#when you have the most common eye color but like. every YA love interest somehow has blue eyes

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

van morrison did SO much for us brown-eyed girls

[arahul-abyssia]

Festive

Writing number 4 for Nintember (@starprincesshlc , @jklantern )! To hopefully escape the pit of Emotions™ that was the first three stories, here's some hopefully much much much lighter, more slice-of-life-ish fare.

This does correspond to prompts 16-20, but I got caught up in Real Life for a while, so it's going up mega-late, and also it's kinda... abridged from its original concept, and less polished. 'Tis the way the cookie hath crumbled this year...

~~ Horse, Color, Hats, World, Music ~~

Layna awoke to a loud and repetitive hooting in her ear. She blearily turned her head to the side to find a pair of black-framed bright red eyes staring at her with interest. It took several moments of staring before she was mentally present enough to avert her gaze, sit up, and look out the window at the horizon. As she had expected, the sun had only barely risen fully above it.

She turned back to her greeter. “Relos! How many times do I have to tell you not to wake me up?”

Relos merely, and quite literally, hooted with laughter and flew off out of her room. Layna knew it was futile to keep telling him not to wake her, not because of any obligation or the masterful internal clock of his, but because he knew she didn’t like it and he was a mischief-mongering imp.

Normally, she’d roll over and try to get a few more minutes of sleep, but that day was the first of one of the best weeks of the entire year, and she didn’t want to miss a single moment. She quickly pulled herself from her bed, cleaned and dressed herself, grabbed the pack she had prepared the night before, and hurried downstairs, hoping to get through the delightfully aromatic kitchen and out the door before--

“Aaaalwaaaalrwaaa!”

Standing between Layna and the door was the soft pink-and-cream form of Infra, who was gazing up at her with strikingly accusatory eyes, her hands on her hips.

“Yes, Infra, I know I haven’t eaten.”

“Laaalruuwaar!”

“It’s the first day of the festival and I want to do as much as I can! I’ll get something from one of the vendors.”

“Luulrwarraalyaaa!”

“Ugh…! Fine, if it’ll make you happy.”

Begrudgingly, she returned to the kitchen and sat at the table, as Infra went to the stove, gingerly placed an assortment of breakfast foods onto a plate, and set it before Layna, smiling at her with fairy-pink eyes that had nary a semblance of her previous visage. Unlike the rest of Pokémon in her family’s home, who were all quite content to leave the human part of the family to do as they pleased, the Audino practically operated like another mother to her, as if she needed a third one on top of her human two (who also were often subject to Infra’s mothering). Somehow, she had learned how to do a whole plethora of human home tasks and chores, and she never let Layna leave home in the morning without ensuring that she’d eaten. An outside observer might wonder why a Pokémon was apparently her morning caretaker, and not either or both of her mothers, but with both of them having jobs that began long before dawn, it was simply how things were in their house.

She had to admit that Infra was a surprisingly good cook. This evaluation, however, was not based upon the food that she was at that moment rapidly stuffing into her mouth, but rather upon the numerous meals from days where she wasn’t dead-set on going elsewhere as soon as possible. That morning’s breakfast, while certainly of Infra’s normal calibre, was given no time to rest upon Layna’s taste buds, and may as well have been tasteless for all she cared.

As soon as the last bite of egg left her fork, she jumped to her feet, practically threw the plate and silverware into the sink, and darted for the door, calling out as she left, “‘Kthankyoubyyyyeeeeee!”

Infra was not impressed with her, as projectile kitchenware was dangerous and eating that quickly would likely give her a stomachache, but she’d have time later to worry about such things. Her next task was to prepare food for the rest of the Pokémon scattered about the house, who all were beginning to come to consciousness, probably due to the clatter of cutlery, and she set about with the same dutifulness and joy she always did.

Layna, of course, hadn’t even a single neuron focused upon Infra’s judgment, as she was far more concerned with sprinting down a steep road with wanton abandon, the countless colors and lights and tents and tarps of the festival visible in the distance. It had already entered full swing, always beginning with the dawn, and she wanted to explore as much as she could. She had considered bringing along some of the Pokémon, but not long later decided to bring them along later in the day instead. She did not know why she made this decision, nor did she care.

The streets that had been blocked off for the festival were already bustling with people and Pokémon alike, almost each and every one nearly as energized as Layna was. She promptly began to wander the streets, turning and spinning and looking about enough that she ought to have made herself sick, but this had not lasted for even five minutes before she was drawn to a larger vendor stall by an overpowering floral and fruity aroma.

As should be expected, an impossibly wide variety of flowers and fruits were on display, some having been made presentory and others still being attached to their plants, with countless more options upon the boards hanging from the awning.

“Well, hello there, young miss!” said one of the farmers behind the stand. “How can we help ya?”

“Oh, I’m just looking right now, sir.” She paused a moment, then was overtaken by a rather sudden curiosity. “There are so many flowers and berries here, how do you manage to pick and move them all?”

The farmer chuckled. “We have a lot of help, ‘specially around this time of year. Lot of it comes from extra hands, but it would still be impossible without the help of all our Pokémon, like ol’ Sitrus here.”

At this, he gestured to a Mudsdale beside him, which Layna had somehow managed to miss entirely.

“She’s lovely! And so… big…! I’ll bet she must be really strong, too!”

“More ‘n any of us could’ve expected! And she’s friendly, too; wanna pet her?”

Layna’s eyes immediately lit up. “Would I?!! I mean, uh, if she’ll let me…!”

The farmer laughed and brought the horse forward, and Layna tentatively reached up and placed a hand on her face. Sitrus took a moment to consider her latest contact, then, judging her satisfactory in that esoteric way few can ever decipher, leaned in to her touch. She giggled and stroked her a few times more, noting her fur’s strange combination of roughness and softness, before pulling her hand away. Sitrus, in turn, snorted a puff of hot air at Layna’s face before backing into the shade again.

“Aw, that means she likes you! Well, let me or any one of us know if ya want anything.”

“Will do, thank you!” Layna had no intention to buy anything at that time, not when there were countless other things to do and find and see at the festival. She proceeded to bury her face in several of the flowers around the stall, enveloping herself in their different, yet undeniably pleasant, scents, before scampering off to find some other point of interest.

She could have easily checked the maps of the festival area, which were scattered on boards and holographic signs all about the city and even available online, but this sounded boring and unfun, so she did not. Upon her winding, meandering, unfocused path through the streets were innumerable stalls and stands and attractions to take note of--more fruits and vegetables, tickets to special shows on later days, a ferris wheel to ride with someone else later, foreign cuisine and sweets--but it was not until she overheard the faint but unmistakable sound of music that she was drawn in once again.

Upon the boardwalk was a small stage with a frighteningly energetic group of musicians, surrounded by an even more enthusiastic crowd. They seemed to be in the middle of a rendition of a song Layna heard on the radio nearly every day, an anthem for Trainers detailing their goal to “Catch ‘em All.” She never saw the appeal--both of the song and of the objective--but it apparently spoke quite well to most others.

As they finished their performance--and on a much more somber note than the original song did--their main singer pulled the microphone from its stand and began pacing the stage. “I hope you folks are enjoying the show! Now, however, I’d like to take a break from the hype, and sing something a bit slower, something that’s… rather close to my heart.”

Layna watched as a Toxtricity--which had evidently been playing with the rest of the band, but which, just like the Mudsdale, she had failed at first to notice--stepped forward and began playing a slow guitar piece. The lead singer waited a moment, then began to sing a ballad in a tongue Layna could not understand. It was one she was certain she had heard before, but could not manage to identify it any way beyond that it was not the common tongue known by almost everyone across the world.

She tried to stay and listen, but immediately found that, beautiful though his singing was, she was not in the mood for slow music. Along with a small chunk of the band’s crowd, she turned and left, and returned to her aimless wandering and exploration.

Eventually, she found herself in a quarter rife with food vendors, most of whom had one or two individuals calling out and offering free samples. By the smells and descriptions alone, she was greatly tempted to take every single one she could. Of course, her mothers would likely have tried to limit how many she took so that she wouldn’t spoil her appetite for lunch, and Infra would surely have balked at the notion for the same reasons; also, most of the food in the area was rather far from being healthy. Indeed, she had significant reason to not do what she wanted to do.

However, none of those individuals were here to remind her, and as it turned out, the aromas were very persuasive. Layna marched forward and nabbed every sample in sight, only barely stopping to enjoy them before moving on to the next, and only doing so because of the crowds and lines slowing her down.

Her frenzy ended not fifteen minutes later, and as she looked about to find her next target of interest, she realized she had wound up on the very same street she had started on. Obviously, this would not do, as there were so many other, more interesting circles to walk in the festival’s streets.

However, with home being so near once again, she had half a mind to return to grab something to combat the rapidly rising sun, whose rays were just beginning to take too much precedence over the comfortable morning breeze…

“Twee-tweeoo-twrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!”

Or maybe I won’t have to after all!

A black-and-brown blur was barrelling toward her from the sky, making a frankly obscene level of noise. She stood firm and faced it, staring unblinking at the rapidly encroaching avian, before ducking at a perfect, precise, and repeatedly practiced moment. Like clockwork, Layna’s vision was shaded by an off-kilter hat (which she quickly adjusted), and the feathery form of a Taillow alighted upon her shoulder, whose face she began to delicately stroke.

“Thank you for bringing me my hat, Lond! Wherever would I be without you?”

“Twrrrt-t-twiii!”

“Wait, no, don’t tell me: Infra wanted me to not burn in the sun and you wanted to not be stuck inside with Relos.”

“Twrr-twrr-twrr!”

“I thought so… well, now that you’re here, how about sticking with me for a bit of exploration? I’m sure there'll be plenty of stuff to try!”

Lond pretended to think for a moment, then gave another enthusiastic chirp.

Layna giggled. “In that case, we mustn’t waste any more time! Onward!”

And with no decay to her exuberance, she sprinted off into the festival once more.

