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#I’ve gathered over 20 shinies over the years
ltbarnes · 2 months
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Back to December (1/2)
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Summary: Your new job as an assistant for the CEO of a big, shiny company was supposed to be a good thing. Instead your ex from uni who completely ghosted you out of nowhere several years ago happens to be one of your superiors. It doesn’t help that he’s only gotten more handsome over the years. But you hate him for leaving without an explanation, and he seems to hate you too. Everything is just fucking great.
Pairing: ex!Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader
Word count: 6.9k
Warnings: OFFICE AU (Ghost is not ceo but he’s up there in the company somewhere), exes to enemies to lovers, harassment, past emotional violence/threats, ghost was a rugby player in uni lol, blood
A/N: I’m finally dipping my toe into another fandom 🫣 I’ve been obsessed with the cod men for months now so I suppose it’s time. this is the first part of two, maybe three. we’ll see where my imagination takes me!!
Part 2
Masterlist
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So many years spent wondering what the hell happened that night, and there he is on the opposite side of the meeting room table gathering his papers into a neat pile. Simon always was organized, you remember.
He hasn't seen you yet. Or maybe he doesn't recognize you. You don't think you have changed that much, but you never know. More as a person than your appearance, you guess.
Maybe that's why you haven't fell down to the floor crying yet—you would have just a few years ago. Seeing your ex-boyfriend for the first time since you were 20 might do that to you.
But you just feel anger. Anger over the fact that Simon has the audacity to have grown into his looks that way, and that he's successful and has this great scruff on his face and that he just left and never said a word to you again. How dare he have a good life when he just abandoned you and your relationship that night all those years ago without giving you a reason for it.
Your new boss clears his throat, sitting down at one of the ridiculously expensive chairs right next to you. You didn't notice him come in, and you certainly haven't gotten used to his intimidating presence yet.
"Garcia, you have about...fifteen minutes to go through your presentation. I have another meeting with Hill soon." Mr. Price pauses to look down at his wrist watch for two seconds in the middle of his sentence, before nodding towards the beautiful redhead standing with a small remote in her hand.
For some reason this company seems to be where models who get tired of their careers come to work. You didn't exactly get that memo. It's only your second day here, and you feel intimidated by everyone. Maybe that's the way an assistant should feel.
"Y/l/n, you keeping notes for me?" Your head tilts up dangerously fast at the mention of your name, taking a few seconds too long to process his request, before nodding obediently.
"Yes, sir."
Your fingers click too loudly against the keys as you frantically try to draw up a document with the correct font and size. It's too quiet in here. You haven't done anything wrong, yet it feels like everyone is waiting for you to misstep. Your anxiety is a bitch.
"Riley. Riley, what the hell?" you hear someone whisper angrily. It's not until you hear a pen clatter to the floor that you dare to look up his way.
Honey brown eyes stare right into your goddamn soul. Your breath hitches, speeding up the pace of your anxiety-ridden heart even further. More than what's acceptable for sitting still in a work meeting. But your momentary weakness over catching his attention soon disappears, to be replaced by your anger again.
You look away with a clenched jaw, focusing on the keyboard right beneath you. Simon is still staring at you. You can feel it. Feels like it always used to do, but this time you don't want it. In your ideal world Simon Riley would not sit opposite you, would not stand up to join the beautiful, model redhead to hold a presentation where he keeps stumbling on his words all the time because of your presence. At least you think it's your presence, but you're not sure if it's in a good or bad way. For you it's bad.
But it does make you feel good that he keeps having these space outs—tripping over his words, forgetting them all together. It is not a good presentation on his part, and Ms. Garcia is getting increasingly more irritated at him for his lack of delivery. You hope she scolds him for it afterward. God knows you would like to throw every curse word you know at the man.
Should you be this angry after all these years? Should you have let it go a long time ago? Should you have stopped acting as if being with another man after him is betrayal? Probably. The last question is probably the answer to why you haven't really moved on from your hurt.
It just makes you so mad—for a year he was your entire world. Simon hugged you from behind each time he encountered you out in public and played with your hair as you fell asleep in his arms and woke you up with his fingers tracing patters on your hip. He fucked you until your bed broke and made love to you so gently you might as well have been made of glass to him. Two weeks from your anniversary he stopped talking to you. Not one thing of his was left in your dorm the next morning, and you didn't see him on campus even once during the term he had left of school. The few friends you had in common didn't talk to you anymore.
It broke your heart, to be abandoned like that. That night was already shit, and Simon just decided to make it ten times worse. You were in shock and all you wanted was his comfort. To find out he had left? You barely made it through that next semester.
For years you have pondered over what part of you was so unlovable that Simon couldn't even bear to say another word to you. Maybe his inability to function properly during this meeting wasn't due to shock, but instead disgust over having to be in the same room as you. Fuck, you are mad, and yet so scared that you have to meet him every single week from now on. You're not strong enough for that.
"That was...something. I expect you to be better prepared next time I see you, Riley," Mr. Price says, clicking his pen while pointing it towards Simon. "Don't know what the fuck that was," he mutters under his breath while rising from his chair.
You follow swiftly. The chair is too loud as it's pushed back. You cringe. Gathering your laptop and your papers is ungraciously done. Price still waits for you though, for some reason, but he sighs and puffs while doing so. Everyone else is quiet, besides the slap to his arm Simon receives from Ms. Garcia. They're probably dating. Two perfect, good looking people having perfect sex in their perfect apartments. You hate them both.
You try not to look at him as you walk out behind Mr. Price. But you still say a 'have a good day' that is too quiet to the room, answered with a few nods and some 'you too' back.
A small squeak of surprise escapes your lips when your boss comes to an abrupt halt in front of you. A millisecond is all it would take for you to have crushed into him, and that squeak leaves heat travelling to your face. He turns around, facing the room once again, with his usual glare.
"Don't bloody stare at my new assistant. I don't want another HR-situation with this one. Especially talking to you, Riley."
Price pins his glare on Simon, who gives him an equally harsh glare back. You are just about ready for the floor to break so you can fall through to the bottom level and run out of here. But you're frozen in your place, clutching your belongings to your chest tightly enough to make a computer-sized dent in your skin.
Without another word, your boss turns around and heads out of the room. You couldn't have moved any faster if you wanted to—already tight on his heels while your heart rate desperately tries to calm down. Oh my god. Oh my fucking god. What the hell are you going to do? Ignore Simon and hope that you manage to avoid him for however long you'll work here? It feels kind of impossible, but the last thing you want is to talk to him. You couldn't.
You've just put down your things on your desk right outside of Price's office when he speaks again. His voice always manages to make you jump in your place, head flying up to meet his gaze.
"If Riley, or anyone else, gives you any trouble—you tell me," he says, unflinching and stoic.
You gulp, frozen in your position. "Oh—I, okay. Thank you." The words come out quieter than you wanted to.
"You seem like a good kid. Don't want these fucking fools to chase away 'nother one of my assistants."
The door to his office is closed the next second. You just stand there, dumbfounded and a little confused, but still flattered in some way. A good kid—you'll take that.
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Popcorn crunches underneath your sneakers as you push yourself past the people going up and down the stairs, trickling out of the stadium with happy smiles on their faces and lively conversations exchanged now that the game is over. They won. The players are still out on the field, celebrating their victory with slaps to each other's backs, jumping up and down, impromptu attack hugs. You are giggling too, watching them.
Simon has torn his shirt off, sweaty, blond hair a mess as he shakes his head. Johnny just poured water all over him—the guy always gets so overexcited. And goddamn, your man looks good as he has that rare smile on his face.
The game was a really good one on his part. Everyone in the team calls him 'Ghost' because of how quickly and seamlessly he moves despite his size. And the big tattoo of a man wearing a skull mask on his arm. But once  he's out on the field, the players never expects his speed. At least one player during each game runs right into him, as if he was invisible. A ghost.
He hasn't noticed you yet, where you stand leaning against the railing. It's freezing out. The first really cold September day, and you didn't think to bring a proper jacket. But you don't really care, because seeing Simon and your friends this happy has plastered a permanent grin on your face.
"Riley, your girl!"
Someone shouts and points at you, alerting your boyfriend of your presence. His head whips in your direction, brown eyes pinpointing you in your place before a 6'2'' man starts barreling towards you. Simon throws the water bottle in his hand away carelessly as you giggle furiously over his excitement.
"Fuck, love," he says as he reaches his hands out, lifting you over the railing within a second. You yelp in surprise.
"Wha—Simon! Put me down!"
Simon just holds onto you tighter, pressing you close to him with your feet still in the air. How is he this strong? "Not a chance, Princess. We fucking won. I'm celebrating with my girl."
You chuckle, holding onto his shoulders while looking down at his sweaty face. "I know. I'm so proud of you."
A shy grin grows on his face, slowly setting you down onto the fake grass. "Really?"
"Really. It's the best you've ever played. Wanted to shout to everyone that it was my boyfriend doing all the best throws out there," you tell him, now looking up at him instead. God, he's tall.
Simon's mouth comes crashing down onto yours, giving you a sloppy kiss that makes you laugh.
"I lov—I loved having you here." Simon pauses in the middle of the sentence, as if he was supposed to say something else. "You're my fucking lucky charm, you know that?"
"I'm not so sure about that. You have lost quite a few games with me here as well," you tell him, ruffling his messy hair with your hand.
"Don't matter. I feel lucky anyway." A boyish grin adorns his face as he leans down to press a kiss to your head. "Now, tell me why in the hell my little lady is out here freezing her arse off 'cause she didn't bring a jacket? Like I told her to do?"
You groan, giving him a glare. "Stop. I should have listened to you, you were right, and all that. I know."
"Well, better for me, 'cause I get to rub my sweaty arms all over you now to warm you up."
"Go shower, you idiot." You push at his chest gently, rolling your eyes. He pretends to stumble backwards, holding his hands up.
"I will. Just wait a few seconds here, will you?"
Simon keeps walking backwards, waiting for your nod of confirmation, before breaking out into a jog towards the locker rooms.
You embrace your torso with your arms, rubbing up and down with your hands to warm your skin. There's so many players left on the field, still messing with each other like rugby teams usually do. Some you recognize—like Johnny and Gaz. They're your friends too. Others you have seen in passing at parties, in class. Some you only know because Simon complains about them to you. The fly-half never was his favorite. Graves, something? They're constantly at each other's throats.
Simon comes running out onto the field once more, this time with his jacket in hand. You sigh, scratching the skin above your eyebrow with a small smile.
"Si—you didn't have to. I'm fine," you say as soon as he's within earshot.
"Shut up. I'm being a bloody gentleman, just like my mum taught me."
The jacket is laid gently around your shoulders. You tug it tighter around you, because despite your words it is cold. And you love his jacket.
"Look at you. So fucking adorable."
You smile up at him, scrunching your nose. You love this fool. You love Simon Riley, have done so for many, many months. Haven't told him yet though. But it can wait—you have all the time in the world.
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Simon is avoiding you. A week of not seeing him even once, despite the fact that you work on the same floor. You haven't attended any more meetings since your second day, but you still would have expected to run into him in the break room, or in the hallway. Hell, you've even delivered paper copies to his office and still haven't seen him.
You don't know what you feel about that. You are mad at him and you definitely don't want to be forced into an awkward encounter with your ex-boyfriend, but still not knowing why he left has chipped away at every ounce of confidence you had in yourself. Even now at your grown age. It's been several years since. It's pathetic. Maybe Simon realized that on a Friday night in December during his senior year of college—you are pathetic.
God, why are you still that 20-year old girl? Why are you sitting at your desk, 3:30 PM on a Wednesday, obsessing over every flaw you can come up with all because of a stupid man?
The anger you held towards him last Tuesday has morphed into deep self-hate. You begin to understand his perspective. He doesn't want to interact with the silly little girl he broke up with ages ago in her silly little assistant job. Simon is a senior executive in this company, for god's sake. He doesn't even have to send a second glance your way.
"Y/l/n! Coffee!" your boss yells from within his office. But the yelling and cold tone still doesn't offend you like it would any other person—it's just the way he is. Price has actually been pretty nice to you. You like him as your boss, despite his less than chipper attitude.
"Yes, sir," you shout back, rising from your seat.
You smooth down your dress, fiddle with your hair in the reflection of your laptop, before taking a deep breath. It's just a short trip to the break room. No big deal. Nobody actually cares that you are the new girl.
It's practically empty as you arrive, besides a man reading his newspaper in the corner while seemingly on an important call. Seems a little arrogant, but you know he's high up in the company. At least you think he is. Price doesn't like him. He told you so the first day.
A sigh of relief escapes your lungs as you walk to the expensive, Italian coffee machine. You press the double espresso button. No sugar, no milk. Just straight, black coffee for your boss. Kind of reflects his personality. It buzzes loudly as coffee drips into the cup, you standing there waiting patiently. It has started raining outside. You'll probably be soaking wet tonight once you come back to your apartment.
Someone comes standing beside you, taking a mug off the highest shelf. You catch a glimpse of his expensive suit before glancing upwards. Your lips part, almost just as shocked as you were last Tuesday. You can't catch a fucking break, can you?
"Johnny?"
The now bearded man, with a full head of hair as well, which he definitely didn't have when you last saw him, turns around towards you with a stoic expression. It doesn't change once he gets a good look at who said his name.
"You work here too?" you ask before gulping.
"Y/n," he says, a frown growing in between his eyebrows. "I work here, yes." The Scottish accent that you used to like listening to is now impossibly deeper.
"Uh, I—how you doing? It's been...a while." You glance away, cowering under his gaze. Soap always used to be so kind to you, treated you as if you were one of the boys. Insisted you call him Soap, something only his friends were allowed to call him. Now there is a hidden undertone of distaste in the way he looks at you. "See you've gotten rid of the Mohawk."
"I'm alright. Good to see ya', Y/n, but I gotta go back," he tells you. For some reason you feel like he's actually not all that happy to see you.
"Oh. Okay." The disappointment in your voice is clear. "We'll probably see each other again soon, I guess."
Johnny has already started walking away when the words leave your mouth. You hear him mumble a halfhearted 'Take care, lassie" before leaving you there dumbfounded and upright hurt with your boss's coffee cup. What was that?
You always knew Johnny was as loyal of a friend you could be, but...you didn't know he hated you that much. Especially when you didn't actually do anything against him. Not that you did anything against Simon either. That you know of. But, you know.
