#IT'S THE AMOUNT OF THINGS HAPPENING THIS YEAR

[matrixbearer2024]

Imagine Ford with baby fever, he isn't really hit with it at the start as you had both just moved to gravity falls at the time. Despite being engaged fresh out of university, he told himself he was going to take his time with you. The both of you were young and ambitious, you both had plenty of time left.

Compared to him, you were pretty touchy and cuddly since coming to gravity falls. Ford supposed it had a lot to do with the engagement, which you were both still running a high from. It was difficult for him to completely focus on his research when you would randomly butt into his mind, his journals would have drawings or entries on you scattered about and you found that adorable.

You were more excited than him to plan your wedding, but Ford was the one more obsessed over it happening at all. He didn't think he would get to this point, much less with someone to have and hold; cherish through joy and sorrow for the rest of his days.

During one of your little expeditions through the forest(you were collecting fungal specimens to study while your lover was doing who knows what-) you both stumbled across a little kid crying in a clearing. The toddler was most likely only a couple years old and wailing for their parents.

Predictably, your fiancé stood there scratching the back of his neck awkwardly not entirely knowing what to do. Even if he was an older brother, it was only by a short while to a twin. So you figured it made sense that he didn't know what he was doing. Even so, Stanford rarely talked about his brother happily- more like somber or spiteful so you rarely brought it up when talking about relatives.

You weren't so fond of your family yourself, born to a house of multiples on multiples of children- your father's plan was to simply marry you off to someone old and wealthy to leech off that. You already knew how that ended up with your sisters and didn't want to fall into the same situation.

So you studied your ass off, but because your old man didn't want to support you through university- you ended up grasping at straws but at Backupsmore where you met the man who promised you forever. Somehow you felt like it was likely a better outcome than even if things went as planned.

Sure, he was kind of an asshole at the start as your academic rival- but you both learned to get along after a while. Acquaintances became friends and that friendship bloomed into romance, the rest is history.

Imagine the adoring look in Ford's eyes when you managed to gently comfort the child and calm them down. Apparently they had wandered too far from a nearby campsite and got lost, it didn't take long for the both of you to return the toddler to their parents and you ended up with a marigold in your hair as thanks.

It was that moment seeing you with the kid in your arms that Stanford's thoughts suddenly crashed to the side with a loud and adamant needwish to have a family with you. Which just as immediately both flustered and terrified him, most of the developments in your relationship with him happen this way. It's kind of as if this man is hilariously allergic to anything new.

Since that day he started being equally as clingy with you. From hugging you from behind as you cooked the both of you breakfast to practically developing a sixth sense to when you pull away from him in your shared bed. Having a living space heater for a partner was great in the cold months, but during the warmer months you sometimes wanted to kick Stanford out of the bed since you were baking from his warmth.

Sometimes he would catch you staring at some baby items when you both went to the store and that just worsened his already crippling yearning. Unintentionally he ended up making more rooms in the cabin than needed, you were surprised by the amount of space, not to mention you and Ford weren't exactly sure at the time what to use the rooms for. Partially you wondered how Ford was able to build the shack in such a way that the inside seemed much larger than the outside.

He went into a full blown infodump about a time-space anomaly on the land that he kind of abused Dr. Who style to actually make the inside of the house bigger than it actually is.

The touchiness festered and grew over the couple months towards the date of your planned wedding to make things official. It wasn't to say that you both haven't ever had sex, but there was something different about the hunger and electric desire that crackled between the both of you building up to that day.

The couple times you joked about having kids with your fiancé had him stuck between looking worried and turned on. Good thing you were both at home since you didn't exactly know what to make of it before he kissed the daylights out of you.

The wedding was small and quaint, neither of you had ever been one to flamboyantly show off anyway so it was just a ceremony to finalize things, you both opted to just remain in gravity falls for your honeymoon as well since it was just more convenient.

It was mostly friends who came to celebrate, the two of you opting not to invite your families given the less than savory situations you had with them. It really was the best day of your lives, you also had the photographer to thank for capturing the memories so well.

Stanford couldn't even keep his hands off you during the party, always having a hand on the small of your back or around your waist. Likewise, you couldn't stop leaning on him or hanging off his arm. Even during Fiddleford's best man speech, you'd met the man back in BMU and to say he and your fiancé/now husband got along like peas in a pod was an understatement.

You were barely listening to whatever was said though, far too entranced in the man who you were married to as he laughed or grew bashful of the things said about him. Stanford almost jumped out of his skin when he saw the intensity of the desire in your eyes, a flame to light fireworks and you were both sure come midnight explosions were sure to set off.

It didn't come as a surprise to anyone that after a couple weeks you were sick as a dog, puking and getting random bouts of dizziness that had Stanford in a panic since he couldn't pinpoint why. A quick trip to the hospital later and then came the news, you weren't poisoned, injured or dying, you were just pregnant!

Ford immediately fainted upon hearing those words, you still have no idea if it was the overwhelming shock or the joy.

[firewasabeast]

Just thinking about Tommy Kinard who grew up wishing he was hugged and loved like the neighbors kids were. He’d watch them run off the school bus and right into their mom or dad’s arms and be scooped up and held tight. Sometimes he could smell freshly baked cookies or a pot roast coming from their home as he’d turn the key and walk into his own house. His house where his dad would grunt at him for another beer and tell him to fix them both a frozen dinner (“just don’t eat my Salisbury steak, boy, that one’s mine”). Then one afternoon, when his dad caught him staring out the window at the neighbors all outside playing catch, he gave him a smack on the back of the head and told him to stop daydreaming. Those people were phonies who were never up to any good. Families like that don’t really exist, and they’re never as happy as they seem!

So Tommy buries away the idea he’ll have that. Stops watching the neighbors. Rolls his eyes when he does happen to catch one of their hugs. Grows a bit of a hardened shell.

Then he reaches high school and he thinks things will change now. He’ll have more freedom and friends and maybe he’ll join a club. But his dad tells him clubs are for sissies and he’s gonna be in sports instead. His dad is good friends with the football coach so he doesn’t have to try out. He’s just on the team, whether he likes it or not. And the other guys on the team are crude and constantly taunt and tease each other. Tommy doesn’t join in at first, would rather keep to himself, but that makes him an outcast and a loser and the butt of all their jokes so it’s easier to join in. His shell gets a little thicker.

Recruiters come to the school during his senior year and his grades are good, he could probably get a scholarship or two to a state university, but they promise so much. He’ll get to see the world! They have all these specialized programs he can choose from. They pay well and he’ll have the benefits forever. Most importantly, he’ll be away from his dad. The recruiter doesn’t have to work very hard that day. When Tommy leaves for basic he’s a little scared but mostly excited to be away! And the drill sergeants yell at him and taunt him just like the football team, just like his dad, but he can take it. He can and does prove them wrong.

He’s been wondering things about himself lately. Doesn’t let himself wonder very long though, or his heart races a bit too fast and he panics. There was this one time at basic where he had a moment alone and he jerked himself off but he didn’t use the Playboy magazines the other guys had hidden under their bunks. He thinks of Tyler instead. The guy who was in the bunk above him and had tan skin and muscles all over and a million dollar smile. When he was done, after he caught his breath, he got angry with himself. Put a fist through a wall and got in a good amount of trouble. But the other guys thought he did it because he wanted to show the sergeant how strong he was. They thought it was funny and kinda cool. Even later, as a pilot in Iraq, when he has a moment alone, he’s never thinking about a woman. His shell thickens more.

Then he’s out of the army and he’s becoming a firefighter and he thinks maybe this is when he can relax. So he goes and meets his captain, someone named Vincent Gerrard, and he can tell within thirty seconds of meeting him that this man is a carbon copy of his father. He hasn’t been the butt of a joke in a long time, and he sure as hell isn’t going to start back now, so he plays the game. And he plays it damn well.

These shells keep thickening and thickening until he’s not actually sure who he is anymore. He’s spent years being whoever he needs to be to survive and it’s becoming exhausting. Even when Gerrard leaves and Nash arrives, even when his smile actually starts to reach his eyes, he still feels wrong. So he makes a choice. He leaves.

He goes back to flying, which he loved in the army. The freedom of being in the sky was unlike anything else in life. He hears a coworker talk about therapy and he gives it a try. It’s uncomfortable and stressful but he goes back each week and yeah, okay, maybe it does help. He can feel his posture relaxing a bit at least.

He allows himself to be honest with himself. He looks in the mirror one night and takes a deep breath and says the words “I’m gay” for the first time and then he repeats it over and over and over again even as tears fall down his face.

All the shells are starting to crack.

He gets a call from Howie, who he would do anything for without question, and this particular ask gets him reacquainted with Hen, renewed friendship with Howie, a new friendship with Eddie, and a boyfriend with Evan.

Evan. Evan who meets Tommy at the door whenever he’s there, arms open and a smile on his face, ready to hold onto Tommy like it’s his job. There’s usually delicious food cooking that Tommy can smell from the driveway. Evan, who picks up Christopher or Jee and they head to the park or museum for an outing. Evan, who notices that Tommy really likes to draw so he joins a drawing club for the both of them and even though Evan himself is not great at drawing he’s always so excited for them to go together.

Evan, whose kisses linger on his body like a prayer. Whose touch burns his skin in the best way. Who gasps and grunts and grabs and whispers in his ear as their sweaty, muscular bodies practically meld into one. There’s laughter and smiles afterward, as they hold onto each other and fall asleep pressed against one another.

Evan, who makes loving easy to do. Who gives his whole heart and then some. Who breaks whatever was left of Tommy’s shell and makes him realize that the type of love he wanted all those years ago, even as a little kid, was real. It was possible. And he had it.

[icarusredwings]

Thinking about that one post that was like

"Wade and logan spending multiple life times worth together, going through absolutely everything together to the point seperating them would just be plain cruel because of how soul tagged they are with each other and this just so happens to be the universe where they alone outlive everyone theyve ever known time and time again, so here they are, alone, but in each others arms in an old canadian moutian cabin, their front lawn looking like a grave yard with how many loved ones they kept with them. Theyre both old, wades wrinkles are just the light of this white manned beasts life and yet, they put collars on one another in the most caring and adoring way, caressing one anothers cheeks as Logan gives him not only the best 10 life times but also the gift no one else could bare to give him. Death. Unseathing his claws into his chest as quick as he can. And Wade to him, a knife stabbed critically. The best gift you can give your lover who can't die is the best life, yes, but a peaceful and coddled death is the ultimate goal. To lay there, bleeding out without a care in the world as Logan memorizes those pearl like eyes, and wade imprints the small smirk he has into his memory for eternity.'

And then someone reposted with two skeletons holding each other?

To that, I pitch after the last kiss Wade will ever give him, He smiles, because he knows he's made Wade as happy as humanily possible. Laying there for years or for hours, they're unsure. But they do know one thing.

"See ya at home, bub." He tells him with his last breath, an ungodly amount of blood gushing out the side of his mouth. But he's not sad. No, no neither of them are. They're relieved. Logans last act of service was bringing Wade Home. The place he never really felt right because he knew he was supposed to be dead by now.

And they'd find them in a week.

After the buzzards get loud.

After the insecets have made their claim.

After the foxes has had their taste.

After the raven has had it's say.

Id be home with you, I'd be home wih you.

Id be home with you.

I'd be Home

with

You.

[mydarlingclaudia]

I will love you ‘til the end of time

note : divider is from @/toastray. I have nothing to say this was supposed to be a couple hundred words but yk.

wc : 2.7k

tags : @lottiies @luvrgreyy

desc : he’s been in love with the memory of you for too long, falling back in love with the newer you took a matter of seconds. fluff, bit of angst (?), au, re4rLeon, fem!reader, not proofread, I talk a tiny bit about sex at the end but there’s no smut.

Leon doesn’t remember the sound of your voice, it’s been too long, too many years have passed since the day you died.

Six years was all the time the two of you had together. Six good years. All a really, really long time ago. Leon hates it, he knows he’s forgetting, memories are serving less and less of a purpose to him everyday. How is he to remember lying under the trees with you when those trees have been cut down and turned to homes and firewood? How can he remember you gutting fish for the two of you to eat when the fish have left the river you lived by?

The home you originally lived in had been torn down and rebuilt dozens of times by now, Leon wasn’t always there, even when he was, it wasn’t very lived in after you died. He’s been around the world more times than he can remember, before you, with you, after you. No place looks the same. Leon has many homes, stays there for a few decades, packs up, and moves to the next house in the next country.

He had been gifted with everlasting life for being some hero, for fighting monster when those were still a thing, it was well after he had married you, he didn’t tell you, but he thought you’d spend forever together. Didn’t happen, obviously. You got sick, he took care of you, nothing helped.

Leon prayed to whatever God that had bestowed his immortality to him to give it to you too, to keep you alive, to make you healthy again. He received no answer and you died not long after, Leon was left to spend the rest of his eternal life alone, but the world was his, and he has all the time that the universe has to offer. But what had he done to not be granted the one thing he wanted in the world? Why would some God reward him just to let him live the rest of his life miserable?

Leon’s seen everyone fall in love, but love evolved from courting to dating apps, he’s seen an embarrassing amount of shitty first dates. But he’s also seen a lot of good ones, ones where the first date turns to a second one, then a third, then a fourth, then before he knows it, those twenty-something-year-olds he had seen fall in love in a small restaurant were now taking their teenagers to the mall and going to high school reunions.

You would have loved this, or he hopes you would’ve. Because he really wishes that you were there to cuddle up to him on the couch and watch tv with him until midnight, he wanted to take you on cute dates, he wants to buy you things and renew your vows once every few years.

