These are only for romantic pairings, not platonic.
Favorite Tyson Ship?
Ella/Tyson
Tyson/Percy
Clarisse/Tyson
Annabeth/Tyson
Tyson/Frank
Nereus/Tyson
Charles/Percy/Tyson
Luke/Percy/Tyson
Luke/Tyson
Nico/Tyson
Tyson/Grover
Voting ended onSep 10, 2024
The ships in the polls are the twelve (12) most popular ships for each character based on the number of fics on AO3. However, Tyson isn't shipped with twelve different people and so there are only eleven (11) options for his poll.
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Those lonely eyes
don't have to be alone tonight —
“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”
Of course her car would decided to crap out in the middle of bum fuck nowhere and there was no phone reception.
Great.
Now she was going to be murdered by some hick with no teeth who is his mother’s brother’s sister’s uncle’s cousin or something. She had seen enough horror movies to know that this was going to end badly. It wasn’t certain if breaking down in front of a bar was a good thing or a bad thing. From what Clarissa could see, it was full of cowboys in plaid shirts and with wide brimmed hats.
Even though she was certain she was going to die, going into the bar seemed like the only viable choice, especially since it had rooms to rent and would likely have a telephone.
The man at the bar was kind enough to offer her the phone is his deep southern drawl, even if his eyes didn’t leave her breasts the entire conversation. Unfortunately for her, on a Saturday night, it was near impossible to find a tow truck or a mechanic shop that was open for business. It took some convincing for someone to come and have a look at her car but it would be Monday before they could fix any of it.
Her only option was to rent a room for the night and hope for better news in the morning. Even the room was distinctly southern and also depressing. The only thing that was going to make her feel better was a drink. Or six. So she made her way back down to the bar and found an isolated stool to sit on and ordered a beer.
She wanted to be appalled at the Budweiser but the fear or being murdered and no one finding her body still took precedent.
It wasn’t long before the first suitor found there way onto the stool beside her. With a scruffy beard and sun kissed skin, his breath stunk of bourbon as he tried to look appealing but really, he only looked drunk.
“Hey little lady, can I buy you a drink?” He asked, drawling on his ‘r’s.
“No thanks.” She responded, trying to pay him no mind as she took a sip from the bottle in front of her.
“Aww, darlin’. Come on now, you’re lonely, I’m lonely, why say no?”
His insistence was going to be annoying and Clary no longer had any patience left for him, or for that matter, anyone.
“Firstly, I have a drink and I just bought it. Secondly, I’m not a little lady. From the looks of it, I’m the same height as you and you have high heels on.” She remarked, pointing down at his cowboy boots.
Clary had never been good at befriending people, she was often too crude or rude to make a good first impression. This time was no different. The cowboy was already up on his feet, calling her names like ‘snooty’ and ‘bitch’.
“Go fuck yourself.” She remarked, flipping him off.
It was then another cowboy stepped in. He was also sun kissed, but blonde with bright eyes and very handsome. He was so stunning that Clary was momentarily distracted while he dealt with the other man.
“That’s no way to talk to a lady.”
He stood tall, his shoulders broad and suddenly, Clary was finding herself attracted to the whole cowboy look.
“No one asked you, pretty boy.”
Oh, god. If there was going to be a fight about her, Clary was at least going to have her say or try and stop it.
“Look, fuck nuts. I don’t want your company and I don’t need you standing up for me either. I can handle myself.”
She was stubborn, hands on her hips, looking at them both with a steady gaze. The blonde seemed to know she was serious and held his hands up, taking a step back. Unfortunately, the other was too drunk to let it go.
“You’re just one of those city sluts, I don’t wan’ anything from you anyway.” He huffed.
After the long day she had, driving across the country and then her car breaking down, Clary was in no mood for this type of crap. She reeled back before launching forward, her fist hitting the cowboy square in the jaw.
“Fuck!”
It echoed from both of them, the cowboy stumbled away and Clary held her wrist to her chest, whimpering from the sharp pain shooting up her arm. She was too distracted by the pain in her arm that she didn’t see the man come for her again. All she heard was the yelps of pain as bones crunched together. Looking up, she was in time to see the blond’s knee in the other’s stomach before he fell to the ground.
