#and when writers block hit as an adult i had nothing else to fall back on and that block lasted like five years

[arctic-hands]

My best advice to sick and disabled kids, as someone whose been sick to the point of disabilty since I was four, is to pick up a creative hobby. Learn to draw, take up knitting, learn the guitar if you're strong enough to hold one and take up ukulele if you're not. Do something that will stimulate your brain and give you the satisfaction of creation, as well as distraction.

My parents' idea of occupying my time thru appointments and infusions and hospitalizations and sick days was just piling me with books and video games. Which is fine! Great escapism, fun to do, saves you from boredom. But sometimes you don't need to escape, sometimes you need to create, and not knowing how or where to start fills you with a feeling of frustration and helplessness. Reading gave me a fantastic imagination and I created worlds in my head that I had no way of getting out to share or saving for posterity.

My parents had hobbies of their own. Mom's a fiber artist and dad's a musician, and I asked them repeatedly over my childhood to teach me what they were doing but they always waffled on it and never did. Hell I didn't even learn how to cook until I was eighteen. So I was left with books and video games and no sense of satisfaction in my ability to do anything.

I took up art in my mid twenties, mostly by watching YouTube tutorials or checking out how to draw books from the library. They say the best time to start is yesterday, but the second best time is to start is today. I don't create art every day. I have more pain and exhaustion days than I do creative days. But when I can create it feels empowering, and power is something I don't have as a disabled person.

And I'm not saying take up a creative hobby so you have something to sell to fall back financially when you're too sick to work (obvs if you want to you can, but that's not the point of this advice). Paint pictures just to hang up in your bedroom. Crochet clothes for your dog. Write songs with lyrics that only make sense to you. And if no one is willing to teach you these skills, seek out resources and basically teach yourself.

I don't know how to end this post, but I am begging every sick kid (and sick adults too, for that matter) to not just wait for your life to end, distracting yourself solely with passive hobbies like books and games that have been scripted out to have pre-determined endings decided for you. Find an outlet you can do to create, for your own sense of satisfaction if nothing else.

#disabilty #chronic illness #to be fair i did write quite a bit as a kid but i had no formal teaching beyond English classes in school so it went unnurtured #and when writers block hit as an adult i had nothing else to fall back on and that block lasted like five years #but i did take up art in that time #i also briefly played clarinet but i was kicked out of band for missing so much because i was sick and my parents returned the rental #now my lungs are too crap to play woodwinds #but seriously find something to do. anything that involves creation #as far as my parents never teaching me anything i sometimes wonder if they didn't think I'd live long enough to be worth investing in

[atlafan]

Office Neighbors - Part Eleven

a/n: another part where a lot happens, I think you all will be happy the little surprise at the end, enjoy! (reblogs and feedback are super helpful!) not proofread, sorry!

warnings: slight angst?, fluff, and smut

words: 13.8K

masterpost

Another school year down, you couldn’t believe it. Two entire years done, and only more until it’s your turn to walk across the stage. Now that it was getting nicer out, your new favorite to work was the back deck, especially when Harry would come out and bring you a glass of wine. It wasn’t lost on you how much he doted on you. If you got cold, he was right there with a blanket and your fuzzy socks, if you were hungry he was right there with a snack. There was plenty you did for him, or that you did equally, like laundry and cooking and cleaning, but it was hard not to notice the way her almost…babies you.

Now, most of the time, men were the ones that liked to be babied in relationships, and that’s not to say that Harry doesn’t. He loves when he gets to lay his head on your chest and you play with his hair, or when you scrub his head in the shower, or the mornings you get up before him and lay his clothes out for him. You both took care of each other in different ways, which was nice, but he was used to taking care of someone in a parental way.

Harry was extremely different at work, though. He didn’t want to give students or colleagues a reason to tease either of you, so despite his clingy nature, he wouldn’t be too kissy or huggy with you. He was thankful that the school year was over so he could love on you all he wanted.

He had his own work as well, he had his latest manuscript. He would try to work when you were working, but sometimes he got writer’s block, or inspiration would hit at an odd hour. You loved watching him work, and if it was the middle of the night with him working away, you’d crawl into his lap and tell him it was time for bed. To which he happily listened.

It was weird being home while Andy was still in school, but it left you with plenty of time to plan his party. This year his party would be at your house since it was at Paige’s last year. You wanted to make sure there were tons of yard games for all the kids to play, and also things for the adults to do. You and Andy started crafting a playlist together that Harry was not allowed to help with because “no one my age wants to listen to Fleetwood, get over it!” was an argument you were sick of listening to, plus it was nice to have something to do together.

“Okay, we’ve got horseshoes, badminton, water balloons, and corn-hole, that should plenty of things for people to do back here.” You say as you look around the yard. Andy and Harry were just getting the badminton net into place.

“We also have a volleyball in case they wanna play that instead.” Harry says. “And we’ve got all the snacks in the world to keep everyone happy until I get to grilling.”

“So is this less of a family party?” You ask him.

“Little bit, I mean, Lydia, Allie and Ned will be here, but that’s it for Paige’s side. There’s more friends coming this year, that’s for sure.”

“I’m getting the Bluetooth going so there’s music when people start to show up.” Andy says. “I’m really excited, Caroline’s sisters are coming, and they’re really nice.”

“Is her oldest still coming to the university in the fall?” You ask.

“Yup.” He smiles.

Andy and Caroline had remained…close oddly enough. Brandon was still with Molly, and Andy couldn’t quite figure out why. Although, it was giving him more time to sort out all of his feelings. He really didn’t want to be in a relationship just yet. He just wanted to have fun with his friends.  

“I hope they’re not bored here.” Harry runs a hand through his hair.

“The corn-hole should keep them occupied, babe, don’t worry.”

“What are their names again?” Harry asks.

“Emma is the oldest, then Sophie and Charlotte.”

“Right, the twins.”

“I’m gonna go put the sign on the door to let people know they can just come to the back.” You say.

“I’ll tie the balloons to the mailbox!” Andy says and Harry sighs as he watches him go inside.

“What’s wrong?” You ask Harry as you walk up the stairs to the deck.

“Nothing…he’s just…twelve.” He pouts at you and you pout back.

“Please don’t cry.”

“I’m not.” He huffs. “He’s getting too old, I’m over this whole growing up thing.”

“But look at what a nice young man he’s growing into!” You put your hand on his shoulder. “Try to celebrate instead of dwell.”

“What are we, at a funeral?” He smirks.

You roll your eyes at him and go inside. The house was spick and span, thank god. This summer you’d be tackling renovating the kitchen since Andy would be at Paige’s. You were excited to do this with Harry. The new cabinets and granite were all ordered. You both just needed to do all the demo yourselves and then the contractors could come to do the rest.

“Mum and Noah are here!” Andy yells from outside, and you and Harry go out front to greet them.

“I…I promised myself I wouldn’t cry, but look at you, you’re twelve!” Paige blubbers and throws her arms around Andy.

“Mum, please.” He groans as he hugs her back.

“None of your friends are here yet, I get to do this now.” She kisses his cheek and lets him go. “Gram will be here soon with your aunt and uncle.”

“Happy birthday, Andy!” Rachel says brightly as she hops out of the car, giving him a hug.

All it took was for Paige and Harry to make eye contact and they both burst into tears. They side hug each other as they both look at Andy.

“He’s so grown up, and I swear he’s getting taller by the minute.” She says.

“It’s not fair, he was a baby just yesterday.”

“You two need to get a grip.” Andy says.

“Yeah.” Rachel agrees. “I’m getting second-hand embarrassment.”

The two giggle and start walking around back. You and Noah stand there awkwardly as Paige and Harry let each other go.

“Right, well, we, uh, brought some extra snacks, and all the gifts are in the trunk.” Noah says.

“I can help bring all that in.” You say. “What do you all typically do for Rachel’s birthdays?” You ask him as you lead him inside.

“Well, we usually go to Florida to visit with her grandparents. She loves it. Sort of a daddy-daughter thing.”

“Oh, that’s so nice!”

“Yeah, her birthday’s in October, so the weather is usually perfect.”

Friends and other family members start to show up. Andy was such a social butterfly. You could really tell that he was popular amongst his friend group. He was making everyone laugh. All of the yard games were a big hit, and Caroline’s older sisters even seemed to be having a good time. You were up on the deck sipping a drink when Harry came up from behind you to hug you.

“Having a good time, darling?” He says to you.

“Yes, thank you.” You chuckle. “Are you?”

“Mhm, I’m really glad the weather stayed so nice, I was nervous it would rain.” He kisses your cheek. “I’m gonna get the grill fired up.”

“Alright, do you want some help?”

“Maybe if you could just help me organize the food out here on the table? We could set it up buffet style.”

“On it.” You head inside as Harry turns the grill on.

Harry was feeling a lot of things today, his son was officially a preteen, and all sorts of things could start changing for him this summer. He could start to see pimples, or his voice may start getting lower, or pretty much anything else. Then there was you. Harry usually had to recruit another parent to help him with his parties for Andy, but he didn’t have to do that this time because he had you. You were on top of everything, and he was grateful. He was also just proud to show you off to so many people. For years everyone saw him as this single dad, but now they got to see him in a fully functioning relationship with a wonderful person.

“Okay, here’s all the burgers and dogs.”

“Y/N!” You whip your head and see your parents, Phil, and Julian.

“Oh good!” You say and head down the stairs of the deck to go greet them. “Did you get stuck in traffic?” You ask as you hug your family.

“Just a tad.” Phil says. “There was an accident on the other side, and you know how people love to rubber-neck.”

“Well, you’re here now, that’s all that matters. Feel free to go inside and freshen up, Harry’s just getting the grill started, but there are other snacks, and there’s drinks in the coolers.”

As you were talking Noah and Paige were playing a game of corn-hole with Ned and Allie.

“Oh, who’s that?” Noah points over to you.

“That must be her parents and brother, and his partner. How nice for them all to come!”

“Just don’t pounce on them Paige.” Allie tells her.

“What are you talking about? I’ll be friendly…”

“I’m not saying you won’t, just let her bring them over to introduce you, don’t go over to them first.”

You lead your family inside, after they all say hello to Harry. You wanted to give them a tour of the place you now called home. You explain your plans for the kitchen, and they all nod along.

“It’s a lovely home, honey.” Your mom says. “Very spacious, plenty of room to grow.”

“Yeah! The basement couch has a pull out in case we need to turn the guest room into a nursery at some point, and the loft could easily be converted into a bedroom too.”

“Slow down there, you just moved in.” You dad chuckles.

“I’m just saying, we’ve thought ahead.”

You lead everyone back outside, and down the stairs. Andy notices your family and smiles, he had no idea they were coming. He runs over to you.

“Andy, look who’s here.” You say to him.

“Hi!” He gives everyone a hug. “Thanks for coming to my party.”

“We wouldn’t miss it!” Your mom says. “You’re twelve today?”

“Yeah.” He smiles. “Would you like to meet my friends?”

“Sure.” Phil says.

Andy waves over Brandon and Caroline, and they both come jogging over.

“You guys, these are Y/N’s parents, um…”

“Rebecca and Richard.” Your dad says with a smile.

“Right, and this is her big brother Phil and his Julian.”

Phil and Julian smile at each other and say hello.

“These are my two best friends, Brandon and Caroline.”

Brandon felt bile in the back of his throat. Since when did Andy consider Caroline to be his other best friend?

“Hey, Andy, your friend Tyler…” Rachel had come over but she trails off.

“Rachel, these are my parents and my brothers.” You tell her.

“Hello!” She smiles brightly. “I’m Andy’s step-sister.”

“Well aren’t you just a precious little thing!” Your mom says.

“You’re Jewish like me, right?”

“Why yes we are.” Your dad says.

“When we went on our ski trip together, Y/N sat with me and helped with my alefbet.”

“She was pretty good at reading from the Torah as a kid.” Phil says. “I wasn’t so lucky.”

“You just never studied.” You tease him.

“Not all of us can be book worms, Y/N.” He sighs.

“My mum’s over there…” Andy points. “Do you all want to meet her?”

“That would be great.” Your dad says. You look back at Harry who was talking with Mr. Stewart as he grilled, and then you look over towards Paige.

“Yeah, let’s have everyone meet.” You say and lead them over. “Paige? I hate to interrupt the game…”

“Not at all!” She says with a smile. “Hello.” She says towards your family.

“These are my parents, Rebecca and Richard, my brother Phil, and his partner Julian.”

“It’s so nice to meet you all, I’m Andy’s mother, this is my fiancé, Noah, and my sister Allie and her husband Ned.”

Everyone shakes hands. The kids had run off to go play, so it was just the adults right now.

“We absolutely adore Andy.” Your mom tells Paige. “He’s a sweet boy.”

“Oh, thank you.” She smiles. “He raved about those paints you got him, he uses them all the time.” Out of the corner of her eye, Paige spots Lydia and waves her over. “This is my mother, Lydia. Mum, these are Y/N’s parents, and brothers.”

“Nice to meet all of you.” She smiles to the best of her ability and shakes their hands.

“Well, I need to go see what else Harry needs help with, so I’ll leave you grown-ups to chat.”

“We’ll help too.” Phil says. “I am a chef after all.” He tugs Julian along, full well knowing how nasty Lydia can be from what you’ve told them. Your parents could easily handle it. “She looks too nice to be a bitch.” Phil smirks.

“Trust me, she has her moments, although, she doesn’t make many comments too me anymore.” You smirk back.

All of the kids enjoy the freshly grilled food that they were ravenous for. After lunch was the balloon toss. Harry pairs up with Andy, just like last year, and you decide to participate with Phil.

“I swear, if you whip this thing at me…” He says as you’re still relatively close.

“Don’t be such a baby. It’s a trust exercise if anything.”

“Mhm, exactly.”

“I prank you with one whoopee cushion and-“

“You did that in front of my prom date!”

“Well, good thing you’re gay or else I’d be more concerned that I embarrassed you in front of her.”

Phil bursts out laughing as you continue to toss the balloon. He ends up dropping it at one point, which disqualifies you. Caroline and Rachel are out next, and then Tyler and Alexis. Brandon has paired up with his dad, and it was down to the four of them again. Mr. Stewart drops the balloon at the last second, which causes for Andy and Harry to be champs once again.

Once everyone settles a bit, it’s time for cake and gifts. Andy’s friends got him some good gift certificates and other little things.

“A new skateboard!” Andy beams. “Thanks, Noah.”

“You’re welcome, buddy.” Noah smiles proudly. Things were going really well recently between him and Andy. “That’s from my parents, they send their love.” Andy nods at him.  

Next up you had passed him the gift your family brought him. You had no idea what it could be.

“Holy shhhh-cow.” Andy corrects himself as he tears the wrapping paper open. “A home pottery kit?!”

“Y/N mentioned to us how much you enjoy the clay in your art classes, and we found this for kids.” Your mom explains. “Do you like it?”

“I love it! Thank you so much.”

Lydia had gotten him some new ski equipment which he was grateful for. You give your family a thumbs up. The last gift was one from you, Harry, Paige, and Noah as it cost a pretty penny. It was just in an envelope. He opens it carefully, and his eyes widen, nearly welling up with tears.

“No way.” He looks at the four of you.

“What is it, Andy?” Brandon asks.

“Three tickets to the Ariana Grande concert and…a pass for a meet and greet.”

“Whoa!” Caroline exclaims. “That’s incredible!”

Andy stands up and gives everyone a hug, thanking you all profusely.

“Think this’ll hold you over until you get a phone next year?” Paige asks him.

“Definitely.”

He knew the three tickets implied that he could bring a friend with him, and the obvious choice was Caroline. Brandon didn’t mind Ari, but it was something that Andy and Caroline really bonded over. He could talk to her about it later.

The party was a huge success, and Andy was feeling super happy. It was nice for him to see so many people interacting.

“Well, we better get going since it’s getting late.” Paige says to him, giving him a big hug and kiss. “I’m so glad you had a good birthday, baby.”

“Me too, thanks again for everything, Mum.”

He says goodbye to Noah, Rachel, Allie, Ned, and Lydia as well. Then he takes his time saying goodbye to your family. Needless to say he was pooped by the time everyone left.

“When can I use the pottery kit?” He asks Harry as he cleans some things in the kitchen.

“I can set it up in the garage one of these weekends and you can go to town.”

“Alright!” Andy exclaims. “I’m gonna go to bed early I think, I’m tired, but thanks for everything today.”

“You’re welcome, but don’t just thank me.” He nods towards you and Andy gives you a hug.

“Thanks, Y/N.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

He lets you go and heads to his room. Once his door is closed Harry yanks you towards him and you giggle.

“Laugh all you want, but I’m going to ravage you tonight.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm.” He ghosts his lips along your jawline before kissing on your neck, sucking a little making you moan softly. “You were incredible today. Well, you’re incredible every day, but…everything just meant a lot to me.”

“I really feel like we’re a family, you know? I love it so much, more than I ever thought I would.”

Harry kisses you, a little more passionately than you were expecting, but it was still nice.

“Go on into the bedroom, I’ll be in after I finish with the dishes.”

“Nonsense, I can help.”

“Don’t be silly, I’ve got it.”

“Harry, I can help with the dishes.”

“I know you can, and you usually do, but you don’t have to worry about it right now. I want you to go in and wait for me.”

“Okay…” You turn away and stop short to look back at him. “I think I’m gonna run a bath…long day outside.”

“Put in that lavender bath bomb for me, would you?”

You smile and nod and head into your room’s en suite. Tonight was going to be a good night.

//

Harry slips into the tub, and you sit in front of him. He had checked on Andy before coming in, and the poor kid had all but passed out in his bed. You rest your head on Harry’s shoulder as you both relax.

“This was an excellent idea.” He sighs. “Feel like we don’t take advantage of the tub enough.”

“We don’t usually have time.”

“Well, with school over we will, especially during the day with Andy at school.”

“I’m gonna miss him when we send him off to Paige’s…”

“It’s a month away, babe. Plus, we’ll still see him plenty.”

“I know…”

“You’ll come camping again, yeah? He and Brandon are really looking forward to the annual trip.”

“Oh, definitely! And this time when we wake up all snuggled up it won’t be weird.”

“Can’t believe that was almost a year ago.” He kisses your temple. “Now we’re living together, it’s wild.”

“I’m really glad the school doesn’t care about colleagues dating, or we’d be in a real pickle.”

“Oh, I would have just secretly dated you.”

“Oh, really?” You turn slightly to look at him.

“Yeah, you’re talking to an unapologetic romantic here, a secret romance would be, like, right up my alley.”

“You’re an idiot.” You giggle and kiss his cheek. “Can you believe I only have one more year of doctoral work to do and then I’m done? I can’t wait for my work to be published.”

“I was thinking…the journal that publishes my works is always looking for younger people in the field, if you ever wanted to chat with them.”

“No, that’s your thing, babe, but thank you. Lisa has a few names of some people for me anyways.” You take his hand and kiss his soapy knuckles. “But, I will need your help soon. I need to start working on my defense presentation.”

“Who’s on your committee?”

“Lisa, Sandra, Dan and Alice from English, Patricia from Psychology, and Greg from Philosophy.”

“Good group.”

“Thanks, I thought it was pretty decent. And then obviously whoever else wants to come can. I just want the presentation to feel fun and eye-opening. You’re so good at captivating your audience, I wanna work on that.”

“You know I have horrible stage fright?”

“No way.”

“Way! I get all these nerves right before I need to give a lecture like that, but I accept the fear and use it to help me give a good performance.”

“Do you ever get nervous before teaching a class?”

“I’m always nervous on the first day, but once we get rolling and I can gauge how the kids will be I’m usually fine.”

“Same for me.”

“Well, I’m more than happy to help you, baby, you know that.”

“Thank you.”

His arms were wrapped around you stomach gently. One of his hands starts to drift lower, and between your legs, causing your breath to hitch.

“Alright?” He says into your ear.

“Mhm.” You say as you part your legs a little for him. His other hand come up to grope one of your breasts.

His fingers rub circles into your clit before slipping into your center. You groan and buck your hips forward by accident. His other hand comes up to your mouth.

“Gotta be quiet, baby.” He coos as his fingers pump in and out of you. You nod against him and removes his hand. “That’s my good girl.”

“Harry.” You whine softly. “Wanna ride you.”

“Okay.” You move to turn around but he stops you. “Should be able to just slip it in like this, yeah?”

“Let’s give it a try.”

You lift yourself up enough for him to line himself up with you and you sink down on him. He thrusts up into you and you gasp. He brings his fingers to your mouth for you to suck on and you reach back to do the same thing for him as you continue to fuck each other. His other hand stays rubbing your clit, and you feel yourself getting closer and closer. You start squeezing around him, tighter and tighter. You moan out around his fingers once you’ve gotten your release. Harry as to quickly lift you off him to come on your back.

“Jesus, shit.” He pants. “That was a close one.” He kisses your shoulder before pressing his forehead against it. He reaches for a washcloth to dip into the water to clean your back up. You hum your response as your eyes flutter closed.

“M’sleepy now.”

“Me too, love, come on.”

He helps you stand up and you both towel off and get ready for bed. Harry gives you kisses and smooches before you turn over so he can spoon you.

“Love you so much.” He sighs as his arm wraps around you.

“I love you too.” You adjust against him and sigh as well.

//

“Straight A’s again!” Andy says as he slaps his report card down on the table when he gets home from his last day of school. “Also not to brag, but Caroline and I won the three-legged race during field day, so I think ice cream is in order.”

“You didn’t partner up with Brandon?” Harry asks.

“Caroline got to me first.” Andy shrugs. “Please, Dad, can we get ice cream?

“Yeah, please, Dad.” You pout with Andy, and Harry sighs with a chuckle.

“Alright, we can get ice cream after dinner tonight.”

Y/N and Andy high five to celebrate.

“Andy, things are okay with you and Brandon, right?” Harry asks him.

“Yeah, they’re fine.”

“Did he ever, um, try to teach you anything again?” You ask, carefully.

“No.” Andy shakes his head. “We never really talked about it. He’s excited for the camping trip though.”

“Well, that’s good.” Harry says. “It’ll be a nice couple of days.”

After dinner you all go downtown to get ice cream at the local shop, and sit outside to enjoy your treats. You smirk to yourself as Andy bites into your sundae.

“You know, I’m pretty sure I joined you for this last year, but I recall you not being able to get topping because you texted me with your dad’s phone.”

“Oh, yeah!” Andy chuckles. “That was pretty good.”

“You’re a little too sly for your own good.” Harry says. “I could have gotten her to come with us on my own.”

“Yeah, but you were taking too long. Sometimes you have to take some initiative, Dad.” Andy smirks as Harry rolls his eyes.

“Eat your ice cream.”

You laugh at that, and gives Harry’s hand a squeeze.

“Either way it was nice to be included. Do you have big summer plans with Mum, Andy?”

“Yes and no. I mean, her wedding is next month, so that’ll take up some time, and then Rachel and I will come stay with you when they’re on their honeymoon. But I think in between all that Noah’s got some boat trips planned. I like fishing with him.”

“That’s right…they’ll be with us for my birthday…” You look at Harry. “I don’t know what my family has planned…”

“I was hoping to take everyone up to the cabin that week so it still felt like a little vacation.”

“Oh, that would be fun!”

“Your family could come up if they wanted.”

“I don’t wanna create more work.”

“You wouldn’t be, I think it would be fun.”

“Yeah! We can go on the jet skis.”

“You mean you can go on the jet skis. I’ll watch from the shore.” You laugh.

“It’s actually pretty fun.” Harry grins.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

//

Brandon slept over the night before the camping trip so you all could leave bright and early. Harry was taking you up a different 4,000 footer. You must have asked him a dozen times if there would be a bathroom there, and every time Harry said yes, so you believed him.

The boys were really excited. You could hear them up late talking about the view they’d have since Andy had hiked it before. Brandon seemed thrilled to be having some one on one time with Andy. As you started up the trail, you could tell they were having a good time by the sounds of their laughter.

“Doing alright so far?” Harry asks you. “Other than the couple of small hikes we went on last month, this is, like, your first big one of the season.”

“Oh, sure, I’m fine. I’ll probably be sore tomorrow. I’m just happy to be outside, you know?”

“Definitely. I hate seeing you all cooped up.”

“Can’t help it.”

“I like seeing you do your work out on the deck.”

“I love having an outdoor space to do it in, you have no idea.”

It was a very long hike, full of breaks, and look out points. You all weren’t in a rush, which always made things more fun. Once you’re at the summit you all drop your gear with relief. Tons of pictures are taken, and then you head off to find the bathroom while the boys set up the tents. It felt like an anniversary in a way. This when you sort of realized you might like Harry as more than a friend. You’ll never forget waking up with him like you did.

“You guys are speedy.” You say after coming back.

“I’d say we’re professionals at this point.” Andy says and it makes you laugh.

As the sun starts to set, you all get cozy around the fire. Harry had made a nice dinner, and now you were enjoying some s’mores. The boys say goodnight first, and then you and Harry clean up before heading into your own tent.

“Look at us, sleeping in a double wide sleeping bag.” You giggle as you cozy up to him.

“Should have just done this last year too. I think that really would have put out there how I was feeling.” He chuckles and kisses your hairline.

“At least it won’t be awkward when you wake up spooning me.”

“I never thought it was awkward.” He strokes your cheek with his thumb. “Especially not with how you looked up at me.”

“I wanted you to kiss me that morning.”

“I did too.” He pecks your lips.

“I love kissing you.”

“Love kissing you too, baby.”

While you and Harry were whispering sweet nothings to each other, Andy and Brandon were have their own conversation in their tent.

“So, your mom’s wedding is next month, are you excited?” Brandon asks Andy as they get settled into their sleeping bags.

“Yeah, I get to walk her down the aisle, so that’ll be cool.”

“Is your dad going?”

“Officially, yeah.” Andy sighs. “I think Y/N told him it would be good to go for the whole thing, and he agreed. Although, I think he said he plans on sitting all the way in the back.” Andy laughs. “I know it’s gotta be awkward for him.” Andy rolls over onto his side to look at Brandon easier, and Brandon does the same. “When do you, um, go to camp?”

“Last week of July through the first week of August…well, that’s when I usually go, I don’t know if I wanna go this year. I have another week to decide.”

“Why don’t you wanna go?”

“Because of Molly.” Brandon groans. “We broke up again.”

“You did?!”

“Yeah.”

“When?”

“Like…two days ago…”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I figured I’d tell you this weekend, it’s not a big deal, but I don’t really feel like dealing with her for two weeks. I’m keep my fingers crossed that we won’t have the same schedule next year.”

“So, you don’t think you’re immediately going to get back together with her when school starts?” Andy laughs.

“Nope.” Brandon smiles. “I’m over her.”

“Cool…” Andy blushes. “Well, if you don’t end up going to camp, um, my mum said I could invite a few friends to her wedding.”

“Oh, yeah?” Brandon raises an eyebrow at him. “Who else are you going to invite?”

“Probably Caroline and Tyler.”

“Andy…if you still like her so much, why did you break up?”

“I like being friends with her, I don’t know. I don’t think I was ready for all that…dating someone…maybe when I’m older.”

“There were a few rumors going around that you liked someone more than her.” Andy’s eyes widen at Brandon. “Is that true?”

“Yeah.” Andy swallows. “Yeah, there’s someone I like more than her, but I’m still not really ready to date so I’ve been keeping it to myself.”

“Who, um, who is it?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why?” Brandon frowns. “You’re my best friend, Andy…I’d tell you if I liked someone.”

“Would you?” Andy sits up and looks the other way. Brandon sits up as well.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I?”

“Can I ask you something first?”

“Okay.”

“If…if Tyler had been nervous about kissing Alexis…would you have offered to show him how like you did with me?”

Brandon’s face flushes. He was thankful that it was dark in the tent.

“Well, he’s not even with her, so it doesn’t matter does it?”

“Yes it does. Would you have done that with anyone?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re my best friend.” Brandon takes a deep breath. “You have been for as long as I can remember, Andy. I mean…the day you told me that you weren’t going back to your mom’s for the school year was, like, more exciting than any present I’ve ever gotten. Getting to start middle school with you was like a dream come true. Ty’s great and all, but he’s not my best friend.”

“So…that’s all it was then? Because I’m your best friend and you just wanted to help?”

“Yeah.”

Andy nods and lays back down. Brandon does the same. They both lay on their backs.

“You’re gonna tell me who else you like, are you?”

“No.” Andy looks at Brandon slightly. “Not yet anyways.”

“If I don’t go to camp I’ll come to the wedding.” He looks at Andy. “Just don’t dance with Caroline the entire time.” He smirks.

“I won’t.”

Andy rolls over to his other side, facing away from Brandon. He blinks a couple of tears away. How could he tell Brandon he liked him when Brandon was telling him he was just a friend? He didn’t want to do anything to ruin their friendship. He also knew he just wasn’t ready for kissing or things like that, so he wasn’t going to say anything until he knew he was really ready.

//

The next morning you wake up in Harry’s arms, like always, and give his cheek a kiss before sitting up to stretch.

“Sleep alright, baby?” He yawns.

“Mhm, did you?”

“Yup.” He smiles and you smile back at him. This weekend felt like an anniversary to him too. Your actual one was coming up soon.

You both get up and use the bathroom, and see that the boys are already up and ready to go. They seemed to be tired.

“You both sleep alright?” You ask as you start your journey back down the mountain.

“Mhm.” Brandon yawns. “Just tired, it’s early.”

“I’m so glad school’s over so we can just sleep in.” Andy says.

“I know the feeling.” You say. “Although, your dad makes it impossible sometimes.”

“Well excuse me for trying to stick to a routine.” Harry scoffs. “I do my best to stay quiet.”

“Mm, sure, Jan.” You say and it makes him laugh.

“Is that something Auntie Janette would say?” Andy asks.

“No, it’s from The Brady Bunch.” Harry says. “You know that old show, we’ve watched it a couple of times. Jan can’t stand her older sister Marsha, and Marsha always catches Jan in a lie. It’s pretty funny.”

“It’s, like, a catchphrase, right, Mr. Styles?” Brandon asks.

“Exactly.”

It’s a smooth trek down the mountain. You all take your time just as you did going up, and eventually you get back to the car. Harry drops Brandon off at his house, and Andy walks him up to his door.

“Well, thanks for another great trip.” Brandon say.

“Sure, I’m glad you came.”

“When do you go to your mom’s?”

“In a few days…”

“Okay, maybe we can hang out before you go?”

“Definitely.” The boys hug and then Brandon goes inside. Andy sighs heavily when he gets in the car. You and Harry look at each other before he drives off towards the house.

“Andy, when you come back later this summer the kitchen’s gonna have an all new look, are you excited?” You say, trying to break the tension.

“Yeah! You better send me pictures along the way.”

“We will.” Harry says. “We’ll need your expert input I’m sure.”

//

Doing demo in the kitchen was a liberating experience. Knocking out the old cabinets with Harry was more fun than you thought it would be. Then again, how could it not be a good time watch him use a sledgehammer?

“I say we’ve earned ourselves a couple of drinks.” He says as he gets a couple of beers out of the fridge. “I know beer’s not your favorite, but-“

“It’s fine.” You take it. “Let’s go sit outside, it’s all dusty in here.”

He agrees, and you both head out to the deck.

“I’m glad we rented that dumpster, clean up shouldn’t be too difficult.” Harry says as he cracks his beer open. “Especially with how much we already did.”

“I know! We got so much done today. I can’t wait to see what the new stain on the floor will look like.”

“I was talking to the floor guy about that, he said since he’s refinishing it as well we won’t be able to walk on it properly for a few days. I was thinking we could go up to the cabin while it’s getting done. We both can still work without a ton of fumes.”

“Good idea. I certainly wouldn’t mind the view of the lake for a few days.”

“Cabinets should be installed by the wedding.” He says as he takes a sip.

