?" 

Y/n tilts her head back in a sigh at her friend’s behavior before turning to watch the puzzled look on Harry’s face. He seems to silently gauge the both of them; for what, y/n doesn’t know, and then his whole expression switched to a blasé look. He shrugs in disinterest, "who cares? ’s just one more Banksy wannabe who’s trying at it too hard ‘f you ask me." 

Y/n takes it as a personal offense, her admiration for the painting outweighing any instinct she has of avoiding the brazen man taking a sip of his tequila on rocks across from her, "of course you’d say something like that. You’re just jealous you’ll never compete with his talent."

Harry raises a brow at her accusation, "and how would you know since you’ve never seen any of my work?" 

It’s a valid point, but not enough to rebut her. "Doesn’t take a genius to know a shallow mind like yours could never create something as deep and transcending. That would require actual emotions from you Harry and we both know the only emotion you’re capable of spreading is irritation." 

For once she’s confident she’s gonna have the last word, but in true Harry fashion he just gives her a bored look as if to say ‘is that all?’ towel thrown over his shoulder, "right, and here I thought talking to people like trash was a bad thing. You should really take a page out of your own book, y/n, wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re as big of a jerk as I am." Then he turns back to face the room full of customers, and tends to one disheveled looking guy slurring out an order. 

Y/n barely registers the friendly "alright Joe, but ’s the last one," Harry rasps out to the guy, her ears are still ringing from the last words he’d said to her. More specifically, the little truth they held despite how much he deserved the backlash, and y/n absolutely loathes the way her throat seems to be closing in on itself. She’s afraid she’s turning like him, bitter words at the ready and always trying to outdo his own taunting spiels. Before anxiety can settle in her bones though, she swallows back the knot tightening in her airways and goes back to serving customers and conversing with her friend.

                                                        ***

The next time it happens, she expects it even less. A couple weeks have passed since her gruesome interaction with Harry at the bar, and along with her doubts, all thoughts about art have seemed to vanish from her busy mind. She’s had a few tests occupying all her free time and now that they’ve been done and over with, all she can think about is calling Mia up to plan their next night out; she needs a few drinks that she didn’t make for once. 

She’s about to take her phone out of her pocket to send her best friend a text, when she enters the lecture hall of her Monday experimental method and research design class. The déjà-vu feeling that creeps up her spine stops her from completing the action, and y/n frowns at how her fellow students seem to be all entranced in deep conversation, exchanging baffled looks with one another. Even the sleeping kid that sits at the back seems to be more alert than during their last fire evacuation procedure test. 

It’s then y/n turns around to see what is hanging at the front of the room, covering the large board. This time, the colors were carefully handpicked by the artists, flashes of pink and yellow dancing along to a frenzied rhythm of salsa as their union creates powerful jets of oranges across the canvas. It vaguely reminds her of the pendant she wears on a daily basis, rose gold laurels wrapped around a delicate sunflower, an orange topaz incrusted in its center. The painting is of abstract nature much like the last one, but the movements of the brush still bring her mind back to the jewel presently nestled between her collarbones. How odd.

The piece is slightly smaller than the last but no less impressive, catching the attention of even the least artistic eye. The sensibility of the artist is so distinct, intentions clearer and more in touch than most people with their own. For a second, y/n thinks she’s glad the pieces have only been ones of unadulterated happiness and colorful bliss so far, because god knows how heart-wrenching the outcome would be if all this uncorrupted honesty was used to fill canvas with pain.

As the professor enters the room, everybody settles back on their seat, and wait for the chap’s reaction. "Well, that sure is something. It seems we have a bit of a mystery painter on our hands, don’t we; and a talented one at that," y/n’s professor smiles at the class as he pulls a computer out of his satchel and places it at top of the front desk. His words make her look back at the artwork, this time settling on the small signature reading El Patrón on its corner. And it’s all it takes for Y/n’s obsession with the anonymous artist to be back in full force.

                                                       ***

That night she can’t stop raving about the painting as she starts closing the bar after a long and tiresome shift. She’s got a shoulder pressing her phone to her ear, Mia on the line, while she absentmindedly sweeps the floor. Normally the exertion of the job would have her stifling yawns and her bones aching but tonight her voice is perky as ever as she recollects the pinnacle of her day, "you shoulda been there Mia, it was gorgeous. And same as last time, like you’d be minding your business, doing your thing and then boom, it’s there. Damn, this guy is a genius."

As she comes back around the counter, Harry makes sure she notices the roll of his eyes. He’s been wiping and tidying the bar space after making sure everything is stocked up for the next day, all the while listening to her drone about El Patrón and his stroke of genius, praise after praise falling from her lips. She completely brushes off the patronizing gesture and that’s perhaps what irritates him the most. She’s barely acknowledging him or his stunts with all her attention placed on the mystery painter and well, Harry quite likes riling her up. Doesn’t do it out of spite, but merely because he likes the way it ignites a fire in her that he’s seldom seen in people. But now, all her fire is directed elsewhere and he doesn’t know what to think of it.

                                                         ***

Over the next month, the rumors around El Patrón spread like wildfire as more and more of his works are found scattered around campus. Much to y/n’s delight, she always seems to fall upon them as though they’ve been placed specifically on her path. It didn’t start as obvious though; the first following pieces hung in common areas around campus such as the lunch hall or the student center but as time went by they tended to follow her whereabouts somehow. Y/n knows she’s probably fabulating but when she’d stumble across two absolutely stunning pieces in the lobby of her gym and at the entrance of the psychology building, she couldn’t help but feel deeply attached to them. And the possibility that this mystery artist might have the same attachment to her, only fuels her obsession further, sending her reeling with all but one nerve-wracking question: who is this guy?

And it’s not like she’s the only one pondering over their identity either. Hell, the genius has literally everyone on campus under their spell, trying to uncover the enigma of the year. Everyone seems to be determined to find clues, easter eggs hidden within the paintings that could lead them closer to the truth. El Patrón has effectively turned the whole uni into a large-scale game of Cluedo, people speculating left and right and swapping theories about who it can or cannot be, what year they are probably in, or whether they have an accomplice. Nobody has ever executed such a tour de force in the history of campus, and it has everyone one edge, y/n included, desperate to be in the loop.

The fact that each painting is more beautiful than the last and always seems to connect with her in personal ways doesn’t help her daydreaming either. Take the one she found at the gym for example, for a few second she’d sworn she was looking at a familiar piece of the English South Coast, dark hues of blue fighting dots of white, reminiscent of the way foam always seems to top even the most raging waves as they crash along shores. She’d only had to close her eyes to feel the wind blowing her hair in a thousand directions and the sand engulfing her feet, making its way between her toes and every crevice of her skin. She was still in the middle of her gym when she reopened them though, her sport bag straddling her shoulder as she kept gaping at the painting in adoration.

Her suspicious keeps nagging at her head, the desire to unveil the identity of her beloved artist getting stronger by the day. The feeling is almost unbearable when she spots yet another work of his across from Bottom’s Up. The coincidences keep piling up and the more she mulls it over, the more she’s convinced this mystery guy is talking to her. Damn, is it possible to have a crush on someone because of their work? After months of this cryptic scavenger hunt, she’d dying to know if all her theories are right and the fact that she has no way to find out, is positively killer her.

That’s why when she stumbles across a flyer for a midterm exhibition gala hosted by the art department as she waits in line at her favorite coffee shop, she doesn’t think twice before jotting down all the info. In a week time, most of the uni’s art students would be gathered up in one place to present their term’s work. The chances are too high for y/n to pass up the opportunity, her guts telling her he’ll be there. It makes sense doesn’t it? Surely, this El Patrón ought to be an art student if not a teacher. How else would they have access to all the campus amenities most of the paintings were found in? 

