#you can consider this a small starter call ??

[yamujiburo]

Ketchum vs. Ketchum! Showdown in Cerulean City!

Woo! Finale time! I wanted to make this final battle feel special and give it more substance than I could do with just a comic. So! I got the help of @cyberwulf to write out this ending in fanfic form! Check it out here on AO3 if you prefer! If not, the journey continues below the cut~

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James Sidestory / Meowth Sidestory

A lot has happened since our Poké Moms began their journey. After a rocky start…

“*SQUAWK*”

…they’ve managed to catch some new Pokémon…

“Run! Run! Run!”

…in their own way.

“What a cute baby! You know, I have a son, too!”

With their month on the road almost up, Delia had just one more thing she wanted to do…

“I want to beat the Cerulean City Gym!”

But little did Delia know, there was a surprise waiting for her in Cerulean City!

“MOM??? JESSIE???”

“Let’s have a double battle! You and Ash versus Jessie and I!”

“You’re on! But I’m not going easy on you just cuz you’re family!”

“…What’s going on?”

Poké Mom Adventures

EP009

Ketchum vs Ketchum! Showdown in Cerulean City!

The water of the Cerulean gym battlefield glistened in the sunshine streaming through its crystal glass roof. Both teams gazed at each other with steely determination (and some lingering confusion, in Misty’s case) as above them, the Drone Rotom announced the rules.

“This will be a double battle between Gym Leader Misty and Champion Ash, and the challengers Delia and Jessie.” It projected a holographic image of both teams. “For today’s battle, each trainer may use two Pokémon. The battle is over when all of one team’s Pokémon can no longer battle.”

“All right!” Misty declared. “This is an official League battle for the Cascade badge!”

“And bragging rights!” Jessie added with a smirk.

“We’ll see about that!” Ash retorted. Misty glanced at him, taking in his clenched fists and gritted teeth. She’d seen Ash determined before, but… there was something here that she was missing. However, with the Drone Rotom hovering expectantly overhead, finding out what that something was would have to wait.

“Come out – Corsola!”

The Coral Pokémon landed on the rock in front of her, eagerly crying its name.

“This is a water-themed gym, so I’ll go with a Water-Type,” Ash remarked. “Oshawott, I choose you!”

“That’s the spirit, Ash!” Misty exclaimed. “It’s the job of a Gym Leader to help trainers learn type advantage and weaknesses by specialising in one kind of Pokémon, and around here that’s Water-Types!”

“Water, huh?” Jessie frowned as she considered the three Pokémon she had on hand. “Well, I don’t want my delicate little Ziggy to get her fur wet.” With a flourish, she tossed a Pokéball high in the air. “Go, Venomoth!”

The Poison Moth Pokémon emerged, hovering over the water.

“It’s a shame we don’t have any Grass or Electric-types,” Delia mused. “I guess we’ll just have to do our best with what we have.” Pushing her bangs out of her face, she called, “I choose you!”

Ash and Misty’s jaws dropped as the light from Delia’s Pokéball coalesced into a very large, very stern-looking Kangaskhan.

“I didn’t know your mom had such a strong Pokémon,” Misty whispered.

“Neither did I,” Ash whispered back. Movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention and he looked down at his starter Pokémon. “Something wrong, Pikachu?”

“Pika…”

Pikachu gazed across the water at Kangaskhan, ears and tail up, alert to… something. But before anyone could figure out what had caught his attention, there was a small cry.

“Kangaskhan!”

The baby squirmed, spooked by the glistening water lapping all around the rock. She buried her face in her mother’s belly and cried again. Cradling her young protectively, Kangaskhan gave Delia an apologetic look.

“Oh, of course!” Delia exclaimed. “I’m so sorry. Kangaskhan, return.” Cupping her hands around her mouth, she called across the battlefield. “That doesn’t count as one of my Pokémon, does it?”

“Of course not, Ms. Ketchum!” Misty shouted back. “Please choose another Pokémon!”

“If she’s got one,” Ash said with a confident smirk. “I’m betting she’ll send out Mimey.”

“I choose you… Clefairy!”

“Looks like you bet wrong, Ash,” Misty laughed as Ash stared in surprise at the Fairy Pokémon.

Above them, the Drone Rotom moved into position.

“Begin!”

“All right, Oshawott!” Ash called out. “Open up with an Aqua Jet!”

With a determined cry, Oshawott blasted a jet of water across the field, hitting Clefairy square in the belly and knocking the Fairy Pokémon off the rock and into the water.

“Ash Ketchum!” Delia exclaimed reproachfully. “That wasn’t very nice!”

Thrown off-guard, Ash gulped. “S-sorry!” (Oh man - I can’t believe I’m actually battling my mom!)

On the opposite side of the battlefield, a wet and bedraggled Clefairy clambered back up on the rock ridge, scowling at her attacker.

“Shake it off, Clefairy!” Delia urged as her Pokémon did just that, sending a fine shower of water droplets flying from her pink fur. “Use Disarming Voice!”

With a deep breath, Clefairy shot a vortex of pink hearts towards Oshawott, taking the Sea Otter Pokémon by surprise and knocking him into the water.

“Good work, Deerling!” Jessie shouted triumphantly. “Now it’s my turn!” She pointed at Corsola. “Venomoth, use Poison Sting!”

Venomoth hovered uncertainly for a few moments, then looked back at her.

“It doesn’t look like Venomoth knows that move, honey,” Delia remarked.

“Well, Dustox knew that move!” Jessie protested. “Venomoth should know it too, aren’t they both Bug-types?”

Venomoth just blinked at her.

“You really don’t know what moves your Pokémon knows?” Misty asked incredulously.

“Of course I do, just – just let me think!” Jessie spluttered, clenching her fists. “All right, Venomoth – use Gust!”

Venomoth didn’t move.

“Whirlwind!” Jessie tried. “Psybeam! …Tackle?”

Venomoth looked back and forth between Jessie and the battlefield as it fluttered about agitatedly, utterly confused by the barrage of unfamiliar orders.

“This is just sad,” Misty muttered, getting a nod of agreement from Ash. Raising her voice, she called out, “Corsola! Use Spike Cannon!”

Corsola glowed, and a split second later a shower of glowing white spikes slammed into Venomoth, driving it backwards towards the trainer box.

“Oh, no!” Delia groaned in dismay, wringing her hands. “Maybe we should’ve practiced with our new Pokémon before coming here!”

“We’re not giving up!” Jessie snarled, clenching her fists. “Venomoth! Get back out there!”

With a trill, Venomoth shook off the spikes, and floated towards its opponents again.

“Corsola!” Misty called. “Hit it with another Spike Cannon!”

Corsola began to glow.

“Well don’t just hover there!” Jessie barked out. “It’s about to attack again!” Venomoth looked back at her, and Jessie gestured angrily towards the battlefield. “Just do something! Anything!”

Once more, glowing white spikes shot towards Venomoth. This time, however, Venomoth dove towards the attack, sweeping its wings in front of itself at the last minute. Blue blades of light cut through the barrage of spikes, one hitting Corsola and driving it back.

“That’s Air Slash!” Ash exclaimed.

“Air Slash, eh?” Jessie shot her opponents a triumphant smirk. “Venomoth! Use Air Slash on that pitiful pink Pokémon again!”

“Hang in there, Corsola!” Misty called as her Pokémon was driven back for a second time. “Use Recover!”

“Don’t let it recover, Venomoth!” Jessie yelled. “Air Slash again!”

As her Pokémon geared up for another attack, she noticed Delia gazing at her in rapture.

“You’re so ferocious when you battle, Smoochum,” Delia remarked dreamily. She lowered her voice, waggling her eyebrows. “It’s kinda hot.”

Jessie blushed and giggled. “Baaabe, not in front of the twerps.”

Misty wrinkled her nose in disgust. “…Smoochum?”

“Freak out later, Misty!” Ash yelled. Venomoth was bearing down on Corsola, and the Coral Pokémon didn’t have much left. “Oshawott! Use Hydro Pump on Venomoth to protect Corsola!”

Leaping high into the air, Oshawott sent a powerful jet of water directly at Jessie’s Venomoth. With a cry, the Poison Moth hit the floor between Jessie and Delia, bounced once, and fainted.

“Hey, no fair!” Jessie bellowed, stamping her foot. “I was distracted!” She recalled Venomoth with a scowl. “I ought to ground you for making me look bad!”

“This is really weird,” Misty mumbled.

“You have no idea,” Ash sighed wearily.

“All right, you big blue blob,” Jessie growled to her faithful Patient Pokémon, “get out there and let’s win this thing!”

Saluting, Wobbuffet waddled forward, straight into the water. Jessie pinched the bridge of her nose as Wobbuffet awkwardly clambered up onto the protruding rock.

“Wobbles can’t attack unless he’s attacked first,” Delia murmured to herself. “Oshawott is strong, and Corsola can use Recover to gain back health. That means I’ve got to make this next move count!” She looked to Clefairy, wet and winded but not out of the battle. It was risky, but…

“Clefairy! Use Metronome!”

“Metronome?!” Misty exclaimed as Clefairy began to move her fingers hypnotically back and forth. “Now anything can happen!”

“Hold tight, everybody!” Ash called, just as the Fairy Pokémon’s fingers turned white.

Razor-sharp leaves whipped through the air, striking Oshawott and Corsola. The Grass-Type move was too much for the dual Rock/Water Type, and Corsola collapsed into the water, fainted. Oshawott was driven back against the rock ridge, and Ash held his breath, but the Drone Rotom only counted Corsola out.

“Oshawott! You hanging in there, buddy?”

With a grimace, the Sea Otter Pokémon gave him a determined nod. “Osha!”

“Ha!” Jessie cried triumphantly. “Now we’re even!” She clenched her fists, calling tauntingly across the battlefield. “Who’s next, twerpette? Togepi? Psyduck?”

“She sure is cocky for being down to just Wobbuffet,” Ash muttered.

“Not for long,” Misty replied with a smirk. She plucked her second Pokéball from her hip.

“Go – Gyarados!”

Delia’s eyes widened and Jessie took several steps back as the gigantic Pokémon appeared in the water. It glowered down at both trainers, making Delia swallow hard.

(Now’s not the time to lose my nerve! Gyarados is just a Pokémon like any other. All I have to do is-)

“Hey!” Jessie exclaimed angrily. “No fair using such a powerful Pokémon! What, are Staryu and Starmie at the Pokémon Centre or something?!”

Taken aback, Misty gaped at the former Team Rocket member in disbelief. “Since when do you care about playing fair?”

“Since you decided to use that monstrosity on a first-time trainer!” Jessie retorted with a shake of her fist. “That’s cheating!”

Misty paused, almost second-guessing her choice of Pokémon, when she remembered who she was dealing with. Squaring her shoulders, she shot back, “You’re not a first-time trainer!”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Ash muttered.

“I heard that!” Jessie bawled.

“It’s okay, honey,” Delia murmured, placing her hand on Jessie’s shoulder. “We can beat them. We just need to use strategy!”

“Gyarados!” Misty called out. Jessie may not have been the best trainer, and her track record with him was hit or miss, but Wobbuffet could reflect almost any attack. It might just have been luck, but Clefairy’s Metronome had taken out Corsola and left Oshawott just barely hanging on. There was only one choice of target.

“Use Hurricane on Clefairy, now!”

Rearing back, Gyarados shot a powerful blast of air directly at the Fairy Pokémon, sending her flying back to the trainer box.

“Oh no!” Delia cried. She knelt by her stricken Pokémon’s side, but it was obvious even without Drone Rotom saying so that Clefairy couldn’t continue. “You did a wonderful job, Clefairy.” Recalling her Pokémon, she rose, pushed her bangs out of her eyes, and called her second Pokémon.

“Mimey, I choose you!”

Ash clenched his fists. No more surprises – he knew what Mimey was capable of. Oshawott was tough, but he’d taken a lot of damage. If the Sea Otter Pokémon only had one move left, then Ash had to make it count.

“Oshawott! Hit Mimey with Aqua Jet!”

“Mimey, dodge it!” Delia cried out.

The Barrier Pokémon leapt high in the air, leaving Ash to watch, powerless, as Aqua Jet splashed harmlessly on the ground between his mother and Jessie. But before he could call out another attack –

“Now, Mimey, Focus Punch on Oshawott!”

There was no time for Oshawott to get out of the way. Mimey dove straight down, fist outstretched, and scored a direct hit. Both Pokémon vanished underwater. All four trainers held their breath. After a few seconds, Mimey burst out of the water, effortlessly leaping onto the rock. A moment later Oshawott floated to the surface, fainted.

“Good work, Oshawott,” Ash murmured as he recalled his Pokémon. He turned to Pikachu. “Looks like my mom’s a tougher trainer than I thought. You ready, Pikachu?”

The yellow mouse nodded, one tiny fist raised. “Pika!”

“You be nice to us now, Pikachu!” Delia cheered brightly.

Jessie was less optimistic.

“Babe, this isn’t looking good,” she murmured urgently. “I’ve been beaten by that Pikachu a zillion times! And that Gyarados looks strong. And mean! I don’t know if…”

She trailed off as the other woman took her hands.

“Now you listen to me, Jessie Ketchum.” Delia gazed into her eyes, a look of fierce determination on her face. “A zillion battles. A zillion losses. Against that very Pikachu. And you never gave up. So you’re not gonna give up now! Okay?”

Jessie stared back at her. Time seemed to stand still. Delia’s fingers were warm on her own as her words of encouragement hung in the air.

“Jessie… Ketchum?”

With the briefest of nods, Delia turned to face their opponents.

“Ash honey, don’t you hold back just because I’m your mom!” she called. “We’re going to give it our all, even if we lose!”

“She’s a lot like you, Ash,” Misty laughed. As Ash tugged the brim of his hat down to hide his blush, she raised her voice and called to the challengers. “You’re doing great, Ms. Ketchum! I’m really impressed by your abilities as a trainer. Now show me you’re worthy of the Cascade badge!”

“Hey!” Jessie yelled indignantly. “What am I, chopped liver?! My Venomoth pushed your Corsola to the brink!”

Misty grimaced. This was all still too strange – Jessie was a good guy? Jessie and Ash’s mom were… partners? She struggled for something positive to say about Jessie’s performance so far.

“Uh – yeah!” she managed. “It was, uh, really great how you figured out that one move.”

Jessie put her hands on her hips. “Ugh, could you sound any more insincere?!”

With a growl of impatience, Ash cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled across the battlefield. “Hey! Are we gonna battle or what?”

“Oh, we’re battling, twerp,” Jessie shot back. “And we’re gonna win!”

Ash grinned. “You ready, Pikachu?” The yellow Pokémon turned to look at his trainer. Ash pointed. “Quick attack!”

“Ha!” Jessie scoffed as Pikachu zigzagged along the rock ridge. “Wobbuffet, use Counter!”

Pikachu leaped forward…

“On Mimey!”

Delia and Jessie gasped as Pikachu pivoted and went straight for the Barrier Pokémon. Taken by surprise, he took the full brunt of the attack, losing his balance and hitting the water.

“A fake out!” Delia exclaimed. She beamed at her son with pride. “That was so smart of you, honey! You had us completely fooled!”

“Baaabe!” Jessie hissed. “I get that you care about him – I do too – but right now he’s the enemy!”

Delia tapped her fist against her head, grinning nervously. “Oh, right!”

“This is hurting my brain,” Misty groaned.

“How do you think I feel?” Ash grumbled.

Delia took a moment to centre herself and assess the situation. Pikachu didn’t have a Type advantage, but his Electric attacks were powerful – not to mention that Mimey was still wet. Of course, using them ran the risk of electrifying the entire battlefield, including Gyarados, but only one Pokémon needed to be left standing in order for that Pokémon’s team to win.

“Mimey!” she commanded. “Use Psychic on Pikachu!”

“Mr Mime!”

Mimey fixed Pikachu with an intense stare, his eyes and hands glowing blue. Blue light enveloped the yellow mouse as he was lifted into the air. Pikachu strained and struggled, but couldn’t break free.

Ash groaned in exasperation.

“Misty, go for Mimey!” he called. “If you weaken him, maybe Pikachu can break free. Plus, he’s a lot stronger than Wobbuffet!”

Misty nodded. “Right!”

“Hey!” Jessie objected. “Just because it’s true doesn’t mean you have to say it!” She shook her fist at them. “I raised you better than that, Ash Ketchum!”

“Wha – ” Ash took a step back, flabbergasted. “You didn’t raise me at all!”

“The heck I didn’t!” Jessie retorted. “Who kept an eye on you while you twerped your way through eight regions, huh?!”

Misty rubbed her temples. The whole situation was giving her a headache.

“Gyarados!”

The Atrocious Pokémon stirred itself and looked her way.

“Use Crunch on Mr. Mime, now!”

“Oh no, not Crunch!” Delia fretted, as Gyarados reared back, a sinister purple aura swirling around its fangs. “That’s a Dark-Type move!”

“Wobbuffet!” Jessie barked. “Get between Mimey and Gyarados and use Counter!”

Saluting, Wobbuffet leaped in front of Mimey, his body outlined in orange light. Crunch hit, hard, and bounced back twice as hard. Both Gyarados and Wobbuffet recoiled from the damage.

“Wobbles!” Delia cried out, as Mimey caught Wobbuffet in his arms.

“Don’t you quit on me now, Wobbuffet!” Jessie shouted.

Wobbuffet saluted weakly as Mimey pushed him back onto his paws. The distraction worked, and Pikachu dropped back to the rock, freed from Psychic.

“Keep the pressure on, Pikachu!” Ash yelled. “Use Iron Tail on Mimey, now!”

“Quick, Mimey!” Delia shouted as Pikachu somersaulted through the air, tail glowing white. “Use Reflect!”

Pikachu hit the invisible barrier and flew backwards, landing in the water.

“Gyarados!” Misty commanded. “Use Crunch again!”

“Mimey, keep using Reflect!” Delia shouted. “Don’t let them in!” She had to think. Poor Wobbles, he didn’t have much left – one more shot from that big Gyarados and that would be it. Not to mention that if Crunch hit Mimey, the battle would be over! She’d completely forgotten Gyarados could learn that move! Oh, maybe she should’ve used Zaggy instead…

Mimey obediently continued to use Reflect as Gyarados and Pikachu attacked from either side. Slowly the invisible barriers began to box them in, till Mimey and Wobbuffet were crowded together on the rock.

“Babe!” Jessie urged. “We have to do something or we’re gonna lose!”

“I know!” Delia groaned. “I just…” She cupped her face in her hands, pulling down on her cheeks. “…I don’t know!”

“Ms Ketchum!”

Delia lifted her head.

“You can’t let us back you into a corner!” Misty called. “Use your environment to find a way out!”

Ash shot her a glare. “Hey, whose side are you on?!”

“It’s my job as a Gym leader to help trainers to learn,” Misty explained with a smile. “Did you forget?”

“You didn’t help me when I battled you for the first time!” Ash replied indignantly, poking his thumb into his chest.

Misty glowered at him.

“That’s because you still owed me a new bike, Ash Ketchum!”

“Aaagh!” Ash placed both hands on his head, tugging his hat down. “Can’t you let that go already? It got repaired, didn’t it?”

While their opponents bickered, Delia had taken Misty’s words to heart.

“Use the environment…” she mused. There was only one place Mimey and Wobbles could go – but first they had to do something about the double attacks coming their way.

“Jessie!” she hissed, beckoning her partner to come closer. “Can you have Wobbles use Counter?”

Jessie looked at Wobbuffet, sweating nervously as he stood behind Mimey. She nodded.

“Okay,” Delia replied. She whispered quickly in the other woman’s ear. Jessie grinned, then straightened up.

“Wobbuffet! Use Counter on both those attacks!”

Without any hesitation, Wobbuffet moved in front of Mimey, body once more enveloped in an orange glow. Crunch and Iron Tail came back double on Gyarados and Pikachu, sending the two flying backwards. Both Pokémon landed hard on the rock, Gyarados almost wrapping around it with the force of the blow.

“On your feet, Pikachu!” Ash called. “It’s not over yet! …Huh?”

He blinked at the empty battlefield. Mimey and Wobbuffet had both disappeared. Ash tensed as he scoured the water for any sign of the enemy Pokémon, but the surface was still settling from the last bout of attacks. The sunlight streaming through the roof didn’t help either – it made the rippling water glitter.

Misty spotted movement a second too late.

“Look out-”

In tandem, Mimey and Wobbuffet burst through the surface, taking up positions either side of Gyarados and Pikachu, trapping their opponents between them.

“Good work, you two!” Delia cheered. She pointed dramatically. “Now, Mimey – use Psychic on both of them!”

Once more, Mimey’s eyes and hands glowed. Both Gyarados and Pikachu rose into the air, enveloped in blue light.

“Great strategy, Ms. Ketchum!” Misty called, earning a dirty look from Ash which she ignored. “There’s no point going for Wobbuffet – he’ll just Counter our attacks again.”

“Right,” Ash agreed. “We’ve gotta take out Mimey!” He raised his voice. “Pikachu!”

Misty did likewise. “Gyarados!”

Delia grinned. “Just as I thought.” She looked at her partner. “Get ready with Mirror Coat!”

Jessie blinked in confusion. “…Huh?”

“Thunderbolt –”

“Hydro Pump –”

“On Mimey!” both young trainers yelled in unison.

“Mimey!” Delia called, just as both Pokémon charged their attacks. “Drop them, use Light Screen and aim at Wobbles!”

“Aim at WHO?!” Jessie exclaimed.

There was no time to explain. Everything turned on a split second. Pikachu and Gyarados began to fall through the air. Several volts of electricity and a powerful torrent of water hit Mimey’s Light Screen and barrelled towards Wobbuffet.

The diabolical beauty of Delia’s devious plan suddenly caught up with Jessie. That pair of pathetic Pokémon were in for a –

“Now, honey!”

Jessie almost fumbled the command.

“M-Mirror Coat!”

Wobbuffet glowed, shrouded in a reflective aura. Everything seemed to slow down. The attacks hit. They bounced back at Mimey. Pikachu and Gyarados fell. Ash’s mouth opened in a silent noooo.

The timing was perfect.

Gyarados and Pikachu fell in front of Mimey, taking the full brunt of Thunderbolt and Hydro Pump, doubled by Mirror Coat. The sheer force of the attacks drove them along the surface of the water, causing huge plumes of water to rise into the air either side of them. The battlefield disappeared in a shroud of surf and spray.

“Pikachu!” Ash cried out.

All four trainers held their breath as the mist began to clear.

Jessie cried out in dismay on seeing Wobbuffet floating belly-up in the water. Ash groaned on spotting Pikachu doing likewise. Draped over the rock, Gyarados lifted its head weakly, then dropped it again.

Delia scanned the water, a smile spreading across her face as Mimey swam to the rock and clambered up, standing tall with a cry of, “Mr. Mime!”

“Wobbuffet, Pikachu, and Gyarados are unable to battle,” the Drone Rotom declared, as Ash sank to his knees. “The winners are the challengers, Delia and Jessie!”

“I… I can’t believe this…” Ash moaned.

“We…” Jessie couldn’t stop staring at the battlefield, Drone Rotom’s words ringing in her ears. “…we won?” She looked to Delia, and the joyful look on her face confirmed it. “We WON!!!”

Delia shrieked as Jessie caught hold of her and lifted her high in the air, doing a twirl before setting her back on her feet and peppering her face with kisses. “Hahahaha!” She turned to their opponents, pulling down on one eyelid while sticking her tongue out. “Suck it, twe – I mean, Ash and Misty! I knew this day would come sooner or later!”

“Jessica, I know you’re happy, but don’t be a bad winner,” Delia chided gently. “Magnanimity in victory goes a long way.”

“But baaaabe!” Jessie whined. “I’ve never had a victory this magnificent before!”

Delia just smiled and gave her a peck on the lips. “I think poor Wobbles wants you,” she remarked, nodding to the battlefield. “We’ll need to get him to a Pokémon Centre with Venomoth and Clefairy.”

Jessie nodded and went to haul Wobbuffet out of the water.

“Come on, you,” she grunted as she dragged the Patient Pokémon back onto dry land. Briefly she removed her cap and wiped the sweat from her brow. Fine, so she couldn’t taunt the twerps any more. Victory still tasted pretty sweet.

In her arms, Wobbuffet stirred and smiled weakly up at her. Jessie couldn’t help but smile back.

“How about that?” she murmured to him. “You’re a winner, Wobbuffet. I bet you can’t wait to tell the others.”

He managed a salute and a quiet “Wobba…” before Jessie recalled him to his Pokéball.

Ash, meanwhile, remained on his knees in the trainer box. “I can’t believe we lost to my mom.”

“You gotta admit, that last strategy was a thing of beauty,” Misty replied with a smile. She’d made her way out to the rock and was cradling Gyarados’s head, absently rubbing its crest. The big Pokémon opened its eyes and let out a quiet rumble. “I guess now we know where you get your battling skills from, champ!”

Stepping out of her sneakers, Delia carefully negotiated the slippery rock and fished Pikachu out of the water. A couple of vigorous rubs from his head to his tail, and the Electric Mouse Pokémon opened his eyes.

“You were great, Pikachu,” Delia murmured. She tickled him under his chin, getting a weak “Chaaa” in response. She made her way back to the side of the battlefield to find Ash, Misty and Jessie waiting. “You were great too, honey.”

Ash managed a smile as she handed Pikachu to him. “Thanks, Mom.” He gasped as he was pulled into a hug.

“That was such a fun battle!” Delia exclaimed. She loosened her hold just enough to look at him. “I can see why you like this so much.”

“Watch out, Ash,” Misty teased. “You might just have a new rival on your hands!”

Ash let out a distressed yelp.

“Oh no, I don’t have time for that,” Delia assured him with a wave of her hand. As Ash sighed with relief, she cupped his cheek and tilted his head up to look at him. “But travelling around this past month and battling with you today… it’s made me feel a little bit closer to you.”

Ash blushed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Aw, Mom,” he mumbled with a grin.

“Ahem.”

Ash and Delia turned to see Misty holding out a Cascade badge.

“This is yours, Ms. Ketchum,” the Gym Leader declared. “You made the battlefield, your Pokémon and their moves work to your advantage. I’m impressed!”

“Oh, you’re too kind, really,” Delia replied, blushing as she accepted the badge. Its blue surface seemed to glitter in the sunlight streaming in from the roof. “I’ll treasure this, always. Thank you.”

“That’s how you win a badge fair and square,” Misty teased, shooting a wink Ash’s way.

The Champion rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

All three turned to see Jessie holding out her hand.

“What about me?” she demanded. “The perfect Pokémon battle partner? Trainer of vicious Venomoth and wild Wobbuffet? Where’s my badge?”

Misty sighed. Jessie had been on the winning team, and she had won a badge fair and square, but the whole situation was still bizarre.