“You’re sure you’re okay to go? I don’t want to force you…”

“No, I know I need to be there. I wanna see Andy walk her down the aisle and all that. Besides, my suit is gorgeous, I can’t let it go to waste.” He scoffs and it makes you laugh.

“Just making sure.” You reach for his hand and give it a squeeze. “Ugh, I need a long, hot shower. I feel gross.”

“Same here. Feel like sharing?”

“No, I’m on my period.” You pout. “Just need a little alone time.”

“Fine.” He sighs. “Go do your thing.”

“Thanks, babe.” You get up and kiss the top of his head before going inside.

Harry knew you were going to take a shower by yourself, but he wanted to play it cool. He had ordered pizza and made sure to get your favorite wine, but had to hide it from you. He cleans himself off quickly in the other bathroom, and gets everything set up outside. He lights a few candles. Satisfied with his work, he waits for you.

“I’m all done, thanks for…” You walk outside in an oversized shirt and pajama pants. “What is all this?”

“Our anniversary dinner.” He smiles and wraps his arms around you. “It was a year ago today that you came here with this exact meal and we kissed for the for the first time.”

“Oh my goodness, Harry.” You kiss him and wrap your arms around his neck. “This is so sweet, I…I thought we were celebrating in a couple of days though, I-“

“That’s what I told you so I could surprise you. Normally I’d cook, but the kitchen isn’t functioning at the moment.”

“I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

You both kiss again, and you decide to sit on his lap as you ate and drank. You just really wanted to be as close as possible right now. He didn’t mind one bit, he liked when you’d cling to him a little more.

“The candles were a nice touch, very romantic, Har.” You sit back against his chest and he wraps his arms around your stomach.

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I love it! I’m not super into overdone surprises, so this is literally perfect.”

“You really do like keeping things simple, huh?”

“Mhm, I mean, the gesture is always appreciated, I just don’t like people making such a big fuss over me, you know?” Harry hums his response and moves some of your hair so he can kiss on the back of your neck.

“But you’re worth making a fuss over.” He mumbles as his lips move up your neck. “How heavy is your flow, baby?”

“Should be minimal since I just showered.” You bite your bottom lip. “Do you really feel like it?”

“Yeah, we can just put a towel down like we’ve done before.”

“Okay.” You smile as he nibbles on your earlobe.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You giggle and get off him. You bring the pizza and leftover wine inside before going into the bedroom.

Harry puts a couple of towels down while you go into the bathroom. You come out and quickly walk over to the bed to lay down. Harry rolls a condom on, and puts some extra lube on it so he doesn’t hurt you.

“All set?” He says to you as he knees onto the bed.

“Mhm.” You smile.

His lips slot over yours and his hands knead your breasts. He pushes inside you and you gasp into his mouth.

“Lube was a little cold.” You giggle.

“Sorry, baby, is it better now?” He asks as he rocks in and out of you.

“Yes.”

He squishes his nose to yours, and you wrap your legs around his waist. He comes closer so you’re chest to chest. You lick into his mouth and he groans against you. You feel tears start to form in your eyes and you start laughing.

“You haven’t even come yet, why are you crying?” He laughs as he uses his thumbs to wipe the small droplets away.

“I’m just really happy we’re together.”

“Me too, darling.” He kisses your forehead.

“I’m also hormonal.”

“Mhm, sure, blame it on that if you want.” He smirks and continues thrusting in and out of you.

“Fuck, that feels good.” Your nails rake down his back and he groans into your ear. Your nails dig into his ass as he fucks you harder. “Just like that, Harry, don’t stop.” You moan.

He bites down on your neck, and you whimper. It always felt so fucking good when he would do that, and with you not having to work and Andy being at Paige’s, Harry was free to litter you with marks. Well, within reason. He’d save the really nasty bruises for your inner thighs.

You cry out as you come undone, and Harry fills up the condom not too long after. You both get cleaned up and you grab the bottle of wine as you get settled for a movie in bed. You each take turns swigging from it. You were sitting in front of Harry, all cozy.

“I’ll need to work on my paper tomorrow.” You tell him. “Taking a couple of days off for demo was good to clear my head, but I need to get back at it.”

“That’s fine, I have some work I need to do for my manuscript. Are you planning to go to the CMT conference again this summer?”

“Can’t.” You take another swig from the bottle and look up at him. “It’s in California this year, and it’s right before the fall semester.”

“So?”

“So…that’s time I would need to prep for my classes. I’d be gone for about a week with the traveling.”

“Do you want to go?”

“Well…yeah, there’s going to be some really good speakers this year.”

“Then you should go.” He smiles. “I’d go too, but I need to be around for Andy once August hits.”

“You’d really be okay with me being gone an entire week across the country?”

“Baby, no one loves a lecture more than you, I don’t want you to not go because of me.” He kisses your hairline.

“I’d literally be getting back the day of our first faculty meeting. I looked into it already. I’d have to go from the airport to the school.”

“You’re always hours early for the faculty meeting…”

“Yeah, because I like getting my office in order.” You scoff. “Is there a reason you want me to go?”

“No.” He shrugs. “I just think it’s rare when we don’t have to cancel class to go to a conference, and the school will pay for you to go.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, you can apply for a scholarship, I can show you. Then it would just be the air fare which isn’t that expensive out there this time of year.”

“I suppose that’s true…if I can get the school to pay for it then I’ll definitely go.”

“Good.” He smiles.

//

A few days away at the cabin were just what the doctor ordered. It felt weird not having Andy around, but you honestly weren’t upset at having a break from parenting. You texted with him here and there, just to check in and let him know you were thinking of him, as did Harry. You really cherished the time you and Harry could just be you and Harry. He got you to go on a jet ski with him, and even though you screamed the entire time, it was still fun. It was the perfect getaway home, and when you got back to your actual home your new kitchen floors looked stunning. The cabinet people came in a couple of days later, and you made sure to send Andy all of the pictures. July was flying by.

“Okay, so, for your birthday, we’ll go to the cabin and bring the kids, and your parents and brothers will meet us up there for a couple of nights as well?” Harry says as he looks over his planner.

“Yes.” You chuckle.

“What?”

“You just look so serious. I feel like I’m having an appointment with you at your office.” You clear your throat. “You wanted to see me, Dr. Styles.” You pout at him and he swallows hard.

“That’s not funny.” He puts his pen down and takes his glasses off to look at you. “I could get in a big heap of trouble if a student came onto me like that.”

“Did it ever used to work on you when you were younger?”

“No.” He scoffs. “Although the girls, and some boys, would try, I have to give them credit. I’d get offers from them to babysit Andy just because they wanted to know how I lived and all that. It was more difficult when I was closer in age, now I don’t even give it a second glance. They know not to flirt with me anyways because my girlfriend would probably step in and pummel ‘em.” He grins at you.

“Got that right.” You smirk. “Although, you’re the jealous one, not me.”

“I would strangle any kid at that school if I saw them trying to make a move on you, no doubt about that.” You burst out laughing and put your hand over his to give it a squeeze.

“Okay, okay…are you ready for tomorrow?”

“Am I ready to see my son all dressed up? Yes. I hope he’s been behaving at the rehearsal dinner.” Harry looks at his watch. “Should be over soon.” He chews on his inner cheek. “Y/N…someday…when we, you know, get married…” A smile grows on your face. “I don’t think I’d want to invite them.”

“Wow, really? I’m…shocked…”

“At a petty level, I truthfully just don’t think she deserves to see me so happy, and I feel like she’s rubbing how happy she is in my face. She’s always been like, just, painfully oblivious.” He rests his chin on her palm. “I know it would hurt her, but I wouldn’t want her there.”

“Okay.” You get up and sit in his lap.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, I don’t need your ex at our wedding.” You laugh. “Maybe it’s different for her since she’s the one that called it quits. I know you’re over her, but I can understand how all this might still hurt.”

“It brings up a lot of things, yeah.” He looks up at you and smiles. “But I’m really happy with how everything worked out. I’m happy I’m with you.” He gives your shoulder a squeeze. “You-you’ve become like a second mum to Andy and…I feel like for so long I was just living my life on auto, just doing the same thing every day, but now…I have more of a purpose again.”

“Harry.” You coo and stroke his cheek. “You’ve changed my life for the better too.”

//

You were able to get your hair in a cute low bun, with some curls left out. You bought a light blue semi-formal dress to wear to pair with Harry’s suit. He was just getting his contacts in as you were slipping on your heels.

“Be honest, how do I look?” He says to you.

“Like I don’t wanna let you leave this house.” You bite your bottom lip.

“Excellent, just what I was going for.” He rubs his hands up and down your arms. “You look stunning, baby.”

“Thank you.”

“Ready to go meet her entire family and Noah’s?”

“Is everyone really going to fit in her backyard?”

“The ceremony is in the back yard, the reception is in a tent on the beach.”

“Oh…fancy.”

“Nothing but the best for her.” Harry rolls his eyes. “Got the gift?”

“In the car already.”

Harry nods and you both head out.

Andy looked handsome. His hair was perfect, and he essentially never looked more like his father. It was the tan he had from being out so much. He wouldn’t be able to see his friends before the ceremony since he needed to stay in close proximity with Paige. They were able to take all of the bridal party photos beforehand. Same with the groom’s party.

There were a ton of chairs set up, and people were finding their seats. You and Harry sit in the last row of seats on the bride’s side. He puts a pair of sunglasses on. The last thing he wanted to do was be recognized and exchange pleasantries with Paige’s extended family.

“I have some tissue in my purse if you need some.” You say to him. “I don’t know about you, but I always cry at weddings.”

“So do I, thanks.” He holds his hand out for the tissues and you give him a couple. He puts his arm around you and kisses your temple.

“Think there will be an open bar?”

“Oh, for sure.” He scoffs. “We’ll be drinking well tonight.”

“Hi, Mr. Styles.” Brandon and Tyler come up to you and Harry. “Can we sit with you? We don’t really know anyone else.”

“Sure!” Harry says.

“Yeah, plenty of room.” You say. “Where’s Caroline?”

“Why should I know?” Brandon says as he sits down next to you.

“Because you’re all friends, duh.” You say to him.

“She’s in the bathroom.” Tyler says. “She’ll be here in a second.”

Caroline eventually joins everyone, but she’s a little fidgety.

“What took you so long?” Brandon asks her.

“There was, um, a line.” She says.

More and more take their seats, and music starts up. Everyone looks forward as Rachel walks up with Noah and the rest of the groomsmen. She looked lovely. Noah gives her a hug and kiss before she gets in line with the rest of the party. A couple of Paige’s younger cousins act as the flower girls. Allie and Ned walk Lydia down the aisle, and then come the bridesmaids. Harry knew them all well. Friends from college, and friends from work. Some of their eyes widen when they notice Harry, but they keep walking. Everyone stands up when Paige’s bridal music starts. You get your phone ready to snap a few shots of Andy.

“Oh my god, look at him.” Harry whispers proudly. He lifts his sunglasses to see him better. Andy waves to his father.

Paige and Harry briefly make eye contact. They nod at each other as Andy continues to walk her down the aisle.

“He’s a spitting image.” You whisper to Harry, and he smiles at you.

The ceremony is quick, there’s some Hebrew from a rabbi, and Noah steps on the glass. Everyone’s told where to go for cocktail hour, and they start making their way.

“Dad!” Andy shouts to get his attention. “Mum wants a family picture.”

“What?!”

“Yeah, like, with all of us, come on.” He tugs on Harry’s jacket sleeve, and Harry looks back at you panicked. You follow them to the spot where the photos are being taken.

“Hey you two!” Paige beams. “Of course your suit is amazing, shouldn’t have doubted it for a second.” She says to Harry. “And you look lovely, Y/N.”

“Um, thank you. Congratulations.” You say to her.

“Thank you.” She giggles. “I’m a missus!  Can’t believe it. Anyways, I thought it would be nice if we took a blended family photo.” Harry just nods and follows her. “Okay, so I was thinking I could stand in the middle, Rachel on one side, and Andy on the other, like, in front, and then Noah on one side and you on the other, and Y/N next to you.”

“Wait, you want me in the photo?” You ask.

“Of course! You’re family now, have been for a while.”

Harry snakes his arm around your waist and pulls you close to him, and uses his other hand to put on Andy’s shoulder. They take a few photos like that as everyone else stands to the side watching.

“Okay, well, we’re going to the cocktail hour, thanks for including us in your very special day.” Harry says with just an ounce of sarcasm and an ironic grin, and tugs you along.

“Alright, I can see what you mean now, painfully oblivious.”

“Jesus, thank you! Was that awkward or was that awkward?”

“Nope, very awkward. Come on, let’s go drink.”

The tent on the beach was exquisite. There was an open bar, a DJ, and waiters walking around with appetizers. You and harry go right up to the bar for cocktails before finding what table you’ve been put at.

“Harry!” A woman squeals and lunges onto him, making him almost spill his drink. “God, it’s been years!”

“Sarah!” Harry hugs her back. “I know, how are you?”

“I’m doing well.” She steps back from him. “You haven’t aged a day.”

“My hair would beg to differ.” He runs a hand through it.

“Oh, please, you look distinguished.” She smiles and looks at you. “And who’s this?”

“Oh! Sorry, um, Sarah this is my girlfriend, Y/N. Y/N, Sarah and I went to uni together with Paige.”

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you.” You shake her hand.  

“Same to you. My hubby, Joe, is just getting us some drinks. Seems like we’ve been put at the same table. I wonder if we all were.”

“All?” Harry asks.

“Sure! Jane and her wife are her, and so is Greg, he came stag…” She leans into Harry. “Divorced recently.” She whispers. “Oh! And Lauren’s here too. Basically the reject list for the wedding party.” She laughs.

Harry didn’t think Paige was still this close with all of their old college buddies. It would be like a mini-reunion, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He almost wished he was put at the kids table with Andy and his friends.

“I’m shocked to see you here, I mean I’m happy to see you and all, but-“

“Well, as you saw, our son walked her down the aisle and she really didn’t want me to miss it, so here I am.”

Slowly everyone else makes their way over to the table. Harry introduces you to everyone. The last one to make their way is Lauren.

“Harry Styles.” She smiles and he turns to look at her.

“Hey.” He smiles back and hugs her. “Um, this is my girlfriend, Y/N.” He hooks his arm around your waist and pulls you close to his side as you shake your hand.

“You’re a very lucky woman, Y/N. Harry’s the best.” She says.

“Yeah, he is.” You say.

You all take your seats as the wedding party makes their way into the tent. Harry keeps his hand on your thigh the entire time. Harry could see on Paige’s face that she was desperately trying to keep it together. She missed her father. Everyone stands up and crowds around the dancefloor as Noah takes Rachel’s hand for a father-daughter dance.

“She is too cute.” You say to Harry.

“I know it, absolutely precious.” He agrees and takes a sip of his drink.

Next up is a mother-son dance for Andy and Paige. You watch as the smile grows on Harry’s face. He was proud of Andy for being such a good sport, and he could see that Andy was having fun. You take your phone out to take a video of the dance so Andy could see it later. Noah has a dance with his mother, and then Paige has a dance with Lydia.

“I’m shocked.” Harry says to you. “Lydia’s so traditional.”

“I’m glad to see her doing something nice for Paige.”

Once all of that is out of the way, everyone takes their seats again for the first course. Just a Caesar salad and some bread. You listen as Harry and his friends reminisce. You wonder, briefly, what his deal with Lauren is. She seemed to be the most sentimental. She was sitting next to you and you could feel her eyes burning into you.

“So, how long have you and Harry been together for?” She asks you.

“A year.” You smile. “But we were friends a year prior to us getting together.”

“Oh, do you work with him at the university?”

“Yes, we met because I ended up being his office neighbor. I guess that’s why we became such good friends too.”

“You know what solidified us being friends?” He leans over you, joining the conversation. “That first game night you came to. We were playing charades remember?”

“How could I forget?” You smile and kiss his cheek. He goes back to the other conversation he was having with his friend Greg. “How did you and Harry meet?” You ask Lauren.

“At a party.” She shrugs. “I was a year ahead of him, same with Paige. I think Greggy brought him out, they were roommates their sophomore year. He fit right in with our group. He immediately had a crush on Paige, everyone could see it.” She laughs and your mouth forms into a straight line. “Don’t worry, all of that was a long time ago.”

“Yeah.” You finish your drink and tap Harry’s shoulder. “I’m going to get another one.”

“Do you want me to get it?”

“No, I need to stretch my legs.” You stand up and walk towards the bar. Harry looks at Lauren.

“What?” She asks him.

“Did you say something to her?”

“About what?” He gives her an obvious look. “No, why would I mention that?”

“Because you’re you.” He smirks.

“All I said was that it was obvious that you had a crush on Paige from the first time Greg brought you out, nothing about you and I.”

“Maybe don’t mention how much I used to like my ex?”

“She asked me how you and I met, it was just part of the story. Lighten up, H.”

“Here, I got you another one too.” You say as you sit back down.

“Thanks, babe.”

The main course is served, and toasts start being made. Allie gives a small toast, but tears up. Noah’s best man lightens the mood with some funny jokes. Andy and Rachel even give a toast, a poem they worked on together. Harry had to dab his eyes with your tissues to wipe a few tears away.

“I’m just so proud of him. He looks so grown up.” He pouts at you.

“I know.” You smile. “It’s okay.”

Noah and Paige thank everyone for coming, and then most people make their way to the dancefloor. Andy comes racing overo to your table and throws his arms around Harry.

“How was it?” He asks.

“You did amazing, buddy.”

“Y/N, will you come dance?”

“Sure, let me just kick these heels off.” You giggle and get up. Andy takes your hand and leads you to the dancefloor.

Harry watches as you twirl Andy around and just be silly with him. It warmed his heart.

“I’m gonna go join them.” He takes his suit jacket off. “Hope you all will dance too.”

“Need about three more drinks.” Sarah says. “But feel free to warm it up for us out there.”

Harry laughs and heads over to you. His dance moves make Andy laugh hysterically. The wedding photographer comes over and takes a picture of the three of you. After a few songs, Andy says he’s gonna go dance with his friends, and enjoy some cake.

“Are you having a good time?” Harry asks as you both make your way to the bar again.

“Mhm, are you?”

“It’s not too bad. I’m really glad you’re here.” He gives your hand a squeeze. “This’ll probably be my last one, I don’t wanna get so fucked up that I can’t drive us home.”

“I can cool it if you wanna keep drinking.”

“No, it’s okay. I also don’t want Andy seeing me sloshed, you know?”

“Oh, true. Let’s nurse these ones then, yeah?”

“Harry!” Paige comes over to you both. “Would you come take another picture with all our college friends?”

“Um, sure.” Harry hands you his drink and you follow to where the photo is being taken. He stands as far away from Paige as he can, and flashes that toothy smile of his.

“Not that I don’t love Noah, but seeing Harry tonight…makes me sad that Paige couldn’t work it out with him.” You overhear a woman say to another. You try not to make it obvious that you’re listening.

“I know! How could you not make it work with a man like that? Must be his personality, good dick can only make you happy for so long.”

Your mouth falls open in shock. You turn to the women and grimace. Before you have a chance to say anything Harry’s coming back over to you, snatching his drink and tugging you back to the dancefloor. You shake what you heard from your head as you look at him. Harry had a wonderful personality, and if those bitched were too dumb to see that, then fuck them. It was fun to dance with Harry like this, just goofy and without a care.

Andy was having a good time dancing as a group with his friends. A slow song comes on to give everyone a break from the fast paced music. He looks over and sees you and Harry coming together for a dance and he smiles.

“Now this is my favorite kind of dancing.” Harry says into your ear.

“Really? So when we went to that club up north and I backed my thang up against you...?” You raise an eyebrow at him.

“Okay, this is my second favorite kind of dancing.” You both giggle. “That was a great night, I have to say.”

“Mhm.” You smile and kiss him quickly before resting your head on his shoulder as he leads you.

“Andy, wanna dance?” Caroline asks him shyly.

“Yeah.” He smiles and puts his hands on her waist.

“You look really handsome.”

“Thanks.” He blushes. “I like your dress. You know you always look pretty.”

She smiles at him.

“I’m glad we’re still good friends.” She says as they sway back and forth.

“Me too.”

“During the next slow song you should ask Brandon to dance.”

“What?”

“It’s like you’re always saying, rip the band aid.” She grins at him.

“Caroline, I…”

“Look, I’m not trying to assume anything, but if I had to guess who it was you liked I’d say it’s him, and I think he likes you too, but you both are just being stupid by not going for it.”

“You really think he likes me back?” It was the first time he had admitted his feels to a friend.

“I think so, I think he’s just nervous.” She shrugs.

“This whole thing has been really confusing. You were the first girl I ever really liked, and I like him too, so…”

“My oldest sister deals with the same thing.”

“She does?!”

“Yeah! She came out to us earlier this year, she said she’s bi.”

“And your parents were cool with it?”

“Sure, they were just happy she felt comfortable enough to say how she was feeling.”

“Wow.”

“See? It’s way more common than you think.” The song ends and they let go of each other. “And, just for the record, you were the first boy I ever really liked too, and I’m happy I get to say Andy Styles was my first boyfriend.” She kisses his cheek and he smiles. “I have to use the ladies room, I’ll be back.”

“What was that about?” Brandon asks Andy as he and Tyler step closer.

“Nothing.” He shrugs.

“Are you back together?”

“No, she just kissed my cheek, uh, thanking me for the dance. It’s no big deal, B.”

Brandon nods and they all start dancing again. You and Harry sit for a bit to rest your feet, and to munch on some bread. You notice that Lauren and Greg have been pretty chatty.

“Think anything’s going to happen between those two?” You nod over to them.

“Wouldn’t put it past her.” Harry scoffs. “I bet she was hoping I wouldn’t be here with someone.” Alright, so he was a little drunk, and that statement just slipped.

“Why’s that?”

“Hm? Oh, I don’t know.” He shakes his head and you narrow your eyes at him. “What?”

“Harry if you used to hook up with her you can just say so, it was, like, fifteen years ago…”

“You make me sound so old.” He pouts. “Alright, yeah, we used to hook up, but it wasn’t serious, and we kept it quiet, not wanting to disrupt our circle of friends. She’s just one of those people that you think is really sweet and wholesome, and then she’s not. I didn’t like it.” He stands back up and puts his hand out to you. “Come on, let’s go dance some more.”

“Okay.” You take his hand and go back out to the dancefloor. Another slow starts and you happily wrap your arms around Harry’s neck. “I take back what I said earlier, this really is the best kind of dancing.”

He smiles at you and then leans in for a kiss. Your lips press together and then you both sigh as you dance. Andy takes a deep breath and goes over to Brandon who was sitting down, drinking some water. Tyler and Caroline had been picked up to go home already. Brandon’s parents wouldn’t be there to pick him up until a little later.

“Hey.” Andy says to him.

“Hey, my parents are on their way.”

“Oh…so you don’t wanna dance?” He rubs the back of his neck.

“To this song?” Brandon stands up and puts his hands in his pockets. “A little slow, don’t you think?”

“I’m okay with the tempo.”

“There’s a lot of people around…”

“We could go outside, I’m gonna walk you out anyways.”

“Okay.”

Andy and Brandon go outside the tent. There were a few people out there having smoke breaks and just a breather from dancing. They go to the side where things are a little more secluded.

“How…how should we do this?” Andy asks.

“We could just hug and sway back and forth.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.” The boys hug and start swaying back and forth. Andy’s heart was racing like never before. “I’m really glad you didn’t go to camp this summer.” Andy says and they stop to look at each other.

“You are?”

“Yeah.” He smiles at his friend.

Brandon daintily cups one of Andy’s cheeks, and Andy closes his eyes. Just as Brandon leans in his phone goes off. He sighs and presses his forehead to Andy’s for a moment before getting his phone out of his pocket and letting Andy go.

“Hello?” He says obviously annoyed. “Yeah, I’m ready, are you here? Okay…I’m down at the tent, I’ll wait outside for you.” He hangs up. “My dad’s, uh, gonna come get me out here, so…”

“Right.” Andy nods. “How long do you think he’ll be?”

“He said five minutes.”

“Alright, well, I’ll wait out here with you.”

“Thanks.” The boys walk close to the entrance of the tent to wait for Brandon’s dad.

“Brandon?”

“Yeah?”

“Were you going to kiss me?”

“Yeah, I was.” Andy’s face flushes as he looks at his friend. “Got sort of interrupted.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Maybe another time, though?”

Andy smiles at him and nods yes. Mr. Stewart comes to the tent and the boys say goodbye. Andy goes back inside and heads to the dancefloor with you and Harry.

“There you are!” You exclaim. “They’re gonna do the cha cha slide.”

“Great!” The song starts and Harry watches a ton of you follow along with the steps of the song. “Come on, Dad!”

“Fine!” Harry jumps in and follows along as well.

It ended up being a great night despite some of the awkwardness. You get your shoes on, but they sting. You contemplate just walking out barefoot, but you could easily step on broken glass outside, so you decide against it.

“All set?” Harry says to you. “Just confirmed with Paige. The kids will get dropped off in a couple of days, and then we’re headed to the cabin.”

“Perfect. It’s gonna be a great week away.”

You both say goodnight to Andy, who was about ready to pass out from all the dancing he did. Him and Rachel head up to the house.

“So, how were things with Brandon?” She asks him.

“Good…we danced together outside the tent.”

“Oh, how was that?!” She squeals.

“Shh, do you want the neighbors to hear? It was fine.” He smiles. “Just fine.”

Harry gets the two of you home, and you give him a devious grin as you get inside. He raises his eyebrows at you as if to ask if you’re not too tired, but you wink and start walking towards the bedroom.

“Feeling a little frisky, eh?” He asks as he takes his suit jacket off.

“Mhm, you looked so sexy tonight, and watching you dance really did it for me.”

“Oh, yeah?” He pulls you close to him.

“Yeah.”

You press your lips to his, and swipe your tongue along his bottom lip. He opens up for you and your tongue molds to his. He reaches behind you to unzip your dress, and it falls to the floor, pooling at your feet. Your hands work to unbutton his dress-shirt, and you push it off his shoulders. Next you get his pants undone and he leads you over to the bed. He shimmies out of his trousers and gets on the bed with you. You get between his legs and tug his boxers down. You kiss his tip and he hisses from the sensation. You lick up and down his shaft before wrapping your lips around him. You bob up and down slowly and look up at him.

“That’s so good, baby.” You raise your eyebrows at him while your tongue runs over his slit. “You’re a good girl, Y/N.”

Your eyes flutter closed, and you continue to suck on him how he likes, drool dripping down your chin. You don’t suck on him for too much longer since you want him to fuck you. You crawl up his body and grind your covered center over him. He unhooks your bra and kisses on your chest. He rolls ones of your nipples between his teeth and your head falls back.

“I need to get these off.” You grunt and get your panties off. You grab his length and line it up with yourself. “Okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll just pull out.”

You nod and sink down him. Your mouth falls open as he stretches every inch of you. You grip his shoulders and move yourself up and down.

“You got this wet just from sucking on me?” He grunts as he grips your hips to help move you back and forth.

“Can’t help it when I’m doing that and you call me a good girl, Harry.” You peck his lips. “It’s so hot.” You move to suck on his neck, and he presses you as close to him as possible.

You move in sync with each other, and you grind against him in the perfect way. You start breathing heavier as you feel yourself getting closer. You breathlessly tell him to keep going. You tighten around him as you come undone around his hard dick.

“Shit, fuck, Y/N!”

“Oof!”

He had to toss you off of him so he wouldn’t come inside you, leaving quite the mess on his lower stomach and thighs.

“Sorry, are you alright?”

“Yeah.” You giggle and prop yourself up on your elbows. “Are you? Normally you can hold it a little longer.”

“Not when you tighten up like that, Jesus…” He sighs and looks down at himself.

“I’ll go get a rag.” You get off the bed and go into the bathroom to grab a washcloth and run it under some warm water.

You come back and clean him up. He smiles up at you and you lean down to kiss him.

“We need to be more careful.” He says as you get into bed with him. “Just suck it up and use the condom, you know?”

“I know.” You sigh. “It just feels so good.” You pout at him.

“I know, darling, but you said you didn’t want to get pregnant until you have your doctorate. I’d feel terrible if it happened, and you got really stressed out…”

“Harry, if it happens it happens. It would be stressful, but plenty of women do it all the time. Now’s not the most ideal time, but I can’t tell you how excited I get when I think of carrying your baby sometimes.” You bite your bottom lip as you look at him.

“Don’t even fucking tempt me, Y/N, you know I’d put one in you now if you really wanted it.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” You kiss him quickly before turning over. “Soon, I promise.”

//

A week with Andy and Rachel at the cabin was interesting to say the least. Watching their dynamic was fascinating. They really did act like brother and sister. They’d bicker one minute and be laughing the next. He showed her how to use the jet skis, and they built sand castles together. Your family came up, and it made it ten times more fun for your birthday. Your parents even stay in to watch the kids so you, Harry, Phil, and Julian can all go out to a bar to celebrate. You couldn’t believe you were already twenty-eight. It was hard to feel old, though, when you could still have such a great time dancing and drinking. The day of your actual birthday you all enjoy some cake, and a few gifts.

Andy was back home with you and Harry now that it was just about the middle of August. It was nice having him home, it was too quiet without him, even if you did enjoy the alone time with Harry. Andy loved all of the changes that were made to the house. He had kept what happened with Brandon, or what almost happened with Brandon, to himself. He just wanted to keep that moment for himself. The Ariana Grande concert wouldn’t be until November, but Andy was already talking to you about outfit choices for the meet and greet.

“I just got back, and you’re leaving for a week?” Andy asks you at dinner when you tell him about your trip to California.

“Yeah, I have a conference to go to, I’ll be back before you know it.” You smile. “You’re gonna have some nice quality time with Dad.”

“Yeah, we’re gonna have a lot of fun.”

“Mhm, I can’t wait to go back to school shopping with you and Mum.” Andy rolls his eyes.

“That’s a day that should be way more fun that it is, and we’re not doing that until after Y/N gets back. We’ll have another pot painting day.” Harry takes a bite of his dinner. “I was thinking we could go to the pottery paint place, though. Have a little father-son date.”

“Ew, don’t call it a date, Dad.”

You burst out laughing. You’d miss your boys over the next week.

//

“Dad, can we do the pottery thing another time, Brandon invited me to go to the skate park tomorrow.” Andy says to Harry the night before they’re supposed to go to the pottery place.

“Oh, well, you can go skateboarding with him any time, can’t you? Or even afterwards?”

“Why can’t we just go paint another day?”

“I was sort of looking forward to spending the time with you.” Harry frowns. “We haven’t done much just the two of us in a while.”

“That’s because you spend all your free time with Y/N.” Andy smirks and sits down on the couch with Harry.

“Not true, we do stuff as the three of us. I feel like you like spending time with her more than me.”

“That’s not true! I guess I can go skateboarding with B another day.”

“I don’t wanna go tomorrow if it’s gonna be a force for you.”

“It won’t be. It’ll be fun.” He looks at Harry. “She’s only been gone two days, you know?”

“I’m aware.”

“So, she’ll be back in another three. It’ll go by quick.”

“I just feel bad that she has to go right from the airport to our faculty meeting.” He sighs. “But I suppose it’s all going to work out perfectly.”

“Yeah, she’s gonna be really surprised.”

//

Spending a week in California was amazing. You felt like your old independent self. It was nice to explore in the evenings, and you got a lot out of the sessions you attended. You had a ton of new ideas for your classes and for your paper. You spoke to Harry when you could. The three hour time difference was much more manageable than the six hour one like when he was in London.

You were happy with the tan you managed to get out there, and did your best to sleep on the plane home so you weren’t totally exhausted. You take the bus back to town, and load your things up in your car and drive over to the university. You managed to freshen up at the airport, and you texted Harry updates so he knew when to expect you. What you refrained from telling him was that you were going to stop by your office quickly just to open it up and let it get some fresh air from the window. You also needed to grab your spare laptop charger.