As she goes to pick up her coffee from the counter, y/n walks with a newfound spring in her steps; she really can’t wait for this gala to happen.

                                                       ***

Y/n stands at the entrance of the art building, a black floor-length long-sleeves open-back dress hugging her curves in all the right places. Her heart speeds up at the nervous jitters crawling underneath her skin, and the million question swarming her frantic mind. What if he actually doesn’t know her and doesn’t give a damn about her thoughts on his work? What if it’s actually a woman and she’s been hiding a man’s pen-name to consolidate her deceit? Is she about to make the biggest fool out of herself by coming to this exhibition? She doesn’t know anyone here, nor has she ever been to this kind of event before but she’s decided this guessing game has run its course. Maybe this all thing has nothing to do with her and that’s okay. All she really wants is to have a chance to tell this exquisite mind how remarkable their work is; the rest be damned.

Y/n slowly makes her way inside, and after a quick stop at the coat room to dispose of the unnecessary garment, she is finally greeted by a room full of dressed-up people roaming  and chatting around, champagne flutes in hands. How cliche, she thinks with humor, before picking up a glass of the bubbly beverage. It’ll help sooth the nerves, she reasons as she starts walking around the place to observe each of the displays. Despite not having had a glimpse of her number-one painter yet, she finds herself having a good time. Most of the work offered to her is engaging in one way or another; some pieces quite provocative is their depiction, others straight out pushing the limits of 2D, with structures coming out of the canvas as though they were about to grip at the viewer. 

Turning at a corner, she comes across his art before she sees him, having almost forgotten art was supposedly his thing too, and she realizes she actually knew someone here apart from the mysterious painter. She takes a brief look at his tall frame, the baby blue suit over his crisp white shirt fitting him perfectly. A black tie is completing the look, and it makes y/n waver for a second. She’s never seen him dressed in anything other than jeans and the bar’s t-shirt every employee is supposed to wear on call. Granted, even that he can make work better than anyone else she can think of, but that suit is something else altogether. 

Her eyes shifts back to his work, not wanting to waste too much time on his appearance; she is here on a mission after all. She can’t deny his painting is good as much as she wants too. It’s made of a perfectly executed optic illusion that has her pause for longer than she intended to. The colors are picked wisely only adding to the entrancing design, tempting the viewer to reach out to the painting to convince themselves that this is fact a pretty subterfuge and no reality; the frontier between both worlds much too hard to distinguish. Just like for the rest of the exhibition, a single plaque hangs underneath the canvas, introducing the title of the piece above the name of its artist: Fine Line by Harry Styles. Damn, the bastard had to be talented…

"Is it as depthless as you thought it would be?" A hoarse voice interrupts her inner thoughts. She knows it’s his at the first word and already she regrets ever thinking positive things about him.

"Funny, I would have shared a compliment but you just had to go and open your stupid mouth," she bites back as she fully turns around to face him. She can feel is eyes shamelessly scanning her body, sending her nerves on overdrive. She wants this exchange to be as curt as possible, she’s got important matters to tend to.

"Here for you mysterious bloke, I presume?" he inquires in a taunting voice.

"What’s it to you, anyway?" y/n dodges the question with another, hoping it’ll steer the conversation toward its end.

She’s answered by rosy pouting lips, a hand on his heart in faux vexation, "ouch, was just hopin’ you’d come to see me, and now you’ve just crushed my dreams, love."

The pet-name is not lost on her and Y/n has had enough. In own gulp she downs the rest of her champagne and forces the glass to his chest for him to hold as she makes her way past him, "just leave me alone and go be a pain in someone else’s ass, Harry." She doesn’t wait to see if he’s following her as she marches across the room in long and purposeful strides. 

Something in the corner of her eyes catches her attention right then. Halting abruptly, almost making someone walk right into her, she turns her head to the side and that’s when she finally sees it. A whole part of the wall has been dedicated to his work, a shrine of his most outstanding pieces randomly hung against the white surface. Y/n recognizes each and every one of them, but then her eyes take in the extra work added for the exhibition: next to each of the pieces are displayed a bunch of photos capturing the students’ expressions as they first discovered the paintings. Dozens of faces lighting up in amazement, widening eyes and finger pointing at the unexpected intrusions; some show confusion and puzzlement while others simply behold laughter and animated conversation.

In the center of the wall, a video is projected. It’s a compilation of those same moments but this time captured on tape. The sound was removed, but as y/n takes in the faces of her fellow students she can almost hear the sound of their laughters; she’d been there for most of it after all. She thinks the idea is amazing, El Patrón has managed to make the viewer a permanent part of the art. The paintings are marvelous of course, full of emotions and passion, but the mysterious artist has gone one step further by also displaying how those emotions had reflected back on the audience. It is an ode to art, to the power of sharing, and proves art is limitless; not owned by museums, not bound between walls and certainly not restricted for trained-eyes only. Because art isn’t all about beauty, it speaks for the need for sharing that human have but often forget, and this is a perfect reminder of it.

The next tape playing has her eyes doubling over the video, a small gasp escaping her lips as she takes in her own figure. It was taken the day she found the painting at the gym and unlike all the other videos she’s alone. No group of students by her side elbowing her in disbelief, or sharing a puzzle look with her. Just her doe eyes gleaming at the painting, lips slightly parted in pure wonder, as she studies every inch of the canvas. And the feeling that this might mean just as much to him as it does to her comes back crashing on her. She’s not paranoid; this artist his using her as some kind of inspiration, she’s sure of it. Random cannot be this accurate, it would defy any laws of statistics. 

After the slideshow finally moves on to the next video, y/n looks around in the hopes of finding the man that has wormed his way into her heart. She’s imagined it a thousand times over during the past week. A young man would be discretely standing on the side, watching the evening pan out and waiting for her to find his work. Then they would make eye contact and he’d make his way over to greet her and share more of his beautiful mind with her. That’s the happily ever after she’s hoped for since that first painting in the library, but alas everyone around her seems to be engrossed in conversation about this and that. 

"I thought he would be there too," the unexpected voice makes her jump. She recognizes the student from that first day, she’d also be intrigued by the mysterious man.

"I know, all of his work is here, he has to somewhere around," y/n tries to convince herself. She hasn’t given up yet, she won’t let herself unless she goes home tonight empty-handed. Only after that will she stop searching, she promises herself. If he doesn’t show up tonight, then that’s because he doesn’t want to be found.

The girl next to her has the same disappointed tone when she explains, "you’d think so, but I’ve been asking everyone around and nobody has a clue still."

Before y/n can come up with her own rationalizations, someone starts speaking in a microphone, asking for everyone’s attention. It’s a man in his early fifties making a speech about the whole reason behind the exhibition so y/n pegs him as the head of the art department. "Thank you all for coming tonight, it is always a pleasure to see so many of you supporting our young talents. As you may know, tonight’s exhibition signs off our students’ final work for the semester, and will also see one of them receive a one-time collaboration with a renown art gallery in the city. Now, before the judges finish deliberating, let me tell you a bit about the topic of this exhibition which, by the way, serves as the main criteria for this contest. Our artists were asked to work around audience engagement and crowd reaction. The task was to produce art that would prompt an active response from the viewer and go beyond a passive experience. I hope this info helps this event take all its sense, I’ll let you all meander for a couple more minutes before we announce the winner. Thank you for your presence." 

Since she has a couple more of minutes, y/n decides to take advantage of the fresh insight she was just given about the artwork and goes around the exhibition one more time. The whole thing does take on a new meaning, now that she knows what was going one in the students’ mind as they first got their assignment. But what has her in awe really, is El Patrón’s coup de maître in all of this, because unlike any other applicant here tonight, he’s had the strongest reactions from the public for months now and had even documented it. So really, in a way he’s already won, no bias to blame. The amount of work and planning behind such a tour de force surely has exceeded everyone’s expectations and secured the number-one position for the still-to-be-revealed artist. In the pocket, as they say.