After that it was hard to remember what happened, her eyes stayed on him as the commotion settled down. The cowboy was kicked out and left to lick his wounds and it was the blond who got her ice and wrapped it up in his plaid shirt and held it to her wrist. Somehow she got lost in the sparkle in his eyes and didn’t want to find her way out again.
“You gotta mean right hook. You a boxer?” He asked, leading her to a booth so they could sit.
“What? No. He was just a dickhead.” She answered, finally finding her voice.
His barked out laughter finally had her smiling, her eyes dropping to her wrist. His fingers were still lingering, holding the ice to her wrist to keep it into place. She wondered what she should say? Thank you? For the shirt, and for saving her. So far, for a girl who was scared of being murdered, she was certainly causing a lot of trouble.
Luckily the bar man came over, giving her a fresh drink and one for the blond to apologise for the other idiot.
“I guess it ain’t so bad, I got myself a free drink with a pretty lady.” He startled, holding his hands up in defense but their was mischief in his eyes. “I mean, a nice respectable woman. I don’t want you knocking me out now.”
Her lips pursed for a moment before she cracked, smiling. Somehow he was far more charming than the other man. It might have had something to do with his sobriety in compared to the other.
“You’re fine. You didn’t call me little. Or a bitch. I’m Clary, by the way.”
“Jameson. It sure is nice to meet you. You made my entire week. I can tell all the boys at the shop about it.” He answered, taking a drink of his beer.
Jameson. She liked it, it was like the whiskey but also kind of different. Maybe she was just distracted by his handsome face but it took her a minute to realise he said ‘shop’.
“Does that mean you’re a mechanic?” She asked, perking up.
“Some days. I work on my family’s ranch as well. The shop is just some extra income in the off season. Why? You got car troubles?”
“Actually, that’s exactly what I have.”
Clary quickly rehashed her story of travelling from one side of the country to the other, than the break down and then her fear of horror movies. All throughout the story James laughed at her swearing and quirks. From there they started talking about everything, from jobs to family and to childhood stories and everything in between. They continued to talk as round after round was brought to their table, soon Clary was tipsy but she had a promise he’d come look at her car and before Monday.
When the bar started to close, Jameson offered to walk her to her room and to make sure there were no murderers waiting inside for her. It was silly but she was glad he came with her. Plus, he was very thorough and looked under her bed and in the closet and everything. It made her feel much better about staying alone for the night. He also gave her his number and she called him her prince charming.
If she didn’t know any better, or the beer wasn’t affecting her brain so much, she would’ve thought she had a crush. it was hard not to like James. He was a sweet family boy and had all the charm to boot. So when she walked him to the door, she wasn’t sure if she should kiss him goodbye or not but when he rested his arm against the door and leaned over her, all words and thoughts left her brain.
“I'll come by first thing in the morning to check it out, if that’s okay with you?” He asked.
It was hard for her to concentrate on anything other than his arm against the wall, caging her in the door frame but unlike the man from earlier in the night. She liked Jameson standing close to her.
“I’d like that actually. Thank you, Jameson.”
She leaned up, pressing her lips to the corner of his lips and letting them linger for a second longer than necessary. They stared at each other for a moment before he finally took a step back, his arm dropping to his side. Somehow, Clary’s only thought was how he was really a gentleman.
“Well... I know where to find you. I’ll see you tomorrow, Clary.”
“See you, James. Oh, wait! Your shirt!”
She had forgotten about the plaid shirt that was wrapped around her hand.
“I’ll get it from you tomorrow, think of it like a guarantee that I’ll return.”
And then he was gone, leaving her in the doorway, grinning like a fool. But she had a promise to see him again and she was going to make sure he didn’t break it.
Who says you can’t fall in love with the sun? The tale goes that Icarus was fond of the sun and when he flew too close, his wax wings melted away and he fell. Did he die? Or did he pick himself back up, build new wings and try again?
For him, I would try again. I would break every bone in my body so long as I could try and reach him again. Because yes, he is the sun and I’m not worthy to bask in his warmth but I want to. I pray to.