There was something you liked about the quiet before the semester started. It was like the calm before an incredible storm. You were feeling extremely prepared for this semester. It would be your third year teaching at the university, and you were feeling really good about it. You key into your office and set something down.

“Well, if it isn’t my not so new neighbor.”

“Jesus!” You nearly jump out of your shoes. Even though you knew Harry’s voice well, he still found ways to scare the shit out of you. You sigh and turn around. “And to think I was…excited…to…see…you…” Your eyes widen when you see him down on one knee with a small velvet box in one hand, and a shit eating grin on his face. “How…how did you know I’d come here first?” Your eyes start to water.

“Because I know you very well, come here.” You step towards him and take his free hand in yours. You were shaking. “Are you gonna be okay?” You nod your head yes. “Good, because we don’t have a ton of time before our meeting.” You chuckle slightly at that. “Still excited to see me?”

“Yes.” You whisper.

“Do you know what’s in this little box?”

“I have an idea.”

“I truthfully never thought I’d be buying another one of these for someone. I…I didn’t think I deserved to have someone love me the way that you do, but I know now that I do. Sometimes I’d wonder why things didn’t work out the way I thought were supposed to, but I realized that everything I went through was just part of my journey to you, Y/N.” You cough out a nervous giggle as you had tears running down your cheeks. “I was trying to think of the perfect moment or place for this, and nothing felt better than the place we first met and became friends. Plus, I knew you’d nearly shit yourself.” He smirks and you shake your head. “So, with all that being said, and may I remind you I don’t care about how long we’re engaged for because I know your doctorate comes first…will you marry me?” He opens the small box and you gasp at the ring. It was stunning, beyond stunning.

“Yes, oh my god, yes!” Your hand was shaking terribly, but he manages to slip the ring on.

He stands up and swings you around in his arms. He slots his mouth over yours, and you almost forget where you are until you hear a bottle pop.

“Woo! Congratulations!” Janette says with a freshly opened bottle of champagne. Lisa, Mateo, Lucas, Andre, and Sandra all come out as well. “You should have seen your face, Y/N.” She chuckles.

“You guys!” You laugh and go to hug your colleagues. “You all knew?”

“All Harry said was that we should wait upstairs and to bring champagne, we just assumed.” Lisa says as she holds out some cups for Janette to pour the champagne in.

“Where’s Andy?” You ask him as you take a sip.

“At Brandon’s.”

“Did he know?”

“What are you, new? Who do you think helped me design the ring?” He smirks and nudge his shoulder. “We’ll celebrate with him tonight when we get back from dinner, there’s an ice cream cake in the freezer just waiting to be eaten.”

You all chat about the excitement before you need to actually go through the things you needed to in your faculty meeting. It was hard to concentrate, though. You wanted to call your parents, your brother, your friends; everyone! Not to mention the ring itself was distracting. You weren’t expecting something quite so…large. Then again, Harry was the gaudy ring type, so it shouldn’t be that surprising that he went all out.

“You two should go home to be with Andy to celebrate.” Lisa says. “We can all go down to the pub another time.”

“No, it’s alright, he’ll probably be annoyed if we pick him up too early from his friend’s.” Harry says.

“I actually wouldn’t mind going home...had a six hour flight earlier, you know?”

“Shit, you’re right. No one minds waiting a few days?”

“Not at all.” Janette says. “Let’s just all meet up Friday, it’ll be more fun.”

You drive separately back to the house, and Harry helps you get your things inside. You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him. You suck on his bottom lip and he moans into you.

“This is why you wanted to come back, huh?” He smirks.

“You’re not the only one that’s good at being sneaky.”

You couldn’t feel luckier than you do now, to be engaged to the absolute love of your life.  

#harry styles #office neighbors #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles series #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles y/n #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #pls tag if you reblog #i like knowing your thoughts

[daisychainez]

Fic: Where am I at? pt.1 (pt.2, pt.3, pt.4, pt.5)

The City’s gonna love me and then leave me alone

Peter Parker x Michelle Jones-Watson (post-NWH)

[This is really just background/context to later parts because I’m a crappy writer ehehe]

[AO3]

Peter breaks his promise, can’t even keep to the last words he speaks to MJ before exiting the donut shop - ‘I’ll see you around.’ He never steps back into that shop, at least never in the time before MJ and Ned head to MIT.

—————

MIT is exciting, new people, new city, new interests - MJ is broadening her horizons and it helps she has Ned (and to a smaller extent, Flash) around to provide occasional relief when things get overwhelming. You see, there’s always this undercurrent of homesickness every time MJ spots a head of brown curls in her periphery, or a double take when she sees someone wearing a plaid shirt and sweater combo. She can’t quite place it; Ned feels the same every time he spots the mini Death Star Lego model his parents bought him as a college going away present.

—————

Peter’s starting to pull his life together again. Nothing will every be the same, but he’s a somewhat functioning adult who’s spent the past year focusing on just breathing rather than living. It’s not until Thanksgiving comes around and he’s back visiting May that it hits him with such clarity that Spider-Man and Peter Parker are not two separate entities, burying Peter six feet deep provides a momentary respite from his grief, but he needs Peter Parker, and Spider-Man needs Peter, and the world needs Spider-Man. So he learns to live a little, embrace the ESU college experience, finding a bit of balance to his constantly broke and overworked life.

—————

It was the Winter Break during Sophomore Year that MJ realised that the City was calling her back. She’s discovered different facets to herself at MIT and she was grateful for the experience but it just didn’t feel right in her bones. Being back in New York soothed her in a way nothing else could. It was really a drop in to see her old colleagues at Peter Pan’s when it all started falling into place.

—————

It was the Christmas holiday period and Peter was determined that this year not be as miserable and lonely as it had been the previous year. He’d be volunteering at FEAST, under the watchful eye of one Harold Hogan. He’d allowed himself this one concession, keeping Happy in his life to a certain extent, as closely as he could when being one of a small army of volunteers supporting the shelter. Carefully practiced distance.

——

It was by chance he was in the neighbourhood; a bank heist two blocks over which was dealt with fairly quickly and smoothly. As part of his turning over the metaphorical page in this chapter of his life, he thought it would be good to test the waters and walk the five minutes round the block to that donut shop he’s been avoiding for the best part of a year. I mean there’s no harm in visiting because *she* was far away and thriving and definitely not returning to this city anytime soon if her public Instagram page was anything to go by.

—————

There’s a quiet lull after a gaggle of school kids on break have placed their orders of festive drinks and limited edition donuts. MJ finds herself flicking through her phone as the kids leave and Sasha gets busy with one of those super complicated and obscenely pricey custom drinks someone had ordered online for pickup.

The peace is broken by the jingle of the doorbell and the sound of three footsteps on the linoleum floor which stop abruptly. Her eyes almost flick up before a video of Spider-Man swinging out of the bank two blocks down pops up on her feed from the SpideyUpdated account she follows (and is 99% sure is run by Flash). The opening and closing of the door distract her from her phone, her head whipping up quickly just to see the wisp of brown curls walking quickly away from the shop window. He turns momentarily and her eyes land on his; she knows those eyes but they’re gone just as quickly as they had appeared.

—————

He knew this was a mistake; he’d let his guard down to the extent that it took three steps into that store before he heard that telltale flutter of her heart. She was there, sitting at the counter, head down staring into her phone. He’d known she was experimenting with her style from the occasional Insta stalking (just making sure she’s safe, that’s what he told himself) but goddamn was she breathtaking with that shorter red hair which suited her so well. She was right here, biting her lip slightly, her forehead ceasing as she watched something on her phone. He couldn’t stay, this was a bad idea. He turned and left as quickly as he entered only to cast one last look into the shop window before moving out of view. She was looking right at him. Damnit.

—————

It was like MJ’s body went into autopilot, her legs jumping off of the high stool and running out of the shop. Her head swung back and forth up the semi busy street trying to spot that brown head of hair but he was gone. There was something about him, she knew him, she didn’t know how but those eyes were unmistakable.

—————

Peter crouches low on the roof of the building in front of the donut shop. He can see her scanning the crowd for something. Someone. His chest tightens but he knows he needs to keep away; that sense of recognition in her eyes was enough to reaffirm his promise to himself - MJ was better off without him and he’ll be keeping it that way.

#spideychelle #peter x mj #peter parker x michelle jones #drabble #peter parker fic #michelle jones #michelle jones watson #post no way home #petermj

[mylifeisactuallyamess]

Here is my little drabble for Writer Wednesday @autumnleaves1991-blog @clydesducktape

Armitage Hux x GN!Reader

Warnings: Soulmate Au. This is me, angst. Pain. Mentions of an accident.

Word Count: 1541

Soulmates. Everyone wants one, everyone wants to find that extra special person they spend the rest of their life with but it’s so difficult when all you have to go on is the last words they ever say to you tattooed on your body. You had poured over yours for years wondering what it meant, everyone had this vision of spending their whole lives with the right person but fate never worked out that way. You’d given up anyway, everyone was destined to meet their soulmate at some point, it was just a case of when.

You stared at the tin of soup in your hands, you hated shopping. No one told you as an adult you’d have to feed yourself at least once a day if not more and you’d have to think about it and cook it. Every. Damn. Day. The sound of the tin hitting the bottom of your basket rang out loudly and you looked up hoping not to have disturbed anyone in the quiet shop. There was only one other person near you, a tall gentleman smartly dressed in a suit and he certainly looked too well put together to be shopping here. You looked back at the shelf but the urge to look at him more was almost overwhelming and you ducked your head, turning slightly so you could see him out of your peripheral vision. His shoes were smart and shiny, his suit a rich black, the shirt crisp and white creating the perfect contrast. He shifted slightly and you got a good look at his profile, high cheekbones and light green eyes that were looking at you. He was looking at you. Oh shit. Embarrassment made you feel hot and uncomfortable so you quickly walked round to the next aisle, standing in front of the fridge of ready meals and hoping it would cool you down. You grabbed a lasagne and dumped it in your basket trying to think of what else you needed but nothing was coming to mind.

“Hi.” You flinched and looked up momentarily speechless. His bright red hair fell over his brow, his eyes were intense as they looked at you, a slight smirk tugged at his pink lips and you found yourself thinking he was the most gorgeous person alive.

“I…um….oh….sorry….hi.” You muttered, feeling the heat creep under the skin on your face wishing the floor would open up and swallow you whole.

“Can I…?” He pointed at the meals you were blocking from him and realisation washed over you.

“Oh! Yes of course…sorry.” You sidestepped and watched as he reached across you to retrieve a packet of Macaroni cheese. He was close enough to smell and you couldn’t help but breathe him in, the brush of his jacket swiped your arm making goosebumps race over your skin and you shivered slightly. “Good choice.” His head turned to you and you wished you could just keep your mouth shut but when you felt uncomfortable you always spouted nonsense. And now you felt you had to talk yourself out of this. Your eyes rose to meet his amused gaze and before you knew it you were babbling. “I mean I like that meal too…I chose a lasagne today though. I hate cooking, it’s such a chore. I mean…I’m not being nosy…sorry I ramble…..” You were drowning in air. What was wrong with you? You shifted the basket to your other arm and stuck your hand out offering your name. To your surprise he took it, his skin smooth and soft but his handshake was firm and sure in your grip.

“I’m Armitage. Armitage Hux.”

“Hi,” you breathed, caught up in the open expression on his face as his eyes studied your features. You snapped your hand away, realising you've been holding it for far too long. “I haven’t seen you here before. I mean not that I make a point of scouting the men that come in here, it’s just….” You gestured to him. “You kind of stand out. In a good way!” You almost yelled, your eyes wide. You couldn’t believe he hadn’t walked away yet, just standing here looking at you holding his macaroni cheese and sandwich.

“I haven’t seen you here before either.”

“Oh. Oh.” You didn’t know what to say, a numbness was creeping over your brain and it was making you feel sluggish and even more stupid.

“Have you lived in this area long?” He asked. He wanted to keep the conversation going. You raised an eyebrow in surprise expecting him to run in the opposite direction long ago.

“A while, the days just kind of all slip into one another, what with work and then coming home to an empty flat and cooking.”

“You live alone?” He enquired.

“Oh I mean I have like 6 housemates and they’re all burly body guards….you’re not a murderer are you?” His laugh was loud and rich and you smiled nervously.

“No I am not, sorry I was trying to deduce if you were single or not.” Oh.

“I am so very single…” you murmured.

“Then you wouldn’t say no if I asked you out to dinner?” Your brain stuttered, your thoughts scattering, fleeing, leaving you utterly thoughtless and your mouth opened but no sound came out. “You know, what with you hating cooking and all….” He trailed off. “You can say no…”

“No! I mean yes! I mean I’d like that.” You smiled slightly as the nerves twisted your stomach into a million knots. “I hate cooking so, yes. I would really like that.” He smiled and it changed his whole face softening that intense demeanour he had just moments before.

“What do you like to eat? I’ll let you pick the restaurant.”

“Oh, I am so indecisive….” You looked him over again and realised you were judging where he’d like to go by the way he was dressed. He could like a greasy burger from a fast food joint for all you knew. “Somewhere that does chips?” He nodded.

“That’s good, I like chips too.” You smiled shyly as he looked at his watch, his mouth pulling down in surprise. “Damn I need to go, my meeting started 5 minutes ago.”

“Wait!” You dug around in your bag quickly scribbling your number down. “Here, otherwise knowing my luck we’d never find each other again.”

“I promise I’ll message you as soon as I can!” You followed him to the tills, noticing he placed your number in the pocket inside his jacket and a warm sensation began to expand through your chest. He paid and turned to you. “Enjoy your lasagne for a family of five. I’ll be seeing you,” he breathed close to your ear with a smirk and you rolled your eyes.

“You bet I will!” You called after him. Both of you smiled at one another before the door closed after him. You frowned, something he said made your mind race.

“Miss, are you ready to pay?” Said the cashier but you didn’t hear her as a cold sensation ran through your body, the basket crashed to the floor at your feet, falling from your numb hands. Everything was muted, like your ears were stuffed with cotton wool, your hands shook as you pulled back your sleeve to see the words scribbled on the inside of your wrist:

I’ll be seeing you.

“No….” You were aware someone was trying to talk to you but all you could think of was to get to Armitage. Your legs moved but they were slow, too slow. The door to the shop opened and you saw him stop in the middle of the road, looking down at his wrist. You wanted to shout at him, scream his name but your throat had closed up. He turned to look at you, his eyes meeting yours and you saw the realisation dawn on his face. He took a step towards you, his mouth open to say something when a waft of air ruffled your hair and he wasn’t there anymore. The screech of tyres rendered the air around you, tears already sliding unbidden down your cheeks. People shoved past you, voices rose in panic but you didn’t register any of it. He had been right there, just seconds ago. His red hair glinting in the sun, his green eyes full of concern for you. But he was the one who had been taken. You flinched as your wrist burned, the writing of the last thing your soulmate would ever say to you began to fade. Everything about him was being erased making your heart flutter in your chest. It pained you to think your soulmate had been around all this time and as soon as you met him, a cruel twist of fate took him from you. Turning away from the accident you found your feet moving, leading you down an alleyway where you stumbled. Your legs gave way and you fell to your knees as the pain of your soul splitting in half engulfed you. A cry ripped your chest echoing against the walls heightening the anguish you were feeling to an almost unbearable pitch. He had been right there…and now he was gone.

#soulmate au #armitage hux x reader #armitage hux fanfic #modern armitage hux #armitage hux fanfiction #armitage hux x you #armitage hux #angst #pain #mention of an accident #writerwednesday #my writing #mylifeisactuallyamess #A Brief Moment in Time #autumn leaves1991 blog #clydesducktape

[the-witty-pen-name]

Plenty of Time

The Necklace Part Three 

Obi-Wan Kenobi x F!Reader 

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: smut, fluff, unprotected sex, 18+ ONLY 

Based on this Request: 

“If you still need that inspiration… maybe an obi-wan thing where he makes the reader a beautiful necklace when they were young padawans and they get separated bc reader goes om a long mission but when they meet again as adults she still wears it and then he confesses his feelings (a bit of anakin teasing his master about his obvious feelings sprinkled in perhaps😂)”

Part One // Part Two 

A/N: Sorry it took so long to finish this series up. With coursework and other projects I was inspired to write, I had a hard time overcoming my writer’s block for this project! It is shorter than I hoped it would’ve been but regardless, I hope you all enjoy! Thank you again to @katevino for the inspiration for this series. 

Also, this is unedited!  

I didn’t include tags on this part because no one has specifically asked to be tagged in works containing smut (except for you all on my Deadbeat taglist!) but if you want to be on my general taglist, message me I’ll be sure to add you! 

Tags and Requests are OPEN

“I’m not leaving you again,” you whisper softly.

“Darling,” he mumbles, guiding your face gently to look him in the eyes. “Please don’t make a promise you can’t keep.”

“I love you,” you respond quickly, “Obi-Wan, it- it’s always been you.”

“I love you too,” he whispers, resting his forehead against yours, his thumb runs across the beads that lay securely around your neck. He smiles, “I can’t believe you still wear this,” he marvels.

“I don’t make promises I can’t keep,” you tease and he grins.

He leans down and presses his lips to yours finally. It’s feverish and passionate, and it takes you by surprise. It felt like he had taken everything he buried deep inside him for all those years and put all of it into that kiss. You melted at his touch, and nothing else mattered.

For the first time in a very long time, Obi-Wan just let’s his emotions guide him and he just allows himself to explore everything he had denied himself the pleasure of knowing. He wants to the savor everything in the moment as much as he can before you both are hit with the realization the moment won’t last.

You run your hands through his hair and the little noises that escape your lips are just the best sound he’s ever heard. He memorizes your touch and memorizes how you feel. He pulls you are close as possible, but it’s still not enough. He pulls away from the kiss, and looks at you again. You see that his blue eyes are darker and clouded. You feel the atmosphere in the room had changed. As real as you knew it was, it still felt like a dream. He’s silently begging you to let this progress further and you tug gently at the hem of his tunic to let him know you need this just as badly.

You kiss him again, while you both undress each other. Perhaps that could have been an experience to savor, but you both were too needy to feel each other’s skin. You both work quickly to undress each other, only separating yourselves from your frantic kisses if you really needed to.

He helps guide you to the bed and he’s so attentive, making sure you’re comfortable. He waits for your permission before letting his hands freely wander every inched of your exposed skin. The feeling of his hands make you shiver and he laughs softly at the effect he has on you even after all this time. He leaves a trail of kisses and marks on your neck, and his beard gently scratches your skin. You love the feeling.

Your hands run up his torso, and he moans at the feeling. It’s deep and full of lust, and it sends a wave of excitement right through your whole body. His lips move further down your neck and collarbone, even pressing his lips to the necklace that still remained around your neck. His mouth moves down to the valley of your breasts, and then takes one of your nipples in-between his lips while one of his hands massages the other. You bite your lip at the sensation and your hands tangle themselves in his hair, tugging gently.

“Darling,” he groans against your skin at the sensation. He leans up and kisses your lips again, this time much softer, slower, very purposeful. While his tongue slips past your lips, he brings his hands down to between your thighs, rubbing your fold teasingly, and then rubbing your clit. You moan against his lips and you can feel his smile.

“You’re so wet for me,” he whispers in your ear and then trails kisses down your jaw and neck, as he pushes two fingers in. Your whole body reacts to his hand and your hands run down his back, scratching very lightly. Your hips instinctively buck up gently at his touch, and he chuckles, his hot breath on your skin. “Tell me what you want, darling?” he coos, and you have trouble answering.

“You’re the only thing I want,” you manage to say.

“Well, you have me, darling,” he replies as he adds another finger making you cry out in pleasure. “Always have.”

“Please,” you beg, overwhelmed by the feelings throughout your whole body from just his hand. “I’m close.”

He stops and you whine when he pulls his fingers from you. He presses his lips to yours again, suppressing your moans, as he pushes into you. You gasp at the feeling of him stretching you out, but he mumbles praises against your lips while you adjust.

“You’re taking me so well, darling,” he praises, gently caressing your face. Soon the feeling turns into pleasure and you wrap your legs around his waist. You move your hips up, signaling him to move and he holds your hips as he moves.

His pace is slow, and sensual. With every movement he’s savoring the feeling and watching your every reaction so intently. Neither one of you were thinking about anything or anyone else besides each other. You both allow yourselves to just for once be incredibly selfish and put yourselves first. It’s absolute bliss. You move your hips, meeting his rhythm and he’s in awe of how you look. He watches your reactions to him, and his eyes linger on the necklace and how it moves across your collarbone.

“I love you,” you moan, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I love you,” he whispers, moving one of your legs over his shoulders and picks up his pace. The new angle allowing him to hit deeper, making you cry out in pleasure. Your eyes roll back at the new sensation and your head falls back into the pillow. “Cum for me, darling,” he begs, feeling his own release building up.

Your head is foggy when your orgasm affects your whole body, and before you can recover from your own, Obi-Wan finishes as well. You both are panting heavily, and he waits a few moments before pulling out. He takes a minute to just exist with you in the moment, running his hand through your hair, pushing the strands back that are fallen out of place. He pulls out gently, and then lays down next to you. He pulls you close against his chest, giving you both a minute to recover before you both go to clean up.

“Did you mean it?” he asks softly, fear and vulnerability evident in his voice although he does his best to mask it.

“I’m not going to return to Alderaan,” you confirm, resting your head onto his chest. “I’m staying here.” You feel him let out a sigh of relief and he kisses the top of your head. Finally, you both are able to truly relax. For the first time in a very long time, you both have no battle with your emotions and everything feels so clear.

“We have a lot of time apart to make up for,” he chuckles, rubbing your back.

“We have plenty of time.”

#obi wan x y/n #obi wan fluff #obi wan x reader #obi wan imagine #obi wan kenobi #star wars imagine #star wars one shot #obi wan oneshot #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi imagine #smut #obi wan kenobi x you #x reader #x f!reader

[kiribakuhappiness]

How do you deal with the hate comments you get?? (Not that I think the last ask was particularly hate or anything) but I never see hate stuff on your blog or in your comment sections either. I feel like I see tend to get them a lot abd sometimes I don't know how to handle them :( love your work!!! Sorry if this is rude to ask...

Not rude at all - but there's a lot to unpack here, so I’m really sorry if I ramble or go off on a few tangents in my answer!

The short answer is: I don't deal with hate comments.

The medium answer is: It depends on the type of 'hate' that I’m receiving.

The longer answer is this:

I have been really lucky (I think) to have been able to grow a little community on this blog of similar, like-minded people who enjoy the same things that I do (Tsundere characters, characters that can help show more representation in the Alphabet Mafia community, dumb boys who deserve to just be dumb boys, etc). I've rarely received any hate comments since my time here on Tumblr, and I think there's a lot of reasons for this.

1.) If someone comes rearing into my Ask box just LOOKING for a fight (ie, random death threats from Anons, homophobic comments, an obvious attempt to bait me into some kind of long-winded debate, etc) I simply just do not deal with it. Those people (especially Anons) are just looking for a reaction out of you. They want you to get upset, to post some long rambling defense, to be snarky and rude back to them, that's what they want.

But at the end of the day, I don't owe any of them a response. Hell, I don't owe anyone a response if I don't want to answer something.

But I answer Asks because I like talking with people, and getting all amped up and excited over the same things, that's part of the fun of creating and sharing that creative work online and being an active part of the fandom. I LOVE hearing from the people that follow this blog (even if I don't always get the chance to respond to all of them) because I know that they're happy or excited enough to hit that Ask button and send me a message, and that makes me feel good to know that I was able to get them so pumped up!

But those Anons aren't looking for that kind of connection. Most of the time, they’re not even looking to have a mature discussion, even if that’s how they come across at first. They're looking to hurt. To ridicule and make fun of, to make me and my followers feel bad or low. And, most of the time, the people who are sending that hate are young. So young. Like... way younger than what you might be picturing in your head right now.

So when I get the really bad hate - the hate that makes your skin feel hot, the hate that spikes your blood pressure, the hate that makes you start typing in a blind rage because you want to hurt them just as much as they've just hurt you - then they've already won. And I'll be damned if I let myself be led by the hand right into a losing battle.

So I simply do not engage. I don't reply with some snarky comment thinking I'm oh-so clever, I don’t reply in a holier-than-thou manner because I think I’m just so much better than them, and I don't reply with a long rambling post about why they're wrong and why they're childish and why they're hateful because that in itself is a hateful act, and I have far more important things to be spending my time and my energy on than fighting with a random on the internet and fueling that (quite frankly, pointless) hatred.

When I don't respond, the anon grows bored. Why send hateful things into someone's Asks if they aren’t even going to showcase it to all of their loyal followers? The reason you don't see hate on this blog is because I simply do not allow them to sink their roots into this soil. I pull them out like weeds and refuse to let them grow here.

I also don't respond because, while I may be able to take a death threat or a homophobic slur with gritted teeth and a roll of the eyes and keep on going about my day, some of my followers may not be mentally or psychologically equipped to see such rude backlash. They range from pre-teens to adults, and when they choose to follow me and my blog, I see it as a responsibility on my end to shield them from that unnecessary hatred. There's no need for them to see such toxicity, and so I act as a stubborn guard blocking the front gates. This temple is for relaxation, for laughter and excitement and love, and I'll protect it until the day that I decide to send that last post and go off to do something else with my life.

2.) Another reason that I believe that I don’t get much hate on this blog is because I don’t cross-platform my content. Does this lower the visibility of my work? Sure. I don’t have a Twitter, or a Youtube, or a TikTok, or an Instagram. This blog is just that - this blog on Tumblr, with a link to my AO3 for my writing. And while that limits my audience and perhaps bottlenecks my views, the safeguard it brings from distancing from toxic mindsets that tend to leak into the more problematic social media sites is well worth it, in my opinion.

I don’t write these stories for kudos and hits. I don’t write these stories to push out as much content as possible, to gain a following as quickly as I can, to reach the entirety of the fandom. I don’t want that. I want to write stories to get better at writing, I want to write about the boys because I crave more gay representation and quite frankly I am obsessed with Bakugou as a character and how much fun it is to write from a Tsundere mindset.

If other people happen to find my work and they like it too, then that’s so awesome! But the extent of my dedication to this blog is just that, my own dedication to something I love and something that brings me joy.

3.) The final reason that I think why I don’t get a lot of hate comments or hurtful asks is because I put a lot of pride and effort into my fics. When I write a piece of work that contains heavy levels of smut, I work really hard to make them realistic, to make the characters motives and emotions clear and concise, to showcase a healthy depiction of what it means to be sexually attracted to and/or engage in sexual activity with someone that a person cares very deeply about.

I see a lot of smut centered around the bnha fandom, and there’s nothing particularly wrong with that, in my opinion, but sometimes I do see things that I personally feel are a little tactless. They’re not handled well, or they promote toxic behaviors, or it really is incredibly self-indulgent and sometimes grossly ignorant.

However, just like with the hate that I sporadically receive in my Asks, it’s of my own personal belief that if I see something I don’t like or don’t agree with on the internet, then I simply do not engage with it. I don’t give it the attention that it so desperately wants to get out of people, I don’t give it a platform to grow on, I refuse to allow it to think that it has the upper hand anywhere in the situation.

I am entirely in control of the things that I promote on this blog, and I take that responsibility very seriously. It’s why I refuse to reblog art if it’s so obviously not being posted by the original artist (there are SEVERAL kiribaku blogs I have seen gaining popularity recently that simply post art from other artists without any credits or any permission). I have even seen several of my own mutuals reblogging art from those particular blogs, and so I find it incredibly important to be diligent in which accounts I reblog art from.

That being said - I’m not perfect. I’m a human being behind this account, a singular entity the runs the entirety of this blog, ever growing and learning and working every day to be better than I was the day before, and sometimes I make mistakes.

Sometimes I reblog stolen art, and need a follower to nudge me in my inbox and let me know that it’s stolen and where to find the original art, so that I can take the responsibility of deleting the stolen post and reblogging the original content to show support for the original artist. Sometimes I write something in a fic that (to me, from my own experiences) I might not consider to be harmful or inappropriate, but that might be damaging in a way that I may have never considered before because I had grown so used to receiving that kind of treatment myself that I fail to see its toxicity on my own, and so when people come to me with genuinely helpful constructive criticism, I feel it is my duty as a writer to be level-headed and humble enough to admit that perhaps what I have grown so accustomed to is just that - behavior I’ve simply grown accustomed to - and to then take a good hard look at that example and make a decision about whether I want to change it or not.

The important thing to remember is that we’re all entitled to our own opinions and feelings, but that we’re also individually responsible for the way that we react to these types of circumstances.

Becoming defensive, becoming enraged, becoming aggressive, becoming jaded - these things don’t do anything but make a situation worse.

That’s why I love Bakugou so. fucking. much. He IS all of those things. Defensive. Easy to anger. Inherently aggressive. And Horikoshi is teaching him through many trials and errors why those types of behaviors will be his inevitable downfall, why falling into the pit of ‘you hurt me, so I must hurt you back’ leads only to repeated failure and internal anguish, why you will forever be forced to run in place and can never continue to grow and move forward if you’re so busy ignoring the reality that we are all humans, that we are all flawed, that we all experience the same emotions, even if we don’t agree with them or think that they’re justified.

The reason I love Bakugou’s character so much is because he is so deeply flawed, he is told time and time again that he is the epitome of a villain, and yet he refuses to accept that. He refuses to believe that he is anything other than the greatest hero-to-be, and he’ll push his bruised ego and damaged pride aside time and time again to relearn what has already been so solidly ingrained into his being, to continuously be watching and listening and learning while still whole-heartedly remaining unabashedly true to himself, to know that he came to this amazing hero school and is being taught by these incredible heroes “not to learn what he can do, but to learn what he can’t do.”

So, to wrap up this entirely incoherent rambling mess of a response that you no doubt didn’t care to read about, I deal with hate the same way that I deal with everything else; circumstantially, and with as much empathy as I can possibly muster.

If it’s random hate just looking for attention and wanting to hurt, I refuse to give them a stable platform to stand on or an audience to be subjected to. I force them to go somewhere else, cause it’s no fun to hit someone over and over again who refuses to ever hit back. If it’s in regards to my fics, I think I work really hard to provide healthy representation work for this fandom, to showcase the characters in not only challenging situations but also how they can realistically overcome them, and to create an environment where love can be seen as just that, love.

Whether it’s with Bakugou and Kirishima learning how to recognize their own weaknesses and become better people because of them, or whether it’s with Bakugou and Hikaru discovering that experiencing love and relenting in trust doesn’t make them weak but in fact makes them infinitely stronger than they will ever consciously realize, the end result is always the same. I just want to share stories, hopefully ones with positive messages, that make people feel things and maybe might teach them a lesson or two along the way.

I hope this somewhat answered your question anon! Sorry it’s so long and jumbled but is anyone really surprised anymore? When you ask me a question like this, just know I am always going to go off on a long tangent :,D

If you’re ever experiencing a situation where you feel harassed or unsafe or you want advice on how to properly handle a situation, please feel free to reach out to me, and we can work together to try and come up with a mature, responsible solution!

Happy reading!! xx

#dealing with hate #there I go rambling again oops sorry ahaha #personal #asks

[sevenstarsinning]

Summary: Raditz loses his mate when Planet Vegeta is destroyed and finds himself working alongside Prince Vegeta. When he comes to Earth to recruit his brother, he’s dealt another devastating blow when Goku refuses to join and leaves him near death. He’s found by a human and attempts to adapt to life on Earth.

Ch. 1 - Ch. 2 - Ch. 3

This took entirely too long to finish and get posted because of writer’s block but it’s finally done. The next chapter is going to be a little chaotic, much longer, and hopefully done next week.

Chapter 4

Light touches on your forearm jolted you awake. It was still dark out and the pod was only dimly lit by the moon.

You swatted at your arm to shove away whatever was crawling across your skin but it just came back, caressing your arm like it was trying to comfort you.