[orthographewrites]

JUSTIN COWELL - HC CHART

CHARACTER CHART:

Character’s full name: Justin Louis Cowell Reason or meaning of name: Justin is an anglicized form of the Latin given name Justinus, a derivative of Justus, meaning "just", "fair", or "righteous". Justinus was the name borne by various early saints, notably a 2nd-century Christian apologist and a boy martyr of the 3rd century (possibly spurious). The name is also related to the similar Latin name Justinian. As an English name, Justin is common particularly in the English-speaking world starting in the latter half of the 20th century. Character’s nickname: (This slow is gonna be updated with his DJ name/soundcloud account once I can think of one wow) Reason for nickname: -- Birth date: July 29th

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE:

Age: 25+ How old does he/she appear: About the same Height: 183 cm  Body build: Built, slim Eye color: Blue Glasses or contacts: None Skin tone: Pale Distinguishing marks: Has a small scar on his collarbone after a dare gone wrong Predominant features: Nose and eyes  Hair color: Dark brown, nearly black Type of hair: Light curls  Hairstyle: Short, almost shaven or a slick back  Overall attractiveness: It’s in the eye of the beholder Physical disabilities: None Usual fashion of dress: THIS THIS AND THIS basically fashionable, youngish and comfortable Favorite outfit: I can see him use the last one a lot, probably only changing out the jacket and the cap now and then for a color pop Jewelry or accessories: Oh yes! He loves wearing watches, necklaces and wristbands. Can also be seen wearing headphones around his neck, he’s a DJ after all. 

PERSONALITY:

Good personality traits: Charming, creative, approachable, flexible  Bad personality traits: Childish, tactless, untidy, weak-willed  Mood character is most often in: Upbeat, although not in your face upbeat. Optimistic and joyful.  Sense of humor: Justin is quite bold and cheeky with his jokes, he enjoys direct punches rather than a long build up.  Character’s greatest joy in life: His daughter and music  Character’s greatest fear: Failure in his choice of career Why?: Because it’s all he knows how to do and has poured his full heart and soul into What single event would most throw this character’s life into complete turmoil?: Like any sensible parent, it’d be losing his daughter. Other than that, I’d have to write him some more or plot around a little before I can come to further conclusions. Perhaps finding himself in a tight spot with Emilia somehow? He’d rather avoid that.  Character is most at ease when: Creating new music  Most ill at ease when: Around Angie’s mother  Enraged when: Emilia shows little to no interest for their daughter whenever Justin is around. Also when people can’t be upfront or honest with him, especially due to said incident with his ex.  Depressed or sad when: he can’t find enough work for the week or when his music fails to deliver.  Priorities: His free time, Angie.  Life philosophy: You can’t get stuck doing the same thing over and over, you have explore and live a little -- take chances.  If granted one wish, it would be: To regain some of his youthful years.  Why?: He loves his daughter but he enjoys his freedom as well, it’s a rough act to balance. I’d describe Justin as someone with a Peter Pan syndrome, aka someone who refuses to grow up and act accordingly to his situation and age.  Character’s soft spot: His family and friends  Is this soft spot obvious to others?: Yes Greatest strength: Creativity  Greatest vulnerability or weakness: The fact he’s kind of easy to run over if you want. He’s not gullible but he likes to give people a chance and wants to be liked in return.  Biggest regret: Having a child at an all too young age, he feels as if he’s been missing out on his best years.  Minor regret: Dating Angie’s mother. Only a minor though since ya.  Biggest accomplishment: His career and the fact his music is slowly growing on people.  Minor accomplishment: Whenever he steps up his game and acts like an actual adult.  Past failures he/she would be embarrassed to have people know about: Why?: Character’s darkest secret: He doesn’t have one, thus far he’s a pretty clean slate but that might change.  Does anyone else know?: -- 

GOALS:

Drives and motivations: Success, obviously. He’s a creative soul and wants his music to be heard. He doesn’t necessarily crave to make it to the top of the chain but he wants to be able to live off creating music either for himself or others.  Immediate goals: Get a new gig.  Long term goals: Get a bigger following.  How the character plans to accomplish these goals: By being as creative as one can be and by networking, really. He tries to play around with new sounds and tend to mix in his own songs among requested ones at gigs, cheeky as you can be.  How other characters will be affected: Not much, it’s mainly aimed at him but alas Angie could suffer a bit since it’s time consuming and he has full custody of her every other week. 

FAVORITES:

Color: Green and red, especially deeper shades.   Least favorite color: Anything too bright, no matter the color.  Music: Electric Food: Fries Literature: Not too much of a bookish person. Form of entertainment: Tv-shows and youtube, a night on town with them pals.  Expressions: This section will happen as I write him more.  Mode of transportation: Public transportation mainly, has a driver’s license but no car. Most prized possession: His sound board. 

HABITS:

Hobbies: Partying, musical mixing, song writing Plays a musical instrument?: Plays the keyboard Plays a sport?: No How he/she would spend a rainy day: Writing a song or mixing about on his sound board, otherwise he’d watch a movie with his daughter or having a nap  Spending habits: He spends money on clothes, booze and fast food  Smokes: No Drinks: Yes Other drugs: No What does he/she do too much of?: Sleep, be lazy What does he/she do too little of?: Act like an adult, clean Extremely skilled at: Music Extremely unskilled at: Reading into situation and hints  Nervous tics: Talks too much/rambles about things  Usual body posture: Confident, open and approachable.  Mannerisms: Usually comes off as friendly, has an easy-going way of expressing himself. He quite so look and act like every other 25 year old out there though which haven’t allowed themselves to realize they aren’t 18 anymore, with his lavish way of dressing up in hoodies and caps. He’d blend into a crowd, yet find a way to hold his own. 

TRAITS:

Optimist or pessimist?: Optimist Introvert or extrovert?: Extrovert Daredevil or cautious?: Middle, depends.  Logical or emotional?: Logical Disorderly and messy or methodical and neat?: He’s a methodical messy type deal haha  Prefers working or relaxing?: If on his music he enjoys working, otherwise a nap never hurts Confident or unsure of himself/herself?: Comes off as confident but definitely has his doubts.  Animal lover?: Yes, but he doesn’t own one. 

SELF-PERCEPTION:

How he/she feels about himself/herself: Not too high, not too low. He has himself as this sort of middle ground in which he doesn’t dismiss his talent but he also doesn’t have it in him to fully brag or show off what he can do. He believe he possess some rather positive qualities beyond that point, even if some are better than other. It could always be worse.  One word the character would use to describe self: Fine.  What does the character consider his/her best personality trait?: The fact he won’t limit himself to the already known as he enjoys broadening his horizons with new bits and bops.  What does the character consider his/her worst personality trait?: He’s too lazy for his own good.  How does the character think others perceive him/her: Others usually tend to hold Justin high or with warm regards. He’s not quite the type to make enemies unless it’s provoked, he makes friends way easier. Most find him amusing and tend to make an interest with his music and career.  What would the character most like to change about himself/herself: He’d like to be more thankful for the life he has, but he finds that harder than he should. 

RELATIONSHIPS WITH OTHERS:

Opinion of other people in general: He finds people fascinating and enjoys interacting/meeting new people whenever possible. He works as a DJ so being surrounded by them is a key.  Does the character hide his/her true opinions and emotions from others?: Mostly no, depends on the situation and how rough it is on him. He tend to talk about his issues and worries with close friends.  Person character most hates: He doesn’t hate her but definitely dislike Emilia for playing him the way she did.  Person character goes to for advice: Open for plotting.  Person character feels responsible for or takes care of: His daughter Person character feels shy or awkward around: Open for plotting Person character openly admires: Vicetone, Avicii (RIP), Savant  Person character secretly admires: Open for plotting

[maxvanna]

PART ONE OF A NEWSIE FIC OOPS

(Jack POV)

The strike is over.

Finch never thought it was going to end--at least, not while Pulitzer sat at the head of the table. It took us days to even convince him to stop selling the paper. When he finally agreed, the strike was in its final days; he was there at the center of it all when it ended.

The day after the rally, we do something we’ve never really done before: we clean the Lodge. Hair, dead insects and rodents, strange sticky stuff on the walls--some of it, we’re sure, is from prehistoric times. But Katherine’s coming to help too, and we want to impress her. So we try our hardest.

“Jack,” says a voice at my elbow, “how long is this gonna take?”

“As long as it needs to, Les.” I keep scrubbing the wood of the bunks.

“But I’m tired and it’s lunchtime. Can’t we go down to Jacobi’s or something?”

I stop to glare down at him. “Say, pal. Do you see your brother over there?” I point to the opposite end of the room, where Crutchie and Davey are hard at work cleaning the sinks.

“Yeah.”

“You know how hard Dave works for this place?” I ask. “Go help him. Don’t bug me.”

Les’s little face tells me he thinks I’m in a sour mood. Maybe I am. But if Katherine comes in here to grade our work and she thinks the whole place is raggedy, we’ve all failed her in our own little ways.

Race is working next to me. He pulls open Albert’s trunk and waves a hand in front of his nose.

“Oy!” he says. “What are you keeping in here, Alby?”

“Uh,” Albert responds from the bathroom, where he scrubs the tub, “nothin’ much. Why?”

“Jesus, smells bad.” I watch in half-hearted interest as Race digs through the contents of the trunk.

“Are you goin’ through my stuff?” Albert gripes.

Race finally groans and uses two fingers to pull out a fish from in between two pairs of Albert’s slacks.

I sigh. “All right,” I announce to the entire room. “Who wants to fess up?”

Nobody says a word. So I pick a name and spew it.

“Henry!” I watch as Henry turns to face me. “You got an explanation?”

Henry shakes his head and goes back to sweeping. Race kicks the fish in his direction.

I’m about to blame somebody else--Buttons, maybe--but then a bright, happy voice says from the stairs: “Afternoon, gents!”

I watch as Katherine appears in the doorway, hoisting a crate of stuff. She sets it down by the bannister and analyzes the room.