Why shouldn’t I aim high? I want to fall in love with the sun and I want the sun to fall in love with me. I will be his night time so he can rest his weary head and when the day turns cloudy, I can wrap him in blankets, in my arms and conserve his warmth.
He is everything precious and beautiful in this world so if I am to be Icarus, I will fly to the sun and show him my wax wings. If my wings melt and I fall, at least I’ve felt the sun’s gentle caress but I will not stop trying to feel it again. For he is the sun and I am just the silly boy who fell in love with him.
The day was scorching. The concrete of the Capitol made it feel a hundred
degrees hotter than it did in District Seven amongst the trees. There was no
natural shade from trees to hide under or even a lake to swim in to cool down.
Jasmine had dragged him out to an artificial beach with sand that felt like
ground up glass rather than the soft sand he had felt between his toes in
District Four.
It wasn't as though they were swimming now they were there. Jasmine had
laid out on her stomach, stretched out on the towel in her bikini. Swimming
wasn't something Capitolites did apparently. They sun baked. From under his
sunglasses, Clary could watch her from the corner of his eye, admiring the
gold of her skin and the contrast of her bright bikini against her body. Absently,
he licked his lips and heard a throat clear.
She had caught him.
Cursing silently under his breath, he declared he was going swimming and
got to his feet and stretched.
"Try not to harass any women out there. Not
everyone is as welcoming to your ogling as I am."
The smirk on her face was too smug. Clary couldn't let that stand.
With his one good hand, he pulled her up and threw her over his shoulder. She
could kick and scream all she wanted but they were going swimming. He
trudged down the beach, people clearing a path for the madman with a woman
over his shoulder.
The cool water licked at his ankles then his knees but he didn't stop walking
until the water brushed Jasmine's legs that dangled over his shoulder.
"Let go, you big oaf!" She demanded.
"If you insist," he said in a sing song voice.
That was exactly what he wanted to do and on the count of three, he dumped
her into the water. The screams and complaints were like music to his ears.
When she resurface, perfect blonde hair a mess and a scowl on her face, Clary
continued to laugh until his sides ached.
It an instant he was under the water, swallowing down the salt water as a weight
on his back held him down for just a moment. He must've looked like a gaping
fish when he resurfaced, his eyes finding a very smug escort grinning in his
direction. Apparently pay back was a bitch and it's name was Jasmine.
Not one to be out done, Clary grabbed Jasmine around her waist and pulled her
down with him. The water wasn't deep enough for them to be in real trouble and
they rolled around, trying to dunk each other, laughing and giggling and squealing
as waves crashed around them.
Breathing heavily and completely drenched Clary tugged on the center of Jasmine's
bikini until she was pressed against his chest. He was fully prepared to dunk her
again but he stopped, captured by the soft shine of her lips and the flush of her
cheeks. Jasmine had always been beautiful. Out in the water, away from the Capitol
and striped bare of the disguises she wore she was breathtaking.
When he pulls her under, its against her chest and his lips are against hers, soft
but insistent. He needs her kiss, he needs to memorize this moment and everything
about it. The water is surrounding them, lapping at them and washing them to shore
but he doesn't want to stop kissing her until he can't breathe. She is the siren of the
sea and he'd happily drown for the sweet taste of her lips.
You are my light, my hope, my northern star. I’m nothing without you. You make me stronger, better, everything I want to be. You fill my life with love, happiness, you complete our family. I must have loved you a million year, a million lifetimes, and I will love you a million more. I don’t care what anybody has ever said about you. You’re brave, kind, loving and above all the most amazing man I have ever known and I am so incredibly lucky to wake up beside you every morning, to kiss you and feel your arms around me. Nothing will ever compare to the feeling on knowing your love.
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PROMPT → Victor/Escort swap
LOCATION → District Seven
WORD COUNT → 808 words
FEATURES: Jameson Barton, Nancy DiCarlo, Artie Redwood
Streams of bright sunlight forced itself through the thick foliage of the towering oak trees, creating spots of light amongst all the shade. The weather was sweltering and the trees provided the only break from the heat that bared down on the tree covered district. And yet, the forest was full of men and woman alike, working hard to bring down the trees. The work never stopped in District Seven even if it was almost too hot to work. The sounds of axe hitting wood, chatter and the low musical whistles could be heard bouncing off the trees.