"Alright everyone, without further ado we are going to announce the lucky talent selected by the judges tonight," the head of department speaks up again. "On behalf of the whole department, I would like to salute each and every one of the students that presented their work tonight. Skills are certainly not scarce among you all, and as always it gives me great pleasure to see you all grow into yourselves alongside your craft. As you know, there can only be one of you coming up to this stage tonight and I must say, this semester has proved to be full of surprises. Never in my 26 years working here have I ever seen something of the sort, so ladies, gentleman, I have no idea who is about to join me now, but please give a warm round of applause for El Patrón!" 

The room explodes in loud cheers as people clap their hands in honor of the mysterious artist. Y/n probably the loudest amongst them all, is still craning her neck in every possible directions trying to catch sight of anyone moving towards the stage. The standing ovation quickly fades into silence as everyone realizes nobody is coming to claim their prize. The usual hushing following any of El Patrón’s stunts is once again spreading across the room to match people’s incredulity at the situation. It was one thing to keep their identity a secret, as it was clearly a crucial condition for the plan to work, but now that it is all over and done, prize ready for the taking, it doesn’t make much sense.

"Mister El Patrón? I think you more than deserve to drop your mask and receive your prize," the host reiterates in hopes that the much awaited artist comes out of his lair, but he’s met with the same result. Perhaps he’s not here after all, or perhaps y/n was right to think he might not want to be found, but regardless a strong feeling of disappointment takes over a body. He won’t be coming, she knows. No matter how many times the host calls for him, he won’t be coming. 

She lets out a long sign in frustration then, she really thought tonight was the tonight. But now that the evening is coming to its end, tears pearl at the corner of her eyes and she just wants to go home and forget all about El Patrón. Aren’t artists supposed to be dark and twisted anyway? Maybe she just dodges a bullet, she tries to make herself feel better, but no amount of sarcasm can save her from the painful pinch at her heart. As she comes to term with the fact she won’t get any more answers by staying (and possible ever), she decides it’s her cue to go. 

On her way to the exit, her eyes fall upon Harry’s slightly hunched figure. He seems deep in his thoughts, eyes fixed towards the floor though he’s not looking at anything in particular. For some unknown reason, y/n is not irked by his presence like she usually is. He’s just lost a great career opportunity so his preoccupied disposition is understandable. Feeling as though she needs to end the night on a different note - whether positive is yet to be determined - she approaches him slowly as not to startle him. "Your painting is really good. I’m sorry you didn’t win, but you should still be proud," she softly tells him to cheer him up. At least, one of them might get to go home in higher spirits. 

He looks up at her then, curls bouncing on top of his head, as he aligns his two glistening emeralds to her own gems. He seems quite surprised to hear her voice, probably rightfully so since he can count on one hand (scratch that, one finger) the number of times she’s actively sought him out for conversation. She can tell he’s debating whether to say something or not, as they keep their eyes locked. It’s probably the longest and only civil exchange they’ve ever had, and somehow it manages to soothe some of her sorrows. 

Y/n likes this reflective side of him, she realizes. Not that she wishes him any torments (at least not tonight) but his quietness makes him look vulnerable in that beautifully human way for once. That’s twice he’s proven her wrong about the assumptions she had on him, tonight: first his talent, now his character; she doesn’t know what to make of it. Silently, she accepts the timid smile and light nod he offers her in gratitude, before making her way to out at last.

                                                       ***

Two days after the night of the exhibition, y/n still has a hard time to let her grievance go. Her mood has yet to upgrade from crappy at best, and the fact that all the artwork has been removed from their previous spots is not helping much. Of course she knew they had been put down for the big night, but her heart still missed a beat when she went to the gym only to find the walls of the lobby bare of any craft that would liven up their otherwise dull and colorless structure. Just like her state of mind, she’d joked. And y/n is not one to throw pity parties, especially to herself; but then again, she’d never fallen under the charms of a faceless virtuoso because his art brought to life parts of her that she’d believed otherwise dormant, only to be metaphorically stood up at the end of the process. So really, what does she know anymore?

Now that she’s back at work, she revels in the constant effort she has to provide. The ever-growing list of task to complete gives her mind reprieve and focus, but she still hasn’t budged from her unusually distant and withdrawn self. Even harry’s own standoffishness hasn’t caught her attention; a week ago, his awkward demeanor would have flashed red flags all over her radar. An unfiltered narcissistic prick he could be, but y/n has never known him to be anything even resembling reserve; apart maybe from that one fate-less night not even 72 hours ago when she found him on the outskirts of the attention even though she knew full well that he is more of center kind of guy.

As they’re about to start closing, the awkwardness becomes more palpable by the second. They’ve skirted around it during the whole shift, the steady solicitation of customers enough to ignore the growing tension; but as the last of the patrons finally make their way out of the bar, an eery silence settles in their wake, making them both want to crawl out of their skin. Even the heavy-served drinks they’ve indulged in, despite the absence of their respective motives, hasn’t help assuage the strain between them. Instead, they start their usual routine in overrated silence, y/n in charge of the floor while he tends to the bar. Then before long, Harry bursts the uncomfortable bubble they’ve locked themselves in, voice void of its usual teasing tone, "so, what’s got you so grumpy?" he inquires.

"Please don’t start, Harry. I really can’t be bothered tonight," y/n sighs in response, failing to recognize the note of concern in his question and thinking she wouldn’t survive another bickering session. It hasn’t been the lad’s intention though, so her false accusation has his thick skin itching against his will. To be honest, Harry’s never taken much offense from any of their past squabbles no matter how hard she’d come at him, but this one he can’t brush off. Not when for once, he’s trying to be decent, dropping the attitude he knows rubs her the wrong way and she responds by telling him to get lost.

"Fuck sake, I wasn’t tryin’ to start anythin’" he berates her for lashing out unjustifiably, "you need to take a chill pill." The hostile reaction as her pausing mid-swipe in the middle of the room. He was always so unbothered by everything she said, she hasn’t expected him to be so hard on the defensive (or even know what a defensive is in the first place). 

Still, she doesn’t appreciate the same chastising tactic he’s used on her countless times, especially because given his serious temper, she knows he means it for real now. "Oh I’m sorry Harry, I didn’t know what sympathy actually sounds like coming from your mouth," she quips back in sarcasm. 

The response makes him livid, "you tell me I’m a jerk every chance you got, but you sure know how to be a bitch, y/n" he spats before finishing wiping the counter. As his hand reaches the end of the surface, he finds his half-empty glass of tequila, most of the ice completely melted through the amber liquor by now. He takes one long sip in a vain attempt to calm his nerves but the alcohol merely tingles the back of his palate and warms its way down his stomach. His mind is still burden with frustrations he doesn’t know how to alleviate; the end of term, the exhibition, his career’s future, and y/n’s stubborn nature all wreaking havoc in his tired brain.

"Shut the fuck up, Harry. I didn’t ask for your attention," y/n retorts, trying not to expose how bruised her heart is. While he’d mocked her plenty during the past two years, he’d never resorted to calling her names, unlike her; so the insult does more damage than she’s willing to admit, even coming from Harry. And to think she’d thought of him as a half decent being not three days ago…

"Right, I forgot only anonymous bastards are worthy enough of your attention," he replies before checking the shelves behind the bar to make sure they’re stocked enough for the next shift. "And even when they turn out to be cowards, you still choose them over the people that are actually around you. You need to open your eyes and wake up, it’s pathetic."

Y/n has almost finished cleaning her area but at this point, she’s ready to call it quits and run as fast as she can, away from him. "Go fuck yourself, you don’t know anything you’re talking about," she manages to croak past her swelling throat and quivering lips. The man in front of her is breaking her heart even though he’s never had it in his calloused hands, and y/n doesn’t know why. 