“I’ll give you a badge if you explain what all…” She waved her hand between Jessie and Delia. “…this is about.”

“Delia and I dating,” Jessie scoffed with a shrug. “It’s not that complicated.”

“I got that part,” Misty shot back irritatedly, “I just…” She looked from Jessie, standing with her arms crossed, to Ms. Ketchum, who had one hand on Jessie’s hip, to Ash, who looked like he was hoping the floor would open up and swallow him. “…you know what, never mind.” Reaching into her pocket, she took out a second Cascade badge.

“I can’t believe this is happening, but… you earned this!”

Jessie let out a little cry of joy as Misty put the badge into her hand.

“Oh, Deerling, look how pretty it is!” she gushed. “Do you think maybe we could just get the prettiest Gym badges?”

“I don’t see why not,” Delia replied. “With James to run the restaurant, I can take vacations more often!”

“James is –” Misty glared at Ash, who pulled the brim of his cap down and giggled nervously. “We’re going to the Pokémon Centre and then you’re telling me what’s been going on, Ash Ketchum!”

“Let’s all go to the Pokémon Centre,” Delia suggested. “Our Pokémon battled hard today, they deserve a good rest.”

It wasn’t long before Nurse Joy’s tender care had Venomoth, Corsola, Oshawott, Clefairy, Wobbuffet, Gyarados and Pikachu feeling like their old selves again. Delia squeezed Jessie’s hand, murmuring “that’ll be you one day, Smoochum” as they watched Joy work.

“Well, we should get going,” Delia declared once they had their Pokémon back.

“We were going to stay and have dinner, Ms. Ketchum,” Misty said. She eyed Jessie reluctantly, but made the offer anyway. “…You’re welcome to join us.”

“That’s sweet of you, Misty, but we’ve been away long enough,” Delia replied, to both kids’ relief. “It’s time we headed home. Thank you both so much for such an amazing battle.” She hugged Ash tightly. “Don’t stay away too long, honey.”

“You know I won’t, Mom,” Ash replied, blushing. He shot Misty a grin. “I’ll be home right after I kick Misty’s butt in our rematch!”

“Then I’ll see you soon,” Delia murmured. She let go of her son and gave Misty a quick hug and a wink. “Try not to beat him too badly!”

“Hey!” Ash exclaimed indignantly.

Delia stepped back, joining her girlfriend near the door of the Pokémon Centre. She gave her a look and nodded to both kids. With a sigh, Jessie trudged up to Ash and gave him a stiff hug.

“See you at home, kid,” she mumbled. Letting go, she turned to Misty. “Thanks for the battle and the badge, I guess...?”

The two gazed at each other for a few awkward moments, then Jessie took a step closer, slowly lifting her arms.

“Aah!” Misty hurriedly moved back, holding her hands up in front of her. “I don’t think I’m there yet.”

Jessie dropped her arms with a huge sigh of relief. “Great! Me neither.” She offered her hand instead, and the Gym Leader shook it.

Ash and Misty stepped outside the Pokémon Centre to see them off, their goodbyes ringing in the air as Delia and Jessie got on the road. Jessie slung her arm around her girlfriend’s shoulder.

“Happy, babe?”

“Yes and no,” Delia sighed. “I’m sad my journey’s over, but I couldn’t be happier about how it went. I made three wonderful new friends, foiled a nasty poacher, and that battle today –” She clenched her fists in front of her. “ – I never felt so alive! I can’t wait to tell Professor Oak and James and Meowth all about it!” She slipped an arm around Jessie’s waist. “I’m so glad you talked me into this.”

Jessie preened. “Oh it was nothing, babe, I –”

She broke off as Delia took hold of her hands.

“Thank you for making my dreams come true,” the other woman whispered. Jessie’s heart caught in her throat as she saw tears shining in Delia’s eyes. “Not just today, but every day we’re together.”

Jessie smiled, warmth blooming in her chest.

“It’s the least I could do,” she replied. Delia deserved more, so much more, for putting up with her, believing in her, loving her. Not to mention all she’d done for James and Meowth too. Maybe one day –

- but before Jessie could continue the thought, Delia leaned up and pulled her into a tender kiss.

THE END

“Oh, I can’t wait to get home to our nice comfy bed!”

“Ugh, me too. I hate sleeping on the ground.”

“…who said anything about sleeping?”

[bahablastplz]

Best friend's brother: Chan x reader

Thinking about best friend's brother Chan that has always been secretly obsessed with you Content: extremely fluffy, slight hurt/comfort, smut, really vanilla smut but super sweet Warnings: Oral sex (f! receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex WC: 2000

Obviously, you and your best friend were inseparable. You grew up right next door, and her parents considered you to be another one of their children. You and Hannah were, for lack of a better word, siblings. Her older brother, however… that was a situation that you weren’t sure how to explain. 

You had always harbored feelings for the older man, despite the guilt that ate away at you. You could never tell Hannah that, however. Nor would you ever tell Chan or let your desires come to fruition. 

Which is why, once you came home for summer break you had no problem getting ready for your date at Hannah’s house. Though the thought of her brother being there made you gulp, you would just have to hope you wouldn’t run into him and everything would be fine–

“What’s got you dressed all up?” Of course, Chan appears from behind and makes eye contact with your reflection in the mirror. Hannah is sprawled across her bed and scrolling through her phone. 

“She’s got a hot date,” Hannah replies, snarkily. 

“Hot date?” Chan inquires while crossing his arms. He holds a slightly disapproving glare. 

“Yeah, with some guy she met online. He’s a real smokeshow–” 

“Hannah!” You say sharply, willing your best friend to somehow spare you the humility. 

“Where is he taking you, hm?” Chan says with a small, teasing lilt to his voice. 

“We’re going to a club…,” you whisper. 

“On the first date? No no no, that’s just a recipe for disaster, Y/N.” 

“It’ll be fine, Chan!” Hannah says. She doesn’t even bother to look him in the eye, so he bores holes into your own instead. He mutters out something about how he doesn’t like this and that you should really be careful before returning to his room.

As you finish getting ready, you admire yourself in the mirror. Your black dress hugs your body just right, and your makeup brings out just the right contrast to your face. Hannah says out loud exactly what you were thinking: 

“You look hot.” 

As you share your location with her and get ready to leave the house, it is almost 9 p.m. and your uber has arrived. Though you know the night will most likely not end up with you falling head over heels in love, you’re still hoping to have a good time and maybe get to know the guy more. However, before you step out the door you feel a hand grab your wrist. 

Chan is looking at you with a look you don’t recognize in his eye and you pause, waiting for him to speak. 

“Please, be careful. If anything happens, you have my number. I don’t care what time it is, you can reach out. It doesn’t matter if he’s being a creep or if you just don’t want to be there anymore, I will come and get you,” he says. He looks at you softly before adding, “And even if you don’t need me to get you, please text me when you’re home safe.” You could tell he was genuinely worried and this made your heart pang slightly, making it harder to will away the crush you have on the man. 

Your date shows up late, for starters. After twenty minutes you take your first shot, and your second drink arrives when your date does. He is unapologetic and starts touching you the second he sees you–that’s when you realize he is already wasted. Letting out a groan, you humor him with one dance, but when he immediately starts grinding on you you decide you have had enough. 

“I’m not really feeling it,” you say. “I think I’m gonna call it a night.” 

The man scoffs and immediately becomes defensive. “C’mon darling, you’re not going to show up looking like that and then act like a prude, are you?” He spits out some more mean insults that you don’t hear, because you’re already out the door and dialing Chan’s number. 

He picks up on the first ring. 

“Are you okay–” 

“I’m fine, can you please come and get me?” 

“I walked out the door the second I saw your name flash on my screen,” he says. You hear his engine start and know he is telling the truth. 

It’s cold outside, but Chan has the heat pumping in his car when he pulls up. You curl into yourself, feeling embarrassed at the situation you’ve found yourself in. The ride is silent, though it doesn’t go unnoticed that he’s playing your favorite music. 

When he pulls up to your driveway, he puts his car into park. 

You start talking before he says anything, even though you know he wasn’t going to force you. 

“He showed up completely trashed and started touching me before I even really talked to him,” you said. Tears start streaming down your face and you hope that Chan won’t notice, but of course he does. He always does. He leans over the center console to wipe a tear away. 

“He showed up drunk? Oh, I’m so sorry… you don’t deserve that,” he says. “I knew it was a bad idea.” 

You know he’s trying to console you but you feel so defeated. “Why is it such a bad idea for me to want to go out and have fun?” You practically cry out. “Why does everybody else get to have a normal dating life and get to hook up with people and enjoy college, but when I try to do it it never works out?” Chan just nods along to your words. 

“You just haven’t tried with the right person yet, Y/N…” 

“There will never be a right person, because the one I want is you and that’s never going to happen!” You slap a hand over your mouth and stiffen when you realize what you had said, and when you meet Chan’s gaze you see that he’s staring at you with wide eyes. You’re completely sober now. 

You are out of the car lightning fast, slamming the door behind you and racing to your house. You’re fully sobbing now as you unlock your door, but when you go to slam it behind you Chan sticks his foot in, holding it open. He uses the opportunity to invite himself in and immediately you’re in his arms, in a warm embrace. 

“I’m sorry,” you say against his shoulder. “I didn’t mean it, I–” 

“Don’t say that,” he warns. “Don’t you dare take it back.” 

“Chan, I–” He pulls you away to meet your gaze, placing his hands around your face and using both his thumbs to wipe your tears away. 

“Y/N, I have known you for as long as I’ve remembered and I’ve never seen a part of you that I hate,” he says. “I have fallen deeper and deeper in love with you every day, so to hear you say that… Please don’t take it back. Please don’t tell me that you don’t want this,” he trails off, his eyes darting to your lips. 

You crash your lips into his at full force and breathe against him, completely enamored. He picks you up so that your legs are wrapped around his waist and carries you to your room, the one he had been in more times than you could count, all while keeping his lips locked against yours. He drops you onto your bed with a flop and you bounce, observing his admiring gaze. His lips are on you again, then they trail to your neck, leaving long burning kisses behind as he trails lower. His thumbs press into your waist. 

“It made me sick,” he confesses. “The thought of you going to the club with some guy that was just going to use you. Some guy you had never met, someone who would never in a million years make you feel the way that I could.” 

He drops to his knees at the edge of your bed, pulling you closer to his face by your hips. He pulls your legs apart, slotting his body in between them, and starts pressing soft kisses to your thighs. You watch his every move, your body relying on your elbows to keep you upright so you don’t miss a second of this. 

“Say it again,” he pleads. “Tell me you want me, that you need me as bad as I need you.” 

“Chan please,” you breathe out. “Wanted you for so long… Thought you’d never like me like that.” 

“Are you kidding?” He chuckles. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted. Let me show you.” And with that, he lifts your dress up. It bunches against your waist messily and his nose presses into your clothed core. You groan out at the contact and he does as well, placing agonizingly slow kisses and licks against you. He grabs at your waistband and you lift your hips, allowing him to slide them off of your body. He wastes no time before diving back in and your head lolls back at the feeling. 

“Look at me, please,” he begs. “Let me watch you fall apart.” Your eyes snap back to meet his gaze and you immediately feel so comforted and seen from his expression. It allows you to let yourself relax as he flicks and swirls his tongue around your clit. 

He watches your every expression, every hitch of your breath and every buck of your hips, expertly making you fall apart on his tongue. One finger slides inside of your pussy, pumping in and out experimentally, and you feel yourself coming to your peak. 

“God, Chan, please–” 

“I gotcha, baby,” he says. “Come for me.” You fall apart for him completely knowing that he will be right there to put you back together, and he helps you ride out your high, observing the fucked-out look on your face as if it would be the only time he would ever see it. 

You pant and reach for him and he interlocks his hand in yours, coming up to kiss you even more passionately than before. He presses his clothed bulge into your center and you hiss at the contact, still sensitive. 

“Can I?” He asks. 

“Please,” you respond. His pants are slid down and he pushes himself into you in a moment. You feel emotionally overwhelmed, looking down to see where you are completely and utterly connected. The way his breathing becomes shallow, you know he’s thinking the same thing. 

He picks up one of your legs, wrapping around your shoulder and starts pistoning into you, and the change of angle makes you go utterly weak. Your back arches and his lips are against your skin, anywhere they get a chance to meet. 

“All mine,” he grunts. His hips start slamming into yours faster, and one hand reaches up to cover your mouth, muffling any noises that might be starting to slip. “Say it… say you’re all mine and only I get to… fuck, see you like this.” 

You can tell he’s close, and the hand that reaches down to start rubbing against your clit confirms your suspicions. 

“Chan… so close… I’m all yours, Chan, please, please…” His name releases from your lips like a mantra, and as you feel yourself come to your high once again and clench around his length, he pulls you even closer, releasing himself into you. 

Your arms wrap around him and your fingers run through his hair comfortingly as he collapses on top of you. 

You and Chan have always been relatively close by association, particularly given the situation, but at the moment you and him are so intertwined you aren’t sure you can ever let go. 

He holds you as you fall asleep that night. 

“Do you think Hannah will be mad?” you ask. 

“No way,” he mumbles against you. “She’s been trying to get us together for years.” 

You laugh incredulously against the man. Though you weren’t expecting to find your true love that night, you guess life had other plans.

*** First real ff post on tumblr yay!! Welcome to my skz blog, I wanted to start off with something tame lol...I have a lot of really exciting things planned to post so stay tuned <3 Masterlist Recs

[pbnbucks]

Nika x fem x Paige where the fem just transferred to UConn from another country or smth so her English is not good and she’s a new freshman so Paige and Nika show her around and flirt with her.

The two older girls come to agreement that they both want fem and always flirt her. They end up confessing one night and it leads to smut where they show her how much they care for her

word count : 1.2k

warnings : smut, cussing, overstim, teasing

summary : they showed you things you never thought you would see, living up to their promise.

the plane ride to uconn consisted of nerves and excitement, you’re from São Paulo, Brazil. when you first got the call from Ellen Herman to come play volleyball for her and the huskies you weren’t never going to think about it but your mother begged and begged for you to take it, and you did so your mother wouldnt worry, the hard part was you had to leave the day before mothers day leaving her and your 2 sisters alone. when you landed there was a bilingual chauffeur to pick you up from the airport and drop you off at the university, everyone greeted you including the athletic teams except the basketball team, they where on the end of the season trip to places like Croatia and Slovenia. which brings you to your next obstacle

its early October, your classes consisted of family consumer science and you picked up extra english classes. you english gotten better over the months as you spent more time with the team and you where able to spend time around more american’s and the team. its wasn’t until the 7th game you became a starter on the volleyball court, but what surprised you even more was the women’s basketball team wearing head to toe basketball issued gear. but thats not what surprised you it was the fact that 2 of the starters for the basketball team came up to you after the game. your first thought was that they were going to walk to somebody else but it gave it away when the rest of the team behind them kept smiling at you and then laughing to each other, as they basically backed you into a corner leaving you no room to escape from the tall muscular girls. they started off by introducing themselves and you introduced yourself, you hoped the conversation would end there but it didn’t, it went way farther then things could imagine. the brunette was the first to speak up after the quiet and awkward encounter. “we wanted to know if you wanted to come to this ice cream place with us so you can see how Connecticut really is” you thank the girls and agree to their idea.

“so where are you from?” the sweet blonde asks as she has been making small talk with you all night. “im from São Paulo Brazil, im guessing your from America but shes not?” you point at the brunette who clearly had a thick accent from a foreign country. “yea im from Zágreb Croatia.” she responds flashing a smile that catches your eye “you have a pretty smile” nika just smirks and give paige a look that makes paige jealous “you have pretty thighs, princess” nika blurts before she even thinks about what shes saying trying to play it off “thanks i guess?” you laugh getting a bit embarrassed from her comment.

you and the two girl have been hanging out for about 3 months now as you recieve a text from nika that said “we want you to come to our dorm princess. we want to show you things you’ve never seen before” at first you thought the girls where talking about Connecticut but they have such different plans on what to do with you. the girls wouldn’t let you say no to them as paige takes it upon herself to open the door for you as you get fully in nika tells you to sit on the couch with them, it only takes two minutes for nika to break the silence “i dont know why you sitting so far away from us ms brazil” you’re startled from her comment considering you weren’t that far and there was no other place to sit “what do you mean theres no other place to sit?” once you say that paige and nika exchange looks as she grabs you by the waist placing you onto her lap “what about right here princess? you like this spot” hoping you could shrug off her comment but she wouldn’t let it go “i asked you a question pretty, when someone asks you something you have to answer them” you try to hide your face as its only been 5 minutes in to her dorm and she already has you blushing and legs shaking “yes i like my spot” you whisper into her ear so you wouldn’t feel even more embarrassed “your spot? so possessive baby” you roll your eyes looking to the blonde with pleading eyes hoping she would save you from your own embarrassment, which doesn’t slide past nika making her smirk not even trying to hide her emotions full of lust “go on baby go sit with paige, shes the nicer one” she helps you get off her lap placing you right on top of paige as paige pushes you on to her lap as she places her large hands on your inner thigh. nika saw this and decided she had enough waiting. she pushes the hair out of your face getting closer to you at face level “you want us to fuck you?” you look to the blonde behind you as she only smiles back at you massaging your inner thigh you nod your head to the girl but she refuses to take it as a answer “i need you to use your words mama. if you dont nobodys going to touch you.” you can feel your arousal already forming a pool as just her accent gets you weak “yes please, i want to”

thats all she needed to pick you up like a toddler and placing you in the edge of the bed stripping you from your clothes revealing all the spots she wanted to see. she rubs her hands all over your stomach as the blonde enters the room but except this time in sweats and a sports bra “your so pretty baby” the brunette says placing a teasing kiss on your lips. she runs her finger through your slick folds leaving you needy wanting more but she declines and makes you wait “cmon baby i wanna hear the reason you got that sexy ass accent” she speaks placing a finger right before your entrance “por favor faça-me sentir bem, eu te imploro” and with that she finally enters her finger into you finally letting go of the breath you didn’t even know you were holding as the long fingers sinks all the way in you slip out a pornographic moan that has nika feeling weak in her stomach as paige comes up next to her rubbing circles on your clit, making your legs begin to shake as nika adds another finger and paige continues the assult on your pussy licking a long stripe up your core making your hand fall to her head pushing her closer. “awww does that feel good baby?” the croatian teases you for how needy your body language is getting, you grind onto her fingers and paiges face, when you feel a knot forming in your stomach. “fuck- im gonna cum” once you say that paige runs her fingers up and down your shaky thighs trying to ease you into your release “oh really? i think you can hold it a little longer” the brunette says proving her point when she said paige was the nice once. nika knows exactly what shes doing as she pushes paiges head closer to your core as your wetness is practically dripping from paiges chin while nika continues to pound her fingers in to you not loosing speed what so ever. “pleasee, i cant hold it any more” you beg for the girl to let you release “what do you think paige should we let her cum?” the blonde nods her head out of sympathy for you as they both put you through a endless amount of teasing all night “go on baby, cum all over paiges face and my fingers.” this time it feels different, you weren’t just cuming, you’re squirting. nika sits there in shock as paige continues to try and get every bit of cum she can moaning onto your clit sending vibrations through your body. “yeaa thats it, such a good pussy” the girl praises as she takes her fingers out of you pulling her body up to kiss you. “if i knew you where going to react like that, i would’ve been the one to eat that pretty pussy princess.”

[dreamisols]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ COFFEE TALK

INTRODUCTION FIC TO 'THE ART OF REMEMBRANCE'

—the rare moments of free time allow you and your boyfriend to talk about anything and everything that comes to mind... at this point, you two might as well be the third division's free podcast! —wc: 1050; fluff but mostly crack —original canon, x fem!reader, you and hoshina are just silly, hibino leno and kikoru mentions, one cuss, general pov more or less, i advocate for silly unhinged dynamics —rimi's ramble: told myself not to rush the series but i wrote this in one sitting... my summer's gonna be spent writing about this man, buckle up folks! >:]

The Third Division considers you and Hoshina as their power couple. 

Charming looks paired with commanding auras, levels of strength that no one would dare go against, all topped off with endearing one-of-a-kind personalities. Two puzzle pieces that fit as if they’re made for each other.

Everyone within the division quickly accepted and supported your relationship with the Vice Captain. And with that support comes your status as the “local love team"—an inside joke and a makeshift badge of honor (if one could even call it that).

In their defense, there isn't even any sort of competition to begin with. You two are the only couple within the division.

Every member, no matter how long they’ve been in the Defense Force, holds high respect towards both of you. They trust you with a lot of things—the wisdom you both give to your members is actually useful, and your attack combos on the field are nothing to scoff at. 

Yes, they would trust you two with their lives, and yes, the way they’d say it might blur the lines of comedy and seriousness. There’s simply one thing that’s holding everyone off…

No one trusts the both of you with coffee. 

Ironic, considering it’s one of Vice Captain Hoshina’s favorite things. 

Another inside joke is that whenever a member enters the lounge room and they’re greeted by the rich inviting scent of brewed coffee, they will be tuning in to some sort of a podcast episode hosted by their one and only dynamic duo. 

No one session is the same. Sometimes you two end up talking about some story you read or some personal experiences. Other days, it’s just opening as many controversial topics as you both can while expressing your opinions in a lighthearted debate. One time, to the division’s surprise, you two started doing a deep dive into a conspiracy theory, complete with a whole digital presentation and proven statistics. 

It’s even more surprising how convincingly well put the entire thing was to the point even Captain Ashiro listened in with interest. 

The members found it pleasant, enjoyable even. A chance to hold more conversations about different non-kaiju-related topics thanks to you and Hoshina’s exceptionally random conversation starters.

All they ask is that you guys don’t open up a topic that might get you random looks at best, or—hypothetically—get the both of you canceled on the internet at worst.   

Today was one of those days, the team figured, when you and your boyfriend step into the (initially busy) lounge with matching porcelain cups. Hibino, Leno, and Kikoru were the ones present in the room… this marks their first time listening in on the two of you rambling.

“I don’t know, Soshiro-san, don’t you think that may be a little too intense?” you made a beeline and assumed your spot on the couch right in front of Kikoru, drinking from your cup the moment you sat on the soft cushion.

Hoshina follows after you and settles right by your side, “No way!” If he weren’t holding anything, you can envision the way he’d cross his arms and huff. He mimics your movements from a while ago, taking a sip from his drink before placing the cup down with a small ‘clink!’. 

A childish pout graces his lips as he stares right at you. “If you think hard enough, I’m telling ya, dicing those kaiju is just like makin’ intricate fruit carvings!”

May the gods give the juniors strength because what the actual fuck were you two talking about?

The room is radio silent. You and Hoshina continue to glare at each other as if you’re both in a mental debate. Which seems likely enough.  

Kikoru nudges Leno’s arm to get him to break the ice and the poor guy sputters. Hibino breaks into a cold sweat when he catches the way you and Hoshina sharply look at the three of them. 

“V-Vice Captain..! (Name)-san… go–good afternoon!” Leno prays his salute doesn’t give away the fact he’s shaking.

By record, this may have to be the oddest conversation they’ve heard in passing.

You flash the three of them a small smile and Hoshina does a small wave of his hands. Not even a second later, the man beside you jumps at the opportunity to find allies for his claim.

“You guys think that slicin' kaiju is like slicing fruits, right?”

Bless your soul that you’re stubborn enough to match his energy. “If anything, it’s more like carving wood! You have to be intricate about it!” 

Hoshina looks back at you like you’ve transformed into the kaiju you were talking about, “Wood carving?! Darlin’ I love you more than the coffee I’m drinking right now, but you’ve reached a new level of insanity!”

“Comparing anything to kaiju neutralization is already some form of insanity…” Leno whispers under his breath. “Let alone wood carving and fruit dicing…” Kikoru murmurs back in agreement. 

“Aww, you love me more than coffee?”

The immediate shift from a lighthearted argument to some sappy lovey dovey confession while talking about carving patterns on kaiju may be just as impressive as your combat prowess, the trio decides. 

Hibino breathes a sigh of relief and mumbles, “Those two fit each other so well… wonder if it’s a match made in heaven or hell…”

“We’re soulmates!” Hoshina corrects him, instinctively reaching out to hold your hands as if it’ll prove his point further. He gently laces his fingers with yours before glowering at Hibino, “You also called us demons with the whole 'hell' comment. Thirty push-ups for the three of you, ya hear?”

Leno nudges his senior’s ribs like he wants to end him right then and there. Kikoru was probably devising ways to successfully kill him on the spot. Hibino’s fighting for his life, but he still manages to catch the way you and Hoshina look at each other with mirroring lovesick smiles. 

If he manages to scrape out alive, maybe this coffee talk wasn’t that bad.

likes and reblogs are appreciated, but please don’t copy or repost my work! [edited: 062424]

[mostlysignssomeportents]

AI “art” and uncanniness

TOMORROW (May 14), I'm on a livecast about AI AND ENSHITTIFICATION with TIM O'REILLY; on TOMORROW (May 15), I'm in NORTH HOLLYWOOD for a screening of STEPHANIE KELTON'S FINDING THE MONEY; FRIDAY (May 17), I'm at the INTERNET ARCHIVE in SAN FRANCISCO to keynote the 10th anniversary of the AUTHORS ALLIANCE.

When it comes to AI art (or "art"), it's hard to find a nuanced position that respects creative workers' labor rights, free expression, copyright law's vital exceptions and limitations, and aesthetics.

I am, on balance, opposed to AI art, but there are some important caveats to that position. For starters, I think it's unequivocally wrong – as a matter of law – to say that scraping works and training a model with them infringes copyright. This isn't a moral position (I'll get to that in a second), but rather a technical one.

Break down the steps of training a model and it quickly becomes apparent why it's technically wrong to call this a copyright infringement. First, the act of making transient copies of works – even billions of works – is unequivocally fair use. Unless you think search engines and the Internet Archive shouldn't exist, then you should support scraping at scale:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/17/how-to-think-about-scraping/

And unless you think that Facebook should be allowed to use the law to block projects like Ad Observer, which gathers samples of paid political disinformation, then you should support scraping at scale, even when the site being scraped objects (at least sometimes):

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/06/get-you-coming-and-going/#potemkin-research-program

After making transient copies of lots of works, the next step in AI training is to subject them to mathematical analysis. Again, this isn't a copyright violation.