You scrambled for your phone and quickly turned on the flashlight to see a furry brown tail coiling around your wrist.

In the few days you had spent sleeping in the pod with Raditz, his tail touching you was a first.

It was gentle, searching and memorizing the surface of your skin.

You reached over with your other hand and ran the back of your fingers softly over the fur. It gave your wrist a little squeeze of encouragement to continue.

Raditz stirred and tried to get more comfortable in the cramped space while you stroked his tail. He began to purr when he found a spot that offered a little more comfort.

"Dude, you purr, too?" You whispered, more to his tail than him because he was out cold. It uncoiled from your wrist and laid across your thighs.

"You're so soft."

It wagged a little and brushed up against your arm.

Raditz sat up so fast it made you scream and the pod shake. His tail was outstretched and fluffed out before coiling back around his waist.

"Human, that is one of the worst sounds I have ever heard," he said, still groggy from the deep sleep he was ripped away from.

"It's involuntary. Give your tail back, it's much friendlier than you."

"That was you touching my tail?" He asked, rubbing his eyes and blinking to bring you into focus.

"Yeah, who else would it be?" You chalked it up to him just being very disoriented from the sudden jolt but the way he looked at you, like he was disappointed to see you next to him piqued your curiosity.

"No one. Don't touch my tail again." He laid back and stared at the roof of the pod.

"Fine… but I didn't touch it first," you sighed and laid back down.

"What do you mean?" He asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

"I woke up to your tail brushing against my arm. Do you not have control of it?"

"Sometimes it reacts by itself. It's," he paused, searching for the right word to use, "instinctual."

"And the aversion to me touching it?"

"That's personal." He turned on his side to face you, keeping his tail at a safe distance.

"Fair enough."

You could feel him staring at you and it made falling back asleep impossible. You did the only logical thing you could think of and turned to face him. If awkward staring was what the big ass alien wanted, awkward staring was exactly what he would get.

"Twenty questions, big guy. You ask me a question, I ask you one and we keep going until we either hit twenty each or we pass the fuck out."

"Why do you talk so much?" He asked without hesitation.

"Goddamn, dude, you came out swinging," you laughed and adjusted your pillow to get more comfortable.

"I have anxiety out the ass around new people and rambling on and on is the way my brain thinks I should deal with it. Totally involuntary and very annoying," you paused and took a breath, willing yourself to leave it at that.

Learning more about the alien you tripped over in the field was an experience. His world was a lot different and, unfortunately, it was destroyed. Losing that much of your life had to be hard and he made it easy to sympathize with him.

You almost made it through the full 20 questions before your eyes got heavy and you fell asleep once more.

It took a few weeks but you and Raditz had finally fallen into a routine. That was amazing in itself but the fact that you were able to do it with half of a house was a miracle. With no help from insurance, you were on your own. Neither of you knew the first thing about rebuilding parts of a house and hiring a contractor was going to cost a fortune.

So, you did what any rational, struggling adult would do. You watched a ton of youtube videos about building a house.

"Why must these humans say this is easy while they use these primitive contraptions we don't have?" Raditz complained as he reached for another doughnut.

"No idea, big guy. Pass me a chocolate one," you said as you scrolled through recommended videos.

"I'm eating the chocolate." His voice was muffled by the doughnut you were craving. The one you went all the way to the bakery for.

He swallowed a big bite while he held the half eaten thick ring of doughy goodness. That didn't stop you from trying to swipe it from his hand. His tail immediately coiled around your arm to stop you. He brought the doughnut to his mouth and finished the rest in one bite while he looked directly at you.

"Proud of yourself, asshole?"

Before he could answer, you ran the tips of your fingers down his tail. His body tensed and he released your arm immediately.

You still had no idea what the deal was with the tail. He was vague on the details and didn't say why he didn't want you to touch it, so you refrained. At least until it wrapped around you in some way. That was almost becoming a nightly occurrence while you slept in the pod.

"Stop getting distracted and find another video," he chided.

"Stop distracting me and I will." You went back to scrolling through videos and his tail coiled around your arm again.

"Okay, seriously? What was I doing wrong this time?" You turned your head to see Raditz looking at his tail confused.

He pulled his tail back and wrapped it around his waist.

"Why does that keep happening?"

He looked away and remained silent, deep in thought.

Just when you were about to end the awkward silence, he spoke.

"Before my home planet was destroyed, I had a mate. She didn't survive the... " he cleared his throat before continuing, "she was the only one my tail reacted to like that. Anytime she was close it wrapped around her arm or her waist, sometimes her leg."

As you processed everything he was telling you, more questions arose that had your mind going in a million different directions. Did you remind Raditz of his mate? Or did he just miss her so much that any warm body close by was enough.

"What was her name?" You finally asked, opting for the easier question first.

"Maizie." He kept his gaze straight ahead, avoiding even the slightest eye contact with you.

"I'm sorry that happened," you offered, unsure how to comfort someone in his particular situation.

You brought your hand up to rub his back. The moment you made contact with the dark blue fabric of his shirt, his tail was on you. But for the first time, he didn't try to pull it away.

"Do you… “ you trailed off, biting your lip while you reconsidered your question.

“Do I what?” He asked, glancing in your direction.

“It's nothing."

His tail moved up to your face and rubbed against your cheek.

"I guess your tail likes me," you smiled and leaned into the soft, furry appendage.

"It does, but that's me controlling it this time," he admitted.

"Can I hug you?" You blurted. Silence fell over the pod and you wished like hell life had a rewind button.

Being touch starved was bad enough, but having someone like Raditz so close to you all the time made the need so much worse. You also got the impression he was just as touch starved, only his tail was more aware of it than him.

His continued silence had you seconds from laughing awkwardly like it was a joke. Then you felt his tail around your waist, nudging you closer.

"Is… uh- is that you or your tail?" Your gaze met his for clarification.

In the blink of an eye, he had you in his lap with his tail coiled around your waist. You were facing him, straddling his hips with your hands splayed across his well defined chest. Despite the way you were sitting, it didn't feel sexual. It just felt great to be close.

You cupped his face, gently rubbing his cheeks with the pads of your thumbs. "I'm sorry you lost her."

Raditz managed a slight smile. “You’re not so bad for a human.”

“You’re not so bad for an alien,” you said, running your hands down his chest. You leaned forward and rested your head on his shoulder, nuzzling against his neck. His arms wrapped around you, holding you tight.

#raditz x reader #raditz #let you go fic #supremeleadershitlord

[you-a-southpaw-doll]

His Salvation ~ A John Winchester One-Shot

Summary: Based on SPN, S1, E21 “Salvation”. John gets threatened by Meg the demon if he doesn’t give the Colt to her. Meg threatens him, and harms Leigh while still on the phone. John tricks Meg by handing over a fake Colt. John, thinking Leigh (who’s the only woman to help him with hunting, with the boys, with coping with the loss of Mary, and also the woman he loves) is dead, goes to give Meg the Colt. On the way there, he gets a call from the hospital saying his wife has been involved in an accident. It takes him a minute to realize that Leigh’s actually alive since their secret code was to call each other husband and wife if they ever got in trouble. The search for the demon that killed Mary is put on hold. There’s never the car crash that happens at the end of S1, so John doesn’t need to make a deal with the yellow-eyed demon to save Dean. 

Warning(s): Language. Angst. Threats - spoken, unspoken, well known, good,  and bad. Violence. Fluff. Leigh’s a badass. Not beta’d, so...there’s that. I only have Grammarly used on this. 

Author’s Note(s): Hey, y’all! I know it’s been a really long, hot minute since I last posted an update. Writer’s block is an absolute demon. Depression too. And with everything else going on this year, it’s just been crazy! But, here’s a John Winchester One-Shot! If I get enough feedback for it, I’ll do a part 2! But y’all gotta let me know! Hope everyone’s staying safe, staying negative from COVID, and that y’all have a Happy Holiday season! As always, I’m here, so feel free to reach out! 

Word Count: 3,828 words

Relationship(s): John Winchester x Leigh Sullivan (OFC) [romantic]. 

Characters: John Winchester. Leigh Sullivan (OFC). Dean Winchester. Sam Winchester. Demon!Meg. Mary Winchester (Mentioned).

Taglist: @negans-network @prettyboynegan @mychemicalimagines @spnnnxangelsx @rockinkel21 @misskittycat02 @band--psycho@ofxallxwexlost @iron-halt @thamberlinawrites @ravenwings73 @lettherebepink @stoneyggirl @sebs-padawan @cladd716

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Story Time:

John’s P.O.V. ~ Salvation, Iowa - 2006

“Meg.” Sam says into his phone, shock lacing his voice.

My head jerks up from where I’d had it resting in my hands after arguing with the boys, well Dean really, ‘bout them not being able to get me to answer the phone. I know I suck at phone calls. To be honest, I really can’t stand phones...they’re just too confusing for my 51-year-old ass, even if you’d never know that’s how old I am since I look like I’m in my late 30s, maybe late 40s. 

I’d much rather use a landline than a cell phone. It’s a miracle the ones I do have even stay charged. I have Leigh to thank for that. She’s been my saving grace, my salvation for well over two and a half decades. Hell, maybe even longer than that. She helped me raise the boys after my wife, Mary, died when Sammy was six months old, even though she was just barely outta her teenage years herself.

She was 15 when we first met 25 years ago and she became Dean’s babysitter and later Sammy’s. After Mary died, Leigh was right there, willing to help me with the boys as I set out on the mission to find Mary’s killer. I’d never wanted to get her dragged into the lifestyle of a Hunter, but she insisted, saying someone needed to help take care of the boys.

And...after rescuing her when her parents were killed by a werewolf a few years later, she stuck ‘round even more. By that point, she was 22, and made it clear she was an adult and could do whatever she wanted which just so happened to stick with the boys and I. So, I did what I had to, and we learned the ropes of being a Hunter together.

After Sam went to college a few years ago, it was just Dean, Leigh, and I. We continued on hunting. Sometimes, Dean would go on his own hunts, but Leigh would always stick right by my side, hunting with me. Somewhere around the time that Dean was in high school, Leigh and I ended up together.

I was hesitant at first, considering I’d known her since she was a teenager, but she pointed out that she was only 10 years younger than me and had always had a crush on me. So, after a rough hunt and a night of patching each other up, we’d fallen into bed together. From that point on, we were together. 

The boys approved even if Dean had been a little hesitant at first; he didn’t want anyone to take his mom’s place. No one would ever take Mary’s place, but there was no denying the role Leigh had in all of our lives. She’d been the one to calm me down after Sam left for college, something I’d always wanted for my boys, but after being a Hunter for so long, I was only worried ‘bout their safety.

That was why I didn’t want Sam to go to California, to Stanford. I felt if he were there, I wouldn’t be able to protect him as easily from the things that go bump in the night. But, Leigh calmed me down, telling me that Sam was an adult now, and could make his own choices as well as being able to protect himself since we’d taught the boys a lot of what we knew.

The only reason Leigh’s not here, with us, with me, is because she went to see our friend and fellow Hunter, Caleb up in Lincoln, Nebraska, and help him with a case. The boys and I are working a lead that, hopefully, brings us closer to finding Yellow Eyes, the man, well, the demon responsible for Mary’s death. 

Both Dean and I stare at Sam as we listen to his conversation with Meg. A woman who’d befriended Sam when he and Dean had a spat outside of a small town in Indiana a while back. She made her true colors show when she’d tried to have them killed. Only...she ended up falling out of a seven-story window.

There’s no way a human could’ve survived a fall like which means...she’s not human...she must be...fuck. She’s a demon. I get pulled outta my thoughts when I hear Sam’s voice and feel his eyes on me.

“My dad. I don’t know where my dad is.” He says.

I raise a brow, running a hand over my face and letting out a sigh. I stand and walk over to the motel window, looking out of  it for a moment before turning back to Sam in time to see him holding his phone out to me. I sigh again and take it.

“This is John.” I say, my voice deep and empty of any emotions.

“Howdy, John. I'm Meg. I'm a friend of your boys. I'm also the one who watched Jim Murphy choke on his own blood…”

My heart tightens in my chest at her words. Jim was a close friend, fellow Hunter, and a priest. He was also murdered yesterday. I found out from Caleb when the boys and I were heading up here to Salvation, Iowa. Jim’s death...hit hard. It wasn’t ideal to get close to anyone, not in our line of work, but sometimes it couldn’t be helped.

“...Still there John-boy?” Meg’s voice cuts through the phone again.

“I’m here.” I ground out.

“Well, that was yesterday. Today, I’m in Lincoln.” 

My heart tightens again.

“Visiting another old friend of yours.” 

My lungs stop working. 

“She wants to say hi.”

My knees nearly buckle as my stomach drops to my chest. No. No. God-fuckin’-dammit! No! I take in a breath, trying not to give away the turmoil currently going on inside me. ‘Specially not when I hear her voice through the phone. 

“John, whatever you do don’t give…”

I hear Meg shush Leigh and my heart breaks. 

“Leigh?” I let out in a deep breath, trying my best to keep my emotions from being relayed to Meg.

The boys both jerk their heads up and look at me, worry and confusion on their faces. I blink and close my eyes for a second.

“You listen to me.” I tell Meg. “She’s got nothing to do with anything. You let her go.”

“We know you have the Colt, John.” Meg replies, her voice even.

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout.”

“Oh. Ok. Well, listen to this.”

My brows furrow and a moment later, my whole world comes crashing down. The sound of a knife or something equally sharp slashing through something followed by the sound of Leigh gasping and clearing drowning in her own blood fills the phone. I slump against the wall, my knees barely holding me up at this point.

“Leigh. Leigh!” I somehow manage to yell, nearly crushing the phone against the side of my face.

“Save the boys, husband.” I hear the love of my life croak out as she bleeds to death.

My heart breaks at the title, something I’d dreamt ‘bout hearing her call me for the last few years, but hadn’t happened, and was really just our code word we’d use when we were in a tough situation and wanted to let each other know everything was gonna be ok. Except. This time. It wouldn’t be ok. 

Not as I hear the sounds from Leigh slow.

“You hear that?” Meg taunts. “That’s the sound of your friend dying. Now, let’s try this again. We know you have the Colt, John. Word travels fast. So, as far as we’re concerned, you just declared war. And this is what war looks like. It has casualties.”

I growl. “I’m gonna kill you. You know that?”

She laughs. “Oh, John, please. Mind your blood pressure. So, this is the thing. We’re going to keep doing what we’re doing. And your friends, anyone who has ever helped you, gave you shelter, anyone you ever loved. They’ll all die. Unless you give us that gun.”

I take in a deep breath, not saying a word as I listen to her words and try my damndest to hear any sign from Leigh. Something to tell me she’s still alive. But I know...I know it’s not possible. Leigh’s dead. The love of my life. The first woman I’ve let myself love since Mary. The woman who helped raise my sons.

The badass woman who I was gonna ask to marry me once I’d ganked the evil son of a bitch that killed Mary. The only woman who had somehow broken down all the walls I’d built up. She was dead and I’d failed her. Failed to protect her. Failed to...fuck. I’d failed her. And I couldn’t fail her anymore by letting Meg and her demon friends kill more of mine and Leigh’s friends or any other innocent person.

“I’m waiting, Johnny.” Meg says. “Better answer before the buzzer.”

“Okay.” I sigh.

“Sorry? I didn’t quite get that.”

“I said okay. I’ll bring you the Colt.”

                                                             ***

Leigh’s P.O.V. ~ Lincoln, Nebraska

After Meg slit my throat, and I managed to croak out a few words to John, everything got darker with each passing second. By the time Meg hung up the phone with John, I’m barely holding on. I can feel my heart barely beating and breathing is almost impossible, but I refuse to give up. I refuse to die like this.

So, I make it seem like I had. This ain’t the first time I’ve faked my death. But it is the first time I’ve faked it while being alone. Meg being in the room doesn’t count. I mean being alone by not having the Winchesters nearby. Just barely holding on, I hold my breath and keep my eyes open, staring right at Meg.

I want her to think I’m dead and for her to stare right into my eyes as she does. I watch, not moving, not blinking, barely conscious, as she tosses the phone on my lap, and sneers at me.

“What the hell are you looking at?” She hisses before walking outta Caleb’s office.

I wait for a solid 15 seconds, even though it feels like an eternity, to make sure she’s truly gone before I force my thumb to press five buttons on my phone, hoping it’s right. A second later, I hear the call connect as it starts ringing, the noise amplified by the speaker. Another second passes before I hear the call truly connect.

“911. What’s your emergency?” The operator asks.

“Ambulance.” I croak out. “Now. Please.”

“Ma’am? I’m sorry. I need you to repeat that. Can you speak up?”

“Ambulance. Now.” I try to say louder.

“Ma’am? What’s your location?”

I try to get the address to Caleb’s out, only hoping the operator can make sense of it. I know my GPS is turned on, so hopefully, she can trace it. 

“Ambulance.” I manage to get out once more.

It’s a miracle I’ve managed to hang on this long, let alone get this much out. But, of course, every miracle ends at some point. As soon as I get the word, everything goes black.

                                                            ***

I come to, briefly, to bright lights, loud noises, and a bunch of people standing over me. 

“My husband. John Winchester. Call him.” I say, hoping it’s loud ‘nough.

One of the people standing over me says something, but I don’t hear him. Everything goes dark again as I pass out again.

                                                            ***

John’s P.O.V. ~ Lincoln, Nebraska

Getting outta my truck, I answer my phone without looking at the caller ID. I don’t care who’s calling me. Not anymore. Everything’s numb. Yes, I have my sons, but for the second time in my life, I’ve lost the woman I love. The boys warned me that this was a suicide mission. There’s only one reason Meg would want me to come alone with the Colt, but I told them I didn’t care. 

Sam looked at me with understanding in his eyes since he knew what I was going through from where he’d lost his girlfriend, Jess, a few months ago. Dean tried to argue with me, but I just gave him a look and he shut up. We arranged for me to bring Mega a fake version of the Colt in order to buy the boys some time so they could finish out the hunt and finally kill Yellow Eyes, once and for all.

I flip the phone open and press it to my ear as I stare up at the warehouse where I’m supposed to be meeting Meg.

“What?” I say into the phone.

“Is this John Winchester?” The man on the other end says, making me tense up.

“Yes. Who is this and how did you get this number?”

“Your wife. Your contact was in her phone.”

I furrow my brow. “My wife?”

“Yes, sir. Your wife. I’m sorry to tell you that she’s been attacked, but she’s at Bryan Medical Center West Campus.”

“Wait. What? My wife? Attacked? She’s alive?”

“Yes, sir. She is. She’s in surgery now.”

“I’ll be there soon!” 

With that, I hang up my phone, feeling my heart beat faster in my chest.

“She’s alive.” I whisper to myself. “My fuckin’ badass girl. She’s alive.”

I glance around, spot a water tower on the roof of the warehouse, and after checking my pockets for the rosary beads, I head up there. I bless the water, turning it into holy water. If Meg’s a demon, she’s gonna fuckin’ pay even more for what she put my girl through. After blessing the water, I head inside the warehouse.

I make my way to one of the large, empty rooms, knowing that’s where Meg’ll be. Guess I’m early. She’s not here yet. Fuck. I just want to get this over with. Looking around, I realize I can rig something up to put the water lines on a makeshift timer. So, I do. Then, I scrawl out a note, telling Meg how sorry I am I missed her, even though it’s not true, and that I hope she rots in hell. 

That part’s true. 

Once I have the note written and the timer set up, I lay the Colt on the floor with the note, and then book it back to my truck. Even if this isn’t how I wanted things to go with Meg, I don’t give a shit. Even though I haven’t slept in two days, and am running off of straight caffeine, I don’t give a shit. Leigh’s alive, and I’m not gonna waste another minute not by her side.

I tear outta the warehouse parking lot, rushing to the hospital. As I drive, I call Dean.

“Dad?” He asks. “How’d it go with Meg?”

“She’s alive.” I blurt out, talking ‘bout Leigh.

“Meg? You left her alive?!”

“No! I didn’t see her. Something came up. I left her a note. She might come for y’all…”

“Left her a note? Why? What came up?”

“I got a call from the hospital. Leigh...Dean...Leigh’s alive.”

“She is?!?! What? How?”

“Yes. She is. So, I’m heading to the hospital. I’ve got to be by her side. But. I wanted to let you know. In case Meg shows up.”

“We’ll keep an eye out for her, dad. Don’t worry. You stay with Leigh. We’ll come as soon as we’re done here.”

“Thanks, son.”

Our conversation ends a few moments later. I pull into a parking spot at the hospital a few minutes later. As soon as I’m parked, I have the keys outta ignition and in my pocket as I rush outta the truck and into the hospital. I take a deep breath once I’m inside, trying to calm my nerves. The last thing I need is to appear even more outta it than I already am.

I run my fingers through my already messed up hair and then down my face, taking another deep breath in. When I’m done, I walk over to the nurse’s station.

“Excuse me, miss?” I say in what I hope is a soft, non-shaky tone.

The young nurse looks up from her computer. I give her a small smile.

“Yes, sir?” She asks, blushing a little.

“Hi. I got a call. My wife...she was attacked...they said she was here?”

“Wife? What’s her name?” Her fingers resting on her keyboard.

“Leigh Sullivan.”

She nods and quickly types my girl’s name into the computer. Whatever she sees on the screen has her eyes widening more than the Grand Canyon. My heart falls deeper into the pit of my stomach. 

“What? What is it?” I ask, my fingers gripping the edge of the counter so tight that my knuckles turn white.

“Nothing, sir. I just...your wife, sir…” She starts.

I swallow deeply, expecting the worst. “Yes?”

She looks up at me. “Sir, your wife is one of the most badass women I’ve ever heard of. To survive having her throat slit and still making a 911 call? I respect her.”

I let out a deep breath. “So she’s still alive?”

“Oh! Yes. I’m sorry. She is. She’s outta surgery now too.”

“Thank fuck. Can you tell me what room? I got a badass woman to see and tell her she’s loved.”

The nurse smiles. “Of course, sir. She’s in room 214.”

“Thank you.” 

I give her another smile and then head to room 214. Standing in front of the door, I urge myself to try and calm down. The last thing Leigh needs is to see me panicking. Slowly, I open the door and step inside. As my eyes adjust to the darkness of the room, I take everything in. The Hunter in me looks for anything unusual.

Seeing nothing outta the ordinary, the normal part of me focuses on the figure lying in the hospital bed. My heart breaks as my feet shuffle forward. Leigh’s lying there, hooked up to a bunch of different machines with a thick band of gauze ‘round her neck. Aside from that, she looks like she’s peaceful, almost as if she’s just sleeping.

I slump down in the chair next to her side, and immediately take her small hand in both of my much larger ones. Bringing it to my lips, I kiss her knuckles, not paying attention to the tears rolling down my cheeks. It’s been years since I’ve cried. I haven’t allowed myself that luxury. But now...I can’t stop it.

I don’t want to. I thought I’d lost Leigh, but my girl...she’s a fuckin’ fighter. I hold her hand tightly, not wanting to let go.

“Leigh? Baby, I’m here.” I tell her, my voice shaky and full of emotions. “Wake up for me? I wanna see those beautiful eyes, that stunning smile, and hear you tell me that I’m a fuckin’ dumbass. So, wake up? For me? Please?”

When she doesn’t respond, I place another kiss to her knuckles. I didn’t really expect her to wake up. Not right now at least. She’s been through hell. She needs her rest. Hell, I need my own rest too, and I end up falling asleep in an uncomfortable hospital chair, Leigh’s hand in mine, and my head by her hip.

                                                            ***

Over the next week, I stay by Leigh’s side. The boys eventually show up a couple of days later, looking just as exhausted as I do. Dean tells me that he killed Meg, says it was payback for what she’d done to Leigh. Sam stays by Leigh’s side, holding her other hand. Four days after the attack, Dean looks at me.

“Dad?” He starts.

I look up at him. “Hmmm?”

“You should go shower, get something to eat, get some actual sleep.”

“I’m not leaving her, Dean.”

“I know, Dad. But, you need to take care of yourself. You haven’t really been sleeping, and I know for a fact that you haven’t taken a shower in nearly a week. You’re starting to stink. We both know that Leigh wouldn’t want to see you like this.”

I sigh. “I’ll take a shower in the bathroom there.” I point to the bathroom attached to Leigh’s hospital room. “Can you go get my bag from my truck? The one with the clothes, not the guns.”

Dean nods. “I’ll do that. And I’ll run out and get some food too, while you shower. Sammy can stay with Leigh.”

I run a hand over my face, nodding. “Fine. But I won’t take a long shower. I don’t...I just gotta be here when she wakes up.”

Both of my boys nod in understanding. Dean leaves the room while I stand and look at Sam.

“I won’t leave her side, Dad. Go shower. You stink worse than that hunt we were on when all the showers in the town stopped working ‘cause of the monster.” He says.

Unable to stop the small, soft chuckle that escapes my lips at his words, I nod. I lay a hand on his shoulder, a silent gesture of comfort before I lean down and place a soft kiss on Leigh’s forehead. 

“I’ll be right back, baby. Your old man’s gotta go get cleaned up so you don’t ditch his ass when you wake up.” I whisper, half jokingly.

She doesn’t respond, but I don’t let it crush my hopes. Not any more than they’ve already been crushed. I make my way to the bathroom, and turn the shower on. While I’m in there, Dean cracks the door.

“Dad? I’m putting your bag by the door here.” He says.

“Thanks, son.” I call out as I wash my hair and beard.

He just let out a grunt in response and the door shuts once again. Dean’s always been more of the silent type unless he’s being a smart ass, but when it comes to him hurting, he’s always been more silent instead of letting his emotions completely show. After I’m as cleaned up as I can be in a hospital shower, I step out, dry off, and tug on a pair of semi-clean jeans, an old tee, and one of my plaid button-up shirts that Leigh loves the most.

I open the bathroom door and glance toward the bed. I see beautiful hazel eyes staring back at me.

“Leigh.” I rush over to her side. 

I lean down and gently capture her lips with mine. After a few seconds, I pull away and look into her eyes. 

“I love you, Leigh.” I whisper.

She smiles slightly with droopy eyes. Even when she’s like this, she’s so fuckin’ beautiful. 

“You don’t have to say anything but I wanted you to know.” I smile widely. “I’ll say it forever if you’ll let me. Get some more sleep. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

I kiss her forehead as her eyes close. Yep. I’m definitely proposing soon.

#His Salvation #John Winchester One-Shot #John Winchester Fanfic #John Winchester #Supernatural One-Shot #Supernatural Fanfic #SPN One-Shot #SPN Fanfic #Supernatural S1 E21 #SPN S1 E21 #Supernatural 1x21 #SPN 1x21 #Jeffrey Dean Morgan One-Shot #Jeffrey Dean Morgan Fanfic #JDM One-Shot #JDM Fanfic #Jeffrey Dean Morgan #JDM

[obsidianfr3sk]

Rise of the Renegades (Chapter 2)

Summary: Heroes come from the most unexpected places. Heroes sometimes feel a little too different, a little too scared, a little too alone. But heroes also know when enough is enough, and that before saving the world, they need to save themselves. And they cannot do it alone.

They were going to be the hope of the world. They were going to call themselves the Renegades. Even if they didn’t know it yet.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26246812/chapters/64292134#workskin

A few weeks ago I was having kind of a writer’s block and my mom a friend of mine (cof cof @dawniebb cof cof) recommended me to create a playlist for my fic... and I did. @nodrianbcyes already listened to it and said it ruled so I’m gonna share it with you guys, pls don’t make fun of my music taste (? You can listen to it clicking here. 

Mmmm, what else, what else??? Hope you like it! Reblogs, funny tags, likes and dead threats are always welcome!

Tag list: @healing-winston-pratt @alecjamesartino @ohmyskies @blueraspberry-official (tell me if you want in or out, don’t worry)

The stupidest plan 

You fell asleep in my car, I drove the whole time,

but that's ok, I'll just avoid the holes so you sleep fine.

I'm driving here I sit, cursing my government,

for not using my taxes to fill holes with more cement.

Hugh

He had spent the whole night sketching the battle between Wonder Man and Ace Anarchy. It had been very tedious to be working without proper lighting. For a moment he believed that when morning came, his drawing would not look as good as he thought. However, the morning had come.

And it was perfect.

Although now that he was polishing the last details while waiting for classes to begin, he came across a question that kept him from concentrating.

Simon quietly walked into the classroom, as if he was afraid of bothering someone with his mere presence (although they literally were only ones there). He sat in the first seat in the row to his right. Simon hated sitting upfront because he said it only brought more attention to himself than he wanted to. However, Hugh couldn't sit anywhere else. His glasses weren't the best.

Also, it was strangely depressing to sit on the last row and see that of the forty tables in the room, only fifteen were filled. Twenty if it was a busy day. From the front, it was easier to ignore that more than half of the kids in his class had dropped out of school. 

But Hugh had enough of ignoring things.

“What color are Ace Anarchy’s eyes?” he asked Simon.

“Good morning to you too,” he replied sarcastically.

“Good morning.” He took gray in one hand and blue in the other. “What color are Ace Anarchy's eyes?”

Simon looked carefully at the colors. “I don't know, gray? I feel like they are gray. I can't imagine him having blue eyes.”

Hugh agreed.

“What are you drawing?” Simon asked.

“Propaganda,” he replied with a mischievous smile.

“It looks good.”

“I’m a propaganda expert, indeed.” He grabbed his classroom chair and pushed it to the right next to Simon's. He would return it to its place when the professor entered. “Have you thought about what I told you about yesterday?”

He looked away. “No.”

He shook his head. Simon was lying. “I was being very serious, you know.”

“And I was too. Stop thinking bullshit,” and he smacked him on the back of the neck. “Or do I have to beat those ideas out of you, Wonder Man?”

Hugh hit him back, but in the arm. “Come on. I don’t believe it is bullshit.”

And I don't think you believe that either.

“All right, but you believe many things. You believed in Santa Claus until very recently.” Simon started playing with a ball of crumpled paper that had been lying on the floor for a week. “When you told me ‘Simon, but it has all the logic in the world that Santa exists, he is a prodigy, like us ’ and I was like—"

“A part of me died that tragic day,” he said in a dramatic voice, one hand on his chest. “My childhood…”

“You were eleven years old. It was to save you from bullying. I was protecting you.” The door opened again and they both turned at the same time to see who it was. It was just a group of girls. Good. “It's not like it helped that much though.”

He shrugged.

Neither Simon nor he had been spared from bullying during those years. All the schools in the district were mostly filled with non-prodigies because most of the prodigies were in gangs or hiding in their homes. The few who were still in school did their best not to cause problems and to go unnoticed. They were part of that last group since middle school.

However, the entire school found out about their powers when Simon got so nervous at a presentation that he disappeared in front of his entire class. Hugh tried to intervene but stood up so fast that he tripped over his backpack and hit his nose on the floor. He did not bleed or receive a single scratch. People were quick to connect the dots.

Obviously if one was a prodigy, the other one was too. 

Alter all, freaks stuck together. 

They thought high school was going to be different, but no. On the first day, an older boy caught Simon turning invisible intermittently in the bathroom while having a panic attack. A few hours later, a girl tried to stab Hugh with a pencil and all it did was break it as soon as it made contact with his skin.

“The next time you have a panic attack,” he told Simon on their way home, “tell me.”

“And the next time someone tries to stab you with a pencil, you stab them back.”

When you were a prodigy, it didn't matter if one believed in Santa or not. The mere fact of existing was enough to cause problems.

“At eleven you're still a kid,” Simon kicked him under the bench as he laughed. “Did you ever believe in Santa?”

“No. At my house the one who gave the presents was Baby Jesus,” he replied. “But I didn't believe in him either. How could a baby deliver all those gifts? His hands are too tiny”

Simon gave a light laugh, but Hugh couldn't even smile.

He toyed with the color blue. “Simon, did you ever believe in something?”