"Fuck this, ’m done," he quite literally throws in the towel, leaving it in a bowl on the counter before making his way back to his drink. In a swift movement, he grabs the bottle of tequila to pour himself a new one. "You keep blindly mopin’ about your precious painter, I don’t care, you’re probably right anyway," he says before chugging the bitter spirit in one go and slamming the bottle of tequila down on the counter in a loud bang that has y/n jump in fear. "I don’t anything about bloody anything," is all Harry says as he locks eyes with hers, before making his out of the bar, not bothering to put the bottle back to its rightful place.

Y/n is still trembling from the exchange, and it takes her a hot minute before she can finish what she was doing. As she resumes wiping the floor with shaky hands, she tries to even her breath out. Why had he been so hurtful? What could have possibly impelled him to utter such malicious words? The questions are still reeling in her mind as she twists water out of the mop  for the last time. Once the floor is spotless and all the tables are no longer sticky with spilled alcohol, chairs stacked up onto them upside-down, she makes her way back behind the bar, checking that Harry didn’t leave any of his duties unattended before his theatrical exit. She spots the bottle of tequila sitting lonely on the counter but just as she goes to reach for it, she freezes. 

It’s a cold shower pouring over her body all at once then, dots finally connected as her eyes read over the label of the fat bottle she’s seen him take out of the stack countless times before. Everything that happened for the last few months falls into place and suddenly there is no mystery left to be solved. ‘You’re probably right, I don’t know anything about bloody anything’ Harry’s final words keep playing on a maddening loop in her head. 

Y/n takes in the small bee design printed under what is unmistakably the last piece of the puzzle she’s been craving to complete: one word that has her stomach churning in a myriad of emotions she can’t possibly untangle. Anger, relief, surprise, fear, curiosity, warmth and more, are all rushing through her in one colossal wave, because printed on that bottle in black capital letters is the brand of Harry’s favorite drink: Patrón.

                                                       ***

The next day, y/n navigates through her classes purely on autopilot mode. She doesn’t quite remember picking the floral blouse nor the light-shade pair of jeans she’s wearing, and barely recalls the brief conversation she had with an old lady during her bus commute to campus. One thing she sure as hell hasn’t paid one iota of attention to, is the behavioral psychology class she’s just got out of. Two hours she spent pacing up and down every twist and turn of her mind only to come out more lost than she’d started. Add to that the fact she’s running on 4 hours of sleep, she’s quite simply a recipe for disaster. Fortunately for y/n, she isn’t due at work tonight, having called sick this morning, because sleep-deprivation aside, she still has no idea how she’s supposed to face Harry.

The revelation of the night prior is still something she has trouble wrapping her mind around, as it goes against every constructed opinion she’s made about her life. Harry is Patrón, she’s pretty sure. Harry, the allegedly conceited asshole she’s been bickering with since their first minute spent together, is the mind-blowing painter that had taken residence in y/n’s heart since the first time she set eyes on his art. The two characters have yet to fully merge into one in her mind, despite the fact it makes perfect sense to her. 

The Brighton painting, the one inspiring her necklace, it was all true. And with that revelation comes two intimidating truths y/n is kind of scared to delve into: one, all this time she’s been right to think she is the muse behind this all scheme; two, if Harry is the mystery painter, that makes her Harry’s muse more specifically. And that’s the part of the equation she struggles the most with, because up until last night she was pretty positive that the twat despised her (the night in itself being prime evidence of that) but now she doesn’t know what to think.

It’s like there are two versions of Harry battling in her brain, splitting her heart in halves; the one that made her miserable at work for years and made her cry last night, and the one she’d gotten a glimpse of at the night of the exhibition. The one that hid a fully blossomed bouquet of emotions behind teasing banter to protect a diamond-rough talent that had the power to touch just about anyone’s sensibility. The one that had her wrapped around his finger in awe with that beautiful mind of his. The question is, can she or will she see this Harry the next time she’s facing him or will all their bad-blood history come crashing down on her instead? Y/n doesn’t think she’s ever fit more the definition of having mixed feelings about something.

On her way home, she makes sure she doesn’t fall asleep against the bus window, despite yawning every thirty-seconds. It feels like the trip is taking forever, she almost lets out a cry of relief when the automated voice finally announces her upcoming stop. Once she’s thanked the driver and stepped out of the bus, she’s met with a gust of brisk air, instantly blowing her hair all over her face. She draws the lapels of her coat tighter around her shivering body and starts making her way towards her apartment building. 

It doesn’t take her long to complete the walking distance to her place and tread her way up the stairs, but the sight greeting her in the hallway of her floor almost sends her down on her ass. Because right across from her door, is Harry hanging yet another one of his chefs-d’oeuvre. He’s dressed casually in his usual jeans and t-shirt ensemble, with a thick grey hoodie covering his broad upper-half in a feeble attempt to combat to cold weather raging outside. As he reaches in the back pocket of his jeans to retrieve a sharpie - no doubt to apply his trademark signature - the movements of her feet on the laminated floor catch his attention. Spinning around in a jolt of surprise, he realizes too late that he’s been caught red-handed. There was no going back this time, but he doesn’t necessarily see it as a bad thing.

There is a short moment where they are both just standing in front of each other a few feet apart, as their eyes bounce back in silent conversation, before y/n softly breaths out, "so it is you." The weight of her words has him swallow in nervousness, "of course it’s me," he replies in a gentle tone. A smile pulls at his lips when he realizes she’s not running for the hills or bursting out in a furious rant. 

"I just…how? why? I mean, you gotta help me understand Harry, cause I’m pretty fucking lost over here," she blurts out with wide doe-eyes begging him for answers. Her obvious jitters earn her a soft chuckle., and for a hot minute all he can bring himself to do is study her snuggled figure and the way she keeps fiddling with her keys. It’s so endearing to him, if they were at his place, he would have offered to make some tea. The thought has him hesitantly looking at the door across from them, "can we maybe talk inside?" he inquires, beckoning his head towards her place. "I know I haven’t given you much reasons to let me in, but I promise I’ll explain everythin’," he feels the need to convince her, " after that, you can kick me out if you still want."

The last bit has her smile timidly, "yeah, let’s go inside. I wanna hear what you have to say," y/n admits as she steps to the door and unlocks it. She’s intrigued by how gentle and well-mannered the man following her to the living room seems to be, light years away from the rowdy lad she’s come to know. 

For a second, y/n is worries about the state she’s left the apartment before she rushed to classes this morning, but her apprehensions quickly go away once she takes in the sight of her rather tidied living space. A velvety throw blanket is covering the couch in a makeshift comforter from the way she spent the night on the couch, and apart from a few class notes scattered across the coffee table, everything seems to be where it’s supposed to be. 

They both discard their top layers on the armchair adjacent to the couch, Harry slipping his hoodie off above his head in one swift gesture, while y/n simply lets the sleeves of her coat slide down her arms. He brushes his hair back into submission with one swoop of his hand, before sitting down on the couch and directing his attention back at her. She decides to leave some distance between them, taking the other end of the sofa and the move desperately makes him wonder what thoughts are running through her head. The only way to uncover them  however, is if he starts talking first; and so he does.

"So uhm," he starts clumsily, clearing his throat, "remember the first day we met, you walked in on me telling some stoner guy off," he watches closely as y/n nods. "It was our first ever conversation and we fought through the whole thing. I was pretty pissed when it happened, not gonna lie, but once I got home and slept it off, I thought it was really cool how you’d stand up for that random guy." The admission has her eyebrows raising but he keeps going, "and okay maybe, just maybe, I found it a lil hot, the way you tried to put me back in my place." 

He stops to make sure he hasn’t offended her, "tried to?" she challenges instead, Harry laughing at her objection. 