The short interaction leaves you jarred for the rest of your work day. You still get things done, but the look on Johnny's face is in the back of your mind the entire time. What did you do that was so bad that John goddamn MacTavish hates you for it?
It wasn't enough to work with the man who broke your heart, but your ex-friend as well. His best friend. You will never be welcomed here if half of the company leaders consist of people who have a grudge against you spanning years.
When the clock strikes 6, Price sends you home. He will probably stay for another few hours, you think, because there has been empty takeout containers in his office the morning after every day this week. You tell him to have a good night, he answers with a grunt, and then you and your bag take off through the hallways.
Your heels click against the floor as you walk through the mostly empty office space. Some rooms still have their lights on, casting shadows over the mahogany desks and the important people sitting behind them.
You halt your steps as you hear two voices wrapped into a conversation with each other. Someone must have left their door open. You don't want to eavesdrop, but it gets hard to resist when you recognize Johnny's voice from earlier.
"You can't avoid her forever," he says.
"Well, don't you think I fucking know that?"
You freeze as you instantly recognize the deep, rumbling timber of Simon's voice answering Soap. Fucking hell—they're talking about you. You can't not eavesdrop now.
"It's just—it's fucking hard, you know? She just walks in here all..."
"Met her in the break room earlier. Making coffee for Price."
"Yeah? She said somethin'?" Simon's voice sounds curious, eager almost.
"Asked how I was doing, the usual. Didn't know I worked here, it seemed like." A sigh sounds from the room, and you press yourself even closer to the wall. Please, for the love of god, don't let anyone walk by. "I couldn't just act like normal. I can't be fuckin'...nice to someone like that. When I know your past."
"What—you were fucking rude, or what? Just ignored her?"
"No, for fuck's sake. Left pretty quick, though. I just don't have any respect for things like that. You know that."
"Yeah." Simon lets out a bitter chuckle. If you could see him, he'd probably be shaking his head now. "I'm still fucking angry, you know? Can barely stand to be in the same room."
You bite down on your lip, shaking your head to yourself. You can't listen to the two of them talk about how much they hate you. How they don't have respect for 'things' like you. It's nauseating. Your limbs shake with poorly contained anger, but still the urge to cry is even stronger.
But there's no other way out than past his office. So you brave it—practically sprint by with your hand covering the side of your face in hope that they won't see who it is. You don't think they do. The blinds were down.
A single, pathetic tear slips down your face as soon as you exit the building. Cars fly past you, lights blaring everywhere, noise unending. You just want to go home. But you know the overthinking won't stop there.
As the obnoxiously loud alarm disturbs your sleep that finally came about three hours before, you groan into your pillow and wish for it to be anything else but Thursday. You want the weekend. You want to sleep in and wallow in the fact that you probably won't have this job for very long after what you heard Simon and Johnny say about you yesterday.
You don't even bother putting on heels this morning. An old pair of ballerina shoes and a thick, fuzzy sweater over your dress is what you drag yourself to the office in. It's cold and you're exhausted and sad. You can't stand people not liking you—it takes over every part of your being. And when it's Simon...
There's a meeting going on. Price gave you a list of everyone's coffee orders and made you run over to the shop across the street. You see Simon's name taunting you at the top of the list. A cortado, extra sugar. Fuck, he's still the same.
It takes twenty minutes of queuing before you manage to get to the counter. Another ten to have everyone's order ready. The bag is ridiculously heavy as you carry it out of the coffee shop. The meeting will probably be over by the time you arrive, and then Price will curse you out and you will cry, because today you cannot handle even the smallest criticism.
You're a little sweaty by the time you reach the fourteenth floor of the building, which is fine, but the panting doesn't exactly add to your charisma that somehow seems to repent your coworkers from your person. For a minute you stand outside the meeting room, gathering yourself enough to be somewhere near presentable. Not entirely, but as close as you will get.
The door is shouldered open with a little force. More than you thought it would take. Nobody really gives a thought to your presence—they continue the meeting as if you weren't there at all, and you like it that way. You try to match each coffee to the right person on the list. But there's thirteen of them, and you have yet to learn everyone's name.
You feel Simon's eyes on you the entire time you spend in that room. He's anything but subtle, staring right at you without shame. He doesn't even answer as someone calls him by name. And it's pure spite leaving him for last. His order is the only one you know by heart, but keeping him waiting for a few extra minutes is deserved, you think. Maybe it just gives him more fuel to hate you, but if he's going to hate you, you might as well give it right back.
His ring-clad fingers clasp around the paper mug, slowly bringing it up to his lips as if taunting you with the existence of them. God, they are so full and pink and—no. Don't even go down that route. It'll all make it so much harder to live like this if you keep thinking about how fucking attractive Simon has become with his still blond hair slightly unkept from running his hand through it during the day and how his shirt strains against his muscles and the fact that he is still so, so tall.
"This is cold."
The room falls silent, at least you think it does, as Simon's harsh voice echoes throughout the confines of the four walls. The coffee belonging to the person sitting beside him is steaming. You know he's lying. He sets down the mug on the table, glaring up at you with such distaste in his eyes. You never thought that look would be reserved for you.
"Can't even get a bloody coffee order right, can you?" Simon's chuckle is deprecating, shaking his head to himself as if his irritation almost amuses him.
But you just flinch. He doesn't see it, but you think the rest of the room does. His tone fucking hurts. And that he would publicly humiliate you like this?
"Oh, uh..." You want so badly to have a good comeback, something that will make him shrink in his chair, but all you can get out is a stupid 'oh'. Standing there all small and speechless makes you feel dumb. "I'll get a new one."
Your response seems to catch his attention. His gaze flickers up, back to you, and the cruelty falters for a few seconds to be replaced by something likened to...regret? Probably not.
"Riley can drink his cold goddamn coffee. He'll survive," Price chimes in, waving with his pen as a signal for whoever was speaking before to continue.
You nod, clenching your jaw to stop the trembling, before escaping out of the room as quickly as possible without it seeming suspicious.
A shaky, deep breath is inhaled and exhaled as soon as you get out. It was already a bad day, yes, but nearly crying because Simon told you his coffee was cold? That's just childish. You need to pull yourself together if you're going to keep this job. Price clearly doesn't like weakness.
The rest of the day is calm. Mostly you're reviewing Price's schedule, emailing people back and forth about changing meetings and setting them up. He even gives you an extra break, which is so well needed and probably out of pity, but you'll take it.
You realize that you are so fucking petty when your final task of the day, once again, is to deliver some kind of contract to Simon's office. You know he's out on a meeting with a client—you heard him walking past earlier, talking to that client on the phone. You gather your belongings, say goodbye to Price, before heading towards Simon's on your way down.
Stepping inside feels like walking right into his arms. His cologne hangs heavy in the air. Fuck him for still using the same scent.
The entirety of his office is neatly organized, everything in its place. So you move things. A sharpener gets to change its designated spot from desk to shelf. Files labeled under 'F' gets shoved in between 'S' and 'T'. You even go as far as taking out some of the files from one folder, placing it in another. The printer gets unplugged.
Doing something to his old copy of The Fellowship of the Ring that stands proudly on display in his bookcase crosses your mind, but you do want to stay alive long enough to see the end of the week, at least. You remember one time when he slept with it as if it was a stuffed animal. You're being petty, not suicidal.
Your final masterpiece in your rampage is the unscrewing of a wheel on his desk chair. Just the thought of Simon pushing his chair back only for it to suddenly tilt makes you giggle. God, you really are a child.
Any sane person wouldn't even notice half the things you've done in here. But Simon is not sane. This can throw off his entire day, week even. You know from firsthand experience.
Yeah, Simon goddamn Riley broke your fucking heart and now has the audacity to punish you for it. You won't take that.
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Simon has been in such a bad mood the entire day. You heard him cursing all the way from his office. Some poor intern got yelled at in the hallway (you really are sorry for that), and you overheard a few of your colleagues mention that he didn't speak to anyone during the entire morning meeting. Price apparently cursed him out for it in front of everyone. That's a little funny, at least.
On one hand you feel proud of your ability to still piss him off without him knowing. On the other hand, you're not too happy yourself. Your situation hasn't exactly changed—half the office still hasn't talked to you, and the ones that do keep strictly work related conversations. You're lonely.
Despite it being Friday, you get off when the sun has already set. It's pouring rain outside and you don't have an umbrella. You really don't have the energy to deal with that as you gaze warily out of the window from your desk. You could take the subway instead of walk all the way home, but you would still get soaking wet during the trek to the station.
"Goodbye, Mr. Price. Have a good weekend," you say, popping your head into his office with a sweet smile on your lips.
"Call me John," he answers without even looking up from whatever report he's reviewing. Still that monotone voice as if he's always tired of hearing people talk.
"Oh. Uh—okay, John," you stutter out. What? He never lets anyone call him by first name.
"Get home safe," Price tells you. Has he grown soft? What's happening? "Have a fuck load of reports needing organization on Monday." There it is.
You smile to yourself, shaking your head lightly, before mumbling another 'bye' to your boss. He lifts his head in a subtle nod as answer. Actually, you might have a chance to stay here if he likes you. He is the CEO after all.
The hallways are dark except the few offices still lit up like every night. These people barely have a life outside of work, it seems like. It's kind of sad. Then again, you don't either, if what counts as a life is having friends and significant others and people who care about you. But at least you have time for doughing in your couch and taking a walk around the neighborhood.
But your daydreaming and overthinking of course leads you into trouble. Rounding the corner forces you right into another person, making you stumble backwards a few steps before a clammy hand grabs your arm to stop you from falling.
"I'm so, so sorry," you say, looking up at the man standing in front of you. It's that executive-something Price doesn't like. Shepherd? An American.
"Don't worry that pretty little head of yours, darling," he says, without backing away from you. He keeps that close distance, letting you feel his dank breath properly.
You gulp, before attempting to release your arm from his grip. He doesn't budge. Your heart rate speeds up instantly.
"Haven't talked to you properly before, sweetheart. Just seen you strutting 'round these hallways in your dresses." He looks down at your wide eyes, before they slowly rake over the rest of your body. Your chest starts to heave up and down as if you've just come back from a run. It's clear he wants something more than just a simple conversation with the new assistant.
"I'm—I'm sorry. I have to go. Train," you stutter out, attempting to tear yourself away from his harsh grip around your arm. You can't.
"Don't be like that, darlin'. I just wanna have a talk, that's all," he tells you, his warm breaths hitting your face.
"Please, sir, I really have to go. We can talk on Monday."
Shepherd raised an eyebrow, gaze flickering down to your chest again as if you can't see it clearly, before tapping your cheek condescendingly with the palm of his hand.
"Alright, sweetheart. Come into my office on Monday. Appreciate it if you'd wear one of those pretty dresses. Makes my day much better, having somethin' sweet to look at."
A wet kiss is pressed to the back of your hand—something that he might think is gentlemanly, but sends shivers down your entire spine out of disgust. You're frozen still as he squeezes your hip before he leaves, leaving you to hear his dress shoes clink against the floor.
The further away he gets, the harder it gets for you to breathe. Panic grows in your chest, tears already threatening to fall as you finally get yourself to move, rushing towards the elevator and pressing the button too many times.
He was so close. And the way his grip tightened as you tried to step away, the squeeze of your hip. It's too much like last time. Too much like that fucking December night all those years ago.
Clear pictures of Philip and his friends flashes past the forefront of your mind as you rush from the elevator, already heaving from your tears. It's empty, thank god, since the guards are posted outside of the main entrance. Philip morphs into the man from just a minute ago. Pushing you against the wall at that party, grinning right in your face as you tell them to stop.
The backdoor leading into the alleyway beside the building is where your feet leads you towards without consulting you. It's better, maybe. You don't want anyone to see you like this.
But those goddamn revolving doors acting as the main entrance starts to move, you hear that, and soon enough someone steps inside with haste in their walk.
"Y/l/n!" someone shouts angrily. You know exactly who it is. "Why the fuck did you move all my stuff? I swear to god—"
Your back is facing away from him, but maybe he still sees the way your shoulders shake from behind. Maybe that's why he falters in his steps. Maybe that's why he decides to cut the first real sentences he's said to you directly since you started working here short.
The last crumb of composure turns to dust, and your hand flies up to your mouth to muffle the first real sob from your lips. You escape through the door, out into the cold, rainy alleyway as your cries turn too forceful to stop.
It's wet and dirty and crawling with grovel as your knees hit the ground harshly. You manage to turn yourself around to lean your back against the cold brick wall instead. It'll all bring you grief later, but right now your legs can't carry your weight.
With a bang, the door flies wide open once more. Long legs bend down, big hands on your arms.
"Y/n. Y/n, c'mon. Why are you crying?"
Simon's voice is drowning in urgency, his shakes of your shoulders almost forceful. But you can't stop crying. And you're still so fucking angry with him.
"Don't touch me," you sob, pushing his hands away from you. The rain grows heavier the same second, soaking the entirety of you as you sit there on the dirty ground.
"Alright, alright. I won't," he breathes out, holding his hands up beside him. Those big, veiny fucking hands that you have missed every day since he last put them on you. "But you gotta tell me what's wrong."
"Why?" you almost yell, tilting your head up, away from the palms of your hands previously hiding your face. You get raindrops right in your eyes. "You hate me, don't you? Can't even stand to be in the same room as me!"
"Y/n," he growls, as if he's scolding you with the simple mention of your name. "You know bloody fucking well I don't hate you. Now tell me what the hell's making you sob like this. You're sitting on the ground, for fuck's sake."
You dry away your tears, despite it being so futile in this rain, while letting out a bitter chuckle. "All due respect, you're the last person I wanna talk to."
Simon lets out a shaky breath, one filled with frustration. "So fucking stubborn..."
He shakes his head. "Just—just let me drive you home, at least, okay? The trains from this station are cancelled. Blowing up to a storm."
The words you were about to force out through your tears disappear completely. Instead you just stare at the man now looking down at you with something likened to concern. Still has that frown in between his eyebrows.
"I'm not going to get in a car with you, Riley," you mumble out. If you had your way it would sound angrier, more assertive, but your voice fails you.
"Riley, huh? That's where it's at?" Simon scoffs, as if he didn't call you by your last name a few minutes earlier. "Just get up, c'mon."
"No." You shake your head, looking down in your lap. In reality you're not just apprehensive because of your anger towards him—he's a man at the end of the day, and you are his ex-girlfriend who he dislikes very strongly.