Simon bit the inside of his cheek and looked up at the ceiling. He took his sweet time thinking before replying, “I have believed in things.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. “Like what things?”

“Well... I believed the stories my mom told me before bed,” he replied. “I also believed they were never going to stop producing The Scarlet Enchantress and the Phantom Feline comics—” He gestured for him to come closer— “or that I was going to be a prodigy,” he whispered.

Hugh smiled at him. “The best curse ever.”

“What did you believe in?”

He laid his head on his desk. “I have a whole list.”

Simon covered his head with his hood and pretended to be ready to fall asleep. “The short version of that list, then.”

Hugh imitated him. “I used to believe that adults never grew up. Like, they were born as adults,” Simon laughed and rolled his eyes. “I thought little people were running the television inside of it. I thought my aunt was the most beautiful woman in the world—”

“She is,” Simon replied.

“Simon, stop it. She is my aunt. You have many other girls to choose from.”

“They are not as pretty as your aunt.”

“Simon!”

Simon laughed and the girls shushed him. His friend turned red in the ears as they returned to their conversation like nothing. Hugh wanted to point out how rude they had been.

However, when Simon discreetly smiled at him again, he decided to continue with his list. Those girls were not worthy of his attention. “I also believed in Santa Claus, until someone ruined my hopes and dreams.” Another kick. Simon kicked people too much. “But I also believe in that someone, you know.”

Simon's smile almost disappeared. “Well... that someone doesn't believe in himself.”

I knew it.

He understood his friend. He really did. He knew there were times when Simon would get more nervous than normal in banal situations. Or that he had some days when he didn't want to get out of bed at all. 

Those were the worst.

But despite that, not a single day passed that Simon didn't get up and go to school with him. Even when Hugh had to stop at his house and practically beg him to do it. 

Simon had never left him alone. And Hugh wasn't going to do it now.

He gifted him the widest of his smiles. “Well that someone doesn't have to worry about it. I can believe in him for both of us.”

Simon stared into his eyes for several seconds. He felt like he knew that face as well as he knew his. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“I am sure,” he replied.

Simon kicked him again.

Hugh felt sparks exploding inside his stomach.

Suddenly, a body slammed into the lockers, and screams filled the school hallway. The trio of girls ran out to see who was involved. Hugh leaned out of the small window in the door. He had always believed he was above that kind of thing, and he was. But it was also the most interesting thing that was going to happen all day.

Simon followed him.

They were a couple of boys from their grade, the same ones who constantly teased them. One with curly blond hair was holding his friend by the collar of his shirt and was yelling an infinity of curse words. The other three in his group, instead of separating them as good friends would do, they had joined the chorus of “Fight! Fight!"

Who knows why they were fighting. They were always fighting someone, but never with each other. They usually grabbed someone smaller than themselves for that, like the prodigy boy that was a grade below them. (They would never physically fight Hugh or Simon, making jokes at their expense was enough for them.) 

Cowards.

Maybe they were just brutally bored.

But there had to be other ways to shake off the boredom.

“I'm going to tell a teacher,” Hugh said.

At that moment, one of the girls ran out of the scene in the direction of the teachers' office. Well, at least now he wouldn't be the one to look like a snitch in front of his entire grade.

“That someone is slightly concerned,” Simon whispered.

“Why?” The blond slammed his friend again, but this time, against the door. “For them?”

“No,” he replied, a little disturbed by the tremendous blow that boy had received. “I am— that someone is... Well, what if the plan you have in your head is stupid?”

At that moment, Hugh realized that he had no plans. That was weird. He always had a plan for everything.

Beating Ace Anarchy should be no exception.

“I suppose we can come up with something. The two of us,” he added.

The fight was broken up by a short-haired teacher. They hurriedly returned their school chairs to their places and the rest of their class entered. Five, six, nine...

Eleven. Only eleven kids had attended that day. And that counting the ones who were fighting a few moments ago. 

“Don't think that someone is just going to blindly follow you,” Simon whispered. “He will tell you when you have a stupid plan.”

“I would be very grateful for that,” he also replied in a whisper. “Although I always have amazing plans, to begin with.”

Simon tried to kick him, but at that moment, the teacher from the first class entered. Hugh chuckled, and in response, Simon discreetly raised his middle finger in his direction.

He knew at that moment that it would not be a stupid plan.

#renegades #archenemies #supernova #renegades trilogy #fic #ao3 #OG renegades #hugh everhart #simon westwood #georgia rawles #tamaya rae #kasumi hasegawa #evander wade #rise of the renegades #two bros trying to be straight #humon #i guess #lol

[what-a-messsss]

2x2 rewatch

Eeeeehehehehe, why the fuck am I laughing this hard when I realized it was the roadkill compost episode?  That is not in the least funny, it’s actually pretty gross, but I’m literally paused 3 seconds in chortling to myself so hard that I’m having to wipe away tears.  ...I think the stress is getting to me.  Anyway, back to fictional Wyoming!

It’s actually a pretty genius business model, to be honest.  Taking a sadly repeating resource and using it to enrich the soil?  Tough work, no doubt, physically and mentally, but a smart and very niche thing.  I hadn’t thought about the fact that cleaning up roadkill would have been part of Walt’s job as a deputy.  Lucian said in S6, in his fantastically circuitous way, that it had been 10 years since he and Walt had worked together (if I remember correctly).  Which... wait, is that right?  Had Walt really only been sheriff for 4 years when the show started?  Which is a single term, before Branch ran against him.  I think I’d had the impression that he’d been sheriff for longer than that.  Or is my math just super borked?  (A very real possibility.)  Who were Walt’s deputies before these three?  Branch has  probably been a deputy for a while, Vic was hired a few months before the show and it isn’t clear for Ferg but it’s implied at least a chunk longer.  So who were his deputies for the rest of those 4 years?  (Aaaaaand this is how I grow OCs.  Shit.)

She names the roadkill?  Eeeeeh...

Branch, you douchecanoe.  You are very clearly not welcome in her home anymore; the fact that she hasn’t moved the spare key isn’t a fucking invitation to break in and invade her privacy, oh my gods I hate you so much.  This is predatory behavior.  You need to either go through official channels with the department to do a wellness check or FUCK RIGHT OFF into the deepest reaches of hell.  Excellent plan, fucking off.

Henry,  I adore you beyond measure.  “Thanks-taking.”  Vic... Seriously?  “God, you people really hold a grudge.”  Somehow, I think they’re kind of entitled to, what with all of the wars, genocide, stolen land, racism, broken treaties, and the like.  Get bent.

Genuinely, Henry’s dry as anything sass is quite possibly the best thing about the whole show.  We didn’t get nearly enough of it during the later seasons.  And his little smiiiiile at having made Walt chuckle, oh my heart.

The “Hands up!”  O.o  “Hands down!” little comedy gag is totally sold by KS’s face, haaaa.  And Ferg’s bafflement, but collected response to those truckers thinking he was a rentboy was solid.

I kind of have to applaud that sex worker’s gumption to just try to take off in the truck.  Not the best thought out plan, to be sure, but gutsy.

Ok, Branch has just had a line establishing that they’re not in Absaroka, and then Vic and Ferg look annoyed/confused when Walt tells them to cut the sex workers and customers loose, but then Branch finishes with, “Absaroka County wishes you all a fine evening... at home.”  So are they in Absaroka, or not??

Kudos to Walt saying, “Which will allow you to get out of here.  If that’s what you want.”  Not falling completely into the savior complex bs is good, and acknowledging that she is an adult who can make her own decisions, even if they’re ones he would wish she wouldn’t is good.  ........If only he could extend that same courtesy to his own daughter.  

Branch, wtf.  It’s a felony to even have burglar’s tools.  Legit, it’s a felony punishable with up to 3 years in prison or up to $3k, or both.  Unlawful entry is 10 years and/or $10k, and I’m pretttttyyyyyy fucking sure you don’t have a warrant to be in Cady’s house.  FUCK OFF.  You giant douchecanoe.  (Min and I also have a headcanon that the random coloured empty frames are Branch’s fault, because they don’t really go with any of the rest of the decor, and we hate them.  So we decided that when he saw the Andy Warhol style print she had that he got those for her and she just never got around to taking them down after they broke up.)  And isn’t tampering with someone’s mail a federal offence?  You are the worst.

Aaaand then Walt calls the Collettes showing Ross Lanten’s wife video of him with prostitutes “interfering in his marriage.”  Okaaaay.  Because helping get a woman and kids out of what has several hallmarks of an abusive marriage is “interfering,” I guess.  Not the happiest about that word choice, I’m not gonna lie.

Aaaaaand then Whitish is super racist, and I hate her.  Henry handles it with grace, but fuck, I cannot imagine how wearying that must be.  And Branch makes obnoxious and offensive assumptions (playing to his strengths, natch), and Henry once again demonstrates how he is also the Actual Best.

Nobody has heard from Cady recently, but the tiny little hesitation Henry has before he confirms that he hasn’t heard from her either is so good.  LDP is so good.  Just from that, it reinforces how much that bothers him, and that he’s worried, but also that he really doesn’t want to talk to Branch about any of it.

“If you do, will you let me know?”  “I most certainly will not.”  Such a classy way to basically tell Branch to fuck off and get wrecked.  

A lady threatening Henry with a knife and I should not be focusing on how great he looks in a vest, but heeeeere we are.  (I do love that brown vest.)  And even after she is drunk and rude and racist and threatens him, Henry’s look when she says that she knew the dead man still has concern and compassion in it.  Waaaaaah.

Do I remember what Walt did to his hand?  Was that something from this episode that I’m not remembering right now, or are they actually having some intra-episode continuity and that bandage is him still recovering from the start of frostbite?  [Dang it, my Xbox controller just pooped out.  Now I have to go swap it out for the other one and stick this one in the charging dock.  But I’m so cozy in bed with my jar o’ tea and everythinggggg.  Boo.]  ...  [It has been long enough since I wrote that last bit that my Xbox has shut itself down twice in the interim.  Oops.  I’m super great at focusing.]

Fuck, that “I was some place I shouldn’ta been” hits hard.  This whole seen in rough.

Aaaahaha, why is the fact that Ferg is also standing there looking at Walt when he wakes up so much funnier than if it had just been Vic?  And his little grin.  And Ruby with a mug of his toothbrush and such for Walt!  Rubyyyyy!  (Holy shit, the fact that they have this little set up is alarmingly adorable, and I heckin’ adore Ruby.)  And then she sasses Branch, and I just want nice things for her.  

Walt’s “If you want,” to Ferg came off to me more like, ‘waste your time if you want to,’ (though that could well be my own issues projected” but I’m proud of Ferg for running with it.  And I do appreciate Walt calling the sex worker a lady.

Of course, he pulls Henry into his bs, getting him to solicit a sex worker.  Why does Henry put up with him?  I’m sorryyyy, but the pointing is so awkward and I cringe so hard, but what else is he going to do, I guess?  And how does he recognize her anyway?  Did Walt take a picture of her before letting her go, or something?  It doesn’t seem like he even got her name, to pull up a picture from a rap sheet, sooo...  Why am I even worrying about it?  And at least Walt doesn’t think that it’s not rape just if it’s a sex worker.

The flashback scene sure hits hard, too.  Damn.  I’m trying to remember the last time I saw anybody other than Vic actually pull on a glove in consideration of fingerprints.  I think there might have been one time or something, but nothing comes readily to mind.

For all that I rag on Walt for just collecting his assumptions and taking them to the bank, there is heavy irony with him now laying out the reasons he’s not arresting Whitish, because there is reasonable doubt in the form of the Collettes.  

Ooooooope, and then Branch brings up Cady.  I sure this can only go really well.  Aaaaaaaaand of course Walt has one of his Longmire Epiphanies and just walks off in the middle of the conversation, such as it was.

Does a college registrar’s really have your birth certificate on file?  I’m pretty sure I didn’t have to submit a copy to mine, but I also don’t really remember?  But that seems weird.

Ah, the bandage was about the frostbite.  I appreciate the continuity.  

Hmmmmmm, Cady leaving her phone at home when she drove to CO seems unlikely.  It seems unlikely as a generality for her generation, and on practical levels (directions to the precinct and such?), and just... That’s pretty hard to buy.  If I don’t want to talk to somebody, or even a bunch of people, I’d ignore calls or even block numbers, but her not taking her phone gives the impression that there is literally nobody that she would want to talk to, and that plays into this really weird bit of characterization void that the writers fell into of Cady just not knowing any single person other than her dad, Henry, Ruby, Branch, and Ferg, and I guess Vic.  As if she just doesn’t exist outside of her relation to one of them.  She doesn’t want to talk to any of the 6 of them, so there is not a single other person on the planet who she would want to be able to talk to/have them contact her?  There’s not a single other person on the planet that she knows who if they called and said, “I have an emergency, can you talk/help?” that she wouldn’t want to be available for?  Bullshit.  The entire rest of the series when she’s onscreen is showing how much she cares.  She’s a fucking Hufflepuff, and she’s not going to leave her damn phone at home while she drives 6 hours away into another damn state.  If you so desperately need to that she’s not even seeing his call, have her leave it in her car when she goes into the Denver station.  Like, unless she has a second phone that she did take, I’m not buying it.  Even as an attempt at “she’s so caught up in her mother’s murder now, oooo, Longmire tantrum and singular focus’ characterization.  Just, boo.

#Longmire #cady longmire #walt longmire #Henry Standing Bear #The Ferg #Branch is such a tool #episode commentary

[shmowlwrites]

Business Man From Origins But He’s He’s Chat Noir

@the-navistar-carol @eve-valution So Eve was watching origins and saw that business man that just walks right on past Fu and was like “what if he helped Fu? He would’ve been Chat Noir!” So here we are. Nothing motivates someone like procrastination and finally, I am out of my writer’s block so maybe I’ll get my prompts done soon. No salt, except Gabriel Agreste hatred, as usual I had no idea what I was really doing until half-way through, there will be a second part to complete Origins, which I also have no idea what I’m gonna be doing with Also, I promise that ending is v much innocent, why are adult-teen friendships hard to write?

Gabriel had places to be. Things to do. Cases to win. Oh, you thought this was Gabriel Agreste? No. This was Gabriel Durand, a powerful lawyer who ruled the court with an iron fist. He knew more details about you than you did. If you faced him in court, you might as well tell the judge that you forfeit, you’re going to lose anyway. 

Now, Gabriel thought of himself as a humble man outside of his ruthless court tactics. He tried to help people on his way to and from work and his research projects for work. So when, even when a little behind schedule than normal, he came across an old man on the sidewalk trembling as he reached for his cane, he stooped down to help pick the man up and set him back to his feet. 

However, before he could ask if he was alright, the screeching of a car drifting right in the middle of the street to pull up on the sidewalk as a young blond began running up the stairs. Two adults got out, one scarily huge and the other Gabriel was familiar with due to her standing in for the recluse that shared his name. So that must be Adrien Agreste… 

Gabriel’s face set. Gabriel- the fashion empire- had always been something that set him off. He switched his phone on to record- they were close enough that recording the altercation from his pocket would do fine. The couple of seconds long interaction found Gabriel with new information. What exactly was going on in the Agreste household?

He turned to the old man who now had a pensive look on his face. “I’m sorry about that- Are you alright, sir? Did you hurt yourself when you fell?” He asked.

“Oh, I’m quite alright,” the old man gave him a sating smile. Gabriel had been around enough snakes to spot a smile meant to placate hiding behind the facade of being genuine.

“Is something troubling you?” Gabriel asked. “I don’t mean to pry, if there is something.”

“Oh no- I just noticed that you tried recording what happened with that young man there. Why?” The old man’s brow furrowed.

“That was Adrien Agreste and two of Gabriel Agreste’s employees. I’ve always thought something was off with that family, but I’ve never had proof of my thoughts. Funny how you employ your son as a model for everything you make and keep him hidden in the house.” Gabriel looked to the school’s stairs, remembering Adrien’s plea. What was the wrath of Gabriel Agreste like? 

“Ah, I understand,” the old man hummed, leaning forward on his cane. “You worry about that young man?”

“Indeed,” Gabriel nodded, turning back to the elder. He checked his watch and nearly choked. “I’m so sorry, sir, but I’m running late for work, I must go!” Gabriel wheeled around and ran for it. 

And then there were the tremors in the earth, the walls nearly caving from the measured shakes. Fearing an earthquake, the court ran. It didn’t matter about the case- they had just finished up. As Gabriel slid under a bench, he noticed something off about his briefcase. It was soft, meaning he could see if there was a lump in the leather. And indeed- there was a lump. Pulling it out, the lump turned out to be a hexagonal black box with an intricate red design on the cover. Now wasn’t really the time to check out strange items in your briefcase, so he stuck it back in. Just at that moment, a police officer barged into the courtroom, allowing for its occupants to hear the screaming outside. Declaring there was a monster outside, the officer required everyone to run for an inner hiding place. 

Gabriel ran for his office. The earthquake wasn’t an earthquake, rather the steps of the stone monster, so while he waited for whatever to happen, he decided to finally check out the contents of the box. He froze when a green light appeared and floated around him. He only blinked when a cat-like bug-thing materialized out of it. 

“Oh, fils de pute.”

“Oh, do you kiss your maman with that mouth?”

Gabriel didn’t like this. Why did he let Plagg convince him to do this? Here he was, standing on a rooftop of all places, dressed in something he would never normally were. A lawyer, Plagg had mused and decided this would be fun. Here he was, in a black suit, black button-up, black bowtie, black loafers he wouldn’t normally wear that had grippy cat paw pads on the bottom. Now if the gothic suit wasn’t enough, he was wearing a masquarde-esque black mask that reminded him too much of the Batman masks, with their pointy “bat ears” sticking up from them. He tried tugging it off. Turns out it was like the mask was superglued to his freaking face.

Now, if Gabriel thought he looked ridiculous, it had nothing on the stupid belt tail and, upon looking in a mirror, his cat eyes. His eyes were normally brown, but now they were a glowing amber. 

Unbelievable. 

No, what was even more unbelievable was that whoever gave him this miraculous, didn’t find another adult. No. They gave it to some young teenage girl. Who stuttered and had confidence issues. He wasn’t a dad! He was bad with kids! How was he supposed to help her?!

“Uh, don’t worry too much,” he tried a smile. She still looked at him with wide, scared eyes. “I mean, I’m also new at this. I don’t even know the first thing of what I’m doing right now. Plagg, my kwami, told me a few things, but he didn’t really give me a confidence booster besides telling me-” he mimicked Plagg’s voice “-it’ll be fun! Loosen up, law-boy!”

It seemed to work, the girl giggled at his impression of Plagg. “A-ah, thank you.”

“So, what does your miraculous do? Perhaps we can plan before shoving ourselves into that situation,” Gabriel asked, grabbing the black-matted chrome bo-staff he had been trying to figure out when the girl ran into him. One of the golden paw-pads slid a screen up, and he finally found out that he could read his powers on there. 

“Uh, Tikki told me it was…” the girl frowned. “If I say it, even in a sentence, will it activate it?”

“Probably,” Gabriel grunted. “It looks like I’m your support though. I can destroy things at a touch, I can also send a ball of destructive energy out, but I’m not too sure about trying that right now.”

“My power is something lucky. I have to tear the item the Akuma is hiding… and…” the girl’s face started to show panic again. “What else was I supposed to do?!”

“Don’t worry right now,” Gabriel crouched so that he was looking up at her. “Let’s prioritize. There is an- what did you call it?” He had heard her, but he wanted to keep her grounded.

“An Akuma,” the girl answered, her fists still clenched tightly. 

“Okay, so we need to find that. We need to break it. In words, it sounds easy. I’m sure with your power, it’ll either give us great luck or give us something helpful to increase our chances. So now, the words sound a little more plausible. If anything goes wrong, we’ll fall back and regroup and plan. Does that round alright?” Gabriel asked.

“Yeah…” the girl nodded. “Um… What do I call you?”

“Hm…” Gabriel hummed. “Well, my miraculous is the black cat, yeah? Call me Chat Noir.” He didn’t ask the girl, and perhaps he should’ve, but he felt she would’ve panicked on finding a name.

They found Stoneheart at the DuPont stadium, chasing a young teen. Gabriel vaulted off the wall, extended his bo-staff to slam down between Stoneheart and the teen. 

“Don’t you know assault and property damage is illegal?” he found himself asking, buying the teen time to run while Stoneheart was focused on him.

Having no clever words, Stoneheart instead decided to try to squish him underhand. Swinging his bo-staff at Stoneheart, he tried to trip him. Instead, the staff bounced off and Stoneheart grew in size.

“Merde, merde, merde,” Gabriel muttered, finding himself flipping away. Where did his sudden athleticism come from? He was a lawyer, for God’s sake! And where was his partner? Please don’t say she bailed on him, he would more than likely kill Stoneheart than “free the Akuma” if he used his power on Stoneheart.

Speaking of which, the monster picked up a soccer goal post and tossed it at him. Unaware of his surroundings, he batted it away, only to then realize there was a person in the way. He tossed his staff, sending it flying after pressing the extend button. Right before the goal post hit her, the staff reached and the civilian was unharmed. However, that left him without a weapon, and Stoneheart grabbed him.

“What are you waiting for, super red bug? The world is watching you!” The civilian called, and Gabriel found solace in that. The girl was still there, but she was perhaps still on the verge of a panic attack. He didn’t think that would help her; in fact, he thought that would only send her further down the rabbit hole. 

However, suddenly the teen slid under Stoneheart’s legs and had a brave smile on her face. “Animal cruelty? How shameful!” And with a mighty tug, Stoneheart was sent onto his back and Gabriel went flying into the goal post on the other end of the field.

“Sorry I took so long, Chat Noir,” the girl fretted.

“It’s alright,” Gabriel grunted as he rolled to his feet. “You were nervous and that is fully understandable. But we’re together now, aren’t we?”

The girl gave him a beaming smile before looking back at Stoneheart with a frown. “Any plans? He gets bigger with every attack… We’ll need to do something other than attack, right?”

“I think it’s time to use your luck,” Gabriel nodded to her.

The girl made a sound of confirmation and tossed her yo-yo into the air. “Lucky Charm!”

A wet suit fell into her hands. 

“What am I supposed to do with this?” She shrieked. “How am I supposed to break anything with this?”

“He’s made of stone…” Gabriel began to analyze their opponent. “His right hand is clenched, he only uses his right. You think he’s holding his Akuma?” Gabriel suggested.

The girl perked, her eyes taking in other things while Gabriel kept his attention on Stoneheart. “Here’s my plan!”

Gabriel spared her a glance. “Anything you need me to do?”

She poked the hose at their feet into the wetsuit and then wrapped her yo-yo around his legs. “I’m sorry- do you mind being bait?”

Absolutely he minded! But, he only gave her a nervous grin before he was tossed towards Stoneheart. Now caught, he turned his attention towards the girl, confused as she called towards the monster. “Catch me if you can!”

And she was also caught, but he noticed the purple wadded ball of something fall to the ground. She turned towards the girl that he had saved earlier. “Alya, the tap!”

Did she know the girl?

But either way, the girl- Alya - turned on the hose and his partner popped out of the giant’s hand. She stomped on the paper ball, and a purple-black butterfly fluttered away. Gabriel fell to the ground with the disappearance of Stoneheart and the appearance of a rather large teen.

“Are you alright, boy?” Gabriel found himself asking, sitting on the ground and folding over his knees.

“I- What happened?” The boy asked.

“You were… I guess the word would be Akumatized,” Gabriel offered. He felt bad for thinking of him as a monster- he was only influenced by the Akuma! Would all so-called monsters just be victims of Akumas? “But it’s alright. My partner and I helped you.”

The sound of his partner’s voice brought the two out of their conversation- she was reading the paper that had held the Akuma.

“Kim wrote it,” the boy sighed. “He’s always making fun of me.”

“You know, you shouldn’t get so bent out of shape about that. There’s no shame in telling someone you love them, Ivan.”

Was this girl a classmate? She knows the name of two teenagers- of which there were probably a million in Paris- and knew a lot more about the situation than he was.

“How do you know my name, miss?”

That sent the girl into a nervous giggle fit. Thankfully, she was saved from answering that. Alya was recording them at an uncomfortably close distance. 

“Uncanny! A-mazing! Spectacular! Are you gonna be protecting Paris from now on? How did you get your powers? Oh, I’ve got a ton of questions to ask you… uh?”

Gabriel looked to his partner. He wasn’t about to promise anything she was too nervous about. The girl met his eyes and nodded. Gabriel stood, helping Ivan to his feet as well.

“Ladybug. Call me Ladybug,” the girl held her head up.

“Chat Noir,” Gabriel dipped his head. “We’ll protect you and find the source of this phenomenon.”

Gabriel found he kind of liked the whole experience, once the threat of death was gone. Ladybug was a nice girl, he hoped she stuck around despite her anxiety.

#mlb #miraculous ladybug #business dude in origins #I thought naming him Gabriel would be funny #Adult-teen friendships are possible and that is what I intended with that ending please don't crucify me over that

[monroetalks]

The Woman Who Will Not Die: an essay about Marilyn Monroe by Gloria Steinem

It has been nearly a quarter of a century since the death of a minor American actress named Marilyn Monroe. There is no reason for her to be a part of my consciousness as I walk down a midtown New York street frilled with color and action and life.

In a shop window display of white summer dresses, I see several huge photographs – a life-size cutout of Marilyn standing in a white halter dress, some close-ups of her vulnerable, please-love-me smile – but they don’t look dated. Oddly, Marilyn seems to be just as much a part of this street scene as the neighboring images of models who could now be her daughters – even her granddaughters. I walk another block and pass a record store featuring the hit albums of a rock star named Madonna. She has imitated Marilyn Monroe’s hair, style, and clothes, but subtracted her vulnerability. Instead of using seduction to offer men whatever they want, Madonna uses it to get what she wants – a 1980’s difference that has made her the idol of teenage girls. Nevertheless, her international symbols of femaleness are pure Marilyn.

A few doors away, a bookstore displays two volumes on Marilyn Monroe in its well-stocked window. The first is nothing but random photographs, one of many such collections that have been published over the years. The second is one of several recent exposes on the circumstances surrounding Monroe’s 1962 death from an accidental or purposeful overdose of sleeping pills. Could organized crime, Jimmy Hoffa in particular, have planned to use her friendship with the Kennedys and her suicide – could Hoffa and his friends even have caused that suicide – in order to embarrass or blackmail Robert Kennedy, who was definitely a mafia enemy and probably her lover? Only a few months ago, Marilyn Monroe’s name made international headlines again when a British television documentary on this conspiracy theory was shown and a network documentary made in the United States was suppressed, with potential pressure from crime-controlled unions or the late Robert Kennedy’s family as rumored reasons.

I knew I belonged to the public and to the world, not because I was talented or even beautiful but because I had never belonged to anything or anyone else. — From the Unfinished Biography of Marilyn Monroe

As I turn the corner into my neighborhood, I pass a newsstand where the face of one more young Marilyn Monroe look-alike stares up at me from a glossy magazine cover. She is Kate Mailer, Norman Mailer’s daughter, who was born the year that Marilyn Monroe died. Now she is starring in “Strawhead,” a “memory play” about Monroe written by Norman Mailer, who is so obsessed with this long-dead sex goddess that he had written one long biography and another work – half fact, half fiction – about her, even before casting his daughter in this part.

The next morning, I turn on the television and see a promotion for a show on film director Billy Wilder. The only clip chosen to attract viewers and represent Wilder’s entire career is one of Marilyn Monroe singing a few breathless bars in Some Like It Hot, one of two films they made together.

These are everyday signs of a unique longevity. If you add her years of movie stardom to the years since her death, Marilyn Monroe has been a part of our lives and imaginations for nearly four decades. That’s a very long time for one celebrity to survive in a throwaway culture.

In the 1930’s, when English critic Cyril Connolly proposed a definition of posterity to measure whether a writer’s work had stood the test of time, he suggested that posterity should be limited to 10 years. The form and content of popular culture were changing too fast, he explained, to make any artist accountable for more than a decade.

Since then, the pace of change has been accelerated even more. Everything from the communications revolution to multinational entertainment has altered the form of culture. Its content has been transformed by civil rights, feminism, an end to film censorship, and much more. Nonetheless, Monroe’s personal and intimate ability to inhabit our fantasies has gone right on. As I write this, she is still better known than most living movie stars, most world leaders, and most television personalities. The surprise is that she rarely has been taken seriously enough fur us to ask why that is so.

One simple reason for her life story’s endurance is the premature end of it. Personalities and narratives projected onto the screen of our imaginations are far more haunting – and far more likely to be the stuff of conspiracies and conjuncture – if they have not been allowed to play themselves out to their logical or illogical ends. James Dean’s brief life is the subject of a cult, but the completed lives of such “outsiders” as Gary Cooper or Henry Fonda are not. Each day in the brief Camelot of John Kennedy inspires as much speculation as each year in the long New Deal of Franklin Roosevelt. The few years of Charlie “Bird” Parker’s music inspire graffiti (“Bird Lives”), but the many musical years of Duke Ellington do not.

When the past dies there is mourning, but when the future dies, our imaginations are compelled to carry it on.

Would Marilyn Monroe have become the serious actress she aspired to be? Could she have survived the transition from sex goddess to mortal woman that aging would impose? Could she had stopped her disastrous marriages to men whose images she wanted to absorb (Beloved American DiMaggio, Serious Intellectual Miller), and found a partner who loved and understood her as she really was? Could she have kicked the life-wasting habits of addiction and procrastination? Would she have had or adopted children? Found support in the growing strength of women or been threatened by it? Entered the world of learning or continued to be ridiculed for trying? Survived and even enjoyed the age of 60 she now would be?

Most important, would she finally have escaped her lifetime combination of two parts talent, one part victim, and one part joke? Would she have been “taken seriously,” as she so badly wanted to be?

We will never know. Every question is as haunting as any of its possible answers.

But the poignancy of this incompleteness is not enough to explain Marilyn Monroe’s enduring power. Even among brief public lives, few become parables. Those that endure seem to hook into our deepest emotions of hope or fear, dream or nightmare, of what our own fates might be. Successful leaders also fall into one group or the other: those who invoke a threatening future and promise disaster unless we obey, and those who conjure up a hopeful future and promise reward if we will follow. It’s this power of either fear or hope that makes a personal legend survive, from the fearsome extreme of Adolph Hitler (Did he really escape? Might he have lived on in the jungles of South America?) to the hopeful myth of Zapata waiting in the hills of Mexico to rescue his people. The same is true for the enduring fictions of popular culture, from the frightening villain to the hopeful hero, each of whom is reincarnated again and again.

In an intimate way during her brief life, Marilyn Monroe hooked into both those extremes of emotion. She personified many of the secret hopes of men and many secret fears of women.

To men, wrote Norman Mailer, her image was “gorgeous, forgiving, humorous, compliant and tender… she would ask no price.” She was the child-woman who offered pleasure without adult challenge; a lover who neither judged nor asked anything in return. Both the roles she played and her own public image embodied a masculine hope for a woman who is innocent and sensuously experienced at the same time. “In fact,” as Marilyn said toward the end of her career, “my popularity seems almost entirely a masculine phenomenon.”

Since most men have experienced female power only in their childhoods, they associate it with a time when they themselves were powerless. This will continue as long as children are raised almost totally by women, and rarely see women in authority outside the home. That’s why male adults, and some females too, experience the presence of a strong woman as a dangerous regression to a time of their own vulnerability and dependence. For men, especially, who are trained to measure manhood and maturity by their distance from the world of women, being forced back to that world for female companionship may be very threatening indeed. A compliant child-woman like Monroe solves this dilemma by offering sex WITHOUT the power of an adult woman, much less of an equal. As a child herself, she allows men to feel both conquering and protective; to be both dominating and admirable at the same time.