"Right, maybe you did. My poin’ is, no-one really calls me out on my bullshit, so it was kinda refreshing that you did. But then the next day, you were still mad at me, an’ we bickered that time too. It felt like you’d already made up your mind about me. So in a way, all I had left was doin’ this thing where I push your buttons and rile you up. Know it doesn’t make sense, but it was the only way you’d interact with me so I kept doin’ it, because being jerk-Harry was better than having nothin’." 

He pauses for a minute and waits as y/n swallows all the information. All this time he’s been teasing her just to have some sort of connection, no matter how perverse, while she thought he just hated her guts. When she shares this thought with him, he shakes his head with a smile, "never hated you. If I ‘ad, I wouldn’t have bothered talking t’you."

Suddenly, her chest feels lighter, as though all this months of anguish had evaporated from her mind, now that she knew their rocky relationship was the result of miscommunication, "sound logic, Styles," she replies in good humor. Then she remembers the El Patrón’s fiasco so she urges him to go on.

"My final. Right. Well as you know, we were given the assignment at the beginning of the semester, and I came up with the idea of creating this alter ego that would plant his work around campus. I thought by taking people’s by surprise I was guaranteed strong genuine reactions. People are always more opened when they don’t expect it. Like if I had just brought my paintings on the night of the exhibition, the same people wouldn’t have reacted that way, probably because they’d know they’d be observed so they would have adjusted their behavior accordingly." They both know he’s getting slightly off trail, but watching y/n so enthralled with his words makes it hard for him to stop. Fact is, for month she’s dreamed of meeting and picking at the brain of this mysterious painter, and now that he’s sitting on her couch, walking her through his thought process, she finally feels like she is. 

"Anyway," he resumes the storytelling, "I started with that painting in the library and it worked so perfectly, I knew if I followed the plan I would have somethin’ really good. But then you just had to go on an’ rave about the paintings without knowing they were mine, and it was killin’ me inside. Because I knew if there was a real chance I could change your mind about me, I’d do anythin’. But no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t tell you. Couldn’t jeopardize my final… so I tried to tell you through the art. I started painting stuff that made me think of you and placed the pieces in locations I knew you’d pass through. It was the only way I could tell you."

Harry’s confession had Y/n’s heart beating so hard in her chest, she can almost feel it thumping through her ears. Her next question is on the edge of her lips, but she takes her time tracing each of Harry’s graceful features until his eyes catch hers, "tell me what, Harry?" she asks barely above a whisper. 

His response comes in three bashful steps: first his lips curve into a shy grin that has him look down with rosy cheeks; then his hand inches its way along the soft fabric of the couch to gently hold her fingers, thumb grazing over her knuckles; and as he looks up from their joined hands to connect their gaze once more, he finally spells it, loud and clear, "tell you that I like you, y/n." 

The sentiment sends her own emotions reeling in a tornado of passion. This is it, this is what she’s been half-knowingly wishing for, and now that she knows the truth in full, she’s ready to embrace it. Her eyes twinkle in bliss, a growing smile illuminating her face as she squeezes his hand in a silent invitation to slide closer to her. Harry is much happy to oblige, and once he’s sitting directly next to her, knees grazing her own, he cups her face with one of his bear-paw hands. A few strands of hair are caught in the cuddling gesture, but none of them care. Harry just keeps smiling at her, waiting for her next move, and his beam grows two sizes wide when she mirrors his affection. "I like this side of you," she whispers fondly, as her thumb draws slow circles across the skin of his cheeks.

Harry closes his eyes at her words, "this is the real me, I promise," he reassures in an almost pleading tone, vulnerability seeping through. And y/n feels like she’s lying down on cloud nine really, because dropping his fortress of pretentiousness is all she’s ever want from him. With a hushed ‘okay’, she finally brings her mouth to taste the rose-tinted flesh of his. It starts off chaste and slow, lips dovetailed in perfect symbioses like they are made to cohabit, but quickly the kiss heats up to a full on make out session. "Show me, then", y/n mutters out when they part for a breather.

Harry slowly nods his head, before helping her straddle his lap and y/n immediately brings both her hands to his neck once she settles her hips against his. The friction already had them deeply inhale, trying not to work themselves up too fast, but Harry doesn’t think he’ll have much self-control when it comes to y/n. Already he can feel his cock fattening up inside his brief, the tingling sensation making him roll his hips up into hers. Their lips are back in a sensual duel, tongues tentatively taking their turn to lick their way inside the other’s mouth. Every now and then, he teases her bottom lip with a graze of his teeth, and the move as her tugging the root of his hair at the back of his head every single time without a fail.

He loves discovering all the quirks and tells of her body, thinks he could spend hours on hand learning every single one of her curves and memorizing each of her special spots. The smell of her fragrance infiltrates his nostrils as he dips his head to her neck to plant open-month kisses along her skin. Head angled towards the ceiling to make room for his ministrations, y/n can’t do much but let her hands scout any expanse of skin accessible to her. She starts at his shoulder, squeezing the flesh to feel out the strong muscle laying underneath, before making her way down his tone arms, then to his hands currently holding onto to her waist. She gives them an affectionate pinch at the same time she presses down onto him with a deep moan, and Harry retaliates with a buck of his own. 

As he starts kissing down the exposed skin of her cleavage, y/n finally drops her head to place a tender kiss to his hairline. One of her hand is back at his neck, holding him firmly to her chest as he licks at the valley of her breasts down her sternum. The other worms its way underneath his shirt from the neckline, nails grazing down his back in soft enough pressure not to leave any marks.

Harry’s descent is obstructed by the soft material of her blouse, so he takes the garment off of her in one swoop, and places his hands back on her newly exposed body, rubbing up and own the skin. As his mouth goes back to the supple flesh of her breasts, y/n increases the pace of her hips grinding on his cock. The sensations seem to be not enough and too much at the same time for her; the heavy material still covering their most sensitive parts in the way of her pleasure, while Harry’s work has her going into overdrive under his velveteen mouth and calloused fingers. She starts kissing her way up from his shoulder to the edge of his jaw, and Harry revels in the sound of her moans tickling his ear. 

Done with the excess of fabric between them two, y/n grips at the top of his shirt and pulls it upwards, leaving him shirtless. "Fuck, I didn’t know you have so many tattoos," she babbles against his lips, while her hands smooth over the ink. 

"Plenty you don’t know about me, love," Harry chirps as he bask in the praise and the feeling of her skin of his. 

He then circles one arm around her waist to bring them chest to chest, and the contact has y/n once again intensify the friction between their crotches. "Wanna find out," she murmurs against his neck while she grinds on his clothed member, "Harry, please take me to bed."

He jolts at the quick bite she delivers to his neck, the impish gesture her way of saying ‘now’ but before she can make her way out of his lap to bring him to her room, he presses her back down with both hands on her waist. "Nuh uh, y’not goin’ anywhere. Want you to come once, b’fore I take you to bed, pet," he says, smoothing his hands over her ass to guide her rocking motions. The term of endearment sounds so innocent yet dirty all at once, it sends a chill down her spine. Nobody had called her that before.

"Can’t," she shakes her head, "can’t feel you through the jeans."  

"Alright then, stand up," he calmly asserts and she doesn’t hesitate to comply, standing in between his spread legs, in her flimsy bra and jeans. "Take ‘em off then, ’s what you want no?" he sends her a tantalizing look and bites at his lips as he watches her peel the pants off her legs. He can’t help the light squeeze he gives himself through his own jeans, as y/n stands in front of him awaiting his next instructions. "Come sit on my thigh now, think should be enough to make this pretty pussy tingle in all the right places, no?" 