“Look at these little mugs,” she says. “Wow! You guys really are cleaning up.” She runs a finger along Elmer’s bunk’s ladder. She raises her eyebrows when she sees no dust. “I’m impressed. Now...what is this?” She gestures to the whole room.

Race gestures to the fish. Katherine looks like she understands.

“I’m no person to point fingers,” she says, “but...Specs.”

“What?” Specs pipes up from his bunk. “No.”

We all turn to look at him. Specs never does much crazy stuff, but when he does, it’s almost always stuff like this. It hadn’t occurred to me before Katherine staked the claim.

“Okay, so maybe it was me.” Specs turns upside down and lets his head hang in front of Elmer.

“God.” Davey pokes the fish with a broom. “Uh...how old is that thing?”

Specs shrugs. “Few days.”

“Ewwww,” Elmer says.

“Throw it out,” I say. “Back to work!”

Together Specs and Henry somehow evade my watchful eye and dump the fish out the window, right down onto some poor man’s head. Katherine opens her crate to show us some things to spruce up the place: a little scent, a vase of flowers (which Crutchie hordes almost immediately), and a birthday present for Race--a new tin case, perfect for holding three or four cigars.

“Shucks,” Race says. He studies it. It reads HIGGINS in the bottom corner. “So this is what ya do with all that Pulitzer money, huh?”

“Oh, stop.” Katherine tosses a couple things to Romeo before disappearing into the bathroom to help Albert.

Hours pass. We clean: we scrape, we scrub, we sweep. It isn’t long before, one by one, the boys lose their energy and decide to take a nap instead.

Of course Elmer drops first.

“I thought we were going to Jacobi’s once we finished,” Les whines. He pulls on Davey’s sleeve.

Davey stops walking to the bunk to roll his eyes. “How many times do I have to tell you?” he asks. “It’s Mister Jacobi. And by now I’m sure he’s closed up.”

Les glances at the clock. “It’s only four-thirty!”

“Yeah, exactly.” Davey starts heading down the stairs. “And the folks will be waiting. So hurry up.”

He disappears down the stairs. Les groans and trudges off to follow him.

“So, Race.” Albert slumps against his clothing trunk and looks up to watch Race, who is pacing the floor with a cigar. “What are you gonna do later tonight? Got any big plans with...Emma?”

The rest of the boys snicker. Race has always claimed to escape to Brooklyn almost every week to have a special date with his girlfriend--Emma--but no one has ever believed him. The most common rumor is that Race is either selling something illegally or he’s in love with Spot Conlon.

Race’s cheeks color as he holds his cigar--gingerly, between two fingers. “For your information, yes, I do have plans with Emma,” he says. “I have quite a few plans with Emma. Emma and I? We are going out on the town tonight, Alby. Have you ever heard of doing that with somebody? I bet not. We’re gonna go down and have dinner…”

“Romantic,” Crutchie sighs from his own bunk. “Wish I had somebody that would do those things for me too…”

I watch as his eyes trail off to the stairwell, where Davey disappeared moments before. Of course the air between the two of them has been interesting lately.

“Anyway,” Race says, breaking the awkward wishy-washy silence, “after that, I’m gonna come back here and sleep. Ever heard of sleep, Alby? Huh?”

Albert rolls his eyes. “Be careful spouting so much information. Else I might tag along tonight.”

Race wheels on him suddenly, jabbing his cigar in his direction. “Nuh-uh, you will do no such thing.”

“Why not?” Albert objects. “You hidin’ something or are you planning to get freaky?”

Race rolls his eyes and turns away. He sticks the cigar back in between his teeth. “Don’t come along. Emma’s--uh...Emma’s sister just died. Dysenteruh.”

“Dysentery,” Crutchie corrects. “And ew.”

“Whatever. She was seb’m. And I wanted to take Emma outta the house, let her see the city a little bit.”

Romeo clucks from Jojo’s bunk. I haven’t heard from him all afternoon. “Yeah, that’s right,” Romeo says. He blows a kiss at Race. “Because if my sister died from dysenterwhatever, the first thing I would want to do--it would be to see the stinkin’ streets of New York. Romanticism!”

“Alright, well, what do you know about romance?” Race asks. “Katherine never says yes to none of your proposals.”

“Because the best engagement ring I can fashion is out of a clothing hanger,” Romeo says. He yawns and continues. “Tell you what you hafta do. Take her down to the Jacobs’ place. Up on the rooftop? God, the image’ll never fade outta her head. And you hafta lead her down to the racks of clothes they keep up there…nice and hidden.”

“Stop right there.” Race sits next to Albert and shoos him away. “I’m not doing any of that. It’s just gonna be a simple sorta evening. I’m s’posed to be over there at seven.” He leans his head back against the clothing trunk. “Means I can afford to sleep for a while. Fellas, one of you’s gonna wake me up when it comes time, right?”

“I don’t know, are we?” I ask. Suddenly I feel the need to chime in.

Race groans. “You people are horrible. Fine, I won’t nap.” He glances over to Elmer, who is fast asleep. “Okay, so he gets to nap and I don’t?”

“No, it’s ‘cause you got a date, and Elmer don’t,” Albert says with a cackle.

After nearly three hours of lazy conversation and lying around, Race bounces up and starts to head downstairs. We hear the door shut behind him.

Albert sits up from his bunk and looks at me. “Uh. Jack. Normally I wouldn’t say nothin’, but don’t you think that this date is a little weird?”

“Oh. Well, I don’t know. Why?”

Albert shrugs. “He never wants to tell us anything about Emma. Now he’s spewin’ her life story to us.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, Alby.”

Albert sighs and leans back. “Fine. Just let him go and break the gal’s heart, if it’s a gal at all.”

“I’m almost a hundred percent sure it’s a gal, Albert.”

“I am not!” Albert sits up.

“Mrrh,” Elmer murmurs from the other side of the room. “Shut up, tryna sleep.”

Now Albert grabs one of Davey’s jackets and pulls it on. “Screw it. I’m gonna follow him.”

“You are not,” I say with a yawn. “Put Dave’s jacket back where you found it and go to sleep, kid.”

“Uh-uh.” Albert grabs his hat and starts down the stairs. “I’m gonna ask for Katherine to come with me. And to bring her camera; she’s gonna wanna snap a picture of Race’s old gal!”

“Albert!” I exclaim, nearly falling off my bunk. He’s already halfway out the door, and so I can do no thing but follow him.

Soon, as we wander down the street, I forget all about dragging Albert back to the alleyhouse with me. Now I’m much more curious to hear the truth: about Emma, if she even exists.

Albert and I take our time crossing to Brooklyn, but after a while we decide to speed up so we don’t lose too much light. As soon as we make it past the Brooklyn Bridge, Albert begins to squint into different directions.

“If I were Race, and I had me a date,” he says, “where would I wanna take her?”

I glance down the street in front of us and nudge him. “Hey. It’s Frankie’s. That’s Spot’s favorite place.”

Albert nods fervently. “Worth a shot. Let’s go.”

We walk in and immediately the smell of paprika attacks us out of nowhere. It’s hot, almost visibly steamy. It’s a sea of newsboys all drinking and giggling together.

Albert rubs his hands together. “It’s a hotspot, just like Spot said.” He scans the room and his face lights up in victory. “There’s Race!”

I follow his gaze to see Spot and Race talking at a table in the corner. And Race looks happy, bashful, blushing--a way I’ve never seen him look before. He’s not even being obnoxious by chewing on a cigar. No, instead he and Spot are laughing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Spot laugh.

Albert grabs my arm and suddenly pulls me outside. We duck into the alley.

“What was that for?” I demand.

Albert shushes me. “Don’t you think it’d fare us a little better to be inconspicuous?”

“Hey, Albo, that’s a nice big word. Where’d you learn it from?”

He glares at me and peers around the corner. “Let’s talk about what we just saw. I, for one, didn’t care much for it.”

“Are you jealous?”

“No!” Albert wheels on me. “I just--Jack, it’s Spot Conlon. Nothing good can come from that guy.”

“Says who? He saved our asses during the strike, as you recall.”

“Ugh!” a lighter, more feminine voice shrieks from our alley. It makes us both jump. “Would you two stop gripin’ and watch those two? They’re basically flirtin’!”

She comes into the light. Albert puts a hand to his heart.

“Christ, Smalls,” he grumps. “Is it really so hard just to come say hi?”

Smalls shrugs and hangs off of the lamppost like a koala. “I could...but where’s the fun in that?”

“Would you get out of the light? Race’s gonna see you.”

Together we use the blindspot of the alley to look into the restaurant again. Race and Spot are having the most fun I’ve ever seen either one of them have.

“Told you there was no Emma,” Albert murmurs.

(PART TWO COMING SOON PERHAPS????)

[scarletraven1001]

Greenish

05 - “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”

A post-Buu saga Vegebul one-shot for prompt #5 on this post, requested by @heeyyy-macarena and @venitia89. 

I hope you all like it!

Also on Ao3.

All Fics in this Series:  1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9

8-8-8-8-8

Greenish

8-8-8-8-8

Chichi was surprisingly interesting.

Vegeta supposed, that he could now understand what Kakarot had seen in the very simple and rather excitable female.

He had never really spoken to her before. He never made it a habit to speak to women, never mind women that belonged to his rivals.

However, Gohan, the little smartass, had told him that on Earth, it was customary to be on somewhat friendly terms with their significant other’s friends, and from what he could see, Chichi was Bulma’s most usual companion.

He had been discretely trying to be a more accommodating husband ever since the Buu fiasco, and he supposed that the rather intelligent son of Kakarot may have been on to something.

Thus, when the dark-haired housewife had sat down on a chair near him while they were in Capsule Corp for a backyard picnic, he cleared his throat, and stupidly floundered around for something to say.

To say that Chichi had been shocked, would have been an understatement.

He smelled her surprise that bordered on distress, and he had almost abandoned his attempt to be sociable when she smiled and said something back.