For women, Monroe embodies kinds of fear that were just as basic as the hope she offered men: the fear of a sexual competitor who could take away men on whom women’s identities and even livelihoods might depend; the fear of having to meet her impossible standard of always giving – and asking nothing in return; the nagging fear that we might share her feminine fate of being vulnerable, unserious, constantly in danger of becoming a victim.

Aside from her beautiful face, which women envied, she was nothing like the female stars that women moviegoers have made popular. Those stars offered at the least the illusion of being in control of their fates – and perhaps having an effect on the world. Stars of the classic “women’s movies” were actresses like Bette Davis, who made her impact by sheer force of emotion; or Katherine Hepburn, who was always intelligent and never victimized for long; or even Doris Day, who charmed the world into conforming to her own virginal standards. Their figures were admirable and neat, but without the vulnerability of the big-breasted woman in a society that regresses men and keeps them obsessed with the maternal symbols of breasts and hips. Watching Monroe was quite different: women were forced to worry for her vulnerability – and thus their own. They might feel like a black moviegoer watching a black actor play a role that was too passive, too obedient, or a Jew watching a Jewish character who was selfish and avaricious. In spite of some extra magic, some face-saving sincerity and humor, Marilyn Monroe was still close to the humiliating stereotype of a dumb blonde: depersonalized, sexual, even a joke. Yet few women yet had the self-respect to object on behalf of their sex, as one would object on behalf of a race or religion, they still might be left feeling a little humiliated – or threatened – without knowing why.

“I have always had a talent for irritating women since I was fourteen,” Marilyn wrote in her unfinished auto-biography. “Sometimes I’ve been to a party where no one spoke to me for a whole evening. The men, frightened by their wives or sweeties, would give me a wide berth. And the ladies would gang up in a corner to discuss my dangerous character.”

But all that was before her death and the revelations surrounding it. The moment she was gone, Monroe’s vulnerability was no longer just a turn-on for many men and an embarrassment for many women. It was a tragedy. Whether that final overdose was suicide or not, both men and women were forced to recognize the insecurity and private terrors that had caused her to attempt suicide several times before.

Men who had never known her wondered if their love and protection might have saved her. Women who had never known her wondered if their empathy and friendship might have done the same. For both women and men, the ghost of Marilyn came to embody a particularly powerful form of hope: the rescue fantasy. Not only did we imagine a happier ending for the parable of Marilyn Monroe’s life, but we also fantasized ourselves as saviors who could have brought it about.

Still, women didn’t seem quite as comfortable about going public with their rescue fantasies as men did. It meant admitting an identity with a woman who always had been a little embarrassing, and who had now turned out to be doomed as well. Nearly all of the journalistic eulogies that followed Monroe’s death were written by men. So are almost all of the nearly 40 books that have been published about Monroe.

Bias in the minds of editors played a role, too. Consciously or not, they seemed to assume that only male journalists should write about a sex goddess. Margaret Parton, a reporter from the Ladies’ Home Journal and one of the few women assigned to profile Marilyn during her lifetime, wrote an article that was rejected because it was too favorable. She had reported Marilyn’s ambitious hope of playing Sadie Thompson, under the guidance of Lee Strasberg, in a television version of RAIN, based on a short story by Somerset Maugham. (Sadie Thompson was “a girl who knew how to be gay, even when she was sad,” a fragile Marilyn had explained, “and that’s important – you know?”) Parton also reported her own “sense of having met a sick little canary instead of a peacock. Only when you pick it up in your hand to comfort it … beneath the sickness, the weakness and the innocence, you find a strong bone structure, and a heart beating. You RECOGNIZE sickness, and you FIND strength.”

Bruce and Beatrice Gould, editors of the Ladies’ Home Journal, told Parton she must have been “mesmerized” to write something so uncritical. “If you were a man,” Mr. Gould told her, “I’d wonder what went on that afternoon in Marilyn’s apartment.” Fred Guiles, one of Marilyn Monroe’s more fair-minded biographers, counted the suppression of this sensitive article as one proof that many editors were interested in portraying Monroe, at least in those later years, as “crazy, a home wrecker.”

Just after Monroe’s death, one of the few women to write with empathy was Diana Trilling, an author confident enough not to worry about being trivialized by association – and respected enough to get published. Trilling regretted the public’s “mockery of [Marilyn’s] wish to be educated,” and her dependence on sexual artifice that must have left “a great emptiness where a true sexuality would have supplied her with a sense of herself as a person.” She mourned Marilyn’s lack of friends, “especially women, to whose protectiveness her extreme vulnerability spoke so directly.”

“But we were the friends,” as Trilling said sadly, “of whom she knew nothing.”

In fact, the contagion of feminism that followed Monroe’s death by less than a decade may be the newest and most powerful reason for the continuing strength of her legend. As women began to be honest in public, and to discover that many of our experiences were more societal than individual, we also realized that we could benefit more by acting together than by deserting each other. We were less likely to blame or be the victim, whether Marilyn or ourselves, and more likely to rescue ourselves and each other.

In 1972, the tenth anniversary of her death and the birth year of MS., the first magazine to be published by and for women, Harriet Lyons, one of its early editors, suggested that MS. do a cover story on Marilyn called “the woman who died too soon.” As the writer of this brief essay about women’s new hope of reclaiming Marilyn, I was astounded by the response to the article. It was like tapping an underground river of interest. For instance:

Marilyn had talked about being sexually assaulted as a child, though many of her biographers had not believed her. Women wrote in to tell their similar stories. It was my first intimation of what since has become a documented statistic: one in six adult women has been sexually assaulted in childhood by a family member. The long-lasting effects – for instance, feeling one has no value except a sexual one – seemed shared by these women and Marilyn. Yet most were made to feel guilty and alone, and many were as disbelieved by the grown-ups around them as Marilyn had been.

Physicians had been more likely to prescribe sleeping pills and tranquilizers than to look for the cause of Monroe’s sleeplessness and anxiety. They had continued to do so even after she attempted suicide several times. Women responded with their own stories of being over-medicated, and of doctors who assumed women’s physical symptoms were all in their “minds.” It was my first understanding that women are more likely to be given chemical and other arm’s-length treatment, and to suffer from the assumption that they can be chemically calmed or sedated with less penalty because they are doing only “women’s work.” Then, ads in medical journals blatantly recommended tranquilizers for depressed housewives, and even now the majority of all tranquilizer prescriptions are written for women. Acting, modeling, making a living more from external appearance than from internal identity – these had been Marilyn’s lifelines out of poverty and obscurity. Other women who had suppressed their internal selves to become interchangeable “pretty girls” – and as a result were struggling with both lack of identity and terror of aging – wrote to tell their stories.

To gain the seriousness and respect that was largely denied her, and to gain the fatherly protection she had been completely denied, Marilyn married a beloved American folk hero and then a respected intellectual. Other women who had tried to marry for protection or for identity, as women are often encouraged to do, wrote to say how impossible and childlike this had been for them, and how impossible for their husbands who were expected to provide their wives’ identities. But Marilyn did not live long enough to see a time in which women sought their own identities, not just derived ones.

During her marriage to Arthur Miller, Marilyn had tried to have a child – but suffered an ectopic pregnancy, a miscarriage – and could not. Letters poured in from women who also suffered from this inability and from a definition of womanhood so tied to the accident of the physical ability to bear a child – preferably a son, as Marilyn often said, though later she also talked of a daughter – that their whole sense of self had been undermined. “Manhood means many things,” as one reader explained, “but womanhood means only one.” And where is the self-respect of a woman who wants to give birth only to a male child, someone different from herself?

Most of all, women readers mourned that Marilyn had lived in an era when there were so few ways for her to know that these experiences were shared with other women, that she was not alone.

Now women and men bring the last quarter century of change and understanding to these poignant photographs taken in the days just before her death. It makes them all the more haunting. [Editor’s Note: this chapter originally appeared with photographs, which are not present here.]

I still see the self-consciousness with which she posed for a camera. It makes me remember my own teenage discomfort at seeing her on the screen, mincing and whispering and simply hoping her way into love and approval. By holding a mirror to the exaggerated ways in which female human beings are trained to act, she could be as embarrassing – and as sad and revealing – as a female impersonator. Yet now I also see the why of it, and the woman behind the mask that her self-consciousness creates.

I still feel worried about her, just as I did then. There is something especially vulnerable about big-breasted women in this world concerned with such bodies, but unconcerned with the real person within. We may envy these women a little, yet we feel protective of them, too.

But in these photographs, the body emphasis seems more the habit of some former self. It’s her face we look at. Now that we know the end of the story, it’s the real woman we hope to find – looking out of the eyes of Marilyn.

In the last interview before her death, close to the time of these photographs, Patricia Newcomb, her friend and press secretary, remembers that Marilyn pleaded unsuccessfully with the reporter to end his article like this:

What I really want to say: That what the world really needs is a real feeling of kinship. Everybody: stars, laborers, Negroes, Jews, Arabs. We are all brothers. Please don’t make me a joke. End the interview with what I believe.

Published in 1986 and written by Gloria Steinem. 

#gloria steinem #marilyn monroe #articles

[ask-de-writer]

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : Part 78 of 83 : World of Sea

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SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

Part 78 of 83

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

copyright 2020

written 2007

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users   of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may   reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information   remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in   my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical   compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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New to the story?  Read from the beginning.  PART 1 is here

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Kurin smiled, “Did you give helmswoman Darkistry the idea to ride the eye of the Coriolis storm north?”

“No, Little Fish, that was her own idea, and an excellent one.  At that time they did have to hide but I could not allow them escape over the Dragon Sea to another fleet.  I still regard the Naral fleet as my fleet and it had done a terrible injustice.  If the fleet was not given the opportunity to undo the injustice, a new Captain of Captains could arise.  War and ruin could follow.  It has before.”

“When and where did you have your talk with Barad and Tanlin?” Kurin asked Mecat.

“In the eye of the storm, as the Grandalor rode it north.”

“Besides barring them from flight,” Kurin wanted to know, “what else happened during that talk?”

“I found out why the Lady Tanlin was so highly regarded by such a rough-cut crew.  That led me to give her a Dragon’s Gift.”

“What was the nature of the Gift, if you will tell us?” asked Kurin with high interest.

“Singularity of self, acceptance of loss, internal peace, an end to nightmares. She deserved no less,” said Blind Mecat quietly.  “She made many hard choices.  The Wide Wings, Skye and Thunderhead, got included in the Gift by accident.  That may have far reaching ecological consequences.  I urgently wish to find out.”

“I think that you will have that chance, Mecat,” said Kurin.

Turning to face the Court, Kurin paced as she talked.  “The incident with the Fauline is now closed and all the charge of piracy dealt with. We have the word of Dragons who were direct witnesses.  By the Tenth Great Law the facts as described by Captain Barad are incontestable.

“The matter of the poison plot has been exposed, not as the action of a whole ship, nor even of a large cadre, as it indeed did appear.  It was the work of a very limited circle.  It is probable that at least one murder, Master Selked’s apprentice, Merk, was committed solely to reduce the size of the circle even further.  Captain Barad, having changed his mind about the plot, tried energetically to prevent harm to me or any other.

“Mister Morgu and Silor Elon, who are being held prisoner aboard the Grandalor for Council trial, were the sole attackers.  On them alone lie the charges of murder, attempted murder and mutiny.

“As to the matter of unlawful flight, it was the Council itself that broke the Second Great Law.  The Grandalor had both a duty, now discharged, to seek proper justice and the necessity to preserve the lives of the innocent against the blatant injustice involved.

“Neither Barad nor Tanlin can be held accountable for the piratical attack by the Longin on the Grandalor.  I personally ordered the counter attack in defense of both the lives of the crew in my care and the ship itself, my sole property.  Effort and care were exercised to minimize the damage to the Longin while still putting her out of action.”

That revelation caused consternation among the Court and spectators.  A shocked Sula demanded, “You ordered the attack on your own ship?”

“The ship that I grew up on, yes,” said Kurin softly.  “And it was the hardest thing that I’ve ever done.  I had to, Sula.  These lives were in my hands.”  From her pile of notes, Kurin pulled out the book entitled ‘Grandalor Adoption Register.’  She handed it over, with the simple explanation, “I’ve confirmed the whole lot, personally.  There’s not one person on board, except for the two prisoners, who did not adopt in.  They did it after they knew what kind of trouble they were in.  Captain Barad had saved many of them and they were determined not to let him down in his need. Barad and Captain Tanlin have that loyalty from their entire crew.  Few Captains do.”

“I petition the Court to dismiss all current criminal charges and actions against the Grandalor, her crew, officers and Captains.  They acted as reasonable people.  Their assessment of the situation was proved accurate on all counts but one.

“They had no need to flee from the Honored Huld and the Soaring Bird.  He was seeking to enforce their rights and would have fought Sula herself if necessary to do so.”

This bombshell caused consternation among the audience.  The Great Sea Dragons were regarding each other and nodding their agreement.  It made sense of confusing reports from Iren’s Orcas.  Sula turned to Huld and said, “You said that we must pursue.  That’s part of the reason that I did.”

Huld thought for only moment before saying, “Indeed, necessary it was. Injustice obvious was.  Rights protected and enforced was need. Found them not.  Error found you for yourself and correction made without help.  Way of adult, not child.”

Sula turned to Kurin and asked, “How did you know?”

“I long ago asked him what Honored meant,” Kurin replied.  “If what he told me were true, and I believed him, then he could not act in any other way.”

Sarfin concentrated on the petition that accompanied the revelation.  He consulted Sula for a few minutes of whispered conference.  Both gestured and remonstrated, at the last asking, “Captain Farrol, do you have anything further to add to your case?”

“An hour ago, you could not have changed my mind about Barad or any from his ship.  Guilty, I would have said.  Since then, I have heard Dragons testify in Court.  I have heard things that make sense out of things that I have accepted without question.  We, the Court, still have much business to address.  The Grandalor case though, I concede. They are innocent of these charges.”

Sarfin stood and raised his hands for silence and got it.  “The decision of the Court in this matter is final and may not be appealed.  The Grandalor and her entire crew as represented in this document,” he held up the ‘Grandalor Adoption Registry’, and her Captain at the time of the charges, are innocent.

“I am not done.  Captain Barad shows many qualities that are, now that we understand them, admirable.  He has saved lives that would have been lost.  He is right.  We did not look into many matters as well as we ought to have.

“Unfortunately, that does not excuse the civil matter of the counterfeit scrip and many other infractions of conduct.  His Master’s Certificate is revoked.  In five Gatherings, he may petition the Council for reinstatement.  During the penalty, he may not hold any position of command.

“Captain Tanlin, subject to approval by the full Council at the next Gathering, is instated as Captain of the Grandalor.

“This trial is now over.”  He sat.

Kurin stood and held up her hands for recognition.

Captain Urson sarcastically said, “What, isn’t it enough that you got that load of scupper trash off?”

“No,” said Kurin with deceptive mildness, “it isn’t.”

Turning to Captain Sarfin she stated, “There are Council charges that must be brought against the Fauline.  As the owner of the Grandalor and her advocate before the Naral fleet, I am the proper person to bring these charges for the ship.  

“The Fauline dodged share tax.  She knowingly brought false capital charges against another ship. You have the Word of Dragons on those. She has willfully lied to the Council.  She could not have got to the Arrakan fleet and then to her Spring waters in the time that she had.

Kurin smiled slightly and added, “In addition, she has not yet filed the quitclaim on the Grandalor’s hull secured loan, as an integral part of her deception of the Council.  Until all the parchments are signed, the Grandalor, remains out of the Naral fleet and cannot legally collect what is due to her.  Thus, her loan reverts to the fleet and the Grandalor will cheerfully leave it with the fleet as partial payment of her fines.  That makes the entire 12,306 Skins, 209 blocks of arrears due for immediate payment.

“If they produce the quitclaim, the date will prove it to be false, because their Log will show them to be in Arrakan fleet waters at the time.  The loan will have to be paid up to current.  If the date is any other than what the Court has heard from the Great Sea Dragons, the entire document is void due to forgery and the loan must still be paid.

“However it falls out, Skua, by Naral fleet Law, must lose his Master’s Certificate for life because he willfully allowed his ship to become bankrupt.  Also by Law, the bankrupt vessel must be Scattered.”

Captain Urson slammed both hands down on the table and launched herself to her feet in a rage.  “You little Ord!  How can you do that to somebody like Captain Skua!  What did he ever do to you?”

Kurin looked at her as if she were a particularly noisome bit of offal. “To me personally, nothing.  To my fleet, he’s a liar, cheat and tax dodger.  To my friends, the Grandalor and her crew, he’s a scoundrel who doesn’t pay his debits, a rapist and an attempted murderer.  I try to take care of those that I like.”

Captain Urson was about to sit again when it hit her.  “What do you mean, rapist?” she asked uneasily.

Kurin once again spoke with that deceptive mildness that Captain Urson was now beginning to dread, “Captain Sarfin, I have a few parchments here that may be of interest.  These are fleet certified copies of unaltered Grinna Log entries.  They detail a trial held some Gatherings back.  You will find my copy of the same entries, for comparison, marked and highlighted for witness’ names and certain other information.”

She handed over another set of parchments with the explanation, “These are fleet certified, unaltered crew duty rosters for the time periods noted in the trial record, along with the whole Wohan before and after.  Please note that every crewman or woman in that whole time who is absented from duty for more than a few minutes is noted.

“A simple comparison of the witness list and the duty roster proves that this trial was never held at all.

“The charge was seduction in violation of the Marriage Laws, a potentially capital offense, if no ship will take in the one found guilty.

“Captain Macom, now deceased,  First Officer Skua Calin Grinna, Second Officer of the First Night Watch, Kotance Warn Grinna, Harpooner Miklot Moen Grinna, now dead from a Strong Skin attack, and one other conspired to the rape, attempted murder and denial of Great Law rights to one Darkistry Colm Grinna, now Darkistry Colm Grandalor.”

TO BE CONTINUED

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#SEA DRAGON’S GIFT #Part 78 of 83 #World of Sea #Written by De Writer

[letswritefanfiction]

Pokémon Alphabet Challenge: Z is for Zeitgeist

Can also be read on ffnet here.

-

“You’re frustrated.”

“I’m not frustrated.”

Ash grit his teeth and clenched his hands under the desk. He was frustrated. He’d been frustrated for a long, long time and had been holding it in. But recently, his great effort to seem appreciative and happy appeared to have spouted a leak and frustration was slipping out, steadily and persistently. It was all he could do in this meeting to keep from letting it all go here, in this office room, and be done with it once and for all.

Sitting across from him were Kunihiko Yuyama, Daiki Tomiyasu, and Aya Matsui—the big three. No one else would have been able to secure a meeting with the three of them. And it had taken a few attempts for him to be able to as well. But they couldn’t say no to him forever. After all: he was Ash Ketchum.

“Well, if not your frustrations, then tell us your grievances,” Aya said.

Her face was unreadable, at least to Ash. But if he had any guess, he assumed she was the one he was offending the most. She was head writer and, after all, it was the writing that he was…aggrieved by.

“Does it have something to do with Gen 8?”

That question came from Kunihiko. It was the obvious one. Obvious because it was absolutely, one hundred percent spot-on. It was, after all, once the talks of Gen 8 had taken off that his frustration leak had begun. Well, kind of. Perhaps it had begun with Movie 20. Or, if he was being one hundred percent honest, Gen 3. And then there was the beginning of Gen 5…

Maybe this had been going on longer than he’d thought.

But Ash had never been a good liar, so he went with the truth. The simplest truth, that was.

“Yes. It does.”

“Well,” Kunihiko continued, “feel free to elaborate.”

It was lucky that Ash had been thinking about this speech for weeks, because suddenly, he felt like he was going to blurt it all out. And, since he was given the opportunity to do so, that’s how it came.

“Okay,” he sighed, “here’s the thing. I liked Movie 20, right? And 21. But you have to admit that there was a lot of internet backlash, especially in the west, when they were announced. And the Mewtwo redo. They’re not what the public want. They want to see what happens to Ash in the world that already exists. The world that some of them have been invested in for twenty years. And I know target demographic and all that but, like, really? Come on, why start Ash’s story over again?”

“You sound like a Genwunner,” Daiki commented.

“I’m not, believe me,” Ash said. “Almost all of the things that lived and died with Gen 1 were good things to let go of. We all know that. But at the same time, risks were taken! When the most interesting risk you’ve taken is a soft reboot, you know you’ve gone wrong somewhere.”

“Risks are not what the stockholders are looking for,” Kunihiko explained. “After twenty years of consistency, people know what they’re getting out of Pokémon. If they want a little something different, maybe they try Pokémon Origins or Pokémon Adventures Manga or even Pokémon Mystery Dungeon. But the anime has its target audience and a massive shift would ruin that in a way we might not be able to recover.”

“So that what? In fifty years you’re still—well, you’ll be dead—but someone’s still using CGI to give me the appearance of a preteen? And I meet a new friend in every episode that’s never seen again? And there are thousands and thousands of newly discovered Pokémon?” Ash argued.

“We changed it up quite a bit last season and it was largely well-received, especially in Japan,” Aya argued. “Certainly we’ve recycled storylines in Pokémon before, but it’s not all we do.”

“Okay, fine. I know I have no control over the plot,” Ash admitted. “Or lack thereof. But hear me out. I’m a thirty-year-old man. I live the public life of a ten-year-old. In the past twenty years, I’ve done this for you—before you all even were here, in fact. I’ve done it for the brand. I’ve never grown so much as sideburns, or even changed my hairstyle. Enough is enough. Either things change around here or…”

There was silence across the table as Ash trailed off. It was Daiki who finally prompted him again.

“Or what?”

Ash’s expression had fallen to his lap. His long bangs were covering his eyes in that dramatic way that the directors always loved when he was having an emotional moment on the show. That thought was enough to bring his eyes up.

“Or I quit.”

The three across the table from him were looking at him as though he was a petulant child throwing a tantrum. Or about to throw a tantrum—he wasn’t sure. But as a person who had been playing a child for twenty years, he knew that he was far from that. He was being the more level-headed Ash of XY, not the hot-headed kid from the Original Series. Well, more than that. He was being his actual adult self.

Aya sighed. “I’m sure we can find ways to incorporate past stars like we did in SM042, 43, and SM102, 103. Things like that are a big hit, and I know you enjoy them.”

It was a compromise. A piece of candy to keep him from throwing a fit at not being able to buy the bag. It was not at all what he wanted.

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Ash said, suddenly exhausted. “How does that even make sense with a soft reboot?”

“We’ll make it work.”

He knew what that meant. It wouldn’t make sense. Just like it hadn’t made sense with the supposed soft reboot of Sun and Moon. Just like it hadn’t made sense that he was still ten in Black and White, but knew Dawn from his past travels with her. By this point it was what the public expected and understood, so it wasn’t a hard sell. People would poke fun at it on the internet, but they’d hardly be mad about it. That was a tough anger to stoke for twenty years.

“Most people don’t keep doing a show for twenty years,” Ash said quietly.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to tell us,” Kunihiko said.

“I don’t know either,” Ash said, the frustration reentering his voice. He rubbed his head as though trying to massage the thoughts out. “I just don’t want to do this anymore.”

-

“How did it go?”

Ash had arrived at Brock’s house for a drink—lord knew he wasn’t supposed to be seen drinking in public. Even being seen buying a six-pack would be ‘bad for the kids’. Regardless of the fact that he hardly resembled the character that he played on television anymore. In 2019 there were now grocery services that would help him keep surreptitious, but he enjoyed the habit of going to Brock’s. And he always paid him back for the beer.

“Not good,” Ash groaned as he flopped down on the sofa. Brock put a beer in his hand in eleven seconds flat.

“Didn’t hear you out?” Brock asked, sitting down with his own. Ash relished in the sound of the can being opened and then pulled the tab on his own.

“Nope. They have no interest in anything but going ahead with the plan.”

“That sucks, man.”

Ash took a gulp of his beer. Beer wasn’t something to be savored over time; it was to be drunk quickly while it was still cold and palatable. “Nobody knows what this is like,” he said finally.

Now, if most people had said that—or if Ash had said that about nearly anything else—it would have been all Brock could do not to shut them down immediately. No one’s experience was unique, there were always people to talk about it; you were never alone. But this existence of Ash’s…Well, Brock had lived it for about four years himself. But that had nothing on Ash’s twenty. So he could relate. But not entirely.

He’d bounced, after all. He’d bounced after the OS, then come back for a few more years and bounced after year five of the show. He’d had that choice. And, sure, Samuel and Delia were still around after all these years, but only for a few episodes each season.

Actually, there were only two other people who really understood, and that was Jessie and James. But Ash wasn’t meant to fraternize with them often in public for publicity. It wasn’t ‘in character.’ And since Jessie and James were portraying adults—and not the star—things were a bit more lax for them.

“I know, bud.” Brock got up again and reached for a bag of pretzels. Ash no longer ate as ravenously as his character on the show did, but Brock still showed love through offering food and drink to his friends. “What’s your next move?”

Ash had to chew through the dry handful of pretzels he’d just shoved in his mouth before answering. “I don’t know,” he groaned. “I really don’t want to do this anymore, but they’ve already confirmed Ash Ketchum for the next season. And, you know, my contract.”

“And who can imagine the PokéAni without Ash Ketchum?”

“Ugh, don’t say that,” Ash moaned, throwing a pretzel at Brock’s head. Perhaps he still did share some traits with his 10-year-old persona.

“My bad,” Brock said, chuckling as he blocked the pretzel and let it fall to the ground. He’d pick it up later. “Look, Ash. All I can say right now is that you don’t wanna burn any bridges until you know what your next step is. Being Ash Ketchum comes with a pretty sizable shit sandwich, but there’s a reason you’ve kept doing this for two decades. So keep being Ash Ketchum until you’ve got a plan.”

“Uh-huh.”

It was little more than a grunt as Ash took another swallow of his beer. Brock looked at his despondent friend. It made him sad to see, but TV show or not, this was Ash. He’d bounce back by tomorrow.

-

“Brock, I’ve had a realization.”

Ash was on the phone this time, instead of in Brock’s living room. And, as Brock had predicted, it was the next day and he appeared to have fully bounced back. He looked excited and full of that youthful energy he’d been paid for so long to exhibit.

“What’s that?”

“If the company wants me to stay on brand, than what is more on brand for Ash Ketchum than burning it all down?”

“Um, a lot of things.”

“Okay, yeah, bad phrasing,” Ash admitted. “I just mean being brash and impulsive. Making a big choice and sticking to it. This is all very Ash Ketchum. And besides, what hero doesn’t break a few things while saving the day? Ash Ketchum has destroyed a lot of property in his day.”

Brock sighed. “Ash, what are you gonna do?”

“I’m going to be myself. For fucking once.”

Swearing. Very off-brand. Absolutely not E for Everyone. Brock could see where this was going in an instant.

“Ash, no.”

“Yes, Brock! If they’re not going to listen to me, then I’m going to have to act independently.”

“And pay the sizable sum I know is in the fine print of your contract for breaching it?”

“I can afford it,” Ash said, surprising Brock by having thought about it at all.

“Okay,” Brock said, putting his phone on speaker so he could start texting. “You need an intervention. I’m calling for backup.”

“Brock,” Ash whined. “I’ve thought long and hard about this!”

“You’ve thought long and hard,” Brock agreed, sending the text off. “But not precisely about this. You’ve thought around this, and I’m not denying that you’ve been frustrated for a long time. But come on, Ash. You dreamt this up last night at the earliest.”

Silence. Then: “That’s longer than I’ve thought about most things.”

“Yeah, that’s what happens when you’re in a twenty-year long habit.” His phone buzzed. “Anyway, backup is on its way.”

“Brock,” Ash whined again. If Brock hadn’t already known Ash was in therapy, he would have suggested it be written into his contract as a necessity when playing a preteen for twenty years. It was bound to have an effect on an adult man’s psychology.

“Don’t even pretend to be upset about it, Ash. You’ll be happy to see her.”

“I see her without your help,” Ash grumbled.

“Doesn’t matter. Now don’t do anything stupid until she gets there.”

“…Define stupid.”

“Ash.”

“Fine, fine.”

-

The buzz up to his penthouse came surprisingly quickly given Tokyo traffic. It must be a good day outside. Not that he’d know, because he hadn’t left the house that day, as per Brock’s instructions to not do anything stupid.

Then he got an idea.

Instead of buzzing her up, Ash got into his in-unit elevator and went down. He strolled through his lobby and ignored that he could see her through the glass doors in the front—her and her scowling expression. When he opened the door, he swept her into a kiss—one of the dramatic ones like in the movies. Not Pokémon movies but actual movies. Like, rated PG-13 movies. Their bodies were all twisted, and it occurred to him that this was very uncomfortable for the spine. But it always looked good in the movies, so he went with it.

Until he felt her pinching his arm terribly hard and putting firm pressure on him to retreat back into the lobby. Just to have a moment of defiance, he held on for one more minute and then pulled away, acting the part of pleased lover, accepting his publicly-known lover into his apartment building. She played along. For the thirteen seconds it took to reach the elevator. Then she thwacked him upside the head. He’d known she would.

Worth it, though.

“Brock said not to do anything stupid,” Misty hissed. She should have known, though. Ash had never been good with instructions, no matter how simple they were.

“Hey, he only said until you got here. You’re here now.” Ash shrugged. “You went along with it.”

“Yeah, because it would have looked even worse if I’d shoved you off like you were assaulting me,” Misty explained. “#MeToo isn’t just for America, Ash.”

Ash smiled a little bit despite himself. She was always one step ahead of him—simultaneously one of his favorite and possibly the least favorite thing about her. Even surpassing her violent streak.

“Why did you do that?” she hissed.

“Why are you whispering?” Ash asked in an exaggerated whisper.

“Because you just did something stupid!” she shouted. “Stop deflecting!”

“I did it,” Ash started as measured and calmly as he could. It always threw her off when he was measured and calm, “because there’s no logical reason why my long-term girlfriend and I shouldn’t be able to kiss in public.”

Misty shook her head. “Brock was right. You have gone off the deep end.”

“I’m sure Brock didn’t say that.”

Misty took out her iPhone. “Brock, 10:42am. SOS. Ash’s gone off the deep end. You know why.” She looked pointedly at Ash.

“Isn’t SOS the signal they use when big ships crash? This is hardly a Titanic kind of situation.”

“You’re deflecting again!”

Damn, she was good.

They’d arrived in his penthouse by then and Misty had set her stuff down. Already she was heading into Ash’s kitchen for a glass of water.

“Misty,” Ash started in a sickly sweet tone. “Imagine how nice it would be if you could live here. If people could see you coming and going as you please.”

“I have. It would be great.”

She didn’t make it sound great. Her tone was dry and almost angry.

“Yes, it would?”

Misty set down her glass and went to sprawl on one of Ash’s too-wide couches. The seats were so long you couldn’t lean against the back without bringing your legs onto the cushion. It was like they were made for basketball players. Or a thirty-year-old man-child who never sat on a couch without making himself fully comfortable. The only time his feet were on the floor was when he was leaning forward, vigorously playing one of his hundreds of video games.

“I have thought about it, Ash, of course I have. Many times,” Misty said, patting beside her on the couch. That made Ash feel relatively assured that she wasn’t mad at him. “I would love to live with you. And perhaps redecorate this place.” She was always critical of his rather barren apartment. “But I also get why it makes sense to keep our relationship private for the show. It matters that you not really have any particular favoritism towards any of your traveling companions.”

“But Misty, don’t you wanna get married someday? I know you’re the kind of girl who already has a wedding dress picked out and probably a whole Pinterest board about it.”

She did have a dress style in mind, though not a particular one. And she didn’t have a Pinterest board, but she certainly had pins that she thought might…someday be nice for a wedding. But he wasn’t going to get her that way.

She groaned. “This is frustrating for me too, Ash. When we started this, neither of us thought it would have to go on like this for so long. But Brock’s right. You have a contract. There’s very little we can do until that contract is up.”