Y/n’s insides are already twisting in a knot as she settles back on his lap and lets the rough material of his jeans against the softness of her cotton panties spread a prickling sensation through her pelvis area. Quickly, she resumes undulating her hips, gripping back at Harry’s neck to pull him in a languid kiss, pleasure vibrating against their lips. It is not long before her pace picks up, and her eyes shut at the intensity of her bliss. "That’s it, pet. Already makin’ a mess of me. You’re doin’ so well," he coaxes her with his words. 

As promised, y/n feels the lips of her sensitivity start to throb at her impending release, the sensation making her clamp her thighs tighter around his meaty limb. As her knee now presses against his bulge, Harry cries his sudden pleasure out in her mouth, and that’s all it takes for her to let her orgasm consume her. She unravels on top of him, one of her hands shooting to cup at her pussy in an attempt to quell the overwhelming throb. Harry draws soothing caresses down her back as he look at the sticky mess she’s left in her panties, damp patch matching the one tainting the material of his jeans. "All ruined, just as they should be," he smirks at the sight before giving her a sweet kiss. 

Flushed skin and blown pupils, she slowly regains her breath, "take off your pants and take me to bed now?" she requests.

"You’re quite demanding for someone who’s just gotten off," he keeps taunting her. After all, winding her up has always been one of his favorite thing to do, and dare he say in the past two years, he’s gotten quite good at pushing her buttons. Now he’s got new ones to figure out and play with, the thoughts has him pulsing in his jeans. 

Y/n doesn’t relent in her advances, she’s never been one to bow at his mockery, "thought you like how bossy I could be. Something about the way I put you in your place, if my memory serves right." 

"Anytime, anywhere, you’re the boss of me, love. But this," he cups at her cunt, adding pressure on her clit, "this is mine to have. Understood?" 

Y/n’s about to combust from all the desire firing up every one of her nerve-endings. His words might be the strongest aphrodisiac she’s ever experienced, she can’t wait to see what more tricks in has up his sleeves. "Now get up and show me the way to your room, pet," he softly commands before leaving a peck on her cheek. 

They both get up from the couch, and y/n guides them both down the hallway to her room, her hand wrapped in his tightly. Once they’re standing by the bed, Harry is surprised to face a patient y/n, biting her lips and awaiting his next directive. He doesn’t think he’s ever been more turned on in his life, "undress me, love" he murmurs against her skin after kissing her forehead. 

His jeans are quickly discarded but before his boxer briefs follow suit, y/n can’t help but tease him in reprisal, "looks like I’m not the only one who made a mess in their panties." 

He lets out a boisterous laugh while she smears open mouth kisses along his stretching jaw, "mmm, I’d rather make a mess somewhere else," his innuendo causing her to gasp while he works the strap of her bra.  Once she’s gotten rid of his last piece of clothing, his cock springs up, free of it’s confines, dollop of pre-come already pearling at his tip, and sticking to the skin of his stomach. 

With a gentle grip at her hair, he has y/n’s head tilted backward, to let his mouth make its way towards her already pebbled nipples. Since she can’t look down, y/n blindly reaches out to wrap her hand around Harry’s thick shaft and starts massaging him in languid strokes. "Your hand feels so fuckin’ good around me, pet, I wanna fuck you so badly," he hisses around her nipple, before kissing his way back up to her lips. 

He starts backing her towards the bed in small steps, but she brings a hand to his chest at the feeling of the edge of the mattress brushing against the back of her knee, "wait, wait, wanna taste you first," she insists and Harry doesn’t think he could ever say no to that face, no matter how much he wants to just sink home inside of her in this moment. 

"Fuck, you’re killin’ me, love," he pinches at her waist and lays his forehead against hers, "you want my cock in your pretty mouth, before I drive it home in your cunt, is that it?" She nods, eyes turning into two lustful fireballs. "Okay, love, but y’ can’t keep it on your tongue fo’ too long, cause I really need to fuck you, alright?"

Y/n hastens to lower herself when he bids her "right then, on your knees and open wide fo’ me," and her brows furrow in confusion as she watches him stray from her spot. Picking up a plush cushion from her bed, he places it on the ground for her to knee upon, "there love, want you to be comfortable," he runs his fingers through her hair, and her heart grows three sizes bigger at how tender he can be in amidst his filthy ways. 

Sensually, y/n brings her lips around the crown of his cock, her tongue teasing its way across the salty skin. Once she’s licked up all the previous mess, she starts working her way down his cock, hand stroking at the base. After bopping up and down a few time, she removes her month from his swelling cock, and lets a string of spit fall down onto its head and make its way to his balls. "S’right, pet. Get me wet," Harry rasps in appreciation. Now that she’s got him properly slicked, she goes back to pumping his hardening cock and takes him into her warm inviting mouth, determined to have him all the way inside. She feels her throat expands to accommodate his thickness, and the pressure makes Harry tighten his hold in her hair, "fuck, that’s it, love. Take me good." 

Muscles already tensing up in preparation for his climax, when y/n’s hand finds his full and swollen balls to roll them together like dice, he is quick to calm her zeal, "Christ pet, you gotta stop before I can’t help myself," but his tone hardens when she defies his demand, "come on now, s’enough." 

Once she pulls off, the sight of her flushed face and puffy lips induces an animalistic groan to come out from his chest, as he thumbs through the wetness coating her chin. Taking the hand resting on his hip to guide her up, he captures her lips in a searing kiss, the taste of his arousal blending in their mouths. 

His hands come down to knead at the flash of her ass, before he scoops her up and on the bed with a quick flex of his biceps. "Harry, please," she whines in impatience, hands gripping at his sides to pull him down against her. His rock hard cock slides against her clothed pussy, pins and needles cruising along their skin and only fueling their eagerness. 

"Need me in your belly, pet?" Harry keeps working her up, as he slides her soiled panties down her legs, "need me to fuck you so good, you forget I was ever a jerk?" 

She’s putty in his hold, legs wrapping around his waist to feel the pressure of his member on her bare lips , "yes, yes, I wan’ it," she pleads.

Harry would love to tease her further, have her writhing and proper begging underneath him, but at this point it would be self-torture to even consider. Instead he pumps at his shaft to give himself some relief, their sex so close his knuckles graze at her clit every time his fist comes at the top. "You ready?" Harry utters softly while spreading and skimming her cleft with the head of his cock. It has y/n gripping at his hair, a series of delirious ‘yes’ tumbling form her mouth, so he doesn’t wait a second more to push his tip past her threshold and begins his descent in her warmth. "Fuck, t’feels so good. So wet, and tight, and warm," he thinks out loud once he’s stuffer her full, balls pressing against her ass.

Y/n whimpers against his lips, urging him to start moving to quell the building pressure coiling in her belly. A slow roll of his hips finally gives her reprieve causing her to moan in gratitude. She’s already so close, it baffles her how this man could have her coming apart at the seams without doing much. His thrusts starts gaining zeal then, betraying his own yearning to take the final leap. "So tight, love. Can feel you squeezin’ me, are you close already? Is my girl gonna cum fo’ me again?" he grunts in her ear while he pounds into her dripping cunt. Y/n doesn’t offer a response, too caught up in a daze of bliss, but her clenching muscles is all the answer he needs to start nudging his thumb at her clit. A several flicks across the sensitive bud later, her orgasm is pulsing through every bone and fiber of her body, walls hugging Harry’s cock so tight, it has to pause his hammering. 

Waiting for her to catch her breath, he peppers delicate kisses along her cheek, "was that good, love? Think you can give me another, uhm?" he asks when she’s regained some of her senses. The pressure at his groin is growing more and more the longer his cock remains unmoving entombed within her vice, and the luscious agony must be written all over his face, "yes, Harry, wanna be good for you" y/n cups his jaw tenderly. 