"Are you—for god's sake." He shakes his head again. "I'm not going to hurt you, Y/n. I would never harm you. Not any woman," he tells you. How can he still read you this well?
You don't answer. Just take your wet sleeve to dry away even more tears. How to stop crying in front of your ex seems to be an art you haven't mastered yet.
"Okay, I'll make you a deal. You let me get you a taxi home, after you get out of this fucking rain and step inside. That alright with you?"
You nod with a sniffle, reaching for your bag beside you.
"C'mon."
Simon nods towards the door, reaching his hand out. You take it, because there's no chance you would manage to get up all by yourself. But that's the only reason.
He holds the door open for you, letting you slip inside again. Exactly how much the rain soaked you hits you as you step inside, instantly freezing cold and uncomfortable. And goddamn your right knee hurts. Falling down to the ground did come with consequences, it seems.
"Fucking hell," Simon mutters under his breath as soon as he gets inside, dripping water down onto the shiny floor. His suit is entirely soaked too.
You see a glance of yourself in a mirror as you take off your heels. There's mascara underneath your eyes. You try to remove it furiously with your fingers.
"Don't have to do that. Nothing that I haven't seen before," Simon speaks up from behind you, looking at you as well through the mirror.
You glance up at him, just for half a second, before lowering your arms slowly. And then you rummage through your bag with trembling hands, finding a napkin you kept from a restaurant. You dry away the mascara with that instead.
Simon looks at you, really looks at you, as you stand there dripping water onto the floor and makeup ruined and your clothes dirty. You feel so vulnerable underneath his gaze. What is he trying to find?
"Bloody hell, Y/n. You're bleeding for fuck's sake. That's a fucking gash."
He points at your knee. You look down, seeing the outpouring of blood running down your leg from the open wound right below your knee. It does look very, very bad. Like, you're slowly becoming nauseous by looking at it. How didn't you notice it earlier?
"Oh."
"I'm driving you wether you like it or not." Simon stalks up to you, grabbing a hold of your arm to put it around his shoulder. His arm sneaks its way around your waist. Fuck.
"Do I get a say in this?" you ask. You know what the answer is, but you also don't understand. What is this? Why is he doing this for you? A few days ago he was talking shit about you with Soap and humiliated you purposely in front of your co-workers. Now he's getting worried about you crying and driving you home from work?
"No."
Part 2
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weirdlet · 8 months
Text
On the one hand, kind of a ‘normal’ session, in that we just went into a dungeon, did our thing, and got through it.  On the other hand- by golly, we got through a THING.
Scrabbled our way out of the blue dragon’s lair and hightailed it for the woods outside town- we needed to breathe and recuperate and just not have anything chewing on us for a day or so.  We set up camp and traded round-robin puns for inspiration and to come down from the heights of adrenaline, healed up and took watches.  
Our newest member, Maeve the paladin, took first watch- she doesn’t quite trust us yet, which, ya know, fair.  On her turn, she found that very nearby, there was a pond with several elk sleeping peacefully alongside it- a beautiful sight, but a little nervewracking because it meant we hadn’t cleared the perimeter properly.  Those elk could have been anything. But nothing else happens.  We sleep the night, start in the morning fresh and full of hitpoints.  Maeve knows where the other dragon’s lair is, and we skirt through the town just enough to see that all the blue kobolds have dropped dead through the night.  The red kobolds are still running rampant, and do not seem discomfited by the deaths of the blues. So we get to the lair- and Phillip.  Dear, darling Phillip... holds aloft the eyes we took from the blue dragon and proclaims in draconic that we’ve come to give tribute and pledge ourselves to the mighty dragon Redbrand.  This gets the gathering crowd of kobold archers to hold off until the big resonant voice says ‘let the Glass-Staff greet them’.  We are in.
We get into the initial tunnel, which is- somehow leading us down into the depths of a volcanic lava tube.  The Glass-Staff greets us- a half-elven mage holding the titular glass staff.  Glory rolls insight to see what we can tell about this guy.
Natural 20.
DM’s Note: You personally know this guy.  Eighth level wizard, half-elf, you’ve met.
“Hey, Jimmy!”
He looks offended.  “Don’t call me that- we did one White Sails mission together, and that was years ago.  Why are you here?” “Oh don’t be like that- we were in the neighborhood, thought we’d pledge our allegiance to the biggest baddest dragon around.  How’ve you been?” “Oh yes, you’ve been in the neighborhood- I’ve heard stories about the winged tiefling, the mighty tortle, the dragonborn, and the rest... going around killing dragons.  One might- *question* the likelihood of this being a friendly visit-” “Nonsense!  We were proving ourselves worthy and cleaning up as ordered and the one was actually a hit job ordered by a much larger green dragon-” and Glory keeps running off at the mouth until we’re over a bridge and Phillip says “Oh no!  Hold on, I’ll save you!” and shoves Jimmy over into the lava while Lady Ravenleaf stone-shapes the tunnel shut behind us, sealing out the backup kobolds.
Splash, sizzle, mage-hand the shiny new staff. “Alas, poor Jimmy, your dick was not nearly as big as you liked to think it was,” is Glory’s final lament for him, and then we set to fighting brigands and kobolds and a dragon’s-blood ooze.  That last one sprayed plasma all over the place that not only burned like awful but weakened the stonework, and so we had to be really careful.  But we managed to mop them all up, clear through the barracks that had an alchemy lab with bubbling potions and the winnings of an actually nice-stakes cardgame on the table.
If we’d managed to roll better we might have gotten more than one healing potion out of that bubbling still, but the heads and tails were just too unpredictable.  Still, never hurts to have one more.
The Wand of the Hidden reveals secret doors, two of them, and we go for the one and never bother with the other despite the GM silently screaming- feeling intense heat behind the one, we figure it *might* be lava- but we hear voices behind it, speaking in dwarvish.  My guess, Azer- but because there’s people speaking behind it, we kind of assume that there won’t be a sudden rush of lava if we open the door. Glory undoes the traps, and we’re right, it’s not a rush, more of a slow creep of lava inching at our toes- but there’s the azer, and then there’s the DRAGON.
A cone of rime frost gets us a pathway across the lava field.  Our various resistences and a couple of potions keep us from all dying of heat immediately.  And some of us being bold and stupid to the point of suicidal, we just divebomb this fucking dragon that’s howling in fury and calling for its kobolds to aid him.
Our mages had literally just gotten Frost Rime and Hold Monster.  We get four rounds of paralyzed dragon, punching attack after attack into him- only for him to completely fail to bleed, while all around us kobolds are popping like gadflies.  This adds into another thing that’s been creeping up into our notice- all these dragons we’ve fought have been young dragons.  Normally not of a size to be worthy of worship by kobolds or others- something else is going on that’s giving them power and prestige.  This is some separate magic hitching the dragon’s lifeforce to his kobolds, and vice-versa- but we’ll have to investigate that further later, right now there’s a whole lot of angry personified teenaged VOLCANO trying to bite our faces off.
Glory drops a bag of ballbearings, Ravenleaf stoneshapes the reserve tunnel shut- Maeve the paladin gets burnt near to cinders, then manifests some stigmata of the Broken God and heals herself, and Glory is definitely going to talk with her later.  But she as a new player is learning the great fun that is Paladin Going Nova For Fun And Profit, and she chews a huge chunk of hitpoints out of this dragon just as he’s getting his legs back under him.
The dragon rears back.  Glory pushes off the wall, augers up under the ribs with his sword aforethought, and punctures something important as Redbrand collapses wheezing and dying into the six inches of lava below.
At this point the session has gone a half-hour over, so we are left with the knowledge that all the other kobolds are in the process of dropping dead, there is a proper hoard to dig into, and that next week we are leveling to eighth, baby.
Apparently we were supposed to give up on the hot door, go around the other way, clear a lot of hitpoint-reserve kobolds and not do the entire fight ass-backwards.  Still, we survived!
Gotta remember to ask Ravenleaf in character if she actually wants to marry Neverember’s wastrel son, and figure out how to stop the wedding once we rescue him.
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dailyaudiobible · 1 year
Text
4/16/2023 DAB Transcript
Josh 13:1-14:15, Luke 18:1-17, Psalm 85:1-13, Proverbs 13:7-8
Today is the 16th day of April, welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I am Brian, it is wonderful to be here with you today, as we greet a brand-new, shiny week that is out here in front of us friends. Here we are sitting around the Global Campfire, looking out over this brand-new week and it, it's all clean and pretty. It's all out there, nothing, nothing has really happened yet, we haven't lived it yet. We will tell the story of this week, by writing it with our lives, with our thoughts and our words and our deeds. So, we are doing well to center ourselves in the Scriptures and take the next step forward into this week together. And our next step will lead us back into the Book of Joshua. We’ve seen twice now that a bunch of kings allied themselves together to attack Israel, only to be defeated. This is how most of the conquest of the Promised Land happened. Armies gathered together to eradicate Israel and then were unsuccessful, Israel, thereby taking over the land. And so, we will read from the New International Version this week and pick up the story where we left off, Joshua chapters 13 and 14 today.
Prayer:
Father, we thank You for Your word and we thank You for this brand-new week. And like we were thinking about at the very beginning, it's out in front of us. And we need You. We sit here out in front of this week and look into it and yeah, it’s shiny and sparkly, but we can make a mess of things. We have done plenty in our lives to make a mess of our days and weeks and so, we know what that looks and feels like. And yet, at the beginning of a new week, each week, here we can reflect upon what is out in front of us and choose to follow You, choose to slow down and consider where You are leading. And so, Holy Spirit, come and lead us on our steps, lead us in our interactions with others. Help us to remember that we are to love one another as we love ourselves. Help us to have that posture toward each other. This posture of humility that we were talking about this past week in the Gospels of humbly doing our service. Help us in the choices that come our way this week. Some of them may be really big and consequential, and some of them may be small that lead to big things and we don't always know, we need Your leadership. Help us in our communication, may we soften our hearts, so that our language may be softer and kinder, not just for the sake of aa humble posture, but so that we may bring life through our words and not death. Come, Holy Spirit, we pray, in the name of Jesus. Amen.
Prayer and Encouragements:
Good afternoon, DAB Family. This is Justify Now in North Carolina. It’s April 7th, Good Friday. Just wanted to call in and say that I’m so grateful and appreciative for what Jesus did for us so many years ago. He sacrificed His life for you and me and He paid that price for our sins and I’m so grateful. And I’m so glad to be saved. Just wanna thank Brian for that wonderful commentary today about this hurricane of worry that we live in. It resounded with me so much. You hit so many points that was so spot on, Brian. That word says fear not what is blocked but ___ good pleasure to give you the kingdom. God bless you Brian and I pray for you and your family and all the DABers. Pray that ya’ll have a very blessed resurrection day. Love you now. Bye bye.
Hi, my name’s Andrea. I’ve been listening for a couple years, and I called in once before. I’m not sure if it got posted but I really need prayers for my son Jayden. He is 19 years old. He’ll be 20 in October. He’s away at college and he’s on his second round of Accutane. This isn’t a mild case of acne; it came out of nowhere the first time. We thought we had it under control. He went away to college and his face exploded. He came home around Christmas time and was put back on Accutane. His severe scaring from the first round and now his face is so blown up he can barely eat on either side of his mouth. They put him on a steroid to try to calm it down, they’ve lowered the dose, now they’re lowering it again. It’s just so bad that it’s causing him issues in his own life. I don’t even know if I could go outside the way he looks, it’s heartbreaking. He’s one of the kindest people I know and has a heart for God and prays. And my heart is breaking for him. No one should suffer like this, and I don’t know what’s causing it. They don’t know why it won’t stop. Just pray for my son. As a mother, it’s hard to watch your son struggle, being so far away, having to blood work and getting bloody noses and it’s just painful. Very painful to watch. Something is causing this, and they don’t know what to do. High doses of the stuff is dangerous for your body, long term. And the scaring is horrible. So, please I’m just asking that you would all pray for my son, Jayden, and lift him up. That God would heal whatever is causing this condition to happen in his body. I appreciate it very much. Thank you DAB family. I love you, bye.
Hi, everyone, this is Janean from Washington. I hope you all had a nice Easter. And this morning I wanted to lift up Garret in prayer. I was very touched by his call this morning. And so, Father, we just lift up Garret to You. Thank You for his life. I thank You for his desire to serve You. And I just thank You for his honesty in sharing his struggles with depression and alcoholism. And today, Lord, I just ask that You would pour out Your mercy and Your grace and Your love upon him. I pray that he would know how much You care about him, Father. And for all of us, You’ve removed our sins, as far as the East is from the West. And I thank You for that, Lord. And just assure him of that love and forgiveness that You have. And, and moving forward, Father, I just pray for just great strength for him as he faces different issues in life, as we all do, Father. Would You just give him the grace and strength to reach out to You and when the enemy tries to tempt him to turn to alcohol, Lord, just may he just run to You and to Your word, to other Christians who can support him. And so, Father, I just ask for Your grace and mercy once again, to be upon him today. And just strengthen him and encourage him. Thank You for his desire to walk worthy of the calling You’ve given him. I pray that You’d help him to do that, Lord, by Your strength and Your power. And we just lift him up today now, in the name of Jesus. Amen.
Hello, Daily Audio Bible Family, this is Diana, His Dearly Beloved in Washington State, formerly from Minnesota. I just heard from Justin, which made my heart so happy. Justin, formerly of Southern California, now of Memphis. I’ve been praying for you for years, dear brother. And many others, that I keep waiting to hear from again. So, my heart was so blessed in hearing from you. I’m very sorry for the challenges that you’ve been having and, but you know, as you said, if you’re looking for truth, you’ve definitely come to the right place. So, I will continue praying for you. Super excited that you called in. And I would also like to ask for prayer for an upcoming surgery for me. I had a surgery last week. I had pancreatitis and had four stones removed from my common bowel duct, because I no longer have a gull bladder, that was removed in 2001. And now have a surgery for an abdominal hernia. I’ve had multiple surgeries over the last two years and, and I had a nine-pound baby in my past and I’m over 60. So, I’m now kind of struggling with some structural weakness of my abdomen. So, I’m gonna have an elective surgery to help put in a mesh binder to hopefully fix that. So, anyway, just wanted to, I was so happy to hear from Justin. I love you all. I hope you had a blessed Easter. Take care. Bye.
