#but then I remembered May and Brendan

[bxrningdragxn]

just Steven being a father figure to May and Brendan

also my oc Robin but I won't talk about her here

[memories-break-our-fall]

Tentative hoenn redesigns!!

[084392]

may getting a motorcycle when she gets older.....

[billthedrake]

WINGMAN

I generally had a clean lifestyle, at least lately, but it was Mike Gelson's bachelor party, and we five dudes were partying it up in Nashville. I may have been doing my goody two-shoes Brendan Peters thing and getting club soda every few rounds, but my tolerance was down and I was getting good and truly wasted.

My best buddy James Carducci noticed, too. Like me, he was a big guy, a former tight end who carried a lot of muscle on his 6'5" frame, but unlike me he could hold his liquor.

"You gonna get laid tonight, Peters?" he growled in my ear as we entered the room we were sharing. "It's fun to see you let your hair down."

I gave him a scowl but knew he was just ribbing me. It's what buddies did. "Why can't we have the bachelor party in New York or something?"

Carducci knew what I meant. He plopped on one of the beds, his big frame taking up most of the double bed mattress. "Bro, you could have all the gay dudes around you and you'd still be too fuckin' picky."

I lay down on the other bed, looking over at my best friend. We'd both moved to the same city after graduation. Coming out had been a big messy process for me, and James had been the most supportive of my college friends. He was enthusiastically bisexual - not advertising it or anything, but we quickly realized we could switch from teammate-buddies to guy talk and back.

Still, we were opposites in a lot of ways. "Dude... it's easy for you. You just want to get your dick wet."

We'd had versions of this conversation before. He grinned. "Bro, maybe you should get your dick wet for a change. It'd keep you from being a cranky bitch." Yeah, Carducci could get away saying stuff to me no one else could. Then turning his meaty body on his side, he looked right at me. "I get it, Peters. But maybe while you wait for Mr. Right, you can have some fun. I mean, Kevin Murphy's not gonna suck your cock."

"What the fuck?!" I played dumb. Kevin had been the kicker on our D1 team and was Mike Gelson's best man. He was my type to a T... shorter than me and leaner, boy-next-door cute, tight body and a bubble ass.

James lay back again and put his arms around his back, arms knotted and pumped. If I was into big dudes like myself, there might be sexual tension between us. "Bro, it's all over your face. Remember, I know your fuckin' type."

"C'mon, JC," I pleaded, using my nickname for him.

He grinned. "Don't worry, Peters, I'm not gonna say anything to anyone. You know that. Crush out on Murphy all you want. You're just barking up the wrong tree."

"Yeah," I sighed. "It's majorly against the bro code." I was starting to get resentful of how being a horny gay dude and an ex-jock living by the bro code were not exactly compatible.

That got a deep laugh from JC. "So's fucking your buddy's dad."

I sat up, the alcohol and quick movement making my head dizzy. "What?!?!" Normally I'd write off the comment as Carducci being a jokester but the way his words came out made them seem real.

He now sat up and reached down to paw at his crotch to rearrange his junk. "This stays between us," he warned.

"Scouts honor, man," I replied.

My friend got a wild look on his face and a leer as he said, "I banged Gelson's dad."

"Mike Gelson," I clarified. "The fucking groom."

He seemed annoyed. "What other Gelsons do you know, dumbass? Yeah, Mike Gelson's father. It was a couple of years ago, when Mike invited a couple of us to his family's lake house." James was closer to Gelson than I was, which only made what he was describing seme more transgressive.

"Dude, isn't Mr. Gelson like 45?" I'd briefly met the man once but he didn't make too much an impression on me, I guess.

Carducci leered. "He was 50 then, and it was fucking glorious. A whole week, both of us enjoying sneaking around." I knew JC had a bit of a kink for married men. We didn't overshare, but I'd very occasionally hear about a hookup or, more often, I'd unload about a date that didn't go like I wanted.

I had to rib him now. "What, you going for the daddies now, JC?"

Without missing a beat, he looked at me with his brown eyes. "Abso-fucking-lutely, Peters. Exclusively even. You should try an older dude for a change."

I didn't think I was easily shocked but the turn of the conversation had indeed rattled me. I went silent before I said quietly, "Man, I couldn't date a guy my dad's age. What the fuck?"

He laughed. "Dude, who's talking about dating? You're a hot fucking dude, you should be having sex nonstop... " He paused. "Can I be honest, bro?"

I nodded, bracing myself for the barrage of criticism. But this was Carducci, I knew he was looking after me.

"Well," James started. "You always go for the unavailable ones like Murphy, or for the stuck up ones who think they're the shit for having an Insta following." For all of our odd-couple conversations, Carducci had never spelled it out for me quite like this. But he was totally right. "I dunno, maybe you should go outside your type just to see. There are so many daddies out there who'd be so fucking appreciative to make it with a guy like you.... You could use the ego boost, bro."

I thought it over. "Is that what older guys are to you?" I asked. "An ego boost?"

He shook his head. "Nah. I have a pretty massive ego already, bro, I don't need help with that. I just love sex with an older guy." I watched as he pulled a spare pillow down to cover his crotch. I knew why: Carducci was boning up talking about sex, and while we shared a lot there still was the bro code between us. "Some of em have a wild side, like a drunk sorority chick."

I shook my head. "Jesus, JC."

I knew the alcohol was getting us both to open up to this conversation. "It's not like that, Peters. I mean, you know you're with a dude, a real masculine dude at that. But there's that wild, naughty streak beneath the surface. I fucking love it."

He reached over and picked up his phone.

"What? Are you gonna show me a picture of one of your conquests?" I asked.

He looked up and winked. "Perv. No, bro, I'm lining up a blowjob. There's gotta be a horny daddy staying in this hotel."

I blushed. "You serious?"

"Sure, I'm serious," he said, now not taking his eyes off the app as he scrolled through. "Jesus you can be such a fucking prude."

I lay back, feeling insulted but mostly angry that he was right. I'd set up a Grindr profile and used it some but then swore it off over the last year. "Well, you're not bringing him back here," I said.

JC now looked up. "Like I said. Cranky bitch." There was teasing sure, but I think I'd actually pissed off my buddy. I almost apologized but I was stubborn.

Anyway, he was now getting off the bed and putting his shoes back on.

"Already?" I asked with astonishment. JC hadn't been on that app much longer than five minutes.

He laughed. "What can I say, bro?" He smiled. "Daddy wants this..." he used his hand to gesture to his tall muscular body. "I'm in Nashville, I'm gonna have a little fucking fun." He had his phone and key card and seemed good to go. "You should too, Peters. For real."

I didn't say anything but I gave a look that was my attempt at an "I'll think about it."

And like that, I watched my best friend leave our room.

***

The lamplight was still on when I woke up. I'd conked out in my drunkenness. I was massively hungover but I always wake up pretty quickly. Light was coming in and the clock said a little after 8.

Carducci's bed was still made and still empty. The fucker.

I got up and pissed and popped a couple of aspirin, hoping they'd help. My head pounded. And we still had another night of this fucking bachelor party weekend. I wondered if these dudes would want to come to mine when the time came. Hell, I wondered if I'd have one.

I brushed my teeth to get the stale beer taste out of my mouth. My hair was mussed up and I did my best to comb it down.

Fifteen minutes later, after a trip to the lobby to get some coffee, I was feeling more alive. Hungover still, but better. I didn't feel like eating anything, but the aspirin was helping.

I picked up my phone. I'd uninstalled Grindr but it was easy enough to re-install it. It took me a second to remember my login, but I used one of my common passwords. One of these days, I'd need to choose something more secure for my shit.

There were some hot guys in Nashville, but I'd gotten spoiled by the city I lived in now. There was a certain type I was seeing here - either bigger, beefier guys, or else younger thinner twinks. My type was always in between that. I wanted more Dierks Bentley and was seeing a lot more Garth Brooks types, even among the 20-somethings.

I'd been replaying my conversation with JC in my head. He could bust my balls, and maybe in a way I didn't like. But I told myself, I'd give this a try. I changed my profile language to make it less picky and judgmental and adjusted my looking-for age range.

It was early and I didn't see any hits in this hotel, but there was a good looking older guy in the hotel on the next block. Kind of average looking, balding hair, 49yo, but his pics showed off a very fit body, lightly hairy, probably trimmed. Looking for now. If I had to make it with an older dude, this was probably as good a match as any. I'd focus on his body if need be.

"Hey," I typed in a chat. "You're up early."

"Hi man." Then. "This is early?"

"In Nashville it is," I replied back.

"True, ha."

I was never great with the quick hookup thing, but one thing I'd mastered was the art of messaging. Some guys were too direct, not flirty enough, but some guys were too passive and conversational. My style didn't work with everyone, but it was working now, I knew.

"What brings you here?" I asked.

"Business. I thought I'd tack on an extra day for fun. And you?"

"Bachelor party."

"Of course, ha." Then, he added. "You're quite the hunk."

"Thanks man," I typed. "You're hot, too." I wasn't sure how much I thought that. It's not that he wasn't hot, because he was in a way. But in my fucked up way, I knew he wasn't Brendan Peters-worthy hot. Not in my league. But I tried to embrace the Carducci way. "You say you bottom, right?" His profile had read vers-bottom.

"Yep. You wanting to fuck?"

After my conversation with JC, I'd initially been thinking of a blowjob. Baby steps. Something to take the edge off. But now I realized it had been WAY too long since I'd fucked a guy. "God yeah. You able to host?"

"If you can give me fifteen minutes."

I pawed my crotch now. I was getting boned good. "Make it twenty?" I wanted to shower up.

"Sounds good, man."

***

The profile had sold the guy short. He didn't look hotter than his pictures but as he ushered me in, he had a deep sexy voice. Almost gravely, with a New York accent. He had a towel wrapped around his waist and I could see how dense his muscle was on a frame that was about 6 inches shorter than mine.

"Looks like I hit the jackpot, huh?" he smiled. Then as his eyes swept up to my face, he added, "Don't worry, I'm not gonna gush. You know you're smoking hot."

OK, maybe JC was right, I could get used to the ego pump. With a grin I stepped up to the guy and wrapped my arms around his naked torso, drawing him in.

"I wasn't sure..." he started to say in his deep voice befor I cut him off with a kiss.

He was a good kisser. This was a hookup, just a hookup, and our making out wasn't romantic, but I really enjoyed this part of sex, and this man knew how to respond to my groove. His hands felt up my chest as he did his best to match my tongue work.

Maybe it had been so long since I'd had sex, but the feel of his bare skin and hard back muscle under my fingers had me rock hard. This guy wasn't my type, but he was masculine and real and he wanted me. I pulled off his towel and broke the kiss so I could reach down and paw at his thick ass. It wasn't a young bubble ass, it wasn't Kevin Murphy's kicker's ass, but this man went to the gym regularly and had for years.

"Yess.." he hissed.

I kneaded his ass for a minute longer then stepped back, in full ready to fuck mode. As I reached down and started undoing my shorts and kicking off my shoes, my trick looked at me with horny anticipation, his daddy dick hard and leaking, a solid six-incher that stood out from his trimmed but hairy crotch.

"I guess we didn't talk about specifics," he said, stepping back to the bed. "You a missionary or doggy position kind of guy?"

God, this was 180 degrees from my normal Grindr experience. I always met freaks who'd get real porny and weird, or I met guys who were bossy about their needs. This man had a fun laid-back vibe, even as we were getting to brass tacks.

Usually my answer would be missionary. "Doggy," I leered, letting my thick long cock fall out as I pushed my underwear down.

"Fuck," the daddy hissed. "You didn't exaggerate the measurements. Take it a little easy at first, then I'm good to go." I watched as he got onto the bed, on all fours. It was clearly the body of a man in his late 40s, but I was going to enjoy it all the same.

I got up on after him, letting the mattress sink with my weight. I'd hit almost 240 in college ball, and while I'd leaned down a little since then, I still was 230 pounds of tall muscle.

I remember one time I'd started eating out some model looking guy I'd hooked up with and he about freaked out, telling me he wasn't into getting rim. But as I kissed along this man's lightly furred ass cheeks, one side then the other, he spread his legs in an unmistakeable green light. I dove in and licked.

Fuck, this daddy loved it. I thought about what JC said. Masculine dudes with that drunk sorority chick worthy wild streak. He was some regular guy on business, and he was enjoying me eating him out and munching wildly at his clean pucker.

"Holy fuck, dude!" he growled, the deep voice making his words seem more sexual. "Eat my fucking hole."

I did. I wasn't even expecting an extended rim session for this. I almost thought it would be a pump and go, but I now rode the experience, gripping his cheeks, pulling them apart and tongue fucking this man who indeed was old enough to be my father.

I could have kept at it, too, but I needed to fuck. I leaned up, wiped off the spit from my chin and reached down to wet my cock.