He nods at her approval, "good girl," delivers a sweet earnest kiss to her pouty lips as he pulls out and spins her around to lay on her stomach. His hand brushes the hair off her skin so he can sew a string of kisses at her shoulder blades and neck. Painfully red, his cock is propped between her buttcheeks, "can I take you like that?" he punctuates his inquiry by rolling his hips backward, tip lingering at her soaked entrance. Y/n clutches the sheets firmly, as she murmurs a faint ‘please’, back arching at the thrills consuming her mind. 

Harry plunges in her wet core in one smooth swing, hand digging at her hip to keep her steady as the other one interlaces with hers to lay on the mattress above her head. Unforgiving lunges have y/n cinch around him, face buried in the sheets and muffling salacious wails of pleasure, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to steer from his end for much longer. He slows his cadence to steady and firm strokes, slipping a hand around her waist to polish her swell. 

A million tremors spark off the onset of Y/n’s climax as she shudders in a firework of ecstasy. Harry  doesn’t relent until he’s worked her through completion and can no longer stop the coil in his loins from snapping. His release fills her in several spurts of wet warmth before he flops down next to her, positively fucked out.

They both lay unmoving in comfortable bliss for a few minutes, before y/n plops her head on his chest and an arm around his torso, her leg sneaking in between his. "Well, here goes two years of sexual tension," Harry says jokingly, fingers drawing abstracts design on the skin of her back. It might just be his favorite canvas to paint on from now, he muses before chastising himself at the onslaught of filthy thoughts tagging along. A playful slap on his abdomen takes his mind out of the gutter, "don’t ruin the moment," y/n says in fake admonition before placing a tender kiss on the spot she just abused. 

"M’sorry, love. M’just really chuffed to be in your bed finally," the last word reminding her that while she’s struggled to come to term with her feelings for him, ransacking her mind for a possible change of heart, he’d only seen her in but one light. The revelation still has her floored and giddy, "can I ask you something?" she asks as there was still one question pacing back and forth the pathways of her mind. Harry hums in acquiescence, "anythin’ love, by brain is yours."  

She feels his hand cradling her skull followed by a small peck to her forehead, and she smiles at the gesture, "why did you stay away that night at the exhibition when you got the prize? Why not coming forward?" It’s been bugging her brain since it happened. Although she didn’t have much insight on anything at the time, most of the pieces of the puzzle fell in place after the big reveal; but this, she still can’t make sense of.

Harry lets out a long breath, organizing his thoughts, "two reasons," he starts off tiredly. "One, I kinda like having this secret business going on, and like, as long as nobody knows, I am in control of how and when it happens, you know? And the moment I let go of that, I can’t go back." He searches her face for any hint of confusion but she’s just patiently listening. "Two, when we bumped into each other at the gala, I got convinced you’d never see me differently regardless of how good a painter I was; and that had become a big part of who El Patrón was." 

It’s the first time she hears his alter ego’s name from his mouth and with how flowingly natural it sounded coming out of his lips, y/n suspects that it’d been a conscious decision on his part. She recalls their interaction that night, the way they fell in their usual ways of ping-ponging vindictive words until one of them has enough and leaves the premises (usually y/n). A lump starts forming in her throat at the recollection of all the other fights they’ve had and how they’d all been pointless wastes of time and energy, now that she knows she is meant to be in his arms. She wishes things could have been different but the warmth of his body around her overweighs her regrets. They’re here now, looking bright toward the future, and it’s all that matters.

"I’ll keep your secret if you want, be the Lilly to your Hannah Montana," she tells him lightly before they both laugh at the silly reference. 

Happiness and glee has Harry tightening his hold around her shoulder, "nah, I don’t wanna play double-agents anymore. I wanna be the guy who gets the girl." He dips his head to catch her lips between his own, reveling in their newfound intimacy. Turning her face against his chest, Y/n impresses her bashful smile on his swallow-tattooed skin, before she lays a trail of pecks tickling the area underneath his armpits, "well, you got me now."

➪ Masterlist

[oswald-privileges]

ALL RIGHT BUT YOU ASKED FOR IT

Power of Three as a series is just. full of weaknesses, most of which come down to poor continuity and structure. I'm not gonna try and fix ALL of those, bc that'd be laborious as hell, but I will pick out things that I feel are the most egregious as case studies.

What Po3 does have, tho, is an absolutely shining strength in the concept of its three main characters. After twelve books of Blandly Heroic Protagonist Syndrome, Jayfeather is an absolute godsend. He's angry! He's rude! He's unhappy! He's not nice. I Love Him And He's My Son. Lionblaze has his invincible pride (hah) and emergent bloodlust, and Hollyleaf has her moral absolutism and certainty. These are good starting points for characters. Sadly, the lack of continuity undermines what could have been three really good character arcs.

So! I present to you:

HOW TO MAKE "WARRIORS: THE POWER OF THREE" NOT COMPLETELY SUCK ACCORDING TO MY PERSONAL TASTE; A NON-EXHAUSTIVE, NON-CONSECUTIVE LIST BY ME

ONE

- Have there be a persistant, overarching series threat. Sol is a character with amazing villain potential who does literally nothing except hang around, and do exactly 2 Bad Things completely off-screen. This Is Not Good.

- Instead, have him be present from the second book onwards- initially introduced as a friendly but enigmatic outsider who is slowly revealed across the series to be a complete black hole of a personality, a social parasite quietly rearranging whatever community he's a part of to just-so-happen to benefit him as much as humanly possible. His "preach individualism not starclan" methods are not so much values as one strategy out of many. (to those who know me- yes i have a type. no i will not apologise.)

- Maybe his ultimate goal is to dissolve and centralise the clans or something so that he can live out his life as a political puppetmaster in all the cat-luxury he likes. idk it's hard to imagine overall stakes for this rewrite BECAUSE THE ORIGINAL DOESN'T HAVE ANY

TWO

- For gods sake you don't have a series based on the premise of "the main characters develop super powers" and then only have the second power confirmed by the end of the fourth book. I understand the first book mostly focusing on Jayfeather- his powers are obvious from the start, he's got the strongest personality of the three, he gets access to most of the prophecy plot stuff because of them. But you NEED to have the other two show an interest in something concrete happening to them beyond that, and you need to at least hint towards the other two having something unique to them even if nobody clocks it yet.

- Have Jayfeather tell his siblings about the prophecy by the end of book two at the latest. The amount of time he spends noodling around not sharing it with them is inexcusable. It's not that it's out of character for him to hang onto a secret for a bit, it's just that there's no point and it slows everything down. It would be equally in character for him to go to his siblings and be like "look, i'm SPECIAL. well you as well but ALSO ME". Boy starts off as desperate for recognition, what can I say

THREE

- Have Jayfeather discover that StarClan don't withhold signs or information on purpose for the sake of "building courage and faith" or whatever nonsense. Seeing and communicating the future is metaphysically very difficult, so interpreting signs and messages is a genuine skill, or even an art. The cats of StarClan, however, really are just ghosts, much more similar to living cats than the currently living believe. This is the impotus for Jayfeather's discarding of his reverence for StarClan, which remains consistent throughout the series.

- Have Hollyleaf and Jayfeather both still change their cat careers in the first book, but put place more attention on the fact that they basically switched jobs. Have a scene where they end up yelling at each other, because can't the other see how lucky they have it? The tension breaks when they realise they've both lost something important to them- Jayfeather his chance to prove he's as capable as a sighted cat, and Hollyleaf her path to helping her clan in the way she thinks is best. They commiserate together, and reluctantly promise to do the best they can with their lots, so they don't waste the path the other wishes they'd taken. This closeness is eroded over the series as they disagree more and more on the subject of StarClan and its role in their moral choices and obligations.