He wishes that the memories are clearer in his head, he can really only see them when he closes his eyes, or when the weather is a certain way, or when a certain smell hits his nose. Leon wants to feel your skin against his again. he wants to hear you talking directly into his ear and see that smirk on your face when you suggest something you know he won't refuse.

But it's been so long and he knows that your body has long since decomposed and your grave has been swallowed up by the ocean, a good half of the time since then he's been living on auto-pilot, the other half he's painfully aware of your absence with each day that passes.

He's not even sure he'd be able to hold you correctly, should you fall back into his arms one day. Would you still love him despite that?

He's gone so long without a lover, would he remember how to kiss? The Hollywood movies don't do it justice, kissing. But no one in those movies kissed like you had, Leon's seen all kinds of romance movies, read all kinds of books, he's always imagined you and him as the main characters, but you never kiss him the way you used to.

Would you even choose him? There were so many different men out there and so many new ways to meet someone and stay connected, there was no rush to get married or have kids, would Leon be the man you'd pick once again? He hopes so.

He doesn't remember Beowulf having a wife, and Beowulf had been great. He knows that many heroes aren't able to keep their wife and their glory at the same time, the decision is often made for them, and they go on fighting until they die. But Leon stopped fighting with the same determination when you passed, he still did it, people needed protecting, but if he wasn't there to protect you, then was there really anything to fight for?

Despite all of this, he's still here. Leon looks the same as he did all those years ago, some things have changed, a lot, really, but not just about him. The world around him has grown, he's watched generations come and go just to get to some shitty grocery store in Raccoon City twenty minutes before they close at eight.

Leon doesn't like to have to work all the time, he thinks it's crazy how he went from hero to cop, more money was needed to live now than he ever imagined would be possible. He has money saved up from years and years of work, but he can't keep using the "generational wealth" excuse when he's got no family.

He doesn't like being bugged much, either. Maybe that's why he's buying his dinner when he's already supposed to be in bed, could be why he works so much even though he can't stand it sometimes, too.

Leon should have grabbed a shopping cart, the basket he carries is overflowing with shit he doesn't even need, when has he ever even eaten Devil Dogs and Zebra Cakes? He really needs to eat more than just pasta and steak every other night, maybe stop getting deliveries from the pizza place, too. He's looking over the ingredients on the back of a cereal box he knows he's going to get no matter what when there's a soft tap on his shoulder, he sighs and stops, turning around and preparing to be asked a question a cashier would know the answer to rather than him.

But Leon freezes the second his eyes land on your face. He must've gone crazy, it can't be you, can it? You're not really standing in front of him with a basket in your arms, wearing a winter jacket over your sweatshirt and smiling at him as if you're some stranger to him.

"Where did you get those?" Your voice is quiet when you speak, his gaze doesn't even follow your hand when you point at the sweets in his basket, he just stands there and admires you for a few seconds.

Leon wants to cry, he wants to hug you, he wants to kiss you, tell you to run away with him, find someway for you to become immortal and stay by his side until the world ends. But he doesn’t, you look at him like he’s a stranger.

"Oh- Th-the uhm, the Zebra Cakes?" Leon finally asks after a few seconds, you only nod. "The e-end of aisle six." Why is he stammering? He's thought about all the things he'd say to you for hundreds of years, and he's instantly throwing every single word out the window the second you come out from whatever corner of the world you've been hiding in.

"Alright, thanks." God, it really is you. Your smile's the same, you look the same, you smell the same, you sound the same, you just- it's you. He remembers the way you sound again, God, please don’t ever take your voice away from him. He stops himself from reaching for your wrist when you walk away, knowing that you don't remember the things he does and that it'll only make you feel weird about him. But he'll settle for knowing that you're alive and that you're in the city, and that hopefully this won't be the last time he sees you.

—

The next time Leon sees you is on the subway a few weeks later in December.

You're not really looking when you step into the train, reaching up too high for the pole to hang onto and instead grab onto his hand. Your hands are so cold, you really need to wear gloves. But you gasp and pull your hand away when you feel his warm hand touch your skin, instantly holding lower down on the cold pole and looking at him.

"Oh my God, I'm sorry!" It's cute how quickly you apologize, it brings a smile to his face.

"No- No, you’re fine." He wants so badly to wrap his hand around yours, to hold you close and keep you warm, but he couldn’t, he was still a stranger to you. Being in a crowded train and standing a few inches apart was enough for now.

Leon just watches you, you don’t notice because you’re too busy staring down at your shoes, but his eyes are tracing over the curve of your nose, the way your eyelashes look when you blink, how kissable your lips look. He missed this view, although he'd much rather have you looking back at him with the same adoration in your eyes.

Neither of you speak again for the rest of the ride, you can feel him staring at you, though, you don’t entirely mind, you’d probably looking at him if his eyes weren’t burning holes through your skull.

You haven’t left his mind since he saw you at the grocery store, he’s been trying to figure out ways to find you again without getting put on some kind of radar, he’s too impatient to let things happen naturally, but it’s really the only choice he has.

He knows you recognize him, he can’t help but wonder if you’re getting some kind of vision from the past of him kissing you, of you resting on top of him in the sunlight, of him looking at you with awe in his eyes as you laugh at a story he told you.

But he can’t think about that for long, the train comes to a stop and you leave again, looking back over your shoulder at him and giving him a small goodbye smile. Where have you been all these years?

—

Sometimes, shitty dates were a good thing.

Both parties normally end up having a bad rest of their night, but if some man-child asshole you had been put on a date with hadn’t just thrown a whole tantrum and stomped out of the bar, you wouldn’t be sitting next to Leon.

He didn’t know you’d be here tonight, he was just here because he wanted to grab a drink after work, but this was better.

It’s awkward, he really, really doesn’t hope you think he’s stalking you. How small could a city be? Is it really so odd that the man you said a few words to at a grocery store and bumped into on the train would be sitting next to you at a bar?

Leon’s always had a staring problem when it came to you, he’s sure you’re too pretty for him, not that you were really his anymore. And Christ, you’re still beautiful, maybe even more so now. Modern clothes look good on you, he likes your dress, your shoes, the way you did your hair, the color you painted your nails.

He has to stop staring, because now you’re looking back at him. Leon expects for you to yell at him, or slap him, or something, but you just smile at him and turn towards him a tiny bit more.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to stare, zoned out.” Leon apologizes once his eyes snap up to yours, you had moved from your table up to the bar a few minutes ago, most likely embarrassed. You brought your drink over, too, though you didn’t really pay attention to it, just circling the lip of the cup with your fingers and taking a few sips every few seconds.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind.” Your smile only grows, Leon has to bite back a grin threatening to stretch across his lips. Once again, he’s not sure what to say. Does he ever really know what to say now, though? You take the words right out of his mouth and turn them into broken mumbles that he tries to cover up with a fake cough or forced chuckle.

That didn’t use to happen, he’d still get nervous around you, but seeing you now made him feel like he was falling in love again.

“I’d feel like I’ve seen you before…?” You say, you know you’re right, you just want him to talk to you because you haven’t been able to get him out of your head, for some reason.

“Oh, uhm, yeah- Yeah, I think I’ve seen you around, too.” Is he seriously fucking blushing right now?

“Hm, small world.” You take a sip from your drink, he does the same.

“So, uh, bad date?” Leon asks before he can stop himself, he knows the answer, but you were probably going to get mad at him, get offended and ignore him if he sees you again.

“Yeah,” You sigh, “It’s fine, though. Blind date.” Leon nodded, staring down at the ring of water his glass left on the countertop. “You just here for a drink?”

“Mhm,” Alcohol was like water to him now, not the way that he drinks it everyday, but that it hardly has an effect on him anymore. But he can’t sit here and drink glass after glass unless if he wants people to get concerned, so he just sips on one or two for an hour and leaves. You’re drinking the same drink as him, though, so he decides to stay for longer than usual.

And to his amazement, you stay, too. You laugh and nod at the stories he tells you, he listens intently to the ones you tell in return. Of course you’ve been living a different life than the one he had with you, but this is already getting better than the last. And you seem… into him? More into him than you were with your actual date, he’s not complaining.

By the time you and Leon go your separate ways, it’s pitch black outside, well, not really, it’s never completely dark in a city. The lights of driving cars and buildings illuminate you beautifully, like you’re something holy.

Leon finds a napkin with a phone number scribbled on it in his jacket pocket, it must’ve been yours, he couldn’t be happier.

—

Whatever higher being blessed him with another chance with you, he’d praise for the rest of eternal life. Because after a few hour-long phone calls and a couple more coincidental meetings, he’s taking you out on dates and you’re holding onto his arm and kissing his cheek.

It’s better than he remembers, the city offers more things for the two of you to do, and he’s up for anything you suggest.

Leon is finally able to feel your skin underneath his fingertips, feel your lips against his, listen to your voice in his ear, buy you nice things, have you cuddle up with him on the couch, he has you back.

You look so peaceful when you sleep, your head resting on his bicep, his naked skin pressed against yours. It’s been a year, you both still look the same, but he knows you’re changing. Leon hadn’t had sex in so long that he was sure that he would’ve fucked it up, you had taken charge, and it had been soft and slow, anyway. Nothing for him to worry about.

He’s been awake for an hour, just looking at you, trying to imprint this memory into his mind in case you were to disappear soon. But you finally start to stir, blinking your eyes a few times as you start to wake up.

“Leon…?” You mumble, he pulls you closer.

“Go back to sleep,” A kiss to your eyebrow, then the bridge of your nose, your lips twitch up into a sleepy smile.

“Mm… ‘kay. Love you.” You yawn, resting your hand on his chest as you close your eyes again and nestle into his shoulder. He hasn’t heard that from you in ages, he doesn’t know if you meant to say it, but he’s thankful you did.

“… Yeah, love you, too.”

[ruvviks]

it's been a hot sec since i've talked about cyberpunk and i was initially working on a fic that would tell the story of this whole thing, but i've abandoned it many months ago and cannot say when i'll be picking it up again SO! i've decided to instead make this timeline. sorry in advance for how much information is in this thing the cyberpunk extended blorboverse essentially refers to the story parallel to the in-game events of cyberpunk 2077 that @mojaves and i came up with. we don't really have a better name for it but at this point the term has been used so many times that i feel like everyone here knows what it is by now, but at the same time we've never really explained the full scope of what the story is by now (it's a lot sorry). so in an attempt to get you guys a little bit more up to date with it all, here's a semi coherent timeline that describes the core events of the story and every branching story that came out of it! for additional background information, you can check out the following posts (timeline 1 / timeline 2 / timeline 3) to catch up with the continuation of the in-game storyline that's referenced in this timeline, but it's mostly irrelevant to everything here save for a couple of referenced events that cross over between the stories. it all ties together very intricately sorry about that. don't worry too much about it i've included my taglist down below to make sure people who are interested won't miss this post, but feel free to skip over this if it's not your thing! won't be doing a lot of this kind of stuff in the future but i'm trying to get back to the cyberpunk roots so this is kind of like, a good starting point and reference point for later posts!

The story starts in early 2077 and is centered around Sebastian Vidal, gang leader of the Cobras and previous test subject of Arasaka Special Programs (the linked page is a lot of information but gives the most coherent overview of what the branch actually is). The current director of the SERPENT projects, Andrew Colton, and Dr. Alana Cartier, both want him dead, to tie up their last loose end before the rest of Arasaka can find out and shut down Special Programs once and for all.

Over the past months they’ve been hiring various assassins in secret, to try and get Seb killed; however, these assassins keep failing, and their latest attempt lies in the hands of Cassidy Shaffer, an ex-corpo turned assassin with a strong moral code and plenty of experience to his name. With little to work with, as his mysterious client doesn’t give out much information, Cassidy starts with what he thinks is gonna be a quick and easy job– but he ends up hunting after Seb for essentially a year.

During this year, the two men have a series of wild encounters that get more and more insane the longer it goes on; it includes, but is unfortunately not limited to, Cassidy biting off a chunk of Seb’s ear, the two of them running over the highway, the two of them getting handcuffed together and chased by the NCPD then hit by a car right in front of the hospital, and Seb sensually licking blood off Cassidy’s face after having stabbed him when Cassidy wanted to strike at a concert Seb is visiting.

All of it comes to a sudden stop when Cassidy learns his client has been lying to him the whole time, and since he does not appreciate lying clients he ends up jumping sides and teams up with the Cobras to do some cleanup duty in Arasaka Special Programs. He and Seb work together to go after a list of targets to get the still ongoing projects mostly to a halt, while remaining in the shadows themselves as to not draw too much attention their way; and during this collaboration they meet several people from their past, bringing back both good and bad memories.

One of these people is Hanan Chisaka, the Head of Security at Special Programs. She ends up becoming the next test subject of Project Cobra after the last successful subjects, Xavier and Gabriel Mason, end up escaping in the midst of the chaos of Hanako Arasaka’s capture in mid-2077. Once Seb’s best friend and Cassidy’s mentor, she’s now forced to hunt the both of them down; but in their final confrontation she snaps out of the controlled mode Arasaka keeps her in and runs away with them, effectively leaving Special Programs without any test subjects. Another one of these people is Reid Bennett, Cassidy’s ex and ex-coworker back at MaxTac. He still works for the corporation and has been on an ongoing investigation into Arasaka Special Programs; seeing Cassidy alive and well, working together with Seb no less, piques his interest and he continues to look further into the case, which will cause him to make a very big mistake later on in the timeline.