"There's lube and condoms," he said, nodding to the night stand. "I'm on PREP so do what you want, man." Again, that deep voice had my balls twitching.

I slathered on some lube and lined up my bare prick. Daddy was gonna get raw dogged. I gave a two-mississippi pause then pushed to enter him.

There was some snugness at the ring but otherwise no real resistance. I popped in, making the man grunt a little, but he braced his upper body, took a deep breath, then nodded. I pushed my way all the way in, deep into his hot tightness. I forgot how amazing a good fuck felt. Bottoming out, I gripped his waist and began a slow pump.

"Jesus, you're a big boy," he grunted, excitement in his voice.

"6-four," I teased, now fucking him with firmer strokes.

"I meant your cock," the daddy said.

"I know," I hissed. "You're taking that big dick."

"Christ, man," he replied. "Fuck me! Fuck me big guy!"

I did. Getting more and more into it. I was enjoying this position of holding his waist and using that leverage to pull his leaner muscular build onto my hard pistoning cock as much as I was pushing into him. But as I got more excited and more into the mounting pleasure, I felt a need for something more animalistic. Leaning forward, I covered his back with my muscular chest and torso and just started hammering him with hard short strokes.

"Oh fuck oh fuck," he hissed. Loving it, but feeling the challenge of taking me that way, given my strength.

It wouldn't take long though. I now supported my weight with one arm while the other one wrapped around him, pulling his hard body next to mine for maximum contact and steady penetration.

He too was braced on one hand now while the jerked off to my inward strokes.

He came a second before me, but it was a photo finish. I let out a deep heavy growl and enjoyed the most amazing orgasm I'd had in a LONG time.

He finally withdrew his hand and let my weight push him down into a flat lying position.

"Am I too heavy?" I asked as I kissed his neck softly. I didn't want to pull out just yet, the aftershocks felt pretty amazing.

"I'm good," came that deep voice. "I like it, actually."

I kissed him more, along his neck. It's a weird thing of mine. Some guys lose interest after getting their nut, but I get in a real romantic headspace after cumming. It's freaked some men out.

Daddy picked up on it. "I thought you'd be a fuck and go kind of guy," he said with a soft laugh.

"Sorry," I said, pushing myself up off him some.

"Don't apologize, it's nice."

I ran my hand along the man's arm. Strong, not as big as mine, but there's something about an older man that meant more seasoned muscle. "I know this is just a hookup," I said. "I just like talking with a guy I have sex with. I'm weird, I guess."

He got quiet, but his reply felt calm and measured. "We can grab brunch if you like. I can learn more about the guy who just gave me the fuck of my life."

"Yeah," I said.

Now as we uncoupled and rinsed off in the bathroom before getting dressed again, I was having second doubts, and maybe I was leading him on too much. I absolutely didn't want anything serious with this guy. After today, I'd probably half forget him. This was just my hormones talking.

He seemed to read me. "You OK, man?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

He gave me an empathetic look. "Don't worry, I know I'm just a piece of tail to you. But I'm starving... why don't we get a bite and then you can get back to your bachelor party duties?"

I smiled. "Sounds good," I said. I stepped up and kissed him, softly. Wrapping my arms around his waist and enjoying the height difference.

"My name's Curt," he said.

"Brendan," I said.

[meusamatus]

Simon Walker | Watch Guide + Links

Simon Walker is a character from the English soap opera Hollyoaks, played by actor Neil Newbon.

He's a character in Brendan Brady's storyline, and appears during the episodes aired from the 11th of May of 2012 to the 19th of March of 2013.

Where can I DL the episodes? What's the watch order?

2012 episodes NEW LINK (Archive)

2013 episodes NEW LINK (Archive)

Hollyoaks Later episodes

Edit: ONLY Brendan and Walker scenes

The watch order is episodes from 11/05/12 to 14/09/12 >> Hollyoaks Later episodes 1, 3, 4 & 5 >> episodes from 25/10/2012 to 19/03/2013. Here's a link to the Wiki where all his episodes are listed. Beware of spoilers!!

Do I need to watch the entire series, or can I start with the 11th of May?

You can start with the 11th of May. Hollyoaks has many different characters and story arcs, but Simon Walker is only relevant to Brendan's story. Even if you haven't watched the previous Brendan episodes, it's very easy to follow. Characters will bring up and explain past plots because the show has been running since 1995, and the showrunners don't expect viewers to remember everything. The basic summary is that Brendan Brady is a criminal / gangster / drug dealer that operates from his (half) sister's club, the "Chez Chez". How and why he knows Simon Walker is explained soon after Simon appears for the first time.

There's too many irrelevant characters / story arcs happening at the same time! I'm only interested in Simon Walkers' plotline!

Somebody clipped and uploaded the scenes pertaining to Brendan's storyline here, so you can watch just those. Simon / Neil appears for the first time in the video named (241), but it's been taken down so you'll have to download / watch it from the Drive link above. There might be some other numbers missing too.

[kurithedweeb]

In my recent post about base game Minecraft mobs in MCD rewrites, I mentioned that I like to include random little scenes from canon and I got a comment from @lucky-guess asking if I’d include Aph eating rotten flesh. I thought “maybe I will, it’d be funny.” I remember the time Brendan startled her and she accidentally ate the zombie brains in her hand. I was thinking about this comment and I had a Very Good Idea.

You know how Garroth was pretty hands-off with Aph at the start of Season 1? They’d talk, sure, but he just let her wander around and fix things up, he had bigger things to worry about until he realized that, hey, she’s basically a Lord now.

Here’s how it goes:

You’re the head guard of a tiny rundown coastal village, and you’ve been scrambling to keep everything together ever since a mysterious fire killed your Lord. Your apprentice has been a great help and he’s the only one who knows the real scope of your worries, your guards have been stressed enough with all the suspicion and accusations and extra patrols and they don’t need to carry the same weight you have on your shoulders.

It’s another dreary day of rain, one of your guards is recovering from a bad injury, and you’re not halfway through evening patrol when a random maiden crashes out of the woods. She’s only wearing what amounts to underwear, drenched, barefoot, her arms and legs are covered in mud and there are twigs in her tangled hair. She looks half-feral and the look in her eyes does nothing to discourage that.

You, obviously concerned that she’s being chased, ask her what happened, is she injured? Please, miss, come inside and take a seat by the fire before you catch your death. The maiden does not care even a little. She says she was chasing a mysterious man in green and have you seen him because she wants to know what’s up with that guy. You have not, and the idea of some random man being chased by this tiny woman is slightly concerning, but all you’re worried about right now is getting this woman inside before she dies of hypothermia. She does not care about hypothermia, she just wants to chase her mystery man.

Suddenly, a sound! A man in what might be green, it’s hard to tell in the rain! That’s the man, the maiden cries! After him!

You will go after him. The maiden will be going inside with your apprentice, right now, please, please go warm up. Your apprentice manages to wrangle the half-feral woman into the nearest open building, the library, and you take off after the mysterious man in maybe-green. You chase him through the trees, down the slippery slope of a hillside, into a clearing. You’ve lost your lantern somewhere along the way, and in the dark you trip on the lip of a crater you’re sure wasn’t there when you last passed through. You know these woods like the back of your hand, but the crater and the mud and the rain have blinded you in a moment of confusion and the man is gone by the time you get your bearings. Any tracks he may have left are too murky to follow. You stumbled back to town in the dark to check on the maiden.

You can call her Anastasia. That’s all your apprentice has been able to learn from her while you were gone. She’s washed, more-or-less dried and in proper clothes thanks to Emmalyn the librarian, maybe you’ll have more luck now that she’s bundled in front of the fireplace with some warm broth in her stomach. She tells you again of the man, of a clearing she didn’t recognize, and nothing of any use. You leave her to rest, thinking maybe she’ll remember more in the morning. She’s gone in the morning.

You’re half-convinced you hallucinated the whole event, but the time you spent that night furiously scrubbing down your armor convinces you it’s true. Anastasia reappears a few days later, breezes past you without a word and starts doing something to the road on the edge of town. You’re a little concerned you’ve possibly begun to lose your mind from the stress except other people are stopping to stare at her too.

For weeks, it continues like this. Anastasia appears in town, drops whatever she’s collected while she’s away at the library (infuriating Emmalyn more and more each time), messes around with a broken-down road or some fences or digs through the bed farmland, and then vanishes for days or weeks at a time. No one knows what she’s doing or what to do about it, but so long as she’s not hurting anyone it’s fine, right? She even helps clear out monsters from time to time.

You think, wasn’t that fence broken last week? Wasn’t that road in disrepair last month? Was that condemned plot of farmland suddenly sprouting healthy grass? Weren’t these Anastasia’s projects? Oh, you realize, she’s been fixing up the village for some reason. She’s been doing a surprising number of Lordly things, actually. And that little hut up on the cliff—was that also her? What else was she doing? She was making her own gear, her own house, helping with farms and patrols, and also apparently taming wolves and teaching them to fish—where did she learn all this stuff anyway?

You ask. She says she doesn’t remember. She says it just seemed obvious to do it like this. She says it seemed like these are just things people are supposed to do. Aren’t they? No? Well, that’s the way she’s doing things. You think she’s joking about not remembering how she knows, well, everything.

And then, as she’s helping clear away the bodies of yet another small horde of zombies, Brendan startles her and Anastasia shoves the zombie flesh into her mouth. SPIT IT OUT, everyone who’d seen this tragedy yells, SPIT IT OUT SPIT IT OUT RIGHT NOW! But no, this crazy weird woman has committed to her mistakes and you can see the disgust on her face as she chews. And swallows. You are fighting the urge to jam your fingers down her throat and make her throw up because you know her well enough to know you’d get stabbed for it on reflex. Within minutes, she is heaving into a bucket, miserable, and saying that she wouldn’t have done it if she’d known it’d make her so sick.

You, holding her hair back as she throws her guts up, realize that she was not joking. She was not joking about not knowing anything. Anastasia, the half-feral maiden from the woods who's been doing basically half a Lord’s duties around the little town under your care, is an amnesiac. She has actual, literal amnesia. That’s the only explanation. Everyone knows never to eat zombie flesh for this exact reason, everyone, no one is that dumb. Oh dear Irene, she’s going to end up doing this again, isn’t she? Anastasia, the woman who’s been caring for this town just as much as you have, is going to die from food poisoning because she can’t remember which berries are bad for you. If not that, then hypothermia. If you leave her alone, she’s done for.

That’s how you end up personally guarding the new Lord of Phoenix Drop. And how you end up breaking her out of jail when she gets wrongly arrested for murder a month later.

[hannahhook7744]

Canon & Semi-Canon Character List!;

For @askauradonprep .

LMK if you want me to add kids from other disney media like non-descendants books, sequels, and shows.

This list only includes the next gen kids from descendants (as well as Uliana).

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

Descendants (Mobile Game):

Scarlet.

Carter (Maybe a gender bent version of Scarlet who is dependent on your character's gender or could be a completely separate character).

Note: Diego de Vil was also in this game, if you want a visual on him.

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

Twitter-confirmed: 

Elle, daughter of Eric and Ariel.

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Evie's Wicked Runway:

Mia.

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Scrapped Characters:

Aziz, son of Aladdin and Jasmine (mentioned in ‘the isle of the lost’ and the d1 script).

Anxelin, daughter of Rapunzel and Eugene Fitzherbert (mentioned somewhere unknown as of now).

Hadie, son of Hades (mentioned in ‘Return to the Isle of the Lost’).

Gigi, daughter of Mother Gothel (Mentioned in an early draft of a d2 script).

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Concept Art Characters:

Lil Yaz, son of Yzma.

Quinlynn, daughter of the Queen of Hearts (can be seen in 'Good to be Bad'.)

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Escape from the Isle of the Lost (Book):

Ariana Rose, niece of Aurora and Prince Phillip

Bobby Hood, the son of Robin Hood and Maid Marian.

Derek, the son of Dopey.

Shy, the son of Bashful.

Crabby, the son of Grumpy.

Hap and Cheerful, the sons of Happy.

Snoozy, the son of Sleepy.

Doc II, the son of Doc.

Gesundheit, the son of Sneezy.

Note: I also remember there being a Sneezy Jr and a Gus but I can't find proof, so for now I'll just have them here.

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Players Mentioned on the Tourney Wiki:

Brendan.

Miguel (#44).

Tyrone (#32).

Akio (#42).

William (#12).

Li (#85).

Emir (#26).

Note: Aziz was also mentioned here on the wiki.

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Kids Named Only in the Movie:

Taylor (Coach Jenkins called for him during one of the tourney scenes).

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School of Secrets (Book Series):

Opal, the daughter of Mama Odie.

The Tweedledum and Tweedledee cousins, the sons of Tweedledum and Tweedledee.

Yi-min, the daughter of Yao.

Carina Potts, the daughter of Mrs. Potts.