Okay DABers, this is Eyes of a Dove. I had to wait all day to call you guys. I’ve been fairly emotional, numb, kind of shell shocked actually. All be 47 years old this July. So, I guess I’m not a young one, right. However, I know that the Lord has designed me for eternity, and I don’t believe it’s my time to leave this earth, anytime soon. A couple days ago, I went in for my yearly mammogram. And this morning, Monday morning, I received a message that they have found a 1.3-centimeter mass in my right chest, with blurry edges, I guess, or uneven edges. It’s oval in shape. And it’s about half the size of a pea. I don’t know how to feel. It’s 30 days before my wedding and the enemy is just doesn’t want, doesn’t want this marriage to happen. Oh man, we’ve just had it. It’s just been overwhelming friends. Every single day there’s been something. Nearly semi-breaking down, trying to find a car for Braden, every car breaking down. The car we bought; they scammed us. And we’re trying to make the best of a situation, take it day-by-day. But this one just bulldozed me. I still have my young ones. It’s not time. And I know that that’s a small tumor, right. And I don’t receive that it’s anything but benign, in Jesus name. But yeah, I’m afraid. They can’t get me in until the end of April. And they would be one and half to two-hour extensive imaging appointment. But at the end, the doctor will give me results as to where I’m at. And I’m praying that I can get in sooner and I’m praying that it will be benign. And I pray for healing. Will you join me?
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loonymarshian · 2 months
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The Pale Elf
Day 3 of #BG3FicFeb - "First encounter with their love interest" Tragedy meets another new companion, but things don't go as smoothly as she hoped...
Tragedy threw her hands up in frustration as her lockpicks broke. She had been attempting to open a locked chest she and Shadowheart had found near the wreckage of an abandoned cart, but was having no luck. At first, she had attempted to cast Knock, but had found herself unable to gather enough energy for the spell. She was sure she’d spoken the words correctly, yet the Weave refused to bend to her will. She was starting to suspect her lack of magic extended far beyond simply being separated from her grimoire.
Giving up on the chest, she stood up and started brushing herself off, when a distant voice broke through the quiet. It was too faint to make out the words, but it sounded like it was coming from up the hill. With a quick glance to Shadowheart, which was met with a look of recognition and a shrug, Tragedy tossed her the remaining set of thieves’ tools she had found nearby. “I’m going to go check out that noise. See if you can get that open while I’m gone.” 
Shadowheart nodded and got to work while Tragedy made her way towards the source of the voice, leaving the cleric behind to figure out the locked box. As she crested the small hill, Tragedy was met with one of the most beautiful sights she’d seen in her life.
The elf seemed to glow in the bright sunlight. His pale skin and hair shone with the radiance of the moon, looking soft and well cared for. Immediately, the tiefling was overtaken by a desire to run her fingers through that white hair. She shook her head at the thought, and continued to approach. The closer she got, the more details she could make out of the adonis before her. He had angular features, and dark eyes that didn’t seem to be brown or black, but Tragedy couldn’t quite make out the colour yet. His clothes were finely embroidered, in a style that had been popular a few years ago in Baldur’s Gate, but had since gone out of fashion. The elf didn’t strike Tragedy as the type to be behind on the latest fashions, but perhaps he preferred to stand out in a crowd. She could understand that, as she herself tended to dress unconventionally in dark colours and girlish frills.
With Tragedy around 20 feet away, the pale elf started gesturing for her to come closer. His eyes flicked over to her a few times, but he kept his attention primarily on a patch of bushes nearby. His posture was low and steady as he kept watch over the bushes, the way one might approach a nervous animal.
His voice was low when he spoke. “Hurry, I’ve got one of those brain things cornered - there, in the grass, do you see it?” He looked her directly in the eyes then, and she noticed with a start that his eyes were a deep blood red. “You can kill it, can’t you? Like you killed the others?”
Despite his well-tailored appearance, there was something about this man that made Tragedy think he was more than capable of wielding a blade himself, but she didn’t question it. She wasn’t one to turn down a plea for help. Besides, there was a small part of her that relished the opportunity to show off in front of someone so beautiful. “Sure, I can do that. Stand back.”
Tragedy crept forward, gathering necrotic energy in her palm as she went. She had only taken a couple of steps when the bushes rustled, and a large shape rushed out of them, away from her. The tiefling flinched back before she noticed it was just a boar, not an intellect devourer after all. With a flick of her wrist she dispelled the spell energy she’d collected. She let out a quick sigh of relief, and was about to turn back towards the strange elf when she suddenly found herself on her back, a shiny dagger pressed gently to her throat. Her breath hitched as she froze in place. She didn’t want to struggle too much and end up with her throat sliced open. She was rather attached to her neck. Despite the very apparent danger she was in, she could feel warmth blooming on her cheeks at the knowledge that the very attractive stranger had her on the ground with his arms around her, his face mere inches from her own.
“Shhhh. Be a dear and keep that pretty mouth of yours shut. I wouldn’t want to have to hurt you or your friend if she comes to check on you.” The elf’s red eyes bore into Tragedy’s, a dangerous glint to them that she hadn’t noticed earlier. The tiefling pressed her mouth into a thin line to indicate her cooperation. She had no desire to make this any more difficult for herself. 
“Good girl,” the elf drawled, causing a shiver to go up Tragedy’s spine, her blush deepening. The tiefling mentally scolded herself. This was definitely the wrong time for those kinds of thoughts.
“Now, I saw you on the ship, didn’t I?”
Tragedy’s eyes widened. This man was on the nautiloid as well? She scanned her memory to try and figure out where he might have seen her. Was he in one of the pods she’d seen in the room near where she found Shadowheart? Did this mean he had a tadpole too?
When she didn’t respond, the elf tightened his grip on Tragedy. “Nod.”
The necromancer complied, tilting her head back as far as she could so she could nod without bringing her chin any closer to his blade.
The pale elf seemed pleased with her compliance, and loosened his hold again, just a little. “Splendid. And now you’re going to tell me exactly what you and those tentacled freaks did to me.”
The tiefling shook her head as animatedly as she could while still being wary of the blade at her throat. “No, please, you’ve got it all wrong - they took me prisoner, the same as you!”
Tragedy felt the cold blade of the knife press deeper into her throat, threatening to draw blood. She closed her eyes and tried to pull away, but was saved when the tadpole in her head began to squirm painfully, and her vision went dark. The streets of Baldur’s Gate filled her mind’s eye, familiar and alien at the same time. She stalked the busy streets on unfamiliar feet, ducking from shadow to shadow in the late evening light. For a moment, fear gripped her heart, not her own but that of the man who had attacked her. She couldn’t see anything in the memory that would spark such fear, but the feeling quickly faded, and she was herself once more, still locked in the pale man’s arms.
There was still a knife at her throat, but Tragedy turned her head to look at the elf, trying to determine if he had seen her memories as well, just as Shadowheart and the gith had on the nautiloid.
“What was that? What’s going on?” The elf looked as confused as he sounded, and Tragedy was more than happy to answer his question - she suspected he’d finally let her go if she did.
“It was the mindflayer’s worm. It… connected us. I’ve had it happen before.”
His confusion turned apologetic as he let her go, the two both standing and brushing dirt off their clothes. “The worm… I suppose that explains things, somewhat. And you… you really aren’t one of them, are you? You were a victim, same as me.” There was a sadness in the elf’s eyes that the necromancer suspected had nothing to do with her, or their shared experience with mindflayers. 
The elf seemed to shake off the sadness quickly however, as his expression settled into a coy smile, his body language suddenly casual and welcoming. “And to think, I was ready to decorate the ground with your innards. Apologies.”
Waving a clawed hand through the air, Tragedy happily accepted his apology. “It’s fine, today’s been stressful and you thought I was the enemy. I’d probably have done the same in your position.” The tiefling gave the elf a reassuring smile, hoping to convey her earnestness.
He let out a gentle laugh at her admission. “Aha, a kindred spirit. My name’s Astarion. I was in Baldur’s Gate when those beasts snatched me.”
Astarion. It meant “Little Star” in the ancient common tongue. It was a sweet name, Tragedy thought, and it endeared him to her. She considered mentioning that she, too, was from Baldur’s Gate, but his fine clothes and coy grin suggested he was Upper City folk, and Upper City folk tended to look down on those who lived in the Lower City. She didn’t want to sour his first impression of her.
“I’m Tragedy. I was the one who crashed the ship.” Tragedy jutted her thumb over her shoulder, pointing at the smoking wreckage of the nautiloid they’d both escaped from.
Astarion raised his eyebrows, seemingly impressed. It pleased Tragedy to notice that there was no disbelief in his expression - he had no doubt she was capable. “My my, you’ve been busy. Did you find out anything about these worms while you were running about up there?”
Tragedy’s smile faltered, and she bowed her head, not having the courage to look Astarion in the eyes as she delivered the bad news. “I did, actually. They’re going to turn us into mindflayers.” The tiefling looked up at the pale elf through her eyelashes to gauge his reaction, not wanting to raise her head just yet.
It seemed her news had stunned him for a moment. Then suddenly, he let out a disbelieving laugh, not a shred of joy in the sound. His expression hardened into resignation, and there was a weak anger in his voice as he spoke. “Of course it’ll turn me into a monster. What else did I expect.”
There was something about the way he said that last part that pulled on Tragedy’s heartstrings. It seemed clear to her that despite the charming persona he’d put forth so far, Astarion held a deep sadness in his heart. She couldn’t help but think that his reaction sounded like someone who already considered himself a monster. But how could such a beautiful creature think himself monstrous? Tragedy knew better than to pry, but she stored the thought away for later. She hoped she could someday grow close enough to him that he’d be willing to open up to her - he could use someone to talk to, and Tragedy was more than happy to provide.
The conversation continued, with Tragedy explaining her quest to find a healer that could deal with the tadpoles. Astarion agreed to join her, and they both trailed down the hill to introduce the newest member of the party to Shadowheart. The cleric looked about ready to kill Astarion on the spot when Tragedy mentioned the whole “dagger to the throat” scenario, but between Tragedy’s reassurances, and Astarion demonstrating his skill with a lockpick (Shadowheart still hadn’t gotten the chest open), they were able to get her to accept her new travelling companion.
As Shadowheart and Astarion began to wander off into the ruins of the nautiloid, bickering as they went, Tragedy trailed behind and smiled to herself. However long or short this adventure was going to be, she’d certainly found some interesting companions for the journey.
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celtfather · 1 year
Text
Green Grow the Rashes | Robert Burns
Was Robert Burns a Vulcan? Learn more about one of the most-famous songs by the great Scottish poet, Robert Burns. Get ready for the pub that’s not really a pub. Catch a bus at a Buzz Stop. It might help beautify your neighborhood and fight climate change.
0:20 - “Ride On” from Flower of Scotland by Kilted Kings
4:40 - WELCOME TO ATLANTA PUB SONGS & STORIES
I am Marc Gunn. This is the audio liner notes for the songs I record and play and for the stories I gather and the people I meet in the city of Atlanta. It’s also the audio edition of my newsletter. You can subscribe at pubsong.net, you’ll get the written version of this podcast, along with quick access links to many of the stories listed I’m telling you about.
5:10 - WHAT’S NEW?
Interviewed Heather Dale at GaFilk
Check out the Folk on Foot podcast
Kilts, Celts and Rock’n’Roll on the Irish & Celtic Music Podcast
2022 Year in Review
Published my Daily Journal from Celtic Invasion of Loch Lomond, Scotland
7:40 - “She’s Shiny” from As Long As I’m Flyin’
11:56 - MAGGIE MCGUINNESS PUB
Maggie McGuinness Pub is not your typical Irish pub. Not unless your typical Irish pub is located in the basement of an Irish American home in the suburbs of Hunstville, Alabama.
“To The Irish!”
That’s their slogan. And you best be ready to shout when the time comes. Aside from that, the Pub is just a fun place to play.
For over a decade, I have packed that basement, decorated to look the most-traditional of Irish pubs. I am excited to return there once again in January.
12:50 - UPCOMING SHOWS
Here are some more shows happening this month:
JAN 21: Maggie McGuinness Pub, Huntsville, AL @ 7 PM
JAN 25: Coffee with The Celtfather on YouTube @ 10:30 AM EST
JAN 28: The Lost Druid, Avondale Estates @ 6:30-9:30 PM
FEB 11: Pontoon Brewing, Sandy Springs, GA @ 12-3 PM
JUN 3-10: Celtic Invasion Vacations, County Mayo, Ireland
Is there a venue that you think I should perform at? Please let me know about it.
I’m looking for new places to play this year. Maybe there’s a spot near you. And if you live in the Atlanta area, then it’s even more possible. Let’s make it happen!
13:35 - “Loch Lomond” from Selcouth
16:27 - GREEN GROW THE RASHES
I got a t-shirt at a Highland Games as a kid. It read, “Spock is a Scot.” I never understood that until I heard Scottish singer, Ed Miller, introduce “Green Grow the Rashes”. He joked, “I know a Scotsman who loved a woman so much. He almost told her.”
The joke is that Scots are not very emotional. And yet, this song by Scotland’s National Poet, Robert Burns, is one of the most beautiful, touching, and emotional songs ever written.
There's naught but care on every hand, In every hour that passes, O! What signifies the life o' man, And 'twere not for the lasses O?
* Green grow the rashes O! Green grow the rashes O! The sweetest hour that e'er I spent Were spent among the lasses O!
The war'ly race may riches chase, And riches may soon fly them, O! And tho at last they catch them fast, Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O!
But gie me a cannie hour at e'en My arms about my dearie, O! And war'ly cares and worldly men, May all gae tapsalteerie, O!
For you sae douce wha sneer at this, Ye're not but senseless asses, O! The wisest man the world e'er saw, He dearly loved the lasses, O!
Auld Nature swears the lovely dears, Her noblest work she classes, O! Her apprentice hand she tried on man, And then she made the lasses, O!
I don’t remember who I learned this song from. But I’ve always been a hopeful romantic. I loved it. Brobdingnagian Bards performed it regularly even before we recorded it for our album, Real Men Wear Kilts. However, I do remember Royce Perry was an inspiration for recording that CD.
Royce was the head of Clan Gunn in Texas. He was excited to have a Gunn singing Scottish songs for our clan. He was So very encouraging. I remember his gentle smile the most. It was very kind as he listened. It was us performing  this song that really made him happiest.