Making quantitative observations about works is a longstanding, respected and important tool for criticism, analysis, archiving and new acts of creation. Measuring the steady contraction of the vocabulary in successive Agatha Christie novels turns out to offer a fascinating window into her dementia:

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2009/apr/03/agatha-christie-alzheimers-research

Programmatic analysis of scraped online speech is also critical to the burgeoning formal analyses of the language spoken by minorities, producing a vibrant account of the rigorous grammar of dialects that have long been dismissed as "slang":

https://www.researchgate.net/publication/373950278_Lexicogrammatical_Analysis_on_African-American_Vernacular_English_Spoken_by_African-Amecian_You-Tubers

Since 1988, UCL Survey of English Language has maintained its "International Corpus of English," and scholars have plumbed its depth to draw important conclusions about the wide variety of Englishes spoken around the world, especially in postcolonial English-speaking countries:

https://www.ucl.ac.uk/english-usage/projects/ice.htm

The final step in training a model is publishing the conclusions of the quantitative analysis of the temporarily copied documents as software code. Code itself is a form of expressive speech – and that expressivity is key to the fight for privacy, because the fact that code is speech limits how governments can censor software:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2015/04/remembering-case-established-code-speech/

Are models infringing? Well, they certainly can be. In some cases, it's clear that models "memorized" some of the data in their training set, making the fair use, transient copy into an infringing, permanent one. That's generally considered to be the result of a programming error, and it could certainly be prevented (say, by comparing the model to the training data and removing any memorizations that appear).

Not every seeming act of memorization is a memorization, though. While specific models vary widely, the amount of data from each training item retained by the model is very small. For example, Midjourney retains about one byte of information from each image in its training data. If we're talking about a typical low-resolution web image of say, 300kb, that would be one three-hundred-thousandth (0.0000033%) of the original image.

Typically in copyright discussions, when one work contains 0.0000033% of another work, we don't even raise the question of fair use. Rather, we dismiss the use as de minimis (short for de minimis non curat lex or "The law does not concern itself with trifles"):

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/De_minimis

Busting someone who takes 0.0000033% of your work for copyright infringement is like swearing out a trespassing complaint against someone because the edge of their shoe touched one blade of grass on your lawn.

But some works or elements of work appear many times online. For example, the Getty Images watermark appears on millions of similar images of people standing on red carpets and runways, so a model that takes even in infinitesimal sample of each one of those works might still end up being able to produce a whole, recognizable Getty Images watermark.

The same is true for wire-service articles or other widely syndicated texts: there might be dozens or even hundreds of copies of these works in training data, resulting in the memorization of long passages from them.

This might be infringing (we're getting into some gnarly, unprecedented territory here), but again, even if it is, it wouldn't be a big hardship for model makers to post-process their models by comparing them to the training set, deleting any inadvertent memorizations. Even if the resulting model had zero memorizations, this would do nothing to alleviate the (legitimate) concerns of creative workers about the creation and use of these models.

So here's the first nuance in the AI art debate: as a technical matter, training a model isn't a copyright infringement. Creative workers who hope that they can use copyright law to prevent AI from changing the creative labor market are likely to be very disappointed in court:

https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/business/business-news/sarah-silverman-lawsuit-ai-meta-1235669403/

But copyright law isn't a fixed, eternal entity. We write new copyright laws all the time. If current copyright law doesn't prevent the creation of models, what about a future copyright law?

Well, sure, that's a possibility. The first thing to consider is the possible collateral damage of such a law. The legal space for scraping enables a wide range of scholarly, archival, organizational and critical purposes. We'd have to be very careful not to inadvertently ban, say, the scraping of a politician's campaign website, lest we enable liars to run for office and renege on their promises, while they insist that they never made those promises in the first place. We wouldn't want to abolish search engines, or stop creators from scraping their own work off sites that are going away or changing their terms of service.

Now, onto quantitative analysis: counting words and measuring pixels are not activities that you should need permission to perform, with or without a computer, even if the person whose words or pixels you're counting doesn't want you to. You should be able to look as hard as you want at the pixels in Kate Middleton's family photos, or track the rise and fall of the Oxford comma, and you shouldn't need anyone's permission to do so.

Finally, there's publishing the model. There are plenty of published mathematical analyses of large corpuses that are useful and unobjectionable. I love me a good Google n-gram:

https://books.google.com/ngrams/graph?content=fantods%2C+heebie-jeebies&year_start=1800&year_end=2019&corpus=en-2019&smoothing=3

And large language models fill all kinds of important niches, like the Human Rights Data Analysis Group's LLM-based work helping the Innocence Project New Orleans' extract data from wrongful conviction case files:

https://hrdag.org/tech-notes/large-language-models-IPNO.html

So that's nuance number two: if we decide to make a new copyright law, we'll need to be very sure that we don't accidentally crush these beneficial activities that don't undermine artistic labor markets.

This brings me to the most important point: passing a new copyright law that requires permission to train an AI won't help creative workers get paid or protect our jobs.

Getty Images pays photographers the least it can get away with. Publishers contracts have transformed by inches into miles-long, ghastly rights grabs that take everything from writers, but still shifts legal risks onto them:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/19/reasonable-agreement/

Publishers like the New York Times bitterly oppose their writers' unions:

https://actionnetwork.org/letters/new-york-times-stop-union-busting

These large corporations already control the copyrights to gigantic amounts of training data, and they have means, motive and opportunity to license these works for training a model in order to pay us less, and they are engaged in this activity right now:

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/12/22/technology/apple-ai-news-publishers.html

Big games studios are already acting as though there was a copyright in training data, and requiring their voice actors to begin every recording session with words to the effect of, "I hereby grant permission to train an AI with my voice" and if you don't like it, you can hit the bricks:

https://www.vice.com/en/article/5d37za/voice-actors-sign-away-rights-to-artificial-intelligence

If you're a creative worker hoping to pay your bills, it doesn't matter whether your wages are eroded by a model produced without paying your employer for the right to do so, or whether your employer got to double dip by selling your work to an AI company to train a model, and then used that model to fire you or erode your wages:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/09/ai-monkeys-paw/#bullied-schoolkids

Individual creative workers rarely have any bargaining leverage over the corporations that license our copyrights. That's why copyright's 40-year expansion (in duration, scope, statutory damages) has resulted in larger, more profitable entertainment companies, and lower payments – in real terms and as a share of the income generated by their work – for creative workers.

As Rebecca Giblin and I write in our book Chokepoint Capitalism, giving creative workers more rights to bargain with against giant corporations that control access to our audiences is like giving your bullied schoolkid extra lunch money – it's just a roundabout way of transferring that money to the bullies:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/21/what-is-chokepoint-capitalism/

There's an historical precedent for this struggle – the fight over music sampling. 40 years ago, it wasn't clear whether sampling required a copyright license, and early hip-hop artists took samples without permission, the way a horn player might drop a couple bars of a well-known song into a solo.

Many artists were rightfully furious over this. The "heritage acts" (the music industry's euphemism for "Black people") who were most sampled had been given very bad deals and had seen very little of the fortunes generated by their creative labor. Many of them were desperately poor, despite having made millions for their labels. When other musicians started making money off that work, they got mad.

In the decades that followed, the system for sampling changed, partly through court cases and partly through the commercial terms set by the Big Three labels: Sony, Warner and Universal, who control 70% of all music recordings. Today, you generally can't sample without signing up to one of the Big Three (they are reluctant to deal with indies), and that means taking their standard deal, which is very bad, and also signs away your right to control your samples.

So a musician who wants to sample has to sign the bad terms offered by a Big Three label, and then hand $500 out of their advance to one of those Big Three labels for the sample license. That $500 typically doesn't go to another artist – it goes to the label, who share it around their executives and investors. This is a system that makes every artist poorer.

But it gets worse. Putting a price on samples changes the kind of music that can be economically viable. If you wanted to clear all the samples on an album like Public Enemy's "It Takes a Nation of Millions To Hold Us Back," or the Beastie Boys' "Paul's Boutique," you'd have to sell every CD for $150, just to break even:

https://memex.craphound.com/2011/07/08/creative-license-how-the-hell-did-sampling-get-so-screwed-up-and-what-the-hell-do-we-do-about-it/

Sampling licenses don't just make every artist financially worse off, they also prevent the creation of music of the sort that millions of people enjoy. But it gets even worse. Some older, sample-heavy music can't be cleared. Most of De La Soul's catalog wasn't available for 15 years, and even though some of their seminal music came back in March 2022, the band's frontman Trugoy the Dove didn't live to see it – he died in February 2022:

https://www.vulture.com/2023/02/de-la-soul-trugoy-the-dove-dead-at-54.html

This is the third nuance: even if we can craft a model-banning copyright system that doesn't catch a lot of dolphins in its tuna net, it could still make artists poorer off.

Back when sampling started, it wasn't clear whether it would ever be considered artistically important. Early sampling was crude and experimental. Musicians who trained for years to master an instrument were dismissive of the idea that clicking a mouse was "making music." Today, most of us don't question the idea that sampling can produce meaningful art – even musicians who believe in licensing samples.

Having lived through that era, I'm prepared to believe that maybe I'll look back on AI "art" and say, "damn, I can't believe I never thought that could be real art."

But I wouldn't give odds on it.

I don't like AI art. I find it anodyne, boring. As Henry Farrell writes, it's uncanny, and not in a good way:

https://www.programmablemutter.com/p/large-language-models-are-uncanny

Farrell likens the work produced by AIs to the movement of a Ouija board's planchette, something that "seems to have a life of its own, even though its motion is a collective side-effect of the motions of the people whose fingers lightly rest on top of it." This is "spooky-action-at-a-close-up," transforming "collective inputs … into apparently quite specific outputs that are not the intended creation of any conscious mind."

Look, art is irrational in the sense that it speaks to us at some non-rational, or sub-rational level. Caring about the tribulations of imaginary people or being fascinated by pictures of things that don't exist (or that aren't even recognizable) doesn't make any sense. There's a way in which all art is like an optical illusion for our cognition, an imaginary thing that captures us the way a real thing might.

But art is amazing. Making art and experiencing art makes us feel big, numinous, irreducible emotions. Making art keeps me sane. Experiencing art is a precondition for all the joy in my life. Having spent most of my life as a working artist, I've come to the conclusion that the reason for this is that art transmits an approximation of some big, numinous irreducible emotion from an artist's mind to our own. That's it: that's why art is amazing.

AI doesn't have a mind. It doesn't have an intention. The aesthetic choices made by AI aren't choices, they're averages. As Farrell writes, "LLM art sometimes seems to communicate a message, as art does, but it is unclear where that message comes from, or what it means. If it has any meaning at all, it is a meaning that does not stem from organizing intention" (emphasis mine).

Farrell cites Mark Fisher's The Weird and the Eerie, which defines "weird" in easy to understand terms ("that which does not belong") but really grapples with "eerie."

For Fisher, eeriness is "when there is something present where there should be nothing, or is there is nothing present when there should be something." AI art produces the seeming of intention without intending anything. It appears to be an agent, but it has no agency. It's eerie.

Fisher talks about capitalism as eerie. Capital is "conjured out of nothing" but "exerts more influence than any allegedly substantial entity." The "invisible hand" shapes our lives more than any person. The invisible hand is fucking eerie. Capitalism is a system in which insubstantial non-things – corporations – appear to act with intention, often at odds with the intentions of the human beings carrying out those actions.

So will AI art ever be art? I don't know. There's a long tradition of using random or irrational or impersonal inputs as the starting point for human acts of artistic creativity. Think of divination:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/31/divination/

Or Brian Eno's Oblique Strategies:

http://stoney.sb.org/eno/oblique.html

I love making my little collages for this blog, though I wouldn't call them important art. Nevertheless, piecing together bits of other peoples' work can make fantastic, important work of historical note:

https://www.johnheartfield.com/John-Heartfield-Exhibition/john-heartfield-art/famous-anti-fascist-art/heartfield-posters-aiz

Even though painstakingly cutting out tiny elements from others' images can be a meditative and educational experience, I don't think that using tiny scissors or the lasso tool is what defines the "art" in collage. If you can automate some of this process, it could still be art.

Here's what I do know. Creating an individual bargainable copyright over training will not improve the material conditions of artists' lives – all it will do is change the relative shares of the value we create, shifting some of that value from tech companies that hate us and want us to starve to entertainment companies that hate us and want us to starve.

As an artist, I'm foursquare against anything that stands in the way of making art. As an artistic worker, I'm entirely committed to things that help workers get a fair share of the money their work creates, feed their families and pay their rent.

I think today's AI art is bad, and I think tomorrow's AI art will probably be bad, but even if you disagree (with either proposition), I hope you'll agree that we should be focused on making sure art is legal to make and that artists get paid for it.

Just because copyright won't fix the creative labor market, it doesn't follow that nothing will. If we're worried about labor issues, we can look to labor law to improve our conditions. That's what the Hollywood writers did, in their groundbreaking 2023 strike:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/01/how-the-writers-guild-sunk-ais-ship/

Now, the writers had an advantage: they are able to engage in "sectoral bargaining," where a union bargains with all the major employers at once. That's illegal in nearly every other kind of labor market. But if we're willing to entertain the possibility of getting a new copyright law passed (that won't make artists better off), why not the possibility of passing a new labor law (that will)? Sure, our bosses won't lobby alongside of us for more labor protection, the way they would for more copyright (think for a moment about what that says about who benefits from copyright versus labor law expansion).

But all workers benefit from expanded labor protection. Rather than going to Congress alongside our bosses from the studios and labels and publishers to demand more copyright, we could go to Congress alongside every kind of worker, from fast-food cashiers to publishing assistants to truck drivers to demand the right to sectoral bargaining. That's a hell of a coalition.

And if we do want to tinker with copyright to change the way training works, let's look at collective licensing, which can't be bargained away, rather than individual rights that can be confiscated at the entrance to our publisher, label or studio's offices. These collective licenses have been a huge success in protecting creative workers:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/26/united-we-stand/

Then there's copyright's wildest wild card: The US Copyright Office has repeatedly stated that works made by AIs aren't eligible for copyright, which is the exclusive purview of works of human authorship. This has been affirmed by courts:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/20/everything-made-by-an-ai-is-in-the-public-domain/

Neither AI companies nor entertainment companies will pay creative workers if they don't have to. But for any company contemplating selling an AI-generated work, the fact that it is born in the public domain presents a substantial hurdle, because anyone else is free to take that work and sell it or give it away.

Whether or not AI "art" will ever be good art isn't what our bosses are thinking about when they pay for AI licenses: rather, they are calculating that they have so much market power that they can sell whatever slop the AI makes, and pay less for the AI license than they would make for a human artist's work. As is the case in every industry, AI can't do an artist's job, but an AI salesman can convince an artist's boss to fire the creative worker and replace them with AI:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/29/pay-no-attention/#to-the-little-man-behind-the-curtain

They don't care if it's slop – they just care about their bottom line. A studio executive who cancels a widely anticipated film prior to its release to get a tax-credit isn't thinking about artistic integrity. They care about one thing: money. The fact that AI works can be freely copied, sold or given away may not mean much to a creative worker who actually makes their own art, but I assure you, it's the only thing that matters to our bosses.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/13/spooky-action-at-a-close-up/#invisible-hand

[bonefall]

Warrior Bites: Clan Tools

[Image ID: Reedwhisker, a black RiverClan warrior cat, sits behind two terracotta pots, some strips of willowbark, a traditional wooden pot called a firkin, and a rock. He has a stick in his mouth.]

Warriors of the Clans are shown in-canon to be able to weave, dig tunnels, decorate with shells, and do whatever it is that BloodClan’s got going on with those collars and manicures. Have you considered what other tools a semi-realistic warrior could handle?

A guide to the various tools and methods that the Clans can use to prepare complex dishes, including the equipment needed for smoking, baking, pickling, and so on. Part of the Warrior Bites series for Bonefall’s Clan Culture.

(The art in this guide was once again provided by my partner who hasn’t read a single page of warrior cats in their life but so help me god I’ll drag them down with me)

Tools + Equipment

Fire Starting

Containers: Twine + Baskets + Buckets

Cookware: Smokers, Ovens, “Grillstones“

1. Fire Starting

Flint can be used to start a fire, especially for Clans that lack lumber. Because flint is most easily found around the Mothermouth, it’s associated with StarClan’s glow and considered somewhat divine.

But for those situations without a flint starter, the Clans generally teach their apprentices the paw-drill method using a spindle. But these days, SkyClan uses stolen Glass to start fires quicker and easier than any other Clan…

Except on cloudy days, where some unfortunate apprentice still gets saddled with spindle duty.

[Image ID: Reedclaw, a brown tabby Warrior Cat from SkyClan, sits on his haunches and spins a long stick called a ‘spindle’ with his front paws. Smoke is rising from the board the spindle is spinning against.]

2. Containers: Twine + Baskets + Buckets

RiverClan has the easiest access to twine; Willowbark can be peeled right off the tree and used without any processing for simple string to tie things with. WindClan uses woven grass as twine. ShadowClan, SkyClan, and ThunderClan are able to make cordage from Blackberry brambles.

Once the cat has twine, it can be woven into a simple basket to gather things, like berries, clams, or insects. In order to carry liquids, forested Clans can create firkins-- a small wooden bucket that requires some carpentry ability, namely creating wooden nails.

But these tremble before the value of pottery, which is needed to store liquids, ferment and pickle food, and create stew.

Pottery is made from clay, which has to be baked in order to go from wet mud to terracotta. RiverClan is responsible for making the majority of new pottery because of the river, and ShadowClan’s marsh gives them lots of access to low-quality clay.

WindClan was once unmatched in the quality of their pottery thanks to tunneling leading them to the finest clay deposits known to the Clans. Though SkyClan is now rivaling the finest ancient WindClan pottery, due to their willingness to steal buckets from twolegs.

(Leafstar says, “if you cant make a firkin, store-bought is fine”)

[Image ID: Leafstar, the brown tabby-and-cream Warrior cat leader of SkyClan, sits behind a counter in front of an audience presenting a man-made firkin, parodying shopping channels. A speech bubble says, “Meow meow meow meow meow, storebought is meow.”]

3. Cookware: Smokers, Ovens, “Grillstones“

A smoker is very easy to construct, all that’s needed is some straight branches, twine, and fire.

First, a round pit is dug into the ground and filled with soaked woodchips. It is important they’re damp, because wet wood gives off more smoke than dry. Then, three beams are set and tied at the top, like a triangle. From there, a shelf is made inside of the beams. Multiple shelves can be made if a lot of food is being smoked at once.

ThunderClan wraps the smoker in a leather pelt, to keep the smoke in. Their prowess with smoking and seasoning a wide range of meats gives them the title of BBQ champions.

[Image ID: A primitive smoker setup, made of three sticks leaned against each other in a triangular shape and tied at the top. Two shelves are tied into the structure, the top row with minnows and the bottom with hanging strips of meat.]

An oven is a large construction. Capable of cooking several meals at once, each clan would have just one to use communally. Because the communal oven is such a big project, each Clan would have one that looks unique to their environment.

ThunderClan’s, for example, is flat and made of stone, simple in design but very sturdy and capable of cooking a lot of meat at once.

[Image ID: A stone oven made of flat, piled rocks. A fire is lit at the bottom and meat is browning on the top shelf. A stick leans against the side.]

For the quickest and easiest way to make a hot meal, meat is roasted on a spit or loose stick over an open fire. The best sear comes from a large, flat slab of rock propped up over a flame, known to the clans as a grillstone.

[Image ID: Firestar, ginger tabby warrior cat leader of ThunderClan, watches bacon sizzle on a large, flat rock placed over a fire. His daughter, Squirrelkit, sits beside him. A thought bubble above her head contains a waffle, and a question mark.]

(Clan blood be damned that kittypet can work a grill)

[kenzirr]

part 2 to the spencer imagine

@levi-of-starz

The BAU office was bustling as usual, agents hurrying about with case files and paperwork. Spencer Reid sat at his desk, engrossed in a book, when he suddenly looked up, a thought clearly lighting up his face.

"Did you know that the world's smallest bird, the bee hummingbird, weighs less than a penny?" Spencer announced to the room. "It's native to Cuba and measures just 2.25 inches from beak to tail."

Morgan, who was passing by, stopped and raised an eyebrow. "That's pretty cool, Reid. What got you thinking about hummingbirds?"

Spencer smiled. "It’s one of the facts Y/N shared with me the other night. We've been trading trivia back and forth, and it got me thinking. I want you all to meet her."

Garcia's eyes lit up as she walked over. "Oh, that sounds fantastic! When do we get to meet her?"

Spencer thought for a moment. "How about we arrange a dinner? I could invite Y/N, and we can all get together. I think she’d love to meet all of you."

JJ nodded enthusiastically. "I think that's a great idea. A nice team dinner would be perfect."

Hotch looked up from his desk, considering. "Sounds like a plan. I'll bring Jack along since I can't leave him alone."

Spencer smiled, feeling a wave of excitement and nervousness. "Great. I'll talk to Y/N and set everything up."

---

A few days later, the team gathered at Rossi's mansion, which he had graciously offered for the dinner. The dining room was elegantly set with a long mahogany table covered in a pristine white tablecloth. Crystal wine glasses sparkled under the chandelier's soft light, and the aroma of Italian cuisine filled the air as Rossi finished preparing the meal.

The centerpiece was an arrangement of fresh flowers, and each place setting had a small, handwritten name card. Spencer had even placed a few fun facts under each plate as conversation starters.

Y/N arrived a little after Spencer, looking both excited and a bit nervous. Spencer introduced her to everyone, and the team welcomed her warmly.

"Y/N, this is Derek Morgan," Spencer started, gesturing to Morgan.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N," Morgan said with a grin. "Spencer’s told us a lot about you."

"And this is Penelope Garcia," Spencer continued.

Garcia gave Y/N a big hug. "So nice to finally meet you, lovely! You look even more wonderful than Spencer described."

Spencer then introduced JJ, Rossi, and finally Hotch and his son Jack. Jack, clutching a small toy car, smiled shyly at Y/N.

"Hi, Jack," Y/N said, crouching down to his level. "What’s your toy’s name?"

Jack beamed. "This is Lightning McQueen. He’s really fast."

"Nice to meet you, Lightning," Y/N said, shaking the toy car's "hand."

They all sat down at the table, and Rossi brought out the first course: bruschetta topped with fresh tomatoes, basil, and a drizzle of balsamic glaze.

"Y/N, I hope you like Italian food," Rossi said, smiling. "I made some of my favorite dishes tonight."

Y/N took a bite of the bruschetta and her eyes lit up. "This is amazing, Rossi. Thank you so much for having me."

As they ate, the conversation flowed easily. Spencer couldn't resist sharing another fact. "Did you know that tomatoes were once thought to be poisonous? In the 18th century, people called them 'poison apples' because they believed the aristocracy got sick and died after eating them, but it was actually the lead in their pewter plates reacting with the tomato acid."

JJ laughed. "That's fascinating, Spencer. I never knew that."

Y/N joined in, sharing one of her own facts. "Did you know that butterflies taste with their feet? They have taste sensors on their legs and feet to help them find food."

Garcia's eyes widened. "That's amazing! I love butterflies, and I had no idea."

The main course was served: homemade lasagna, rich with layers of cheese, meat, and sauce. As they dug in, Hotch shared a story about a recent camping trip with Jack, and Jack excitedly talked about the wildlife they saw.

"Y/N," Garcia said, "how did you and Spencer meet?"

Y/N smiled, glancing at Spencer. "We met at a bookstore, actually. We were both reaching for the same book – a biography of Alan Turing."

Morgan chuckled. "Of course you were. That sounds like a perfect Reid story."

As they moved on to dessert – a decadent tiramisu – Rossi raised his glass. "To a wonderful evening."

Everyone clinked their glasses, and Spencer felt a warmth spread through him. The night had gone perfectly, and he couldn't have been happier.

After dinner, as Spencer walked Y/N to her car, she turned to him with a smile. "Your team is wonderful, Spencer. I had a great time tonight."

"Me too," Spencer replied, his heart racing. "Thank you for coming. It meant a lot to me."

Y/N leaned in, and Spencer met her halfway, their lips touching in a kiss that was soft and sweet. As the kiss deepened, Spencer felt a surge of warmth and happiness, losing himself in the moment.

Unbeknownst to them, the team had gathered near the window, watching the scene unfold. Garcia was the first to giggle, followed by a series of playful whispers and chuckles from the rest of the group.

Morgan couldn't resist. He opened the door slightly and called out, "Get a room, you two!"

Spencer and Y/N broke apart, both blushing furiously as they turned to see the team grinning at them from the doorway.

Garcia added, "We just wanted to make sure you didn't forget to say goodnight!"

Spencer, still flustered, managed a sheepish smile. "Thanks, guys."

Y/N squeezed his hand, looking equally embarrassed but happy. "Goodnight, everyone. Thanks for a wonderful evening."

As she drove away, Spencer turned back to his team, who were still chuckling and exchanging knowing looks.

Hotch clapped Spencer on the shoulder. "I think she’s a keeper, Reid."

Spencer nodded, his heart full. "Yeah, I think so too."

[pedripics]

"He is still the same as when he was 5 years old. That's the best thing about him."

(via Revelo - July 2023)

"Now I'm not going to be able to mess with him or make jokes. I'm not going to be able to hit him, because if he's going to hit me back...", laughs Rubén Delgado when we talk about the strengthened physique of Pedri, whom he coached between the ages of 9 and 12 at U.D. Tegueste, when he was a " just small boy, but what he had from a young age was great footballing ability". Pedri has always said that Rubén is the coach who taught him how to compete.

"He arrived at Barça with 60 kilos, very little, and when he completed his first season with Barça he had already gained three or four kilos. With Koeman, he started to do the same work as he does now in that first year, with three days a week of more strength training. Then two, then one, because he arrived as a youngster and there was even the possibility of going out on loan; he even had offers from Bayern to go out on loan. What happened was that when Koeman saw him train, everything changed. From 'we're going to give him a work plan of three days a week' he became a starter, playing every three days, he played everything and, obviously, you then can't have three days of strength work, it's impossible," explains a person close to the midfielder, whom we will call E.P.

"This year is the first time that he has had a real five-week holiday. De la Fuente wanted to take him to the Nations League, but in the end, Barça and the Federation came to their senses and understood that the best thing was to let him rest, have a normal summer for the first time since he is at the highest level and take advantage of it to train, because in the end that way you can see his evolution. He's had five weeks in which he's been able to rest but, above all, to train, because in competition the muscle is eaten away, especially in the lower body. Maybe Tchouameni, who has a great physique, can do more. What Pedri has is a lot of endurance. When he was a kid, he also did athletics at school as an extracurricular activity, and he was very good. That resistance lacked to generate muscle. Chema Martínez has one type of muscle, Usain Bolt another. He had a more fibrous muscle and now he had to gain a bit more volume for 1v1s, and also at the lower body level. The image that has made an impact is that of the arms, but the work above and below has been compensated and worked on following a guideline set by Barça", says E.P., who puts Pedri's current weight at 67 kilos.