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School of Secrets (Web Series):

Unnamed Kid who's Great Uncle is Smee.

Dianne Doan (narration) and Andrea Savo (screen appearances) as Secret Blogger–the unidentified girl filming Auradon Prep's students who may or may not be Lonnie.

Mark Daugherty as School Reporter.

Blake Rosier as Sleepy Jr, son of Sleepy.

Bashful Jr, son of Bashful.

Ben Stillwell as Happy student.

Maxwell Chase as Jock.

Miles Tagtmeyer as Reasonable Student.

Maybe Sarah? (As shown in Chad's phone).

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Carlos‘s Scavenger hunt (Book):

Henry (White haired little boy who is Carlos's biggest fan).

Unnamed Seven Year Old Son of John Darling.

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Beyond the isle of the lost (Book):

Ace.

Chester, son of the Cheshire Cat.

Katy/Katy, daughter of the smoking caterpillar.

Twee and Dee, twin daughters of Tweedledee.

Dora, daughter of the Dormouse.

Bill, the former cook of the Duchess's nephew.

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

Descendants 1 (Movie):

Mal, the daughter of Maleficent and Hades.

Evie, the daughter of Evil Queen.

Jay, the son of Jafar.

Carlos De Vil,  the son of Cruella De Vil.

Ben, the son of Belle and Beast.

Audrey, the daughter of Aurora and Prince Phillip.

Lonnie, the daughter of Fa Mulan and Li Shang.

Chad Charming, the son of Cinderella and Prince Charming.

Jane, the daughter of the Fairy Godmother.

Doug, the son of Dopey and Doug's mother.

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Rise of Red (Movie): 

Red, daughter of the Queen of Hearts.

Chloe Charming, daughter of Cinderella and Prince Charming.

Maddox Hatter, the Mad Hatter's son.

Morgie, the son of Morgana le Fay. 

Uliana/Ulyana, the younger sister of Ursula, and the aunt of Uma.

Unnamed Jasladdin/Jaladdin kid who can't be Aziz because the timeline doesn't work.

Zellie/Meadow, daughter of Rapunzel who may actually be Rapunzel (EDITED TO ADD NOTE: rumor has it that the actress who played Zellie/Meadow does not want her photos used, so if you do write Zellie or plan to use her character you may want to fancast/use a background character from the movies as her or avoid using photos all together. Unless it's proven otherwise).

Note: I’ve only included characters who didn’t exist before the movie. So no teenage versions of the adults. No Merlin, , and no Jack of Diamonds (since we see him as an adult only).

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The Isle of the Lost (Book): 

Anthony Tremaine, the son of Anastasia Tremaine.

Beelzebub, the daughter of Lucifer.

Claudine Frollo, the daughter of Claude Frollo.

Clay Clayton, the son of Clayton.

Diego De Vil, the nephew of Cruella De Vil.

Gaston Jr. and Gaston the Third, the twin sons of Gaston.

Ginny Gothel, the daughter of Mother Gothel.

Harry Badun, the son of Horace.

Jace Badun, the son of Jasper.

Jade, the niece of Jafar.

Harriet Hook, the daughter of Captain Hook.

Lagan and Derelict, the children of Flotsam and Jetsam.

LeFou Deux, the son of LeFou.

Madam Mim's granddaughters.

Othello, the son of Iago.

Sammy Smee, the son of Mr. Smee.

The Evil Step-Granddaughters, six or seven unnamed daughters of Drizella Tremaine.

The Sea Witches who may or may not be related to Ursula.

Spotted Hyenas, the children of Shenzi, Benzai, and Ed.

Reza, the son of a former Royal Astronomer of Agrabah.

Yzla, the daughter of Yzma.

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Descendants Wicked World (Show): 

Freddie Facilier, the daughter of Dr. Facilier.

CJ Hook, the daughter of Captain Hook.

Zevon, the son of Yzma.

Jordan, the daughter of the Genie.

Ally, the daughter of Alice.

Ruby, the daughter of Rapunzel and Eugene Fitzherbert.

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Return to the Isle of the Lost (Book): 

Hadie, the son of Hades.

Mad Maddy, the granddaughter of Madam Mim.

Rick Ratcliffe, the son of Governor Ratcliffe.

Hermie Bing, the daughter of The Ringmaster.

Crocodile Descendants, the children of Tick Tock.

Herkie, the son of Hercules and Megara.

Tiger Peony, the daughter of Tiger Lily.

Artie, the son of King Arthur.

Gordon, the son of Grumpy.

Pin, the son of Pinocchio.

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Rise of the Isle of the Lost (Book): 

Stabbington cousins,  the children of the Stabbington brothers.

Arabella, the niece of Ariel and Eric

Li Shang Jr., the son of Fa Mulan and Li Shang.

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Descendants 2 (Movie): 

Kristie Sita plays an unnamed blonde pirate girl amputee in purple seen in Uma’s Crew. 

Uma, the daughter of Ursula.

Harry Hook, the son of Captain Hook.

Gil, the son of Gaston.

Dizzy Tremaine, the daughter of Drizella Tremaine.

Note: characters of Uma’s crew have been named in her book, but not all of them and there were plenty of other background kids from the movies and stuff that weren't named.

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Uma’s Wicked Book:

Jonas, member of Uma’s crew.

Gonzo, member of Uma’s crew.

Bonny, member of Uma’s crew.

Desiree, member of Uma’s crew.

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

Descendants 3 (Movie): 

Celia Facilier, the daughter of Dr. Facilier.

Squeaky Smee, one of the twin sons of Mr. Smee.

Squirmy Smee, one of the twin sons of Mr. Smee.

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Characters Who Were Mentioned That I Have Zero Clue Where They Were Mentioned:

Pirate named Maria/Marya.

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Application Kids:

A kid who's name starts with Do or Da. Might be named Dawn. May be the child of a witch/someone selling something & a builder.

Cozzy/Coco, child of a writer named 'William' and a doctor named 'Martha'.

Hector/Sticks, child of an entertaynor/entertainer named Vivian and Lotso.

Bug, child of a bug eater (mom) and the implied child of Oogie Boogie.

Seen in this post by @leftbehindtorot :

If I missed anyone, let me know. Thank you for the help, @casinotrio1965 .

[gothushi]

white horse

pairing: simon x f!reader

warnings: canon s/a, simon feeling worthless, narrative paints him as pathetic because that’s how he feels, pining, one single use of y/n

note: went in a totally different direction for this but i’m happy with it. i think he deserves the world and more. i’ve left it open to your own mind whether you’re actually in a relationship with simon or not

word count: 5k

———————♡

Hands trembling, Simon hurriedly fishes his phone from his jeans pocket. Clothes scattered on the floor, pristine motel shower, towel wrapped too tight around his waist. His heart beats so hard he fears it may just pop right out of his chest, a sick feeling in his gut as he fights back his emotions welling up. Did he go too far..?

It’s subconscious, the way he dials your phone number, anxiously listens to the ring.. ring.. until you answer with a groggy “Hello?”

He steels his nerves, inhaling sharply when he hears your voice, neck straining with the effort to not break down into pieces right there. “Did I wake you?”

“Simon?” You had answered the phone before you realized you were even awake, just now registering it’s him. “No.. no you didn’t. What’s up?” You find yourself rolling over in bed, rapidly waking up. He doesn’t call often, much to your dismay, but you understand he’s undercover and isn’t able to as much as he’d like. So, to get a call so late at night, unprompted, stirs worry in you.

He feels his breath catch in his throat, shutting his eyes for a moment, “Uh.. it’s nothing.” A half truth. It’s been six days since he last called, but it hasn’t been because he doesn’t want to. If anything, he craves the comfort of your voice. He just can’t let you know he’s not okay. That he misses you. That he craves you. “I.. I just.. wanted to check in.” Stupid. Stupid. Stupid!

He slept with Brendan. Slept with him. Let Brady touch and touch and take. He can still feel his hands all over him, his tongue on his skin, rough and sharp. Even after taking a shower, gasping for air, scrubbing his skin so hard it’s sore, washing over his growing and current bruises enough to turn them a shade darker.. it’s still there.

You can obviously tell something is wrong, can hear the way his voice wavers, how he can’t seem to find his words. Sitting up in bed, you flick on your bedside lamp and see the book you were reading discarded beside you. “I must’ve dozed off while reading, so you caught me at a nice time.” You smile, letting him hear your calm and warm tone, not wanting to push immediately.

Simon’s breath is heavy, labored. It’s audible over the phone. He can feel his throat constrict and his hands are trembling, thighs weak. Memories of Brady flash through his mind, his hands, his- It’s not like he had a choice. He has to do whatever it takes. Right? “You sound.. sleepy.” He offers, words nervous like he’s choosing them carefully, “What were you reading?” Please don’t ask please don’t ask.

You can hear it, hear his gasping, as if you were standing right in front of him. The urge to ask what the fuck is wrong is so unbearbly strong but.. you know him. Know enough to wait a moment. Glancing down at your book again, you speak, keeping a soft tone, “That series I told you about last time.. I’m already on the third book.” You laugh a little, fixing the bookmark sticking out of the pages before getting up from bed, “What are you up to?”

Even in this state, a smile touches his cut lip, remembering the previous conversation about some fantasy book you had started. “Just… getting ready for bed. Took a shower.” Another half truth. He’s still wearing the damp towel, stood in the too bright bathroom and avoiding his own eyes in the mirror. He looks awful. “The book’s good?”

“Yeah,” your bare feet pad downstairs, going to the kitchen to get a drink, “I’m breezing through it, but the series isn’t even finished so once I’m caught up I’ll have to wait for the next book.”

This is nice, it’s helping to start to calm him down a little.. but.. his jaw clenches with the effort of holding back a sob. Brady’s hands yanking his shirt up, tongue licking his skin, roughly flipping him over with strength he never wants to feel again, bared before him whilst his lip drips blood onto the wooden floor. His eyes dart to his reflection. He looks.. defeated. Beaten. Bruises adorn his sides, jaw, lip bloody and rapidly scabbing over. The shower did nothing to wash away the ache in his bones, did nothing to cleanse the feeling of being used, his hands, the nails that scratched his back and the pressure of another body atop him.

“Simon?”

It’s too much. Did he go too far? He’s completely broken himself and for what? Revenge? Justice? Cam? Is it worth it? Of course it is. Anything for his baby brother. Even if it shatters him fully.

“Y.. yeah.” It’s whispered out, realizing he hadn’t spoken. The silence between the two of you lingers. He can hear the shutting of your fridge, the way that certain hallway floorboard creaks under your feet as you go back upstairs. It’s comforting really, let’s him know you’re there, real.

Back in your room with a glass of water, you sit back on the edge of your bed, taking a swallow of the cold liquid, “Simon.. what’s wrong?”

There it is.

The way you ask him.. makes his chest ache, and his voice cracks when he answers. He hasn’t told you much about what he has to do while he’s undercover but.. you’re intelligent. You can put things together. He takes a deep breath, willing himself to steady the shakiness of his breath and to not cry. “I..” his voice catches in his throat, almost raw, and he takes a couple more forced breaths.

He can’t. He’ll cry. His throat is tight, eyes blurring with tears. Brendan even patted his head like a dog when he was done.

“Did something happen with Brady? Are you safe?” Had you been more awake, that would’ve been the first thing you asked, if he were safe.

His throat trembles again at the mention of his name. “I’m okay..” he says, voice strained. “Just.. I’m..” He feels like he’s about to crack open entirely. He’s barely got it together as is, a few words and he might fall apart right now.

You know he wouldn’t lie to you if he were to be in danger, if he were at risk of being caught or something, so that eases your worry by only a millimeter. The tone of his voice, hoarse, how he can’t find his words.. “What happened love?” It comes out oh so softly, as if you were speaking to an abandoned animal.

It hurts. It all hurts. His bruises, where he was abused, deep in his chest, his head, it aches all over and he just wishes it were gone.

He nearly bursts into tears right there just from that, as pathetic as it may be. Another deep breath as he finds the words he’s been searching for. I shouldn’t be telling her this. “Just.. Brendan and I..” His hands are trembling, fingered curled around his phone until his knuckles are white.

“Simon.. tell me.” You urge softly. You need to know. Something is eating him apart to the bone and you can tell.

He can’t help it, he’s breaking and his voice quivers a bit. “We slept together.”

His throat hitches when he says it. He hates the way those words sound put together, hates that they’re even true.

It stuns you for a moment, you didn’t know what to expect but.. pieces are clicking in your head and your own throat tightens for a moment, “Simon.. you..” You can’t cry. You won’t. For him. Not yet. “You didn’t want it… did you?”

His legs feel weak, like he might collapse. Breathing is a foreign concept to him as he swallows down more tears, trying to will them back as he glances upwards at the white ceiling. “N.. no.”