So when I finally re-recorded it for Scottish Songs of Drinking & Rebellion. He was in my thoughts.
Just read those lyrics and you’ll understand. Well, if you understand basic Scots. Robert Burns was apparently quite a ladies’ man. He said what was most important in life was spending time with a lady. The worldly man chases money. Money is fleeting and short lived. Just give me an hour with a woman. All the cares in the world will disappear.
The last verse is my favorite. Nature did some great things. She even made man while she was an apprentice. But then she mastered the art and created women.
How perfect!
I don’t play this song nearly enough these days since I have quite a few beautiful ballads. But it definitely stands out in my mind as being exceptional. It’s also a great song to sing at your annual Burns Supper. These are fancy dinners that celebrate the poetry of Robert Burns. Read more about Robert Burns on Wikipedia.
You can listen to it on my Scottish Songs of Drinking & Rebellion album on Bandcamp. The CD is in my Mage Records Store from February 1-10.
22:20 - “Green Grow the Rashes” from Scottish Songs of Drinking & Rebellion
26:34 - DOWNLOAD MY FREE EP
You can download all of my songs in this show. Just send me an email.  pubsong@celtfather
You will get an auto responder with a link to download this month’s album. You can also subscribe to the podcast if you’re not already subscribed. It’s quick and easy. But this is a free gift just for listening to the audio edition of my newsletter.
Let me know what you’re doing while listening to this episode.
27:02 - WATCH BURNS DAY SING ALONG
Three years ago, I played a Coffee with The Celtfather while I was still living in Birmingham. The show was dedicated to Robert Burns. It’s no longer publicly available. But you can watch it because you’re subscribed to my newsletter. Thank you!
Watch Robert Burns Sing Along.
BTW. If you enjoy shows like this, Coffee with The Celtfather is still going. However, it’s not exclusively available in the Gunn Runners Club on Patreon. The show starts back this Wednesday, January 18. But there will be a public show available on the 25th. Just remember the time moved up 30 minutes to 10:30.
28:30 - “The Moonshiner” from Irish Drinking Songs: The Cat Lover’s Companion
30:42 - JOIN THE CLUB
The show is brought to you by my Gunn Runners on Patreon. If you enjoy this podcast and my music, please join the Club. You get 4-10 new things every month. That includes bonus podcasts, downloadable songs, printed sheet music, blogs, stories from the road, and access to Coffee with The Celtfather video concerts.
Sign up for as little as $5 per month. And you can save 15% with an annual membership. Thanks to my newest Gunn Runners on Patreon:
31:20 - EMAIL CLEAN UP
I love email. It is the absolute best way for me us to communicate.
Unfortunately, if I send an email and there are a lot of dead email addresses on my list, then email servers get suspicious. They dump my emails into spam or promotional folders. That’s why I did some email clean up last week.
If you’re subscribed to my newsletter and regularly open an email. Then you’re all good. But if you don’t… then I might’ve sent you an email saying, “Goodbye”.
Those who didn’t respond were unsubscribed. Hopefully, this will mean those of you who want to hear from me will. I thank you for that.
32:27 - READ. HAVE YOU HEARD OF BUZZ STOPS?
This is cool. A bunch of bus shelters are converting their roofs to be green. They are filled with plants that attract pollinators, like bees.
The idea began in The Netherlands and spread to Sweden, Denmark, and now the UK. The idea is to offer a new way to support these vulnerable insects. Plus, it makes the city a bit prettier.
I’ve long thought that every the office buildings should have a garden on their rooftop to make the city more beautiful and to offer new ways to fight climate change.
Is this something that could work for your community?
You can read more about it here.
I learned about this from The Daily Difference. It’s a newsletter by the Carbon Almanac with practical tips on how to fight climate change, one action at a time.
34:22 - LISTEN. WHAT ARE YOUR FAVORITE SCI F’IRISH SONGS?
I’m still working on this Spotify playlist. But I need your help. This could be something great.
What are some great Sci F’Irish songs that should be added?
Listen to Sci F’Irish music.
Send me your song request. I’ll send you access to the EP OF THE MONTH that I’m releasing as part of Atlanta Pub Songs & Stories. There’s a new EP every month.
35:19 - “Flower of Scotland” from Flower of Scotland by Kilted Kings
37:55 - CREDITS
Thanks for listening to Pub Songs & Stories. The show was produced by Marc Gunn, edited by Mitchell Petersen with graphics by Miranda Nelson Designs.
You can subscribe and listen to the show wherever you find podcasts. You can also subscribe to my mailing list. You will get regular updates of new music, podcasts, special offers, and you’ll get more stories behind several of my most-popular songs.
And of course, please tell one friend about this podcast. Word of mouth is the absolute best way to support any creative endeavor.
Have fun and sing along at www.pubsong.com!
#pubstories #robertburns
  Check out this episode!
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Thursday I drag myself to my car in the rain to be interviewed by the Financial Times at my studio. En route, I get a warning that my tire pressure is, once again, “low”. The same wheel as last time. I’m shielded from much of the world by money - crass but true - though every so often I am panicked by adulthood. It’s usually to do with my car. On City Road, learned helplessness sets in, and I think to abandon the vehicle at a petrol station with the keys in the ignition for whomever wants to take it, then purchase a new Jeep the following day The FT interviewer has an energy that doesn’t agree with me. It may be because I’m fatigued, but there is a specific type of flustered British woman that reminds me of an anorexic, divorced English teacher I was taught by when I was maybe 9 or 10. A type who indirectly pleads with you to make her feel at ease, lest she go over the edge. Karmically I’ve no doubt I’ll become this woman in 20 to 30 years. And honestly the mere layout of my studio yard does make flustered 99% of white people who visit. I am not in the mood for tact. I drag my hands across my face as though this will increase my sentience as I am asked questions. I try not to be mean about anybody the journalist hints may have wronged me. I bring up O and she says “that man takes up too much space”. Far from being O’s biggest cheerleader, I protest that comment because it feels similar to the racist hostility O was met with when he first began showing work. I am asked about my eating disorder. “Off the record”, she says, “when did you last throw up?” I smoke cigarettes and try to talk about my paintings. I nod at the connections the journalist makes between things I’m interested in and what she knows of my personal trauma, read about in my writing. She’s not really wrong about any of it, but she is talking as though we are friends and we aren’t. She laughs too hard at some of the things I say. I bristle. I can’t work out whether I’m a particularly tough crowd today of all days or whether there’s no world in which I’d enjoy this interview. I feel the creeping beginnings of resentment toward G who insisted I do this press, and toward myself for not saying no and appearing impossible. The journalist says “you know you write a lot about what’s happened to you but never about your feelings”. The two hours her questions last for feel like a therapy session I won in a charity raffle. There’s a scene in Transparent where the character of Sarah wins exactly this prize, and the therapist gets her name wrong, and the two women wield passive aggression to fight. It’s a genius TV moment. I notice the journalist has a similar skin graft to L’s, leaving the upper arm shiny and lightly dented Afterwards I am humming with anger that I have no real interest in unpacking or working through. I drive my car as angrily as is legal within the local speed limit. The police are gathered on the side of a road inspecting a collision. I see two people I know walking into Spitalfields market and I see my tire pressure warning. It is deeply lame
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bendtsengreene3 · 2 years
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Bvlgari X Mary Katrantzou Leather-based Top
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The brass gold-plated snake head options black and white enamel with green malachite eyes. It works beautifully on the baggage, offering a focal point that exquisitely stands out. I see plenty of luggage, naturally, but very few tactfully combine the artwork of knickknack and leather-based as properly as Bvlgari. Please take a moment to flick through my hand-picked collection of elegant designer purses. Before you go, I have put together a evaluation of probably the most elegant designer handbags in a group that I think you will take pleasure in. Since opening their doorways in 1884, Bvlgari has embodied the opulence and sophistication first envisioned by Greek-born founder Sotirio Bulgari. Over the 136 years that the fashion home has been in enterprise, they've designed some of the most iconic jewelry, shoes, and luggage in the world. Timelessness will forever epitomize Bulgari. Season after season, the Italian house effortlessly reinvents their classic types to curate a fresh tackle established design. For Spring/Summer 2022, an ode to Rome is artfully captured on the coronary heart of their new leather-based goods and accessories collection, Amoroma. The traditional Serpenti Forever shoulder bag is sort of something. So let's take a look at what ANN readers think about the best of the season. A tribute to video game pioneer Masayuki Uemura, a welcome bunch of preventing recreation updates, and... Heidi breaks all of it down in today's beef-sized column. "One factor is, everybody has all kinds of aspects to who they are. In your whole life, there are completely different times within the day the place you alter." - Screenwriter Keiko Nobumoto at NYCC 2018. Black leather-based prime deal with shoulder bag with Bulagri gold hardware. This Fabulous bag by Bulgari is of the highest high quality and in 'As new' situation The pleated lambskin is complemented with silver palladium hardware, that includes the long-lasting signed Bulg... This sensational prime quality Bulgari Bag is in 'New & Unused' situation. In Black calf-hide with silver palladium hardware, this Handbag, with it's removable strap, can be wor... Iconic jewellery pieces, excellent bags and legendary timepieces, browse through an assortment of signature Bvlgari’s pieces meant for on a daily basis wear. Italian luxury model Bvlgari is renowned for its high-class jewellery, watches, and purses. We got here across Bvlgari in Harrods and determined to evaluate the most effective Bvlgari Serpenti baggage we fell in love with. It’s no surprise that their luggage are some of the most fascinating luxurious style equipment on the planet. Make your items even more distinctive with Bvlgari’s personalization service. You can personalize selected Bvlgari bags and small leather goods bought on-line with our complimentary scorching stamping service. Select the characters and the gem-inspired foil color you want to have embossed on your leather-based good to make somebody feel particular with a really one-of-a-kind creation. wikipedia handbags
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methoxyethane · 3 years
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Okay i swear to god I’m halfway through writing a new Klance fic and its super cute but I got caught up shiny hunting in pokemon, and 800 eggs later I’m starting to think this “Masuda Method” doesn’t actually work
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letterstotheflre · 3 years
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that’s the thing about illicit affairs
summary: james was never hers to lose.
warnings: CHEATING, age gap (not specified but reader is in her 20s), tiiiny angst?? i don’t think it’s sad lmao, allusions to sex and one miniature sex scene, some food mentions, and a very badly written argument.
word count: 3k (why are they always so long ffs)
a/n: my first james potter fic <3 i love this man so much, sorry for making you the bad guy here. this one’s been sitting in my drafts for a few weeks, and since i’ve been feeling kinda sad i finally got around to edit it. also hedric rights!!
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They always meet like this.
The room is dark except for a small sea salt lamp she bought on sale from Target. Her clothes are piling up on the floor, discarded carelessly by her lover, and his are not too far from meeting the same fate.
He is kissing her hungrily as he could never get enough of her. His hands travel all over her back while she unbuttons his shirt, their lips never parting. He moves her to her bed, the sheets a pale green that reminds him of—
No. He closes his eyes tightly, pretends the green is actually blue like the lacy bralette that covers her breasts and moves his lips down to her jaw. He sucks and nips and bites, letting her moans echo freely between the four walls that make their little sanctuary.
Her hands quickly undo his belt and stroke him lightly through the fabric of his boxers. He groans against the junction of her neck, the skin softer than anything he’s touched in years.
He pushes her down on the bed, cupping her face while he looks at her properly, noting the tangled hair caused by his fingers. Her lips are puffy and shiny, his kisses being the perpetrator of their current state. He waits for her to say something, to give him a sign that this is okay.
(It’s not okay, and they both know it. It’ll never be okay.)
She nods her head, and he kneels in front of her, pushing her legs wide open before he dives in.
She is laying on her bed, the sheets covering her body as she watches him try to fix up his hair in front of the mirror on her makeshift vanity.
“Make sure no one sees you leave,” she says, “and put—”
“Put my hood up, I know,” he finishes the sentence for her. It’s not the first time they do this dance.
“Sirius and Remus are with Harry at home. I told them I was going for a run, so they won’t say anything if I show up all sweaty,” he adds, trying to fill the awkward silence.
She just nods her head, fingers playing with a loose thread on the edge of the sheet, pulling it a bit more every time she twists her index finger. He steps forward, then sits on her bed and traces her cheekbone with his knuckles. “You know I care about you, right?” he asks.
Her heart clenches, a heavy weight pressing down on her chest that makes it hard to breathe for a second. She lowers her eyes, refusing to stare at those hazel irises that started everything. “I know, James,” she assures quietly, looking at a picture of her and Harry that’s stuck to the wall just behind him.
James brushes back some stray hairs that are still stuck to her forehead, then presses a small kiss on the slightly sweaty skin. He gives her a tentative smile before heading to the door, and she only looks in his direction when she hears the click of the door.
(He might care, but not enough.)
Sundays are always a slightly awkward affair at first.
Both of their families have been friends for years, getting together every Sunday for lunch at the Potter’s. James and Sirius always man the grill with her dad, all of them wearing those corny ‘kiss the chef!’ aprons. Her mother helps Lily make the salads in the kitchen while they gossip with Remus, who steals a few tomatoes when they aren’t looking. Now that it’s summer, she and Harry splash each other in the pool instead of catching up in his room.
It’s always strange seeing James in the light of day, pretending that this is the only version of him she knows: the version of him that is a friend, a father, a husband.
But she knows the other version of him: the one that has her on her knees begging for a taste of him, the one that grips her hair while he pounds into her from behind, the one that lets his tongue explore places of her no one else has. The version of him that kisses her forehead and plays with her fingers while their bodies are tangled together under the sheets. The version of him that kisses her as if she were the only one made for him.
(She isn’t.)
They are sitting around the table eating. Sirius is laughing about something with his arm around Remus’s shoulders, his bark of laughter echoing across the garden. Her mother’s shoulders shake as Lily rolls her eyes in amusement. James and her father have gone back to the grill to bring everyone their second round of burgers, and she can hear her father complaining about something from work.
“Here y’go, kid,” says James as he places the plate in front of her before ruffling her hair. She tenses up for a second before relaxing, muttering a small “thank you” before reaching for the ketchup.
She hates that nickname. It’s so impersonal, keeps a distance between them that truly doesn’t exist. As if he isn’t the only person that can make her vision whiten and the colours of her room hazy while she clutches his shoulders. As if he isn’t the only person who can pull so many different sounds from her vocal cords, sounds he knows no one else has ever heard before because he is the only one who can create them.