It was not long before he realized that Gohan’s brain may have been passed down from this lady, since it clearly was not from Kakarot.

She had home-schooled her son and somehow turned him into a boy who was at the top of his class. He had to applaud her for that.

She was smart, rather amusing, and had an acceptable knowledge of fighting techniques.

Also, she had once pushed Kakarot off a floating cloud. That was hilarious.

“… and so, I told Goku-sa that unless he cleaned up the whole place, he was not getting any dinner. And I tell ya, I have never seen the house so spotless before!” Chichi laughed.

Vegeta smirked. “Good. Let him earn his keep. I, personally, work for Bulma as a Product Tester, as she calls it.”

Chichi blinked. “Really? I had no idea, Vegeta-san.”

“It is not common knowledge,” he answered. “And it is not a difficult job. All I need to do is try to break things or stay standing after missile blasts. I find it rather enjoyable.”

The dark-haired woman sighed. “I wish I could get Goku-sa to keep a stable job.”

“Perhaps you could find something that is closer to his natural skills,” he said. “Something that is related to fighting.”

“Or eating!”

Vegeta threw his head back, releasing a throaty laugh. Chichi laughed loudly along with him, hand on her chest as her giggles rose up.

As his laughter subsided, Vegeta looked up, and saw, from somewhere off to the side, that his lovely wife was standing still, watching him with her large blue eyes as he spoke to her friend.

He gave her a smirk.

However, he was rather surprised when she didn’t smile back as she usually did, and only turned away, handing Trunks another slab of barbeque.

Odd.

8-8-8-8-8

It was late in the evening, and all of their guests had already gone home.

For the very first time, Vegeta found that he actually had a pleasant time at an Earth gathering, but at the end of the day, all he truly wanted was to have his wife to himself again.

He had showered, and now he sat up in bed, waiting for Bulma to finish washing up so they could go to sleep.

Or… possibly… go to bed and not sleep.  

She emerged from their bathroom, short blue hair still damp, soft cheeks flushed from the hot water of her bath.

He stared up at her as she moved to their cabinets, and she quickly pulled out some comfy underwear and a pair of her thick, white pajama sets, before she walked to the changing screen to dress up.

His brows furrowed.

Something felt… off.

He couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was, but even though her motions appeared normal, Vegeta had a sneaking suspicion that there was something wrong with Bulma.

He kept a neutral front up as she walked out from behind the screen, and watched as she quietly sat on the bed, fluffing up her pillow and pulling her sheets up before she laid down.

Without a word. With her back facing him.

His brows furrowed further, until he was sure that his thick eyebrows had probably merged into one thick black line at the center of his forehead.

Something was up.

He needed to tread lightly.

“Oi. Bulma,” he called.

She just sighed deeply. “Good night, Vegeta.”

What in the universe was wrong with Bulma?

“Are you alright?” he asked, concern mixing in with his confusion.

“Yes. Go to sleep.”

Now he was worried.

“No. Something is wrong. You are usually much chattier than this before we go to sleep,” he said.

He watched as her shoulders turned rigid, one hand curling into the blanket where it lay upon the side of her hip.

“Well why don’t you fly off and ask Chichi to chat with you?” she hissed.

Vegeta was even more confused now.

“Kakarot’s wife? Why would I want her to…”

Vegeta trailed off, eyes wide in stunned disbelief.

Could it possibly be…?

“Wait a minute,” he muttered, astonishment coloring his every syllable. “Bulma… Are you jealous?”

“No.”

Her single-word answer, and the speed with which she replied, told him otherwise.

“You are!” he accused, eyes narrowing as he smirked in delight. “You are jealous! Do not even try to deny it, woman.”

“I am not-”

“Bulma, I have lived with you for a decade,” he said. “We have a son. Do you honestly think that I do not know you well enough to tell when you are lying?”

She harrumphed, before she pointedly shifted so that her back remained facing him, and her face was nearly buried in her pillow.

Vegeta grinned menacingly.

This was going to be fun.

“Oi. Bulmaaa,” he nagged, darkly delighted at this interesting development. “Admit it, you are jealous of Kakarot’s woman.”

She ignored him.

“Why are you jealous? Come now, was it not you who told me,” he paused, before adopting a higher pitched tone, mimicking her as best as he could. “Vegeta, you can’t ignore everyone all the time. We need to talk, Vegeta! Vegeta, you’re so quiet, you’re such a snob! Vege-”

“Alright!” she yelled, finally rolling over, before she sat up to face him head on. “I got jealous. Happy now?”

“Why? She is Kakarot’s wife,” he asked, genuinely confounded.

Bulma’s cheeks turned red as she met his gaze.

“It’s stupid,” she pouted

Vegeta smirked. “If it was so stupid, it would not bother you so much. Come now, woman, tell me,” he said, as his smirk widened into a full-blown evil grin. “Before your hair adopts that permanently greenish tint.”

Bulma twiddled her thumbs together, a gesture that Vegeta found strangely endearing. “You were talking for an hour. An hour, Vegeta. And you were both laughing so much. And I remembered how long it took me to get you to even smile at me, and to see you so relaxed, so quickly...”

He rolled his eyes. “You do realize that the only reason I even spoke to her was for you, do you not?”

It seemed to be Bulma’s turn to be confused. “Huh?”

“I was told that it was preferable here on Earth for spouses to be on pleasant terms with each other’s acquaintances,” he explained. “I saw that Chichi was one of your closest ones, and so I decided to speak to her. Was I… Was I mistaken, then?”

Bulma’s cheeks suddenly lost their angry red hue at his words. “You… you did it… for me?”

“Of course,” he scoffed. “Have you ever known me to actively seek out conversation? I did it because I did not want you to look bad, as you say when I behave inappropriately.”

“You did something you are uncomfortable with… for me?” she whispered, her eyes now wide and slightly watery, making Vegeta panic.

He raised his hands in a placating manner. “Woman, do not even think of shedding tears at this. I have died for you and Trunks… this was truly nothing.”

“I’m sorry, Vegeta,” Bulma sniffled, reaching out to hold him.

He felt her wrap her arms around his neck as she buried her face onto his chest, and he lifted a hand to place it onto her head, gently stroking her hair.

“I feel terrible. You were just trying to do something for me, and I was being stupid about it. I’m sorry.”

“Forgiven. I understand,” he said softly, before a grin snaked onto his lips again. “After all, if I were a woman who had managed to land a man as irresistible as myself, I would be insecure, as well.”

She pulled back at that, lightly slapping his chest in irritation, making him laugh heartily at the annoyed look on her face.

“Vegeta, I’m serious!” she cried. “I’m sorry.”

He smirked. “You truly need not ever be jealous, Bulma. You are my wife, and the only one I would ever think of sharing intimacy with. Besides, believe me, Chichi is the last woman you should ever be jealous of.”

“Why is that?”

“That woman and I are very much alike. We would likely clash in a horrifying way. We are both fighters, both born into royalty and now have no lands or subjects to speak of. She is an ambitious woman who had given up on many of her dreams as she found her place with her family, as I have forsaken thoughts of universal domination in favor of settling down here on Earth with you and Trunks,” he explained. “And above all… she is Kakarot’s wife.”

Bulma winced. “When you put it that way, I feel even worse for being jealous.”

He sighed. “Woman, if you ever think about feeling jealous once again, remember this…”

She stared intently at him as he held her by the arms, making sure that he had her full attention as he spoke.

“Bulma,” he began. “I would fight the gods themselves for you. You are the only woman I would ever choose to be with. I have eyes for no one else. And I shall never seek to be with anyone else.”

Her lips trembled slightly, before she smiled… a beautiful, bright smile that lit up the room with its vibrancy, making Vegeta realize once again that he truly had, somehow, managed to find the one woman who had been made especially for him.

She was perfect. And he would never, ever forget that.

Bulma leaned forward to wrap him into another hug, her grip tight and secure as she breathed onto the skin of his neck.

“I love you,” she murmured.

“Hn,” he replied as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

He felt her leave a soft kiss on his shoulder, and he grinned as he felt another… and another…

“So, Vegeta…” she murmured against his skin, and he felt her touch change from its earlier warm comfort into a sizzling caress.

Her fingers trailed along his shoulders as she leaned up, and he hissed when he felt her teeth nibble along the shell of his ear.

“How about I show you exactly how sorry I am for today?” she whispered seductively.

Vegeta grinned.

Perhaps, he should speak to Bulma’s friends more often.

8-8-8-8-8

End

[alexwritesfluff]

Wildest Dreams 5/18

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9,

Summary: (USUK main +CanFran) Arthur is about to make his debut into English society, but his father fears he has become too rowdy to contain. Desperate to avoid a scandal before the debut of his only Omega son he arranges for him to travel to America. Arthur is to live at a newly wealthy house where removed from society he can’t possibly get into trouble.

Song Inspiration(Arthur POV): Wildest Dreams

Warnings: D/s dynamics which is basically traditional omegaverse, Rated R

A/N: WELL the slow turtle wins the race right?? I guess see you in another 6 months?…why am I like this

Alfred had been right about the breeze. As they walked Arthur closed his eyes enjoying the feel of it against his cheeks. The country air smelled lovely, a freshness that didn’t exist where he was from. It was like a strange dream, a place he remembered, but had never visited. Arthur decided not to try to name it and instead enjoy it. He watched the plains stretch out before him filled with wildflowers and greenery, giving way to forestry and further down mountains. One had to admit it was an enviable landscape. Out here city life was so far removed and it felt soothing not to be watched quite so rigorously by all.

When they arrived at the stables Arthur looked around curious to see what types they had. There were several horses all in their compartments. Arthur was relieved to see they were well taken care of, everything was tidy. He had been half afraid the stables would be messy. They were made of wood, finely crafted and painted. The design reminded him of England with naturally that erratic American taste thrown in. He had to admit however it was tastefully done. There was a fine eye for detail here, he ran his finger over the small engravings in the wood as he passed. The marks had a fresh look about them that Arthur had to wonder as to the builder. He had half a thought to suggest it to his father, before he remembered himself. 