His chest is caving in on itself, the reality of it actually hitting him. And the worst part? Come morning he has to do it all over again, slip into that facade he’s been playing for months. The thought makes him nauseous.

Silence lingers for just a few moments as you process the information. You want to begin crying, to weep for him before it’s even fully settled in what happened but you can’t you won’t, you have to be strong for him. “Does he..” you form the words as soft as possible, “Does he know you didn’t want it?”

Brendan tossed him around, punched, kicked, threw him overtop the little table that shattered under his weight, the ceramic lamp cracking and cutting a spot on his hand, his lip. They had been arguing before, that’s what spurred it on. But he needed to get to Brendan, to be trusted. So he played coy, tilted his head.. and kissed him. He formed the plan so quickly in his head he didn’t have time to think of the consequences.

“No..” He whispers. “I had… I had to. Had to act like I did.”

“Oh.. Simon..”

The rooms too bright, such a stark contrast to the darkness of the rest of the motel room. He has no where that feels safe to hide away, heart beating at his chest. A sob escapes him before he can stop it, holding the phone tight to his ear. I didn’t have a choice. This is the only way. This was the only way.. It repeats over and over in his head like a mantra, though the words do little to ease his pain. Knees hit the wet tile floor uncomfortably as he shakes with the effort of holding back his cries, rasped pants escaping him.

You have no choice but to just listen to him break. Your brows knit together in worry and you steady your own breathing, trying to remain calm even though pure sadness and anger flood your veins. “Simon.. love, breathe..” He’s panting too hard.

He wants to scream, weep until he passes out, but he tries. He tries. “I… I need you.”

He wants your comfort, needs it. Needs your gentleness, your warmth.. even if he doesn’t deserve it.

A frown forms on your lips. He can’t, it wouldn’t be safe. At least that’s what you think right now, have been told before. Even though you crave to hold him, to cradle him, whatever he wants. “I’m here.. I’m right here. Breathe..”

He just wants to lay next to you, to forget everything. Forget Brady’s wandering hands. He inhales a skaky breath, “I just-.. don’t wanna be alone. I just want you next to me… even if I don’t deserve it.”

“Of course you deserve it.” There’s zero hesitation, “You deserve the world Simon… after.. after everything you’ve done..” All this for his baby brother, laid in the hospital.

“I know.. I just..” Simon takes another raspy breath, fingers hurting with how tight he holds his phone. He wants to beg. He wants to tell you to come get him. All he wants is you. Needs you to tell him everything is going to be okay. “I wish you were here.”

“I am, I’m right here.. I promise.” The walls too cold against his bare arm as he slumps against it, chest heaving. “I’m sorry.. I can’t imagine how much you’re hurting.”

“It’s not just the hurting..” He whispers back, barely able to force the words out. It’s like his heart’s trying to claw it’s way up his throat. Tears burn his eyes, wetting his cheeks and sticking to his lashes. “I hated it.. I hated having to… to.. touch him. I know it’s for-.. I-.. he thinks I enjoyed it and I wish I could just-.. wipe it all from my mind.” It’s a miracle he’s even able to speak right now, even though getting the words out is like nails on a chalkboard. Unbearable.

Blinking back tears of your own, you ask, “Simon..” you would never once doubt his love for Cam but.. “Is it worth it? Will.. doing this all be worth putting him in jail?”

“It has to be..” He has to believe those words. It has to be worth it. He has to believe it. “If it just stopped now.. then it would all be for nothing.” That’s what he has to believe, otherwise.. who knows, maybe it is.

A slight nod to yourself, understanding his words. Cam wouldn’t want.. this.. The thought crosses your mind but God, you’d never say that out loud to him. “You just.. have to keep him convinced.” You confirm softly, understanding his actions.

“Yeah..” He whispers again, raspy. His thumb rubs up and down on the side of his phone. “I just.. wish this was over now.” His voice cracks with another sob.

You heart breaks, tears welling up in your eyes as you exhale softly, “Sweetheart..” How can he do this..? How can he manage to keep this front up with Brady? Your heart is just breaking and you want nothing more than to kill Brady with your own hands.

“It’s just..” His words come separated, panting, crying, “It’s all so hard.” His eyes squeeze shut, head pounding with a deep ache that may never go away.”I don’t-.. how much longer do I have to do this?” He whimpers.

This case is important to him… to get justice for Cam.. to lock Brady up.. but..

“I don’t want you to do it anymore..” You breathe out, tears spilling over your lash line.

He tenses at your words, even his breathing halting, “I have to do it..” His eyes squeeze shut again so tightly they hurt, deep behind his eyelids. A couple of shakey inhales and exhales before he speaks again, “Please.. just please don’t ask me to stop.” If I stop, then I’ll hate myself more than I already do..

Your heart is breaking. It’s cracking into two and you have no idea how to stop it. You can’t. “Okay.. I won’t..” You curl up beneath the covers, leaving your bedside lamp on. The call now on speaker, you set the phone beside your pillow. A weak little thank you comes from him, whimpered, tired. “Just… don’t hold it in. Please… I’m right here and ‘m not leaving, so just let it out..” Your voice is pleading, knowing he only has tonight before going back to playing the part. Know he has to get his emotions out now before they’re shoved back down again.

He’s still white knuckling his phone, trembling, slumped against the cold tile wall as the light above the sink hums annoyingly. “I…” He felt stupid, as the tears begin to flow again, another sob clawing its way out of his throat, “I hate this.”

“I know..” You wish you were with him. You haven’t seen him in months. “Just breathe..”

Another strangled sob, words cut off, “I wish I was with you..” He’s so afraid..

“I know.. I know..” You try to soothe, keeping your voice steady even as tears slip into your hairline as you lay in bed, finger rubbing along the side of your phone like you wish it were his face you were caressing.

He feels weak, pathetic. He wishes he were strong enough to handle the fact that he’s alone in this, but he doesn’t want to. Wants you. Needs the safety of your presence, your touch, to bury himself in your chest and never move.

“Hey.. y’said you took a shower right? Why don’t you get dressed and get into bed..” The suggestion leaves you in a soft voice, like you’re speaking to a child. Despite not being there physically, you want to help the best you can.

“I.. yeah, I did.” Laid against the wall, his tired eyes scan the floor where his shirt and underwear lay before out into the dark room. He takes the time to get to his feet, nearly stumbling, trying to follow your instructions. He’s thirsty, so he gets a glass of water from the tap and downs the entire thing before getting dressed, eyes trained on the increasing time of the phone call to keep himself reassured that you’re there, before crawling into bed.

“All comfy?” Your voice almost startles him as he lays his head down. The bed is.. alright. The blankets are soft, fleece, bringing a contrasting warmth to the chill his damp hair sends through him.

“Yeah.. I...” A moment of silence passes before he resumes speaking, his voice so quiet, “Can I ask you something..?”

“Of course.” He could ask for the moon and stars and you’d present them in the palms of your hands.

“What would you do if I asked you to come and get me..?”

That would ruin everything, his mission, and he’ll never be able to look his Lieutenant in the eyes again, maybe even be fired. It’d also risk you, put you in danger. He knows all that, yet, the desire to have you here right now still lingers. Selfishly, he wants you.

“I’d do it.” No hesitation. That seems to be a theme for you and him. You stare at your phone, hoping this is him asking. You’d do anything for him, yearn to hand him anything he desires.

“You’d.. you’d come?” He’s almost certain this would ruin everything, all these months for absolutely nothing… but would.. would it really? Is this worth what it’s doing to him? “Please.. just…” He trails off, thoughts battling each other.

You, on the other end, stay dead silent. If you let your lips part, you’ll start begging him to let you come. Beg for him to leave it all behind, consequences be damned. So you wait, swallowing, listening to his even breathing as he sniffles.

…

…..

“Could… could you come get me? Please?”

There, he’s done it.

You’ve already begun sitting up before the words finished leaving him, picking up your phone. You stand, feeling the wave of panic and relief flood your system, blowing out the candle you had lit, “Are you sure?”

“Yes.. please.” It’s almost a sob, maybe it is one. Tears start to soak his face again, “Just please come get me. I don’t want to be alone. I-.. I wanna see you.”

There’s no thinking anymore as you rush downstairs, shoving your feet into the nearest sneakers you find and grabbing your keys. Simon can hear the front door shut and gravel crunch beneath your feet as you get into your car. “I need to know where you are.” The engine of your car purrs to life, already backing out. He weeps out the motel name, the bed and breakfast showing up as nearly forty-five minutes away once entered into your GPS. Fuck.

—

He wants to beg, continue to plead as he wails into his pillow, muffled. He doesn’t know how long he lays there, half asleep, body in survival mode and trying to shut down all in the same breath. You make the drive in thirty minutes, your voice startling him out of his half dozed state, “Love? You awake?”

“Mm..” Simon blinks, focusing on his phone, heart speeding up, “Yeah.. yes.. I’m awake.”

“I’m outside.” This almost doesn’t feel real. After being separated for so long and now you’re just… here. You have to stay strong, get him out of here first. Your eyes scan over the big buildings with multiple rooms, seeing the dim lights on them. A silver car is parked a few spaces away from yours and… next to it, Simon’s bike. There’s some shuffling, sniffling, feet thudding on the floor before the call ends and movement catches your eye. Up on the second floor of one of the buildings, the door opens and a tall figure slips out, jacket over his arm. He’s walking with a limp, and the sight of him makes you almost start to wail. You sniffle and wipe at your eyes, leaning over to unlock the passenger door and push it open as he nears.

He looks a mess. His lip is cut, eyes sunken and tired, face wet with smeared tears. He slips into the passenger seat, not even daring to look at you and neither do you dare to continue to stare at his face for a moment longer. You can’t, you’ll break. However you waste no time reversing from the parking spot and driving off, back out onto the road in the direction you came. It’s silent for five entire minutes and you don’t dare stop, just in case, but you do however reach and blindly grab his hand, linking your fingers together. Part of you fears he won’t even want to be touched, but it’s squashed with the way he clutches onto you for dear life.

You’re actually here. With him. You’re really here and he’s really out. He breathes in deep, trying to calm his racing heart, stow his emotions for now. Even just being in your car helps, because it smells familiar. Even as more stifled sobs leave him, he doesn’t let go of your hand, squeezing so tight it must hurt you.

—

He’s nearly cried himself to sleep again, barely feeling the way the car jostles as you pull into your driveway, the gate sliding shut behind your car. Undoing your seatbelt and reaching over, you undo his and slowly unlink your hands, not daring to look at his face yet. “C’mon, let’s get inside..” He listens, slowly, following you up to the front door, taking in the surroundings of your house again. Garage to the right, big gate and large brick walls lining the property. He’s been here countless times but.. oh.. the warmth he feels as you both step inside. A table to the right along the wall for your keys, coats hung up on a wall rack to the left, shoes scattered on the tile entrance way floor. You push open the door to the main hallway, the heart of the house, and he feels so much better.

You finally turn to look at him, both stood in the middle of the hallway, and in the dim light you fear he may see the way you crack open a bit.

He looks… broken. A bruise covers his jaw, scabbed over cut on his lip, eyes red and wet, cheeks flushed yet he’s pale. Bags hang under his eyes, dull, sad. Your hand reaches up instinctively, but you pause mid action, as if it’ll scare him.

He blinks slowly, sniffling, your touch so close yet so far.

But you pull back, “Go upstairs, get in bed. I’ll bring you some water, okay?”

He obeys, feeling comforted by your voice, the simple instruction. He doesn’t need to be pointed to the stairs, the carpet plush under his socked feet as he somehow makes it up there without his legs giving out. Not even considering the guest bedroom, he goes to yours, crawling underneath the duvet and he almost sobs again at the warmth, the smell, you. It smells like lavender and vanilla, the candle you have on your bedside table, mattress made up with a different bedspread than he remembers.

After a minute he hears your footsteps, watches as you come inside with a glass of water, kneeling onto the bed to offer it to him. Now he notices you’re in some pajamas, a cute matching set that he’d compliment if not for the circumstances. He sits up on an elbow, taking the offered drink and sipping some of the ice cold water, before handing it back to you with a whispered thank you. You set it aside and just stare, really looking at him now. “Simon…”

It’s obvious how tired he is, and the way he stares back up at you makes him feel vulnerable, not in a bad way though. “..yes?” His voice is small, barely a whisper. He’s feeling so many overwhelming emotions and doesn’t know which one to settle on. He feels grateful, safe, even though the last thing he feels he deserves is your forgiveness and warmth.

However you reach out again, mirroring your action in the hallway, pausing before your skin meets his, ‘Can I..?” Your fingers curl into your palm, nervous he won’t want the touch.

But he does want it, wants it so badly. To feel the comfort of your hand, the love of your fingers… Simon reaches up, his own hand curving around your wrist. He tugs softly, pulling your hand forward, feeling the tickling touch of your fingertips before you lean more into it and cradle his cheek. His eyes flutter, he could start crying again, if he had any more tears in him. He whimpers as his hand drops from your wrist, pushing into the touch with his eyes closed. The warmth on his bruised jaw feels so good, so safe. He looks so defeated, so broken, he’s had everything ripped away from him except you.