She can feel Sirius’s eyes on her as she stretches one arm, so she hesitantly glances at him. He raises an eyebrow, eyes switching back and forth between James and her, and she can see the cogs turning in his mind.
She gulps anxiously, dismissing him with a wave of her hand and goes back to eating.
James’s moans are loud as he gathers her hair in a makeshift ponytail. His cock is buried in her throat, and he watches as she gags for a second before relaxing her throat.
She’s taking him so deep that her nose nuzzles his pubic hair, the musky scent of James filling her nose as she breathes deeply through it. She starts moving her head up and down, swirling her tongue around the tip every time she rises.
He is a mess above her, needy whines and wanton moans leaving his mouth. His hips thrust up softly, slowly fucking her mouth, and he relishes in the small choking sounds she makes. His head rolls back as he groans, “That’s it, baby, so good to me.”
She winces at the name and pulls away from him. “Don’t call me that,” she mutters, but her hands never stop stroking him. She takes him back into her mouth and starts sucking with a newfound fervour, his voice echoing inside her head as she tries to make him forget about her.
(She tries to forget too.)
Honey rays filter through her window.
They are both laying on her bed, James on his stomach while she refills the glasses with some cheap wine she got from the store. He looks at the tiny purple splotches on her neck and the red fingerprints on her hips, then smirks proudly. When she turns, she smiles at him softly.
There’s a summer breeze that ruffles her curtains, and he can hear some teenagers laughing as they walk down the street over the music that plays from her speaker.
She places her glass on her nightstand, her nipples brushing his naked back as she leans over him. She lays down on her side, her fingertips softly drawing shapes on his skin. It takes him a moment to realize they are not random shapes but letters.
Her name, written over his scattered freckles and connecting his moles with cursive loops.
He takes her hand and kisses it, slightly chapped lips pressing against her open palm. Then he kisses her lips, still bitterly sweet with grapes, as his tongue moves languidly against hers while he pulls her by the hand on top of him.
It feels like a distant memory. It feels like a dream.
The cacophony of different voices singing “Happy Birthday” rings in her ears.
Harry is at the front of the table, an adorable blush dusting his cheeks at the attention. On either side of him are James and Lily, smiles wide as they watch their son blow the candles. Cedric is behind him, hands on his shoulders, and he leans forward to give him a quick peck on the cheek.
She sings and claps, whooping with Sirius when Harry blows the last candle. She eats cake and drinks the pretty cocktails Lily ordered. She smiles and laughs, pretends she couldn’t see the way the candles made the golden band on James’s ring finger beam like the sun.
She pretends she doesn’t see the way James holds Lily’s waist before kissing her. She pretends she can’t see them dancing slowly to a song Remus put on the Spotify playlist as a joke.
She pretends she can’t hear his footsteps following her when she goes to the bathroom. She feigns disinterest when he grabs her wrist and pulls her towards a deserted corridor.
But she can’t ignore the butterflies in her stomach when he kisses her, the thrumming in her veins when he pushes one leg between her thighs, nor the pleasure-filled gasps and moans that leave her mouth when he helps her roll her hips along his covered thigh.
It’s thrilling; they’ve never done something like this in public, much less in such proximity to friends and family.
(In such proximity to her.)
Even though she knows it shouldn’t, it gives her a sense of victory. Because he is here with her now: he is kissing her, making her moan, and whispering dirty things in her ear.
A faraway call of his name breaks the spell they’re under. They pull away hastily; she fixes her dress while James makes sure there are no lipstick stains on his face. The footsteps are getting closer, heels hitting the floorboards at the same rhythm as their rapid beating hearts.
It’s Sirius.
James almost breathes a sigh of relief, but she remains tensed up. Sirius looks between them, the same look he had that Sunday all those weeks ago on his face, and she feels bile rising in her throat.
“Lily’s looking for you,” he says, his thumb pointing back over his shoulder towards the reception where everyone’s gathered.
“Right,” says James. “Better go see what she needs. You do not want to see an angry drunk Lily.” He laughs, almost oblivious to the awkward tension between his two friends. He goes back to Lily, leaving her leaning against the wall and Sirius standing in the middle of the hallway.
Sirius looks at her, and even though his mind already knows, he refuses to believe it. “I didn’t know where the bathroom was,” she offers as an explanation. It’s a flimsy excuse, she knows that, but it’s the best she can do under this kind of pressure.
“Right,” he whispers with a short nod, then follows James.
She stays rooted to her spot, lips tingling with the ghost of James touch and a guilty mind.
Hours later, she clings to a pillow as she lays on her bed alone. The same pillow James was resting on less than twelve hours ago.
She breathes in deeply, trying to catch any scent of him she can, but there’s only the scent of her fabric softener.
There’s no James. No citrus shampoo or woodsy cologne nor salty air from the beach near his house. Because he never wears any cologne when he comes to her, ensuring that there’s no trace of him once he leaves.
Like he doesn’t even exist.
It ends in a parking lot a month later.
She was waiting for Luna to arrive at the mall but ended up asking for a rain check when James texted her, saying they needed to talk.
‘Meet me behind the mall’, she texts him.
She walks to the back of the building and waits for his red car to show up. She already knows where this conversation is going to go, and her heart shatters at the thought of saying goodbye to him.
She raises her head when she hears a honk in front of her, and she gets in while whispering a small “hey”. He doesn’t start the car again, just settles for turning the ignition key off. She looks at the families leaving the mall through the tinted window, refusing to look at him, as her knee bounces up and down anxiously.
The silence is heavy, and she suddenly feels cold in the August heat.
James takes a deep breath, “We can’t keep doing this.”
She can’t help the snarky comment. “That’s not what you were saying yesterday while you had your fingers buried inside me.” He looks at her unimpressed, and she rolls her eyes.
“It’s wrong,” he says— as if she doesn’t already know that. “C’mon, baby, don’t make this harder than it has to—”
“I told you not to call me that!” she raises her voice, and the car gets silent again. She hates the tears that gather in her eyes, hates that she cares so much about him and their stupid game, but she couldn’t help it. Not when he whispered so many sweet nothings in her ears and caressed her skin so softly, almost afraid to break him if he was too rough.
(Not that he cared about that when he stretched her wide open and thrust so hard into her that the bed frame banged against the wall.)
“You can’t just show up here and tell me it’s over like you weren’t the one that came to me first,” she jeers, and she can see the tick of his jaw as he clenches it. Good, she thinks, make him angry.
“Don’t just blame me. You didn’t say ‘no’ once.” He grounds out, “In fact, I can recall you were begging me to fuck you against the wall.”
Her cheeks turn into a small fire, a slight feeling of shame overcoming her. “Oh, like you were any better!” she exclaims. “‘Been thinking about you for months.’ ‘You have no idea the things you do to me.’ ‘No one can suck my cock like you.’ ‘I care about you!’” She deepens her voice to mock him.
James opens his mouth to keep the ball rolling, and she wants him to do it because it meant that the fight was still on, that they wouldn’t have to end this. Instead, he takes a deep breath to calm himself. “I’m telling you now it’s over. Stop acting like a kid who didn’t get her Christmas present,” he says, knowing exactly what he is doing with those words.
“I’m not a kid,” she snaps, her eyes fighting back angry teats at his dismissal. “Then stop acting like one,” he shrugs.
Her hands turn into fists, nails digging themselves into her palms as she tries to keep her anger at bay. “Do you know how much of myself I gave to you? How many plans with my friends have I cancelled in case you called? How many guys I stopped seeing because they weren’t you?” she rants, her voice increasing in volume as she lets her frustration take over. Then, she pauses. “You’ve ruined me, James.”
Her voice is so pained that it makes his heart clench, and he lowers his head, refusing to look at her. He knows, God, he knows what he’s done, but he couldn’t help it. He had been so lonely with Lily spending so much time at the hospital, and then there she was with her caring and understanding nature. With her adorable laughs and those touches that were so addictive, a mercurial high that gave him the lowest lows whenever he tried to stop.
He keeps his mouth shut; there’s nothing left to say anyway, and it’s better for her to hate him rather than anything else. “You are not going to say anything?” It’s meek, vulnerable, and she wants to slap herself for acting this way. She knew it would never last, that he would always choose her.
He was never hers to lose, so why is she still fighting?
She nods her head in surrender, biting her lip to stop herself from sobbing. The anger now gave way to sadness, “I can’t believe I let you make a fool of me.” Her voice is hoarse, a result of the lump in her throat that prevents her from swallowing comfortably.
She gets out of the car and slams the door shut, then leaves the parking lot, leaving him behind. She keeps walking, fingers gripping the straps of her bag until she reaches an empty street.
The golden sun is ready to dip on the horizon, and she can hear James’s car speeding behind her.
She doesn’t let the tears fall until she’s inside her apartment.
The moment she closed the door, she crumbled to her knees, loud sobs falling from her mouth and fat tears rolling down her cheeks. It takes her a moment to gather enough strength to walk to her room.
She cries and cries, buries her face in her pillows and starts sobbing even harder because she can smell him. The salty scent and citrus shampoo finally embedded themselves in the fabric, and she can’t believe that after all those days she craved to feel him close to her, he chooses now to leave a trace behind.
She cries for hours until her eyes are puffy and red, and snot comes out of her nose. Her chest heaves with short breaths that don’t really fill her lungs as she clings to that damn pillow before throwing it across the room. She can’t believe it ended like this: with her completely broken for anyone else while James gets to go back to his life and act like nothing ever happened.
Yet she knows that if she had to choose, she would do it all over again because if she had to choose someone to be her ruination, she would choose James Potter a million times.
TAGLIST: @emmaev @gxtitobxby @ildm4ev @capsmischief @arisblackhole @dracosafety @dracoxgeorge @tonystarksmutgarden @blowing-mikey @roonilwazlibswhore @lovelylupinx @sarcasmismyon1ydefence @marxy-06 @glossiable @remusjlupinisdead @amixedwitch @mattefic @artisancowbells @zzzfour — if you want to be added tap here
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paint-lady · 2 years
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Vamptober 2021 Reflection Week 1
Heres your TLDR folks: I do spooky vampire drawings its fun I have a kofi see you next week
Hiya! For those of you that follow me, you may remember that last inktober I did a weekly reflection on each piece I do. I highly encourage any artist participating in any monthly art challenge to do this for 3 big reasons.
 The task of 31 drawings can feel overwhelming- and breaking it down weekly feels much more manageable.
It encourages you to praise and reward yourself for getting this far. I and many of my artist friends are exceptionally critical of ourselves, and these reflections force you to be positive about your own work. Through these challenges I always see tremendous growth in my skills.
If you want to be critical about your work- you can find patterns easier by looking at a collection rather than each individual piece.
The secret 4th reason is that I get to spam your dash with vampire art AGAIN. >:)
I presented myself with a challenge for all of these pieces- to do them all in under 1 hr and 30 minutes. This doesn’t count the amount of time I spend conceptualizing and researching, but I don’t let myself spend too much time on that either. Not that I can. I work about 30-36 hours a week and am attempting to draw a comic at the same time. There aren’t a lot of hours in the day. This time limit challenge was simultaneously to force myself to get looser and trust my instincts AND make sure I clock in on time. Secondly, I aim to do all of these digitally. By hand has dry times. In 2020, if I wanted to spend 4 hours waiting for a piece to dry- I could. Can’t this year. Additionally, I know Clip Studio fairly well, but by no means do I consider myself an expert. By doing this digitally, I am going to improve my literacy with this program.
So, without delay, lets take a look at what I’ve done so far!
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Vamptober Day 1: Fangs Out!
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1 HR 20 MIN
I am really happy with this piece for a multitude of reasons. The composition is well balanced, drawing your eyes down center to the text, then up to the pearly whites. The hands are so simple, I just went to town with the digital dry ink brush. The nails are so shiny, I love them. There’s this sense of someone else controlling and going to grab them--thats not the smiler’s claws.
I am critical about my shading in some places- namely the tongue. I think it looks phallic. I should have erased it and drawn the other fang. Also, the vein work is a bit too controlled for my liking. I should have taken more time to vary the widths of the veins- so it looks more like the effects of diablerie than cracked porcelain.
Vamptober Day 2: Sweet Embrace
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1 HR 10 MIN
To quote a successful local manga artist I met in a comic shop, “Just vibe. Just draw the fun vibes. If you aren’t having fun, what is even the point?” So I did just that.
I definitely was inspired by some of those romance mangas I was eyeing on the shelves of that comic shop. I am really happy with her hair, it looks like it curls so effortlessly. Additionally, it look like it has weight. Hair is heavy. How her hair drapes over her shoulder or across her face feels very accurate. I like how I used the dry ink brush to end the piece, hiding the shadows of their shirt with a “hey this is the end of the drawing.” My favorite quick detail is her hand, gently playing with their hair. I think I could have made it a little bigger, but It was enlightening that I just drew it- and didnt spend 15 minutes looking for a reference or oddly angling my own hand to see how it would look.
I think I needed to be a bit more careful with my layers. The grey from her clip layer is showing between curls, blocking the textured background. That is a small enough fix I should have taken the couple minutes to do it.
Vamptober Day 3: Where The Undead Gather
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1 HR 45 MIN
THINBLOOD SAFEHOUSE THINBLOOD SAFEHOUSE THINBLOOD SAFEHOUSE!
Most of you know I’ve been tossing this idea around- perhaps in my vampire posts or on my rp blog as Hazel. But actually visualizing it has proven quite a challenge. Last year I wasn’t even up to the task- I couldn’t capture it the way I wanted to and ended up posting Hazel’s jacket instead.
But this... this feels right. Its cramped. It’s absolutely drenched in saturated red light, hiding any stains and drips. Bright red, like a fucking target. Hiding plain sight has so many advantages... but once you are spotted its game over.
I really feel like I managed to get loose as you look into the background. It feels like the right level of lack of detail. I am very proud of the neon light up top, its the alchemical symbol for thinbloods. The text is also very good, it has the right textures for the atmosphere I’ve created. The side shave with the mark is subtle enough that it is noticed after your eye has glanced around the entire piece. I think there is only one note I’d give myself. I which I had done the bricks a little better. With the neon light illuminating the arch so vibrantly, I should have spent a little more time highlighting textures and perspective.