The stables didn’t matter as much as the horses did and Arthur found himself walking up to a nice brown mare who caught his interest. Her name was written on a plaque, ‘Honey Bee’. Arthur frowned at the peculiar name, but went to pet her just the same.

“Stop!” Alfred had been distracted when they entered the stables not paying attention to Arthur for just a moment. He had needed to check who was in and ready to be taken out. Most omegas he knew wouldn’t simply approach a horse without being told to, he had assumed Arthur would follow suit and had obviously been wrong. Arthur halted his movements startled, but stepping back feeling a little miffed.

“I was just going to pet her.”

“Yea I see that, but Honey Bee is umm,” Alfred moved forward raising his hand to the horse so she could see it. Honey Bee lifted her nose up once and then twice. Alfred then proceeded to bring his hand to her head petting her gently. His expression became gentle and Arthur found himself folding his arms across his chest in response. “she’s a special horse you could say.” He chuckled as the horse drew in a breath and quickly snorted it out. She was clearly relaxed in Alfred’s hands. “She doesn’t like people much. Umm why don’t you pick a nicer horse. On the right side we have Lavender, she’d suit you nicely, real gentle and easy. All the omegas love her." 

Arthur frowned. Just how many omegas had Alfred taken out like this? Well it was to be expected he supposed. An Alpha like Alfred was surely in high demand, especially in the middle of nowhere as the case was. However, Arthur didn’t like the assumptions Alfred was making, his temper flickering at the lightest word from the other. "I think I’ll be just fine, maybe the average omega here hasn’t been around them as much, but I am more than able I assure you. I had my own mare back home for a time.” Alfred turned back, his smile dampened by Arthur’s refusal for an alternative.

The omega stood stubbornly unmoving a common expression of defiance in his gaze. Jesus Christ. Alfred didn’t want this to escalate especially right at the beginning, but he couldn’t let Arthur have his way. Honey Bee could be quite dangerous and only he had ever been able to settle her down. He wasn’t about to allow Arthur to get himself hurt over his stubbornness even if it meant having that ire turned against him once more.

“I’ll have to insist this time.” Alfred spoke trying to keep his voice firm but not demanding.

“Don’t be ridiculous just because you think-” Arthur moved forward as he spoke intending to pet the horse, but Alfred was quicker. Just as he reached forward the horse jumped high into the air, it’s nose pulling on the restraint and feet kicking at the barn door. Alfred had caught Arthur in his arms pressing him backward and settling him further away before turning back to the horse. The scent of fresh linens and country air assaulting Arthur from just the moment of closeness. An Alpha scent he didn’t want to know, but already his cheeks were flushing because of it.

Alfred’s hands were raised “Whoa there girl, it’s okay, it’s okay not gonna hurt ya. It’s alright..easy does it.” Arthur watched as Alfred looked on making eye contact with the horse before slowly moving closer. He succeeded in calming her down in the end, but she let out a huff to show she was not pleased.

Arthur shuffled his feet, his face colored with embarrassment. He had never encountered a horse with such an odd disposition before. Animals were usually comforted by the presence of an omega. Arthur had assumed if the horse allowed Alfred, an Alpha, to come near, it wouldn’t bat an eye at Arthur. 

“That’a girl. Don’tcha worry Arthur was just tryin’ to say hello.” He ran a hand down the horse’s mane reaching well into the cubicle. Arthur worried for a moment the horse would protest again, but this time remained where he was. He suddenly found he didn’t want to get too close so soon.

“Why do you keep such a beast?” He spoke, his voice mirroring his defensiveness.

Alfred tried to ignore the growing feeling inside of him that told him despite his posh upbringing Arthur needed to be taught some serious manners. He focused his energy on the horse for a bit so he wouldn’t make things worse by speaking his mind when the thought was so fresh. He turned back to Arthur.

“Say Arthur, has anyone ever taught ya? You catch more bees with honey than vinegar?”

“..I have no use for bees.” Arthur found each statement Alfred made more perplexing than his last. Alfred sighed.

“She happens to be wary of people because her last owners mistreated her. I’ll spare you the details, but regardless all horses deserve to be cared for just the same. I’m beginning to doubt your experience with them to be honest.” Alfred tried to keep his voice neutral, but some of his displeasure slipped out anyway.

“I-I didn’t mean-” Arthur looked away blushing. “I shouldn’t have been so hasty with her.” He felt his heart sinking a little. He of all people should know how skittish one becomes from mistreatment. He’d let his dislike of the Alpha get the better of him again. It was frustrating because he hardly recognized it when he was doing it. He was so used to thwarting Alphas, feeling superior that these new feelings shamed him all the worse for it. “I-I would still like to try.” The words surprised Alfred who was sure Arthur would give up while he was behind.

“Arthur I really don’t-”

"Please Alfred.” Arthur’s words were much softer, more vulnerable, his brows scrunched afraid of rejection. He found himself relating to the horse in a way and he knew they could be friends somehow. Alfred took a moment to respond still reeling from the sudden change in the omega. The vulnerability was not something he had expected and it threw him for a loop. He adjusted his hat before he responded.

“I s'pose we can give it a shot, but you’ll listen to my every instruction? I’m serious here, they’ll be consequences otherwise.” Arthur bit his lip, something about those words left him feeling tingly. The idea of willingly following orders from an Alpha he wasn’t related to felt strange. Even more so when that Alpha was Alfred.

“Y-yes of course, just for this.” Arthur couldn’t help but tack on, he didn’t want Alfred to think otherwise. He felt the heat of the day enter his face hoping it wasn’t too obvious.

“Alright I’m trustin’ ya.” Lord help me, Alfred thought to himself as he turned to Honey Bee. He gave her a strong pat before moving to open her stable. “Go outside while I get her ready to come out.” Arthur did as he was told wandering outside the stables his hands clasped. He wondered if he had been too hasty, maybe this would be too much for him. He didn’t like the thought he would be relying on Alfred for this. It made him feel too exposed.

Alfred wasn’t long in bringing the horse out ready for a rider. She looked happy enough to be led by him. Alfred kept a secure grip on her as he guided her out, a firm hand. He could almost look like a knight, he certainly looked like he belonged on the cover of one of Arthur’s books. Alfred’s clothes were simple enough. A navy shirt that Arthur assumed was supposed to be loose, but instead clung to every bit of muscle the Alpha had followed by jeans, a brown belt and boots. He didn’t want to be thinking about these things, but his mind since arriving here had gone off into territory he had never encountered before. Arthur bit his lip. 

Alfred kept a good distance away from him. Honey Bee was quite calm now, but it didn’t take much. “Alright why don’t ya introduce yourself. Just stand a good spot aways. Look her straight on for a moment and wait.”

Arthur did as he was told watching the horse and trying to appear non-threatening. Honey Bee responded with a snort turning her head. It felt like a rejection, he looked to Alfred to confirm. Alfred was still holding the reigns one of his hands running over the side of the horse, by the saddle. He had rolled up this shirt as well so his forearms were exposed, that muscle tense from his hold on the horse. It was such a defined line, Arthur wondered if all Alphas were quite this well built. He couldn’t ever remember taking notice before.

“I don’t think this is a good idea Arthur.” Arthur was pulled from his thoughts.

“I-umm” Arthur coughed a bit, feeling his mouth had become suddenly dry. It had to be the air of this place. “I can do it. What’s the next step?” Alfred eyed him warily, this time Arthur kept his focus on his face. Finally, Alfred sighed.

“Call her gently, like a babe. Keep your hand out, palm up for her inspection.”  Arthur lifted his hand up, before speaking.

“Er-Honey Bee.” He had to channel his omega nature, which was strange as he was always trying to suppress it instead. “Please, Honey Bee I won’t hurt you.” Honey Bee turned to face him, eyeing the offered hand. She looked unconvinced. Arthur raised his other hand placing the side of his wrists together. “I just want to be your friend. I think we might have some things in common.” This time Honey Bee did respond.

Alfred hadn’t been expecting much from this whole thing. He figured Arthur would get whatever satisfaction he was looking for and give up after a moment. It was a surprise then when Honey Bee cautiously moved forward. Alfred moved with her, not willing to allow any harm to come to Arthur and prepared should he need to step in.

Arthur’s expression was earnest, his cheeks pinkened as he held out his hands. He was clearly doing his best, Alfred felt his heart beat in a strange rhythm at the sight.

Honey Bee stood in front of Arthur now. She watched him for a while before reaching down to sniff at Arthur’s hands. “Stay still.” Alfred warned and Arthur obeyed allowing the horse her perusal. It tickled where she touched. It was daunting having her so close, but Arthur tried to keep the fear out of his scent. He would be alright, Alfred wouldn’t allow harm to come to him. The thought surprised Arthur, but the truth of it allowed him to relax. It was tense a moment longer until Honey Bee moved her head to the side and snorted twice.

“Well I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.” Arthur turned to Alfred distracted.

“Pardon?” Alfred chuckled smoothing out his hand over the horse. He stroked her in large swipes as if in praise.

“I’ve never seen her warm to a stranger so fast, color me impressed.” There was a bright joy in his voice. “Good girl, every day you get a little better huh?” Alfred was obviously pleased. He turned back to Arthur his grin blinding. “You too Artie, you did good!”

Arthur flushed looking away he folded his arms across his chest. Praise washed over an omega like dopamine. The feeling foreign and addicting as it was overwhelming for an omega unaccustomed to hearing it. Arthur took a step back frowning at the ground until he could get himself under some better control.

Alfred wasn’t sure what he’d said to make him skittish, but focused his attention back on the horse. He patted her down to give Arthur a moment he obviously needed. Arthur’s scent was flickering, a wave of lavender tinted with the sweetness he’d expect to find in delicate roses. Mixed in was a sour bite of lemon. Arthur’s defenses were raised, but it couldn’t overcome all that sweetness. It overflowed and teased the senses. Maybe Alfred needed a moment as well. That scent was quite alluring, his hands splayed out with the urge to capture it, bring it closer. He recognized his Alpha instincts flaring and promptly pressed them down. Arthur wasn’t inviting anything and despite what Arthur might believe, Alfred had always been a gentleman.