The Tenerife native has gained two kilos with that physical work done this summer and is not recommended to gain "more than one". "To take him to the 70 would be too much. That would be the limit. What all parties consider is that he is a player who has to gain muscle mass but he shouldn't change his physiognomy completely. He is a lightweight footballer. His mental rapidity leads him to have quickness of movement, to have some dribbling. If he is heavy with the size he is, 1.74m., he would become in quotes, a 'barrel'," explains E.P., who is clear about what is not the goal in the work that the Barça midfielder is doing: "The objective is not to turn him into a muscular beast because he is not like that. He has a similar physique to Messi. Messi is obviously the best, I hope he comes as close as possible, but he will never be able to be Cristiano. Neither Messi nor Pedri could be Cristiano. Neither does he have the physique of Gavi, who has a more powerful lower body, but Gavi's style of football demands more of that than Pedri's game. It would be a mistake", reflects E.P., who specifies that the Tenerife native has done "a lot of cycling, eccentric pull-ups - those where you go up and then you have to hold on when you come down - and work on the pitch, above all".

'Four Friends'

Those who have closely experienced the physical work and nutritional diet that Pedri has followed during these five weeks have been Dani Carreras, Fran Llarena and Rubén Suárez, the three best childhood friends of the footballer, ex-players of Tegueste, where they were under Rubén's orders.

The 'Four friends', like David Trueba's novel, have shared a summer in a villa in Adeje (Tenerife), although their coexistence has been stricter and based on rest, physical work and a rigorous diet that they have all followed. "In the villa, we had a cook who prepared the food for Pedri's diet. Lots of vegetables, lots of vegetables with spices and fish, sometimes meat. But above all, lots and lots of vegetables. I wanted to eat more, but well, we've adapted to him", says Dani, a striker in the team that Pedri played for from "4 to 16-17 years old".

"It has been a hypercaloric diet, with a high intake of calories to be able to compensate for the expenditure of energy and to be able to evolve the muscle. It depends on the day, the work to be done, the moment, but it has been over 3,000 calories," says E. P. with a figure that is far from the perception of Pedri's friends.

"We ate a lot but, of course, few calories in reality: a lot of vegetables, obviously more than five pieces of fruit a day, when it was time for pasta we ate a lot of pasta, but always in measured quantities. We could skip it a bit because the diet wasn't really for us but for him. Everyone followed his diet...", laughs Fran, Pedri's friend "practically since they were born". "My mother put me into a small football team when I was 3 and he was put into the same football team from 3 to 5 years old. We also lived super close here in Tegueste, about 200 meters away, and we've always been friends since we were kids," says Fran, mediocre "like Pedri, but a bit further back. "

They played together until they joined the youth team, when Fran was signed by Tenerife. This summer, as well as being a friend, he has acted as a personal trainer to the Culé footballer. "He has worked every day: in the gym, he worked five days, rested on Saturdays and Sundays, and outside of it is true that he worked more because we went to the football pitch almost every day for speed training and cardio. We went here in the south of Tenerife, to Tenerife Top Training - where I am also told that Courtois occasionally goes - to a field called T3, and there we worked with cones. I helped him with explosiveness, if I had to pass him balls, put the cones on him... I helped him and trained with him. There was a day when he killed me to run with him and I said: 'No more'", recalls Pedri's friend, with whom he has also shared afternoons of paddle tennis and paddleball.

They have hardly left the village for anything other than training or eating out one day a week. In Adeje, they have enjoyed the swimming pool, "we have played a lot of Monopoly and Catan, and cards, baraja española (spanish card deck); al Presidente", says Dani.

It's been days based on the physical and nutritional discipline that Pedri has been fulfilling to the letter, with a self-demanding attitude that has grown as a result of the injury he suffered last February against Manchester United in the Europa League. In a solo action, he injured the rectus anterior of his right leg. It was the 41st minute. He himself asked to be substituted. That day was a before and after for the player, explains Fran: "He is very demanding because he has already had several injuries and since then he has changed his training and eating patterns to try not to relapse. His nutritionist was on top of it, because there have been many injuries to the same muscle in the 2-3 years he has been in professional football, this would be his fourth, which is noticeable at the end of the day; the 70 games he played in his first year at Barça are going to take their toll on him now, at any time. He's always taken care of his training, but this time it's more exaggerated".

A task in which he is helped by his disciplined personality. "He has never, never, never been a soft drink drinker, he always drinks water or isotonic drinks, sports drinks", Dani explains. Rubén recalls that "he has never been one for sweets either". "He likes chocolate, but chocolate products are another thing that has completely disappeared: sweets. In fact, he goes to events and takes his heavy, calibrated snack, his fruit, grapes with I don't know what nuts... And, look, one thing he loves, a healthy vice, is pistachios. He loves them, but he can eat very little because it's a good source of energy, but the ones he eats he eats without salt and so, zero problems. There is another food that he has been eating since he was little, obviously, which is bananas. He can put bananas in everything, it's incredible. Before Plátano de Canarias was his sponsor, when he started as a professional, he put a banana in his boot. Now he eats, but the range of fruits has expanded a lot. And another thing about Pedri is that he never drinks coffee. We've joked with him once or twice: 'Oh shit, if you drank coffee, you'd get nervous from time to time and you wouldn't be the same anymore'," says E.P. anecdotally, who also reflects a striking feature of Pedri's personality that is helping him to follow a disciplined life: punctuality.

"He's hyper-punctual. You say 'This is a Canarian, a relaxed guy...', and yes he has that relaxation, that pause, that semi-Caribbean Canarian tranquillity, but in terms of punctuality, he's a fucking German. He has many points of discipline but before they weren't united in anything. Now everything has some guidelines, it's blending and uniting well," reasons E.P., who says that Barça, "at least since the arrival of Xavi", forces them to have lunch or dinner at the Ciudad Deportiva.

Rosi’s Croquetas

But there is a common denominator between the four voices that paint Pedri's sporting and nutritional life: the croquettes of his mother, Rosi, which the Tenerife player himself mentioned on Saturday during Barça's American tour when asked about his physical change. "Above all, not eating my mother's croquettes," said the player.

"His mother is a spectacle, she's a machine. Her croquettes are a different story," Dani laughs. "The only treats are his mother's food or going out to eat. I had one meal a week off, so maybe we'd go out to eat somewhere, healthy food too, but eating differently from what your diet is. And it is true that he ate pistachios, he usually eats a lot of them, because he likes them, but healthy ones, of course, without salt. And little else", explains Fran.

"He has always had a fairly balanced diet and well, above all, the famous mother's croquettes, he was very well fed," says Rubén, who assures us that "you need to take time to try them because they are delicious." "They offer a variety: chicken, cod... They have it all. I can vouch for it, I recommend it," he says with a laugh.

Rosi is Pedri's mother and cook at the Tasca Fernando, which she runs with her husband and the footballer's father "at the entrance to Tegueste on the Nacional", explains E.P. "It's the typical small-town place, traditional, where you eat very good homemade cuisine, with very good produce. And of course, Pedri ate there every day until he went to Las Palmas, where he stayed in the residence, in La Casa Amarilla. They could make him slightly different dishes, but in the end, he ate what was available. It’s a normal, ordinary, hard-working family. When they go to see him in Barcelona, they also cook for him, but now the whole family is very conscientious and they are helping him a lot", he says.

His brother Fernando has played a key role in his healthy eating since his arrival at FC Barcelona. "He lives with his brother in Barcelona, near Ciutat Esportiva. As the first year they were at Barça was the year of the pandemic, they went to live together. Fernando studied cooking. He is two years older but as Pedri was always ahead of his time, they played football together for many years. They are like friends and brothers at the same time, and he cooks for him".

"Skinny and tiny"

Talking to Dani, Fran and Ruben has been visualizing the Pedri who started playing football in Tegueste in his earliest childhood, when their lives came together and it was clear to all three of them that that "weak and small" child would go far. "He had something," says Rubén, who always told his partner and his parents, to those around him. "It was to be expected," Fran says. His coach recalls how the three, Pedri, Dani and Fran, "were very good, were the best, and super nice people."

"He has always had a mentality that is not cold, because he is not cold, but a very relaxed mentality, so to speak. If the game is at 100, he would stay at 25, to give you an idea. And that control, and especially at the ages that I coached him, it was very difficult to see a child who controlled the guidelines of a match as much as him; who knew that if the match was very, very tense, he would take it to his own ground and take it to where he wanted it to be. And it's very difficult to find that at that age. Obviously, today you see him and it's even more difficult because you see him inside a stadium with so many people, and with that calmness that he shows and that relaxation and that control of his state, it's very difficult to find that in a player and, above all, as young as he is, who is only 20 years old", recalls Rubén, the coach who moved Pedri's position from the front to the centre of the pitch.

"From a very young age, he stood out from the rest. He did things that a normal 9-year-old didn't do. I always highlight one thing about him and that is that on a footballing level, he obviously had spectacular technique, quality and physique. Because despite being so small he was the first to attack, the first to defend, a spectacular sacrifice towards his teammates... But if there's one thing I've always highlighted about him, it's the footballing maturity he had at the age of 9. He knew how to position himself, he knew where he had to be at all times, which even nowadays professional players work on and not all of them are practically ready. And he, at 9 years old, already knew how to read a game, he already had a very adult sporting maturity for the age he was", says the coach proudly.

"I remember that when in one of the many games in which he was playing and he was killing it and doing things that were not normal, of course, the game ended and at that time I asked him: 'Hey, why did you decide to do this?', and any other child would have said to me: 'Well, look, I did this because I saw it like this…'. And he came in with the little soft voice he had and said, 'I don't know, Ruben, it just came out of me. ' And my colleague and I looked at each other like: 'It just came out of you?, but I didn’t even do that at 25 years old…", recalls the coach.

A similar situation to the one we experienced in the 2021/22 season, when on April 3 Pedri gave Barça a 1-0 victory over Sevilla and placed Barça second in the table. "He cuts once, twice, three times and then hits it with his left. He said he didn't know what he had done, that it just came out of him like that," remembers Rubén, who confesses that when he had the opportunity to talk to Pedri he told him: "Man, that was the same thing you said to me when you were 9 years old."

"The problem for me is that as I've known him all my life, I'm not surprised by what he does. Yes, on the one hand, he surprises me sometimes, when I realise and say: 'Woah, my friend is doing this' and I see him in a different way, but only for a moment because then I remember that it's him and that it was to be expected. From the minute he stepped on a professional pitch he remained the same. He doesn't care who he plays against. Even when we were little, we played on a court, in a pavilion, and he would tell me: 'You play with me', and the brother, and we would play against 20-year-olds, and we were 14. And they'd say, 'Well, come on, but just for a bit.' There were three teams and the one that won was still there. So we got with the team, we were 14 years old and some were 16 and 17, and we beat kids who were 20, 21, 25, and of course, they were shocked. They said: 'But what about these kids?', and especially with Pedri, because he was the youngest and the best. If you see him doing that on the pitch from a young age, with 20-year-olds, knowing that he doesn't care if he gets kicked, or if he gets his body thrown around, or if they take him out, because that has adapted him to professional football, it doesn't surprise you" recalls Fran about a physical and sporting stature that has always accompanied Pedri. Just like the Barcelonismo, which he also lived from his cradle. His grandfather Fernando founded the Peña Barcelonista de Tenerife-Tegueste.

"He is still the same as when he was 5 years old. He's the same person. That's the best thing about him. He also has a very good family that helps him keep his feet on the ground. When you're with him, you say: 'And this guy is playing for Barcelona'. Also, one thing he has is that when he gets picked on... Maybe you say to him: 'How few goals you score'. Me, for example, I'm a big fan of screwing with him. Yes, yes, I don't know what, but you don't score goals', I say things like that. And when he's picked on, he always gets it. And this year is going to be quite important for him and for Barça. He's going to start to be one of the leaders, I think. He already is, but his character is not that of a leader, but the way he plays. He's a very fundamental player, but he doesn't feel like a leader. No way, no way, that's not the case", admits Dani, who reveals Pedri's joking character. "He seems shy, but he jokes a lot, he's always joking around, with everyone in general. I'm always calling him silly and stuff like that," he laughs.

Calm, familiar, punctual… and with a low heart rate

"The important thing is that you have clear ideas, because at the end of the day, that life is not easy. It's very easy for many things but it's not always easy to carry all of it, not being able to go out, that kind of thing. That he knows his priorities and that he doesn't get too carried away, that's the key for me, beyond a kilo more muscle or not, because you have to be very good in everything and that luck is with you, but if you're not focused, success will not last long. He is familiar, calm, with a low heart rate. May he continue like that", asks E.P. for the future of Pedri, who is going to live an important year this season after the departure of Busquets, the arrival of Gundogan and his demanding summer to get back in top physical shape.

"When he has been asked the typical question: 'What do you need to improve on,' he has never said anything other than these concepts: more goals and physical improvement. In five months, he scored seven goals. If he hadn't been injured, he would have doubled that. This year he should have at least 10-12 goals. Xavi asks him to do that and he will always work to the maximum", explains E.P.. When the competition begins we will see how he establishes his physical form on the pitch. His appearance is already improved, muscular, in a "work of prevention and evolution" that his friends hope to see in sporting terms, in the present and in the future.

"Remember that he is still only 20 years old, normally a footballer explodes at 25, 26, 27, 28 years old. And that's the beautiful thing, that he still has fifteen years of football left and hopefully he continues to rise," says Fran.

"You know what happens? He has the gift of knowing how to win people over. He has a great gift for companionship. So, he is lucky that if he says 'everyone around here', I think they will follow him. Why? Because he has that gift, he has the personality he has, a personality that engages, that transmits good vibes, as they say around here. He is still a bit young to perhaps be a leader, but it is true that I think that at "Barcelona they have noticed that his presence on the field helps the team play in one way or play in another. And I think that is being a leader," Rubén reasons.

Winning leagues, taking Barça back to great heights in Europe, winning a European Championship or a World Cup are some of the challenges that the four protagonists outline around Pedri, but one stands out above all: after having lifted the Golden Boy 2021, it would be to win the Ballon d’Or. "It would be a dream for all of us," says Rubén with a huff. "It’s just that this kid surprises you every day, you don't know where his ceiling is, he's only 20 years old," stresses Fran.

E.P. has this to say on the matter: "It's not something that torments him or keeps him up at night, he prioritises the collective trophies, but obviously it's a consequence of everything, it's an evolution. Neither Iniesta nor Xavi managed to win it, none of his idols have been able to do it. Rodri has done very, very well and his team has performed very well. There is already talk that Rodri could or should have a Ballon d'Or. If Pedri continues to be one of Barça's flagship players, as he practically already is, and Barça regains its usual status of the last 20-25 years and the national team is up there, then why not, but that's a long way to go. To win a trophy of this type, you have to have powerful collective trophies, because Haaland or Cristiano could win it if they score 50 goals, but it's different with him. Let's see, for the moment, how he settles in this new season in which he wants to have continuity again".

And it’s up for the future to see how his new physique responds, but if there is one thing that does not generate doubt among his friends it is his name: "With this new bodybuilding, is it going to be necessary to call him Pedro instead of Pedri at some point?" I asked. Dani laughs before remembering that Pedri was given the name when he was 8-9 years old, "because there were two Pedros in the team and the other one was much bigger than him, so they kept calling him Pedro and him, who was much smaller, Pedri". "For us and for everyone he will always be Pedri," adds Rubén. "He is Pedro González López. Maybe when he is 55 and playing dominoes in his village they will start calling him Pedro, but in the meantime, I doubt he will stop being Pedri", reflects E.P. "Pedri is and will always be Pedri", says his friend Fran.

[candlewaxandp0lar0ids]

this is halloween || han x reader

Summary: You weren't happy about getting detention, but getting to be around Jisung almost feels like it could make it worth it at first. At least, until you realize that there's a killer on the loose in the school, and that he plans on getting rid of all of you.

Word count: 6.3k

Genres: high school au, slasher au, thriller/mild horror

Warnings & Tags: angst, class clown!han jisung, final girl!reader (gender isn't specified but that's the vibe), graphic descriptions of violence happening inside of a high school

A/N: Last (late) installment in that Halloween mini-series. To reiterate, this contains description of violence and murders occurring within a high school, which can be triggering to some, so do exercise caution.

I.N. · Seungmin · Felix

It was never supposed to go that way.

For starters, you should never have gotten detention and, mind you, you'd still insist that it was totally unfair that you'd gotten it in the first place. Any reasonable teacher would have looked at the facts, which were your test results, as stellar as ever, and Nari’s test results, stellar as they never were, and assumed that she’d cheated and used you to do so.

Your physics teacher could not be described as ‘reasonable’. He’d called the two of you to his desk, using the one mistake you’d made that she had, of course, written word for word on her test as proof, and he’d given you both detention. You would have tried to defend yourself, had your eyes not immediately filled with tears. When Nari had started rising her voice, accusing you in the same breath, you’d known your efforts would be wasted anyway. You’d hung your heard low, and you’d gone back to your seat.

The first detention you’d ever gotten in your life, and it had to happen on the very last year of your time in this dreadful place. God, you couldn’t wait to get out. Yes, college entrance exams were looming terrifyingly above your head, but there was still freedom at the end of the line, freedom at least from your peers. You’d take that as a win.

At the end of the day, having only gotten a fifteen minutes break to spew your venom at your understanding best friend, you dragged your feet to detention. A confused Ms. Kim had greeted when you’d gotten there, all the more so because you were a few minutes early. As you’d handed her the detention slip, however, she’d had no choice but to let you in, though she had patted your shoulder as she did.

You were not the type of student to get detention. You were the one who got straight As, who never raised their voice, who had painstakingly managed to make one friend who you had clung to since your first year here. If you could avoid drawing attention to yourself, you’d take it. You only raised your hand in class if the teacher had been waiting for someone to speak for the appropriate amount of time, tried to make yourself be forgotten the rest of the time. It did not work quite as well as you would like, but you had stayed out of trouble so far.

The same cannot be said of the students who enter the room after you. Nari runs in right as the bell rings, looking sheepish. She mouths a ‘sorry’ in your direction, like she didn’t try to throw you under the bus after the teacher caught her. She’s quickly followed by Hanseok, the school star athlete, who looks like he’s trying to shrink himself, which is no small feat considering how wide his shoulders are. He keeps his eyes on the floor, and you wonder what could have landed him here. He’s not known for getting into trouble.

Next is Taewoon who walks in nonchalantly, like he does that every day, which, to be fair, he probably does. Known troublemaker, you have no idea why he’s here tonight, but he’s regularly caught doing wild, stupid shit nearby. Ms. Kim shakes her head at him and he just shrugs. Last but not least comes Han Jisung, fashionably late, class clown and another regular. As he walks in, he leans on the desk, grinning at Ms Kim.

“Is that a new hair cut? It looks great!”

She rolls her eyes, but she can’t hide a smile in return.

“See, you’re here so often you notice that kind of things.”

“Of course I’d notice!” he protests, sounding offended as he’s weirdly good at doing — to be fair, it does still get him out of trouble most of the time.

She gestures for him to go to his place, but she doesn’t seem too mad, and he has a satisfied smirk on his face as he does. It’s as he’s doing so that he spots you, and his eyes go wide. He looks around like he thinks he’s gotten the wrong room, before altering his course to let himself fall down on the table next to yours

Your heart is beating like crazy in your chest and you do your best to smile at him the right way — you know, not too briefly so he doesn’t think you’re rude, and not too long so he doesn’t think you’re interested because, ahah, that’d be ridiculous, that’d be soooo embarrassing, there’s no way that would happen.

You may or may not have a raging crush on him.

Look, he’s funny. He’s cute. He looks at you when he makes a clever joke to see if you’re laughing. You don’t hang in the same circles, and you know it’s stupid to entertain your thoughts about him, but you just can’t help them. You wish you could quash your feelings before they hurt you. Because they will. Undoubtedly. Been there, done that. Love hasn’t worked for you, and you’d rather not delude yourself into hoping it could this time.

All these good resolutions vanish when Han leans towards you.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, sounding so confused. “Did you get lost?”

You sigh.

“I was accused of cheating on a test,” you mumble, trying to sound casual about it and not like it makes you want to cry.

“What?” His eyes look like they’re trying to pop out of his head. “That’s ridiculous.” Then he leans closer, conspiratorially. “Want me to try to get you out of here?”

Your heart is beating so fast.

“No,” you squeak despite trying not to. “It’s fine. I guess that’s— part of the high school experience, right? I should live through that at least once.”

He looks deeply confused for a second, then chuckles as he settles back in his chair.

“You’re the only person who’d think that way,” he says, and you think he sounds fond as he says it, but you know that your brain is prone to wishful-thinking. Then, with a regain of interest “Tell me if you change your mind, it’s not too late.”

He settles comfortably on his desk, resting his head on his backpack. It’s already dark outside, as it usually is at this time of the year. Cold, white streetlights have turned on over the football field, and the cloudy, starless sky gives the school a gloomy vibe. It doesn’t help that it’s eerily quiet, the kind of quiet that you’ve only heard when you’d lingered too long in the library. Lively halls are empty now, as are the classrooms. On this last night before winter break, no one has stuck around. Even clubs have taken pity on their members and let them escape tonight. It’s only the six of you left in the building, and maybe a few lingering staff members and guardians.

You glance around at what others are doing, trying to figure out what you’re even meant to do in here. Jisung has closed his eyes and is clearly intent on taking a nap. Nari has pulled out a notebook and is writing in it dutifully. Hanseok is looking out the window with a blank look on his face. Taewoon seems to be sleeping as well. Finally, Ms Kim is reading a book — romance, by the looks of it —  and seems to have no plan of acknowledging your existence until the bell rings and frees her of your presence.

With a sigh, you start pulling out your books. Jisung opens an eye. With his face smooshed against his backpack, his cheeks look even rounder.

“I can still get you out,” he whispers.

You smile, but shake your head.

“It’s fine. It will all be over in an hour anyway.”

Ms Kim clears her throat to remind you to stay quiet. You jump at it, and she gives you an apologetic look, but you’re already back to burying your head in your books, trying to be small and inconspicuous and most importantly, not to anger anyone. That’s what you do after that, even once the room gets quiet again, and that’s where you still are, half an hour later, when the lights suddenly go off.

You look up, startled, and for a second you can’t see a thing, until your eyes get accustomed to the unexpected darkness. In the meantime, someone stands up, not far from you, and surprised shouts rise in the room.

“Everyone stay where you are!” Ms Kim shouts. Phones are starting to come out, lighting up the room, and soon you see that Jisung’s standing next to you, with one hand on the back of seat. He’s so close he’d brush against you if he moved just a little to the left. “It’s either the electricity or someone forgot we were still here. I’ll go see what’s happening and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Can’t we just go home?” Nari whines. “C’mon, there’s, like fifteen minutes left.”

“Make it thirty,” Ms Kim corrects sternly. “Everyone better stay here. Anyone who leaves will get detention for the first week when we’re back in class.” When protests erupt, she raises her voice. “I’ll let you off the hook if there’s an issue with the electricity, but for now, you guys need to stay there.”

She leaves the room as more people are protesting, not paying one ounce of attention to it. It looks like it’s not the first time something like that has happened to her.

Her footsteps in the hallway have barely faded that Taewoon is already getting up.

“Fuck it,” he says, making a whole show out of it. “I’m not sticking around.”

“You’re going?” Jisung asks. Clearly, he’s thinking of doing it as well. He glances around at the rest of the group. None of you have moved from your seat. “What about you guys?”

“I can’t miss practice,” Hanseok says.

“I’ve got a part time job, I can’t lose it,” is Nari’s answer.

That leaves you, and it takes you a second to realize that Jisung is looking at you and waiting for an answer.

“I— I don’t want to get detention again,” is all you can manage to mumble. It sounds pathetic to your ears, but he nods all the same.

“What are you doing?” Taewoon asks him again.

“I’ll stay behind this time,” Jisung sighs dramatically. “Live your life to the fullest for the rest of us, okay?”

Taewoon snorts.

“Sure. Enjoy yourselves here. I’ll see you after the break.”

You feel envy as he escapes the room. You wish you could care this little about all the trouble you’d get into. At the same time, being in your shoes brings advantages that you quite enjoy. Just not particularly tonight.

Then, Jisung pulls his chair to come sit next to you, setting his phone on your table so you can both see each other’s face, and you change your mind.

“You should have taken my offer,” he smiles at first, before his expression shifts to a more serious one. “You okay? It’s happened before, don’t worry about it.”

“I’m fine,” you answer, maybe too quickly. Mostly, you’re wondering why he feels the need to tell you that and if you look so fragile to him that he thinks this would send you into a breakdown. “Does it usually come back on?”

He shrugs.

“Yeah, most of the time. Sometimes there’s a tree that’s fallen somewhere it shouldn’t and she lets us go.” He glances out the window. “It’s pretty windy tonight. Maybe it’s the case.”

As you look out, you see Taewoon crossing the football field, before disappearing under the bleachers, from where he can reach the parking lot. At least one of you has gone free, you think, feeling bitter about all the things that have kept you in this spot.

“Hey, you’re getting the full, five-star high school experience,” Jisung’s voice brings you back to the present. “I can get you in trouble more after that, if you’d like.”

A small laugh escapes your lips.

“I think I’m good.”

“You could see the boys’ locker room from the inside,” he insists, and you laugh again.

“That does not sound like a good experience!”

“The inside of the teachers’ lounge,” he offers as you roll your eyes. “Steal exam questions. Change your grades. Give lower notes to your rivals.”

“What rivals,” you protest, though you’re grinning from ear to ear at this point.

“Are you saying that no one’s good enough to compete with you? And here I thought you valued my intelligence, wah, you think you know someone—”

His chatter takes your mind off your situation. There’s something about having Jisung’s undivided attention, about him clearly having noticed how down you were feeling and trying to cheer you up, that makes you feel all fuzzy inside. You’re not used to someone’s eyes staying on you for that long, certainly not his eyes. And yet he’s choosing to use time that could so easily be spent doing something else with you. Your heart beats so fast you think it’s going to fall right out of your chest.

Ten minutes go by before Nari’s voice interrupts your talking.

“Shouldn’t Ms Kim be back by now?”

Her expression is composed, she’s leaning back in her chair to look at you, but her voice is at a higher-pitch than usual. A glance at your watch tells you that she’s probably right and a cold hand comes wrap around your heart to squeeze it, before you shake it off. No need to feel that way. There’s likely a completely fine explanation.

“Maybe she’s run into Mr Park,” Jisung offers, smoothly. Then, with a gasp, “Maybe they’re having a quickie in the principal’s office.”

You chuckle quietly, but Nari’s not amused.

“Shouldn’t someone go look for her?” she asks. When no one volunteers, she continues, “She’ll never believe me if I go and I really can’t lose my part time job, but, you know, maybe if it was someone else…”

You know where this is going, and she’s not exactly wrong, yet you worry about getting in trouble all the same. Stupidly, you’re afraid you’re going to get yelled at. You hate getting yelled at. You’d probably cry if that happened.

“I’ll go if you go,” Jisung says, eyeing you, saving the day once more — saving your day at least.