By September 2078, Seb and Cassidy have successfully taken down all their planned targets and retreat back into the shadows, leaving Special Programs with many losses and no test subjects. With the APEX program discontinued a month earlier (incident discussed in this fic, which is a continuation of the in-game events), and Hanako Arasaka recovered and ready to take the corporation back from the hands of her corrupt brother, Special Programs ends up having to retreat for the time being, and cook up a new plan in the background.

Special Programs by this point is run by Andrew Colton, Alana Cartier, and Kaida Akiyama, three players who have been in the game for a long time already in the SERPENT projects’ runtime. Colton and Cartier are married– Cartier used to be married to Seb and cheated on him for a good amount of time when he was still at Arasaka– but their marriage is starting to fall apart. Akiyama has had to watch over Special Ops agent Ambrose Hawthorne for a while during his chase after the Mason twins, which ended up with the twins dead and Hawthorne going into early retirement (Arasaka doesn’t know the twins faked their death and Ambrose is now dating one of them lol), and xe is now determined to help Colton and Cartier get Seb back into Arasaka so the projects can continue.

Cassidy’s initial plan was to leave as soon as the collaboration would come to an end, but he has found his place with the Cobras and instead ends up officially joining them.The next chapter in the story is a more laid-back and easygoing chapter, in which Cassidy learns to be part of real life again, and in which Seb learns to let people get close to him again after spending years trying to convince himself he doesn’t need any help. Over the course of a little over a year (all the way to November 2079), the two grow even closer than they had already done, going on gigs together and, you guessed it, slowly but surely falling in love until they inevitably end up together at the end of it.

Not long after the two get together, Reid returns into Cassidy’s life. He wants to try and be friends again and Cassidy gives him a second chance, though this soon enough turns out to have been a mistake, with Reid trying to create distance between Seb and Cassidy and then going as far as trying to sell Cassidy to Kang Tao (one of the few corporations that have been hunting Cassidy down for a while now) in exchange for his own freedom from MaxTac (where he would have otherwise been stuck at for probably the rest of his life). Naturally, Reid can’t watch Cassidy get tortured for long and leaks his location to the Cobras, who find and free Cassidy and take Reid into captivity instead– he does not get killed, but instead has to sit out some time at a safehouse somewhere in solitude, where he gets to decide what kind of person he wants to be in the future.

This brings us to Elysium; a gorgeous spaceship which was supposed to be a relatively cheap escape from reality for everyone who wanted a refreshing break from Earth, but through Arasaka sponsorship has become just another cash-grab project to compete with the Crystal Palace– and considering the megacorporation has its greasy hands all over it, the secret labs in the spaceship are used for a series of very unethical experiments. Naturally so, it would be the perfect place for Colton to continue his SERPENT projects without the risk of Hanako Arasaka finding out and shutting the place down. He sends forces up to Elysium (obviously after his other attempts at relocating the project to space have failed tremendously, having lost contact with every single crew in the smaller Arasaka stations in orbit around the planet), but since he’s not there himself his cousin (one of the CEOs of Elysium), Maxwell Crane, unbeknownst to Colton, takes control of the SERPENT projects in space instead. From the earlier linked Special Programs page: “Project Eryx used the technology of previous projects, but took a completely new approach in the hosts it used; rather than focusing on the human psyche it attempted to create a new type of cyborg which would lack the humanity that caused previous projects to fail. The Cobra chips were no longer used and the software was instead installed directly onto the host’s mainframe. The flexibility of the new hosts– more robot than human, and in some cases the entire human aspect was lacking altogether– allowed for experimentation with highly advanced cybernetic enhancements and military grade tech and upgrades, turning the test subjects– dubbed ‘prototypes’– into dangerous, unstoppable killing machines.”

Things settle down for Seb and Cassidy, but this moment of peace does not last long. In January 2081 the two find themselves traveling to the spaceship Elysium, to investigate a curious situation in the laboratories– they’ve been hired by Arasaka without their knowledge and it’s a setup to get Cassidy killed and Seb back in Cartier’s control.

While in space, they learn that the secret labs have suffered an outbreak of the above mentioned prototypes. They quickly connect the dots and realize Special Programs is back in the game, and they work together with security guards Aubrey Valentine and Leon dello Russo to try and fix the situation before it gets out of hand. Obviously this fails tremendously and Elysium ends up on a complete lockdown after a ship-wide outbreak, which is eventually contained in late March of that year, with CEO Maxwell Crane dead, leaving only his wife Kinsley Osborn behind.

Elysium continues to exist and is rebuilt after the crisis, and Kinsley Osborn can now finally turn it into the retreat it was always meant to be. Previously, most Elysium employees were to be stuck in space for the rest of their lives; however, with Arasaka out of the picture they are free to leave as they please, which results in a gigantic cut in total employee count in the months that follow.

Seb and Cassidy return to Night City and take Aubrey and Leon with them. Aubrey reunites with his sisters; Becca, James, and Rikki, and soon after his return to the city he opens an LGBTQ+ nightclub called Bodytalk with them, found Downtown, City Center, in June 2081. Not only is it a fun place to hang out at, it’s also his main hub as a fixer, and he starts a collaboration with the Cobras to get business going between the gang and the club; and soon enough it grows into a large and powerful network of connections, which is the foundation on which the rest of the stories are built.

After this point in time, many many more things happen but it would take me another hour or ten to go into full detail of all of that, so instead here’s a quick rundown of some of the other things that Bodytalk gets involved in:

Reid Bennett is handed over to Aubrey and he starts working at the club, and he becomes a very valued employee as well as a good friend to many now that he’s no longer fucking insane

Kaida Akiyama returns from Elysium and shows up to Hanan’s doorstep, to ask for her help with getting out of Arasaka for good; much later on, xe starts working for Bodytalk as well, in an attempt to put xyr past behind xem and become a better person

Urban Dynamite starts performing at the club regularly, and it becomes their home base

Luna Serratos, Cassidy’s ripperdoc friend from all the way back to killing era, gets involved in the Harbinger case from Maelstrom (one of the gang’s most feared members); turns out the Harbinger is in fact Reuben de la Rosa, a by then 22-year-old kid who has ended up in Luna’s care with his friend Noah Telavera after the two got caught up in an explosion. She requests the Cobras’ help with getting Maelstrom to let Reuben go

Officer Michele Diaz from Militech (who used to be Cassidy’s boss) is demoted following the lawsuits after the Elysium incident, and her investigation into the incident in hopes to get her job back leads her to Bodytalk; she begins threatening them and sends the whole club and their allies into uncertain times

Many people get married. There’s so many fucking guys here we went a little insane with the numbers but there’s several weddings and there’s a whole polycule going on too feel free to send asks about this if you’re interested

Cobra Cybernetics releases a new line of cyberware, which is incredibly buggy and dangerous to the public; it’s brought to the club’s attention and it makes them realize that Luiza Vidal (Seb’s sister), who not that long ago asked them to kill her husband (William Colton (Andrew’s brother), CEO of Cobra Cybernetics), has gone missing; they now need to get involved without getting the news out that they actually didn’t kill William and that he is still alive somewhere, while also balancing out dynamics between Biotechnica (angry at Cobra Cybernetics for stealing their designs) and Arasaka (the actual reason why Cobra Cybernetics’ designs look like Biotechnica’s designs, because William stole designs from Special Programs after halting their partnership after the Elysium incident, but these designs had been stolen by Arthur Jenkins from Biotechnica even BEFORE that to be able to hijack the European Space Council’s cybernetics following the Frankfurt incident. Are you still with me)

Vitali Dobrynin (fixer and main character from the in-game events storyline and the continuation of it; Vincent “V” Mayer’s boyfriend) ends up visiting Bodytalk after meeting Aubrey at a Fixer Council meeting, which happens in late 2083; this essentially ties the two main storylines together, which means that yes, a lot of the characters from the two separate storylines end up meeting :]

Officer Ulysses Dimakos (used to work with Reid at MaxTac) is sent to investigate Bodytalk following the Cobra Cybernetics scandal, and ends up teaming up with the club to get MaxTac on a dead trail in exchange for his freedom of the corporation

On top of the Bodytalk / Cobras centered storyline, there’s a couple of side stories that are still connected to the whole thing but are more of a standalone thing with only a few touching points to the rest of it all:

This obviously takes place a lot earlier because it’s already mentioned above, but Special Ops agent Ambrose Hawthorne is tasked with chasing after the escaped Mason twins; naturally he lets them go and ends up going into retirement, and Xavier Mason later on ends up becoming Bodytalk’s part-time repair guy on account of knowing Kaida

Gabriel Mason ends up in a car crash with retired security specialist Ames Ortega, who was also in Elysium during the incidents there, and the two end up babysitting Ambrose and Xavier’s kids together while those two are helping Hanan with getting Kaida out of Arasaka (Are you still with me. Blink if you can hear me)

Mercenary Frankie Sayyad gets a promotion from his fixer, Vulture (real name Diana Crane, Maxwell Crane’s older sister and cousin of the Coltons), and becomes one of her Bloodhounds; he works together with Evelyn Harris, Nimue Nkuna, and Beckett Rydel, the latter being one of the very first test subjects of Arasaka Special Programs, and the four accidentally get themselves mixed into a mystery concerning their secretive fixer

Caleb Harris, ex-security at Biotechnica, ends up back at Club Bodytalk not long after the conclusion of the Cobra Cybernetics scandal, and starts working for Aubrey; he is partnered up with Ramiel Al-Masri, a mercenary who has been working for Vitali Dobrynin for a while and has recently joined Aubrey’s mercenary roster too, and together they dive into a series of gigs neither of them had expected

Journalist Bodhi Shankar has finally found more evidence and information surrounding the mysterious cult gang Umbra and its so-called Prophet, Thiago Salazar; however, his antics have led to him accidentally becoming part of the gang himself, and he has to figure out a way to get Thiago to stop listening to the supposed deity that the gang worships known as Scintilla, before she makes him do things that will get many people killed

taglist (opt in/out)

@velocitic, @deadrlngers, @euryalex, @ordinarymaine, @gurathins;

@mojaves, @shellibisshe, @dickytwister, @mnwlk, @rindemption;

@ncytiri, @calenhads, @noirapocalypto, @florbelles, @radioactiveshitstorm;

@strafethesesinners, @fashionablyfyrdraaca, @aemondtargeryen, @radioactive-synth, @katsigian;

@estevnys, @elgaravel, @aezyrraeshh, @carlosoliveiraa

[entiqua]

I love your artstyle!! Do you have any tips for drawing?

thank you so much! i'm really happy you like it!!💗 as for tips, what i would say would change drastically depending on what kind you're looking for, but some very general ones:

draw what you love and want to see most, regardless of whether anyone else wants to see it. if you don't enjoy what you're drawing it'll never come out as good or genuine as something your whole heart and soul is in. i mean you'd think this would be a no-brainer but sometimes i've had to sit back and ask myself 'if no one was ever going to see this except me, would i actually spend time drawing this?' and i was surprised by the answer

that said, it is also completely valid if your motivation for drawing is to draw for other people! there have been plenty of times where i was too artblocked to draw my own ideas but was still able to draw commissions or gifts and enjoyed it simply because making other people happy with my art makes me happy.

don't get too caught up in having a consistent art style. in my experience this 1000% hinders you

having your sense of anatomy degrade over time without you noticing because you keep drawing the same types of characters is a very real thing! if this is a concern to you be sure to draw a variety

follow a billion artists that you like the art of and you will have endless inspiration injected directly into your brain every time you open social media

my favourite practical tip for those who draw at a desk: keep a small mirror next to you at all times. absolute game changer for quickly referencing hands

if you're drawing digitally, make the canvas huge! in my experience this lets you draw messier/faster and you can't tell at all when you zoom out. if you tend to get stuck spending unnecessary amounts of time micromanaging pixels (me💀) keep it zoomed out while drawing

related to the above point, messy drawings can have far more expressiveness in them than neat and polished drawings. nowadays i never do lineart and go straight from 'barebones stickman pose' to 'varying-levels-of-coherent sketch' and use that as my lineart. sweet freedom from the sketch-looks-better-than-the-lineart phenomenon

if your goal is to improve, then you really do have to scrutinize your art, figure out what you're not satisfied with, and commit the time to focusing on it. 'practice makes perfect' kinda rubs me the wrong way because of how much i've seen it interpreted as 'just draw everyday and you'll magically improve' but genuinely it won't get you very far if you don't actively think hard about what you're trying to improve and take the steps to do it. is this a hot take idk. also hand in hand with this, not every artist is trying to improve and you shouldn't feel bad for this! maybe you just wanna make a little headshot doodle of your fave blorbo and that's your only drawing goal ever. awesome. maybe you know your art has flaws but it's passable enough to convey what you want and you're perfectly satisfied with that. (this is the stage i'm usually at). also awesome!

don't hesitate to draw something because you think it's out of your skill level. the worst that can happen if you draw it is that it comes out terribly but you learned something and can always redraw it better in the future. the worst that WILL happen if you don't draw it is that you'll never draw it. and then it will sit in the back of your brain haunting you for years. it's not like i'm speaking from experience or anything aha

look up 'hand stretches for artists' and do them if you draw a lot unless you wish to summon the wrath of the carpal tunnel demons

of course, these may not necessarily work for you, and most importantly(!) these are coming from the perspective of someone who is primarily a hobbyist. some of this won't be practical for people who need to build an audience, maintain a consistent style for work, etc. these are just things that have personally helped me over many years of drawing :)

[localboobsenjoyer]

"So what do we think, honey? Are they good enough?" You and your wife were examining the breasts of the last candidate. She checked all the boxes: her boobs were already big and grew even bigger after her pregnancy but never deflated, and she also never stopped lacting despite her youngest son being 6 years old. "Can we feel them?"

