Fan Fiction vs. Real Life

A/N: I found this in one of my old notebooks, and thought it was kind of cute and worth posting. Hope you enjoy.

Fan Fiction vs. Real Life: After Life

Fanfiction vs. Real Life #10:

In fanfiction, the best love stories don't have endings.

In real life, nothing lasts forever.

"Ash, when I die, I don't want you to remarry," Misty told him seriously, her confession completely unprompted. "I don't want you replacing me."

Ash smiled gently, stroking her hand in what many years together had taught him was a comforting manner. "Misty," he said tenderly, "No one could ever replace you."

"Well, duh," Misty agreed. "I know that . . . but all the same . . ." she continued weakly, feeling a little insecure.

"Look, Ash, I understand that you have 'needs' and all," she told him, lifting her hands for the finger quotes. "But you're just going to have to deal with those needs alone."

"Alright, Myst," he said with an amused look, feeling no need to disagree. He rested back on the couch, thinking that was the end of the discussion and that Misty would join him now that things had been laid to rest.

Of course, this was Misty Waterflower-Ketchum he was talking about, so he should have known better than to think that would be the end of it.

"Ash, I'm serious!" she exclaimed, obviously deciding he was being way too casual about the issue. "I don't want to look down from heaven" - Ash said nothing at her presumptiveness – "and she you getting your jollies with some slut like Dawn or May or Melody . . ." she trailed off before practically hissing her last words, "or that bitch, Angie . . ."

Ash sighed, sitting back up. "Misty, you can't talk about your friends like that," he admonished.

"Maybe May and Dawn," Misty shrugged, unchastised. "Which is why I think they'll understand how much it would dishonour my memory for them to try and nab you just because I'm out of the picture."

"Misty, they're both in serious relationships," he argued. "Dawn just got engaged and May has been living with Drew for nearly five years."

Again she shrugged. "I was living with a boy when we got together," she answered nonchalantly.

"Misty, your cousin Flynn doesn't count."

"Fine," she replied, crossing her arms over her chest. It was so rare for Misty to relent on anything, that even that seemed like some kind of victory to Ash.

"It's beside the point, anyway," Misty continued a moment later.

"Which is?" Ash asked, almost afraid to find out what this was leading to.

Misty huffed with annoyance, as though he really ought to have known the answer himself. "Which is that I don't want you having another girl in your life after I die," she said moodily, blushing a little as she said the words aloud. It was more sentimental than Misty generally liked to admit to, so unsurprisingly she went on to alleviate that embarrassment.

"You could get a boyfriend," she added lightly. "I probably wouldn't mind that. You and Gary could hook up. Or Ritchie maybe.

"The point is," she reiterated, ignoring the way her husband shuddered at her suggestions – these were two of his closest friends, after all. "The point is that the only feminine hands I want touching your penis when I'm gone are your own."

Ash let out a throaty growl at her comment. "Misty – for the last time – I do not have feminine hands," he complained loudly.

Misty rolled her eyes. "Sure you don't, Ashy," she answered sarcastically. "They're so sweet and tiny and soft," she told him as she traced her fingers across the creases of his palm. "Like a woman's."

He wrenched his hand away with a unhappy glare. "They only look so small 'cos your hands are freakishly huge," he sulked.

Misty shook her head, still not the slightest bit sympathetic to his sad looks.

"Look, I don't even know why I'm bringing it up," she said, drawing them back to where the conversation was before they got distracted by the brief tangent. "I mean, it's probably irrelevant anyway – given your lifestyle choices.

"I think it's quite obvious which one of us is going to outlast the other," she concluded.

"Does that mean you won't find anyone after I die?" he asked with a warm smile, thinking this was one of those sweet moments with Misty he could tell their kids about some time in the future. (Just as soon as he edited out all mentions of his penis.)

"Oh, please," Misty replied sardonically, scoffing at the suggestion. "I'll probably hook up with Gary at your funeral.

"Or Brock," she said after giving the question a little more thought. "It'll probably be Brock. And we'll feel really bad about it afterwards, but he'll come to comfort me and one thing will lead to another . . ."

Ash didn't even mention the fact that Brock was happily married. Or even that Brock pretty much thought of Misty as a little sister. Instead he just firmly demanded that Brock be banned from his funeral, and even suggested that segregate by gender.

"I'll really miss you when you die, Ash," Misty told him, smiling beatifically as she leaned over to kiss his cheek.

"I'll miss you too, Myst."

He leaned back on the couch, Misty curling into his side as they sat in quiet, contemplative silence.

"I still don't want you to remarry," Misty said again, her voice low and her head ducked against his chest.

"I know, Myst," he said.

~ FIN ~