“In another five years,” Ash shouted, picking up a pillow to muffle the sound. Not because he had any neighbors who would hear, but because he felt like being melodramatic.

That little detail bothered Misty too. But Ash was not a person who needed fuel added to his fire.

“Tell me,” Ash asked, face still in his pillow, “what’s so wrong about breaching contract?”

“Disappointing your fans?” Misty asked. “Your fans who love you and would feel betrayed by you leaving the show?”

Ash shouted again. “I can’t make all my life decisions because of other people!”

Misty put an arm around Ash’s shoulder, trying to coax him out of the pillow. Then she said gently, “Sounds like something Ash Ketchum would do.”

Ash leaned into her embrace and took the pillow away. But he glared at her as he said, “You suck.”

She smirked. “I thought you liked that.”

“See!” Ash exclaimed, bolting up. “That’s the kind of thing that people say! The kind of thing that adults say! If I got caught saying that, the entertainment media would be all over me for days!”

Misty pulled Ash back down, ignoring his indignation. He let himself be pulled into her embrace.

“Give me another reason,” Ash asked.

Misty had to think about that. At this point, she didn’t even know the people working at The Pokémon Company very well. She had no particular loyalty to these people, and she knew that Ash’s was waning. Ash had made them all rich over the years. Of course, they had made him rich as well, but that had never been what he was about. Sure, he had a bit of a show-off streak, but he was a fairly low-maintenance guy. For the huge, expensive apartment he had, it was pretty sparse with actual belongings.

She didn’t give a damn about the stockholders. Maybe she should, because she and Ash were both stockholders themselves, but it would hardly ruin them if the stock went under.

“The employees,” she offered after a while. There were a lot of animators who had to work towards creating the world of Pokémon and making Ash into a preteen week after week. She knew the incredible hours they worked and the burdensome workloads. Not to mention musicians and writers and all the other actors. They certainly deserved the consistent paycheck they could expect from Pokémon.

“Fair point,” Ash said.

“The fans and the employees…” Misty started. “Woah, weird thought.”

“What?” Ash asked, perking up. While she’d been thinking, she’d been rubbing the base of his hairline, lightly pulling his hair and massaging his scalp and neck. It had lulled him into almost a catatonic state. She redoubled her efforts.

“Never mind, don’t worry about it.”

“No,” Ash said, pulling away, however unwillingly. “That was an idea voice. Usually a good idea voice. What was the good idea?”

“It wasn’t. It was an idea, not a good one.”

“Then let me know the not good idea.”

“Well…” Misty started, biting her lip. “It’s really half an idea.”

“Then let me know the half an idea!” Ash insisted.

“Okay, okay,” Misty said, still holding the idea close to her chest. “Just…what do you know about copyright law?”

-

It was a fucking brilliant idea. One that would probably get them both—but hopefully no one else—sued. But a brilliant idea, nevertheless. And if Ash did end up getting sued, at least that would get him the flames of glory he’d said he wanted this to go down with.

Job one was the hardest, by Misty’s estimation. And when they sat down with his laptop, he realized how right she was.

“This is really for you,” she said as they looked on at the blank document in front of them. “What do you want to include?”

The image felt clear in Ash’s head. He felt like he knew what he wanted. And he did know the major points that the story needed. Ash had to age, the content matter should be darker, the story should progress and have a real overarching plot. Actually, the more he thought about it, the more things came to mind that he’d have to get a stronger grasp on. Certain things in the world needed to be explained more when he really thought about it. But when it came down to it—writing the script meant to rewrite the whole Pokémon universe and he had no idea where to start, even with all these thoughts bouncing around in his head.

Worse than that, he didn’t want to mess up.

“I’m not a writer, Misty,” Ash said, pushing the laptop toward her as he put his head in his hand. “In twenty years, I’ve never written a script. Hell, I’ve never even had significant contributions to one. Just an altered line here and there. Mostly accidents. I know nothing about this.”

“Okay, let’s think about this,” Misty said, accepting the laptop and leaning over it. “We like Pokémon because it has good bones. It’s an interesting world with great outlines of characters who lack depth. It’s got a functioning if somewhat unexplored magic system. It’s touched on some good plots and then backed off of them. That gives us somewhere to start.”

“What, so we copy and paste the first season and then start to do our own thing?”

“Obviously not,” Misty shot down. “There’s no way we’re doing that Christmas episode again. No Santa in this world. And no Christ, for that matter. No, there’s gotta be something that makes more sense…”

“Like hiring a writer? We’re hiring everyone else, so why not that?”

Misty stared at him for a second, her face contemplative. Then her eyes flew open and she kissed him on the lips. “Ash, you’re a genius!”

That was certainly something he’d never heard before. Still, Misty was quick to begin typing something on the computer, and it wasn’t in the text document. He leaned over her shoulder to see what it was. She was typing into the searchbar:

Fanfiction.net.

“Fanfiction?” Ash asked, almost spitting the word. “What do you know about fanfiction? Don’t tell me you read that porny stuff.”

“It’s not all porn, Ash,” she said without looking at him. “And, for your information, I really enjoy RWBY fic. You probably would too if you read anything more verbose than your scripts.”

“I read!”

“Not for fun.”

“…Touché.”

“From my experience, most fic is terrible. God-awful. Way worse than anything Pokémon spews out. But when it’s good…by God, it’s incredible, Ash. I really fucking wish you read it.”

“Not a chance.”

“Well, you are now,” Misty said as she seemed to arrive at her location on the site. “We’re going to have to spend the next few days, at least, combing through this crap in order to find something promising. It’s in there. Pokémon is a huge fandom, so even if only one percent of this is amazing, that’s still a thousand masterpieces. We just have to be patient.”

“I’m not reading a hundred thousand stories, Misty. Not in my whole life, much less a few days.”

“Not to worry,” Misty said, patting Ash’s arm patronizingly. “I’ll teach you my ways. It won’t be long before we find the good stuff.”

Ash scoffed. “And I thought I was the dangerously optimistic one.”

“Can’t be around you without being optimistic. That’s the magic of Ash Ketchum.”

-

Ash awoke to the sound of his phone ringing. At 4am. He groaned and rolled over. Obviously some American had gotten a hold of his number again and wasn’t thinking about the time change. The buzzing finally abated, and Ash felt his brain turning off again, about to let him sink back into delightful sleep when it started up again. With an even louder groan, he rolled back to the other side of the bed and began groping around for the phone on his nightstand. He had to pick it up, if only to swipe away the call and block the number. But, when he picked up his demonic phone, he saw Misty’s name. He really hoped her dog was dying. Or something equally tragic.

“What?” he croaked, his voice not appreciating being used at this time of night.

“I found it, Ash. This is it. It’s perfect.”

So, not her dog, apparently. “You found an author.”

“Better than that. Way fucking better. I found a story. An actual story. Some crazy bastard is rewriting the whole anime themselves and it’s incredible. I’m only about fifty chapters in—”

“Fifty chapters‽”

“—but it’s perfect. Unless it goes really downhill, then I think I found our person. We can really do this now.”

“Great, Misty. Glad you found it. Now kindly hang up the phone again so I don’t have to look at the screen again and ruin my sleep even more.”

“Sleep‽ There’s no time to sleep. Gen 8 comes out later this year. By that time, we need to have enough episodes out to have built up a presence big enough that Pokémon Company will care. Our names will do a lot of the heavy lifting for us, but what we’re pitching is only going to appeal to a fraction of the market audience. We’re going to have to pull all of those people and new ones to make any kind of a splash. Ash? Are you listening?”

Ash had put the phone down on the pillow and was resting his head on it, eyes closed. He had been beginning to drift. But for as raspy as Misty’s voice was from evidentially having been up all night, she could still make it piercing when she needed to.

“I’m listening,” he grunted. Even though they had already gone over all those logistics a few days before.

“Well, we need to finish reading this story ASAP so we can see if it’s really the story we wanna tell and then contact the author. They probably won’t respond immediately, so we wanna be doing that as soon as we can.”

“It sounds like you’ve got a head start on the story out of the two of us,” Ash said through a yawn. “So you can finish reading it and then we’ll DM the person.”

“No, Ash,” Misty said firmly, as though she knew he was barely listening. Heck, she definitely knew he was barely listening. “You have to read it too. We have to be sure about this.”

“Fine,” he groaned. “Just let me go back to sleep.”

“Fine,” Misty agreed. “But I’ll be calling you back at seven to make sure you’re up and reading. I’m putting in a scheduled delivery for a breakfast sandwich and coffee too.”

“Thanks, Mist. G’night.”

“Goodnight, Ash.”

He was out before the call even ended.

-

After his false start that morning, the day had still begun too early. This was the off-season for shooting the show, so he slept in most days as late as he wanted. But right at seven, with Misty calling and his doorbell ringing, Ash realized Misty hadn’t ordered the food to be nice. It was because it would force him out of bed in a way that her phone call simply wouldn’t.

Devious girl, she was.

But there was a little part of Ash that felt guilty that Misty had been up all night for the sake of his project, so after downing his sandwich and starting on his coffee, he did set about clicking on the link she’d sent him in the wee hours that morning.

And he balked at what he saw.

It turned out that fifty chapters wasn’t even scratching the surface. The story she’d linked to him was close to one hundred chapters and the first words of chapter one kindly informed him that this was going to be a series. A monstrous series that planned on rewriting the whole PokéAni.

In his mind, he vaguely heard the words Misty had said on the phone to that effect, but by now that phone call felt like little more than a dream. The only way he knew that it had actually happened was the fact that the consequences of that call had led to him being awake at this almost equally unholy hour.

After breezing past the author’s note informing him of the impending series, as well as a whole website devoted to further resources—this person had rewritten the whole Pokédex!—he began the first chapter. It actually started with Ash Ketchum as a child, younger than ten, and seemed to be giving some back story to the characters of Pallet Town. Delia, Professor Oak, and Gary Oak were all appearing, as well as a number of new characters. He was intrigued. And then…he wasn’t.

Well, he was still intrigued, but he found himself skimming some of the longer paragraphs and soon he found himself on Twitter. He only scrolled for about ten minutes before he realized what was happening and closed the tab. Well, minimized it. He wanted to save his spot.

He called Misty.

“How do you read?” he asked after she said hello.

Usually a stupid question like that would have prompted either a sarcastic comment, or straight-up laughing at his expense. But, instead, Misty said. “Ugh, Ash, it’s already 8:30. Please tell me you’ve read something.”

“I’ve started chapter one.”

“Started chapter one‽”

“I’m almost finished!” Ash defended.

“God, I forgot about your ADHD,” Misty moaned. “Okay. You’re going to have to figure out what works for you and figure it out quickly if we wanna move on this. Try copying and pasting into a text to speech website. It’ll sound unnatural, but if you can listen to that while reading or listen to it while doing a coloring book or something maybe that’ll help. Or find something to do with your hands while you read. Chewing gum might help? I think I’ve heard that? Or google it. I’m sorry, Ash, I don’t know as much about it as I should.”

“No, that’s a good start,” Ash said quickly to appease his girlfriend. Sometimes Misty came off as tough or even mean, but she really wasn’t, otherwise Ash wouldn’t have dated her for so long. She did make fun of him often, but he did the same to her. It had been their dynamic on the show when they’d first started; it was the basis of their chemistry. But she wouldn’t ever make fun of him for a behavior disorder. He just didn’t want her to feel bad for not being able to help. “I’ll give those a try.”

“Okay,” Misty said, sounding a touch more relaxed. “I’m almost done with the Kanto arc and I’ve gotta say, this story is still really good. They’re incorporating the bones of the anime, and weaving in the first movie whilst also having more through-lines and stuff. Fewer CotDs and instead really focusing on us discovering stuff about Pokémon. And, like, growing up. And you should really read the resources they’ve created; they’re amazing.”

“I will,” Ash said, hoping that he’d actually be able to. “Try to get some sleep, okay, Mist?”

It was as though the word ‘sleep’ triggered her to yawn. He heard the sound on the other line and then she said, “I will. I just wanna finish this arc.”

“And then sleep. Immediately. Okay?”

“Okay, Ash. I will.”

“Good. You sleep. I read.”

As if emulating a sports huddle, she said, “Okay, break.”

“Go team,” Ash said with a little chuckle.

He hung up the phone and set about finding a blank coloring book page on the internet. He’d make this work however he could. He wasn’t going to get tripped up at stage one.

-

He didn’t read as much as Misty did. It turned out Misty was a fairly quick reader and, as he already knew, he was very, very slow. But he read a good portion of the first story in the series that day and texted Misty to let her know that he agreed. The story was as close to what he had been murkily envisioning as possible. Well, much better, actually. He could see it on the screen, could feel the choices he’d make as that version of Ash Ketchum in his muscles as he was reading. He even found himself saying his character’s lines out loud.

After that came the strange moment that made it all real. It turned out Misty already had an ffnet account—which he fully intended to explore later—and all they had to do was send the author or authoress in question a PM. That’s where things became sticky. What they were going to offer—payment for the use of an adaptation of her story, plus for her continuing writing the story, as it was still ongoing—was going to sound illegitimate. One hundred percent fake.

“We just have to go for it,” Misty said on the phone. “And hope they’re a good person and won’t leak this first thing. I mean, that should be our real concern.”

That hadn’t even occurred to Ash. He’d considered the fact that they would need a large team of people to pull this off, and that that would significantly drain his overflowing bank account. He hadn’t considered that he’d have to have absolute loyalty from the people he was asking to be disloyal to the company that had employed all of them at one time, at least as far as the actors were concerned. Except this mystery writer, of course. He’d have to get his lawyer to start drafting some NDAs.

“Yeah, we’ll just have to hope for that. You don’t have any identifying features on your account, so worse comes to worse, you just tell the public it wasn’t you and there’s no way to prove you wrong.”

“And then we’re back to square one.”

“Let’s not worry about that now. Just cross your fingers and send the message.”

“Okay. Crossed. And…sent.”

Ash realized he was holding his breath. This was the biggest thing he’d done since he was ten and had first accepted the role of the then-unknown Ash Ketchum. And, while that had been big, since he’d never had a star acting role before, he’d had no idea of the implications. No one had known the international phenomenon Pokémon would become. This, he knew, would be big. Whether it ended in the biggest success of his life, or destroyed it.

-

As Ash and Misty were on an internet frenzy, looking up people for all the different roles they needed to fill. Animators was the number one job in their list. They were hunched over their computers, doing search after search, occasionally exchanging work and sending out emails. Then, suddenly, Misty’s phone rang.

She groaned. She and Ash had managed to rein in his attention and they’d had a vibe going. Now he’d probably get up saying he needed to pee and wanted to order take out and it would take an hour to get him back on track. When she saw Brock’s name, she cringed. She showed it to Ash, wordlessly, and they exchanged worried expressions, the corners of their lips pulling to the side. This wasn’t great. But it wasn’t like she could blow him off, right? With a steadying breath, she answered the call.

“Hey, Brock, what’s up?”

“What’s up?” Brock echoed, his tone one of disbelief. “I thought I’d get some kind of update on the…you know, situation by now. A text at least. It’s been two days!”

Misty looked uneasily at Ash. The phone wasn’t on speaker, but she knew he could hear every word. Not that she cared if he heard—he fully knew what Brock was referring to after all. But still, Ash was a bit of a blabbermouth…

“Everything’s under control, Brock!” she said, trying to keep her voice down from the strident place it wanted to go.

“You mean you’ve talked him off the cliff.”

“That’s right!” Misty exclaimed. “Absolutely no cliff here!”

Misty couldn’t so much as glance at Ash. He was making all kinds of facial expressions—she could practically see the subtitles below his chin. He clearly thought she was doing a terrible job lying, but also wanted to jump in and spill the beans himself.

Like he could say anything. He was a good actor, but a truly horrible liar.

“Okay, good to hear,” Brock said, a little sigh of relief pressing into the phone. “I was concerned about that picture of the two of you online…”

Ash and Misty had both forgotten about that. There had been a number of snaps taken of the dramatic kiss they’d had outside Ash’s building, which had led to a lot of scrutiny online. Most people were under the correct but unconfirmed assumption that they were dating, while others said that it was so dramatic that perhaps it was some kind of stunt. Little did everyone know that both were right, more or less.

“Oh, no nothing to worry about there,” Misty confirmed.

“Good. I really was worried about him.”

“I was too,” Misty agreed, her voice nice and easy this time. “But we’ve got a plan now.”

-

Ash and Misty hadn’t planned into their timeline the time it would take to build trust between themselves and the mystery writer, who they now knew as Tess. She was a young American woman who just happened to love Pokémon and fanfiction; she wasn’t even a professional writer. Not yet, at least. But Ash and Misty quickly realized that they were basically performing an interview. However, instead of each question taking a few seconds to answer, they took hours to get a response. They had to get this right, though. No horsing around.

Fortunately, after a few correspondences, both parties seemed confident in each other to move to Skype and expedite the process a little bit. Their first interaction went a little like this.

Tess: “Oh my God, it really is you!”

Ash: “Heh, yeah, sure is.”

Tess: “I really just thought this was some really elaborate troll! I was prepared to change my Skype name after this.”

Misty: “Well, hopefully there won’t be a need for that.”

Tess: “Right. Oh my God. Okay. Professional. That was my fangirling, and now this is totally professional. Promise.”

It did proceed to be fairly professional after that, though Tess did seem to be in a rather constant state of disbelief. Behind the scenes, Ash and Misty had already been working on turning her narrative into a script and translating it into Japanese. Which, when fluent in both languages, sounded easy. But it—like everything—was more time-consuming and way more specialized than they’d hoped. They’d have to hire someone soon.

But after growing confident enough with Tess to send her a contract—and an NDA—everything became real. And instead of being a project of three, it was going to have to become a company of dozens.

“You’re going to have to be the one to enlist everyone,” Misty said the night after they’d finished the list of all the people and resources that they’d thought they’d need for the pilot episode. Or at least finished as far as they could tell. They’d need Ash, Gary, Samuel, and Delia at the very least, plus a couple other voice actors that they liked, preferably ones who’d be able to play most of the other Pallet human characters and Pokémon, since they wanted to start with as small a cast as possible. They’d need a recording studio and a number of animators, plus whatever equipment those animators would need.

The show was going to have to be different than Pokémon at heart. Instead of the quasi-live action with heavy CGI that Ash had physically been starring in for two decades, this was going to have to be full animation. Live action would simply take up too many resources, not to mention that meant they’d be acting out on location, where people would see with no small amount of curiosity what all the stars of Pokémon were up to. This meant that they’d have to create a fresh animation style, since there was no way to copy Pokémon’s current look.

“Why do I have to enlist everyone?” Ash asked. “This idea was both of ours.”

“Because you have that magic Ash Ketchum extroversion. Everyone loves you and will follow you wherever you go. They won’t do that for me.”

“The execs sure didn’t do that for me.”

“They had no reason to,” Misty explained. “But these people might. They do. Everyone loves this show and they’ll want to see the story that Tess has created. They’ll want to be a part of that. So long as you’re the charming Ash Ketchum they’ve all fallen in love with.”

“Charming like this?” Ash asked quietly, leaning in to give Misty a kiss. They’d become more lax with having her over to his place more often. After all, soon that would be small potatoes compared with the bomb they were planning to drop soon.

“Charming with your words,” Misty whispered against his mouth. But she didn’t seem to mind his advances as she closed the gap and began kissing him in earnest.

They didn’t get much else done that night.

-

The first episode took over a month to create. They’d had to work back and forth with Tess for script rewrites, not to mention that this was being done in both English and Japanese, plus including English subtitles. If they wanted to gain an audience, they’d have their best bet by engaging both Japanese and English audiences. And, best case scenario, many more languages after that.

Then there was finding actors. This was the most painless of all the processes, except for where the lawyers had to get involved. It was always sticky to present legal documents to friends—and after all these years, Samuel, Delia, and Gary were dear friends of Ash’s—but they were receptive. And, most importantly, they thought Ash and Misty’s idea was good. Of course, they thought it was batshit crazy, and none of them were afraid to say that. Which they all did on separate occasions. But they still got on board. That was more reassuring to Ash and Misty than most anything else.

The hardest part was assembling an animation team. They had no idea how many animators were needed, how responsibilities would be split up, how they would work together or anything. Plus, they couldn’t just poach from the show for two reasons. 1.) Ash didn’t intimately know any of the animators. They had no loyalty to him and no reason to jump ship from the show. 2.) They were working on an entirely different kind of animation. Ash and Misty didn’t know the repercussions of that, but they were sure they must exist.

But after a frustrating amount of trial and error—and a lot of money bleeding from Ash’s bank account—there it was. A final product. And a polished, decent one at that. Everything was professional quality, it was a standard twenty-seven-minute length, despite the fact that there would be no advertisements, and it had subtitles in both Japanese and English. Then it was all about what to do with it.

They did nothing. For a time.

In the process of working on the episode, they’d realized they’d need the next couple stocked if they wanted buzz to continue around this series and for people to take it seriously. Fortunately, it only took a few weeks to create the next two episodes. The bulk of the work on their end at that point was in the script, but Tess had been prolific with her turnout of drafts. They were already interviewing a few impeccable translators, as they had quickly realized what specific skills were needed for subbing versus dubbing and that simply being bilingual wasn’t going to cut it.

Then it was time. Ash would have to go back to the real show soon, and they had to drop these before that happened. So Ash made a YouTube channel—because where else could they put something like this? The show had to be free, otherwise they’d be sued faster than someone could watch the first episode.

That part wasn’t stressful. Uploading a video to a YouTube channel with zero subscribers was hardly a leap of faith. It wasn’t like Ash was a master of search engine optimization. No one would find this thing.

Until he tweeted it. When he tweeted it, there would be no going back.

“Are you ready?” Ash asked Misty as his finger hovered over his laptop’s touchpad.

He wasn’t really asking it for her. He was asking it for himself. Not out of selfishness, even though his job and reputation were the ones on the line. Sure, Misty had done a couple episodes recently, but she was a relic of the show, not a star. And he, next to Pikachu, perhaps, was the star. And people would either love him or hate him for this.

But he just wanted a little reassurance. That they hadn’t gotten swept away in the excitement of it all in the past few months. That all the work and dedication hadn’t clouded the possibility that this wasn’t a good idea after all. But Misty just took his other hand in hers.

“We’re ready.”

He had to look away as he clicked to send the link to the video out to the world. He was fully wincing, as though the action would send a shock wave through his system. He stared at the screen for only a second, his live tweet burning into his retinas before shutting the laptop screen violently and recoiling onto his couch. Misty, meanwhile—seeming much calmer than he—was on her phone, hopping over to his Twitter account to retweet the post. Then she, too, put away her phone.

“Wanna watch some anime?”

“God, yes.”

-

“Misty, what the fuck?”

Brock’s was the first call they bothered taking. Their phones had started blowing up with notifications soon after the video had gone up and they’d silenced all alerts. They’d already ignored a few phone calls. But Brock was the couple’s best friend, just like in the show. There was something about spending your formative years together that left a lasting bond. They owed him an explanation, at the very least.

“Hi, Brock!” Misty said, sounding fake with cheer. “What brings about this call?”

“I thought you had talked him off the edge? But you’ve been doing whatever this is for however long you have. I assume you’re a part of this, right?”

“I did talk him off the edge, Brock,” Misty said, her phone on speaker between herself and Ash. “Instead of self-destructing he crafted a beautiful and intricate bomb and threw it at his whole life.”

“Oh, my bad. That sounds like a great idea, Misty.”

“Yeah, you didn’t make that sound any better,” Ash agreed, making himself known on the call.

“Hello, crazy man,” Brock greeted. “Glad to know your bosses haven’t harpooned you yet.”

“They’ll have to go through my doormen before they can come up here and harpoon me.”

“Lucky dog,” Brock said sarcastically.

“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you, Brock,” Misty said, getting at what she suspected was at the real root of this call, whether Brock knew it or not. “We were already having everyone sign NDAs. It didn’t seem smart to tell anyone who wasn’t absolutely necessary to the beginning of this project.”

“Beginning?” Brock said. “There’s more?”

“We’ve already got the next two episodes in the bag and are in production on the fourth and script-writing up to the sixth.”

Brock was quiet for a second before he asked, “Just how long are you planning on doing this?”

“Don’t worry, your character is coming,” Ash said with a laugh.

“The writer we’ve employed already has a story loosely plotted all through Kalos. They’re nearly done with all the specifics of Kanto—though we have slowed down her progress significantly since starting this.”

“Kalos‽” Brock exclaimed. “You have eighteen years worth of content for this?”

That was putting it in a perspective Ash and Misty hadn’t yet thought about it. Would they be fifty years old and still working on this project?

“We truthfully have no idea how long we have, Brock,” Misty admitted. “This could be shut down at any time by something we haven’t foreseen. So we haven’t looked that far into the future.”

“Well,” Brock said, finally at a bit of a loss for words. “I just can’t tell you how heckin’ proud I am of you crazy bastards. This was the biggest leap of faith I’ve ever seen.”

That brought a big grin to both Ash and Misty’s faces. They looked at each other and nearly giggled. If Brock was on their side, then they were doing just fine.

“You watched the episode?” Ash asked.

“Of course I did. And it was great. Truthfully, I’m not sure everyone cares 100% about a Pokémon prologue, but as soon as it becomes evident that you’re going to continue this…I can’t imagine the response. Seriously, you guys shouldn’t read the comments but…they’re mostly really good. People like it. They love it.”

The conversation with Brock petered off after that. He’d said his piece, but really he’d just affirmed everything they were doing. That was all they wanted out of their best friend.

“I didn’t realize people would think of it as a prologue,” Ash said once Misty had hung up.

“Yeah,” Misty agreed. “We might be out of the woods until we get to the part where this story meets up with canon.”

“Which gives us the time to build up loyal viewers and get the hang of this producing thingy.”

“This producing thing-a-ma-bob.”

“Producing thing-a-ma-jigger.”

The two stared at each other for a moment, the laughs building up in their throats before they burst out, laughing hysterically on the couch.

It was done. It had started. They’d done it.

-

“My reviewers think you’ve stolen my story,” Tess said on their next Skype call, going over one of the scripts. “They’re indignant on my behalf and ready to burn the show to the ground.”

The words were dark, but Tess looked practically giddy.

“Honestly, even if you had, I’d have counted myself lucky,” she continued. “It would have been the most flattering thing that’s ever happened to me. Certainly more flattering than my 150 reviews for 93 published chapters of labor.”

“You need to make an announcement,” Misty said. “Also, your name is in the credits, but do you want us to add your username so that people will be able to see that? Or do you not want the two tied together?”

“Hmm…” Tess intoned, considering that. “Fanfiction has always felt like a secret identity to me, so my impulse is to say no. But now my name is on the show anyway…Tell you what. I’ll scrub up my profile and delete some more indulgent author’s notes tonight and then you can include it next time. No need to make any changes to the episode that’s already out.”

“By the way,” Ash butted in. “We probably should have talked about this earlier but…are you going to be continuing your story on ffnet?”

Tess sighed. “No. I don’t think I’d have the time even if it weren’t probably a breach of the NDA at this point. So I’ll have to include that in the announcement. I’ll make an author’s note chapter telling everyone. All 28 followers of mine.”

“Well, that’s one potential drama storm put out,” Misty said.

“There is actually something I wanted to talk about,” Tess said slowly. “Regarding the longer arching plot.”

“Shoot,” Ash said.

“Well, regarding the ships—er, relationships,” Tess corrected. Misty knew most fanfiction terms well enough, but Ash knew next to nothing. He was learning, through talking with Tess and Misty, but it wasn’t penetrating very much. “Uh, what are we going to do with them?”

“What do you mean?” Misty asked. “I thought you had things basically plotted out through the Kalos League?”

“I do,” Tess said. “For my story. My story that’s a love letter to the anime and the fandom. Where I’ve basically taken the most popular couples and rolled with it. In PokéAni fanfiction there are basic couples that are usually grouped together. The two of you, May and Drew, Dawn and Paul—”

“Dawn and Paul‽” Ash interjected.

“That’s why I’m bringing this up!” Tess said. “Yes, Dawn and Paul, Cilan and Iris, and Serena and Clemont. And Gary with Leaf, but there’s no way we’re doing that. I personally think some of these pairings are pairings of convenience than real chemistry or shipping hints from the anime. But they’re what the fans have accepted. Just like the fact that your last name is Waterflower, Misty.”

“Which it isn’t.”

“Well, mine isn’t really Ketchum!” Ash said. “That would be too ridiculous.”

“I know, I know,” Tess said. “These are things that wouldn’t matter in fanfiction, because they’re accepted. But for a broad audience where this is essentially television and not fanfiction…I’m just not sure about pairing any of you together.”

“Well, there has to be romance,” Misty argued. “We want these characters to grow up, and that’s a part of most people growing up. We can’t assume all these characters are ace and aro.”

“No,” Tess agreed. “Though I think we should include some.”

“But that doesn’t help us with the issue at hand,” Misty said.

“Well, what about us?” Ash asked, taking Misty’s hand. “I think we should end up together.”

Those words made Misty’s ears turn pink. It was the kind of thing Ash didn’t say in real life. She felt it, certainly, but being in a relationship when you were thirty and not having any particular talk of marriage and engagement was discouraging. Of course, that was part of why they’d undertaken this whole project to begin with. But still, even hearing Ash talk about the fictional versions of themselves ‘ending up together’ was heartwarming.

“Yes, I totally agree,” Tess said without hesitation. “You two and then May and Drew are basically non-negotiable for me. But with the others I’ve been of many minds. First of all, people should date around. My whole thing with this series is that it should be realistic. People don’t all end up with the first person they partner with. They don’t all get married in their early twenties. That’s not the story I wanted to tell.”

“I don’t want that either,” Misty agreed. “But if this story is a love letter to the fans, then when do we indulge them and when do we not?”

“Well, not everyone ships the same people,” Ash said. “I said that right, right? Ships?”

“Yes,” Tess answered quickly, smiling at Ash sounding like such a fanfic nerd.

“Right. So what’s the point in pandering at all?”

Misty looked surprised, eyebrows raised. “The man makes a good point.”

“Really, it all depends on how long this goes,” Tess said. “If the show finishes after Kalos, then only a few couples should be together. If it goes into adulthood, then more should be together, though not everyone with their #endgame. If it goes into next-gen—”

“Next-gen?” Ash interrupted.

“Kids,” Tess clarified. “Your kids.”

“Oh,” Ash drawled, a blush coloring his cheeks as he glanced at Misty.

“If it goes into next-gen, then even more people will be paired off…but then there should also probably be divorces and separations. But those things would really anger the audience. Especially if we’ve been working towards a pairing being together for a long, long time. Have you ever seen How I Met Your Mother?”

“Nope,” both Ash and Misty said in unison.

“Oh,” Tess said, her energy dropping a bit. “Well…if you did you’d know what I mean. But you’ll just have to take my word for it. Even if we’re not pandering to the fans…I’d rather not anger them. But, like I said, it comes down to when this story ends. And, well, I hadn’t quite gotten that far in my outline yet, since the actual anime isn’t over yet.”

Yet. That sounded suddenly ominous. Perhaps this was the moment Ash was first realizing it, but it suddenly occurred to him that that’s what they were working toward. The actual destruction of the show that just wouldn’t end. It felt like the intentional murder of a life-long friend. He had to brush that feeling away immediately.

“Right,” Ash said. “So, perfect world, how long is it?”

Tess just pulled the corners of her lips down and shook her head to show she had no idea. Ash turned to Misty.

“Ideally? As long as Ash has a story.”

“Ash?” Tess asked.

“That’s the one thing the Pokémon anime has right. This story is Ash’s. So, as long as he has a story to tell, then we keep going for as long as we can.”

-

Finally, Ash had to address the elephant in the room. Well, the room that all this had begun in, which is to say Kunihiko Yuyama’s office. His agent had informed him that Kunihiko, Daiki, and Aya insisted on seeing him again. Suddenly, Ash felt like he had been summoned to the principal’s office. He wasn’t far off.