Asked Jenice without answering you. "Sure," responded the candidate, "just make sure to not touch my nipples; they are still very sensitive after the..." Her words were interrupted by a loud moan. Janice must have (inadvertently?) touched one of her nipples. A thick and steady stream of milk started to flow from both of her nipples. It took almost a full minute for them to stop leaking. "It's perfect," you both said in unison, quicering with excitement. "Can I ask something?" Said the candidate, interrupting you both. "What is exactly going to happen? The add said you will be going to pay upward of $100,000 for my milk. It sounded very fishy, but I really need the money." "It meant exactly what it was written," you answered coldly. "Once we are done, you will have your money, and we will have your milk. You can begin now, Janice." Before anyone could even respond, your wife latched on the bountiful bosom of the candidate, avidly drinking her milk. At first her other breast started to leak, but quickly it stopped as her vast but still limited milk reserve dried up. Once that was over, you could see her imposing size quickly starting to dwindle. What was once a P or Q cup was reduced to barely an A cup in minutes, while Janice's previously nonexistent breast grew as much, if not bigger, than the candidate's former size.

Both her top and her jumper were torn to shred, but her imposing new bust size. There was milk everywhere. Once she was finished, the candidate fainted, probably due to the repited orgasm that she experienced in a short amount of time. You instruct two of your men to take the girl back to her place with the moeny you agreed on. You had far more important things to do now. It took you almost an hour of continuous drinking so that your wife's breast finally stopped leaking. 

[suhkusa]

It’s dark outside when you wake up from your nap. You feel uncomfortable and weird in your day time clothes, so you slide out of your bed and quickly change. The time spent on your bed is short when you finally check your phone. 

Your eyes widen when you read Osamu’s texts. You quickly type out a response on the lines of “sure,” before you’re sliding on your slippers and heading outside. As you close your door, you can hear the neighbor’s door swing open. 

You can see his figure in the darkness, and you know he can see you as well. The two of you meet on the sidewalk that connects the walkways of your guys’ house.

“Hey, Y/N,” he sounds a bit tense, but it’s the same old Osamu if you had to guess.

“Hey,” you follow him in taking a seat on the curb. A good amount of distance between the two of you, but just enough where you could still make out his facial features in the dead of the night.

“How have you been?” Osamu starts the conversation. He’s staring off into the distance.

“I’ve been good, just finished up finals. You?” 

“Same here, I suppose. And your friends?” 

Your head tilts in thought, “They’re good as well,”

There’s a moment of silence before a question that has been poking at your mind finally works its way out. 

“How come you’re back home? Isn’t there practice for the new season?” 

You can see his eyebrows raise from your peripheral vision. Did you say something wrong?

“Oh, well,” his legs bend so he can hold his knees a bit closer, “I quit the team a while ago,” 

Your eyes finally widen, “Oh shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“Nono, it’s all good. A lot of people are shocked when I tell them, too,”

“How did Atsumu react?”

The man beside you laughs a bit to himself, “As bad as you’d expect. It was around the time that… you know, happened so he had a lot of emotions pent up already,”

“I see,” is all you’re able to manage. 

You know. None of you ever seem to know what to call that situation. A few moments pass by as the two of you bask in quietness. 

“Do you hate me?” his question catches you extremely off guard. 

“What? No- I could never, ‘Samu,” your eyes are full of worry when you finally look his way. “I’m sorry if I ever made it seem like that. I care so much for you, even ‘Tsumu. I know I used to scold and fight with you a lot, but it’s because I really cared. You were my bestest friend at one point and it hurt to see you sabotaging your heart like that,”

“I-” Osamu runs a hand through his hair, “I’m sorry, too. For everything. I was childish and I didn’t know how to deal with my feelings for you. Atsumu came up with the idea. The truce, I mean. I just went with it, because on the off chance that you chose him, it meant he wouldn’t be able to have you,” but it happened anyways, you know he wants to say.

“I guess since it’s already out in the open, I can just say it. But I’ve liked you. I still like you. I’m sorry it’s stupid-”

You swiftly cut him off before he can continue, “It’s not stupid, like, at all. I liked you in our third year. I.. I was going to tell you but then you suddenly became distant, so the timing felt bad,”

Osamu sighs before tucking his face into his hands. “Fuck,” you hear him mutter under his breath.

“Is it really too late?” 

If you were caught off guard earlier, you didn’t know what to call this gut-wrenching feeling now. You already know the answer, but you’re scared. You feel like you’ve already screwed up so much, that any little thing you do next will just end in pieces.

“It’s not,”

You see him peek up at you from where he was looking down, urging you to continue. 

“I just… Just give me time, alright?”

All he does is nod in response.

And for once in your life, it feels the universe is finally reassuring you that it’ll be okay. 

BOTH AIN’T SH!T ( OSAMU VER.) — TIME

PREV | MASTERLIST | NEXT

NOTES.

osamu was falling asleep when y/n texted back but he jumped up when he heard the notif

his phone’s volume button is broken from throwing it after he texted

atsumu cried when he was fighting with osamu because too much was happening at the time (part of him felt guilty too)

© all writings belongs to suhkusa 2024. do not repost or change.

[pedroshotwifey]

Trouble in Paradise (Part One)

Pairing: DBF!Joel Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: Of all the things you thought you might be doing on your summer break, falling in love with your father's best friend in Hawaii wasn't one of them.

Tags/Warnings: Nothing crazy yet! Some kind of maybe tension, pet names, talk of Joel knowing reader since she was small, reader has a dad, mom is not mentioned, yadayada

A/N: Hello my friends! I'm terribly sorry I've been away for so long. There have been a lot of...unsavory happenings lately. Want to say sorry in advance because I know this isn't my best writing, but i'm trying to get back into the groove of things. I'm hoping I'll be back to my scheduled programming (TTF, FB, answering requests) by the time this short series is done. Expecting it to be around 3-5 parts. Thank you so much for sticking with me <3

*******

You’ve been laying in your bed blasting your “chill” playlist through your earbuds since you got home from school around five. The last exhausting day of your freshman college year. Lana Del Rey, Cigarettes After Sex, Hozier, and the like have been floating lazily through your head as you watched the sun go down. 

After a long day, you’d hung your head off the foot of your bed, intent to bask in the golden glow of the evening in a baggy T and your underwear until your eyes shut for the night. You were almost asleep when you were interrupted by a sound that didn’t quite go with “Wicked Game”. 

You yank your earbuds out, sitting up on your bed. You don’t remember it getting so dark. Your cracked window allows the late summer breeze in to gently rustle the curtains framing it. Crickets and cicadas chirp loudly outside, creating a symphony to compliment the stars shining through the inky sky. 

“Sweetheart?” 

Your head swivels to look accusingly at your closed door. The name was shouted from the stairway. Definitely your dad.

You roll your eyes but get out of bed. The clock on your nightstand tells you it’s 8:02pm, so he’s probably calling you for dinner. You’ve told him before that it’s easier just to call your cell, but when has he ever listened? You pad to your door, crack it, and shout back. 

“Be down in a minute!”

Getting no response, you can only assume he heard you. You close your door back and pick up the polka-dotted pajama pants crumpled into a pile beside your bed. You tug them on through a yawn, almost tripping a few times before they’re on all the way. 

You check your mirror before heading down. You look sleepy, not like it really matters. Your door creeks as you push it open again and make your way down the stairs. The soft carpet laid in the middle of the hardwood keeping your steps quiet. It’s about halfway to the kitchen that you hear a second voice to your father’s. It sounds vaguely familiar, and your heart skips a beat. Surely it’s not—

You climb down a few more steps and stop in your tracks at the sight of Joel Miller sitting at your dinner table. You haven’t seen him since at least your high school graduation. You’d harbored a small crush on him then, but that had to have been nothing compared to whatever the hell you’re feeling now. Your entire body seems to glow with some mix of embarrassment and surprise. 

You really thought you’d gotten over this silly little crush. Then again, it’s hard to get over something like Joel Miller. High school boyfriends? Sure, no problem. But the classic DILF next door of a best friend your dad has isn’t so easy. He’s been a constant in your childhood, always kind and there for you even when your dad wasn’t. So, in other words, highly inappropriate for you to be so attached to. 

It’s easy to say the years have been kind to him. He’s a few years older than your father, so probably about mid-forties now. He’s started to gray, a fine amount of silver peppered into his mousy brown hair. That beard of his has taken the brunt of it, though. That beard you’ve imagined between your thighs so many times. 

His dark eyes seem to have become kinder thanks to the crow’s feet carefully etched into the corners. He’s wearing his signature T-shirt and worn jeans, his brown leather jacket and work boots likely disposed of near the front door. 

He smirks as his brown eyes fall on your disheveled form, halted on the bottom step. You, in contrast to the god-like figure he’s sporting, must look like an absolute mess. Despite that fact, he looks at you almost in a different way than he used to. More intensely. It makes you resist the urge to squirm. 

“Joel,” you finally manage to choke out. “Hi.” 

Smooth, you think. 

“Hey, trouble,” he returns, light amusement lacing his tone. It makes you nervous, like he’s clocked your little secret. 

He gets up from his seat, and you can tell he’s going for a hug. You shock yourself into action and take the few steps to reach him. He envelops you in his strong arms just like he used to, and you take the opportunity to breathe in his scent. Smokey pine, whiskey, and a hint of mint—just like you remember. 

You’re smiling like an idiot despite yourself as you pull away. Luckily, your dad makes an appearance before you say something embarrassing. 

“Hey, sleeping beauty,” he teases. “You remember my buddy Joel, dontch’a?” 

Joel scoffs before you can answer. “‘Course she remembers me, Scott, known her since she was damn near in diapers.” 

Your dad rolls his eyes. “Well, just to ask,” he argues. 

You shake your head. Same banter between those two for as long as you can remember. They’ve been friends since your dad’s freshman highschool year, and Joel’s senior. Everyone who knows Joel and Scott considers them to be brothers as much as Joel and Tommy.

Cheeks heated, you make your way to the bathroom to freshen up while they’re distracted. You shut the door and comb through your hair with your fingers, straighten your tank top, and wipe away the smudged mascara you didn’t care to wash off earlier. 

When you look half-decent, you wash your hands and walk back to the dining room, choosing to ignore the fact that you just tidied yourself for your dad’s best friend. Totally normal thing to do, right?

Joel is sitting back in the same spot as you found him the first time, your dad in the seat opposite of him. There are three bowls of spaghetti served, one in front of each man, and one beside Joel. You’re not going to complain about that. 

You slide into the seat next to him, flashing him a quick smile when he turns his head to acknowledge you. You swear his gaze lingers for a second, but it’s probably just wishful thinking. 

You look away and dig into your food, zoning out as Joel and your dad talk about work. Joel’s presence beside you fuels your daydreaming, his deep, drawling voice keeping it running. You wish so badly to lean into him, feel the comfort of his embrace. Maybe more. You wish, not for the first time, that he would look at you the way you looked at him. You wish he would—

You jolt when you hear your name in conversation, your spaghetti-filled fork halfway to your mouth. 

“No, I don’t think she’d mind at all, would’ya, honey?” 

Your dad looks expectantly at you. Your eyes dart between him and Joel. 

“Uh, sorry, what?” You ask, your cheeks heating for the second time tonight. 

“Helping Joel out. I know it’s been some years, but it’s just basic stuff. Plus, it’ll be in—” 

“Really, Scott, you don’t have to volunteer her if she don’t want to—” 

“No, no,” you interrupt. “I don’t mind at all.” 

In all honesty, you didn’t think your answer through. You have no idea what you just signed up for. Though, if it’s with Joel, it can’t be too bad. 

“No, really, sweetheart,” Joel interjects. “I wouldn’t wanna have a pretty ‘lil’ thing workin’ away on her summer vacation.”

You turn to look at him, flashing him your sweetest eyes. He called you pretty—you feel like you might explode. “I really don’t mind.” 

He waits for a moment before he clears his throat and turns back to your dad. “Alright then,” he says before taking a sip of his drink. “We leave for Hawaii next Tuesday.” 

You just about choke on your dinner. Your dad laughs. 

“Told you, Joel, she doesn’t listen to a damn thing we say.” 

*****

Hawaii? For two weeks? With Joel? What do you even pack?

You stare at your suitcase, waiting for your closet to help you out and throw something in there. Should you bring sundresses or work clothes? Both, right? Probably both. Maybe more work clothes. You said you’d be helping, after all. But with what? 

God, you should have just paid attention to that damn conversation. 

It’s late Monday night, and you haven’t been able to pick up on enough over-the-phone conversation to get the gist of it. You need to stop being such a wuss and just ask. But that would mean calling Joel. Do you really want to call Joel? 

Well, yes, of course you do. But do you really want to sound awkward around Joel? No, no you don’t. And you know that’s exactly what would be happening over the phone with a man you’ve never talked over the phone with. 

You groan, flopping yourself onto your bed to stare at your ceiling and overthink. You don’t want to overpack, because you don’t want Joel to see that you overpacked. But you also don’t want to underpack, because you don’t want Joel to see that you underpacked, either. This really shouldn’t be that hard. You’re about to get back up, say screw it, and throw a mixture in there, when you hear a knock on your door. 

“Come in,” you call, unmoving.

“Hey, honey,” your dad says as he creeps in. “Just got off the phone with Joel.” 

You sit up at this. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah, he figured you might want some advice on what to pack.” 

Oh thank God. 

“Said he’s gonna be puttin’ you to work, but to bring some pretty clothes if you want. There’s a pool at the place you’ll be workin’ at, and a beach nearby.” 

You nod along, thanking all that is holy that Joel had the idea to give you some input. 