“Y/N..” Simon utters, it’s all he can do.

You’re so gentle, as if calming a skittish animal, thumb gently brushing the cut on his lip. “I’m right here…”

It almost brings tears to his eyes again. This is where he feels safest.

“I’m sorry..” He leans into your hand, the touch slowing his heart, and for the first time in he doesn’t know how long, he relaxes.

A frown finds its way to your lips, cradling his face, “What for?” you ask back, keeping your voice just as low as his.

“For.. everything, for..” The words won’t fully come to him, eyes fluttering halfway open as he gazes up at you, watering again, “I’m sorry, I..”

You shift, laying down ontop of the covers whilst he’s tucked under them. Your other hand comes up, and you falter for just a fraction of a second before it slides against his other cheek, cradling his face in your palms. “You have nothing to be sorry for Simon.”

He can’t help it, the moment you lay down he reaches out and pulls you close. His arms loop around you in a hug, burying his face against your neck. “I missed you.” He sniffles, lip wobbling against your skin. You cradle him back, one arm curling under his head for support and the other loops over him, hand finding his hair and petting it gently. It almost startles him, because Brendan did the same thing, albeit rougher, but your hand is so… it feels much nicer, your fingers tangling into the clean locks and scratching at his scalp.

“I missed you.”

The sensation of you caress is enough to make him curl into you more, face pressed against the base of your neck. Simon inhales deeply, smelling your body wash, the compassionate hug making him relax. His arms are tense though, as if he’s scared you’ll be taken from his grasp. Fingers paw at your back, pressing into your shirt, feeling. He needs to know you’re real. And you know that, so you let him even if it hurts a little, “Do you want me to turn the light off?” He answers with a shake of his head, a quiet ‘mm mm’, trying to wiggle impossibly closer. Now that he has you he doesn’t want to let go, fearful you’ll slip away.

“Do you.. want me under the covers?” Even if it sounds silly you have to ask for permission, petting your hand down his hair and over the nape of his neck, where Brendan’s lips were.

One little word slips from him, “Please..”

He is tired, exhausted, sore and scared, but the thought of snuggling with you, feeling your heat, your body against him, is enough to keep him awake. Your hand on his nape brings a small whimper from him, he’s so relieved you haven’t pulled away from him. He feels used, like he doesn’t deserve this touch, but here you are. Your nails scrape over his skin and it makes him shiver in a good way, bringing back memories, a comforting feeling.

A whispered okay is your response, twisting to lift the duvet up and slide yourself under it. He’s immediately pulling you into his arms again, right to his front so not an inch is found between you. The touch makes his heart race, nuzzling back into your neck, breathing in your scent like a hungry animal. He whimpers again, clinging to you for dear life.

“Shh.. I’ve got you, you’re safe.” Your chin is ontop of his head, hand back in his hair to pet and scratch, soothing him. The sensation is enough to break him completely. His lip wobbles again, blinking as tears flood his eyes, legs tangled with yours. He’s really here.. It’s all over.. he doesn’t have to go back.. He can feel your heartbeat, steady and solid. The moment the tears slip from his eyes, his grasp on you tightens desperately. He buries himself closer, wanting nothing, not even oxygen, just you.

“Don’t..” He chokes out, trembling, hiccuping a little cry.

You give him a squeeze, cradling his head and keeping him close, “What?” You whisper, “What d’you need Simon?” It’s pleading. Anything. You’ll do anything for him.

“Don’t let go. Please.. Don’t.” His fingers tense again so much they hurt, wanting to make sure you don’t fall through his grip. He needs you now more than he’s ever needed you before, your hands in his hair, your heartbeat sounding in his ears.

“I won’t.” You tilt your head down, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, “I promise. You can go to sleep, I’ll be here, I’m not leaving.” Your hand tangles in his hair in a light grip, enough for him to know you’re there. Leaning into him, he grasps so hard it hurts, but you’d prefer the bruises of his fingertips over the absence of his body.

This is all he needs, all he wants. Forget everything else, he doesn’t want to turn to that life anymore, wants to forget it all and stay hidden away tucked beneath your duvet. Reality can wait.

———————♡

[artists-who-rarely-draws]

Mellos Musings Masterlist

Hello! Welcome to my masterlist! A place to store all of my fanfictions and where ill put my Queue from requests! Note i do MCD almost exclusively for now but may branch out later, if your looking for modern characters I highly suggest my pal @starhvney for AMAIZING fanficitions!

But I will adapt some characters from those series to MCD for your enjoyment!

Also!! Where you can see the state of requests! please Enjoy!

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

Requests: Open!

TOS: (under construction)

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

Queue:

Brendan crushing on new arrival reader: Fic started

Nsfw: Laurance Guiding you: Fic Started

Care for Blind Laurance

Zane x reader (no prompt given but I'll come up with something lol)

Wedding ring in a chest accident

(No particular order at the bottom just whenever, write down my characterizations for characters I adapt from Mystreet vers. So readers know what they are getting into)

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

Pallette cleansers:

(Aka smaller fics that may skip the que for when I need to clear my head and regain motivation for the Que fics)

● Courting Rituals (Ein, Blaze, Nana, Aaron, Zoey)

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

Garroth Ro'meave:

Reaction to Reader being Injured : Drabble

Suprise Kiss

Laurance Zvahl:

Night on the docks

Reacting to Reader being injured; Laurance vers

Suprise Kiss

Katelyn Embry:

Aaron Lycan:

Lucinda:

Zane Ro'Meave:

Suprise Kiss

Travis Valkrum:

Nana Ashida:

Dante:

Ein (My characterization):

Blaze:

Daniel:

Vylad Ro'meave:

Suprise Kiss

Gene:

Suprise Kiss

Sasha:

Zenix OG (24)

Zenix Rebirth (18)

Cadenza Zvahl:

Suprise Kiss

Brendan:

Nicole:

Jeffory the Golden Heart

Suprise Kiss

(More can be added based on if I remember them or they are requested)

[pokepollsters]

Best Pokémon Protagonist Tournament- Round 1: Match 6

In the first of 3 matches like it in Round 1, we see counterparts go up against each other!

After the first tiebreaker in this blog's history, May's Emerald design came out on top to match Brendan's winning too. The Hoenn looks manage to meld the mix of cool and dorky that is how I always imagine the early days of Pokémon protagonists! Along with a change for the greener to match Emerald version, both of these designs are ones to remember. It's just up to personal preference which you like better!

[mattybraps10]

I Can See You | Brendan Brisson x Hughes!OC

Summary: Phoebe accidentally grabs Brendan's shirt for the lake and the day goes downhill from there. Plus, another special guest is coming to join them over the summer.

Word Count: 1072

By: M

Parts: part one | part three | part four | part five

PART TWO:

“Excuse me?” Jack cut in, offended.

“Yeah- Wait. She’s done WHAT before?!” Luke added.

“Guys relax, it was one time… If I recall correctly someone may have spilled their drink on me” She said, nudging Brendan.

“More than once…” Brendan cut in, fucking with Phoebe.

“More than once… huh Pheebs? Something you wanna share with the class?” Quinn said, laughing. 

When Quinn laughed, Phoebe relaxed. None of the boys actually thought anything had happened between Phoebe and Brendan, but it was always enjoyable to poke fun at their little sister. 

“Sure, Lil’ Hughes has been around my closet plenty of times.” Brendan said, laughing and climbing into the boat.

“Yeah. Okay Briss.” Jack said, patting Brendan on the back, and sitting next to him.

Quinn sat behind the wheel as she joined the boys on the boat. Luke pushed us from the dock. Phoebe sat at the front, hoping to get a bit of sun on our drive. Brendan sat with Luke and Jack at the back of the boat, laughing and grabbing snacks from the bag he’d brought. Phoebe put on her sunglasses, closing her eyes and laying against the seat as the boys bickered behind her. 

“Bro- She’s totally asleep.” Luke called to the back of the boat, standing over Phoebe.

“How are we supposed to get her back to the house? I mean I’m not carrying her, not after last time.” Jack said, jumping off the boat. The last time Jack had tried to carry sleeping Phoebe, she’d woken up causing them both to fall into the grass. 

“Y’all are weak. I’ll just do it.” Brendan said, trying to avoid another fight.

He scooped the sleeping girl into his arms, wrapping her limbs around him as he stepped onto the dock. Still asleep, she nestled her face into his neck.

“Oh my god. She’s gonna be pissed when she sees that!” Quinn said after noticing that Jack had taken a picture of the loving scene. “Lake highlights!” Luke called, recalling the time Phoebe had posted a photo of him asleep on the boat.

“Hey Huggy, send that to me, yeah?” Brendan asked, smiling.

“What? Wanna study it or something?” Quinn said, laughing.

“This is definitely the closest he’s ever been to a woman. Probably wants to remember it forever.” Jack added as the boys, save Brendan, burst into laughter.

“Woman? I hadn’t noticed.” Brendan said, walking back to the house.

“Don’t let her hear you say that.” Luke called after him.

“Yeah, she’ll kick your ass. I mean there’s a reason we keep our teasing light.” Quinn laughed as he walked through the sliding door.

Brendan carefully placed Phoebe into his bed, opting against invading her space by going through her room. The girl curled into the blankets, draping an arm around the standing boy. Had she been awake, Brendan would’ve made a joking comment about their past, but her peaceful face reminded him of what he’d lost.

“Okay Hughesy, I’m gonna go back to the kitchen with your brothers. Let me know if you need anything.” He smiled, mostly to himself and removing her arm from around him.

“Yo, Briss! Took you long enough.” Jack laughed as Brendan entered the room. 

“What can I say? The ladies love me.” He replied, a smirk covering his face.

“Still my sister dude, ew.” Jack said, disgust evident on his face.

“Y'all, is it okay if I invite Matty to visit for a few days?” Luke said, walking into the kitchen and easing the tension.

“Hell yeah! I’ve missed him.” Brendan replied, grinning.

“Sure man, do we have the space? I mean mom and dad’s room is off limits so we only have four rooms…” Jack said, trying to figure out the sleeping arrangements.

“I mean someone’s gonna have to share, why don’t you just move into my room Rowdy?” Luke asked, ratifying the situation.

“Oh hell no. You snore,” Jack replied, “No one wants to deal with that.” 

“Sorry, bro.” Brendan replied when Luke gave him an expectant look.

“Hey Quinner!” Luke called across the room as his older brother walked into the kitchen, hair wet from a shower.

“What’s up Moosey?” Quinn said, grabbing a gato from the fridge.

“Will you room with Jack so Matty can visit for a bit?” Luke asked, a pleading look in his eyes.

“Absolutely not. I’m the oldest, I want my room to myself. Sorry bro.” Quinn uncapped his drink and took a sip.

“Briss?” Luke asked, turning to his last resort.

“Look, I mean I don’t mind sharing a room.” He shrugged, turning to Jack.

“Hold on. My room has one bed… Not happening buddy.” 

“Well that settles it then, no Matty.” Luke sighed, defeated.

“Hold on guys.” Phoebe said, walking into the kitchen, still clad in her bathing suit.

“The princess awakens from her slumber.” Brendan said, holding his arm out as dramatically as possible.

“What if your friend just sleeps on the couch in my room? I mean I have the biggest room.” She said, shrugging as if it was that simple.

“No way in hell I’m leaving you in a room with him,” Brendan cut in, “guys?”

“I mean she’s right, it’s not like they’re sharing the bed or anything.” Luke replied.

“Yeah, loosen up Briss it’ll be fine.” Jack smiled, patting him on the back.

“Phoebe doesn’t even know Matty, I should take the couch. He can have my room.” Brendan said, not willing to admit defeat.

“Brendan. I can handle myself.” Phoebe said, shocked that he’d insinuate anything different.

“I know you can, I’m just looking out for you. That’s what friends are for.” She visibly recoiled as the last sentence left his mouth.

“Whatever.” She replied, coldly, walking into her room.

“What just happened?” Luke asked as she closed the door.

“I don’t know.” Jack and Quinn said at the same time.

“I think I need a beer.” Brendan said, as the boys looked at him expectantly.

“Okay. Be like that then.” Luke said, handing him a beer from the fridge.

“What do you expect me to say? I’m just as confused as you guys.” Brendan said, taking a swig and leaning against the counter.

“Okay. Sure. Just go pack up your stuff, Matty’s coming tomorrow. We gotta wash your sheets tonight.” Luke said, a clear dismissal.

“Gotcha man. Give me twenty and I’ll have the sheets in the wash.” Brendan said, saluting to the brothers.