Vamptober Day 4: Elysium Fashion
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2 HOURS
Ever just know you have a masterpiece concept and you know exactly how you want to do it? Thats how I felt about this piece. When I read through the prompts, I considered doing some haute couture fashion... and then it hit me. That line my storyteller used on me to understand the nature of Elysium. Its a place to see and be seen... its a chance to make a statement. And a thinblood walking in with the mark they branded her with on full display- as they commanded her. How dare she walk without shame. How dare she not lower herself to us. CHEFS KISS
My only note for myself is that I need to be careful with compositions. I borrowed a lot of elements from a full page piece from a Catwoman comic for this. And although I have made it my own and am not aiming to monetize this piece, there is a part of me that knows to be cautious with what I claim is mine. I am capable of replicating work without tracing, yet I look at this and see that the lines are still too similar. I do believe that if I let myself continue working on this overnight (I stopped at like 1 am oops) that this would be less of an issue- as I would have continued to add details and textures to my background characters.
Vamptober Day 5: The Very First Bite
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1 HR 9 MIN
I streamed this drawing with a friend and it was wonderfully fun. I am really happy with the sense of motion from the ink in the background with the splashes of blood drops. I think I did a good job with the proportions and subtle highlights on black ink. The soft eraser on a separate layer is a godsend.
The parts I am critical about are in two places. The head of the vampire feels a bit too big. Namely the side shave. I think if I had worked the airbrush there and shortened how far the shave goes, the head wouldn’t feel as cartooned and a bit more proportioned. The other spot is where the victim’s hand is going. I definitely knew this when i was drawing- but I couldn’t find a way to properly incorporate it. I commend myself to making my shading consistent to hide this- but i really wish I could’ve gotten that part to feel less “wait...where’d her hand go?”
Vamptober Day 6: Undead Love
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1 HR 3 MINUTES
HAZEL AND LISA MY BELOVEDS
I based this piece off of what I drew in 2019 from my first ever chronicle. One of the most striking scenes I have ever played with Hazel was with her girlfriend, Lisa. That night Lisa agreed to drink some of Hazel’s vitae for her to tell her...everything. There’s poison under the layers of comfort.
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When I had first drawn this piece, I noticed a lot of odd proportions. Hazel’s head was oddly shaped, Lisa’s arms were weirdly long for her body shape. In this piece, I have mostly remedied those errors. However, there is something about the piece having these sketchy mistakes left in that feels right. Theres a softness to the original sketch that I managed to keep with the updated version- although it feels different. The original definitely looks like they are cuddling after having sex- not just had the most intense discussion about continuing their relationship despite all the trouble they know is going to head their way. Not that they didn’t have sex after this discussion but details. I think I managed to retain their relaxed expressions, though I wish I could have incorporated a bit more detail about the influence of the blood into the piece.
Vamptober Day 7: The Hideout
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1 HR 45 MIN
For some reason, I wanted to paint this. I started messing around with the water color brushes and before I knew it, there was color on the page. I think i did a good job capturing the atmosphere of this moment. My friend commented, [paraphrasing here] “Its exactly what I like about VTM, its a layer over our world. It doesn’t take much to peel back the layer and see the story within it.” The last thing you see is the person calling at the bottom right- and you don’t know if thats good or bad for the person watching the sky. I let my viewer form their own story of what is happening here.
I think I had a hard time with the lighting. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out how intense of a yellow-green i needed to place on objects and scenery. Ultimately, I returned to the just vibe rules.
Week 1 Reflection:
So that’s 7 pieces. WOO! I did it! While bumping myself up to a full time position AND writing a comic. AND doing commissions. And am somewhat being social...
There’s a part of me that is like when do I mess up and fall behind?
And I’m wrestling on why that feels like such a failure to me. I’ve put so much on my plate, it would not be surprising to fall behind. And is it so bad? Its okay, life is like that. Things come up. I am still trying to wrestle my own brain on I don’t have to do it all. I think giving myself that time limit has extremely helped. if I didn’t have that self discipline, I definitely could have spent hours and hours on each piece and felt overwhelmed. I think being extremely strict with myself about my vitamin and food intake as we head into seasonal depression time is helping. I am very good at hiding the big Sad tm with tons and tons of tasks. The sad can’t get me if I’m constantly busy. I am hoping that as I continue, I will be more at peace with this, and feel less anxious about this inevitable fuck up. Because....what if I manage to pull it off? I know I can. I know I can.
Completely switching gears here and back to technical shit, I notice how much I am utilizing the Dry Ink Brush, the Rough water color brush, and my Tapered Ink Liner. Nothing wrong with finding what works, I am just surprised that this is becoming my go-to tool set after a year of swearing by the “For Effect” Line (it just autocorrects curves). I am noticing how I like to frame things with a lot of rough brush strokes. Some are images I find on open source sites like pixabay, some are my own creations I’ve saved to a personal library of stock images. Right now, I feel as if I am at a crossroads of style. There’s a part that likes the rigid structure, and a part that is absolutely vibing with being lose and unstructured. I can’t wait to see what else I create and how my digital style evolves.
Thank you for reading and supporting through this entire thing! Now here comes the shameless self promotion. If you like my work and want to support me- I have a Ko-Fi! No pressure to donate though! Supporting me can be reblogging my art, sharing it with your friends, or leaving outrageous comments in the tags. I read every single one and cherish it! Thank you all!
Lets have a Fangtastic Week 2 to Vamptober!
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despazito · 4 years
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Complete list of all problems known so far in Pokemon Sword and Shield with data and/or proof for each problem
[I am copying this post from the pokemon subreddit from u/Terotu]
Seeing as there's a lot of people that don't quite know the extent of the issues and that there's no real compilation of the problems, I feel like everyone needs a list with info and sources of each and every current problem with the games, it's a long list but I've tried to put it all together, it's not just dexit people. I will post everything that is 100% confirmed and known so far, there's potentially other problems, but this is made as a somewhat "quick" digest with info that has been 100% proven, for anyone out of the loop that wants to know exactly what's happening with these games.
1. The number of usable Pokemon has been cut, only less than half are now usable, known as Dexit, it means that you won't be able to use these pokemon in the new games, you won't be able to transfer them in, and you won't be able to do anything with them sans sticking them in home for the foreseeable future (Home will probably be a paid only subscription based service just like its predecessor), for all intents and purposes, these Pokemon are basically removed from the main games franchise and they will take probably years to come back, if ever. An image with the cut/not cut pokemon can be found here, pokemon in green are confirmed to be in, pokemon in purple have galar forms, pokemon in yellow are in the data, but there's nothing for them, they could be leftover data like the items and other things, could be giveaway/event only, could only come from other games, etc, there's no way to know what's the plans for them at the moment, if any, pokemon in red are cut. The excuse GF used for this culling was that it let's them work on delivering better animations and a more carefully crafted game, since they don't have to put more time and effort into redoing the models. This is complete BS as the game polish is worse than ever, and the models seem to just be somewhat edited XY models.
2. Just like the Pokemon cut, about 144 moves were removed, 99 moves excluding the let's go and other outlier moves, this includes extremely important and used mainstay moves like Hidden Power, return/frustration and Pursuit, on top of extremely old moves that have been there since gen 1, some of these moves were important for the viability of several Pokemon, which may cause them to be way less effective if not way worse when it comes to battles, on top of this, it also removed some SIGNATURE MOVES of certain Pokemon. The full list for deleted mainstay pokemon moves can be found here Attempts at transferring Pokemon with these moves will apparently get this message: "This move can’t be used. It’s recommended that this move is forgotten. Once forgotten, this move can’t be remembered."
3. Short game, the first streamer beat the champion at around the 14 hour mark, while he did this by skipping a fair amount of trainer battles, other streamers are clocking in about 16-20 hours, seems like the average will be about 18 hours to beat the game. Here's one of the many streamers, he's right before champion and clocking in at 14:34.
4. The graphics are extremely mediocre, it constantly looks worse and less polished than LGPE, the textures are often inexcusable. Examples of the bad graphics seen here 1 2 3 4 5 6 A comparison with LGPE can be seen here and here Here's a game recently released for switch, another picture found here, the difference is unreal.
5. There's constant graphical issues, not just low quality graphics, pop in is present at all points of the game due to bad coding, trainer models will also disappear mid battle when an attack with a high number of particles is used, this also happened in SM, however, SM moved the camera away to avoid people seeing it, they didn't even try this time. This means it's either a carry over from SM and they just copy pasted most of the code, or they somehow have to remove the trainers to avoid a switch from somehow getting fps drops. The pop-ins can be evidenced here and here. Trainers dissapearing mid battle can be evidenced here
6. Animations, one of the main reasons why GF cut pokemon, at least in the interviews, are as shoddy as ever. There's extremely lazy animation all over the game, from normal attacks to key moments in the game, such as the encounter with the box legendaries. Most of the animations are also completely copy pasted from older games, one example seen here with Hau(the entire character of hop is basically a copy paste of hau.) Most of the animations for the camp are also copy pasted from xy amie, evidenced here. Pokemon battle animations are just as bad as before, if not worse, pictured here is a pokemon headbutting with its feet. Another example found here, THE MAIN BOX ART POKEMON CINEMATIC, THIS IS THE GAME CLIMAX, another example on the other version found here In fact, it could be considered way worse if compared to the last gen, example of upscaled USUM cutscenes. (Notice the graphical change isn't that big, the only difference here is increasing the resolution)
7. Cutscenes and restrictions, like previous Pokemon games the cutscene and story forcing and restrictions are insane this time around, seems to be even more intrusive and in your face than before at times, while keeping the same level of cutscene intrusion than past gen. The video for this point was taken down, but if you wish to see this you should be able to find it by searching the gameplay clips/streams online
8. The difficulty, just like the cut scene problem, this carries over from earlier games and it's even worse.There were constant heals, to the point where in the first routes you're not able to go beyond 3 trainer fights without getting a full heal. The first streamer avoided fights and didn't train at all, it still was one shotting gym leader dynamaxed ace pokemon.This can be seen here.
9. Post-Game is almost non-existant, as usual since masuda-Ohmori started directing, there's no frontier, there's also no frontier like facility. The post game consists of battle tower and a very short sequence of missions where you beat some dynamax pokemon for your rival to catch the other legendary. Not only this, but the battle tower is also an inferior version of past towers, it doesn't have super single nor super double battles, it has no triple battles and there's no "tower bosses", it's just random trainer npcs after another.
10. Problems with game design and behavior, beyond difficulty and progression, there's other problems in the overall game design. Examples of this is not being able to catch Pokemon in the wild areas until you got a badge allowing you to do so, which usually covers your current level. Meaning if you find a level 31 shiny or a level 31 pokemon you really want, you won't be able to catch it until you go and beat the next gym. For shiny hunters, this one is gonna be really important, you cannot see if your Pokemon is gonna be shiny or not in the overworld, this means that on top of the badge limit, you also got this potential problem. Evidenced here.
11. Removed past features with virtually no new additions, seems like this is a mainstay in Pokemon, removing older features so they become one of a time gimmicks, but unlike earlier titles this new game doesn't adds anything new except dynamaxing, which is limited to gyms only. This particular gen removes Mega Evolutions and Z moves, mega evolutions in particular were a huge deal and seeing them suddenly removed means that there's little reason to get involved with any new addition, no matter how mainstay or how much GF forces it when it will very soon be gone. A list of these removed features can be found here.
12. No scaling whatsoever, models are the same sizes of XY (giving more plausibility to them not really redoing the models).Any argument against this is thrown out of the window when dynamaxing exists, since the models seem to be edited XY models then the problem remains. Here's the non scaled model in sword and shield. Here's an scaled model, released in a game that came out 15 years ago for a the Nintendo Gamecube, something way less powerful than the switch.
13. No GTS, retera thread on the discovery found here, the only strings that refer to the GTS are leftovers from Let's Go code, as seen here and here. This is most likely due to Home(this means that you will have to pay for switch online+home for services older games already included) Thanks to /u/c_will for pointing this one out and gathering the info.
14. A 20 dollar price increase for less content than earlier 3DS games, with subpar graphics and removal of features, an overall shoddy release for a higher price point.
15. Performance, game is locked to 30 fps, and while that's not a big issue by itself, this is coupled with slowdown at certain moments such as dynamaxing, it can drop fps to the floor and turn the game into a slideshow for a while. Evidenced here. Still gathering more info on this one, as it's a relatively new occurrence that hasn't happened to all users, take this one with a grain of salt
16. The overall lack of quality, polish and effort put into the game, this is all the minor/somewhat minor but still very telling problems with the game. This is apparent in many ways all throughout the game, things like the wrong backgrounds or just voids for pokemon battles. Two example of the wrong backgrounds seen here and [here] (https://clips.twitch.tv/FriendlyCleanOstrichArsonNoSexy) One example of the void background seen here (these happen on indoor fights and some non indoor but scripted battles)Examples of backgrounds on indoor and everywhere else in both LGPE and colosseum, seen here and here. Then there's complete lack of music in the game story most important moments, seen here. Starters are also shiny locked. The entire world freezes when using certain objects, as seen here. To this, you add up the emptiness of the wild area and the badly implemented weather changes that don't make much sense, both seen here No animation for flying, no elite 4, no victory road, etc, this is added to all the other problems that show the lack of effort put into them.
This franchise deserves better.
You deserve better.
These games are not only a huge step down from earlier titles, but it goes beyond what used to be already barely  tolerable standards to way below standards, keep in mind this is the biggest, most profitable franchise on earth.
This is the first time a pokemon main game is released on console, people were excited for game freak to finally do whatever they wanted and it's been done with the most minimal of  efforts, all the money you've spent on Pokemon didn't went on making this a better game, it went straight into the pockets of the people in charge, those that made sure this was made with the most minimum effort and those that cut  corners.
Companies that made games decades ago on hardware less powerful than the switch shouldn't be doing a better job than game freak, and companies doing work in the switch have completely obliterated game freak when it comes to developing a video game.
Keep in mind that your purchase of these games causes this:
Continue the yearly release cycle that makes the games rushed and forces the devs to insane crunch time, creating the low morale problem
Tells them that you're ok with these problems, and they will keep lowering the bar and cutting corners on development
Your money will continue going into the pockets of those responsible for these problems
I implore you to be a smart consumer, I've played Pokemon since I red, ever since I was a child, I can no longer support this franchise, I probably won't buy a Pokemon product ever again if this is gonna be how they're gonna treat the games and its fans.