Your dad eyes your empty suitcase and raises a brow in your direction. 

“He’ll be here around 4:00am, so be ready by then.” He looks back at you. “I love you, sweetheart, I’ll see you when you get back.” 

He gives you a hug and closes your door. 

You take Joel’s advice and pack mostly for work—with a few pretty things just in case. 

*****

As expected, Joel’s truck is in your driveway at 4:00am on the dot. You’re in the passenger seat and headed for the airport by 4:03. 

The ride is less tense than you thought it would be, mostly because the two of you are so tired. You’re practically in a coma against the window, the dull classic country music playing quietly from the old truck’s speakers lulling you to sleep. Joel is in about the same mindset, the lazy drumming of his fingers against the wheel the only thing convincing you he’s still awake. 

Buildings pass in a dark blur, everything mushed together into one big half-dream. Joel’s scent fills the cab, sealing the state you’re in. You glance at the clock: 4:48. You blink, and it’s 5:20, the truck is stopped at the airport, and Joel is gently nudging you awake. You squint at him, the cab light rudely intruding, and you can just barely make out the faint smile on his lips. You have a strong urge to lean forward and kiss him, but thankfully you’re conscious enough to not make a complete fool of yourself right now. 

“C’mon, darlin’, we got a plane to catch.” 

You nod, trying to get your bearings. Joel slides out of his side of the truck, and you follow out of yours, getting a good stretch in before leaning back into the cab and retrieving your suitcase from the narrow backseat. When you make your way around the truck to Joel, he gently grabs it from your hand. 

You look at him, mouth open and ready to argue, but he gives you a look that makes you shut it just as quick. Your stomach flutters at the gesture, and you kind of want to slap him for it. Or maybe yourself. Either way, you keep close to him until you’re entering through the sliding doors out front. 

It only takes about an hour to get through TSA and in line to board the plane, but you’re wide awake by then. And hungry. 

“Hey Joel,” you whisper. He hums at you but doesn’t look down. 

“I’m hungry.” 

Now he looks at you. “I don’t think we got time to grab anything now, darlin’, but we should have a layover at LAX in about three hours. Think you can hold tight ‘till then?” 

You nod, trying not to overthink the conversation. It was literally a few words exchanged between the two of you, but it might be the first time you’ve conversed alone outside of your dad’s house. It felt domestic to you in a way that makes you feel like an idiot. It was one conversation. 

Of course, you have to ruin the moment by humming “Party in the USA”. I mean, it’s Joel’s fault. He was the one to mention LAX. 

He laughs and nudges you. “Quit that,” he commands, though you can tell he thinks it’s funny. You giggle but indulge him. 

“Fine,” you draw out. “Somebody hates fun.” 

He scoffs another laugh, but says nothing. 

Finally, the two of you are next to board. You stop around the middle of the plane, and Joel hoists your bags into the compartment above your seats. Then, he moves aside to let you in first. 

“By the window, darlin’,” he says.

You smile with excitement and settle in, Joel sitting next to you a second later. 

“Your dad said somethin’ about it bein’ your first time flyin’, so I figured you might want a window seat,” he explains. 

Your heart warms at this. Why does he have to be so thoughtful? 

“Thank you, Joel,” you say genuinely, flashing him a smile. It may be the lighting, but you swear you see his cheeks pink up just a little before he nods and faces forward. 

The flight goes by relatively quickly. Joel does some sort of paperwork on the little desk in front of him, and you pop your earbuds in and listen to a downloaded playlist while you read. The light romance you chose was cute, but it failed to distract you completely from the hunk of man beside you. 

You’re not sure how many times you caught yourself staring at the flex of his wrist as he wrote whatever down. It was maybe once or twice that your eyes found their way up to his bicep, possibly a few times that they landed on his lower lip, his teeth bitten into it in concentration. You definitely got heated more times than you would’ve liked. And as your book started heating as well, you had to put it down. You really hope it’s not just you that feels this new tension.

For the last twenty minutes or so, you’ve been looking out the window, content to listen to your music and watch the land go by. For the last five, you’ve felt Joel’s eyes on you. You refuse to look back at him, though, just in case it’s your imagination. 

But you swear you can feel the weight of his stare. You fidget, trying to ignore the feeling as you stare out the window and at the clouds. Then you hear a sharp sound from the speakers 

through your earbuds. 

You take them off and look back at Joel as the pilot informs you that you should be landing in about ten minutes. 

He was staring at you, and he didn’t look away. You don’t look away now, either. You don’t say anything.

“Thank you for comin’ with me, darlin’.” 

You’re taken aback. Of course you would go with him. 

“It’s no problem, Joel,” you say. He gives you a short smile. “I mean, really,” you joke. “You’re the one taking me on a free vacation.” 

He smiles fully this time and rolls his eyes. He tends to do that a lot with you. It makes you smile too. 

The speaker dings again:

“Should be some light turbulence, but we’ll be on the ground soon, folks.” 

Joel looks away after the announcement, gathering his work to put back into his bag. You shake yourself off and choose not to acknowledge whatever the hell that was. 

******

You knew LAX would be busy, but. Holy shit. This place is insane. 

You keep close to Joel as he navigates the two of you through the crowds and to your next gate. He keeps slightly in front of you, and you keep getting the urge to grab his hand to keep up, but you don’t. You don’t think you’ve ever seen this many people in one place—and you thought the Austin airport had been overwhelming. 

There are a million shops and restaurants and gates as you make your way down the massive hallways, up and down the escalators, and through trains. It takes an hour and fifteen before you can even see the sign for your gate. Your legs hurt from walking, and your head hurts from all the noise. 

You keep an eye on some of the closer restaurants you pass so that you can backtrack to them and grab a bagel or something before you have to get on your plane. You catch a glimpse of a Burger King when you’re suddenly slammed into. 

You gasp as you’re sent flying onto your ass by a man who couldn’t be bothered to glance your way to see if you’re alright. Joel whips around and sets the bags down, quickly helping you up. 

“Shit, are you alright, darlin’?” he asks, a deep concern in his eyes. Your cheeks are burning with embarrassment even though it wasn’t your fault. 

“Yeah, I’m okay.” 

Joel looks you up and down to make sure as you stand on your own two feet. He turns around, trying to scope out the man who bumped into you, and turns back when he finds that he’s long gone. 

“I’m sorry, honey,” he finally says. “People don’t give a rat’s ass here.” 

You nod, smiling at his choice of words. “I’m alright, Joel.” 

He sighs and picks his bag back up, slinging the large weight over his shoulder, and then picks your suitcase up in one hand. WIth the other, he grabs onto yours. His hand is rough but warm and comforting. 

“Just stay close ‘till we get to the gate.”

Practically glowing, you hold onto him and let him lead the way. It only takes a few more minutes before he’s telling you to sit down at the waiting area. 

“I’m gonna grab you somethin’ to eat, ‘nd I’ll be right back.” 

You decide to read while he’s on his errand, picking your book back up to a particularly smutty part. You’re not going to pretend like you aren’t picturing the characters as you and Joel as he eats her out on a countertop. You bite your lip, consuming each word with fervor.

You’re just finishing the chapter when Joel strolls up with two breakfast sandwiches, a coffee, and an orange juice. He hands you a sandwich and the latter drink, and takes the seat next to you with a groan. 

“Probably have at least thirty minutes,” he grumbles. 

You nod as you thank him and unwrap your sandwich. It’s silent for a few minutes, before you can’t bear it and break the peace. 

“What all are we going to be doing?” 

Joel looks at you, almost flustered. He must have misheard you. “Huh?” 

“Like when we get there, what are we going to be working on?” 

“Oh, uh,” he clears his throat and takes a sip of his coffee. “Mostly flooring ‘nd some drywall, but there should be somethin’ to do in the kitchen if I’m hearin’ right.” 

You nod and take a bite of your sandwich. Joel continues. 

“Should have a few days to relax, though, if we get everythin’ done in time.” 

Your stomach flips at the thought. A few days to relax with Joel. 

“Sounds easy enough,” you say. 

Joel nods again. “Atta girl.”

“Flight 332 is ready to begin boarding.” 

You and Joel take the last bites of your sandwich in silence and stand up to get in line once again. This flight is going to be longer, about six hours. 

Joel throws your trash away and comes back to grab your bags. Same as last time, you have a seat by the window. Not like it matters much in the long run, because just after Joel takes his seat and the plane takes off, your head falls onto his shoulder, and you promptly fall asleep. 

******

Thank you for reading!! Part two should be coming soon.

Itty bitty mini taglist: @callachloe @kewwrites @casa-boiardi @pastawench (love you guys)

Pls let me know if you would like to be tagged in pt. 2!

[possessionisamyth]

Not to kick a dead horse, but there is a way to make Pier's death genuinely very loaded and tragic that fandom consensus just seems to continue to miss! I've never seen a take about Piers's death being about PIERS, but all about "ooohh chris lost a good one" and how the two are not able to fuck anymore. But I am going to free you from these shackles while I zero in on Chris' comment of

"I wanted him to replace me."

Surely Piers was being trained to take Chris' job ideally after a decent retirement party, but neither of them get that luxury because Edonia happens, and Chris is gone. The beloved captain has vanished, and the person who's supposed to take his job is right there, so they give it to him. It's Piers responsibility to not only be a face of what the BSAA represents, but also the heavy shackles of expectations are slapped onto him.

Everyone wants Chris, which means Piers can't be himself nor figure out how to run the same jobs his way. No, it has to be Chris' way. There's no time for anyone to adjust and shift gears either with the C-Virus outbreaks, the terrorist attacks from Ada*(Carla), and the search party he shambled together to locate the missing Redfield. So he tries his damnedest to fill Chris' shoes and suddenly realizes just how out of his depth he is. There were so many reasons people called Chris for certain tasks, even tasks Piers hadn't known about and definitely hadn't been trained on, that Piers never saw. There's no mentor to dial. No reference other than fellow soldiers saying things like, "We don't know how, he just got it done," which is the least helpful thing in the world. Hell, there's barely any notes to go through when he searches Chris' office for a semblance of a hint as to how he should do this job.

Maybe it turns out Chris was doing his best to gently ease that heavy mantle into Piers' hands. It's why his scheduled retirement seemed so far away at the time. Perhaps, after one comment too many where he'd been accidentally addressed by the name of his captain for the 50th time, Piers breaks. He can't do this. He's not ready for this. He needs the one person who did all this back by any means necessary, so he drops all the work and joins the search party. He verbally harasses an amnesiac Chris into coming back because maybe it isn't that bad. Maybe Chris just needs a reminder of what he's been doing everyday for literal years and things would be back to normal again.

But it's not. It's messier. It's uglier. This isn't the Chris he worked so hard to fight alongside. There are glimpses of him in there, but most of the time in China, Piers feels like he's working with a stranger. People die, and Chris keeps pushing forward no matter how much he's shouted at, and Piers feels like this is all his fault. The deaths are his fault because he couldn't buckle down and do what Chris originally wanted him to do. Take Chris' place. Replace him. Be better than him.

So when they go to that underwater facility, and their backs are against the wall, there's the looming sense of failure and a terrifying amount of pressure. If they get out of this alive, who knows when Chris would be back in shape to work again if that ever happens. Piers would have to be responsible. He was already responsible for the squad he gathered to take up this job, and they were skewed into pieces around downtown Lanshiang. Take Chris' place. Replace him. Be better than him, and Piers failed on all accounts. He couldn't get Chris back the way he was supposed to be. His squad was dead. The responsibility he'd have to take up if they made it out alive would be nigh unbearable, and then he gets infected.

He gets infected and suddenly the decision is so easy. To let go. To hope for the best. To be the one left behind when he was supposed to be the one moving towards the future. Another glimpse of the Chris that Piers knew is seen, a more confident glimpse wherein Chris does everything he can to try and save him. And Piers smiles when Chris fails. When he saves Chris. When he seems to finally do one thing right after things never seemed to stop falling apart.

It's the last thing Chris sees. That smile and the ever encroaching weight of immeasurable responsibility that'll grasp him tight as soon as he breaks the surface. The weight Piers couldn't take from him, and maybe never wanted in the first place.

[rupturedtaleblog]

Hi everyone, Tile here, under more ideal circumstances, you would have gotten everything I wanted to do for the anniversary all at once, but due to my personal life becoming far more busy than I'd like, the content for this year is going to be spread out over the rest of the month.

The following is mostly going to be a few thoughts of mine, over the history of this project, and about a few personal anecdotes. If you don't care about that, feel free to just look at the art up there, it was made by VeggieUTDR.

I would like to start things off by thanking those of you who have decided to still follow this project. What started out as a stupid joke made to spite someone had transformed into a project that is incredibly personal to me. One that I, come hell or high water, will see through it to its completion, one way or another.

8 years feels like an incredible amount of time. A lot of things happened to me, and some things stayed relatively the same. It's part of why I've decided to never really cancel this. By the time Rupturedtale started, it was during the boom of Undertale AU Sprite Comics, it was a project among many of those, and one that would surely fade just like a good chunk of them.

That never really happened, though, as I'm currently talking to you. As corny as this may sound, there is a part of me inside of this thing. And it's a part of me I cannot bring myself to hurt. This whole story is about hurt, really, it'd be cruel to put it out of its misery when it can become something truly beautiful.

If you're wondering why it's taken so long, besides my life in general being busy, it's because I've spent a lot of time developing some personal projects with some good friends of mine. Ones that for the time being aren't really meant for the public eye. Creating those memories is important to me, and they will also shape how some of the things in this project are going to be.

You might get to catch a glimpse at one of them.