[areazeromybeloved]

After some time, I finally decided to design the female Kaijumorpha au protagonists! (Excluding Selene and Juliana because I’m saving them for a final part to this series)

As for lore:

Brain and Brawn:

Project Ai: Leaf

Species: Genetically modified Human/Mewtwo hybrid

Japanese.

Age: 35 years old (current)

Non-binary Lesbian

“Remember Ambertwo? This is her now. Feel old yet?”

Admin of “Team Sky”: May

Species: Human

Japanese.

Age: 35 years old (current)

Polyamorous Butch lesbian

“What if I made Brendan the fen and May the butch?”

The Thousand Yard Starers:

The Pearl Descendant: Dawn

Species: human (Ghost/Fire type demihuman)

Blasian (japanese with a bit of Ainu)

Age: 30 years old (current)

non-bi Aroace

”Mandy but she’s part deer and less evil.”

(Also design was inspired by @rivalkieran’s solisverse Dawn!)

Wandering Arbiter: Hilda

Species: human

White

Age: 26 years old (as of current and due to time shenanigans)

Lesbian

“Please help her”

Nearly Died in the Woods But Got Saved by Cats Instead:

Suicune fan: Kris

Species:Human (Fire/psychic demihuman)

Hispanic/asian (Japanese)

Age: 34 years old (current)

Non binary lesbian.

Entei fan: Lyra

Species: Human (dragon half-Demi)

Japanese (with minor Italian).

Age: 35 years old (current)

Trans-man Bisexual

“Eusine nearly gets himself killed along with Lyra and Kris but all get saved because of them being friends with Ho-oh’s son Ethan.”

The Bastard three:

Sword of Galar: Gloria

Species: Werebeast

white (Scottish)

Age: 17 years old (current)

Trans girl lesbian

“Local Lesbian Werewolf responsible for killing Satan, eats who guys with sword and shield-like hair.”

Daughter of the Disaster: Serena

Species: Werebeast (avian)

White (French)

Age: 23 years old (current)

Poly bisexual

“‘God forbid woman do anything’ as she fed on a dead pikachu.”

Savior of Unova: Rosa

Species: Human

Filipino

Age: 21 years old (current)

Aroace

“Don’t fuck with me. I have the power of Arceus and Anime on my side!”

[jackhues]

that first goal feeling - (b's version)

note: this takes place on JAN/20/24

buttercup's world! au masterlist

buttercupsworld

liked by _connorbedard, stephmarner, alexned_ & others

buttercupsworld: yeah okay i know what y'all are thinking.... bee the pens didn't win, why are you posting?? well this one isn't for the pens, it's for this kid my dad used to babysit

shoutout brendan for getting your first nhl goal, it was a beauty and i may have even cried a bit. i'd like you to publicly thank me for cheering you on because i got many dirty looks by some fans of your team and i didn't let that stop me. i'd also like some chocolate, that'd be very good. also i'd like to be thanked for being such a good photographer.

anyways, enjoy that first goal feeling brenny. i know i did <3

view comments

brendan.brisson: aw man you didn't put that picture where i threw you in the pool -> buttercupsworld: I CAN'T FIND IT ANYMORE -> brendan.brisson: WDYM YOU CAN'T FIND IT?? -> buttercupsworld: IT'S PRINTED OUT AND IN SOME ALBUM BUT IDK WHICH ALBUM -> brendan.brisson: oh phew. i thought you deadass lost that pic -> buttercupsworld: i gotta make multiple copies of that. it's the most iconic pic ever -> brendan.brisson: it's got you and me, nothing's more iconic than that

brendan.brisson: this is me publicly thanking my favourite little sister for one: cheering me on for my first goal even though she was wearing a pens jersey. two: being the best photographer i've ever known. and three: getting me some ice cream after the game -> buttercupsworld: it's a good start, we'll work on it for your next goal

mackinnon.29: i don't remember this for my first goal -> brendan.brisson: it's not ur day go away -> buttercupsworld: nate i didn't even have ig back then

marner_93: on second thought, idk if you could be the pens admin. you can't post stuff like this on the pens account -> buttercupsworld: that's why this account exists

---

tags: @woodruff-edwards , @austinbutlerscaresme , @svechnikovvv ,  @hockeyboysarehot , @mysticaldonkey ,  @lam-ila ,  @babydollmarauders , @starjoyyy , @kjohnson-91  , @moldenhauers, @hischierdevils, @jackhughesily , @panarin10 , @equallyshaw , @power2myheart , @lynnismypseudonym , @beccaiscold , @akengii , @nowandkei , @cinnamonpancakes ,  @mitchymainer ,  @lifeofpriya , @marshmallow-babe, @hughesx3 , @emsully2002  ,  @starsandhughes , @huggy-hischier73 ,  @doglady5678 , @thatoneblog , @exonct07 @hughesmedicine , @qwanelledingele , @mindless-rock , @ireadthensuetheauthors , @huggy-hischier94, @slaythehousedownboots , @diary-of-jj , @fandom-oneshots-etc , @ajbird18 , @cherrysodadevils , @cixrosie , @iikximii , @xcicix , @wbkz3gras , @cole-mcward48 , @starjoyyy , @eagerkya , @idontlikelizards , @trevzeags11 , @al-lie-cat , @kjohnson-91 , @bitchy55 , @privatemythss

join my taglist!

[romione-trope-fest]

Something to Believe In

Fic Title: Something to Believe In

Author Name: voldemorts-tap-shoes/smjl

Selected Trope: Soulmates

Brief Summary: An unusual witness sparks a disagreement between Ron and Hermione about the existence of soulmates.

Word Count: 5286

Rating: M

Any Trigger Warnings: non graphic discussions of death and murder, mentions of suicide

***

Hermione hunches over the desk, her eyes skimming the familiar words for what feels like the thousandth time. Victim: Brendan Hughes. Found alone in his flat. Avada Kedavra. Nothing peculiar about the scene. No witnesses.

She can’t remember the last time she was this frustrated by a case. They’ve been working on this one for over a week with absolutely no forward progress. Any leads they had were exhausted as dead ends within forty-eight hours, so she’s sent Dean and Seamus out to do yet another canvas of the victim’s neighborhood, hoping to find something, anything they might have missed. Meanwhile, she’s back at the DMLE poring over the paltry case file, looking for any insignificant detail that may offer a clue as to what happened.

Ron returns from his coffee run and flops into his usual chair beside her. He sets two paper coffee cups on her desk, the smell of the hot beverages warring with his woodsy cologne over which is the more intoxicating scent. “Anything?”

Forgoing her usual no-caffeine-after-four-pm rule, Hermione takes a large sip of the coffee. If nothing else, letting the nutty aroma hit her nostrils might help distract her from her partner-in-crime-fighting.

“No, nothing,” Hermione replies with a sigh. She flips the case file shut and hands it to him. “Maybe you can work your magic on it. See if there’s a story in there somewhere.”

The pages flutter as Ron gives a perfunctory rifle through them. “I’ve tried. But this is seriously the most boring case ever. Even the bloke’s life was boring. Maybe he Avada’d himself just for something to do.” His blue eyes flicker up at Hermione, pursing her lips in thought, and he laughs. “You’re not really going to check his own wand, are you?”

“Well, it’s about the only thing we haven’t checked,” Hermione says defensively. “You never know.”

“Hopefully Dean and Seamus will turn something up.” Ron sets the file down and Hermione reaches for it again immediately, even though it won’t tell her anything she doesn’t already know. She scans the words again, willing them to make sense in her head. Ron, now idly twirling a quill around his fingers, seems to have abandoned all effort to do any work on the case—not that he actually works here in the first place. He’s generally more helpful than this, but they also generally have more to go on.

Hermione is about to surrender for the day as well, when the sound of heavy, booted footsteps alerts her to someone approaching her desk. “Detective Granger?”

She looks up to find one of the junior Aurors approaching her desk and does a quick glance at the shiny badge pinned to the younger man’s uniform. “Yes, Auror Casey? How can I help you?”

Casey motions to the far side of the room, where a witch about her age is waiting. She’s bundled up in a heavy coat and several scarves, though the weather is mild today, and dabbing at her red-rimmed eyes with a handkerchief. “I think you’ll need to talk to this woman.”

“Auror Casey,” Hermione starts, trying to temper the irritation in her tone. It’s not his fault that she isn’t making any progress on her case, but the interruption isn’t going to help. “They’re still teaching you how to take witness statements in the Academy, I presume?”

“Of course.” The young Auror straightens his spine as if to prove his merit. “But she, uh…she says she witnessed that murder you’re working on.”

Ron, who had been tipped back in his chair staring at the ceiling, sits up abruptly, and the legs of the desk chair make a resounding clatter against the tile floor. “That’s great news!” he exclaims. “I mean, not for her, of course, but you know.”

Hermione shoots him a brief but withering look before she turns back to Casey and lowers her voice. “None of our evidence suggests that there were any witnesses to the crime. Are you sure she’s credible?”

She’s never one to turn up her nose at a lead, but Hermione also has no patience for wasting DMLE resources on false claims. For a witness to suddenly come out of the woodwork, she can’t help but be suspicious.

“We haven’t released any details to the press,” Casey replies. “So if nothing else, she knew our victim.”

Hermione sighs but shifts her gaze back to the woman and offers a reassuring smile. It’s not like she has any other work to do on this case, anyway. “Could you set up Ms…?”

“Davis,” Casey supplies. “Lizzie Davis.”

“Set her up in interrogation, please. We’ll be there in a minute.”

While Auror Casey escorts their new witness into one of the interrogation rooms, Hermione gathers up her notes and some fresh parchment to prepare for questioning. When she turns to Ron to ask if he’s ready to go, the amused look on his face stops her short. “What?”

“This is the least excited I’ve ever seen you about a lead,” he teases. “What’s wrong?”

Ron knows her entirely too well. It’s a wonder she’s able to hide anything from him anymore. “I suppose this case has just brought out my inner pessimist.”

“Inner?” he snorts, and Hermione narrows her eyes at him..

“The whole thing has been one giant dead-end,” she huffs. “My gut is just telling me this will be more of the same.” Hermione shrugs and gets to her feet. “But let’s go find out.”

***

The conversation begins the same way Hermione always starts her witness interviews, with basic information about the person in front of her. But she only gets one question further—how do you know the victim, still an easy one—before she’s completely thrown. Her pen hovers over the parchment, halted from writing the answer as she stares back at the woman across the table. “I beg your pardon?”

“He’s my soulmate,” Lizzie repeats, but the words don’t make any more sense the second time.

“You mean you were involved with Mr. Hughes?” Hermione clarifies. “Romantically?”

Lizzie shakes her head, her eyes wide. “Oh, no, we never met.”

Never met? How in Merlin’s name would this woman have any idea that their victim is her soulmate if they never even met? More importantly, how is she supposed to have witnessed his murder? Hermione sighs heavily. This is a waste of her time, just like she was afraid of. “Ms. Davis—”

Before she can get the words out to conclude the interview and offer her opinion on wasting law enforcement resources, Ron’s hand darts out under the table and squeezes her leg just above the knee, dumbfounding her into silence. The witness momentarily forgotten, Hermione turns her head to gape at Ron, but his attention is elsewhere.

“That’s terrible,” he says sympathetically to Lizzie, leaning forward to offer the woman a fresh handkerchief with his other hand. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“It is,” she agrees, taking the kerchief as a fresh round of sniffles surfaces. “Thank you.”

While Lizzie swipes at her teary eyes again, Ron looks pointedly at Hermione. Her shock at his unexpected touch has given way to indignation, and she merely quirks an eyebrow back at him. He’s on his own if he wants to play good cop to her bad cop.

Taking the hint—and finally removing his hand from her leg, leaving it cold—Ron turns back to their witness. “Had you been aware of your connection to Brendan for very long?”

“Brendan,” Lizzie sighs with longing, and Hermione forces herself to hold back an eye roll. “No, I don’t think I realized it until he was gone. But then I just knew.”

“You felt his absence?”

Lizzie nods, clutching a hand to her heart. Ron slides the parchment and pen out from underneath Hermione’s clenched fingers to jot down a note before continuing his questioning. He’s been with her—working with her, she corrects herself—long enough now to conduct a decent interrogation without her guidance, but it’s hard to consider it a worthwhile contribution to the case when the person they’re interviewing is clearly delusional.

“You told Auror Casey that you witnessed the murder,” Ron prods, bringing them back on topic. “Did you have plans to meet Brendan?”

“Meet?” Lizzie asks, puzzled, then repeats, “No, like I said, we never met.”

Ron shoots a questioning look at Hermione as he touches the corner of the case file. She gives him a brief nod in answer, prompting him to reveal, “He was killed in his flat.”

“Yes.” She seems neither surprised nor confused by this fact.

“So…you were there?”

“No. But I saw it.” Lizzie taps her temple with a slender finger.