FOUR

- Speaking of Hollyleaf! I nearly threw my phone across the room when the first Omen of the Stars book claimed that Hollyleaf "worked so hard to discover her power to help her clan". Where, Ms Erins??? I would have LOVED to have seen that!! Hollyleaf expresses absolutely no concern over the details of what power she has/will develop, and only has a couple of scenes even touching on her ambitions to help her clan. She has some vague ideas about becoming leader and like one scene where she gets to do some leadery things, but that never gets followed up on. What does happen is that the whole "warrior code" thing becomes more and more a part of her personality (for no clear reason) until she snaps.

- Hollyleaf going off the deep end is something I wanted so badly to get into and be moved by, because I could see where it comes from! Her moral certainty is fascinating, especially since it's based in something as abstract as the warrior code- which, when you think about it, isn't really... anything. There's no concrete set of rules that make it up, no traditional wording or cat philosophers, not even any fables. It's a handful of agreed-upon, common sense rules- don't cross boundaries, don't take prey that isn't yours, respect your ancestors, and don't murder. That's it!

- So, combining the above points, I think Hollyleaf not being one of the Three should stay, but both the audience and the characters are given good reason to believe she is. By around the third volume, make it so that Hollyleaf has found that her power is to get cats to "Do The Right Thing"- i.e. what she wants them to do. She sneaks off often to see Sol, who teachs her how to use this power. Her siblings are concerned about this new power, having already gotten a glimpse at what Sol can do, but she's confident that she can only use this power for good. Volume-specific plot happens, Sol manipulates her into causing him to win, she is shocked and horrified, and vows to stick ridgedly to what she knows is right i.e. The Warrior Code

- However, the more fervently she tries to stick to this abstract idea, the less it gives her results, the more her power seems to be failing. Believing that StarClan is taking her power away from her, she becomes caught up in a faith-guilt spiral that puts her in the position to snap at the end of the series. By that point it's clear to her siblings that Hollyleaf has no power- she was just very, very good at persuading people to do what she wanted.

FIVE

- Lionblaze is a girl now because I Said So. This Cat Is Trans And There's Nothing You Can Do About It.

- Her relationship with Heathertail stays the same- childhood sweethearts who are torn apart as they begin to understand the nature of the societal divides that exist between them.

- This can be used to contextualise the whole "half clan/outsider blood" thing as a cultural contradiction. In reality, inter- and outer- clan relationships aren't at all rare. They can't be, otherwise the whole society would be inbred out of existence in like five generations. But if at least one society of humans can spend a good 200 years pretending Sex Is Bad And Sinful Actually then cats can have persistant cat-racism in the face of all logic. Heathertail clocks this contradiction, Lionblaze doesn't.

- Her relationship-to-power arc doesn't need changing all that much either, other than starting much sooner and being more consistent. At first, she's completely overjoyed by her power, since unlike her siblings, it lines up so well with her ambition- become the finest warrior any of the clans have to offer. As the berserker rage aspect becomes more prevelent, she becomes more and more disturbed by the fact that she isn't disturbed by what she can do, and that she doesn't want the escalation of her power to stop.

- Tigerstar still does his thing, but Brambleclaw knows about it. He recognises the signs from when his father used to visit him, and tries to train Lionblaze in his own way. She ends up caught between wanting to be a good warrior, and testing the limits of her power.

SIX

- Jayfeather can stay basically the same because he's my perfect little angy boy and nothing needs to change. His arcs can be strengthened by having a more robust relationship with Yellowfang where they try to out-bitch each other, and coming to terms with his internalised ablism. Maybe he has a chat with Mothwing about faith a couple of times. Him furiously lashing out at being offered help transitions into an acceptence and understanding of his abilities more naturally. He never stops being A Grumpy Old Man.

- All fucking past-lives unexplained time travel goes in the BIN. Doesn't fucking happen. You can have that lore dump sprinkled across the books, or come from going deep into the tunnels and having a surreal meeting. Make it properly eldritch-level scary, shake Jayfeather's confidence in the idea of them being just a bunch of ghosts.

SEVEN

- Have the way Brambleclaw and Squirrelflight present very clearly as parents to the Three be explicitly, textually unusual. One of the things I liked so much about the first series was an almost total lack of emphasis on who was mated with who, and who was related or not. It felt very real to how feral cat colonies form, where raising kittens is a communal job. This gets completely dropped the moment series 2 starts and now the cats have monogamy.

- This emphasis on the family unit and fostering close relationships between parents and kittens is deliberate on the part of both Leafpool and Squirrelflight. Their aim is to cover for Leafpool so she doesn't lose her role as medicine cat- something she already gave up Crowfeather for before she was pregnant.

- In that little bit of backstory, have a robust reason for both Leafpool and Squirrelflight to leave the camp while Leafpool is pregnant and giving birth, possibly one that ties into the present day story in some minor way. I don't know how, it would just make that element of the story a lot more ground than "we left, the kits were born, then we came back and everyone was cool with it"

- When it comes to the "I am Not your mother" reveal, Jayfeather and Lionblaze are confused and hurt that they were lied to, but come to the reasonable conclusion that well, since they were raised mostly by Squirrelflight, saw Leafpool often, and are loved by both, they don't hate her. Lionblaze has something of a crisis over being half-clan, possibly initiating an attempted reunion with Heathertail. Jayfeather is more concerned with how other cats will think it makes him lesser, something he's still sensitive too.

- Hollyleaf, meanwhile, completely fucking snaps at the way her mother Violated Part Of The Code. It's a completely irrational reaction, but expected because she's been growing more and more reliant on The Code for the whole series, and less and less stable in her attempts to aid her clan and train to be its new leader.

- Squirrelflight is the one to murder Ashfur. This is easy to work out while reading- she's literally the only one of the four with a motive who isn't a perspective character. The mystery is less around finding out who did it, and more about why she did it (it's very ambiguous as to whether it was an accident or not). The main tension comes from who finds out when.

- Lionblaze is shocked, awed by how far she'd go to protect the three of them, and reassures her she did the right thing (as a way to salve her own uncertainty over her own longing for violence). Jayfeather makes it all about himself because he's Jayfeather- upset that he didn't know immediately, instead of, you know, figuring it out in a few hours because he can basically read minds. They try their best to hide it from Hollyleaf, who is already rattling around the final volume as a full-on antagonist, but are unsuccessful. This almost costs them something incredibly important- possibly Squirrelflight's life.

EIGHT

- the whole plot with the Tribe Of Rushing Water is a MASSIVE can of worms that could be removed from the series without issue. As it is:

- Characterize the Tribe as uncertain of how to fight other cats, because yes, they haven't had to do this before. DON'T characterise them as pathetic, doing whatever their leader says without thinking, and with ancestors who have Given Up

- Have some of the Tribe be really good at the violence. Worryingly good. Have others be sickened by what they're being asked to do.

- Have some of the clan cats reflect on what they've done. Hollyleaf would be all for introducing this society to jesus The Code, but even she might be horrified at being thanked by a tribe cat who can't wait to get out there and win themselves glory, only to be killed a few hours later

- The Tribe begin a new tradition of marking the walls in the mud they use as camoflage in order to commemorate their battles, and memorialise the fallen. One of the characters reflects on the fact that in a generation or two, the Tribe will feel like it's always been this way. How many of their own traditions- those that feel almost like natural law- started out the same way?

- Have Sol as the leader of the invaders, or maybe having insinuated himself into the tribe as a "mediator" and doing his charismatic cult leader thing.

NINE

- Cinderheart isn't a reincarnation of Cinderpelt. She's just named after her bc Cinderpelt saved her mother from a badger. this is because I think the reincanation thing is stupid and I can't think of a way to make it good.

TEN

- No more using tails as hand gestures like covering people's mouths. Never. None of it. It's expunged from existence.

Disclaimer: I haven't read Omen of the Stars yet, so I can't account for anything that might happen in that series that's grounded in Po3. I'm like... two thirds of the way through the first volume. I'm Not Impressed.