“Okay,” you reply, and you surprise yourself at how quick and easy that was. You blame it on the relief you feel for not having to go out there alone. “I’ll come.”

He smiles at you when you say that. It’s kind of embarrassing how it makes butterflies take off in your stomach.

“Everyone be good,” he chastises the other two as you open the door. “Nari, you’re in charge while we’re gone, okay?”

She sticks her tongue out at him while Hanseok scoffs. Still, they’re both grinning as the two of you venture out into the quiet, dark high school.

You’re not one to believe in supernatural creatures. You like logical, provable, tangible things. Still, out there, irrational fear seizes you, wrapping its tentacles around you. Your footsteps echo loudly in the hallways, and the measly flashlight from your cellphones are nowhere near enough to light up the entire place. No matter how your orient them, there remain dark patches all over.

“It’s kind of cool,” Jisung comments as you’re starting to bury yourself in your thoughts again. This time, you don’t know if he’s doing it for your benefit or if he doesn’t like it when things stay quiet for too long. “Who knows, maybe we will see her with Mr Park.”

“I think they’re both very much married,” you reply, and some of the worry washes away when you hear your own voice. Suddenly, you’re not in this unfamiliar place anymore, but back in the halls of the high school that you walk in every single day.

“Like that’s ever stopped people,” Jisung grins. “C’mon, he’s not bad-looking for his age.”

This time, a very genuine laugh bursts out of you.

“That’s not an image I needed!” you protest.

“Like you’ve never thought about it before,” he teases, and as you let out noises of disgust, his flashlight sweeps over the floor. “What do you think? Do we start with the custodian and the principal’s office, or do we go for the basement? That’s where she’d be if it’s a problem with the electricity?”

“She’s probably in the basement if she’s been gone all this time,” you reason, but you really do not want to venture down there at the moment. Even with Jisung by your side, you don’t think you’d enjoy this small of a space with no lights other than your own. Just thinking about it has your throat becoming tighter. “But, uh, maybe we can start with the principal’s office?”

Jisung agrees to that with more enthusiasm than it warrants, and then you listen to him dramatically offer possibilities about how Ms Kim and Mr Park could have gotten together. You laugh more than you should, more than you would were you with anyone else in the same situation, and it’s not the right place nor the right time, but you know you’re falling in love with him. You’ve always suspected that it was just a matter of spending more time with him, always told yourself that it was therefore not a good idea. But here you were now, and there was not a thing you could do about it.

“Okay, here we are,” you say, interrupting a truly wild scenario in which the teacher and the principle are Russian spies who got married as a cover but were actually high school sweethearts. “Should I, uh, knock?”

Jisung shrugs, moving past you to try the handle. As he does so, you’re struck by how quiet it is. There’s no way she’s in there, we’ve wasted our time, you think.

Then, to your surprise, the door opens. Jisung walks in. Then freezes in the opening.

“What’s going on,” you ask, taking a step forward to look over his shoulder, “don’t tell me they’re really—"

But you’re not met with the sight of two lovers. Instead, your eyes first find Mr Park, slumped on his desk, something that you can’t identify sticking out of his back. On the floor, right in front of Jisung, is Ms Kim. She’s lying on her back, her eyes wide open and her pupil still and empty. It takes you a second to realize that the angle her head is at with her body is wrong, and a second longer to understand that that’s because her throat’s is nothing more than a wide, gaping wound. Underneath her, a puddle of blood that you realize you’ve stepped into. She looks so pale, compared to how she was just a few minutes ago.

You open your mouth to scream. Before you can, though, Jisung’s hand comes to cover it, and you only let out a whimper as your eyes search his. For the first time tonight, he’s lost his nonchalant confidence.

“Someone could still be there,” he whispers to you. “We shouldn’t stay here.”

With one last look at your teacher, he closes the door.

Things are blurry after that. You remember him grabbing your wrist as he drags you away from the scene. You remember him trying a few doors before pulling you into an empty classroom. You remember him vomiting in a trashcan and self-consciously wiping his mouth afterwards. You remember sitting on a table in silence for you don’t know how long.

“We have to get out of here,” he says at some point. He sounds sure of himself again.

“We have to— we have to go get Nari and Hanseok,” you answer. As soon as the words leave your mouth, you feel guilty for not having thought of them immediately. Shit, they must still be waiting for the two of you to return. Someone could have— someone could have already—

You’re on your feet before you think. It’s unlike you, but it says a lot that your brain doesn’t harp on that in the moment. There’s an urgency in your chest that you’re not used to feeling.

“We need to go get them.”

Jisung studies you for a second, then swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

“Okay,” he says. His voice is weak. “Okay. We’re getting them and then we’re going out of here, right?”

You nod. Guilt and fear are battling within you, but both feelings are directed towards the people you’ve left behind. You think it would kill you if something happened to them that you could have stopped.

The walk back to the detention is faster, but it feels like it take ages. Jisung keeps close to you, checking behind you while you keep your eyes on what’s in front of you. You see nothing, hear nothing. Just like earlier, the high school feels empty. Unlike earlier, you know it is not.

You’re almost there, starting to breathe again, starting to think you’ll make it, when you hear the screams. Terrified, you back into Jisung, who wraps his arm around you.

“Light,” he hisses, “light out, now.”

You’re too scared to do anything other than what he suggests. It overtakes your whole body, freezes your muscles into place. His chest is pressed against your back as you stay perfectly still, and you can feel his heart beating wildly, betraying the fact that he’s in the same state as you. In the distance, a door slams open.

“Don’t leave me here!” Nari screams.

In the dark, someone that you have to assume is Hanseok rushes past you. He’s fast, powerful. Whoever you hear after him is fast too, footsteps squeaking in the hallways, and all you’re thinking is that Nari is wearing heels.

At least Hanseok’s making it out is the thought that follows — for a second at least, because it isn’t long after that there’s a shout of frustration and the sound of someone struggling with a door. Then screams, intercut with disgusting, wet sounds that you can only imagine are what a knife produces when it’s brought down into someone. Tears stream down your face in silence. The front door’s locked and Hanseok— Hanseok is—

“Nari,” you whisper, choking on the word.

Jisung nods and pulls you forward, but by the time you get to the detention room, it’s empty. You check for a body, turning your cellphone’s light back on, terrified you’ll find one, and you can breathe again when you don’t find her anywhere.

“Now we have to go,” Jisung insists.

“But she’s—”

“We’ve done what we could. C’mon, we have no way of knowing where she is, she could be out by—”

The speakers creak horribly.

“Attention, students,” a man’s voice comes through. It’s loud and booming, but more than anything, it’s even. It doesn’t shake, doesn’t have the hysterical accents that you’ve heard in movies. If anything, it sounds like he’s playing the role of a school announcer, and the thought makes you sick to your stomach. “Lee Nari. Han Jisung. Kang Won— Ah, no, I suppose that’s been taken care of, hasn’t it. Im Taewoon.” Then he pauses for a second, before reading your name, and you feel overcome with helplessness. Before that, it felt like it was— You’re not sure what you were feeling, but it didn’t feel targeted. Now, you think that even leaving the school might not make the nightmare end. “Well, you might not be who I’m looking for,” the man chuckles— he fucking chuckles — after saying your name. “We’ll see. If you’re good, I’ll consider letting you off the hook. The rest of you though… you won’t cause trouble again.”

This is like a bad slasher movie with a stupid premise, something you’d make fun of if you weren’t caught in the middle of it.

“Windows and doors are locked,” he announces dramatically. “Breaking out only means that I’ll come get you, so do yourself a favor and surrender, hm? I promise to make it quick.”

Then he hangs up.

“What do we do?” you whisper to Jisung. “You— you love horror movies, right? What should we do?”

He stares at you.

“Yeah, I— I do. I didn’t think you’d remember.” It’s not the moment, but for a second — less than that, a fraction of it — you’re no longer a terrified prey but a teenager again, feeling like you’ve just exposed your crush. “I— one of us should leave.”

You shake your head.

“He said he’d hunt us. He could show up at our parents’ house—”

“I know,” he interrupts you. “But that’s— that’s why one of us should stay here.”

Again, you shake your head, more vehemently this time.

“No. No way. We’re not— We’re not doing that.”

He grabs your arms, the motion gentle instead of forceful, like one more attempt at comforting you as he looks straight into your eyes.

“Listen. One of us needs to leave. I— I think he’s probably watching the windows. He must know that we’d try to leave, right? So he’s— probably ready to give chase.” He swallows thickly. “If he— If he has a rifle or something— But that’d give someone else time to escape, if he leaves too. If not… Someone could go get help. Nari might have called the cops already, but that— that doesn’t mean they’re coming right now.”

“No,” you repeat, because you think you know where he is going with this.

“I’ll— What do you want to do? I— I think I should go.”

He’s close enough that you can see there are tears in his eyes.

“You should— you should be ready to leave from the other side when I do,” he whispers, and you want to cry too. “I’ll distract him.”

You shake your head, but you don’t think you can change his mind.

“Hey, I can be really fast, okay?” His tone gets lighter. “Maybe I’ll outrun him.”

You’d be more inclined to believe that if the man hadn’t been able to catch up with Hanseok — though you suppose that he wouldn’t have on open grounds, and that gives you some hope that you desperately cling to.

“You better,” you hear yourself say.

Jisung lets out a long, deep breath, then turns around to face the window. It’s true that they’re locked; they always are at the end of the day. But they’re not known for being particularly solid. As a matter of fact, they regularly get broken by football players. You wonder if that’s what got Hanseok in trouble, then shove the subject as far down as you can, because it reminds you that he’s— he’s—

“Okay,” Jisung mumbles, grabbing a chair and getting ready to swing it at the window. Just as he lifts it above his head, though, he stops himself and sets it down to face you.

Something passes between the two of you. It’s hard not to think that this might be the last time you see each other, however his escape attempt goes. Jisung swallows thickly.

Then he’s grabbing your shoulders and pressing his lips against yours. It’s brief, kind of clumsy. Nothing about it is how you envisioned your first kiss. But his lips are soft and warm, and he’s holding on to you like he never wants to let go.

He does anyway, looking at you with wide eyes.

“F–For luck,” he mumbles.

“Sure,” you choke out in response. “No, uh, no problem.”

You’ll die of embarrassment at that later on, if you don’t just die tonight.

His chair smashes through the window, the sound unbearably loud in the silence of the school, and he doesn’t stick around to see what happens. Cutting his hands on the broken glass, he jumps out while you back out of the room to go crouch in a dark corner. You peek to see him sprinting through the football field, waiting with baited breath to see the killer following after him.

He doesn’t.

You wait longer.

Still nothing.

And you realize you’re stuck in the building with him.

“Well, well,” the voice in the speaker says, right as the realization settles, as calm as it was the first time. “Seems like we’ve had an infraction. Too bad. Seems I’ll have to go hunting once I’m done with you.”

Then it cuts again. For a while, you can’t hear yourself think over the terrified thoughts that fill your mind. You think of following after Jisung, but you have no way of knowing if the killer would let it slide twice. Truth be told, with Jisung gone, you feel your old patterns of thinking catching up with you. You’re too scared to go, and the more you wait, the more you think it’s now too late to go. Your anxiety has you in a chokehold, with no intention of letting go.

What does get you to move is the greater fear that the killer could come inspect the place, now that Jisung’s left. He must have noticed that only Nari and Hanseok were in the room — if he thinks Taewoon was still here, probably because he was murdering Ms Kim at that point, that would have to mean the three of you were together, in his mind. It begs the question of how Taewoon got out, but you wouldn’t be surprised if he had his ways of doing it, even with the windows closed.

You don’t turn your light off, listening closely as you cross the hallways. You’re aiming for the kitchens, though you haven’t actually stopped to think about it. All that your mind can supply with as a justification is that you need a weapon. Realistically, you don’t think it would do you any good. You probably wouldn’t be able to use it against anyone. But who gives a fuck about realism right now? You might die here tonight. Three of the people you used to see around every day are gone forever already. If finding a knife makes you feel better, you’ll get yourself a knife, dammit.

You regret it when you make your way through the cafeteria. Because of how it’s situated, there is more light coming from outside in here than there was elsewhere. You’ve already started to see the dark as an ally, and leaving it makes you feel incredibly exposed. Despite that, you run through it, bent in half, trying to stay behind the tables, and get into the kitchens.

You’re searching through the drawers for a knife when the most terrifying sound you can think of right now resonates behind you.

The door. Someone’s opened the door.

You crouch behind one of the many kitchen isles. Silent tears are running down your face, but adrenaline is keeping you from completely giving up — for now, anyway.

“Who do we have here?” the voice asks, and you press a hand against your mouth so you don’t accidentally give yourself away. It doesn’t just echo in the cafeteria though, no, it comes out through the speakers as well. Like he wants the survivors to know that he’s gotten one of you, and that they never had a chance in the first place. “I’ll be very disappointed in you if it’s you, (Y/N). If you’d stayed put, you might have had a chance. Now, I have to wonder if you helped your friend leave, too.”

Glancing over the corner, you see a man in a mask slowly walking through the kitchen. Slowly, you start backing up, careful not to make a sound. If you run, maybe you’ll get to the door. If you get to the door, maybe he’ll lose you and you’ll be able to hide better.

Please. Please. You just want to make it out of here. You want— you want to go to college. You want to ask Jisung what that kiss meant. You want to get home to your parents.

It’s as you’re getting up that you bump your head into one of the drawers that you’ve left open. Once it happens, you’re on your feet in an instant, making a dash for the door, but the man intercepts you before you can get away. You fall on your back when he pushes you, and he shakes his head at you.

“I thought you were better than that,” he sighs. “It truly is a shame that you got caught up in this, but I suppose you weren’t as good as you made yourself out to be.”

He raises the knife. Tears blur your vision.

Then there’s a loud smack. Nari appears behind him, a bent plastic tray in her hands and tears streaming down her face.

“I’m s–so sorry you got detention because of me,” she sobs out, chest heaving, and all you can do is stare — though a part of you that right now is very far from the surface appreciates the sentiment. You note, vaguely, that she’s barefoot, probably having ditched the heels when she realized they would only get her in trouble.  She holds her hand out, and you take it without hesitation, pulling yourself to your feet just in time to see the man rise again behind her. He’s rubbing the back of his head, but he’s nowhere near unconscious, and he’s close. You pull Nari away, but his knife still slashes across her back and she falls forward, screaming.

You back up, but his eyes aren’t on you. Instead, he goes to stand above Nari. She tries to crawl forward, crying, and you see him lowering himself above her.

If you don’t want to watch her die in front of your eyes, you need to find the fucking knives.

The first two drawers you stumble into as Nari struggles and desperately hits at the men are empty.

The third one has knives.

You can’t afford to think as you rush back towards them. The man raises his knife once, and Nari catches the blade with her bare hand. You try to tune out both the screams and the sounds. Then he grabs her wrists with the one hand. Raises the knife again.

You’re out of time.

You stab him in the chest, and he lets out a sharp, horrified gasp. You push him backwards while his blade catches at your arms, the adrenaline too strong to feel it for now. You drive the blade into him, again and again and again, until he’s fallen and his knife has gone still, and all that fills the room are Nari’s tears and whimpers of pain.

It’s only as your own pain catches up with you that you admit what’s just happened.

You did it.

You lived.

 They take Nari and Hanseok to a hospital first, both of their wounds being much more significant than your own. Hanseok’s condition, from what you’ve heard, was ‘critical’. You’d felt hope at that, at first, but the looks people had exchanged had soon quashed that.

They weren’t optimistic.

As they leave, you stay wrapped in a blanket, sitting in an ambulance as your arms are being disinfected as the cops search the building. All of your limbs ache like you’ve just run a marathon, but you can’t make yourself look away, no matter how hard you’ve tried. Staying there, you hear, vaguely, that the killer was a former member of staff that had been let go earlier in the year. He’s alive too, for now, because you hadn’t known where to aim when you’d attacked him — ironically, that’s the same reason Hanseok’s still breathing. His exact motive was being debated still, but you found unable to care. Why would you give a shit about why he'd done that? All that mattered was that he’d done it.

You’re sitting there, stewing in those thoughts, when Jisung appears. You don’t think they were supposed to let him through, but it looks like he managed to sneak in. He’s clearly been crying, his eyes all red and his face puffy.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his voice breaking as he chokes on the words. “I didn’t think— I didn’t think I’d be leaving you alone in there with him. I— I did as fast as I could, I promise, but they— they thought it was a prank call and I—”

“It’s—” You want to say ‘It’s fine’, but the words refuse to come out of your mouth. “It’s not your fault,” you manage to say instead. “You had no way of knowing. I’m— Nari and I should both be fine. You did— You did the best thing you could have done.”

Nari had mentioned, as you were lying with her on the cold floor of the cafeteria, that she’d seen you walk in, soon followed by the man. She hadn’t found herself able to stay away. Who knew, if she hadn’t felt so guilty, maybe she wouldn’t have gone in. Maybe if it had been Jisung, he’d be gone by now. Maybe if you’d left through the window, the killer would have followed you.

There are too many what ifs to let him blame himself.

“I’m glad you made it,” you say softly, trying not to cry again.

He nods, opens his mouth, then shakes his head as tears flow once again, and just comes to sit next to you. It’s not so often that you see Han Jisung so completely quiet. You rest your head on his shoulder, trying to bring him what comfort you can, certainly taking all that you are able to from his touch.

You know, in that moment, that the consequences of tonight would likely follow you for the rest of your life. You don’t know if there will be a single day in the future where you don’t think of it. But right now, the thought that maybe, just maybe, not everything that comes from tonight has to be horrible and dark and crushing helps you to just keep breathing.

Jisung’s fingers quietly rub circles on your skin. He presses a kiss into your hair, mumbles ‘Thank you’s to no one in particular.

Finally, you allow yourself to close your eyes.

since this is different from what I usually write (and gets brutal), I'm exceptionally not using my taglist.

i enjoyed writing this and wrote almost 4k for it today, so, uh, sorry if it stops making sense at around 3k in. something that i particularly enjoy is breaking genre expectations by jumping into another genre. here, the first half is inspired by your typical high school movies, before veering into a thriller/horror movie, which i quite like (but it can also be disorienting and i'd get it if you didn't enjoy it). anyway.

if you've made it to this point, I hope you've enjoyed this series and this installment of it! don't hesitate to comment or reblog, honestly any feedback or support is appreciated. i'll see you all again for the hyung line in December (and maybe even in the meantime with other projects, who knows). take care!

[itsgodepi]

If I lose my mind | Ch. 2

Series summary: When you're buried under a mountain of problems and can’t seem to catch a break, it might feel like you need a complete reset. But did it really have to come with a one-way ticket to a new dimension? Surely, a little problem-solving would’ve done the trick. Or, one day you go to sleep as a normal person and the next you wake up as a Formula One driver. You've never been a fan but isn't it like, one of the most exclusive sports? Pairing: CL16, LH44, CS55, DR3 x fem!reader Chapter: Previous | Next Word Count: 2.3k Also on AO3

“Oh, you’re up? C’mon get dressed, we have a meeting with the engineers in like ten minutes” the stranger singsongs, throwing the door open and carelessly stepping inside.

The man does not spare you a second glance, instead making a beeline for the tall window that cover the entire wall at your right to throw the curtains open. Your hand flies up to cover your eyes, the new source of light not only blinding you but also revealing too much information for you to process. What is this room? Not your bedroom, that’s clear, you sure as hell do not have a kitchen in front of the bed for starters. And that huge balcony?

Where are you? 

However, you are missing a key question: you are late for what?

He interrupts you almost instantly, ignoring your complaints as he takes a look down to his phone “Be ready in five, I have to make a call”, and with that said, he is out the door. 

“I…I don’t-” you try to get his attention, arms coming around yourself for protection since your voice is not cooperating. 

The silence he leaves behind is chilling, your mind working at lightspeed while your body remains there, standing alone in the middle of an unknown place, petrified. You can only hear him outside, his steps and words filtering though the paper-thin walls —and only then does your brain register he is and has been talking in English all this time.  

You look around, completely overwhelmed by the situation. What are you supposed to do now, jump out the window? Because there is no way you are going to do what he is saying, right? You do not even know who he is or where you are, this is crazy!  

A look around the room further confirms your suspicions, this is a hotel room. Those bland colors, decoration to fit everyone’s taste and a neon pink suitcase pushed into a corner that you run to dig through with such fervor that you almost tear the zipper out. But there is nothing that could help you anywhere. Maybe you could throw one of the heels at him and pray that it causes a concussion or something, but that could potentially get you into a lot more trouble.  

A couple of knocks halt your investigation, the same mechanical noises sounding again as the door slowly opens. You make a split-second decision to hide in the bathroom, door closing way too loudly for him not to notice.  

“We really have to hurry, the car is waiting for us” the man sighs in frustration. You hear some ruffling around the room and before you can figure out what he is doing, he is walking towards the bathroom’s door “Hey, open up, you left your clothes outside” 

Considering your chances of escaping any other way are non-existent —you have locked yourself in the worst possible room for an impromptu breakout plan—, you decide to lower your head and listen to him. What else could happen? The situation is bad enough already, you should at least change out of this pyjama. 

Taking the knob in your hand and placing a foot close to the door to prevent it from completely opening, you comply with his request. Through the small gap appears a stack of neatly prepared clothes that you quickly snatch before closing it again. The outfit is nothing special, a pair of jeans and a shirt that looks exactly like the one that man is wearing. The fabric is white and of a strange but flowy material, logos of different brands plastered all over it. The biggest one painted right on its center, letters drawn in a dark red color: HAAS.  

Advertising clothes? Weird.  

You make quick work of getting yourself dressed, stepping out of the room before the man can call for you again. He guides you out the room and through the corridors in silence, glancing every now and then at his phone, until you arrive to the car he had talked about. The driver does not even look back when you get seated, only speeds off as soon as both doors are closed.  

On the ride, the atmosphere is tense. Nobody says a word, the only sound filling the space being that of the car’s radio, and even that is worrying you. They are speaking so fast and in such a strange language that it is impossible to understand any of it. Is that why the driver had not talked? Is he a foreigner, like the guy seated by your side? What have you gotten yourself into?  

“Sorry, I’ve been so stressed all morning... didn't even ask if you are feeling alright after yesterday” the man breaks the silence, letting go of his phone for the first time all morning.  

So, all of that did happen, you did faint in the arms of some stranger dressed in a weird orange jumpsuit. It is nice to have some confirmation, but what the hell... 

He rummages through the backpack in the middle seat while waiting for an answer that is so painfully obvious. No, you are not feeling alright, you have been literally kidnapped, is he that delusional or just plain stupid? But you decide it's better to remain silent.

In the meantime, he manages to take out two plastic cards with neck straps attached to them, and holds one of them on your direction as he puts his on. Something instantly catches your attention: not only is your face printed on it, but your name and surnames are written just beneath it. What is this? Why do they have this picture of you? You cannot remember ever taking this photo. 

But you do not dare ask it out loud, voice now stuck on your throat as you dwell on what this means to your situation. They must have been following you, they know exactly who you are.  

“The doctor said everything was fine, that it must have been the rush of emotions and the exhaustion, so you don’t have to worry” he explains once the silence stretches for a beat too long, waiting a second for it to sink in and gather some courage to continue his monologue “Look, I know you don’t like discussing these things on Sundays, but...” 

And although you would have loved to snap at him and tell him that he would not know what you want or do not want to talk about —who the fuck does he think he is?—, it is not you who interrupts him.

The arrival to your supposed destination had gone unnoticed by both of you until a woman starts knocking on the car’s window, the scoldings about your lateness filtering even through the thick glass.  

Oh, his name is Nick? 

The pair seem to be associated —a conclusion that you draw solely because they are wearing that ugly advertising shirt you are now sporting too— or they at least know each other enough for the man to shoot straight out from the car as soon as he hears her. You do so as well, for some reason, but they come over to guide you around before you can question your decision any further. 

The place they have taken you to is rather strange, an enclosed area with colorful buildings that look more like tall campers than actual constructions. The people crowding the street are bubbling with energy, running from one place to another, talking and eating. Some of them are carrying cameras and microphones, big ones, like those you see in TV and... they are pointing them at you? In fact, when you decide to look around to confirm your suspicions, you discover that you have attracted more than the attention of the cameras, everyone is looking at you. 

Even though you try to avoid everybody’s gazes, too worried about who they might be and what they could do, a man standing further down the street manages to catch your gaze. A smile pulls at his lips as soon as your eyes meet, and he waves at you. He is dressed in a red shirt littered with a bunch of logos —these people sure are big on advertising clothes— and a matching cap, a similar outfit to the man he was been talking to. Oh, and now he is... walking towards you? What? Who is he? But most importantly, should you like, say something? It is not like your kidnappers, or whoever they are, are any more trustworthy than a random man on the street, but maybe- 

Yet, before you can decide on anything, he has already standing in front of you.

“Hey, did you eat?” the man in red asks —in English again, mind you, though he seems to have a different accent—, and answers his own question in the same breath “You didn’t, right?"

You shake your head in response anyway. It is true, the last thing you ate was yesterday’s lunch, had been too sad to even make yourself a sandwich that night. But it does not feel like your stomach would accept anything either. 

His smile widens at the confirmation, dimples peeking out as he reveals what he has been hiding behind his back. The man in red stretches a hands towards you, a package of cookies wrapped in transparent plastic and a pretty bow resting in his hand.

“They made these again! Got some for you as soon as they put them out, you liked them so much last time” the man’s voice has turned light with happiness, the look on his green eyes signaling just how proud he is to have gotten them for you, but what does he mean by last time? 

Frowning, you peel your eyes off the treat, looking up to the pair by your side, as if asking for permission. This all seems so strange.

“Of course, go ahead” Nick quickly responds, looking rather confused “You can eat whatever you want, I thought you’d be too nervous for food”.

And you are, but this man is looking at you so sweetly that it makes it impossible to refuse his gift.  

You swiftly pick up the bag, holding it close to your chest as a “Thanks” slides out of your lips. 

There is a beat of silence between the two of you, the ever present smile drawn on the man in front of you only stretching and your confusion heightening.

“Uhm, sorry, the meeting is about to start, we have to go” the woman beside you reminds, and you can see Nick checking his phone for the nth time this morning. She turns to the man in red “Good luck today, Charles! Be safe” 

Oh, Charles? Is that his name?

“Yeah, I’m running late as well” Charles murmurs, taking a look back to where he came from. You follow his gaze to see the man he had left behind to talk to you, arms crossed over his chest as he waits by the door of a fully red building. Charles seems to nod at him after he makes a couple signals, the man near the black building pointing to his watch. “Thank you, and good luck to you too! I know you’ll do great today, so” he looks back at you this time, shrugging his shoulders as a grin plays on his lips, like it is a done deal.  

But what exactly are you supposed to do great at? What is all this good luck for?

Nick’s arm quickly comes to rest on top of your shoulders before you can dwell on Charles’ words too long, steering you towards one of the buildings while your mind is boiling with questions.  