It’s clear that despite Ron’s silent request to continue the interview, he’s struggling to make sense of what they’re being told. Hermione can practically hear him in her head as he turns to her again with a pleading look. A little help here?

Hermione smirks back at him. She’s your witness now.

Ron takes a deep breath and slides the parchment back to Hermione, who picks up the pen again, ready to take notes on the off chance that Lizzie says anything worth retaining. Ron folds his arms against the table, the muscles in his forearms belying a tension that isn’t evident in the patience of his tone. “Let’s start at the beginning,” he suggests softly to Lizzie. “Why don’t you take me through the last two weeks?”

They spend another half hour with Lizzie Davis despite the interview being filled with increasingly ridiculous claims, and Hermione is not at all sorry to see the lift doors close behind her. She finally lets her eyes roll skyward as she turns to head back to the office. “What an absurd waste of time,” she grumbles as they walk. “Hopefully Dean and Seamus had better luck.”

“What are you talking about?” Ron counters. “She told us who the killer is!”

Hermione stops and glares up at Ron. And here she was, thinking what a good job he had done with a very difficult witness. “You’re not serious.” Ron just blinks at her, and she folds her arms tight across her chest. “Mark Richards—whoever he is—is not a killer. And do you know how I know that? Because Lizzie Davis did not witness Brendan Hughes’s murder.”

Ron puts his hands on his hips, readying his stance for an argument. “Even if she just made up a name to give us, she knew how the victim was killed.”

“He was killed with a killing curse,” Hermione reminds him. “It’s not exactly an earth-shattering guess. And you said it yourself, this case is boring. The crime scene was boring. The details are boring. We could drag any person in here off the street, and they could tell us what happened with as much accuracy as Lizzie did.”

“But it’s not a story for her,” Ron insists. “She knew because they’re soulmates. She felt it.”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, of all the ridiculous—there’s no such thing as soulmates.” Hermione starts walking again, in the opposite direction of the DMLE this time with her new target being the coffee cart in the Atrium. She’s going to be awake half the night at this rate, but she needs something stronger than tea to deal with Ron’s outlandish theories.

“No such—” Ron cuts himself off, looking flabbergasted as he follows her. “How can you say that?”

“Honestly, you’ve known me for how long now?” Hermione pauses to order her usual hazelnut coffee from the witch at the cart. “You can’t be shocked by this.”

“I can and I will be,” Ron replies indignantly. He orders a triple espresso, and Hermione shudders at the thought of all that caffeine. “You really don’t believe in soulmates?”

“Oh, come on, you know I don’t believe in Divination and all that rubbish,” she says. “And soulmates? The idea that there’s just one single person out there for everyone—that your match, the person you’re meant to spend your life with, has been predetermined for you—that doesn’t sound crazy?”

“I’m just saying, we’re surrounded by magic.” Ron gestures around them—at the fountain that flows without plumbing, at the interdepartmental memos fluttering past every which way, at the coffee pot that pours itself. “Soulmates is just as crazy an idea as anything else, isn’t it?”

“This from the man who I have seen roll his eyes on multiple occasions about Rose’s mum’s research,” Hermione points out. “So, sure, I’ll give you that one. Soulmates are at least as crazy an idea as the crumple-horned—what is it?”

“Snorkack.”

“Yes, that. And just as likely to exist.”

“So, not at all, you’re saying?”

“Correct.”

They take their drinks from the cart and start back toward the DMLE. “I’ll be the first to admit that Luna has some…interesting pursuits,” Ron concedes, and Hermione snickers. “But soulmates! It’s the magic of love! How can you not believe in that?”

“Okay, let’s say they are real,” Hermione ventures. She’s not sure why she’s even entertaining this argument other than to pass the time back to the Auror offices, though she always enjoys sparring with Ron. “Do you believe everybody has one?”

Ron shrugs. “Nah.”

“Really?” That surprises her. She’s not well-versed in the finer details of Soulmate theory, but the general concept seems to lend itself to a sort of universality. Why wouldn’t everyone have a soulmate if anyone had one? “Then what’s the point?”

“Okay, it’s like Seers. Our Divination professor at Hogwarts—fuck, you would’ve hated her—she made, like, three real prophecies in her life. Real ones—they’re downstairs if you want to go check.” Hermione rolls her eyes again but motions for him to continue. “But then, she was always predicting that Harry was going to die and shit, and obviously none of those ever came true.”

Hermione laughs at the absurdity of his explanation. “I’m sorry, are you trying to explain why soulmates are real by telling me what absolute nonsense Divination is?”

“Divination is only ninety percent nonsense. That’s the point.”

“It’s a terrible point.”

“Okay.” Ron stops and snags Hermione’s elbow, pulling her around to face him. “Where do you draw the line, then? Soulmates can’t be real, but your gut has magical properties?”

“My gut was right about that interview,” Hermione argues as she shakes out of Ron’s grasp and starts walking again. “It was absolutely a waste of time.”

“We don’t know that yet. You haven’t even looked up this Mark Richards character.”

“We don’t even know he exists. Honestly, it’s more likely that Ms. Davis is our killer and she told that story to throw us off.”

“So, killer comes out of hiding and waltzes into the DMLE without a care in the world to lie to the Aurors about a crime she committed?” Ron rolls his eyes as he holds open the department door for her. “And you say my theories are ridiculous.”

“They are, and I’ll stand by that assessment forever.”

Dean and Seamus are waiting back at the office, and they both look up as Ron and Hermione enter. “What are you two arguing about now?” Dean quips.

“Do you think soulmates are real?” Ron fires back in answer.

“No,” Seamus says immediately. “But if Romilda asks, I never said that. She’s into all that Witch Weekly mumbo-jumbo.”

“‘Witch Weekly mumbo-jumbo’,” Hermione echoes, her tone gloating as she looks at Ron. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.” Ron glares back at her but sits down at Hermione’s desk to face her two partners. “Did you two find anything on the canvas?”

“Yeah, actually.” Dean opens his notebook and Hermione is immediately at attention. “We met one of our victim’s neighbors—he wasn’t home the last time we went door-knocking, so we must have missed him. Anyway, Mr. Richards said that—”

“Wait,” Hermione interrupts. Ron looks positively delighted, and it makes her insides squirm. “What is the neighbor’s name?”

“Richards,” Dean repeats. “Mark Richards.”

Hermione’s head spins. What are the chances?

“Go ahead.” Ron pokes her in the ribs, grinning annoyingly at her. “Say it’s just a coincidence.”

“It’s a common name,” she retorts instead, and Ron snorts indignantly.

“And Lizzie Davis is just a lucky guesser, I suppose.”

Seamus raises his hand as if they’re in school, and the confusion on his face matches Dean’s. “Who’s Lizzie Davis?”

“Nobody,” Hermione says firmly as Ron answers, “Our victim’s soulmate.”

Dean’s eyebrows knit together as he slowly closes his notebook again. “Maybe you two should fill us in on your afternoon first,” he suggests.

Ron, still smirking triumphantly, motions for Hermione to answer. She heaves a sigh and explains, “A woman came into the office claiming to have witnessed the murder. She told us this whole silly story about how she and Brendan were soulmates but they never met, and she saw his murder in her mind because of their ‘ethereal reciprocity’.”

Dean and Seamus both erupt in laughter, and Ron’s face falls. “You, too?” he questions, then sighs dramatically. “I’m surrounded by skeptics.”

“Okay, wait, but how does Mark Richards fit in?” Dean asks once they calm down. “Does this woman know him or something?”

“She, um—” Hermione can hardly bring herself to admit it, but it is awfully odd that their supposed witness could have pulled the name out of thin air, common or not. “She seems to think he’s our killer.”

Despite the disbelief  among them, Dean and Seamus both adopt a more serious expression. “We’ll see what else we can find on him,” Dean says. “Just in case.”

“You said you talked to him today, though?” Hermione prompts. “What did you find out?”

“Apparently our victim had gotten himself into a bit of gambling trouble with our old friend Ludo,” Seamus explains. “He borrowed some Galleons from Mark to pay off his debt.”

“Let’s see if Harry will put in a word with Mr. Bagman. Maybe Ludo wasn’t the only person Brendan owed money to.” The detectives scatter at Hermione’s instructions, and Ron props his hand on his chin to look expectantly at her. “Oh, stop,” she scolds. “I’m sure the neighbor is just a coincidence.”

Ron chuckles. “Mm-hmm. Just because you can’t explain something—”

“Yet,” Hermione interrupts. “I can’t explain it yet. But there has to be a connection with Lizzie Davis.” Ron opens his mouth to speak again, but Hermione jumps ahead of him. “A real connection. One we can prove.”

“Who needs proof when it’s such a great story?”

“Well, that’s why you’re the novelist and I’m the detective.”

Hermione walks over to Dean’s desk and picks up his notebook to flip through his notes from the afternoon. Ron’s brow furrows as he thinks, turning more serious as he watches her read. “Money is always an odd motive to me.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, how does our killer expect to recover the debt from a dead person?”

“Fair point. I’m sure I’ll regret asking, but do you have a different theory?”

“Mark Richards is not the killer, but he’s involved with Lizzie Davis. Or was. Things ended badly, and so she decides to frame him for her true love’s murder.”

Hermione frowns. “And the actual killer is…?”

Ron shrugs, unbothered by the absence of this detail. “I dunno.”

“Why is Lizzie still mad at Mark about their breakup if her soulmate is someone else?”

“I dunno.”

“A brilliant theory, as always,” Hermione quips, and Ron sticks his tongue out at her.

“Have you got a better idea?” he retorts, his tone teasing.

“Sadly, no.” She replaces Dean’s notebook and grabs her coat off the back of her chair. “And on that absurd note, I think it’s time to call it a day. See you tomorrow?”

“C’mon, a magical love triangle? Now that is a classic motive.” Ron grins at her. “Just think about it.”

Hermione rolls her eyes as she heads for the Floo. “Goodnight, Ron.”

***

Rather than go straight home, Hermione decides to stop at Flourish and Blott’s before picking up dinner. The bookstore has an extensive section on Divination but relatively few books about soulmates. It seems like even within one of the most speculative branches of magic, the concept isn’t widely accepted. The lack of available reading material on the subject puts Hermione’s mind at ease a little. She doesn’t deal well with the unknown. She’s good with facts and evidence. And if there isn’t any evidence to prove the existence of soulmates, then she’s bolstered in her distrust of Lizzie Davis.

But as much as she doesn’t want to believe the how, there’s no denying that Lizzie knows something about their victim and the murder. It’s impossible that she was there—by her own account, she was vacationing in Tuscany during the entire week of the murder, and the Portkey logs corroborated her whereabouts—so she must have learned of Brendan Hughes’s death by some other means. Possibly even from the killer.

She’ll have to see what else they can find out about their apparently lovestruck witness. Like she said to Ron earlier, there has to be a connection. And an explanation. One that doesn’t involve ridiculous notions of the farthest-flung outlying beliefs of magic.

Until she finds it, though, Hermione is stuck with the inexplicable. She’s never believed in any of this stuff, even before her mother’s death turned her into the frosty cynic that all her friends and coworkers know. It always sounded so ridiculous, like something out of a child’s fairytale or a terrible romantic comedy on the movie channel. Then again, she never would have believed that magic was real either, if she weren’t living it. Maybe Ron is right.

Hermione scoffs at herself. Her thoughts always seem to drift back to him; maybe there’s something to that. Hand-in-hand with the idea of soulmates is the concept of fate, destiny. She had been working in the Auror department with Harry, Ron’s best friend in the world, for nearly two years before the copycat murders forced their paths to cross. Harry could have introduced them any time, but they only met by chance. What was that if not fate?

Not that she and Ron are soulmates—or even some less fantastical version of it. They haven’t even—she can’t bring herself to admit that she has anything but friendly feelings for him, and even those were a very slow thaw from the frozen facade she gave him at first. Every once in a while, she thinks that maybe he’s grappling with the same internal conflict. But if he is, he’s never acted on it. And if he had feelings for her, why wouldn’t he? Act on it, that is.

He could have—and has had, according to Witch Weekly—any woman he wants, though his appearance in the gossip pages has decreased significantly since they started working together. If he wanted more than their current partnership, Hermione would know.

Maybe that’s the problem with her lackluster love life. Soulmates are real, and she just hasn’t met hers yet. The thought releases an audible chuckle, and Hermione slides the book back into place on the shelf. How ridiculous.

Filled with a renewed sense of determination after a good night’s sleep, Hermione arrives early to the DMLE the next morning, surprised to find the office quiet. It’s not unusual for her to be in before Dean and Seamus—and definitely before Ron—but she would have thought given everything that happened yesterday, they might have wanted to get a jump on things.

Maybe they’re already out in the field. The light is on in the Head Auror’s office, so Hermione makes her way across the room to say hello and check in. Harry has his head bent over a case file—hers, it appears—but he looks up as she enters. “Morning, Hermione,” Harry greets her. “I was just about to owl you.”