There isn't anything of major substance that I can show right now, the Date itself has things that will be better off being shown in their proper context. And its overall script needs to undergo revision before it can be put into game form. In the event of complete and utter catastrophic failure, you can expect it to come out in comic form instead.

In general, for the projects that are made by my hand (and the very lovely people who help said hand), I will be publishing a roadmap of what to expect in the future. There are a lot of things that I want to do, and I'm very eager to show them to you. I just need to get to them first.

Again, I'm incredibly grateful for your patience, there's not a lot of you out there, I'm aware, but for the ones that still are, I promise you're gonna get what you've been looking for.

If there is anything I've learned the past few years, is that my love for this game will never truly die, I will be thinking about it for the rest of my life.

Though, that doesn't mean I will only create under its own shadow.

You can't just play with the same toy over and over again, you know.

You'd want something new.

Eventually.

[wc-confessions]

I’ll do a full breakdown of why the news surrounding the Tencent animation disappoints me.

Disclaimer: while you can have criticisms about Tencent as they seem to be a controversial company, don’t use it as an excuse to be sinophobic. If your thoughts ever go to “well of course a Chinese production would suck” or something of that ilk, please stop right there. The main issues are corporate greed and laziness, not China. Got it? Time to carry on.

Firstly, it strikes me as more of a proof of concept than an actual announcement. It’s the most minor problem IMO, so I’ll let them off the hook. They probably wanted to make sure people knew it was being worked on.

Secondly, AI. Warrior Cats is an art-centric community; it’s no wonder fans are pissed. I don’t like AI art, you - a (probable) Warriors fan reading this - likely don’t like AI art, your father doesn’t like AI art, everyone here doesn’t like AI art. Which means I’m going to argue on a more technical side. Looking at the confirmed and possible AI art, I have a question. What do they achieve? They don’t fit with the style of the hand-drawn illustrations, they resemble galaxy cats in space, while that Yellowfang generation is just a bootleg of the reprinted Rising Storm cover. Their existence in the presentation is a waste of time and resources (literally, AI prompts use up absurd amounts of water). I’d rather them show exclusively human art because you can tell they’re going in a direction, even if it’s uninteresting.

Speaking of the presumably human art, oh boy. To start off mildly positive, I’ll say a majority of the illustrations are decent. You get some character designs and scene concepts. They’re clearly playing with art style. I don’t find them particularly ugly, so… good job! I suppose! Now, to address the elephant in the room: anthro cats. For the love of StarClan, I’m begging on my knees, don’t make these cats anthro in the final product. It would fundamentally break the entire series. They call humans “twolegs” for a reason! Go work on the Redwall movie if you want anthro animals.

Finally, my last concern. As of writing, there hasn’t been confirmation of the Tencent animation being a movie, TV show, or other. My opinion on a TV show is “it’s fine.” Warrior Cats is a long series, making it suitable that it gets a longer adaptation. Meanwhile, my hope for a Warriors movie is as big as a single grain of sand. 

Warrior Cats is borderline unadaptable when it comes to shorter-form media unless you want to dish out a pretty penny. We can already see this with the Prophecies Begin graphic novel; it’s transparent HarperCollins or whoever is in charge of these things didn’t want to pay for six TPB comics, so they had to hastily mash two books together in one. If the Tencent animation is a movie, I’m afraid some concepts already have signs of this. Multiple pieces have what can be assumed to be Fireheart and Tigerclaw fighting. I’m sorry, but that happens later in the books. Are they going to scramble the narrative worse than the graphic novel adaptation? Are we seriously going to wait 20+ years for an official animation, watch at least one high-profile fan project get canned, only for it to be about as accurate as evil snipers in an action movie? If it’s not a movie, ignore what I’ve said. If it is a movie, sigh.

TL;DR: Should’ve made the Little Dragon Studios series official instead of forcing them to cancel, guys.

.

[bluetoes-andstuff]

A Hidden Desire

Chapter 2 - Once Upon A Time

Summary: Once upon a time… you wish to be rescued. Your rescuer is not who you would expect, but he hears your plea and rushes to your aid.

Rating: T (Eventual NSFW)

Word Count: 4.4K

Relationship: Caesar x Fem!Human Reader

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, implied sexual abuse

Previous Chapter

***If you are under 18 I would advise not reading, this is not an explicit chapter but this will be a story that explores nsfw themes later on. Best to just not go down the path to begin with. Be safe***

You wake up to the familiar, harsh reality of this dreadful camp after a long night of restless sleep. The tent you’ve recently started to call home is a tattered, makeshift structure, barely held together by willpower alone. In short… It was a mess. The fabric was worn and stained, letting in drafts of cold air with every slight breeze. The ground beneath you is hard and unforgiving, littered with pebbles and uneven clumps of dirt, and a thin blanket being your only comfort against the harsh chill.

Your pitiful collection of dirty, ripped clothes lie in a pile across the tent beside your other meager belongings. It didn’t amount to very much considering your camp’s habit of spontaneously uprooting, forcing you to leave behind whatever you couldn’t carry on foot.

The subtle aches of your body greet you as you slowly sit upright. You glance down towards your legs, covered in your baggy sleep pants, the gross memories from the day prior surfacing. You reach forward and wince as you slowly roll up your pant leg to expose the nasty gash bordered by a developing purple bruise. That was going to make it kind of difficult to get your chores done today.

You poke at the sore bruising. The entire area burned and you had a feeling it was going to be a difficult healing process. Your stomach spasms with a loud grumble, bringing to attention the hunger that gnaws at your stomach, and you push your face into your knees with a soft sob. Sometimes the reality of your situation just hits you all at once, and you can’t do anything more but cry, because what else can you do about it? You’re stuck here, and you’ve come to accept that now.

Your few personal items scattered about were almost like remnants of a life from a distant memory. A life you can only see through the eyes of childhood, reflected upon by a maturity brought on not only by age but circumstance. Abuse and misfortune is all you’ve known since the plague first took your parents six years ago. Even if you happen to escape this camp of abusers, you’re bound to stumble across another one eventually. It’s just how things worked now and you’ve come to accept it.

As you step outside, the camp comes to life around you. The air is thick with the smell of sweat and unwashed bodies, a smell you’ve sadly grown quite accustomed to. Everywhere, men are hollering and laughing, a general hum of conversation and jokes. You keep your head down to avoid any unwanted attention. You’ve resigned yourself to a life of torment, but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t try your best to avoid it at all costs.

Your first task of the day is to fetch water from the nearby stream. The bucket is heavy, and your arms tremble as you carry it back to the camp. Your injured leg adds a whole new level of difficulty, slowing the process to almost twice the time it’d usually take. No one takes care, or even notice, of your limp, or the constant grimace on your face. No one offers help, but you didn’t really expect them to.

As you pass by one of the larger tents, a man you’ve come to know as “Tommy” steps out. He frowns at you, and roves his eye up and down before scoffing.

“Don’t be so dramatic, kid. It ain’t that bad. Move faster.” His mouth actually upturns into a snarky grin and he laughs, but you know it wasn’t because it was a joke. You don’t say a word, because you know better than to argue. So instead, you nod quickly, pick up your pace and try your best to walk as normal as you can.

Back at your tent, you set the bucket down and begin cleaning the pile of boots piled up beside it. As you take a careful seat, another couple of men pass by and toss their boots into the large pile without even a simple word or glance at you. Your hands are raw and blistered, but you work diligently. The sooner you get it done, the sooner you can get out of their line of sight.

As you scrub the dirt from the boots, your mind drifts as it usually does during these mindless chores. You escape into your recurring fantasy world, surrounded by lush green meadows, and wildflowers dancing at your feet. The air is crisp, the sun warm against your skin.

In these moments, you felt a fleeting sense of peace and comfort, a stark contrast to your reality. These dreams were a sanctuary; your final cling to sanity. A place where you could escape from the harsh reality of the fear and pain dominating your life. You longed for someone to come and take you away, to offer you the love and protection you had never known. Something you were rarely able to even receive from your own parents.

The daydreams, although always slightly different, always revolve around a particular event; a savior, someone strong and kind, coming to rescue you from this nightmare. The thought brings a faint smile to your lips, a giddy excitement as your fantasies bring to life a futile hope. You know better than to cling to such dreams. In this world, hope is a dangerous thing, a fragile illusion that can shatter with the slightest touch.

Yet, despite everything, a small part of you refuses to let go. It’s the part that dreams of freedom, that believes in the possibility of a better life. You hold onto that hope, even though you know it’s fruitless. It’s what keeps you going, what gives you the strength to face another day because maybe, just maybe, if you hope hard enough, your dreams just might come true.

****

Caesar led his group through the dense forest, the sound of thumping hooves muffled by the thick underbrush. The horses moved with practiced silence, their riders alert and watchful with weapons ready. As they neared the human camp, Caesar raised his hand with a quick sign and the group quickly dismounted and scurried up the nearby trees in a practiced order, their movements fluid and silent to blend seamlessly with the shadows.

From their new vantage point, Caesar observed the camp below. It was a sight he’s seen many times before through the years when humans got brave enough to venture into his territory. The area was a stark contrast to the natural beauty surrounding it, a blot of harsh order amidst the chaos of the forest. Tents were being set up in a precise, almost militaristic fashion, each one identical and devoid of any personal touch, fabrics worn and stained from years of constant use.

A crude fence was already being erected around the perimeter, its jagged edges a clear statement on their intention of permanence. Caesar was quick to note the weak points —areas where the wood was hastily patched or still unfinished. These would be the entry points for his attack if it came to such drastic measures.

Inside, commands and varying conversation were barked out, and the occasional burst of cruel laughter echoed through the camp. Not one voice he heard was that of a kind man. These men were not just survivors, vying for peace and a desire to live; they were predators, hardened by years of conflict and driven by a relentless need to dominate. Caesar had become well accustomed to men like this through the years.

This was all he needed to know to proceed. This camp was a place where fear would soon rule, and any semblance of humanity had already begun to fade. They needed to prevent this camp from becoming a permanent blight on their forest, and if they didn’t act now, they would only become stronger.

He was just about to pass on his orders to Koba, but a sparkling “light”, so-to-speak, caught his eye.

A human woman—You. Enveloped in an innocence so rare to find amongst humanity. You moved with a grace that stood out amidst the harshness of your surroundings, your beauty a stark contrast to the brutality of the camp.

Your clothes were worn and ripped, not at all a compliment to the beauty you possessed. You deserved far better. Caesar pictured a blue dress, to compliment the vibrant color he’s sure you held in your eyes. A flowy material, soft to the touch, to tease and foreshore the softness and gentleness of the skin it hid beneath.

His chest tightened and his stomach began to burn and roll as he watched you. It had been a long time since he had seen a human woman, especially one as alluring as you. Your hair, though unkempt, shone in the dim light, and your eyes, even from a distance, held a depth of emotion that drew him in. A desire to speak to you, touch you, and hold the entirety of your attention.

You carried a heavy bucket, your steps unsteady, revealing a soft, yet pronounced limp, causing a strain in every movement. He noticed the dark bruising on your arms and the way you cower and flinch when a man shouts and laughs at you.

It angered him in a way he wasn’t familiar with. It was fervid and dangerous, as he didn’t know if this was an instinctive emotion he’d be able to contain. He knew in his mind that any rash move could endanger his group, but that burn drew a curtain between his mind and heart. They needed to act fast before his anger called on him to do something stupid.

Caesar turned towards Rocket and Koba perched on branches beside him. Rocket was still focused on the camp and the guards spread around the perimeter, mouth parted open as it usually was when in deep thought. Koba, however, wore a scowl as he looked down upon the camp.

“We need to be careful,” Rocket eventually signs, his hoots of caution low and urgent. “There are many of them.”

Koba grunted in agreement, but his eyes were hard. “Humans are dangerous,” he signs, his expression filled with disdain. “We need to act before they do.”

Caesar’s mind raced as he considered their options, the thoughts of you begging to pull his attention away. “We need a plan,” he grunts as he signs. “We can’t just charge in. We need to create a distraction, something to draw the men away from her.”

Without any thought to mask his true intention, Caesar reveals his thoughts as they are and his chest immediately convulses with a weird nervousness as he stares at his two friends, waiting for their reactions.

Both Koba and Rocket give him a weird look, before looking down at where Caesar pointed. Right there, on the outskirts of the camp is a young human woman, and both apes look back to Caesar who now seems to act as a young chimp caught in the midst of a bout of mischief: guilty.

“What do you mean, “her”?” Koba signs emphatically “what about her?”

“She cannot get hurt,” Caesar quickly defends. “She is innocent.”

“How?” Koba retaliates, “she is human.”

“No, she is victim of humans… just like us.” Caesar doesn’t plead; he never pleads. But at this moment, he needs the others to understand. You cannot get hurt… he can’t allow it. And they need to understand.

Rocket nodded thoughtfully, cutting Koba off before he pursued the argument. He trusts in whatever Caesar decides. “We could use the horses,” he suggested. “Send them running through the camp. It will cause chaos and give us a chance to get her out before we attack.”

Koba’s scowl deepened. “Why risk our lives for a human?” he asked, hissing with contempt. “They are not worth it.”

Caesar looked back at you as you scrubbed away at men’s boots, his resolve hardening. “No one deserves to suffer like this. We will help her.”

He wants to help, he tells himself. It is for you, not for him. He expects nothing to come of this. He will not touch you, he will not pursue what he’s been wanting. He will not be selfish.

Rocket grinned, his eyes lighting up with excitement. “And while they’re distracted, we can take out the guards,” he added. “Quick and silent.”