This was where Clary felt at home. As a victor, he had been told he never need to work again. He had never liked that answer and as a result, he found himself out with the rest of the lumberjacks, taking down the sky high oaks with just an axe and saw. Even if he had been "privileged" to win his games, Clary loved to work. It filled the monotonous days and gave him a purpose in a life that felt like it had none anymore.
Sweat pooled at his lower back, making him feel hot and sticky enough to pull his shirt off, using it to mop at his brow and chest.
"Clarence! There you are." A voice called from behind him. Turning on the spot, he saw Nancy DiCarlo, victor and mentor, heading towards him with Artie in tow. There was someone else too, someone who looked too dressed up for the heat and the district itself.
"Hey Nance." He leaned down to kiss the old woman's cheek before turning to Artie and ruffling his hair gently, enjoying the blush that covered the younger boys cheeks. "Artie, it's good to see you."
"Well it's not good to see you, you pain in the ass! Making an old woman walk all the way out here, I should beat you with my cane." Nancy grumbled, to which Clary only laughed. He knew she enjoyed the walks in the sunlight and among the trees as much as he did.
His eyes fell onto the man with them as he tucked his shirt into his belt loops. It was obvious he was from the Capitol, it was in the way he dressed and his posture. Clary scanned him over once from head to toe and gave him an appreciative smirk. The man was attractive, Clary would give him that. All blonde hair, bright blue eyes and muscles, even if they were hidden under the suit. "So, who's your friend?" He asked, looking up to meet the man's eyes once again. It was hard to catch but Clary saw the way the man looked at his chest, his gaze dragging down his stomach and arms, causing Clary to smirk.
"That's why I was trying to find you. This is the new escort. Jameson Barton, I'd like you to meet Clary Finn, victor—"
"Victor of the sixty-fourth hunger games." Jameson quickly interrupted.
The three members of the District Seven family's eyes all gazed at him with curious glaces. They were rewarded with the bright red colour flooding the escort's cheeks. "I — I'm sorry. It's just — you were my favourite victor when I was a kid. I even met you on your victory tour, you probably don't remember though." Jameson babbled out, his eyes falling to his fancy black shoes.
It both surprised and made Clary feel a little bit awkward, and old. It was almost ten years ago that he had his tour and he definitely didn't remember the escort. The thought of being someone's favourite though was almost sickening. Even after all those years, Clary still wasn't used to the enthusiasm the Capitol showed for the Hunger Games.
The moment didn't last though, Nancy soon hit him with his cane, knocking him out of his daze. "Uh— thanks, sunshine." He muttered, shrugging at Nancy. He wasn't sure if it was the right response but Nancy looked pleased enough.
"Right, enough with introductions. Grab your axe and your shirt, we're having tea." Nancy proclaimed. With a roll of his eyes, Clary grabbed his discarded axe and held it over his shoulder.
"You know it's way too fuckin' hot for tea, don't you?" He asked, falling into step beside his mentor but far enough away that he couldn't be reached with her cane.
"I'm well aware, Clarence!" She snapped.
"Didnae worry 'bout it, Clary. Hoho and Blight hae bein makin' brownies." Artie said, jumping into the conversation. His bright eyes and mischievous smirk shined with the truth in his words. The famous weed brownies were being cooked up by the other two members of their family.
"Ah!" Clary said in understanding. He draped his arm over the young victor's shoulder and shot Jameson a wink. "We're going to initiate you into the family the right way."
Clary shifted his phone to the other ear, looking around the office. "Jameson!" He whined as his husbands words became dirtier. "Stop! I can't come home right now."
Of course, Jameson didn't stop. Each sentence only caused Clary to get hotter, his cheeks flaming red. Abruptly, he hung up on Jameson, stood up and grabbed his things. "Gotta go - kid is sick... I'll be in tomorrow. Bye." He said, to no one in particular but he didn't have it in him to care at that moment.
As soon as he was outside, he dialed Jameson back. "Now, where were you and please tell me you're pants are off because I'll be there in five."