A glass door gives way to a long corridor full of doors, voices and mechanical noises echoing off the walls. The inside is fully painted in white with various red details lining the walls, which awfully remind you of the place you had woken up in yesterday. The only difference is that now you can recognize that red logo drawn all over the walls: HAAS. The same one resting atop your abdomen. You look down at your shirt to confirm it, eyebrows furrowing as you try to decipher what this is supposed to mean.  

The source of all that noise seems to be a bigger room that opens at the end of the hallway, one that you do not get the opportunity to take a peek at because Nick smoothly ushers you into one of the firsts rooms before you can snoop around much. He opens the door to reveal a group of men seated around a black table, the group casually greeting you and resuming their conversation a second late while you find a seat.

The meeting seems to be all about cars? Sports cars, maybe? Something about their engines, the degradation, strategies and more stuff you cannot really understand, the discussion continuing as one of them points at statistics on a screen. Is that an F1 car?  

“We are starting really far ahead today, congratulations on P10! I didn’t get to talk to you yesterday so… I hope you are feeling better, and just” one of them says, his eyes lifting from the papers on the table to look straight at you. His big smile is supposed to be encouraging, but it makes your heart skip a beat “Don’t be greedy, ok? Keep the position, we need the points”

The rest of the men seem to agree with the piece of advice he throws your way, putting you at the center of attention, and they erupt in laughs as they dedicate each other knowing glances.  

On the other end, you remain silent, trying to figure out what he could possibly be talking about. P what? What is P? 

The meeting does not last much, a thousand of technical words are thrown around without care and a pile of numbers is presented to you all, but you do not manage to grasp what anything of it means. However, the final phrase is etched into your mind, a wish that they all share: “Let’s have a great race”.

And that last word is what starts turning the gears in your head.  

That and the fucking Formula One car you come face to face with when Nick leads you further down the corridor. A quiet “What the hell?” rolling out of your tongue almost unconsciously, eyes glued to the machine before you are pushed into yet another room.  

Next chapter

___

Author's note: Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thank you so much for the nice comments and interactions.

Taglist: @purplephantomwolf @raye2000 @yuiiimd@drezzerk33

[theitgirlnetwork]

Better

Ch. 15: A Gallagher (Happy Birthday Charlotte Part 2)

Note: Helloooo! I'm backkk! Thank you for all of the love and appreciation you all have been showing this story. I took a break and now, it's time to get into act two, married life with Lip and Charlotte. As always I love the interaction and am extremely inspired by it so thank you for all of the reblogs, notes, and messages. It's a short one while I get back into the swing of things, but I'm excited for what's next. I hope you all enjoy this chapter! Love ya! <3 MDNI!!!!!

Warnings: Mild sexual content, strong language

“Go ahead, baby.” Lip says smugly, his head cocked back in arrogance as Charlotte bounces up the steps, keys jangling in her hands as she twists open the lock.

“It’s…it works, s’ours?” she gasps, whipping her head to look back at them. 

He follows her up the steps at a slower pace, relishing in her happy squeal when he lifts her into his arms and carries her inside. The place is big, but not too big. There was room to spread out. To grow. It looks like what she’d described to him, her dream starter house. Maybe it was smaller. A townhouse and not a big four floor home like the one she was used to. But it was the one she pictured them in.

“Ready? Go ahead and press it, babe.”

The little junkyard robot (if you can call it that) whirs to life and starts spinning in circles in the small space Lip and Charlotte had cleared on the floor. Charlotte gasps and leans forward, leaving Lip’s chest cold as her back bends to look at the little invention closer. “He’s like a real robot. That’s so cool, bubba.”

“He’s a piece of shit model. Lost me a hundred bucks when I took him to one of those fights, embarrassed the fuck outta me.” 

“Aww, he’s so cute though. Like Wall-E.” Charlotte hums, poking at the moving scraps and smiling as the machine rolls backward again. She turns to face Lip, shifting in his lap while wrapping her arms around his neck. “You’re so smart.”

“Yeah?” he leans in, lips just a breath away from hers, cheek dimpling with his smirk. “Say it again.”

“No, your head already too big”

“Yeah, okay, c’mere.” he grunts, pulling her weight completely against himself, trapping her with his arms as his fingers start tickling her sides, dodging her flailing limbs. “Say, ‘Phillip, you’re so smart.’”

“Ph-phillip-” she giggles, catching his hands in her own and lowering them to her waist, rolling her eyes as she feels their descent to her ass. She brings her own hands up to his cheeks, rubbing his nose with her own before pecking his lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” he murmurs, blue eyes locked on brown as he leans forward to capture her lips again. 

A crash sounds from downstairs and the pair jolts apart, Charlotte immediately crawls out of his lap and holds her hand out to him to help him off of the ground, only to squeak when he tugs her back against him. “Leave it, Fi and Ian are home.”

“Yeah, but, if we don’t check they’ll come up soon to get us anyway.”

It’s true. Lip thinks through all of the times people have just barged in on him and Charlotte. His siblings. Frank. Monica. V or Kev. The cops. He’s realized for the first time that he’s tired of it. 

Obviously, it's not the first time that he’d considered the concept of privacy with the thousands of children Monica and Frank dump off here, the constant inward and outward flow of fuck buddies until Charlotte and Mickey and the tendency of people to just run up into their house with no consideration. He’d come to the conclusion that he needed to escape numerous times. College was one. His professor’s house was another. Hell, sometimes depending on how old he was, his little stints with foster families when CPS got wise to their living conditions served as a nice little break from his family. Ultimately, Lip was not new to the idea of trying to get away. But he’d never thought of it in this way before. Never where he had someone he wanted to take with him. 

“Hey, Bunny?”

“Hm, yes, baby?” 

He glances away for a moment, willing away the blush that forms on his face when she says stuff like that. “You, uh, you ever think about where you wanna live?”

Charlotte tilts her head in confusion, absently brushing something off of his cheek as she thinks over his question. “What, like choosing between here and V’s?”

“No, like, when…uh when we move. Just us.” The girl damn near headbutts him. Her hair smacking his face as she buries her face into his chest, making a shriek-like noise and kicking her feet against his legs. “Uh, what the fuck?”

She lifts her head with a smug look on her face poking at Lip’s forehead, “You wanna live with me?”

His brows furrow as he smooths his thumb over the spot on her forehead she’d hit his chest with, “Fuckin’ careful, gonna knock yourself out. We already live together-”

“But it’s not enough.” Charlotte sings, continuing to poke at him. “You want me to yourself. That’s so cute.” 

“Shut the fuck up.” Lip laughs, smacking her ass with one hand, pushing off of the floor with the other and lifting her with him, walking them over to the bed with one of her legs dangling as he carries her with his arm hooked under the other. “I take the question back.”

“Nuh uh,” she hums, grunting a little as he drops her onto the mattress, pretending to ignore his hands sliding up her shirt. “You put the offer on the table. I want our house to be green.”

Lip stops and looks down at her as she smiles up at him softly. Keeping one hand on her chest, he slides into the bed behind her, resting his head next to hers. “Yeah? What else?”

“Phillip.” Charlotte pouts, turning back to her husband after taking in the room. There’s no furniture, but it’s decorated with little lights and a blanket and pillows on the floor along with all types of different kinds of snacks and more flowers. 

“Uh…I figured you’d wanna get the furniture with me. And…we’re gonna have to wait until our next paychecks to get some. But…uh, I had Ian and Mickey help me set this shit up. And then I kicked em out because…Mickey’s an asshole and wanted to control everything. He’s into this shit you know…but…um…happy birthday, Charlotte.”

Charlotte continues to gape at him in disbelief. Her eyes are wide, mouth opening and closing. She’s speechless as she stares at the man in the doorway. 

“You, uh, you like it?”

It’s a good thing he can carry her. Because the way she launched herself at him with no warning would’ve brought someone else to the floor. Instead he relaxes in her hold, wrapping his arms around her waist as she wraps her legs around his. 

Smoothing her hands over his blond curls, Charlotte looks at Lip. Really looks at him. She gives him that look only she’s ever been able to deliver him. The one he works for every time he busted his ass at work, or chose to skip out on getting a beer. Scraped together every spare penny he had for that look. “I love you.” she breathes, smiling at him. “You gave me a house.”

“You…you gave me a home so…it was the fuckin’ least I could do.”

All Charlotte could do is bury her face in his shoulder. 

But it was true. She saved him, gave him a purpose. She made Lip want to be a man. One that his family deserved. One that deserved her. 

“Wow.” 

Lip glances over at his sister from his spot in the empty kitchen, closing the fridge door before making his way over to her. “You like it?”

“This is…really nice, Lip.” Fiona slowly makes her way through the pace, peeking her head into the bathroom. “You can afford this?”

The blond shrugs noncommittally, crossing his arms. “Close enough. I never gave Charlotte’s dad back the money, and I’ve got my promotion, plus the money she and I have saved up…we’ll be straight.”

“Good. Good.” Fiona hums, looking around the room. She rolls her lips inward, taking a deep breath. “That’s good, Lip.”

Lip’s eyes narrow as he watches his sister’s demeanor as she takes in the extremely large decision he made and immediately feels a wave of insecurity wash over him. “Fuckin’ what?”

“What?”

“Why’re you actin’ like that? All…like what you don’t think she’ll fuckin’ like it? Or…or-”

“She’ll like it! Jesus! What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with you?!” Lip huffs, dragging his hands over his face. “Like, you think I messed up or somethin’?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“I’m proud of you, asshole!” his sister whips around to face him, pale face flushed pink as she sniffs, fresh tears pooling in her eyes. “I’m…I’m really fuckin’ proud of you.”

Lip stops, feeling the anger and embarrassment he had building drain from his body as it turns into concern for his eldest sister. He slides onto the wooden floor, leaning his back against the island and quietly pats the spot on the floor next to him. “And?”

Fiona sighs, dropping her purse to the side before slipping into the spot next to him, resting her head on his shoulder. “I’m really proud of you and…it should be me.”

Lip nods silently as he digs in his pants pocket and pulls out a pre-rolled blunt he’d been keeping to celebrate with Ian later. Fiona needs it more. Flicking his lighter to life he christens the townhome with the scent of weed, praying the neighbors wouldn’t complain before he even got to move Charlotte in. “‘Kay.”

“Like,” Fiona sniffs, grabbing the blunt and taking a deep drag. “I feel like all of a sudden you’ve got this normal ass life. Got a wife, a house, a real job. And I’m still here, still working bullshit jobs, still taking care of kids that aren’t mine, still fuckin’ the same losers-”

“Uh, that one guy had some money right? The uh…the drug addict’s brother? Jimmy-” Lip adds, glancing at her out of the side of his eye to see if he’d effectively lightened the mood.

Fiona nudges him with her shoulder, passing the blunt back. “Dude, fuck you, for real.” 

Lip chuckles, nudging her back before wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “But uh…for real, I wouldn’t…I wouldn’t have been able to get here without you, like caring about us not bein’ complete hoodrats growin’ up. So…um…thanks.”

The brunette looks at her brother with an amused grin, shaking her head as she takes in the man before her, barely able to recognize him as the snot nosed little brat that used to get the shit kicked out of him at the playground for conning kids out of their ice cream money in order to get them one to share. “God, you better hope you never fuck things up with her. Wasn’t me. That girl raised your ass.”

The pair spends the night wrapped in each other. They eat in their new house and it feels surreal. The quiet. The comfortability. For the first time since they got married, they got to feel like husband and wife, not two teenagers with promise rings shacking up in their parents’ house.

They make love on top of the blankets on their living room floor, sharing air and clutching each other close. The only sound echoing in the empty house is their heavy breathing and there’s no sense of urgency.

And when they’re done they shower, peacefully and in hot water.

As he watches his wife drift off to sleep next to him, his body serving as a cushion for her from the hardwood floors all he can think about is how maybe all of the shit he tolerated earlier in life was to prepare him to really be able to appreciate this.

“You’re gonna live here?” Debbie frowns, crossing her arms over her chest as she glares up at her oldest brother. 

“Uh, yeah, Debs, me and Charlotte are gonna be stayin’ here from now on.”

The day after Charlotte’s birthday the couple invited the remaining Gallagher siblings, Mickey, Kev and V over to see their new place. They were all sworn to keep the new address a secret from Frank and Monica if she ever rolls into town again. Some of their family members were taking the news of the move better than others.

Debbie loves Charlotte. She’s the girly, fun older sister vibe that she’s always wanted. While she loves Fiona, she’d always acted more as a mother figure than a sister, so she couldn’t necessarily be the fun one. But the real heartbreak was Lip. Debbie had always been a Lip girl. Carl had Fiona, Debbie had Lip, that was the way it worked. How could he help her with her homework, or pick her up from the bus stop everyday from out here? 

She’d been glad he’d gotten a girlfriend at first. She was nice, and pretty and made Lip nicer. And happier. She didn’t think she ever saw Lip smile as much as when he was with Charlotte. And then he married her and it was even better. But now…now it felt like Lip was becoming a part of something that had nothing to do with the rest of them.

“Great, so Lip gets to take Charlotte and gets to move out of our shit house, what do the rest of us get?” Carl huffs, kicking a box that was clearly marked ‘Lip’s shit’ causing the vein in his brother’s neck to pop. 

“Make your own damn money, how about that, shithead.” Lip slaps the back of his brother’s head before picking up a box and carrying it into the kitchen. 

Distantly he could hear Charlotte promising the kids that they would get to visit the house all of the time and that she and Lip will visit them so often it’ll feel like they hadn’t moved at all. He rolls his eyes to himself in some fake showing of irritation, but is inwardly proud to be with someone so kind to his siblings.

They’d moved the bed they shared at V and Kev’s house to theirs early this morning. So, now, they officially had one singular piece of furniture. They plan to work their way to getting more as time develops, mainly because Charlotte was not okay with looking over the shit people had thrown away before it hit the junkyard. Lip had tried to explain to her that it wasn’t technically trash until it got there, but she was strongly against it. 

Kev gifted them a hot tv that one of his customers dragged into the bar about a month ago and was currently mounting the small screen in their living room. The place was sort’ve coming together. At least to their standards.

Lip’s siblings stay for a couple hours and decide to head home when the second bus heads out. As Fiona slings Liam’s diaper bag over her shoulder and Ian picks him up, Charlotte and Lip exchange a look.

“Hey, uh, Fi, can we talk to you really quick?”

Fiona places the bag down, shrugging “sure.” before following Lip and Charlotte into the kitchen. The latter pushes her way up to sit on the counter and Lip stands between her legs, her hands resting on his chest as he leans back into her, facing his sister. “What’s up?”

Lip hesitates slightly. He knows this topic is gonna piss her off. He rolls his tongue in his cheek as he thinks about how to approach the conversation in the least damaging way possible, rubbing his thumb along Charlotte’s thigh for comfort. “We uh, has CPS reached out yet?”

“Not yet.” Fiona starts, tucking her hair behind her ear, wrapping her arms around herself. “The house is…pretty cleaned up, so as long as Hurricane Frank doesn’t hit before they come we should be alright this time. But, uh, when they come I’ll call you.”

“Right, we were thinking. That um,” Lip sucks in a breath, scrubbing down his face before deciding fuck it he was gonna have to get it out sometime. “Maybe, maybe Liam should stay with us for a while. We talked about it yesterday, and we’ve got room for ‘em so-”

“Why?”

There it was. The kicked puppy, ‘are you tryin’ to say I’m not doing a good job’ look that he wanted to avoid. And now here come the dramatics.

“Fi-” he sighs.

“No. No, why would he stay with you? He’s been perfectly fine with me at our house. You’ve got this place for like, two seconds and you already think you’re better than somebody?” 

Lip can feel the irritation building under his skin. His jaw works as he breathes out heavily and he feels Charlotte’s hand tug lightly on the hair at the nape of his neck.

“It was just a thought, Fiona.” Charlotte cuts in. “Phillip is his legal guardian right? We just thought it might make things easier for the CPS visit. Easier on everyone, you know? We just wanna help.”

Fiona’s lips twist as if she was forcing herself to hold her tongue. She opts for shaking her head, moving away from the pair to leave the kitchen. “Help yourselves. That’s what Lip wants to do anyway.” 

As the couple hears the rest of their family be ushered out of the house and the door slam behind them, Charlotte pulls Phillip to her, placing his face in her cheeks. “Are you okay?”

The man sucks his teeth and shrugs. “Yeah, she’s just dealin’ with shit. She’ll get over it. She’s sensitive about the whole, me being Liam’s legal guardian thing and now she’s being a bitch about it.”

Charlotte nods, with an easy smile. “Yeah, but I mean with all of it. You’re moving out of your family home. Away from your younger siblings. It’s different, and I wanna make sure you don’t feel like…rushed or somethin’.”

“Bunny, I’m the one who got us the house. I’m fine. That’s my old life, right? This is my new one. I’m startin’ it with you.” Lip smiles, pulling her into a kiss and tugging her off of the counter, holding her up by her ass as she wraps her legs around him. “Now we have to find places to fuck in this house that we couldn’t living with all 5,000 Gallaghers.”

Charlotte rolls her eyes as Lip flips her up onto his shoulder, landing a loud smack on her ass. “My prince charming.”

“Yeah, fuckin’ better be, I bought you a damn house!” 

“Ha! How long are you gonna milk that?”

Lip meant what he’d said about starting a new life with Charlotte. 

It was the one thing he still believes her father was right about. He’d have to choose. Not to cut off his siblings and old life completely, but he couldn’t stay the way he was and be with Charlotte. He couldn’t have the life he wanted. He didn’t even know that he could live like this. 

Good, happy homes were things of fairy tales in the Gallagher house just like unicorns and magic wands. Nothing was gonna happen to make their lives better, they just had to make do. It was a hard lesson they all learned. Hell, Debbie was starting to see now. You work, grind, steal, and have small bursts of mania where you get to taste happiness, and then you fall hard. And Monica and Frank show up to trip you on your way down to make your fall even harder.

Even when Charlotte showed up, she was the lone beam of light in the otherwise deep pit he was born into. He didn’t know there was anything else. Until he started to set a routine in this new life with Charlotte.

Somehow, waking up at 7:30 to get ready for work was easier for Lip when he was with her. Don’t get him wrong, was he a morning person? Absolutely fucking not. But, having his sexy wife laying in bed next to him, waking him up with kisses and the occasional handjob definitely helped. 

“Goodmorning.” she whispers, kissing him again. 

Lip smooths his hand along her jaw and just stares up in awe that this is what he wakes up to. That they can have moments like this, where there’s nothing else, no one else. Just them. 

He’s at peace, spending the first few minutes of his day running his hand from the nape of Charlotte’s neck to her ass as she lays on his chest and rambles about what the fuck ever. The girls at one job or the other. Something crazy V was doing. Some tv show that it was apparently a crime he hadn’t seen. 

She doesn’t try to force him to talk, knowing he’s not into talking early in the morning. He just wants her next to him. He just wants her there.

By 7:40 she’s dragging out of bed, despite his loose grip trying to pull her back into it. “Bubba, shower, you have to leave soon and I wanna have time to eat breakfast together.” she pouts. 

He raises a brow, resting his arm behind his head. “Gonna be careful this time?”

Charlotte huffs, flipping him off with her bandaged middle finger. One of three injuries she’s sustained since they now have a stove that actually gets hot. 

Lip chuckles as he watches her storm down the hallway and start jogging down the steps. “I’m rubbin’ off on you!”

“Yeah, that’s the only rubbing that’s gonna be going on around here, jerk.”

Shaking his head he actually gets up and showers. And its fuckin’ wild. There’s hot water. He doesn’t have to wait 30 minutes for it to come and hurry up and scrub before it turns cold again. He doesn’t have to call out to go first and race to get there anyway. He either goes first, because Charlotte heads in later than him or they shower together. Lip can take his time but he doesn’t because he knows there’s food downstairs. It won’t be spoiled. It won’t be stolen. Maybe a little burnt if Charlotte hurts herself again. And he doesn’t have to pretend he’s not hungry after grabbing his plate because he can see there’s not enough for his little siblings to eat. 

Maybe Charlotte’s dad was right, there’s something to be said about choosing to move on with the person you’re in love with. Maybe there’s a reason normal people move out and get married and only see their original family once or twice a year. Maybe Lip thinks he is better than someone, everyone in the fucking hood he grew up in and God or whatever else was overlording his bullshit life up until this point finally decided he deserves more. And so they gave him his fucking wife. And now all he needs to do is not fucking look back. 

So he doesn’t. He moves on. Just him and Charlotte. Aside from a few texts with Ian, who was very understanding about Lip’s new resolve to move on from their shit filled lives, he was disconnected from everything Gallagher. A full two weeks go by without him visiting their old shack of a house. Fiona never calls and the only Lip thinks to miss is the kids. 

Charlotte thought the whole situation was bullshit.

“Hey, bubba, you spoke to any of your brother’s and sister’s today?” She asks, leaning in the doorframe to their bedroom. Lip is sitting criss-crossed on the floor, using the laptop the company gave him to get some work done that he hadn’t finished earlier. He doesn’t look up from the laptop as he holds his arm out, scooting the electronic to one leg so Charlotte can sit on the other. 

She perches herself on his leg, wrapping her arm around his shoulders and leaning her head on his. “Uh nope. What do you want for dinner?”

“Hmm,” she hums, nuzzling her nose into his cheek. “For you to call your sister?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Charlotte.” 

“I know you miss them. Moving out doesn’t mean cutting ties!” 

“Yep, off.” He says, lifting her up and off his lap, placing her on the floor next to him. “It’s normal to grow up and not see your siblings every fuckin’ day, Charlotte.”

“Yes, but this is a tantrum, Phillip. There’s a difference.” She huffs, watching him put a headphone in, snatching it back out.

“I’m working.”

“We’re talking, Phillip!”

“No, you’re fuckin’ yelling.” Lip sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face. “But if you want to have a serious conversation, we could talk about your jobs.”

“Again.” Charlotte rolls her eyes, flopping back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

“I mean you’re still working there so…”

“It helps, Phillip. And I like the people there.” 

“Oh my fucking god, yes,” Lip snaps the laptop closed, standing and crossing his arms. “Please, baby, tell me how much you like the limp dick perverts that come to your jobs to eyefuck you.” 

“I’m not talking about them and you know that.” Charlotte grumbles, grabbing the blanket from the bottom of the bed and tugging it over her head. “You’re being mean and I’m just trying to help you.” she muffles. 

“Fuckin’” Lip grits his teeth, taking a deep breath before sitting on the edge of the bed, resting his forehead where he knows her stomach is. “I’m sorry baby, you married a dick.”

“I know.”

“You know,” he laughs, leaning more weight on her and scoffing at her ‘oof’. “You callin’ me heavy or something?”

“It’s…like…an…elephant is stepping on me.”

“Fuck you.” he chuckles. Lip pulls lightly at the blanket. “Look at me, Bunny?” The blanket folds down and Charlotte gives him her big brown eyes, staring up at him. “Baby, I fuckin’ love that you love my family, despite the absolute shit storm that they are. But I’ve spent my life dealin’ with that shit. I’m fuckin’ tired of beggin’ and crawlin’ back to the clusterfuck I was born into. I’m fuckin’ tired, Bunny. This is the family I wanna focus on. Us, baby.”

She smiles at that, smoothing her thumb over his lips, squealing when he lightly bites the digit with his teeth. “Ow, okay, jackass. Stop being cute.”

“Where did you get that goddamn language from? Shit.”

Lip looks up from the small television as his ears hone in on the sound of Charlotte’s slippers shuffling across the wooden floor. His girl comes into view with an absent look on her face. She’d finished doing her hair, the long black silk now split into a half up half down. Her body is covered (barely) by her short, white tank top dress.

They had people over. Charlotte had insisted that Lip at least try to make friends with the guys from work if he refused to mend the bridge between him and his siblings and start hanging out with them again. After a lot of whining, nagging and actual kicking, Lip promised to invite the guys to their new house to watch the game.

The guys from work were trying to be respectful. He could give them that. Whether it be because they know about what happened with Eric or because they genuinely are trying to be his friends, as she skips into view, her thighs shining in the light from the lamp, the short dress fighting to cover her ass, they all work to fix their eyes onto the screen.

“Phillip?” she says sweetly, slipping an arm around his neck and hopping into his lap, blindly trusting him to catch her. He obviously does. 

“Yes, baby?” He tugs her dress down as he brings her legs over his so she can sit more comfortably.

“Are you hungry?” She sighs, pushing his hair back, smiling when his eyes slip closed lightly as her fingers scratch his scalp. “I’m hungry.”

“Uh, no baby, m’not hungry, but uh-”

She lets out an annoyed, high pitched whine that has Lucas’ eyes darting over briefly. Come on Luc, I fuckin’ like you, hold it down. “Are your friends hungry?”

Lip peaks around her to address them, brows raised and is quickly met with several panicked versions of ‘no thank you’ ‘I already ate’ and ‘my girlfriend will kill me if I eat without her.’ “Charlotte, just eat those leftover noodles we made earlier and when the game’s over I’ll take you somewhere.”

She huffs again before leaning in and meeting Lip in a kiss, he had never realized how noisily they kissed until they were in front of other people. When she fully pulls away to pad off into the kitchen, a final smack sounds in the room that has his cheeks reddening and his hand refraining from patting her ass like he normally would.

Charlotte moving around in the kitchen doesn’t serve as a problem. She’s not loud and seems to be perfectly satisfied just preparing her snack and chilling by herself. Lip is temporarily able to focus on the game again, talking to Noah about how it’s number 9’s retirement year and how they need this win to stay in the season. 

“Yeah, but he’s a fuckin’ idiot, they’re not goin’ anywhere.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re watchin’ Gallagher, let him make the play and…”

Lip waits for Noah to finish his argument, ready to scoff at whatever bullshit response he has but it never comes. He looks around at the other guys to see them all watching something over his head. He turns, following their gaze over to the counter. “Fuckin’ shit.”

There’s his wife, sitting on their counter with not a care in the world. Her dress riding up, the flesh of her thighs spread on the cool countertops. Her head tossed back, eyes closed, mouth open and tongue out as she slurps down the noodles as if it was the first meal she’d had in days, stopping only briefly in between to pop her fingers into her mouth to suck up the fallen droplets of broth. Jesus Christ could he even blame them? 

He hops out of his seat as fast as his legs can carry him, blocking her from his guests' view. “Charlotte, c’mon baby, what’re you doin’?”

Her brows furrow as she fixes him a confused look, she swallows the noodles in her mouth and scoops more up with the chopsticks. “What? You said I could have ‘em, you wanted some?” she offers sweetly, bringing the food to his lips.

“Why are you eating on the counter?” He whisper yells, dragging her closer to him.

“You and your friends are in the only seats, where else was I supposed to go?”

“The bed?”

“I don’t wanna get food in there!” 