Caesar nodded, ignoring Koba’s glare. “Good,” he said. “Rocket, you handle the distraction. Koba, you and I will take out the guards and get her. We move on my signal.”

The group nodded in agreement, though Koba’s reluctance was palpable. They moved into position, each ape taking their place in the plan. Caesar’s heart pounded with a mix of anger, determination, and maybe just a little bit of misplaced excitement. You deserved the world, he knew it, and he would make sure you got it.

Caesar watched as Rocket and a few others moved to enact the distraction, leaving him and Koba in position. His eyes returned to you and never left, your every movement drawing him in. He could feel Koba’s gaze boring into the side of his head, but he ignored him in favor of watching you. He would savor every moment he had to gaze upon you, because who knew how much longer he’d be able to. You were cleaning those boots with a quiet determination even despite the pain he could see etched on your face. But he could also see a glimmer of hope that refused to be extinguished.

Suddenly, one of the men approached you from behind. Caesar’s muscles tensed, nostrils flaring with a possessive huff. The look of a predatory male was universal across the animal kingdom and humans were not an exception. The man grabbed your arm roughly, yanking you to your feet, causing you to buckle on your bad leg with a soft cry. He yanked you again even as you tried to pull away, but his grip continued to tighten, his voice a low, menacing growl.

“C’mon sweetheart, you remember what happens when you put up a fight,” the man teases, his eyes raking over her with a lecherous gaze. The panic that overtook you was palpable, and you struggled harder in the man’s grip.

If Caesar was not so distracted by the occurrence of events, he would have noticed Koba’s accompanying growls of dissent and anger.

But his own heart was pounding in his chest, that surge of protective rage flooding through the very veins in his body. His muscles cramped with the restraint to act. Because if he didn’t act he knew something terrible would happen to you, something he didn’t dare want to think of. His vision narrowed, focusing solely on the man as he began to drag you, a poor little girl, across the camp while your body wracked with pleas and sobs. The world around Caesar seemed to fade, leaving only the burning need in his gut to protect what his heart had already apparently claimed as his own.

His nostrils flare with the heavy breaths and pants that leave his being, lips turning up to bare his teeth.

“Koba, stay,” Caesar whispered aloud, his voice tight with his barely controlled fury. He didn’t bother waiting for a response. With a roar that echoed through the forest floor below, he leaped from the trees, propelling him into the camp. He lands on the ground, immediately ducking into a roll to keep momentum, barreling forward on all fours towards the man his eyes are set on.

The man turned towards him, shock and panic flashing across his face at the sight of the approaching ape. His grip on you releases and you stumble back in fear. You gasp in shock as Caesar’s body collides with the man’s, the force of the impact sending him flying several feet away and left sprawled out on the ground.

“Do not touch!” Caesar barked, his canines on full display for the rest of the camp to see. An act of disobedience was an open invitation to be mauled by the towering ape king and they knew well what that meant.

You sat on the ground, cowering, knees tucked close to your chest as you tried to fit yourself beneath a nearby stand.

Koba had stayed back to watch the entire scene unfold, his eyes wide with shock, his usual disdain for humans momentarily forgotten. He had never seen Caesar act so impulsively, so stupidly. Without care for his own safety

The man Caesar had thrown scrambles to his feet, a newfound bravery at the sight of his comrades surrounding them, but Caesar was on him in an instant, vaulting forward in all fours once more. He grips the front of the man’s shirt, lifting him clear off the ground. “You will never… touch her… again,” Caesar spits, voice low and dangerous. His muzzle inches closer, his teeth bared to where the tips of his canines nearly brush against the man’s turned cheek.

The man whimpered, his bravado shattered. “Please, don’t kill me,” he begged, his voice trembling.

The other men surrounding him begin their onslaught, and he throws the one in his hands across the camp, sending him flying through one of their tents. He turns and positions himself between you and the others. He could see you trembling behind him, eyes boring holes into the side of his skull.

He would prove himself to you. He will prove he will protect you; that he can. You will see that he can provide you what you need.

The first man lunged at Caesar with a club, swinging it with all his might. Caesar raises a hand and halts it in the air, caught in his fist, and he tugs the man forward to hiss in his face. He yanks the club from his hands then swings his other arm around into the man’s gut, sending him skidding across the rocky ground.

Another came at him with a long knife, slashing wildly. Caesar grabbed his wrist, twisting it until the knife clattered to the ground and the fragile bone snapped in his grip.

He had no care to be gentle.

***

Koba watched the chaos unfold, his eyes narrowing. He knew Caesar was strong, but even he couldn’t take on so many men alone. It baffled him why Caesar stood to protect a mere human woman who hid so cowardly behind him. However mad Caesars actions appeared, Koba would stand by his king no matter the circumstance, so he shook off the distracted thoughts and flung himself into a hurried descent.

He rushed towards where Rocket and the others were waiting for Caesar's signal. He hoots to get their attention as he approaches. “Rocket!” he signs urgently. “We need to go now! Caesar’s in trouble!”

Rocket’s eyes widen and he hoots in alarm. “What happened?” he asked, him and the others already moving towards the horses.

“Humans attacked him,” Koba signs, approaching his own horse. “He’s trying to protect the human woman, but there are too many of them.”

Rocket didn’t need to hear more. He mounted his horse in one swift motion, the others following suit. He howled, a command the others knew well and they spurred their horses into a gallop, racing towards the camp.

The sound of hooves thundered through the camp as Rocket and the others burst through the unfinished barricade. The men surrounding Caesar turned, immediate panic descending upon the group at the sight of the approaching apes. Rocket leaped from his horse, landing in the midst of the fray with a fierce battle cry.

Caesar, bloodied but unbowed, felt a surge of relief as his friends joined the fight. Rocket tackled one of the men without hesitation. The other apes followed suit. And Koba, despite his earlier reluctance, fought with a savage intensity, his anger and resentment for the humans fueling his attack. He knocked a man unconscious with a single blow, grinning down at the bloody face left in his wake.

“Are you alright?” Koba signed to Caesar on his approach, his gentle hoots gruff but concerned.

Caesar nodded, then turned towards you who he still stood in defense of. “We need to get her out of here.” You remained huddled behind him, completely at loss to the signed conversation as you stared at the two apes with a wild, frightened look in your eyes.

The fight ends quickly. The few men remaining had fled not too long after the others arrived.

Watching the last of the men flee, Caesar turned to you behind him, his scowl immediately softening as he crouched low to the ground. “Safe,” he grumbles softly, offering one of his large hands to help you up. You hesitate for a long moment, your eyes wide and teary.

“Safe,” Caesar reiterates, pulling his other hand to his chest in a gesture to himself. Your eyes darted around towards the other apes gathered around him, lip beginning to tremble pitifully before reaching out a trembling hand. Caesar reaches the rest of the way to gently grasp onto your dainty fingers, pulling you forward gently to help you rise to your feet.

The moment your hands touched, he felt a spark igniting a dormant flame in his chest; that same warmth he felt earlier. Your hand was so small, so delicate, the skin so impossibly soft against his rough, calloused palm. More so than ever imagined it could be. He wondered how it would feel if you would thread your fingers through the fur of his chest and up his shoulders, down his arms… it makes his body spasm with a shiver.

He could feel your innocence, your vulnerability, in that simple contact. It was as if your very essence was communicating with him, whispering of the pain you had endured and the hope you still clung to.

Your small fingers trembled in his, as you gripped tightly to his fingers. Your fear and hesitance shivering through your body… yet your fierce grip clinging to his hand ignited something fierce within him, a desire so strong it took his breath away. He didn’t want to let go. Holding your hand felt like holding a fragile piece of light in a world shrouded in darkness. Letting go felt unthinkable, as if releasing your hand would mean losing a part of himself.

He wanted nothing more than to draw you closer to him and embrace you, blocking out the fears and uncertainty that swarm your mind as he nuzzled his face into the soft skin of your neck and breathed you in. But he doesn’t— he won’t… instead his eyes linger on your bruised and weary form, and the desperation in your eyes.

He didn’t want to let go… but he knew bringing you back to his camp could be dangerous, not just for you, but for his people. And he knew if he did bring you back, who knows how long he could cling to the control he had over his desires.

So he gently released your hand, your own hovering in the air, frozen in the moment he released her.

“Go,” Caesar grumbles, his voice heavy with reluctance, nostrils flaring with the internal frustration and restraint. “Find a…safe place… away… from here.” He gestured towards the forest.

You stared at him, confusion and conflict bleeding through her gaze. And then you spoke to him for the first time, a meer whisper of desperation, voice soft and sweet. “But… I have nowhere to go. I-I-I… Please, don’t leave me here.”

Caesar’s heart constricted at your words, heart beating rapidly, like he was in fear for his life. He wanted nothing more than to protect you, to keep you safe, to hold you close and never let go. But he also knew his own limitations, his own fears. Bringing you back might mean losing the little bit of control he’s been clinging to. It wouldn’t take long before his instinct and desire won over and he became possessive and controlling. It was a risk he couldn’t take. He couldn’t put you into a situation like that, you deserved better.

His lips crinkle in apology, eyes softening towards you. Then he tips his chin in a gesture for you to go and he turns towards his own horse to leave. But before he could take more than a few steps, you throw yourself forward, body colliding into his as you grab his arm, your small fingers digging into his fur, brushing against the rough skin beneath. “Please,” you begged, your voice breaking. “I have no one else. I-I…Please.”

Caesar stopped. He turned his head and saw the desperation in your eyes. The way you trusted him, needed him. The way you wanted him, even if you didn’t realize it yourself yet.

Rocket and the others watch in silence, all in awe at the sight of their leader buckling beneath the plea of a human.

Caesar’s chest heaves with his heavy breaths, his resolve finally cracking. He couldn’t just send you off, not when you had nowhere else to turn. And if you were asking to come with him… then it wouldn’t be his fault what might happen. It’s not him, deciding your fate for his own selfish reasons.

“Alright,” he said softly, his voice filled with a gentle determination. “Come.” He wraps his arm around your waist, pulling it from your grip to ease you forward towards his horse. He can feel the warmth radiating off you, the tantalizing brush of his fur against your clothed skin. One of the other apes holds the horse in place as you two approach and before you can so much as try to climb up on your own, Caesar grips you around the waist and lifts you effortlessly onto the stallion’s back. You squeak softly at the sudden movement, and you grapple forward once seated to grasp onto the horse's mane. Caesar can’t help but smile at your innocent anxiety and mounts behind you to ensure you wouldn’t fall.

The other apes around them mount their own steeds and Caesar grabs the reins with one hand, the other wrapping around your waist to pull you back into his body, slotting you so you sit comfortably between his legs. He spurs the horse forward with a soft hoot to direct the others to do so as well, and you grip tightly to his forearm as you move forward, pressing your back further into his chest to steady herself.

Caesar smiles and tightens his hold as they pick up pace to a gentle trot. He never would have pictured things turning out this way… a human woman pressed so closely to him, holding her, smelling her, feeling her against him. He already knew he was going to have a difficult time controlling himself.

In the midst of his thoughts, you lean back slightly, your body relaxing into his as you get lost in your own. For the first time in a long while, you felt a glimmer of hope. This ape, whoever he is, is safe… you are finally safe.

Taglist: @night-shadowblood-writes2 @edynmeyer1 @chermg @httpvomitello @hrlzy

**Thank you all very much for reading. I’d love to hear your thoughts. If you want to be added to the tag list let me know. Next chapter is when it starts to get pretty good, so stay tuned XD**

[finnglas]

Let me tell you a funny story about baseball.

I'm not a sports gay. I enjoy some sports a moderate amount. (I discovered during the 2024 Paralympics that I really enjoy women's wheelchair basketball. Hot ladies with shoulders, and no squeaky basketball shoe sounds to make me want to rupture both eardrums! But I digress.) The one sport that I've traditionally enjoyed, both playing and watching, is baseball.

For a brief period of time, around 2008-2009, I followed MLB pretty closely. I very carefully decided I was going to have A Team that was my team, and deliberately chose said team. I had some requirements: I wanted a team who was in the American League, not the National League (don't ask, idk), and I wanted one that had been around since the beginning of said league, not one of the newcomers. I also wanted them to have some connection to something I enjoyed, even if it was only that I liked the team uniforms. I ended up with a primary team (the Chicago White Sox) and a secondary team (the Boston Red Sox). (Did I call myself a polysoxxer? I did. Leave me alone.)

Anyway. I followed them religiously. I had the best experience of living in Charlotte, NC, where the White Sox had a farm team in the Charlotte Knights, and I knew exactly which players were in town while they were recovering from an injury - oh, and one time they played an exhibition game and I paid extra for a seat directly behind the White Sox dugout, and was in arm's reach of Carlos Quentin, my absolute favorite player.

Anyway. Things happened. The White Sox traded Quentin and fired Ozzie Guillen. Half my Red Sox got traded - some of them to the *mutters* Yankees. Varitek retired in 2012. I got busy. I hit a period of deep clinical depression. I finally admitted to myself I was queer and started getting more into connecting with the queer scene in town. And I quit following both teams. They weren't "mine" anymore.

For a period of several years, any time I'd express any interest in baseball, people would ask who my team was, and I'd joke that I needed to do some interviews and find a new one. Couldn't be the Tampa Bay Rays because I'm still mad at them for changing the name from the Devil Rays because the new owner is some weirdo Christian, didn't really care about the rest. (My dad, who has been loyal to the St Louis Cardinals since he was eight years old, is baffled as to why I didn't just come over to his team. Well, Dad, they're National League for one thing.)