“Have we had news about the Hughes case?” she asks excitedly as she sits across from him. “Did you speak to Ludo?”

“I did, but the case is closed. So you can take the day off, if you want.”

“Closed?” Hermione blinks in surprise. “How?”

“Well, Mr. Hughes’s gambling debt was a problem, but only for him. Padma’s ruling it a suicide.”

“You’re kidding.” She almost forgot about Ron’s quip yesterday afternoon suggesting just that before they met Lizzie Davis. “But it wasn’t his wand that we found at the scene.”

“Not his Ministry-registered wand,” Harry concedes. “But Padma checked the spell signature against his wand. He’s definitely the one who cast the AK.”

Harry hands her the case file, with Padma’s forensic report on top. Hermione reads over the test results as Ron’s voice sounds from down the hall, carrying easily across the empty office.

“Okay, I thought about it all night, and I’ve got a new theory. There’s not a huge dragon population in Italy, but they could definitely be using Tuscany as a stopping point along a more prolific smuggling route. Lizzie Davis doesn’t necessarily strike me as the courier type, but I can owl Charlie if you want, and—what?” Ron appears in the doorway halfway through his diatribe but stops short as he takes in Harry’s raised eyebrows.

“Looks like your first theory was spot-on,” Hermione tells him as she hands the file back to Harry to finish. “It was a suicide, after all.”

“Oh.” Ron frowns. “But what about Lizzie? And Mark Richards?”

Hermione shrugs. “I guess their illicit love triangle will have to remain a mystery.”

“But—well, can’t you get her on making false statements or something? It’s so unsatisfying when a case ends without an arrest.”

“So you admit that she was lying about being Brendan’s soulmate?” Hermione teases.

“Not about that, but she obviously didn’t witness his murder if he wasn’t murdered.”

Harry smirks. “We could, yeah. Hermione, you’re the lead on this case. Do you want to press charges on Lizzie Davis?”

“If I never see that woman again, it will be too soon.” Hermione rolls her eyes and brushes past Ron to leave the office. “Come on,” she says, tugging at his sleeve. “We can drown your disappointment in a plate of bacon and eggs.”

“Oh, now that’s not fair,” Ron complains, though he follows her without hesitation. “You know I can’t turn down breakfast.”

Once they’re settled in the Muggle diner across the street and Ron has ordered half the menu, the conversation naturally turns back to their now-closed case. “This one is going to haunt me, I just know it,” Ron says dramatically. “Lizzie Davis accused someone of murder. I feel like that deserves a little more digging. Even if there wasn’t actually a murder.”

“Do you really want me to press charges on her?” Hermione asks as she sips at her tea. “With everything she said, I’m inclined to believe she’s less a criminal mastermind and more so just mentally unstable.”

“Because you’d have to be mentally unstable to believe in soulmates?” Ron challenges.

“To be fair, I’ve known you were crazy since the day I met you, so your belief in soulmates doesn’t really move the needle.”

Ron smirks at her, and Hermione is hit with a feeling of deja vu. She likes to think she’s gotten to know Ron fairly well over the past two years, but the look he’s giving her reminds her of the early days of their partnership when he was always three steps ahead of her, and his next words confirm it. “I never said I believe in soulmates.”

“You—yes, you did.” As Hermione plays back their conversation from yesterday, though, she can’t pinpoint where he actually said it. He challenged her beliefs, and argued on behalf of Lizzie Davis’s, but not once did he admit to his own. Ron doesn’t even bother to contradict her now, just waits while she comes to the conclusion on her own. “You don’t believe in soulmates?”

“No.” Ron shrugs and reaches for the little bin of sugar packets, pulling out a handful and dumping them all into his coffee without even tasting it first.

“Then why were you arguing with me so much yesterday?” She knows the answer, of course: it’s just what they do. Finding out that they share this non-belief, though, has her more confused than ever.

“You’ve known me for how long now?” Ron shoots back, echoing Hermione’s question from yesterday. The rhythmic clinking of the spoon against the ceramic coffee mug as Ron stirs in his sugar makes Hermione grit her teeth in annoyance, but he misunderstands the gesture. “You’re not seriously mad at me, are you?” Hermione reaches across the table to still his hand, and he flashes her a sheepish grin as he sets the spoon aside. “Sorry.”

“So all the things you said yesterday—about Divination, and the ‘magic of love’, and crumple-horned snorkacks—you were just messing with me?”

“Not all of it. I believe in love.”

A snort escapes Hermione’s lips. “Has that line ever actually worked?”

“It’s not a line.”

As Ron lifts the coffee mug to his lips, Hermione searches his face for any sign that he’s once again taking the mickey, but finds none. Two years ago, when she met the presumed playboy seated across from her, she might not have believed that statement. But despite the—relatively few, compared to his reputation—women that have flitted briefly in and out of his life in that timeframe, Hermione doesn’t think she’s ever seen Ron Weasley in love.

Taking advantage of Hermione’s silence, he continues, “It’s all around you if you know where to look.” Ron tilts his head toward the counter, and Hermione turns just in time to see the waitress tuck an engagement ring back into the pocket of her apron with a fond expression before ducking back into the kitchen. At the end of the counter, an elderly couple are sharing a plate of pancakes, and Hermione smiles at them before turning back to Ron.

“There’s nothing magical about that, though.”

Ron chuckles. “If you don’t think so, you’ve never been in love.”

She hasn’t, but she’s not going to tell him that. She’s definitely not going to tell him how close she’s coming to falling in love now. “Have you?” she deflects, then immediately regrets it. She’s never given much scrutiny to Ron’s romantic pursuits, and she’s not sure how close she can get without getting burned. This current conversation feels dangerously close to the flames.

He lifts his coffee mug to his lips again, obscuring his expression so that all she can see are his intense blue irises over the rim. “Once.” He doesn’t offer any further details, and she doesn’t press. When he lowers the mug back to the table, he rotates it slowly between his hands, and Hermione finds herself entranced by the motion. “You have to at least believe in it, though, don’t you?” Ron asks, both of them staring at the dark brown liquid.

Her internal monologue from the bookstore last night floats back through her mind, mixing in with the present discussion. “In theory, I suppose.”

Ron laughs, breaking the tension of the moment. “‘In theory’,” he repeats teasingly, “listen to you.” The waitress reappears then and sets several steaming plates between them, but other than sliding a plate of toast to sit in front of Hermione, Ron ignores the food for a moment. “You know you can’t prove everything, Hermione,” he says, more serious than perhaps she’s ever seen him. “Soulmates aside, don’t you ever just feel like something is right?”

This. Us. You.

“Sometimes,” she says instead. “But I don’t always trust it.”

“You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met. Trust yourself.” Ron tucks into his breakfast and then shoots her a wink across the table. “And believe in a little bit of magic.”

[spacefinch]

Pokespe Dexholders and what I think of their names:

Red: No complaints here. But I do have to remind myself that he’s a different person than the nonverbal game Red.

Blue/Green (m): Solid name right there.

Blue/Green (f): Also a good name.

Yellow: I like it!

Gold: It works to distinguish him from Ethan, so that’s good.

Silver: Good name.

Crystal/Crys: Our first name that is ACTUALLY a remotely normal sounding name in the English language. Good for her.

Ruby: Honestly, I first thought that this character would be May’s manga counterpart. But no. Turns out Ruby is Brendan’s manga counterpart.

Sapphire: The actual manga counterpart of May.

Emerald: We are now getting into the “why would someone name their child that” territory.

Diamond/Dia: At least he has a nickname.

Pearl: What is so wrong with the name “Barry?”

Platinum Berlitz: I hate this name. Who would look at their daughter and decide “Platinum” is a good name? If you ask me, she’s the one who should have been named Pearl. If I had my way, the Sinnoh Dexholders would be named Diamond (Lucas), Pearl (Dawn), and Barry.

Black: This could have been his last name, but no.

White: Again, this is better suited as a surname than a given name.

Blake: Well at least this one is an actual first name.

Whitley: I sometimes confuse this one for Whitney, but it’s okay.

X: Very mysterious. I like it.

Y (Yvonne Gabena): Not bad.

Sun: Neutral on this one.

Moon: This one’s also okay.

Henry Sword: I like his Japanese name better (Soudo).

Casey Shield: I like the name “Schilly” better, but I cannot remember her full Japanese name.

Scarlet Koito: Not much of an opinion. But at least she has a full name.

Violet Lang: Same situation as Ruby.

[j4m3s-b4k3r]

MONKEYBONE

Here are some pre-production drawings done for MONKEYBONE, a film directed by Henry Selick. I worked on the film very briefly, perhaps only a week or two, helping with story beat boards. It was a fun gig, in part due to the location in The Presidio.

Nowadays The Presidio is one of the jewels of San Francisco - a truly beautiful parkland for residents to play in - but when I first arrived in San Francisco, it was still a functioning military base. It was already known that it would soon close, however. So discussion about what was next for the site bubbled for the first few years that I lived here. Would it become low income housing? Or yet another swanky property development, as seemed likely. Who else but big money could pay for the cleanup required after the military had left so many toxic cooties (asbestos etc) behind? 

Anyway, while such things were being decided, some of the abandoned buildings would be rented out for short term projects, one being an animated/live action comedy, that was in pre-production circa 1998 (adapted from a graphic novel - DARKTOWN  by Kaja Blackley & Vanessa Chong). I worked on MONKEYBONE in the early, eager, happy, anything-is-possible phase. It may have been so early that our work was merely a proposal, before a ‘green light’. 

Henry himself was in a great spirits, now that he was out of the shadow of Tim Burton, and Chris Columbus was his exec producer. Many of the crew were Henry’s old cronies from Nightmare Before Christmas, such as production designer Bill Boes. He’d already built models of some of the sets & locations, and these were great reference. With a tiny lipstick camera we could shoot the models from all kinds of angles, and this was enormously helpful, allowing myself & Lawrence Marvitt to bang out panels relatively quickly, under the guidance of Mike Cachuela.

Many things had not yet been decided on, such as casting. The protagonist in my sketches here was based on Nicolas Cage, but of course Brendan Fraser got the role of of Stu. Other roles were played by Rose McGowan, Dave Foley, Bob Odenkirk, John Turturro, Whoopi Goldberg, Chris Kattan and even Breaking Bad’s Giancarlo Esposito. The final film really had an amazing cast.

The Presidio was not yet full of dining options, but our workspace wasn’t far from the Presidio gates, where we’d have lunch at Liverpool Lil’s, a great little pub (that has recently burned down, sadly). I also remember a really fun swanky dinner (I forget now where) with the entire tiny pre-pro crew, where Henry was in a jovial mood and writer Sam Hamm was too. Both hilariously regaling us with their Hollywood horror stories (and comparing their scars inflicted by Tim Burton). Best of all, someone else picked up the exorbitant check! (I think it was Sam Hamm?)

Years after my brief stint on MONKEYBONE I got an invite to a preview screening in early 2001. The film was madcap, weird, & even disturbing at times. Much of what I’d thought would be animated was actually handled with costumed humans in the final film, surprisingly. But it was exciting to have worked on a feature film that actually got made. This was a period where I worked on many great projects that collapsed before making it to the screen. I remember enjoying it until the very end, when I saw that I hadn't got a credit (I hadn't worked on it long enough apparently). In the lobby after the screening, there were a lot of concerned/worried/disappointed faces. Whereas I was bummed that my name was was not in the credits, many people seemed unhappy that their names were.

Ha ha!

Sure enough, the film was a financial & critical flop and has low score to this very day (despite a tiny subset of viewers who still love it, and look back on it fondly). I learned that there had been much tussling along the way to the screen. Perhaps the guy who'd done Home Alone was not the right choice to ‘mentor’ Henry? Did things go sideways after Rupert Murdoch fired Bill Mechanic? Or was it merely typical studio meddling? My guess is it was another case of AOTA: all of the above.

Henry himself sums up MONKEYBONE this way:

"I have two thoughts: it never would have been a big hit. It certainly would have done better if they advertised it a little... I would still like to do a Director's Cut because there's a lot of cool stuff that was removed... my main lesson learned is, I don't really do well in the live-action universe... I love my world of stop-motion... I went down a slippery slope to make Monkeybone, but the film that came out it's not my vision of what the film could've been, and I just don't thrive in that.”

Not long after I worked there, the fate of The Presidio was finally decided when George Lucas’ proposal to develop The Letterman hospital into a media centre was accepted in 1999. And it became the mixed-use space SF residents play in today.

----

Just last weekend, we spent a day in The Presidio, enjoying its restaurants & bars and exploring the new Tunnel Tops park. As we strolled around, I tried to figure out which of The Presidio's many buildings we worked in in 1998, but couldn't pin it down (of course, the Letterman hospital complex was levelled to build what became ILM/Lucasfilm, so perhaps the buildings we worked in are gone).