“I’d have given you a seat!”

“Or you could take me to pick out more chairs.” she hums, slurping the noodles he still hadn’t accepted into her mouth, moaning dramatically as she eats them. And then it hits him. “With my paycheck. From my job.”

“You little fuckin’ brat.”

“A brat who’s getting new chairs?”

Lip points his finger in her face, pushing her forehead gently. “You’re fucking irritating.” 

“I love you too.” She chirps, hopping down off of the counter. “M’gonna let you hang out with your friends. Go see what our family is up to. You want me to bring you anything back or…?”

“Just keep your purse close.” He mumbles.

Charlotte rolls her eyes, making a big show of kissing her husband before walking out of the door.

“Thanks for coming out to meet me. I know you have to work later.” Charlotte sips her water, running her finger along the cool condensation. “I’m really sorry about what happened a couple weeks ago, Fi.”

Fiona kicks Charlotte’s leg lightly. “I told you, stop apologizin’. I don’t blame you just because you’re my prick brother’s wife. I just don’t know where that kid gets off, you know? Acting like I can’t take care of our siblings, like I always have. I raised that little asshole too.”

Charlotte fidgets in her seat at that. While she still agrees it may be good for Liam to come live with her and Phillip, she also understands why the idea would hurt Fiona. Instead of arguing with the girl she just frowns and decides to address what she came for. “I understand that it’s not all on you or anything, but, don’t you feel like it’s been a while since you guys have talked?”

“Mm, not the longest we’ve gone.” Fiona says nonchalantly, eating a couple fries.

“But, don’t you guys miss each other?”

“Look, Lottie, Lip is being a fuckin’ Gallagher. He’s got something good goin’ right now so he’s jumping ship. Logging off, taking some vacation time from the job that it is to be part of this family. We all do it. Get high and mighty when we have something good we can latch onto.” She takes a sip of her soda before crossing her arms. “He’ll be back.”

“When?” Charlotte asks, shifting forward. “I know he misses you guys. I know you guys miss him. What about the younger kids?”

“This is what they know. Gallaghers get another offer and fuckin’ dip. And then we come crawling back when we absolutely fucking tank whatever good thing we had going. And the other Gallaghers know that we have to take them back.” Fiona sighs, resting her chin in her hand. 

“But…what we have isn’t going to end.” Charlotte says. “This time…this time aren’t you guys gonna have to learn how one of you can be happy and still keep a relationship with the rest of you?”

Fiona stares at Charlotte from across the table, lips pursed. The rational side of her brain tells her it’s true. It tells her that her little shithead brother was changing and evolving. That he’s a man now, with a family, and their dynamic would have to change if they were going to stay in each other’s lives.

But the other part of her still has doubts. It knows that Lip is Monica and Frank’s son at the end of the day. He’s a Gallagher. They break what they touch. Property, promises and people. As much as she loves Charlotte, she can only think it’s a matter of time before he fucks up and she leaves or he drags her down with him. As far as Fiona was concerned, Lip was playing house, and the game had to end eventually.

“Fuckin’ nasty.” Lip sneers, dumping the collection of beers his coworkers had left in the living room. Now that he has a generally clean house, it was easier to notice when it’s dirty. Dumping the trash bag next to the counter and making a mental note to take it out before Charlotte got home and made a big deal about it before dramatically tripping over it and declaring that Lip tried to kill her, Lip pulls his phone from his pocket. She’s been gone for a while.

His stomach grumbles and he decides to text her to see if she ever got around to getting food or if she wanted him to make her something too when he fed himself. He’d have to feed her before he dragged her to bed and taught her why she shouldn’t tease him while his horny, idiot coworkers are interloping in their home. 

As he’s sending the message the doorbell rings and Lip snorts. Taking his sweet old time as he shuffles over to the door. “Oh, someone forgot their fuckin’ keys again, huh, Bunny?” He smugly cracks his neck before pulling open the door, “How’re you gonna thank me for lettin’ you in, huh?”

“I…I just really needed to see you.”

Lip’s eyes shoot open and he immediately takes a step back in shock, almost reflexively slams the door shut. 

“Wh-Mandy what the fuck?”

[sjsmith56]

Making It Clear

Summary: Bucky’s girlfriend reminisces about their relationship while he is on a long mission. She also recalls how one member of the Avengers tried to bring her down.

Characters: Bucky Barnes, named OFC, Sharon Carter, Sam Wilson

Warnings: Body shaming, self esteem issues, bullying behaviour, gaslighting.

Author notes: Set post-FATWS. Captain America 4 and Thunderbolts* have not happened. Instead, the Avengers were restarted with Sam and Bucky as the leaders. This happens a couple of years after that. A certain MCU woman character is the antagonist.

📚 ☕️ 🥙

It had been two weeks since most of the team went on the mission. Two weeks since I last spoke to Bucky. Two weeks since we last made love. We had only been living together for six months, six glorious months where I finally believed that I found a diamond in the rough. I was in love and with everything he said and did, I believed he was falling in love with me.

I'm not an Avenger. I'm nothing special, just an ordinary woman who was doing an ordinary job of working in a used bookstore in New York, one of two jobs I held: the other transcribing doctor's audio notes into a readable file, then uploading it into the healthcare database. I could do it from home, which suited me fine. One morning, as I was working at the bookstore, I became aware of the most beautiful man I've ever seen glancing at me as he looked at some books. Our eyes met and I felt a pull to his blue ones unlike any other connection I've ever had with a man. I smiled; he smiled back, then he smiled again when he brought his small stack over to buy the books he had chosen.

"Nice selection," I said, as I rang them through.

I looked at the hardcover illustrated one about the horse Seabiscuit. I thought it was an unusual choice, although it was a good book. He noticed my attention on it.

"I actually saw Seabiscuit race," he said. I looked at him strangely. "I'm Bucky Barnes. I was a young man then." He placed a gloved hand on the book cover. "It brings back good memories."

"You are really him," I stated. "You're different than you seem on TV. You're smiling, for starters."

He chuckled. "Yeah, I'm not a big fan of the media. Sometimes I feel as if they're waiting for me to screw up so they can point the finger and say I should never have been pardoned." He shrugged and looked around. "A bookstore is one of my safe places."

"$25.67, please. I've never seen you here before."

He offered his bank card and placed it on the terminal. "I only just found it this morning, but I think I'll be here more often."

Producing a cloth bag out of his pocket, he held it open while I slid the books and receipt into it. He nodded his head and turned to go to the door then looked back.

"What's your name?"

"Robyn."

He smiled again, his almost perfect white teeth showing briefly. "It's nice to meet you, Robyn. I'll see you next time."

That was how we met and true to his word, the next time was five days later, when he returned with his cloth shopping bag. I heard the bell on the door ring and got up from where I was rearranging a shelf. He was there at the end of the aisle.

"Hi, you're back," I said, saying the first thing that came to mind.

"I am. I finished the books. The Seabiscuit book was good. Do you have other sports books that might interest me?"

I smiled. "Well, I took the liberty of looking you up on the internet." He raised his eyebrows. "Not the bad stuff. The good stuff from before the war. You were a boxer." He nodded. "There's a book called The Sweet Science by A.J. Liebling. It was published in 1949, after you were declared dead, but it's considered one of the best books about boxing around."

I walked behind the front desk and opened the cupboard, pulling out a stack of books. Finding the boxing book, I put it on the counter for him. He smiled that brilliant smile again and picked it up, reading the back cover, then opened it and scanned the first few pages.

"That looks good. What else do you have there?"

"You'll like this one, even though most of the story happens after the war. It's called The Boys of Summer. It's about the Brooklyn Dodgers until the 1955 World Series. There's some criticism that it's too worshipful in tone but for a loyal fan of the Dodgers it's supposed to be an excellent read."

His eyes lit up and he picked it up, reading the back, then the first few pages of the first chapter.

"You're batting 2 for 2 so far, sweetheart," he said, then he looked at me. "Sorry, bad habit. I know women now don't care for those nicknames."

"I don't mind," I smiled back. "It reminds me of my grandpa." He made a face at me, which made me laugh. "I'm not saying you're old enough to be my grandpa because it's true that you are. You're just from a different time, that's all. It doesn't offend me."

The next book was The Natural, by Bernard Malamud. I described it to him, telling him it was made into a pretty decent movie as well. Sticking with baseball, I showed him Shoeless Joe, by W.P. Kinsella, and described the plot.

"They made a movie out of that called Field of Dreams," I said. "Whenever I'm home and it comes on, I watch it with my dad. Even though there are differences from the book it makes me cry every time." I put the final book in front of him. "This is No Cheering in the Press Box. The editor interviewed 24 sportswriters who were active between World War I and World War II. They basically just talk about the memorable sporting events and athletes they wrote about. Oh, and there was a movie about Seabiscuit based on the book you bought but the book was better, in my opinion."

He sifted through the five books then pushed them all towards me. "Ring them up. I'll take them all."

I scanned the barcode on the back of each book through as he watched me.

"You're not full time here," he noted.

"No," I replied, shaking my head. "I have another job that's almost full time, but I do it at home. This one gives me spending money. New York's expensive."

"Yeah, it is, but I still like the energy," he answered. "How much do I owe you?"

"$54.35." He put his cloth bag on the counter, and I packed the books while he placed his bank card on the terminal. "I hope you like them."

"I'm sure I will. If you want to pick out some books on science and technology for next time I would appreciate it. I'm still trying to catch up on what I missed."

It looked like he was going to ask me something else then he nodded politely and left the store. I went back to rearranging that shelf, then a few moments later heard the bell on the door ring. Just as I started to rise, he was there, offering me a hand up. It was a nice gesture and I thanked him. He stood awkwardly for a moment then took a deep breath.

"If you're not busy sometime I would like to have coffee with you, if you want, and you're not busy yourself. I can imagine two jobs keep you busy but I found it easy to talk to you and I just don't like going through the dating apps and judging people based on a photograph. If you don't, it's okay."

His voice trailed off and he looked so vulnerable for a long moment.

"I would like that, too, except I'm a tea drinker," I said. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and looked at my schedule. "I'm free at 5 today. We could make it drinks and a light meal, maybe? There's a nice bistro around the corner that makes good coffee, tea, and great paninis."

The smile that erupted out of his face was so sweet and I could feel my stomach do a little flip flop at the sight of it.

"Yeah, that would work. Shall I meet you here and we walk over together?"

"Sure, but let's exchange numbers, just in case something comes up. I imagine that in your line of work you're on call all the time."

Agreeing with that he produced his phone and handed it to me so I could enter my information in his contacts. He texted my number and watched as I saved it to my list. Then with a wave he left the store and I returned to that shelf.

Bucky showed up at 4:55, walking in as I was finishing with a customer. He smiled at both of us, then stood at a shelf, looking at the selection, until I walked the customer out, locked the door, and pulled the blinds down on the windows and door.

"I just have to put the cash into the safe," I said. "The owner will be in tomorrow morning and will do the tally for the bank deposit."

After I printed off the sales record and emptied the cash drawer, I opened the safe and placed all the cash in it. The door was closed, the dial on the safe was spun, and I locked the cabinet. Then I grabbed my purse and jacket, and came out to the front.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

I nodded and unlocked the door so he could leave ahead of me, locking both locks on it, then I asked for his help to pull the grate down and locked it into place. Like always, I sent a text to the owner that everything was secure for the night.

We arrived at the bistro just a few minutes later and I ordered a London Fog Tea Latte, and a chicken Caesar panini, while Bucky ordered a regular coffee and two roast beef paninis. It was common knowledge that he needed more food due to being a super soldier, so I wasn't surprised. We took a seat outside in the shade of the awning and waited for our food.

It was one of the best dates I had ever been on. Bucky was charming, in an old-fashioned way. He didn't monopolize the conversation, instead he asked me a lot of questions about myself. When I did ask him something he got nostalgic, but not in a complaining way. There were just things that he missed from before and he was sorry they didn't last.

"What about new things?" I asked, as our food was served. "What do you like about the present?"

"Food," he said, immediately, as he took an appreciative bite of his panini and smiled as he chewed before he spoke again. "Some things were better then but things like this, and the variety that's available is good. Healthcare is better. I mean, so many things were bad then, like cancer, tuberculosis, polio, and diseases that needed better antibiotics which didn't exist yet to be cured." He shrugged a little. "I prefer the old music but I'm making my way through the newer stuff and finding out what I like."

"I don't think they do romantic songs well now, not like they used to," I commented. "It's more about sexual attraction instead of the emotions, although there are still a few singers of the old stuff. I remember watching my grandparents dance at weddings when they played the old stuff and it was sweet, you know? It was romantic that they still felt the same way even after so many years." He got a pained look in his eyes for a moment, and I wondered if he was remembering something sad. "What were you like then? I've seen the pictures of you in your uniform and you were, and still are a handsome man. You looked so confident."

"Yeah." His voice softened. "I went out a lot, dancing. I was popular, mostly because I didn't kiss and tell. A woman's reputation was everything and it was easy to destroy if someone said something that really wasn't their business. I'm more introverted now as I don't have much in common with most people. I've had a few relationships, but they fizzled out and I never really figured out why as they said it was them, not me. Hard to believe that when you hear it several times."

"You like books," I replied. "That's a big plus for me. You're polite, attentive, and you have manners. That puts you above a lot of guys in my generation."

"You don't date much?" I shook my head, then took another bite of my panini. "They must be idiots. I think you're interesting and I'd like to see you again."

His words made me feel warm inside and I smiled at him. "I'd like that, too."

After we finished, we walked around, talking some more, then Bucky saw me home, sitting on the train with me. When we got to my apartment door, he hesitated for a moment then he gently brushed his lips against mine and watched as I entered, telling me to wave from the window when I was safely inside.

That was the beginning of our relationship, and it was wonderful as it developed over the first two months. We saw each other whenever we could, even if he sometimes just came and sat in my apartment to read as I worked on my medical transcriptions. He always made sure I had something to eat and drink while I was doing that. Sometimes, he would massage my shoulders when it looked like I was stressing out over some of the more unintelligible voice recordings, as accuracy in the transcription was paramount.

The first time he stayed over was incredible, as it started to rain hard while he was there. I wasn't going to send him out into the rain, so we made soup and grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner. When the power suddenly stopped, we made out, which led to our first time together, which led to him staying over. He was so giving, wanting to make sure that I was satisfied before he was. I can honestly say he made love better than any man I had ever been with, not that I had a lot of experience in the matter. It didn't matter, I was falling in love with him and by the words he said to me, the feeling was mutual.

My world fell apart a little just over two months after we started dating when the bookstore was broken into overnight, robbed, then set on fire. I wasn't working that day, but my boss phoned me in tears that someone would destroy her livelihood like that. Bucky came with me in the middle of the night to comfort her, as we watched the fire department try to save what they could, which ended up being nothing. Even with the insurance, she couldn't afford to reopen it and I was out of one of my two jobs. Two weeks later, the medical transcription service I worked for was sold to a conglomerate, who promptly terminated the contracts of over half the staff, me included. Because it was a contract position, there was no severance pay. It wouldn't be long until my savings ran out and when it did, I would be homeless.

"Move in with me," offered Bucky. "The suite I have at the tower is huge and I'm sure you can get on with the support staff there. All I have to do is ask Pepper Stark."

"Bucky, I don't want to use you like that." I appreciated it but it seemed wrong to use his friends to get another job and I didn't want to impose on him. "I'll find something. I can manage on my own."

He looked at me with a strange, soft smile on his face.

"The thing is, you don't have to. You're more than qualified to work at the tower and we're together so much already that I feel like we're already living together. Please, let me help the most important person in my life."

My interview with Pepper Stark went well, and I got a job, a good job, in the IT department. She even paid for my things to be moved into Bucky's apartment, although most of the furniture went into storage because his apartment was furnished already. Almost everyone was welcoming to me and I felt comfortable there.

There was one person who seemed friendly at first, but I found when Bucky went on longer missions that she wasn't on, she could be a little cold. Sharon Carter, who was apparently related to Steve Rogers' girlfriend from World War II, was beautiful, smart, and a very capable operative. As a CIA liaison with the Avengers, she was often sent on undercover assignments, with various Avengers, occasionally Bucky, to infiltrate secure places. In front of him and the others she was very complementary to me. But when they were away and we were alone, or with some lesser agents, she would make comments that could be seen as snide or hurtful, although she always worded them in a way that made me wonder if I was just imagining it.

Once, I came back from working out. I knew I wasn't at the level of fitness most of the agents or Avengers were. I just did stuff to keep active and Bucky never said anything to the contrary. On that day, I felt good about what I did, actually pushing myself with the weights. I stopped to get a bottle of water from the communal fridge. I took my sweaty T-shirt off and was in my sports bra and leggings. Sharon sat at the table, reading something on a tablet. As I walked past her, she hummed.

"I don't mean to be critical or anything," she said, in that confident voice she had. "Are you gaining weight?" I looked at her as if I couldn't believe she would say that. "It's just that you seem to have a bit of a muffin top forming. Maybe you shouldn't be eating ice cream for a snack so often. Just a word of advice. Bucky likes his women fit."

That was the first time I ever felt misgivings about my body. Even though I knew I looked good, she planted a seed of doubt in my head that day. Ignoring her, I left for our apartment and stripped down, looking at myself naked in the mirror. I grasped my midsection and tried to see where the muffin top was. I couldn't see it and even though I dismissed the thought, it percolated in my head, and I found myself cutting back on my food during the rest of the week. When Bucky returned, he made a big show of picking me up and holding me tight as he kissed me. There was a mirror wall and I glanced at it, seeing Sharon while he was doing it. She was jealous; it was clearly all over her face that she wanted Bucky. During dinner with everyone, she was polite again. As soon as we finished Bucky and I went to our apartment, locked ourselves in and didn't come out until morning. I wanted to ask him about Sharon, but something stopped me.

"Robyn, are you alright?" Bucky was looking at me as we brushed our teeth. "You seem off."

"I just missed you," I replied. "I'm glad you're back."

"Me, too," he smiled. "We have a lot of catching up to do. I've missed this."

He wrapped his arms around me from behind and kissed my neck. Then he frowned.

"Have you lost weight?"

"I don't know," I lied. "Maybe I've been grabbing food on the go while I'm working instead of stopping for a meal."

"Don't lose anymore," he said, softly. "I like you with something extra to hold. You've got a beautiful body."

His words soothed me, and I felt better. Our relationship progressed and we said the "love" words to each other often. The time apart while he was on missions was hard, but he bent over backwards to make it up to me on his return. Sharon made little comments when he wasn't around, but I ignored them as best I could. That lasted until he had to go on a long mission again, this mission that he was currently on. Thankfully, Sharon wasn't at the tower as she was on assignment in Los Angeles. But the day before Bucky got back, she walked into the common room, where I was sitting alone, minding my own business. She flopped onto the sofa next to me then looked over.

"You changed your hair."

"Just got it cut."

"It looks alright, I guess. Has Bucky seen it?"

"On FaceTime. He likes it."

"Oh." She was quiet for a moment. "Maybe when he gets here, he'll change his mind."

I shouldn't have let what she said bother me, but something flipped inside me at that moment, and I turned to her, glaring in anger.

"What is your problem? Why do you say things like that?"

"Like what? They're just observations. Whether you listen to them or not, isn't my problem." I got up to get away from her, but she just had to have the last word. "You know his relationships don't last. Something always goes wrong. It just depends on when you realize that he's not cut out for something long term."

I kept going until I got into the apartment. Then I cried, feeling stupid that I let her words hurt me. All the old insecurities from her first hurtful comments came up and even though I knew I should just let it slide off me, something must have hit the mark because I couldn't let it go. That night I slept terribly, unable to put her words out of my head. Eventually I fell asleep for a bit but was awakened by the sensation of someone getting into bed with me. With a start I sat up, only to see Bucky smiling sheepishly at me.

"You're back early!"

"We left early, and I flew at top speed to get back sooner," he said, reaching out to caress my face. "Was hoping to be with you before you left for work."

I clutched at him, kissing him frantically, until he laughingly pulled me off of him. Then he looked closer at me and saw how tired I still appeared. Immediately his whole mood changed into something more serious and concerned.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asked. "Didn't you sleep last night?"

I looked down and shook my head. He waited to hear more.

"Sharon got into my head, and I couldn't shake it off."

"She what?" His voice hardened. "What did she say to you?"

"It was nothing."

"Robyn, it wasn't nothing if it bothered you. If you don't tell me then I have to ask Friday for a playback."

I explained how her comment on my haircut triggered me into confronting her and she gaslighted me into making it my fault I was offended. His face went steely. Then, haltingly, I told him what she said about him and relationships; that he wasn't cut out for something long term.

"How long?" I looked at him blankly. "How long as she been messing with your head?"

I told him about the snide comments about my appearance, and lack of fitness. It all came pouring out of me in a torrent. By the last words I was crying and he held me, pulling me onto his lap while he kissed me and told me over and over how much I meant to him. When my crying finally slowed down to shaky breaths and occasional sniffles, he placed his hand under my chin and raised my face to view his.

"Understand this and believe it," he murmured. "I love you. Living with you has made me feel like a new man and I wake up every morning smiling because I know that you're here with me. I want to wake up next to you for the rest of my life. That's not a proposal but it is a promise that someday, sooner rather than later, I'll ask you properly to marry me." He kissed me sweetly on the lips then he took another audible breath. "Sharon Carter is another matter. I turned her down once because I honestly don't like her. She's a good operative and I've had her back while she's had mine. But she's got a mean streak in her that comes out without warning, and she doesn't care who it hurts. My last girlfriend before you, said something about Sharon and then left, not wanting to elaborate. I didn't put it together then I met you and put it out of my mind." He looked up at the ceiling. "Friday, can you compile recordings of any interaction between Sharon and my previous girlfriends and with Robyn. Specifically, any that involve criticism of the relationship between them and me? Include any comments that were critical of the girlfriends."

I looked at him in a new light. "You think it was her who sabotaged your relationships?" He nodded. "She planted the seeds of doubt and watered them every chance she got." I rubbed my face. "She wants you for herself."

"It's never going to happen." His tone was firm, then softened as he gazed at me. "I have what I want right here, right now."

I unbuckled his tac suit jacket, slipping it off his shoulders then tugged his singlet off between tender kisses and caresses from both of us. He took off the rest and showed me how much I meant to him in the best way possible. All my fears about us were dealt with and we slept afterwards wrapped together for several hours. When I woke up to get ready for my job, he let me shower alone. When I came out, he went in for a quick shower then dressed.

"Let's go for breakfast," he said. "I have a video to show everyone."

Together we came out to the common kitchen and dining area where everyone was making or eating breakfast. Sharon was sitting at the table with a pastry and coffee, pretending not to notice us but Bucky made sure he had his arm around me and kissed my head often. He made me a tea and gestured for me to sit at the table while he brought our food. It was close to Sharon, but I ignored her. Bucky brought our food then went back and poured himself a coffee, sitting next to me.

"I do like your hair like this," he said, running his eyes over it. "It looks even better than it did on FaceTime. What do you think, Sharon?"

"It's fine," she answered, as if she were bored.

"I guess fine is better than alright," he said, looking straight at her. "That was the actual term you used, wasn't it?"

"I dunno."

"You know, maybe it's because I was out of practice or maybe it's because I thought we were colleagues, but I never once thought that you would stoop so low as to try to sabotage my relationships."

She made it seem like he was boring her then looked at him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Let me refresh your memory then. Friday, playback video compilation from this morning."

The large wall screen came to life and a series of videos began of Sharon with Bucky's earlier girlfriends. Everyone stopped talking and watched in confusion, with open mouths, as they heard her say some nasty things to the other women. There were many comments about their hair, weight, lack of style, lack of fitness, but mostly how Bucky wasn't capable of being in a long-term relationship with anyone because of his PTSD, or because he was more interested in playing the field. To her credit, she sat there and took it, although her face hardened throughout the playback. When the video got to what she said to me, I could feel the mood in the room turn completely against her. Sam Wilson, who hadn't said anything until then, finally stood up and looked at her with daggers.

"I think you should put in for an immediate transfer to another agency," he said. "By what I've seen and heard just now I don't think anyone wants to partner with you on any missions. Whatever trust we may have built up with you during and since the Flag Smashers is gone, by your own actions."

She breathed out angrily and stood up, looking briefly at all of them, then finally on Bucky and me. With a shake of her head, she left the table and the room. Sam advised Friday to lock her out of any systems that required clearance. As far as he was concerned, she had no clearance with the Avengers anymore. Then he looked at me and Bucky.

"All of us can see what you mean to each other. You make Bucky happy and that means a lot to all of us. I'm sorry we didn't know about her behaviour sooner. It was unacceptable."

He left to file a formal complaint about Sharon and why he fired her summarily. Others came to offer hugs to me and even Bucky, who took them. We sat back down to finish our breakfast. I couldn't help it, but the tears began again. He put his knife and fork down, then turned towards me, cupping my face in his hands. Gently, he wiped the tears from my cheek then kissed me on the lips. He didn't say anything, just gazed at me so lovingly that I stopped crying and nodded that I was okay. It was the truth. I was great. In front of me was someone I loved very much, and he loved me just as fiercely. Whatever the future brought we would face it together.

One Shots Masterlist

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[perspectivestarters]

Perspective's Sentence Starters; Preacher's Daughter by Ethel Cain (Part II)

TRIGGER WARNING: Violence, abuse, religious themes, ect.

THOROUGHFARE

You knew you had to see it all.

You had to get out and go chasin' its sweet call.

Don't run, I'll take you anywhere.

Hey, do you wanna see thе west with me?

Lovе's out there and I can't leave it be.

Love's never meant much to me.

I'll come with you if you're sure it's what you need.

Every small town diner saw our faces at least once or twice.

I started to see you differently.

For the first time since I was a child, I could see a man who wasn't angry.

It's been a long damn time since I left.

Now that I met you, I finally know just where I'm headin'.

You got lost in it and yet you found yourself. We finally reached the edge after all this time.

I didn't find my love, but I still made it this far without it.

Maybe not, 'cause look at what I've got.

You might not be my love, but, baby, I doubt it.

In your pickup truck with all of your dumb luck is the only place I think I'd ever wanna be.

GIBSON GIRL

You wanna love me right now.

You wanna get alone with me.

You wanna get my clothes off.

You came alone to me from however far away.

You're all the same.

He's cold-blooded so it takes more time to bleed.

Obsession with the money, addicted to the drugs.

Says he's in love with my body, that's why he's fucking it up.

I can be immoral in a stranger's lap.

Something they all want that only you can have.

You wanna fuck me right now.

You wanna see me on my knees.

You wanna rip these clothes off.

If you hate me, please don't tell me.

I would show you something you can never have.

PTOLEMAEA

I followed you in.

I was with you there.

You love blood too much.

You’d do wеll to say yes to me.

Suffering is nigh.