Well, a few weeks ago, I was traveling for work and I wanted some background noise in the hotel room so I turned on the television. It was on MLB, but on commercial break. I was like you know what? It's time I got a new baseball team. Whoever is playing, I'm going to pick one of these two teams as my new team, provided it's not the Cardinals or the Rays.

Reader. Do you know who was playing that night?

It was the Chicago White Sox vs the Boston Red Sox.

Anyway so I got back together with both my exes during the worst season in the White Sox's history, and every time I see a new update about how bad they're doing I just have to be like, yep, that's my team.

[m1ckeyb3rry]

── PURSUIT // PROLOGUE

Series Synopsis: When your cousin goes missing right before he can challenge the Champion of your region, you must embark on a journey of your own in the hopes that one day, you might finally find him — wherever he may be.

Chapter Synopsis: Your cousin, Shoei, sets out on his journey, leaving you behind with a final gift as a farewell.

Series Masterlist

Pairing(s): Nagi x Reader, Barou & Reader

Chapter Word Count: 2.5k

Content Warnings: pokémon au except i make the world emo and infest it with blue lockers, angst, character death, familial bonds, found families, male-female FRIENDSHIPS, a slow burn so insane the main love interest isn’t even in a solid amount of chapters, it’s my world i do what i want which means liberties are taken, near death experiences, this story is long bro literally everything happens in it the amount of arcs i have planned is insane, original characters because reader will NOT be the only girl i refuse to write in conditions like that

A/N: this is SUCH a niche crossover i’m actually crying but ykw at least it’s different from the typical aus LMAOOO anyways um please be sure to read the warnings and if you enjoy this then like…reblog or comment or send me an ask or smth HAHA (only if you want though i can’t control you)

tag list (send an ask to be added): @sharkissm

The last time you saw Shoei Barou, he was pressing a Pokéball in your hand. His backpack was slung over his shoulder, his typical scowl on his face, and his Houndour sat at his feet, wagging its tail at you. The surface of the Pokéball was glimmering, ruby on top and a pearly white on the bottom, and because you could not bear to look at him, you trained your gaze on the watery sunrise it reflected.

“She’s yours,” he said. “I registered her under your name.”

“Guess that makes me a trainer, too,” you said.

“Don’t start on your journey for a while,” he said. “Or else you’ll catch up to me. Wait until I’m good enough that I’m someone you want to chase after, and begin then.”

He was embarking on his journey later than usual, but you had no doubt that he’d quickly surpass those with five or even ten years of experience on him. Shoei was like that, and so was his Houndour. What they lacked in battle prowess, they made up for with dogged tenacity, and it was impossible to imagine either of the two struggling for any amount of time.

“I won’t,” you said.

“Good,” he said. “Look, she’ll probably be better off if you just leave her in her Pokéball until you start training seriously, so don’t worry about that.”

“Won’t she get bored?” you said. He shook his head.

“Being in the Pokéball is a kind of stasis for them. She’ll know the time has passed, but it won’t be the same as if she were actually living it. It’s better that way, trust me. She’s the destructive type, and I won’t be around to help you if she acts up,” he said.

“Ah,” you said. “I see. I’ll do as you recommend, then.”

He reached out and placed a hand atop your head. You swallowed, staring at the dirt path beneath your feet, the worn toes of your old sneakers, the frayed cuffs of your too-short jeans — anything but him. You couldn’t bear it if it was him.

“You’ll be okay,” he said. “Y/N.”

“Yes,” you sniffed, though you had sworn to him so many times that you wouldn’t cry.

“You’ll be okay,” he repeated. “I promise.”

“Yes,” you said again. His hand balled into a fist, and then he knocked it lightly against your brow. Unlike you, he was smiling, and you did your best to quell the trembling of your lower lip when you made eye contact with him.

“Hey, kid,” he said. “Enough with the bawling, okay? How am I supposed to call you my cousin when you’re like this? We can’t be related if you get so upset about every little thing. That’s not how it works.”

“I can’t help it,” you said, and then he sighed, hugging you tightly. His Houndour barked, rubbing his head against your calf, which was the only method the small Pokémon had of comforting you. “I can’t help it, I know I should be happy but—”

“Be happy,” he commanded you, letting you go and placing his hands on your shoulders. “Y/N L/N. Be happy. I’m going to be Champion one day, and that’s nothing to be sad about.”

“Will you come back home once you are?” you said.

“No,” he said. “No, of course not. I’ll be busy with the duties of the role. Have you seen how many television appearances Mr. Mikage does? But I’ll bring you there with me, you and your parents and mine, and all of us can live there together. Is that enough of a consolation?”

“Okay,” you said, even though it really wasn’t. But it’d be a cruelty to stop Barou, akin to clipping the wings of a Pidgeot and telling it to fly. He was as restless as his Houndour, who even now sat and stared out at the horizon instead of the home it was leaving behind. The both of them were turbulent, impossible to cage, and if one tried to hold them back, then they were little more than a brazen fool.

“I’ll see you later, Y/N,” he said. “Try not to be to sad without me, alright?”

The Pokéball was cold and heavy in your hands as you watched him and Houndour walk off. Neither of them turned back, not for a moment, and then they were over the crest of the shallow hill in the road which led to the nearby cliffs, disappearing from your line of sight for good.

“Y/N!” It was the same boy again. He had been bothering you since you both had entered secondary school, mostly because that was around the time that Shoei had begun his league challenge. Of course, he had obtained all of the gym badges in quick succession, but conferences were only held every four years, and so he had had to wait until the next one before he could attempt to storm through it and reach the Elite Four, hence the delayed interest in his talent.

“Hello,” you said. He had never bothered introducing himself to you, and you were at the point now where it would be awkward for you to ask, so you generally pretended like you recognized him and hoped your conversations never grew to be too long.

“Did you hear the news? I mean, he’s your cousin, so of course you did, but still, still, can you believe it?” he said.

“What are you talking about?” you said.

“Barou!” he said. At the mention of Shoei, your Pokéball grew warm against your hip, and your left hand instinctively flew to the thin chain around your neck. “He’s actually done it — he beat Noel Noa!”

“Noel Noa…the last Elite Four member, right?” you said. The boy nodded at you. He was grinning as hard as if it were his own cousin who had mastered the league, or indeed as if he were the victor, but the truth was that besides you, there were very few in the entire city who could claim to know Shoei, so his pride was unwarranted.

“Yup! No one’s ever beaten him but Mr. Mikage,” he said.

“Well, Mr. Mikage is the champion,” you said. “So what’s next? Does he battle Mr. Mikage?”

“Pretty much,” the boy said. “Although he’s allowed to take his time in between and train his team. The conference win and Elite Four victories are only prerequisites, but it’s not like you have to do it all at once. In fact, hardly anyone ever does. Your team needs to rest in between battles, and besides, challenges to the Champion position are so rare that they need time to set it all up.”

“What do you mean, ‘set it all up?’” you said, sitting down at your desk at the back of the classroom. The boy didn’t usually sit with you, but today he was too excited, so he collapsed rather awkwardly in the chair at your side, leaning over with his elbows digging into his thighs.

“Didn’t you know? All Champion matches are televised!” he said. “The entire region will be able to see him battling. He’s amazing, you know.”

“Of course he is,” you said matter-of-factly. “That’s good that it’ll be filmed. It’s impossible to get tickets unless you’re a league official or have more money than you know what to do with.”

The boy coughed, his face turning red. Your eyes flicked to his belt, which was conspicuously devoid of any Pokéballs, just like the rest of your classmates, and then you curled inwards when you once again recalled that amongst your peers, it was only you who required the league-issued stipend for trainers to afford your tuition.

“Anyways,” he said, pursing his lips — a reminder to you that he had sat in the stands of the last league conference and was in fact one of those such types that you had been referring to earlier, “I’ve heard they’re thinking of moving towards broadcasting the entire conference andany Elite Four challenges instead of just the Champion matches.”

“Really?” you said, eager to change the subject. He nodded.

“Yup, it’s the case. The TV studios and news stations have been pushing for it. As long as they can throw in some advertisements and sponsorships between the battles themselves, their profits will shoot up like crazy,” he said.

“Well, that makes sense,” you said. “Why hadn’t they implemented it earlier?”

“They’ve been trying, but supposedly, there’s been a lot of pushback from some of the league officials. They think they’ll lose money if people can just watch battles online, since there’ll be less of an incentive to buy tickets to watch them in person,” he said.

“Ah. So what changed their minds? Aren’t the league officials notoriously stubborn?” you said. He snorted.

“That’s what my dad says. He’d rather deal with a Slaking than any of them,” he said. You couldn’t quite remember what his father did for a living, but if you had to guess, it was something financial-related, given the boy’s unnatural interest in the field. “Apparently, they tried it out in Johto to great effect, so they plan to give it a go here in Kalos as well.”

“Interesting,” you said. “I guess it doesn’t mean much to me now, since Shoei’s already through, but I’m sure it’ll be helpful to someone or another in the future.”

“Maybe we’ll see you onscreen next, eh, Miss Trainer?” he said. You rolled your eyes at the nickname; coming from him, it wasn’t so horrible, but it wasn’t always like that. Most of the time, you hated when the others brought up your trainer status, because it only set you further and further apart from the rest.

Of course, almost everyone had a Pokémon or two as a companion or to make the activities of their daily living that much easier, but there was a difference between a Pokémon owner and a Pokémon trainer. Trainers were the ones who were registered with the government, who were sent a monthly stipend by the league to pay for their and their Pokemon’s upkeep, and who made a career out of the sport. At least, that was what they were supposed to be, but nowadays, genuine trainers were few and far between; more often than not, those with the distinction were like you, with a single Pokémon that had never known the heat of battle and a desperate need for the extra income that their status, passive though it might’ve been, brought them.

The school-issued Gogoat that was designated to escort you home trotted along beside you, its tail bouncing with the gaiety of its pace, its ears perked against the wind as you went along. You sometimes wondered if the Pokémon you supposedly owned was anything like that, but based on Shoei’s description, you had mostly decided it wasn’t.

“Thanks for taking me back, Gogoat,” you said, patting it on the forehead when you reached your doorstep. It bleated at you, nuzzling you happily and then bounding away. You watched it go with a smile, incredibly fond of it though you knew it wasn’t actually yours — just a vehicle assigned to you because the school knew that most of its students weren’t proper trainers. The institute didn’t want to be held liable in case there was some kind of an attack, so the Gogoats had been trained to accompany students to and from their classes as well as to protect them as best as they could.

Supposedly it was a common practice, one that had been invented in Aquacorde Town, but there they used Arcanines instead of Gogoats, so privately you thought that those of you in Coumarine City got the better deal.

“Mother?” you said, peering into the kitchen, smiling when you saw her there, stirring a pot of something that smelled delicious. “I’m home.”

“Y/N!” she said. “How was school today?”

“It was fine,” you said, self-consciously drumming your nails against your Pokéball. “This guy told me that Shoei’s going to challenge the Champion soon. Mr. Mikage. They’re going to film it and everything. We should ask Uncle and Auntie if they want to come over and watch with us.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” she said. Shoei’s father, your uncle, was her brother, and they had remained so close throughout their adulthood that it felt at times like Shoei was less your cousin and more a genuine brother of your own who occasionally slept in another house. “Imagine if he can become Champion!”

“He will,” you said, unclipping your Pokéball from your belt and setting it on the table, where your mother’s Espurr was sleeping. At the movement, she sat up, giving the unassuming ball a disgusted look and climbing to the top of a shelf where she could continue to nap. “All everyone talks about is how strong he is. There’s no way he’s losing, especially if he beat Noel Noa.”

“It’ll be great for the family,” she said.

“Yes,” you said. “And for him.”

“Do you know when the match is scheduled for?” she said. You shook your head.

“No, I don’t. The guy said people usually take a break in between defeating the Elite Four and challenging the Champion, so that their teams can rest and all. I’m sure it’ll be announced well in advance, though. It’s not everyday that somebody fights Mr. Mikage himself,” you said.

“That’s true,” she said. “In the meantime, how’s this for dinner?”

“Looks good,” you said, though it was out of distraction, not approval. Your mind was racing as you tried to picture how the battle between Shoei and the Champion might go. Would he look different? Of course, he would have to, it had been a while since you had seen him last, and it might be a while more until you saw him next, depending on how long he took to put in the formal request to battle. Two weeks, or maybe even three.

Yet weeks turned into months, which turned into years, and still he did not appear to face Mr. Mikage. Eventually the excitement faded into a distant memory, and soon, if his name was brought up at all, it was as nothing but the Never-Champion, the one who was too frightened to fight against the undefeated head of the league and the Mikage Corporation alike.

At first you weren’t worried, but as time stretched on, you resorted to begging the police, the local Gym Leader, anyone who would listen, just for a chance at finding him. Yet one by one, they each refused. After all, what could be done? He was a top trainer, they worked in mysterious ways, everyone knew that. Any day now, he would reappear and that long-awaited battle between himself and the Champion might finally happen. Nothing about the situation was abnormal in the slightest. Maybe the cowardice was a bit uncharacteristic, but otherwise? There wasn’t any cause for stress.

And so, for that reason, nobody but you ever thought of actually looking for him — they never even knew that they had to.

[takaraphoenix]

Me, desperately trying to create a conspiracy that we will get a The Seven season 2 this year:

Zelda mention in FHJY (even if it was about the breakup)

Corsica Jones appearances in FHJY => Antiope Jones

Tectonya Karkovnya name-drop on FHJY

Society of Shadows mention on FHJY => Penny Luckstone

Rekha Shankar getting to play DnD with both Persephone Valentine and Erika Ishii again this year in DesiQuest

Tonight's Game Changer featuring Erika Ishii, Rekha Shankar and Becca Scott