“So-umm-well we should get moving.” Arthur spoke feeling some of his control return.

“Yea let’s head out!” Alfred was relieved to move on. He moved a little back and had one hand on the back of the saddle while his other was left open. He held it up for Arthur to take, a friendly smile in place.

Arthur hated how the heat made his face burn. Normally he felt so cold, but today he felt like his own sun. His heart beat differently as he eyed Alfred’s hand. He changed his focus to Honey Bee wondering if he could step up on his own. He frowned not liking the look of the situation. Suddenly a thought crossed his mind. Startled, he glanced around. There were no other horses.

“Where is your steed?” Arthur asked ignoring the outstretched hand.

“Uhh we are taking the same one…”Alfred spoke feeling dread return. Arthur gasped, a hand on his chest. Alfred had to keep himself from chuckling at the sight. The little prince was making another appearance it seemed..

“How dare—I would never, w-why, how-I mean where is our chaperone!” Alfred did chuckle then. He dropped his offered hand and re-adjusted the saddle before turning back. He walked forward coming closer to Arthur who took a step back of his own.

Alfred took his time thinking over his words, he re-adjusted his jeans, pulling on his shirt just a bit. He never liked the confinement of this type of clothing, but considering how scandalized his little omega had been the day he’d arrived he’d put up with something that covered more. That didn’t mean he didn’t pull at it constantly trying to get free. He lived outside the view of many, and worked with Alphas and Betas. Most of the time he wore A line shirts so having any covering on his arms was cumbersome. He placed his hand against Honey Bee finally speaking. In the end he couldn’t help himself his grin falling into an easy smirk.

“Why’s that? ‘fraid I’d do something untoward to ya?” The tease slipped out easier than he imagined.

Arthur blushed feeling cornered. He’d been fine being out here slightly unsupervised because they were surrounded by workers. However, going out to god only knew where with Alfred was completely scandalous. The type of thing that lent itself to trysts in his novels. On top of which Alfred wanted to take one horse, one! Which meant they’d have to ride together pressed up against one another. Something mated couples hesitated to do, at least not in polite company!

Arthur felt the suns heat fiercely as he pictured Alfred’s broadness pressed up against him. His hands keeping him secure as he held the reigns. How would those wretched arms, he thought on so often actually feel? “I-I will do no such thing!” Arthur shouted before he could filter his thoughts. 

Alfred moved in closer in a stance that made Arthur feel trapped despite no walls behind or to the side of him. Alfred moved confidently. His frame loomed over him, like an Alpha ready to pounce. Arthur’s body reacting strangely, vibrating with a new energy that made him want to show his neck…

“Arthur…” Arthur made the mistake of looking up. He felt open then, looking into Alfred’s eyes. They were so clear, Arthur could watch them forever he felt. Eyes that shone brightly with strength, and happiness, but also a warmth that scared him. He broke the gaze.

Arthur looked back to Honey Bee who seemed unfazed by the turn of events before he made his decision. He pushed past Alfred and in a feat, that required all his skill he placed his foot in the hold, jumping straight up into the saddle. Honey Bee neighed then not liking the jostle, but Arthur was able to grab hold of the reigns before she took off. It was only then he realized he didn’t have much of a clue what he was doing or where he was going, but as Honey Bee picked up speed, the wind rushing past him, the exhilaration of the moment made up for it. His confused feelings washed away as he bounded down the fields feeling a wild sense of freedom.

[adampage]

Eddie | AJ Styles

 Pairing: AJ Styles x OFC (Maria), AJ x Eddie (the cat)

“This might be weird, and I totally get if it’s not poss 😆, but maybe one where [AJ] realises cats are awesome and he shldn’t hate them?? Is that too weird?” - @we-work-hard

Word Count: 1,950

Tagging: @we-work-hard / @llowkeys / @unabashedwwesmut / @kingslayers-angel / @p1-fanfiction / @ajstylesworld / @the-geekgoddes / @xxmaddhatter39xx / @justrae9903 / @reigns420 / @xstylesxclashx / @gurimujox / @p0tat0catofwesteros / @toosweetme / @your-darkdiva / @thephenomenonalkingofthebrogues / @welshwitch5

Author’s Note: I’m taking requests! This was nearly too easy to write. I basically took the relationship between my dad and my cat Tito (may he rest in peace) and got this from it. So, I’m dedicating this to Tito. I love you and I miss you, my dear sweet gentleman. 💙

She remembered the moment he showed up on her doorstep. Literally. Not AJ, obviously - guys don’t just show up on people’s doorsteps, hold on, never mind - but Eddie, her cat. He was black and white down the middle and on three of his legs, as if he wore a tuxedo everywhere he went, with pink paw beads and an even pinker nose and gorgeous yellow-green eyes. When she picked him up, he was all muscle, toned and strong, but seemingly chubby, too. Basically, the most adorable cat you’d ever see in your life. He showed up one day, rolling around in front of Maria’s house, begging to be touched. Okay, so, maybe AJ and Eddie had more in common than they liked to think. 

Eddie, ever the gentleman and ever patient, remained outside until Maria allowed him in, after weeks of her leaving food outside and water for him to slurp, when she noticed that someone had injured him near his tail, and she wasn’t just going to let the poor kitty deal with his injury on his own if being outside meant he was prone to infection.

She managed to coax him into a pet carrier and took him to the vet, where the vet told her they’d have to give Eddie stitches, recommending also for him to stay indoors and to take antibiotics every day. Needless to say, he was hers, and Maria didn’t mind it one bit. Fast forward months later, she’s in a relationship with AJ Styles. She also met him while he was dressed in a tux, at a mutual friend’s wedding. They caught each other’s eye; he made the first move. They got to talking, and she instantly fell in love with that southern drawl of his. But she didn’t want to let him think she was too interested, so she left the wedding as soon as her friend and her new husband left the party early for their honeymoon in the Bahamas. He showed up at her doorstep the next day, begging her to let him in, and she happily obliged from that day on. The only problem was, Eddie and AJ didn’t get along. Well, AJ didn’t get along with Eddie. Eddie was too sweet to let a strong man like AJ get the better of him.

Maria chop chop chopped at the onions, chewing a piece of gum, the knife hitting the green cutting board with a thud, thud, thud. “Maria.” Came the southern drawl, all too different from the way her parents would call to her. Her name on his lips was kinder, with less of an edge. Though, he somehow sounded distressed all the same. “Yes, AJ.” “This gosh darn cat won’t leave me alone.” Sure enough, she peered down near AJ’s legs to find Eddie, purring away. AJ sighed, exasperated. “Did I mention how much I hate cats?” “Dios mío, AJ, if you pet him, he’ll leave you alone!” “But I don’t want to pet him.” He huffed, crossing his arms like a little boy throwing a temper tantrum. “Then by all means, AJ, he’s going to keep bothering you.” Realizing his one and only defense against the furry beast wasn’t going to help, AJ raised his hands in surrender, rolling his eyes. “Okay, but he better leave me alone after this.” And Eddie did. For a little while, anyway.

You see, AJ had big, strong, wide hands. They were a whole heck of a lot bigger than Maria’s, and Eddie liked it rough. He loved the feeling of AJ’s hands raking across his fur, then padding it down and petting him in just the right manner. It was downright pleasurable, is what it was. He just couldn’t get enough. And when Eddie realized that AJ took fifteen minutes longer in the bathroom than Maria did, it sealed the deal. The distinctive sound of AJ grunting onto the toilet to settle down for the next quarter of an hour drove Eddie from any hiding place in any part of the house. As soon as AJ sat down, Eddie’s perky little monkey tail came running past the bathroom door. “Damn you, you cunning little devil,” AJ said, after the umpteenth time he had to keel over and pet the little fucker so he’d leave him in peace. “I hate you.” Eddie’s response was a sweet little squeak of a meow, hardly even audible, as if to say, “Who? Me?” And Maria would waltz into the bathroom on accident, to the dismay of both cat and man. “Maria, it’s bad enough he’s in here when I’m trying to do something private. I can’t have both of you in here. Come on, now,” AJ whined, shooing her away, to her delighted, “OKAY, okay, jeez.” She left, but not before turning around to catch the glimpse of a smile on AJ’s face as he reached for his boy.

AJ finally began to understand Eddie one fine day in June. It was blistering hot, the air conditioning was out, and he and Maria were both cramped in her tiny kitchen the color of sunshine, cooking some sort of Colombian dish. His blue sleeveless tank was soaked all down his back, and he had his hair pulled up in a bun. It was days like these that he wished he had the heart to shave off all his scruff, but he knew Maria loved it. “Chop this for me.” “Ooookay.” AJ stepped back from the counter to grab a knife from the cutlery drawer, when he felt something under his foot- “YEOWWWWWWWWWW!” A blur of black and white dashed from the kitchen, disappearing under the living room sofa. “AJ, what did you do?!” Maria screamed. “I ain’t done shit,” he yelled, “it’s this damn cat’s tail done went under my feet!” “Well, did you apologize?” Maria retorted accusingly. “Maria, it’s a cat, it don’t need no goddamned apology.” She sighed, unwilling to push the argument any further.