Even the iron still fears the rot.

Hiding from something I cannot stop.

I can't lead him back.

You poor thing.

There's nothing you can do.

It's already been done.

Show me your face.

Please don't look at me.

I can see it in your eyes.

Tell me, what have you done?

Make it stop, I've had enough.

I am the face of love's rage.

I am no good nor evil, simply I am.

I am here now as you run from me still.

You can't hide from me forever.

SUN BLEACHED FLIES

They talk all about that money and how their babies are always changing while they're breathing in the poison of the paint.

God loves you, but not enough to save you.

Good luck taking care of yourself.

That's how my daddy raised me.

If they strike once then you just hit 'em twice as hard.

In the end, if I bend under the weight that they gave me, then this heart would break and fall as twice as far.

We all know how it goes.

The more it hurts, the less it shows.

I still feel like they all know, and that's why I can never go back home.

I spend my life watching it go by from the sidelines.

God, I've tried, but I think it's about time I put up a fight.

I always knew that in the end no one was coming to save me.

I just prayed and I keep praying.

If it's meant to be then it will be.

I met him there and told him I believe.

I forgive it all as it comes back to me.

I can't let go when something's broken.

It's all I know and it's all I want now.

STRANGERS

Don't talk to strangers or you might fall in love.

You devour like smoked bovine hide.

I never considered myself tough.

You're so handsome, walking over to me.

I tried to be good.

Am I no good?

My memory restricted to a Polaroid in evidence.

I just wanted to be yours.

Can I be yours?

Just tell me I'm yours.

We'll make love in your attic all night.

Euphoric in some strange delight.

I'm happier here 'cause he told me I should be.

You're so handsome when I'm all over your mouth.

Am I making you feel sick?

Found you just to tell you that I made it real far.

I never blamed you for loving me the way that you did.

While you were torn apart, I would still wait with you there.

Don't think about it too hard, or you'll never sleep a wink at night again.

Just know that I love you.

I'll see you when you get here.

[dozing-marshmallow]

FIRST DATE WITH CHRIS MCLEAN HEADCANONS

Let’s see how far along he meets first date etiquette. 

For starters, he absolutely refused to tell you where he was going to take you so you were stuck a week before on what to wear, trying to base it on what Chris would choose. 

On one hand, he had standards high and strict from his wealth and reputation.

On the other hand, he also has his general personality where he was carefree like a child.

Can you imagine if you turned up in heels and dangling earrings just for him to take you to an amusement park?

Brrrr. But you’d rather that than show up in dungarees for a posh dinner.

Thankfully, when he does arrive outside your place to meet you, he’s well dressed and even brings you flowers (though, the bouquet was of his favourite kind.) informing you that you made the right decision of going ravishing.

He takes your hand to the limo (Heaven forbid he drives, he’s hired someone instead).

Ravishing it was, for the destination was in fact, a fancy restaurant.

If it wasn’t for Chris, you wouldn’t even have the riches to dream about stepping into this place!

Speaking of the man, he didn’t even need to make a reservation; seeing him, the waiter immediately rushed to ready a table.

“This place is mainly for awesome famous people. Like me! And I guess, you too.”

Sitting down at the table(with a pretty remarkable night view), you had a lot of fun scanning through the high class menu.

He spent most of the evening talking about himself and his accomplishments, but you expected that.

Not to the degree he was going on.

It was a bit obstructive since he would jump from one thing to another in the same prideful manner while your engagement ceased every time.

“My agent was really proud of me for taking the hosting job of Total Drama and for making everyone laugh! Don’t you agree?”

“Absolutely! You were made for Total Drama, no wonder why your agent is proud!”

“Haha yeah! And especially with my experience hosting that ice skating show, you have no idea how many producers wanted me for their upcoming shows!”

“Oh? That’s really great!”

“Any other reality show host would be too tired to consider taking on other shows, but not me! I humbly believe (and know) that with my face on any tv show, more success is guaranteed than whatever amount of success it already has. What can I say? I’m just that good at what I do!”

“I see...”

Your mood lifted up when the food arrives, but only a short amount of time. Chris wears a napkin around his neck, and after some lighthearted ridiculing, you do too.

“(Y/NNN).” He whines,“You don’t use your fish knife for the main meal! You use your dinner knife!” He sharply holds up his dinner knife,“Jeez! You’re not that poor, are you?”

Suddenly, the food doesn’t taste so nice anymore.

You awkwardly sip on your glass of wine, watching all kinds of girls run up to Chris (even the waiters) for pictures, giggles, autographs.

To make matters worse, Chris was actively encouraging it, with his own winking and smiling. He did that more than the number of times he’s asked you a question about...you.

Okay I get that he’s a well known celebrity, but...is he serious?

At least he took care of the full check?

Sigh. That’s what you had to tell yourself to make up for his insensitive disinterest in your life.

So much for a romantic dinner. You didn’t think you’d feel exhausted, nor did you think you would feel more opposite than your expectations to never want the night to end.

As you leave the restaurant, he smiles as your head is down.

What were you thinking? Of course he wasn’t going to be like how you’d imagine in your fantasies. Why did you think he would be more thoughtful off television?

“Uh, (Y/N)?” He calls a small while after the limo journey home.

You feign a smile,“Yes, Chris?” Did he remember another great thing he did?

“I’m...getting the feeling you didn’t enjoy tonight.”

Huh? You didn’t see that coming,“What makes you think that? Of course I did. I got to go on a date with the Chris McLean. Only millions could dream of this once in a lifetime opportunity, right?”

“But you’re not taking it that way...”

Aw, was his ego hurt? “It doesn’t matter how I feel, I enjoyed the restaurant and having you with me tonight, okay?”

He raised an eyebrow,“It doesn’t matter how you feel...? What makes you say that? Of course it does. It’s our date, right?”

You scoff,“More like your date.”

“What?”

Your heart races,“It’s fine, Chris. I know you have thousands of other girls on a list to go on a date with, that’s especially gotten longer after tonight and I’m just some temporary placement.”

“Dude... Do you really think I would want to give a chance to go out with those random girls I happened to see today when I have you? And what do you mean temporary? Do...you not want to be together anymore?”

You sigh,“Chris, look. I like you, really I do. But tonight, wasn’t the greatest. I can write a whole book about you after today, and meanwhile you can’t even name five things I achieved in my life.”

“You don’t need to, (Y/N), I already made all the volumes of my autobiographies, but I appreciate the thought.”

You twisted your head away from him in disbelief. Is he seriously still thinking about himself now? As if this date couldn’t be more deprecating.

“Haha, but really, I’m the one that should be sorry. You barely got a chance to tell me more about yourself, and I was a jerk for belittling you.” He put a luscious hand onto your jaw to turn your sight back slowly, causing you to look into his...genuine eyes,“Will you let me take you on another? Pretty please? I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

Well, will you?

[songbirdsanctuary]

Gentle Preenings

So I think I've been on a wing preening roll lately?? Oh well, I find it cute. 🤷‍♀️

Also I think I gave Scar leaf-speak like the LeafWings, also Butterscotch-cinnamon pie, Iykyk.

Warnings: None unless you consider fluff a warning.

Word count: 2,838

Scar was in his cozy snail starter base, carefully moving around some chests and clutter. The place was a proper mess, with items scattered across the floor in haphazard piles, but the sweet scent of freshly baked butterscotch-cinnamon pie filled the air, making the chaos feel a little more bearable. The pie was cooling on the counter, and its warmth seemed to blend perfectly with the earthy, woodsy smell that always lingered in his base.

He took a deep breath, stretching his arms high above his head, feeling the familiar pull of tension in his muscles after all the rearranging. As he lowered his hands, his eyes landed on a spot in the corner of his room that he felt could use more greenery. It was a bit bare, and Scar, always a lover of nature, couldn't help but feel that some extra leaves would brighten the place up. His base was made out of a tree, he helped it grow and never chopped it down.

As a tree elf and cat hybrid, Scar had a special connection to plants. He could communicate with them in ways others couldn't—his elf nature allowed him to speak to the roots and leaves, understanding their needs, their wants. So, with gentle fingers, he placed his hand on the wall where the roots of a plant were growing. He closed his eyes, focusing on the whispering connection he shared with the greenery.

"Hey there," he murmured softly, his voice barely more than a breath. "Think you can grow few more leaves here? I help you, grow strong." He had to speak in the simple way the trees spoke.

He could feel the plant respond, a gentle tug of life in its roots. ‘Sunlight?’ the plant whispered back through their connection, a soft, yearning voice.

Scar smiled, his heart warming at the familiar interaction. "Yes, plenty of sunlight. I make sure you get water too," he promised. He could feel the plant's excitement, its energy buzzing through him as small buds began to form along the bare stem.

‘Yes... grow... water now?’ the plant asked, eager for nourishment.

With a chuckle, Scar grabbed a nearby cup of water and carefully poured it over the roots. The leaves seemed to stretch out, unfurling with joy as the water soaked into the soil. They shifted and shimmered in the light, radiating a sense of happiness that only Scar could feel.

"That's it," Scar said softly, patting the stem. "Grow strong, grow tall." He watched as the plant flourished before his eyes, filling the once empty space with fresh, vibrant leaves.

Scar’s ear flicked at the sound of a gentle knock on his newly replaced door. It was still a bit strange to hear it, considering how often it had gone missing thanks to some playful or mischievous thieves. He smiled to himself, grateful this time it seemed like a guest and not someone trying to make off with his door again.

"Come in!" Scar called, his voice bright and welcoming. He always enjoyed having company. The door creaked open, and Grian's head poked in. Scar’s smile faltered for a brief moment when he noticed the uncomfortable look on his friend’s face.

“Scar…” Grian started, hesitating at the doorway. He shuffled his feet awkwardly, his usual confident demeanor replaced with something more anxious. “Can you help me with something?”

“Of course! What do you need help with?” Scar’s response was immediate, his eyes following Grian as he stepped fully into the room. As he came closer, Scar noticed something off about Grian’s wings. Normally, they were impeccably maintained, each red, blue, and gold feather shining with care. But today, they looked a little unkempt—dirtied in places, and they twitched every few seconds as though Grian was trying to get comfortable but couldn’t.

Grian stopped just in front of Scar, looking down at the floor. "Can you help me preen my wings?" he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper. His wings fluttered slightly at his sides as he fidgeted. "I… I can’t reach the feathers on the back." He still wouldn’t look Scar in the eyes, his expression embarrassed, like asking for help with something so personal was a struggle.

Scar’s heart melted at the sight of his friend like this. Grian looked so small, so vulnerable. Scar gently placed a hand on Grian’s cheek, lifting his face so their eyes could meet. “Hey, it’s okay,” Scar murmured reassuringly. “I’d be glad to help you.”

Grian’s cheeks flushed a deep red at Scar’s touch, and he quickly stepped away, clearly embarrassed by his own vulnerability. He nodded shyly and made his way over to Scar’s bed, sitting down on the edge and hesitantly opening his wings. His feathers unfurled in a broad, colorful display, and Scar could see more clearly now the little bits of dirt and debris trapped within them.

Scar followed, sitting down behind Grian and taking in the sight of the wings spread out before him. They were magnificent—bold, crimson feathers with hints of gold, the colors so rich they seemed to glow even in the dim light of the room. For a moment, Scar was a little awestruck.

But then reality hit him. “Soo… I’ve never preened wings before,” Scar admitted with a sheepish laugh. “I mean, I’ve seen False and Wels clean theirs, but I’ve never actually done it myself. I’m not really sure how to start.”

Grian sighed, his wings drooping slightly. “It’s not that complicated. Just… remove any broken or bent feathers, and clean out any dirt or debris that’s stuck in there. It’ll be fine.” He shifted his wings again, clearly trying to relax, but Scar could sense the tension in his body.

“Remove the feathers?” Scar asked, his brow furrowing in concern. “But won’t that hurt? I don’t want to hurt you.” The thought of causing Grian pain made his stomach twist a little.

“It’ll hurt more if they don’t get removed,” Grian said softly, though his voice held a note of reassurance. “It’s part of the process.”

Scar nodded, swallowing his hesitation as he placed a hand on one of Grian’s wings. He gently ran his fingers through the feathers, feeling for any that were bent or broken. After a moment, he found a feather that felt out of place—its shaft cracked and fragile beneath his fingers. Scar took a deep breath and, doing his best to be gentle, carefully tugged the feather free.

Grian let out a soft chirp, but didn’t flinch away. Encouraged, Scar continued, slowly working through the feathers, removing anything broken or bent while picking out dirt, leaves, and small bits of debris that had gotten caught in the plumage. As he worked, Grian kept making soft chirping and trilling noises, sounds that Scar found both soothing and oddly cute.

Despite the gentleness of his movements, Scar noticed how tense Grian remained, his shoulders tight and his wings stiff. Wanting to help his friend relax, Scar moved his hands to the soft down at the base of Grian’s wings, near his neck. With practiced ease, he began to massage the delicate feathers, his fingers working through the soft, plush down.

Grian’s trills grew louder, and Scar could feel the tension start to melt away beneath his hands. Grian’s shoulders slumped, his body finally relaxing into the soothing touch. His wings began to unfurl further, spreading wide as Scar continued his careful ministrations.

“There we go,” Scar murmured, smiling to himself as Grian relaxed completely into his care. The trust Grian was placing in him, letting him preen and massage his wings, filled Scar with warmth. Grian may have been embarrassed at first, but now, he looked peaceful. Scar took his time, ensuring every feather was as perfect as possible, feeling a deep connection to his friend as they shared this quiet, intimate moment.

Though Grian was somewhat relaxed, Scar had a playful idea. With a mischievous grin, he placed one free hand against the smooth wooden wall of his base, connecting to the tree that had grown to become his home. It wasn’t just any tree—it was a passion fruit tree, and Scar knew just how to coax it into doing something special.

“Hey there,” Scar whispered through their shared connection. “You grow a single fruit? In front the scarlet macaw?”

The tree hummed back at him, its roots vibrating faintly beneath his palm. ‘Just one? You promise water so I do?’ it asked, its voice soft and patient like the rustle of leaves in the wind.

Scar smiled warmly at the familiar negotiation. “Promise. I get you water later if you do this.”

Satisfied with the deal, the tree responded with a gentle creaking sound, and Scar watched in awe as a branch slowly extended from the roof above them. Leaves rustled quietly as the branch reached down, and soon, a single golden-orange passion fruit began to grow. It ripened before Scar’s eyes, plumping up until it gleamed like a jewel hanging from the ceiling. It looked exstra juciy.

Grian’s eyes widened in amazement when he saw the fruit appear, his wings giving a soft twitch of excitement. He glanced over at Scar with a look of surprise and wonder, as if he wasn’t sure if it was meant for him. Scar nodded in encouragement, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

With a little more confidence now, Grian looked back at the fruit and carefully reached up to pluck it from the branch. His fingers brushed against the smooth skin of the fruit, and for a moment, he simply held it in his hands, as though savoring the beauty of the moment.

“Thank you,” Grian said softly, his voice filled with appreciation. Scar just smiled, content to see Grian’s tension finally melting away as the vibrant colors of the passion fruit mirrored the bright red hues of his feathers.

The tree, satisfied with its work, gave one last content hum, and Scar could feel the warmth of its life spreading through the walls of the base. He patted the wood affectionately. "I'll get you that water soon," he whispered quietly, happy to see that Grian was feeling just a bit better.

Grian bit into the passion fruit, savoring the sweet, tangy juice that burst across his tongue. As a macaw avian, fruit was his favorite thing in the world, and Scar knew it. He closed his eyes for a moment, relishing the taste. There was something calming about it—each bite made him feel a little more at peace, the stress of the day gradually melting away.

While Grian was distracted by the fruit, Scar finished removing the last few bits of dirt from his wings, setting them down carefully on the small pile of feathers and debris that had accumulated on the floor. "All done!" Scar announced cheerfully, his voice breaking the quiet of the room.

Grian jumped slightly, startled by the sudden sound. He had been so absorbed in eating the passion fruit that he hadn’t noticed Scar finishing. He chuckled softly at himself as he continued to pick at the fruit, methodically splitting it open to reach the seeds inside. Scar watched with a fond smile; this was a side of Grian he always found endearing. Grian had a habit of carefully inspecting each fruit he ate, and now, as Scar often saw him do, he began to pick out and eat the seeds one at a time, making sure they were safe before he dug into the rest of the fruit.

Scar leaned back, watching Grian with a warm, contented expression. As Grian finally finished picking through the seeds and took the last bite of the juicy flesh, he turned to check his wings. A small smile of satisfaction crossed his face as he noticed how much cleaner and neater they looked now that Scar had helped him preen.

Before Grian could say anything, Scar shifted behind him, sliding his hands up to gently massage his shoulders and neck. His thumbs pressed softly into the tense muscles, working out the knots with care. Grian sighed deeply, his whole body relaxing under Scar's touch. Slowly, Grian leaned back against Scar, letting himself sink into the warmth and comfort of his friend’s presence as he continued to enjoy the lingering sweetness of the fruit on his tongue.

When Grian finally finished the last of his passion fruit, he turned around to face Scar, a look of gratitude and something softer in his eyes. Without saying a word, he shifted forward, sitting down in Scar’s lap. It was a quiet, tender gesture—something they didn’t do often, but in moments like this, it felt right. Grian pressed his face against Scar’s chest, nestling into him like a bird seeking shelter. Scar instinctively wrapped his arms around Grian, holding him close.

They sat like that for a long moment, the silence between them filled with warmth and the steady rhythm of their breathing. Scar gently stroked Grian’s back, the tips of his fingers brushing against the soft down that covered the base of his wings. Grian’s eyes fluttered shut, and he let out a contented hum, feeling completely safe in Scar’s embrace.

Scar couldn’t help but smile. These quiet moments of connection, when the rest of the world seemed to fade away, were the ones he cherished most. And as he held Grian close, he felt an overwhelming sense of peace wash over him, knowing that his friend was here, safe, and happy in his arms.

.

.

.

After a little while, Scar spoke up, his voice breaking the comfortable silence. “Hey, Grian, how do you normally preen the back of your wings if you can’t reach? Don’t avians need to preen every two to three weeks?”

Grian, still resting in Scar’s embrace, hummed softly, considering his answer. “When I first joined,” he began quietly, “I would ask Xisuma for help. I didn’t trust anyone with my wings at the time. They’re... delicate, and letting someone that close, well, it’s personal. X understood that. He was always careful, always patient with me.” Grian paused for a moment, his voice carrying the weight of those early days when trust wasn’t so easily given.

“There was one day, though,” Grian continued, “when X was too busy, and my wings were in desperate need of preening. I’d been becoming really good friends with Mumbo by then, so I trusted him to help. It wasn’t easy at first. Letting someone else handle your wings—it’s kind of like letting them hold a piece of you, something vulnerable. But Mumbo was careful too. He took his time, and eventually, I relaxed. Since then, I’ve asked him or X when I need help.”

Grian shifted slightly in Scar’s arms, his wings twitching a bit as he spoke. “But today... they were both busy, and I really, really needed it done. My wings were driving me crazy. So, I thought I’d ask you.” He yawned softly, exhaustion catching up to him after the long day.

“Thanks for doing that for me,” Grian murmured, his voice warm and sincere.

Scar beamed, his fingers absentmindedly tracing soothing circles on Grian’s back. “Anytime! I’m happy to help you, G.”

There was a brief pause before Scar added, “Oh, and I know you just ate, but I made a pie earlier. Do you want some?”

Grian let out a sleepy trill in response, his eyelids already drooping as he looked up at Scar. The sound was soft, content—like a bird settling down after a long flight. Scar chuckled at the sound, his heart melting at the sight of Grian’s tired but happy expression.

“Okay, okay,” Scar said with a quiet laugh, brushing a strand of hair away from Grian’s face. “We’ll nap first, but after that, I’ll get you some pie.”

Before Grian could respond, Scar leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, a tender and lingering moment that made Grian’s heart flutter. Grian responded with a gentle sigh, sinking even further into Scar’s embrace, his head resting against Scar’s chest once more. The warmth of the moment, combined with the gentle rise and fall of Scar’s breathing, lulled Grian into a peaceful state of relaxation.

Scar smiled as he looked down at him, his own eyes feeling heavy now. The sound of Grian’s soft breathing and the comfort of their closeness made everything else feel distant, unimportant. For now, there was only this—this quiet, shared space where they could both just be.

As Scar held Grian close, he closed his eyes, savoring the feeling of peace that came with having his friend so near. “Nap now, pie later,” he whispered in the simple way the spoke to trees, though he wasn’t sure if Grian had already drifted off to sleep.

And for a while, they simply rested together, wrapped up in the warmth of each other's company, knowing that when they woke, there would be more moments like this—simple, soft, and full of quiet affection.

[in-act-ive]

Okay so could you maybe write something were the reader and carl talk about their future together and just plan out everything in full Detail and like just fluff and more fluff with them beinge excited for it

Yeah sure! You're gonna make me cry Anon ( joking! )

Carl Grimes x NB/GN!reader

Request : yep!

Type : story

A / N : I hope this is what you wanted! I apologize for no w/c. I totally forgot to do it! This takes place before Glenn's death because i stopped paying attention after that ( I'm not as informed on anything after that! ) I also don't remember everything an I need to rewatch some parts so I apologize if its at all wrong!

★────────────★

Carl, Rick, Glenn, and yourself were out on a run. You ended up in a huge forest and even if Rick wouldn't admit it, you were probably lost. Glenn was at the back and Rick was at the front leaving you and Carl in the middle.

Carl was way too focused on his dad and what he was mumbling to himself so you decided to break the very awkward silence.

"So, Carl, what do you have planned for the future?" You asked, taking a small step to stand in front of him. You spun around slightly to face him. You didn't mind having to walk backwards. He hummed thoughtfully before speaking.

Carl looked slightly annoyed when he stepped in front of him, his grip on his gun tightening slightly. "Dunno." He shrugged

You gasped in offense at the comment. Carl rolled his eyes and let out a long sigh. Once the conversation starter failed your ears were filled with the sound of four sets of foot steps crunching the dead leaves, pine needles, and loose sticks below them, Rick's soft mumbling that seemed to just be nonsense, and Carl's heavy breathing. You sighed and fell back to Carl's side with angry huff.

You four sat in silence for the next half mile or so. The only real conversation was Glenn reassuring Rick that he knew what he was doing. And that he didn't need to worry.

You let your head fall back in anger at the silence. You looked up at the darkening sky and the sudden sound of Rick's voice made you jump and pull your gun up, your grip on it tightening.

"We should set up camp. You three look exhausted." Rick spoke firmly. When he watched you jump and move your gun he put his hand out to stop you. Carl put his hand over the barrel of your gun and softly pushed it down into a less threatening position.

'Setting up camp' was more of 'roll your sleeping bags out' cause Rick never let you carry a tent. You pulled your bag off and used the strap at the top to hang it on a low hanging branch. You pulled the sleeping bag out from its stop on your bag and you threw it out with a small noise.

You flopped on the thin fabric and sighed. Carl set his down beside you.

After Rick set up a fire and made you some ehat you assumed were beans he made his own food and went to bed. Glenn followed soon after leaving you and Carl up alone.

"Okay Carl, I'm not going to call you a liar--" You paused and tilted your head to the side to think about it. "Never mind I am going to call you a liar. You've got to have some plan for the future." You pushed. Carl looked at you kinda irritated before sighing.

"Tell me about your plans sense you're so invested." Carl commented. You didn't even take the time to consider that Carl had just avoided your question.

You thought for a moment. "Well! I wanna find love, obviously. Definitely get myself my own house of some sort. Get like my own sanctuary kinda thing!" You smiled happily as you explained.

Carl smiled, seeing you happy anf talk about something that made you so excited made him happy. You'd always brought a smile to the boys face no matter what you did. He thought of you as one of the few people who genuinely stayed happy in this whole mess.

Once you had finished talking he decided to give ideas. "Well... You could make a town of sorts. Find any animals, if there still are any, and raise them and such so food. Make it near a river so you can have water--" Carl was cut off by you speaking.

"You could help me run it!" Your eyes lit up. Carl looked at you confused for a moment. Not even knowing if he could deal with all that. He shook his head while smiling.

Carl finally looked up at you again before speaking, "I don't think so. I think you'd do much better without me." He spoke softly.

You were very offended. You pulled your head back in mock disgust before laughing softly. "I beg to differ!" You huffed at him.

You and Carl had always been attached at the hip. Even if he was a lot tougher than your more excited and happy self. You two rarely did anything without the other and you did not plan on changing that tradition, at all.

You'd been the one to calm Carl's constant need to be cool and show off to the adults. While on the other hand Carl was there to make sure you didn't let everyone push you around and to make sure you didn't fo anything too stupid.

Carl sighed at you and you sighed back, mocking him. He finally thought of what to say. "Y / N, as much as I'd love too you need to learn that you can live without me for five minutes." He looked very serious but his eyes were laces with something you couldn't quite put your finger on.

"Shut up! You know you'd love to help." You crossed your arms across your chest in frustration.

Carl laughed and set his hand on your knee, something he often did to make you know he was there. Or when he was about to say something he knew would make you happy.

He looks at you, deadpan. "You know I would." A small smirk plays at the side of his lips. "What's your plan?" He watches as your face lights up.

You're practically screaming with excitement at that. He quickly has to put his hand over your mouth to ensure you don't wake Glenn and Rick up.

"Really?" Your voice was muffled through his hand. Carl nodded softly.

Carl pulled his hand away and wiped it on his pants. You roll your eyes but kept your mouth shut for the time being. Once you actually found the words you spoke excitedly while whisper screaming. "You actually wanna hear?" Your eyes were shining.

Carl couldn't help but laugh at yout excitement. "Yep, of course." He nodded, his voice seemed a lot smoother than usual. Clearly he was trying to calm your excitement.

You didn't even know where to start. You hadn't planned anything around Carl being involved so you'd have to tweak some things.

You hummed while deep in thought. Carl looked intently at you. "Well.. Once we find a good town thats not completely rundown we can make walls around it! There's forests for miles so that means a lot of wood." You explain. Carl really didn't need the extra stuff about how you'd get wood but he didn't want to interrupt your excited rant.

Carl just nodded and made small 'mhm' noises as you spoke about resources. "Like you said it'd be helpful to be near water and hopefully some farm land for food. Maybe if we find any animals in this mess, which I highly doubt, we can have pastures!" You went on. Clearly not stopping for anything.

Carl softly smacked your knee to make you go silent for a moment so he can add a suggestion. "You could have a small market. Dad talks about these things called farmers markets. People bring stuff they've grown or made and sell them." Carl tilted his head to the side as he watched you think.

You nodded excitedly. Carl and yourself talked for hours until Glenn woke up na d told you both to sleep.

The next day, neither adults were excited to deal with the two exhausted teens

Note: This was not spell checked nor grammer checked! I apologize in advance for the mistakes