It turned out he didn’t have to do much haphazard explaining as to what he’d done. They could already guess that Ash’s new show wasn’t just a prologue, but out to rewrite the whole anime. And they knew exactly what that might mean for the show. But it turned out Ash didn’t.

“Ash,” Kunihiko seethed, barely able to keep his voice under control. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“If you’re talking about a breach of contract, I’ve taken that into account and am willing to—”

“Of course it’s a breach of contract!” Kunihiko exclaimed. “But that’s not what I’m talking about. You’re not just out to destroy the Pokémon anime, but all of Pokémon as a franchise. That number one media franchise slot? Gone.”

“What are you talking about?” Ash asked, genuinely confused.

“Think about it,” Kunihiko explained. “When a new anime season comes out, the new games come out. The new manga comes out. New trading cards. New merchandise. All these things support each other. If one of them deteriorates, they all do.”

Ash’s heart dropped. He actually hadn’t thought about that.

“The anime is what a significant portion of our fans follow. It brings in new eyeball for the youth, some too young to even play the video games. No anime, fewer game sales. Fewer merch sales. Fewer trading cards. Then boom, Hello Kitty is the top franchise again. Are you a closet Hello Kitty fan, Ash?”

“No, sir,” Ash answered, suddenly feeling even more the part of the primary schooler being chastised by his teacher.

“So, what do you suggest as a solution, Ash? I know what I want. But I’m curious to hear your thoughts.”

“You want us to stop production,” Ash said, evading the question. “At least before it starts to replace the anime.”

“Of course. Do you have any plan of doing that?”

Ash wasn’t a child. These people might think of him as a ten-year-old—and he was really good at being one. But in the last couple months, he’d like to think he’d gotten pretty damn good at being an adult too.

“No, sir.”

“So I’m forced to ask once again, what’s your solution?”

His solution was to go back in time and have Tess’s story be the PokéAni from the start. Then she never would have felt the need to clean up the mess that the original writers had made before they’d known the phenomenon Pokémon would be. That it would one day be the top grossing media franchise. Then Ash never would have felt trapped by this show. The show that had given him everything. But, unfortunately, this was the real world. It wasn’t Pokémon. He couldn’t get a magic necklace or travel in a magic elevator to a different time period. He was stuck here cleaning up the mess that he and everyone else had made.

“You wanna know what my perfect solution would be?” Ash said finally. “If you let Ash Ketchum go. We can keep doing our show, hopefully with your blessing. Maybe even with your support, so that it could earn us some money to keep it going. And you keep your anime going, but with a new star. Because, like I tried to tell you, I can’t do it anymore.”

“But there is no Pokémon anime without Ash Ketchum and his Pikachu,” Aya insisted, finally speaking up. “He’s synonymous with the show.”

“So make it the next generation,” Ash blurted out, thinking of his conversation with Misty and Tess. “In our show—” Kunihiko scoffed at the word ‘our,’ “—Ash Ketchum and Misty are eventually going to get married and have kids. Let the Galar region be about that kid. He’ll—or she, I guess, I don’t actually know—be really similar to Ash Ketchum. Maybe even with another Pikachu. And then Ash Ketchum will be able to make cameo appearances. C’mon, the viewers would love that.”

“No,” Aya said. “That adds too many complications. Where’s Professor Oak? Is he dead? And Ash and Misty getting together canonically isn’t an option. We want Ash to stay relatable, and getting married to one of the Pokégirls isn’t a part of that.”

“Well, I don’t want to say take it or leave it,” Ash said. “But that’s the best compromise I have for you right now. We can both keep thinking, but my hope is that this new show will reignite the fans. It will make them feel that we care. Since it’s actually me and Delia and everyone in it, and not just a fanfiction in the corner of the internet. This is the kind of thing the diehard fans want, even if the youngsters don’t. But, then again, what difference would the youngsters know between Ash Ketchum and his kid?”

The group across from him was silent for a second. Then Kunihiko put his hands on the desk.

“Fine. We’ll adjourn this meeting for today. But don’t think you’re off the hook, Ash. Any change to the current track for the anime would mean a delay in production, which we can’t afford for the aforementioned reasons of the games and merch already in production. That would be millions and millions in losses. Our stock is set to plummet at any wrong move.”

“I understand that,” Ash said, though it hadn’t occurred to him until just then. “But I hope you’ll consider the idea.”

“I suppose we don’t have much of a choice,” Kunihiko said. “We’ll just have to speak with the heads at The Pokémon Company and to see.”

-

It turned out Ash had left Pokémon Company with very little choice. In only a week their pilot episode had gone viral and, since Ash hadn’t received a cease and desist or anything like that, they followed up in posting their second video which accrued almost the same number of views, proving that their audience was captive.

Perhaps if they hadn’t done that, the Pokémon Company could have tried to sweep it under the rug. But with the first and second episodes already out, damage control was needed more than anything else. To their advantage, all that had been announced about the Gen 8 anime so far was that Ash Ketchum would continue to be in it and that there was a new traveling companion. These things would technically still be true, under Ash’s compromise, though a bit of backtracking would be needed. Surely, Ash Ketchum would still be in the anime. Just in an entirely different capacity.

There would be backlash. No one knew whether it would be more from the fact that 10-year-old Ash was being retired or because Ash and Misty were going to be canonically married with progeny, but Pokémon Company had to be prepared to handle both of those. They were bound to get an even bigger reaction than the debacle about the lack of a National ‘Dex in the games—though admittedly more mixed rather than overwhelmingly negative. Ash and Misty had agreed to be a part of the damage control process. And what they realized quickly was that they needed to do something that no other television show ever had to do: state its intensions.

Of course, Pokémon Company would first have to air its trailer as usual, which would be a bit of a rush-job, since so much would need to be reanimated. Its release would have to be pushed back, but that wasn’t too bad, since it hadn’t had a public announcement. The drop was meant to be a surprise. Then Ash and Misty would have to issue a follow-up video to what was sure to be a big reaction from a trailer of a new generation of the anime in which Ash was not the protagonist.

After that, Pokémon: The Retelling, as they had been bold enough to name it, was up and running. And with greater ease than ever because, while Misty now had a small role in the anime to fill, Ash was basically jobless. Compared to his schedule as the star, at least. So they could put all their time into the new show. Well, all their work time. Because now, for the first time since he was ten, Ash was able to have a personal life.

A dozen episodes of the show had now been released and the original—or new, depending on how one wanted to look at it—anime had just started generation 8. For once in his life, Ash was a free man. He could go to bars, he could swear, and, best of all, the world now knew he had a girlfriend. Some AmourShippers, among others, were a little peeved about this revelation—and what they correctly guessed it would mean for The Retelling’s plotline—but Ash didn’t care. They could get married. He could propose.

And propose he did.

Even though this whole saga had begun with the Pokémon writers refusing to change the script for him, Ash managed to eke out one tiny favor. Sure, he’d been in their bad graces for a while after The Retelling had dropped, but as the anime continued to do well—as well as could be expected, since PokeAni viewership had been down for years anyway—it seemed he was forgiven.

It showed growth in the PokeAni that a line at all about romance was even able to make it in, but Ash managed to squeeze a line into one episode that Ash Ketchum had proposed to Misty Waterflower on a certain day in 2020. The same day that episode was set to air. And, thusly, Ash proposed in real life.

In the future, Ash would regret that move. He would be able to see that he’d done that as a result of his censorship of the past years and he wanted to be overly-bold. He’d wanted the proposal to make a big, public splash. It had been an overcorrection. In the midst of their engagement, he realized that something more personal and intimate might have been better. But, as Misty reassured him many times over the years, she would have been happy for it either way.

Of course, the other issue was that fans were quickly able to suss out when that would mean that their child, the current protagonist, would be conceived and born, assuming their real life relationship was to match that of the characters in the show. That led to some embarrassing and surprisingly aggressive hounding from the fans. Of course, their first child didn’t end up being born for a few more years, and they were quite different from the Ketchum child on the show.

Years later, after the PokeAni had run its course and The Retelling had come and gone with massive fame and success, Ash had one final interview before declaring himself fully retired. Of course, his interviewer was some youngster who hadn’t even been born when The Retelling first came out.

Three cameras were focused on the two of them sitting across from each other in lounge chairs. The set was sparse, but when Ash looked beyond what was visible in frame, he saw dozens of pieces of expensive film equipment. There were booms, monitors, and lots of people with headsets fussing about. Frankly, it was much more pared down than what he’d worked with for much of his career. The technology had grown so much smaller—tighter and better than when he’d gotten his start in the ‘90s. But no matter the differences, he was perfectly at ease as he fell into the role of interviewee and focused all his attention on the young man in front of him.

If Ash wasn’t mistaken the boy across from him looked a little nervous himself. But, nevertheless, he gave one final look at his first note card as people around him moved and called for the cameras to start rolling.

“Hello, Ash, we’re so pleased you could join us here again today.”

“Happy to be here,” Ash replied, the old song and dance coming off his lips as easily as any script had.

“We both wanted this final interview of yours to be the definitive Ash interview, so do you mind if I just get into it?

“Not at all.”

“Great. So what led you to betray the show that gave you your fame and success?”

That was a planned question. The one he’d shown Ash before so that it wouldn’t come across too harsh. But it wouldn’t have anyway. All of the drama of that time was so far in the past, it was easy to talk about. So he did.

”All I wanted was to have my life. And the fact that it led to Ash Ketchum finally having one himself has made me very happy.”

The interviewer leaned back, settling into it. “You have played the role of Ash Ketchum in various capacities for nearly your whole life. Do you think his character has greatly impacted who you feel you’ve grown to be? Is that why it was important to give him a fuller life in The Retelling?”

Ash chucked, his laugh sounding nearly like a croak in his old age. “That boy and I have been together so long, I nearly couldn’t tell you where he stops and I begin. Even at my most frustrated with the role, though, I always had this love for him. I think people all over the world have held a deep love for all versions of Ash Ketchum in their hearts. He’s the quintessential hero, and his many failures never impeded that.”

“You speak of this love for Ash, yet you ultimately caused the character to change entirely after a pretty consistent twenty year run for him. Did you ever have small regrets about that or grieve the ten-year-old version of the character?”

“I definitely never regretted it,” Ash said firmly. “This is the one great truth of my life. But did I grieve the boy I knew? Sure. I’d grown up with him as he’d stayed the same. Constant. Suddenly having such a role in his shaping, his adolescence, adulthood, marriage to my wife’s character, having kids…it was hard. The fans didn’t like everything we did with him unanimously, of course. But for me, I knew if I misstepped with this boy, it would break my heart.”

“Did it break your heart when the show ended?”

“Which show?”

The interviewer thought for a moment, then answered, “Both.”

“Well, the answer is yes, for both,” Ash said, then chuckled. “I suppose I didn’t have to ask ‘which show,’ then.”

“We always like clarity around here.”

“Right, me too,” Ash agreed. “The truth is, when we started The Retelling, I’d been ready to quit the Pokémon anime. In fact, I’d been all set to do so before we came up with the, in hindsight, very complicated solution of entirely rewriting the show. The Retelling, of course, ended up being the best decision of my life. At the time, it was part of a handy solution to keep me from causing an abrupt end to the anime. I think the show ending there would have upset me, but at the same time, it was easy to feel it had run its course. I truly think nearly everyone involved in the show at the time felt that way.

“But then we ended up breathing new life into it. And I was so glad the show hadn’t ended and that the creators thought there was more to add to this world. They started taking fan-created Pokémon for new generations and it really felt like the show was doing more than ever. But still, its time came and went. It was sad, but it was like the passing of a grandparent. You mourn, but you now it’s right.”

“And the Retelling?”

“That show was a blessing, top to bottom. An incredible amount of work, but it saved me in so many ways. We were so lucky to be able to tell that story to the end, to the end of Ash Ketchum’s life. That was the only natural end, and we concluded that early on. Of course, it seems as though some fans continue to write about the children and the next generation, but those stories belong to the fans. Ours was only Ash’s. We told it to the best of our ability, from his birth to his death, and I’m ever so grateful that we got to give him that life.”

“You’re leaving so much behind in your retirement and I wonder, is there any one thing that you’d like the people to remember about Pokémon or Ash Ketchum or your legacy?”

Ash was quiet. In his old age, he’d come to take his time a little more. The impulsive, rash Ash of his youth had been left behind, and now he was ponderous. “There is no right way to tell stories,” he said finally. “I think that when we first started, myself, Misty, and Tess were arrogant enough to think that our way was the right way. The original show had gotten it wrong and we had to right it. But the truth is, that show was wonderful. And our show was wonderful. And every other story out there about Pokémon is equally wonderful. I’m lucky that the story I wanted to tell about these characters had the gift of a large, kind, and receptive audience. Not all stories get that. But they’re no less valuable.  Pokémon is such a gift. It provides an amazing world that we all have spent so much time playing in. You, sir, have you ever watched the show?”

The interviewer nodded. If he was taken aback that Ash had turned the tables to ask the questions, he had the professional veneer not to show it. “I grew up watching reruns.”

“And did you play the games?”

“Some, not a lot.”

“That’s wonderful,” Ash said. “I’m so happy to hear that. They say that generative pieces of art, the books, movies, television shows that inspire people to create themselves, these are sacred. Pokémon, for me, has been the gift to never stop giving. It’s given me my wife, my livelihood, my dearest friends, and the ability to make change in this world. Now, it hasn’t given all those things to most of its fans, but they too have received things. There’s a reason Pokémon kept on coming back, that the new generations of kids kept playing the games. There’s something magic about it. I’m still arrogant enough to like to think I was a part of that. But it will continue to be there after I’m gone as well. And that’s the beauty of it.”

“…So you’d like to say that Pokémon is for everyone?”

“Yes,” Ash answered firmly. “It’s yours. Take it and do with it what you will. I did just that for a long time and it’s brought me much of the joy of my life. I hope it does the same for all of you.”

“Well,” the interviewer said, folding his legs and looking a great deal more comfortable. “I’d say that that’s the end of our exclusive final interview with the inimitable Ash. Thank you, Ash, for speaking with us one more time.”

“Yes,” Ash said, also leaning back and relaxing, looking into the camera one last time. “Thank you as well.”

#pokemon #pokeshipping #aaml #fanfiction #oneshot #ash and misty #ash ketchum

[petersshirts]

A Good Time | bucky barnes

pairing: bartender!bucky x reader

summary: when the girl sitting at the bar won’t stop complaining about all the dates that have gone wrong, Bucky decides that he will show her a great time

warnings: none

words: 2 k

A/N: hello you guys, I know that I haven’t been that active lately - life’s pretty busy at the moment and I’ve been hit with another writers block again… but i finally managed to write this little one-shot with the lovely winter soldier and I really hope you enjoy, please please please let me know what you think, it means a lot!! x

„And again, another failure.“

Bucky looked up from the glass he was currently cleaning when he heard the familiar voice he heard nearly every single night. And he was right - you sat down right in front of him with a frown on your face. Bucky just raised an eyebrow and turned around to make you the usual - an Old Fashioned.

„What went wrong this time?“ He asked when he came back to you with the full glass, a worried look on his face. You thanked him quietly, sipped on the cold drink and started talking about last night.

„He was just a complete douchebag. He only talked about himself and I couldn’t get one word out. And at the end, he wanted to kiss me and take me back home! Why would I ever go home with a man like that?“ You sighed and leaned your head on the cool counter, trying to calm down.

Bucky just watched you curiously, wondering why you only had bad experiences with dating. You were really beautiful, kind and had a smile that he could sense from miles away. But since you walked into his bar, it seemed like every man on this planet was against you.

Bucky had stopped counting, but he was sure that you had been on ten dates with different men, and every single one of them had ended badly. And only one day later, you came here to complain to him, even though you didn’t even know each other.

You just appeared one day and the two of you started talking - and since then, you always came here to talk about your sorrows.

Bucky didn’t mind - you were really nice but it always seemed like you could only talk about bad things. He had never heard you not complain about something and all he wanted was to see you smile for once. And maybe he could be the one to do that.

„Hey, Y/N?“ You looked up at the bartender in front of you, his hair tied in a man bun at the back of his head. He had a nervous smile on his lips and you just raised an eyebrow, no idea what was going on.

„Hm?“ You watched the bartender curiously, hoping that he wouldn’t kick you out because of your constant whining.

„I think you deserve a win. And I know somebody who will definitely be worth your while.“ Bucky grinned at you and tapped on his chest, showing you that he meant himself. Your eyes widened and you blushed, not sure how to react.

Bucky was really attractive - you knew that since the first time you saw him. But he wasn’t just attractive, he was also really kind and nice, always respecting your boundaries. But before tonight, you never thought of actually going out with him. The longer you thought about it, the more you just wanted to take his hand and run to the next restaurant to talk and eat.

„Are you asking me out?“ was the only thing you managed to say and Bucky just nodded. „I’m free tomorrow, be ready at 6.“

__________________

You had been on a lot of dates and for all of them, you never had any problems finding something to wear. But tonight, it felt like everything just looked horrible. Your bed was full of clothes and there were shoes everywhere, turning your little apartment into a complete mess.

You weren’t sure why you were freaking out - it was just Bucky, the nice guy who always listened to you. He was just taking you out to show you a good time and nothing more, but somehow, it just made everything worse.

Bucky was something else - you knew him more than all these strangers you had met, and you wanted to impress him. You had always shown him this horrible side of you, always talking about the things you didn’t like about men. And now you wanted to show him your other side, the nice one. The girl that was up to every adventure and just loved going to the movies or talk all night long.

Your stomach was churning when you finally managed to find something that looked decent - a black dress that was flowing around your legs, putting you in a good mood.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a knock on your door, announcing Buckys’ arrival. You rushed through the flat and opened the door, revealing the handsome man you couldn’t stop thinking about all day. Bucky looked a lot different than his normal attire - he wore a nice white shirt with dark jeans and his hair was falling on his forehead. You stared at the man in front of you, wondering why you never really noticed him before.

„You look beautiful, doll.“ Bucky grinned at you and handed you a small bucket of flowers, making you blush. What a gentleman. „Oh, Buck, thank you so much.“ Bucky just continued to smile while you put the flowers into a vase and finally closed the door behind you to get to that perfect date Bucky had promised you.

But when you stepped out of the apartment complex and Bucky walked towards a motorbike, you stopped. Bucky looked back at you and raised an eyebrow. „Hey, you okay?“ You stared at the bike, not sure if this was a joke. Bucky thought that riding a bike in the night was a great idea for a first date??

„You’re kidding me right?“ Your words were quiet, but Bucky still heard them. He frowned, but stayed right where he was. „Uhm, no? I’ve got something planned that we can’t do that in the city, and I don’t have a car, sorry love.“ You huffed, not ready to be that close to him just yet. You didn’t even know Bucky that well, even though you walked into his bar a lot.

„Come on, nothing will happen.“ You slowly walked towards Bucky who handed you a helmet with a grin. You just stayed quiet and watched him get on the bike, the roar of the engine echoing in the street. You just rolled your eyes and climbed behind Bucky, aware of him being so close.

„Hold on tight.“ And with that, you started driving. You gasped and wrapped your arms around his stomach, pressing him close and taking his presence in. How could someone smell this good?

You completely forgot about time while driving, just taking in every second of being this close to Bucky. You felt so safe in this moment, like this was the place where you belonged. Bucky started slowing down and finally stopped, leaving you to take in your surroundings.

There were only trees around you and it was oddly quiet in comparison to loud New York City. The air was fresh and you just closed your eyes, taking it all in. It had been quite a while since it had been this quiet. Bucky watched you intensely, trying to figure out if you liked his idea.

You turned back to him and grinned, happy to not sit in another restaurant. „This is so beautiful! But where are we?“ Bucky just grinned and grabbed your hand to pull you through the woods. You walked on a small hill and when you saw the view, you couldn’t believe your own eyes.

The ocean was right in front of you, stretching to the horizon. Waves were crashing on the cliffs down below and there was an unknown peace settling over you, keeping you grounded. Bucky just watched you with a smile on his face, knowing that you loved this view just as much as he did.

„I used to come here every week.“ You looked to Bucky who sat down in the grass, patting the spot next to him, urging you on to sit next to him. You followed his lead and just stared straight ahead, still not believing your own eyes.

„It’s so beautiful. Thank you so much for bringing me here. Nothing will ever top this.“ On instinct, you grabbed Buckys’ hand and squeezed it, showing him how much this meant to you. „But we didn’t even start the date yet!“

Bucky jumped up and walked a few steps away from you, only to come back with a little basket in his hand and a cheeky smile on his lips. You just watched him in awe while he settled back down and opened the picnic basket that was filled with delicious goods - sandwiches, fizzy drinks, chocolate and other sweets. How could this man get any better?

For the next few hours, you just talked while the sun went down behind you, turning the water into a light orange. Bucky told you a lot about his chaotic friends and how they al went to Disneyland together as adults, and you told him about your job and your wonderful family.

Bucky listened and asked you questions, making you fell like someone special. You couldn’t stop smiling and it took everything to not kiss him when he announced that it was time to head back home.

It was nearly midnight when you got back on the bike and pressed even closer to Bucky, hoping that this night would never end. But on the way back to the city, it started to dawn on you that Bucky just wanted to prove that there were great guys out there. You were sure that he didn’t feel this connection like you did, leaving a warm feeling in your stomach. The next time, you saw him, he would just be your buddy that worked in a bar, nothing more.

When Bucky stopped in front of your apartment, it was hard to keep that smile you couldn’t wash off your face for the whole night. But now, you just felt like something had gone completely wrong. You really liked Bucky - it felt like the two of you were on the same length but that only lasted for one night. He just wanted to show you a good time.

Bucky noticed your mood change when you didn’t even meet his eyes. As always, he started to worry again - didn’t you like the date? Was the food wrong? Did he say something rude?

„Hey, what’s wrong?“ Bucky gained your attention when he touched your arm, causing you to look up at him, meeting his pale blue eyes. You sighed, knowing that you should just keep your mouth shut. Because this was just a one time thing, nothing more.

„Uh, nothing. Thank you so much for everything Bucky, this was a wonderful night.“ And with that, you just turned around and made your way to the apartment building. But before you could reach the door, a hand grabbed your waist and turned you around, and Buckys’ lips were on yours.

You gasped and Bucky pulled you even closer, pushing all his unspoken feelings into that kiss. I took you a few seconds to respond, but when you finally did, you opened your mouth to let Buckys’ tongue in, a groan leaving his lips in the process.

Slowly but surely, air started to run out and you had to pull away, both of your chests heaving rapidly. Bucky pressed his forehead on yours, causing you to look up. You bit your lip, slowly realising that this wasn’t just a one-time thing. And you’d be damned if you didn’t take the hint.

„Hm, maybe next time I can show you a good time.“ You pressed another kiss on Buckys’ lips, winked and turned around to the door. Bucky just watched you in awe, feeling pretty lucky that all those nights spent with listening to your complains made this possible - all these other guys had finally led you to him. To the one you truly belonged to.

Please let me know what you think!!

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[ariesbilly]

Fredsythe and 50

50. writer’s preference (we doin 9. “Don’t you ever do that again!”)

he’s woken up by the sound of tapping at his window. 

at first he just thinks it’s a dream, and then maybe the wind, until it sounds like whatever is hitting the glass is getting bigger and is followed by whispered yelling.

“wake the fuck up, fred! do not make me come up there!”

it’s alice. fred could recognize that shrill anywhere.

he groans, rolling over to look at his bedside clock. it’s 2 a.m. and fred has no idea what the hell could be so important that alice smith needs to risk waking the entire block up just to annoy him.

throwing the covers back, he trudges out of bed and over to the window, lifting it up with what feels like more effort than usually needed with the way his arms feel like jelly from barely being awake. “what the hell, al? do you know what time it is?” he can’t even keep his eyes open. 

“it’s fp.” 

it’s like he’s just been doused with ice water. two words is all it takes to bring fred to full attention. even with a sleep-addled brain fred knows alice coming to his house in the middle of the night because of fp doesn’t mean anything good. 

“alright. hold on,” is all he says before looking around and grabbing the first pair of pants he sees on the floor along with his rhs hoodie. he climbs out the window, shuffles down the side of his house and jumps the last few feet before rushing over to alice. “what happened?” he sounds panicked even to his own ears. 

alice starts walking - jogging, practically - to where fred can see a motorcycle parked on the curb. “i dont know. gladys and i were hanging out at the wyrm and fp comes in. his face was all…” she lets the sentence trail off. fred can fill in the gaps. “next thing we know he’s stealing a bottle of bourbon from the bar so gladys and i follow him out, try to get him to talk. we end up at the school and now he’s on the roof and we can’t get him down.”

“he’s on the roof?!” fred practically screams, and alice has to clamp her hand over his mouth before the entire neighborhood actually does wake up. 

“gladys is keeping an eye on him.” she removes her hand and grabs the helmet that’s hanging off the bike’s handlebars before shoving it to fred’s chest. “but you know he’ll only listen to you. come on.”

they waste no more time, fred hopping on behind alice and holding on tight as she speeds off into the night.

–

the second they reach the school parking lot he’s off the bike and on his feet, tossing the helmet to the side and looking up at the now ominous building. the lighting is for shit, but fred can just make out the silhouette of someone stumbling along the roof’s edge and his heart sinks. 

“f…” he breathes, more to himself than anything. he knows enough not to yell out. doesn’t want to surprise his best friend lest he lose his footing.

he doesn’t wait any longer, dashing into the school and not stopping until he reaches the roof. alice must still be trailing somewhere behind him but he can’t focus on that. all he sees is fp in front of him, walking along the roof’s ledge like some tightrope routine, albeit clumsier. 

fp’s got a half empty bottle in one hand, taking occasional swigs from it while he dangles his foot off the side of the building like he’s tempting fate. all fred wants to do is run over and grab him, bring him back to safety, hold him close. but he can’t. no sudden movements. 

fred takes his eyes off fp for just a moment to notice gladys nearby, hands in her hair, visibly stressed, trying to talk fp down. it’s obviously not working. 

she lets out a breath and turns around, finally noticing fred, and her body deflates. “oh thank fucking christ.” they meet each other halfway, fred’s eyes never leaving fp. “you gotta do something, fred. he’s not listening.” she looks back at fp briefly before returning her attention to fred. 

“what am i supposed to do?” fred asks, sounding all too much like a scared child. it’s exactly what he feels like. powerless. 

“he listens to you, fred,” gladys tries to reassure. reaches out and squeezes fred’s arm. 

fred takes a deep breath, nods his head like he actually believes he has this situation under control. he doesn’t. he’s in way over his head here. if they were dealing with anyone else he would’ve told alice from the start to get the police, or at the very least an adult. but this is fp, and if there’s one thing fred knows it’s that either of those things would just spook fp. get him pissed. send him off running. or worse. it’s a sobering thought realizing he really is the only one who can talk fp down.

he braces himself for the unexpected, not knowing which version of his best friend he’s going to get with so much alcohol in his system. he approaches slowly, like he’s trying to tame a lion in a cage.

“f...” he starts, voice quiet.

fp looks over his shoulder. there’s something shining in the reflection of the moonlight on his face. something wet. fred’s stomach twists when he remembers what alice said to him earlier. “that you, freddie?”

“yeah. yeah, buddy. it’s me.”

fp scoffs, takes another drink. “buddy,” he mocks. “that what we are now?”

he’s trying to pick a fight, fred knows. “why don’t you just come down so we can talk, huh?”

but fp doesn’t move. just finishes off his bottle and holds it out in front him, watches as he lets it fall from his hand and all the way down to the ground below. waits for the faint sound of glass shattering before he speaks. “shit, if we’re just buddies you should’ve told my dad. could’ve spared me an ass beating.”

it’s hardly the first time fred’s been made aware of forsythe senior’s particular brand of punishment, the hell he likes to unleash on his son, but it never gets any easier to swallow. he had tried in the beginning to get fp to tell somebody, begged him, really, but he never would. too afraid of ending up lost in the system. too afraid of what his dad would do if shit didn’t pan out. fp’s entire life seemed to be ruled by fear.

“fp, please. just-”

“fuck off, fred!”

fp stumbles from the force of his yelling, too much booze in his system to keep him steady, and there’s a moment where fred thinks this is it. he can hear a gasp from the girls behind him as he’s lunging forward to grab fp. but fp rights himself on his own, and fred feels like he’s about to keel over from the heart attack he’s just almost had. 

but it lights a fire in him. “ok, you know what?” it’s reckless and stupid but he’s climbing up to stand next to fp. hears alice in the back yelling “are you fucking crazy?!” but ignores her. 

even fp’s eyes are blown wide as he turns his head to look at his new company. it’s the first time fred’s really able to get a look at the damage done. it’s bad. really bad. but he can’t focus on that right now. 

“the fuck are you doing?” fp asks.

fred shrugs his shoulders, trying to be as nonchalant as he can with his heart pounding in his chest. it’s not so much that he’s afraid of heights.... he’d just rather not be standing on the edge of a roof without a safety net below. “you jump, i jump.”

“jesus christ, fred. i wasn’t gonna jump.”

“you could’ve fooled me!”

“i wasn’t! i just... don’t care if i fall.”

“well i care!” fred feels like he’s on the verge of hysterics. maybe he’s already there. 

“well i didn’t ask you to!”

“that’s too damn bad!” he and fp have had their share of stupid fights in the past but this.... this has got to take the fucking cake. “one of these days you’re gonna have to face the fact that people actually care about you.”

fp doesn’t say anything, just keeps his jaw clenched as he looks at the ground below him. 

“i care about you,” fred emphasizes. “and i think i’d lose my mind if anything happened to you.”

fp finally turns his gaze to fred, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “i’m real fucked up, fred,” he whispers, voice breaking with raw emotion. “can’t even get my own dad to love me.”

fred’s heart breaks for him, and he wants nothing more than to run down to the south side and lay into senior; kicking and punching and wailing about how he could do this to his son. “screw your dad,” is what he settles on. he reaches up to tuck a piece of hair behind fp’s ear, let’s his hand linger there. “i don’t know how to make things better for you, but i’m here. and i’ll always be here. for as long as you need me.”

fp sniffs, looks away. “that’s a helluva job to take on. you sure it’s worth it?”

“yes,” fred responds without missing a beat. 

fp’s head snaps up, his eyes searching fred’s for any sign of deception, like this is just a ploy to talk fp down and the words are meaningless. they’re not, he knows. doesn’t make it any easier to believe.

fred hops off the ledge then, back onto the roof, holds his hand out to fp like a beggar. “come on, f.” he doesn’t need to say please. it’s written all over his face. “let me take you home.”

“i’m not going back there.”

“you know what i meant.”

fp looks down over the ledge again, contemplating the fall, before look back to fred, to his outstretched hand, to his safety line. he takes it, hopping down onto the roof and as soon as his feet hit fred’s pulling him into his arms and holding him like he’s trying to crush fp’s bones. the dam breaks and fp can’t stop the tears, burying his face against fred’s shoulder, sure he’ll leave bloody stains behind on the fabric of his hoodie. 

but fred doesn’t seem to care. he keeps holding fp impossibly closer, pressing his lips to fp’s hair and saying “don’t you ever do that again! you hear me? fucking scared the shit out of me.”

fp cries harder. keeps repeating he’s sorry, he’s sorry over and over.

fred pulls back, gentle cradles fp’s face in his hands, careful not to upset his wounds. “i fucking love you, you know that?” he says it with such determination, like he needs fp to know.

fp nods his head. he can’t even see fred’s face properly through his tears but he doesn’t need to. the sincerity is loud and clear. there’s no mistaking it. “take me home, freddie.” he sounds so small, so childlike. so vulnerable. 

fred nods his head before pulling fp into another hug, lips right to his ear. “yeah, baby. let’s go.”

#fredheads #hmmm angst #fredsythe #fred andrews #fp jones #my writing #briana answers things