Later that day, AJ went to the bathroom. As he settled in, he heard the ever familiar pitter patter of bounding paws running down the stairs above him, the monkey tail stopping in its tracks as it walked through the door. Eddie took one look at AJ and ran right back out of the bathroom. AJ couldn’t believe his eyes. The godforsaken cat was holding a grudge. A fucking grudge. A cat. Holding a grudge. A cat that holds grudges. Whaa? He found Maria settled into bed, reading glasses on the tip of her crooked nose as she flipped the pages of her favorite book, The Tale of Despereaux. He slipped under the thin covers from his side of her bed, watching her for a few moments. He wanted to mention Eddie, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was a damn cat, for goodness’ sake. Why should he care what a cat thinks about him, anyway? So he just lay there, arm behind his head, staring out into her bedroom. “What is it?” She finally asked. “What makes you think there’s something wrong?” AJ responded defensively, curious and not really sure if he even wanted to mention what was wrong just yet. “You’ve been laying next to me for three minutes and you haven’t bothered to cuddle me. That is very un-AJ.” He frowned. Was he really that obvious? “And Eddie hasn’t bothered to come cuddle me in bed, either, very un-Eddie, which means whatever’s going on is between the two of you.” AJ let out a breath. Okay, so everything about this was pretty damn obvious. “He came when I went to the bathroom and then he left when he saw me.” The he was clear. “That’s because he resents you, AJ. You hurt his feelings and his tail.” “It was an accident!” He defended. “So tell him it was an accident and go apologize.” “First off, I don’t see why I should go apologize to a damn cat.” Maria sighed, exhausted that she had to mediate between these two idiots. She took off her glasses and placed them on the bedside table, along with her book which she meticulously dog eared to remember her place. Pinche hombre no entiende que los gatos son igual que los humanos. “If you stepped on my foot, would you say sorry?” Her tone carried an edge to it that AJ himself would never be able to master. “Yes.” He whispered, arms crossed, clearly in disdain for where this conversation was going. “What else would you do?” He smiled sweetly. “Anything for you, darlin’.” “Nice try. What else would you do?” He huffed, but answered anyway. “Probably give you a massage to butter you up.” “All right, there’s your answer. Go do those exact things to Eddie.” “What? Are ya kiddin’ me? Maria, come on.” She gave him the death glare she inherited from her mother. “Did I fucking stutter?” “N-no,” he grumbled, stumbling out of bed. “Fine. Okay.” AJ found himself in the living room, turning on a lamp. He scanned the room for any sign of a black and white, and found Eddie’s shadow behind the curtains over the clear patio doors. Eddie’s ears perked up at the sound of AJ’s footfalls. They were heavier than Maria’s, but they seemed to be moving quicker. Eddie barely got up and bounded away before AJ’s hands reached out to where he was sleeping. “So this is how it’s going to be?” AJ muttered. AJ walked back through the bedroom door, shoulder slumped. “Maria, this cat won’t let me not five feet near ‘im.” “I’ll help you.” It was getting hot under those sheets, anyway. “His problem is with you, not me, so he’ll let me grab him.” It took them another ten minutes to finally find him. He had run upstairs, hidden behind the guest bed. Maria had brought a bag of kitty treats to lure him out with, and then she grabbed him, holding him gently in her arms. AJ was hiding just outside, waiting for her to bring him. “Look at my big, strong, manly gentle man,” she cooed at Eddie, petting him softly on his tummy. Eddie’s nose dug under her arm as she complimented and pampered him, clearly being lulled into a sense of security. AJ fought back the urge to get jealous of the way Maria was talking to him, knowing that if he made so much as a noise the cat would realize what was going on. When Eddie began to purr, Maria quickly walked through the door and handed him to AJ, who began to massage and pet Eddie with his strong, wide hands. Eddie struggled beneath his grasp, but AJ wouldn’t let go. “I’m sorry, Eddie, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry for hurting your tail, I’m sorry,” AJ chanted, continuing to massage him for what felt like hours and hours but was only mere minutes. “It’ll never happen again, I promise, I’ll watch where I’m going, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” When AJ noticed Eddie no longer struggled in his grasp, but was purring incessantly, he heaved with a sigh of relief, and let the furry being go. Eddie ran away, tail curved and delighted. Maria laughed. “So how are we sure that it worked?” AJ grinned. “Guess I need to visit the bathroom.” They descended the stairs, Maria stopping at their bed and tucking herself in, AJ lumbering towards the bathroom. As Maria drifted off to sleep, she heard the heavy little pawfalls of Eddie racing down the stairs, dropping himself at the foot of his master’s throne, and the subsequent, “there ya are, little guy” that escaped AJ’s lips.

[lifegivesyoulennonn]

Artists Chapter 2

Here’s Chapter 2!! Sorry it took me so long, but I hope to be updating more frequently now! Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

A/N: This is purely fictional, I do not own characters or songs

CHAPTER 2 John Lennon looked up and down at the young lad who had just knocked on the door. He had dark brown eyes with thick eyelashes and a round,  baby-like face with freckles dotting his cheeks and nose. Inspecting his features, John would say the boy even had a touch of femininity to him, features that not many males their age possessed. He was a charming lad, anyone with eyes could see. However, as John studied him, he noticed the boy was sweating slightly and wouldn’t look John directly in the eyes. John figured it was because he was either shy or in the wrong place.

“Well are ya a mute or somethin’?” John asked with a hint of sarcasm in his voice, attempting to make light of the situation. “What’s yer name, mate?”

“P-P-Paul,” the boy stammered. “Paul McCartney.”

“Lookie there, he can talk! Well Paul McCartney, what can I do for ya?” As John said his name, the boy called Paul finally made eye contact with him. Paul had deep brown irises and bright white eyes that contrasted with the purple that lightly tinted the skin underneath. As if drawn to his eyes by some magnetic force, John found it difficult to look away or even blink. However, when Paul began speaking, John was able to once again come back to the present situation.

“I’m, uh, looking for Ivan. He told me I could watch the Quarrymen practice and perform. Have you seen him?” Paul asked.

Before John could respond, the boy in question, Ivan, appeared behind John and smiled at Paul.

“Hiya Paul, glad you could make it! We’re just messing about right now, but we’re getting ready to start playin’ here soon. Come on in.” With that, Paul entered the small room past John and Ivan. The room was small, barely fitting the boys and their instruments. It seemed to be one of the children’s Sunday School rooms, as there were colorful posters with Bible verses hanging on the walls and the chairs the band was sitting on were a bit too small for them to sit on properly.

As John and Ivan went back to their instruments and tiny chairs, John noticed that Paul had meandered to the back corner of the room and was just standing there, gawking at the boys awkwardly. John observed  this, and wanting to relax the situation and the boy’s nerves, stood and told Paul to sit in his seat.

Paul looked at him with an almost scared look on his face. “No, that’s alright. I d’wanna cause any trouble.”

“No trouble t’all,” John smiled. “Me legs were gettin’ tired of all the sittin’ anyway. Go on an’ sit, son.” With that, Paul nodded and took John’s seat, the band now surrounding him.

Ivan, also sensing Paul’s apprehensiveness, thought it best to introduce Paul to the rest of the boys. He named them off one by one, telling Paul their name and what instrument they played. Each member smiled politely at Paul or shook his hand as they were introduced, and the atmosphere quickly became more relaxed between Paul and the Quarrymen. The boys in the band were nice, and they wanted to make Paul feel welcome. It wasn’t very often that a boy their age took interest in music or bands. Paul obviously had some interest in rock-n-roll, so he was well received by the band. Ivan waited to introduce Paul to John last, knowing John was all about spectacles and impressions.

“And last but not least, Paul, meet our fearless leader, the lead singer of The Quarrymen, whom you’ve already noticed loves a good laugh, is none other than John Lennon,” Ivan said, mockingly bowing toward John who was now leaning against the wall, smirking.

“Ta for that, Ivan, and don’t you be forgettin’ I’m the leader.” John laughed as he jokingly shoved Ivan’s shoulder. Looking at Paul again, John said, “But yeh, like he said, I’m John.”

“John Lennon,” Paul said his name slowly, with what sounded like  a hint of amazement in his voice. “Nice t’meet ya. Uh, thanks fer lettin’ me watch yer band. I’d love to be in a band myself someday.”

“Wait,” John took a step closer to Paul, narrowing his eyes. “Do ya play music?” John was interested to see if this boy with the intriguing eyes could be even more intriguing behind the eyes.

“Uh, yeah,” Paul started, breaking eye contact and looking down. “I play the guitar and piano.”

John felt he was a fortune-teller; he had sensed just from looking into Paul’s eyes that they were kindred spirits somehow, and here was the reason. The most important reason: music. John could hear the earnestness in Paul’s voice talking about playing instruments and wanting to be in a band. Paul McCartney understood. John hardly ever met anyone close to his age who knew how to play an intrument, let alone more than one. John quickly sensed the two’s common interest would create a bond between them. If only he knew how true that statement was.

*****************

John Lennon had always been different, an outsider, set apart. He supposed it was because his brain had  been wired differently than everyone else in the world, and maybe this was so, but it had made it near impossible for John to relate to people. John always wanted to question absolutes and defy authorities, even as a child, and he was scolded immensely for it by the adults that surrounded him. He had no desire to follow rules or conform to patterns, and for this he was looked down upon by both his peers and their parents. Any friend John would try and make would quickly be taken away from him because their parents could not understand John, and therefore would not give him a chance and would discourage their child from interacting with him. Of course, this only made John want to rebel even more. If they didn’t trust him or like him, why the hell would he feel any different towards them?

However, as much as John loved to rebel, he realized he needed social interaction, needed people to share his  life with. Though he questioned everything and strived to overcome all odds he faced, he longed for companions, someone to divulge the most hidden parts of himself. He wanted to show someone the side of John Lennon no one ever got to see, like that he loved to draw and was quite good at it. Or that at night he can’t help but just stare up at the sky and gaze at the stars, secretly wishing he was residing among them. John had had acquaintances throughout his life, but they were mostly kids who looked up to him because he said aloud what everyone was thinking or kids who liked to rebel for the sake of rebelling. John, however, revolted to find meaning and answers to his life, because surely his life meant more than what he was currently feeling.

John knew he had to find something about himself that he could use to his advantage to make friends.

One night, when John was about fifteen, he noticed that he could sing along in tune to the songs that played on the radio. He began to sing along aloud to every song he knew, and learn the songs he didn’t. He became determined to master any and every song he could get his hands on, and would sing at the top of his lungs when he was sure no one could hear him. Music became his outlet, his source of channeling his pain and confusion of his life.

However one day, when he was singing along to one of his favorite Isley Brother songs, his aunt came into the house and heard him singing. She went upstairs to his room, but stayed outside his closed door until the song was finished. When the record ended, she softly knocked and opened his door, tears brimming in her eyes.

“John Lennon, I didn’t know ya could sing so well,” she smiled proudly at him.

John, however, felt embarrassed and flustered, and demanded she leave his room at once. Although secretly, he felt good to know that someone else approved of his vocals. He could actually sing well! For once, someone agreed with him and he didn’t feel silly for working so hard to learn to sing all those songs. He knew this would be the way to finally find freedom.

From that point on, John decided it was time to make his voice known to the public. He figured that was the way he could get people to understand him and his thoughts. He started the Quarrymen with some boys he knew from town, and worked them day and night trying to perfect their sound and get them noticed. To him, music wasn’t just about sounding good, it was about perfection and doing what had never been done before. His bandmates quickly became his friends, like he had always wanted, but he still felt like he couldn’t open up to them the way he so longed to open up to someone.

In fact, this Paul McCartney lad was the first one he felt he might have a chance to completely open up to. However, John, being as skeptical as he had always been, began to question the genuity of Paul McCartney before he was let down once again. Things always seemed to good to be true. Why should this time be any different?

“Ya know Paul McCartney,” John glared at the boy with intimidation. “Bein’ in a band is more about knowin’ how t’play instruments. Ya gotta have presence. Talent. Somethin’ that no one else can contribute t’ the band. Do y’have that son? Because if y’don’t, ya might as well kiss that dream of bein’ in a band right goodbye.”

John slightly smirked, challenging the boy. Would he retaliate?

At first, Paul sat looking down, taking in all that John had just said. John thought he had hurt the boys feelings, and just as he started to feel a bit guilty when Paul suddenly stood up and marched up to John until he was inches from his face.

“Listen here John Lennon,” Paul said loudly, unafraid, looking John right in the eyes. “I have more talent than you could ever muster. Just because you boss around these lads all day and call yourself a lead singer doesn’t mean you know shit about me or anything else about being in a band. I’ve got plenty talent, and I don’t need you to try and tell me if I do or don’t. You know nothing about me. Nothing.”

John was taken aback as he stared wide-eyed at the boy in front of him, angry and breathing heavy. He was speechless; no one had ever dared speak to him that way. He was John fucking Lennon, rebel without a cause. He yelled, he contradicted, he fought,  he was the one no one knew anything about. Something stirred in John, a feeling he didn’t quite recognize. Staring at the boy, he once again became aware of his eyes again, and how easy it was for him to just gaze into them without looking for an ending. This boy was turning his world upside down and he hadn’t even known him ten minutes.

The two boys stared at eachother for what seemed an eternity before Paul spoke again.

“Don’t have anything to say now do ya, Lennon? Not used to someone actually standing up to yer gimmicks? Do ya even have a lick of talent?” This pulled John out of his trance.

“Well then, Mister McCartney,” John mockingly addressed him, guard back up, “why don’t ya prove me wrong? There’s a piano right here, show me what yeh got, son.” John gestured to the piano, and Paul walked over to it confidently. If he was nervous at all, John couldn’t tell, which annoyed yet intrigued him all the more.

All eyes were on Paul now as he sat at the piano. He had stood up to John in a way no one ever had before, in a way the boys of the band would have never even dreamed of doing. John never took his eyes off of Paul as the boy seemed to think about what song he would perform. After a few seconds, Paul began to play a familiar tune that John knew that instant Paul’s fingers collided with the keys.

Paul began playing Long Tall Sally by Little Richard with such fervor and confidence; he was a natural rock and roll star. John couldn’t help the grin that creeped across his face from ear to ear as Paul continued to play, as if there was no one else in the room. The shy stuttering boy that had walked into the room had transformed into a full blown performer destined for the stage.

As Paul continued to play, John watched and took it all in. This boy was it, the real deal. John had found someone to keep up with him, someone who wasn’t afraid to speak up to him and had more talent than that of any of the other boys in the band. John didn’t really believe in fate or destiny, but if he had, he supposed that Paul had been brought to John for a reason.

John let his heart take over his head as he went to sit beside Paul, moving him over to make room for the both of them on the small bench. Paul didn’t skip a beat and kept playing and belting the tune, while John was suddenly struggling with the fact that their thighs were touching and an electric current had consumed him. But Paul didn’t flinch or move away; he just continued to play the song in his own world.

After a few seconds, John regained his grip on reality and began to play the upper harmony and sing along with Paul. For the first time since sitting down at the piano, Paul skipped a beat, and glanced briefly at John before joining back in. As they continued to play, the rest of the room faded away and it was only the two of them, voices dancing together intricately in beautiful harmony while they’re hands on the piano followed suit. John’s voice had never meshed with anyone elses this perfectly, it was truly a musical match made in heaven. John thought Paul must have been thinking something similar, because he heard a smile in Paul’s voice while he was singing, making himself smile. They played together for a few more minutes before slowly coming to close, out of breath but smiling like they both knew that moment had been something special for the both of them.

“Ya sure know how t’prove a guy wrong, Paul McCartney,” John laughed as Paul chuckled and turned to look at him. They caught each other’s gaze, and for the third time that afternoon they were confined to merely staring into each other’s eyes, not saying a word but understanding each other completely.

For the first time in his life, John Lennon decided not to argue against fate and decided to just believe in what was right in front of him.

[carterashofficial]

Farewell, Older-teen/Young-Adult Books

Honestly I can’t read Young Adult/Older Teen fantasy literature anymore for a barrel-full of reason as listed below. It’s lengthy. Probably entertaining. Thought-provoking because I have a tendency to analyze everything I read and how it could affect the reader.

Alright. Most of these books carry over the same tropes. If you’ve read any YA/OT books lately, let me describe this for you, and you tell me what book it is.

The main character is a girl, told from first person, present tense.

This girl is special. She’s downtrodden somehow, an underdog, fighting for what she believes in. Probably damn good with a certain weapon/magic power. And she has to hide who she is.

Oh, did I mention there’s boy that likes her, but she doesn’t really like back?

And then this girl somehow winds up in the castle with a Royal family. She’s pretending to be someone she’s not and isn’t happy there, but she’s doing this for what she believes in. She HAS to. For REASONS.

I’m calling it right now. The Prince is aloof and distant with her, he isn’t interested in the Royal Court, although he might pretend to be. He’s got dark hair, interesting eyes that are light in color. He does lots of hair flips. Fights shirtless. He’s drawn to the main character.

The main character is also drawn to him, but she’s got better things to do than fall in love. So she ignores her heart but there’s definitely some romantic-tension scenes where they *almost* kiss.

Back to the prince. He’s got a tyrant for a father. The Prince has never ever dared question his father’s beliefs. And this girl makes him see that his father is a tyrant and a monster and evil. So the prince obviously sides with the girl.

The father is only a tyrant. Ever. How dare he be warm and cozy with his family but pragmatic for his kingdom. Obviously he is only a tyrant. (severe sarcasm, because all these tyrant kings are terribly shallow).

So the Prince the main character is denying she’s falling in love with joins her cause/see’s what she’s fighting for. 100% support, respect, everything.

Yay.

Girl is revealed to not be who everyone thought she was. She reveals what makes her so special.

The plot of the book reaches it’s climax and fizzles out and is shoved to the back burner because Girl and Prince have kisses and have admitted they’ve got feelings for each other. So the whole romance plot is obviously done and the main plot suffers a weak ending that invites a sequel.

Oh, and friend of Girl who had a crush on her obviously doesn’t get the girl, he dies, is forgotten, or moves on, so he doesn’t get in the way of this lovely romance between Girl and Prince.

Which book was I talking about?

Defy by Sara B Larson?

The Red Queen by Victoria Aveyard?

Ruined by Amy Tintera?

Snow Like Ashes by Sara Raasch?

The Selection by Kiera Cass?

Now, I understand the common theme between all these books: To empower a young female reader. Give her a hero she can relate to, a role model, a girl who champions her problems and gets shit done and takes no crap.

However.

In the real world like this, us girls don’t have magic powers, we aren’t trained in the art of swordsmanship, we aren’t secretly princesses and we aren’t going to meet a charming Prince with a tyrant father who’s looking for love, with his perfect hair flips and perfect love story.

Yes, these are fantasy books. Entertainment.

And there are incredibly powerful minor themes in them. Speaking up for those who can’t, not compromising your beliefs, fighting for what is right.

My problem with these books is that the characters are one-dimensional, they’re painted on a background of black-and-white, right-and-wrong. They characters that die aren’t torn from the reader’s heart and leaving us teary at their death. Character’s actions aren’t explained. What even is a backstory for anyone who’s not the Girl or the Prince? If a character is bad, they’re Ultra-Bad and grates on everyone’s nerves and no one likes them. If a character is good, then they’re agreeable, they stand up for what is right and are gallant. Sometimes they’re angsty-good and go off and do something stupid, but their intentions were Honorable.

These tropes permeate the entire genre. I’ve picked up too many books in the Older-Teen section at Barnes and Noble and just by reading the back of the book, I know the two main characters are going to end up together, the Tyrant will be overthrown, etc….

Hell, I went back and re-read my book, and yes, I’ve got a lot more of these tropes in it than I would like.

Main character teenage girl? Check.

Prince who doesn’t connect with the Royal Court? Check.

Charming love interest with dark hair, light eyes, and hair flips? Check.

Tyrant king? Check.

Girl is the underdog of the situation? Check.

I try to get into the books I read. I swear.

But when every book is same trope after trope after trope, I feel like I’ve already read them all. That’s not to say they weren’t damn good books, they all had something unique in them that I liked, but the core of the books are eerily similar. Like a formula put them together.

This has made my re-think my entire novel, and my plans to re-write.

So here’s to the Older-Teen/Young-Adult books.

Thanks for the insight into my own writing, and goodbye.