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babiemingoo · 4 years
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lollipop boy || jeon wonwoo
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summary: greaser!wonwoo is only kind of your friend when he comes up with a stupid (but brilliant) plan to piss off your ex boyfriend and test just what person you claim to have become
genre: greaser!wonwoo, suggestive? || wc: 2.6k
a/n: this is actually a snippet of my next series I have planned, so I hope everyone enjoys reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
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This was awkward.
As you sat there, thumbs twiddling mindlessly in an attempt of a distraction from the tension, you couldn’t escape how awkward of a situation you were in. When your friend Sien had texted that she was running late but someone should already be there waiting, you had hoped with every cell of your being that the someone wasn’t Wonwoo. But when you opened the front door of the diner nestled in the middle of your hometown, the only member of your newfound “friend group” that had arrived on time was, of course, Wonwoo. 
The diner was classic, with a neon sign hanging above the milkshake bar and a worn down jukebox near the corner window looking like it had survived every teenager in your town since the 1940s. The color scheme of red, white and gray made the boy wrapped in a shiny black leather jacket look even more so out of place than he already was. He never seemed to care, though, always sat in the exact same spot on a Wednesday afternoon, flipping through his auto vehicle magazine with a lollipop between his lips while his friends bustled about excitedly. Except, his friends were late, and now it was just the two of you together despite the fact that you had spoken more less 20 words to him since you met.
If silently sitting across the said boy wasn’t awkward enough, the diner was pretty dead for a Wednesday when most people your age tended to trickle in - except for, with your luck, your ex boyfriend. Him and your old friend group were huddled about in the opposite end of the diner, next to the jukebox that you knew they liked to hang around to play their favorite 70s songs while they loitered. None of them seemed to have noticed your arrival apart from the boy that you used to spend every Wednesday holding hands with. Now you two side glance at each other, looking away in the split millisecond when your eyes meet and pretend like it didn’t happen. You repeat the action probably five times before a deep voice pulls you out of the routine, “So much for hating his guts, huh?”
Wonwoo’s still skimming his eyes through the words printed next to a picture of a motorcycle in the magazine, but you know he was the one that had just spoken to you. “What are you talking about?” You question him, feigning ignorance. His deep chuckle cuts through the air as you observe the candy he has wrapped in his fingers, just an inch away from his mouth so he’s able to voice out his thoughts. One thing you had noticed about Wonwoo was that he always had a lollipop with him. Sometimes it was green, or purple, or even blue; but today it was his classic red shade. His usual soda was always red, all the candy he bought at the liquor store was red, and the chapstick that he would pull out every now and then was that of the same color and flavor; the one you have realized to be his favorite. Cherry.
“You tell everyone how much you hate him for what he did to you, but you keep making love eyes at him,” The boy across from you states in a tone that you’re sure is dripping with arrogance. “Not surprised though. I told Sien that you would run back to rich boy the first chance you got.”
You scoff at the audacity he had. The two of you may have been in the same friend group, and you’ve come to have a soft spot for a few of them - like Sien and Jun - but Wonwoo speaks as if he has a right to judge you or any of your past. Wonwoo was the only one out of the group of greasers that you felt hadn’t really taken to you and you’re certain it’s because of your old friends and boyfriend that he hated so much. Every part of you itched to prove him wrong about every assumption he had made about your life. “I’m not going to run back to him!” You say to him with determination, in a low voice. 
For the first time since you’ve met him, Wonwoo closes the magazine. He quickly folds the corner of the page he was on to not lose his spot, shuts it, and pulls the lollipop out of his mouth again before saying, “Everytime we meet up at a spot and he’s around, you both make puppy eyes at each other like you’ll run into each other’s arms in a flower field and sing love songs. Even I can’t ignore it and I make it a point to half ignore everyone. Just admit you want to make your boy toy miss you, get your job done and go back to your perfect little life. Don’t drag my friends into this.” The way his voice comes out is laced with venom and you feel it. You always had a hunch that Wonwoo held dislike for you rather than indifference, but this is the first you’re hearing of his theory that you’re just using your new friend group to prove something to your ex. 
“I’m sorry if the guy I was with for three years and had to break up with a few weeks ago still holds a little part of my heart,” You retort with sass. “But I’m not going to go back to him. What he did was so completely fucked up and even if I’ve been with him for that long I have more self worth, I know that I deserve more-”
Ding.
It was a bad habit of yours to leave your ringer on. A habit that had got you written up in class more times than you can count, one that got you caught during friend gatherings when you and Seungkwan were trying to sneakily talk behind the other boys’ backs. And now, it was a habit that had you caught up with Wonwoo. The brightness of your phone screen was almost mocking in the way that it illuminated the notification you had just gotten from your ex boyfriend standing across the room, letters sewed together in a text that said, ‘hey can we talk?’
You catch the text message in the corner of your eye and Wonwoo does, too. He laughs; a deep chuckle of satisfaction that matches his tone when he says, “Preppy boy is calling. Shouldn’t you go kiss and make up?”
It’s silent for a beat. Wonwoo is infuriating in the way that he’s never gone easy on you, even the first day you had met, Sien bringing you to their table with tears streaming down your face and his first sentence to you had been a tease. He’s infuriating in the way now that he’s fully expecting you to turn around and head in your ex’s direction to talk. He’s infuriating in the way that you consider actually doing it.
“Well?” He questions, head nodding towards the man who used to occupy all your time and all your thoughts. Instinctively you turn around and make eye contact with him for the sixth time that day and his eyes are pleading, waiting. Waiting. Just like you had been sitting, waiting for him all those days and weeks while he had been running around, betraying you, lying to you- 
“Aren’t you going to go talk to your lover boy?”
“No.”
The answer leaves your lips before he can even finish his question. Truthfully you were hoping Wonwoo would look impressed, or a little surprised in the least. He doesn’t. All he offers you is a smug grin as his tongue peaks out of lips, lapping at the red lollipop a few times before he speaks, “Bullshit.”
You want to counter his cockiness but he beats you to it, adding, “Don’t string it on, sweetheart. The others will get here and then you’ll have to explain just how weak you are for your ex in front of all of them. I won’t say anything to them; you can do that yourself later. Just go back to your preppies where you’d rather be.”
Sweetheart? Weak? Where you’d rather be? Gosh, the nerve Wonwoo always had with you. You roll your eyes before crossing your arms at him, vision narrowing, “I’m not going to talk to him. I don’t want to talk to him. He fucked me over and now we’re done.”
“Really?” He questions with his eyebrows raised, but you know he’s mocking you. The boy wants to test you because he still thinks he knows you and that all his assumptions of you are right.
You want to prove him wrong. “Yup! I hate him and I don’t want anything to do with him. If I could make him see that him and I are completely done, I would.” The tone of your voice made every word come out with conviction. You wanted to make it a point that you think - no - you knew that you were done with your ex. Whatever the two of you had was completely finished after how he had mistreated you and your heart, and you needed to show that to Wonwoo. You need to show that to yourself. You wanted to prove him and everyone else who doubted you, wrong.
Ding.
Another notification. Another text message. Another attempt of your ex trying to crawl back into your life, your heart, the letters on your phone screen now fitting together to create your name in question. From the corner of your eye you can see his gaze; no longer pleading but begging. He wants to talk. The deepest, darkest depths of your heart will you to get up and listen. Your brain says to stay put. Another chuckle from Wonwoo.
“You sure you’re done with him?”
With gritted teeth, you harshly grab your phone and flip it upside down so the screen can’t mock you anymore. “I’m sure.”
Wonwoo finally looks just the slightest impressed by your reaction. But not convinced - not at all. Strangely, he gets up, says nothing as he walks around the table and sits next to you before facing you with a glint in his eye. His lollipop is wrapped around his mouth until he pulls it out again to say, “Prove it.”
This day is a bunch of firsts. The first time you’ve had a conversation with Wonwoo (albeit a negative one, but still), the first time you’ve gotten heated since you found out what your ex had done, and the first time you’ve ever seen Wonwoo so up close. Your eyes follow the creases of his lips, across his laugh lines which are - surprisingly - fairly prominent, past his nose and cheekbones and to his eyes, small but fierce and shaped in a way that has you wondering if you would’ve enjoyed looking at them under different circumstances. You try not to get yourself too caught up in the intricacies of his features and distract yourself by countering, “Prove what?”
“Put your money where your mouth is. You said that if you were able to make him see that you two were done, you’d do it. You said you don’t want to go back to him, then prove it.” The leather of his jacket squeaks a little when he shrugs.
“Wha- How am I supposed to-”
“Kiss me,” His tone is so casual in the way he says it, like every other word that he’s ever targeted at you hasn’t been spoken with condescending undertones and haughty implications. You want to keep your sassy facade but you begin to gape at him like a fish out of water, gasping for some sort of clarity on the situation. There is no way he could be seriously asking this of you when the two of you had barely established a frenemies relationship. In fact, it was more of the enemies than it is friends.
He smirks at the way you’re caught off guard (because he’s a little shit) and repeats himself while scooting closer, “You don’t have to, but as a guy I’ll tell you - if I saw the girl who used to be my everything kissing another guy after I had texted her asking to talk to her? I think I’d get the hint.”
You can’t help the way the cogs in your head turn together to make sense of what he says, even if it’s a bit out of left field. Technically, you did say that you would show your ex he no longer had a chance with you, if you were able to do so. You wonder if doing such a thing like kissing Wonwoo would give the boy across the room a big old fuck you like he deserved. Your gaze travels to the said boy, who’s eyes have changed to hold something of confusion and wonder. Was he confused at why Wonwoo had come to sit next to you? In an attempt to support or debunk your hypothesis, you scoot closer to Wonwoo, your hand finding it’s way against his jean clad knee where the frayed rips let you two meet skin to skin. 
The emotions behind your ex’s eyes shift. They’re shocked now; angry. Hurt. Those were the same feelings you felt all those weeks ago when the world came crashing down at your shoulders and your relationship went with it.
You take your attention and put it back on Wonwoo, who’s breath you can feel against your face with how impossibly close you two have gotten. He’s smirking again. Similar to moments ago when your eyes scanned over his face, his gaze begins to do the same to you; memorizing the dip of your cupid’s bow and the tip of your nose. 
The boy lets out a breath when his eyes find their way up, meeting yours. Hand on your waist. Head tilting, “Kiss me,” He repeats.
You lean forward. Your lips touch. He might have just meant a peck, just to get your ex riled up. But the way your lips fit together implied so, so much more than a peck. They move together, slotting against each other in a way that would’ve convinced anyone in the room that you two have been captivated by each other with adoration and nothing but. The thought of how mad your ex probably is begins to get buried in the back of your mind when you start to focus on him, Wonwoo, and the way that he feels. The way his right hand pulls you just the slightest bit closer even if there’s no more room. The way his left hand reaches behind your neck to cradle you in place like he wants the two of you to keep kissing for hours.
All thoughts of everything else that had been going on in your life begins to dissipate in your head as you get caught up in him. In this moment you only think one thing: Wonwoo. Wonwoo Wonwoo Wonwoo. Wonwoo in his leather jacket, Wonwoo on his motorcycle, Wonwoo holding his magazine, Wonwoo looking at you, Wonwoo holding you- It’s funny, because earlier today you were dreading Wonwoo. Now it seems like your subconscious craves him, head leaning forward as if he was going anywhere. You want to remember this; even if the future version of yourself is going to pretend like you didn’t enjoy it. So your tunnel vision goes completely there to his lips, his kiss. You make sure to note the way he tastes just so you can brand him and this kiss with it for the rest of your life. You’ll make sure to associate this taste with him forever so that every time you have another lick of it you’re reminded of this day that Jeon Wonwoo stole your breath straight out of your mouth. You memorize what your taste buds feel when you kiss him. Cherry.
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bangtanlalaland · 4 years
Text
together | ksj (m.)
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synopsis ⇣ you encounter the world’s most handsome man, who’s also the richest, only to discover that he’s your long-lost childhood friend.
→part of the bring it back collection!
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— 1920′s!au; friends to lovers!au
⇢pairing: millionaire!kim seokjin x textile worker!female reader
⇢genre: angst, fluff, smut
⇢word count: 3.9k+
⇢contents ⨯ warnings: somewhat inspired by the great gatsby, some plots twists in here (have your popcorn ready plz), mentions of pining, soft love making in this, some sad stuff (sorryyyy, just adds to the drama), a splash of 1920′s slang (i tried ok)
a/n: just a reminder you guys, in case you’re wondering or expecting this, I am not basing this story entirely off of what happened in the great gatsby so plz don’t come after me. as stated above, this fic is somewhat inspired by the novel. I’d also like to add that most of the events taking place in this story is like a re-enactment of my own personal experiences, therefore this one is a little personal for me, but I am glad to have this chance to share it with you all. anyways, hope you all enjoy!
song rec: “together” by the xx
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glossary
big shot—someone of high status/great popularity
bimbo—tough guy
bootlegging—illegal distribution of alcohol
cash or check—to kiss someone now or later
gay—happy (no connection to homosexuality)
jane—a female
jitney—a small bus that costs 5¢
nookie—sex
quiff—a slut
speakeasy—an underground bar (usually involves illegal distribution and/or selling of alcohol)
wingding—a lively celebration or party
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Everything was planned. And you should have known this—that it was all an act/a gimmick. The fame, the money, the chivalry. And it didn’t get you anywhere but strung out on coffee and cigarettes—paired with a broken heart. Part of you wanted to blame your friend Betty for even dragging you to that pointless wingding, and then another part of you wanted to blame yourself for letting your guard down. The moment you saw his stupid, handsome face, you should have just walked away. You should have ended whatever was to come, right then and there.
But, you didn’t.
Instead, you chose to wind up in his bed and smothered by his arms. You chose to let yourself go, because at one point in your life, he was someone you trusted. The never-ending ache in your chest weighs upon you as if you’re carrying a rock that’s the size of New York state. You continuously tell yourself: You should have left. You should have said no. You should have just walked away.
Maybe if you said no, would he have ended up in your life some other way? Would you have been happier than you were during those moments with him? Could you even truly say you regret those experiences, even though at that moment it was exactly what you wanted? The past few weeks, you’d driven yourself mad, contemplating and replaying scenarios within your mind to re-arrange the pieces to the puzzle.
But, you end up with nothing.
You can’t think. You can’t eat. You can’t sleep. You can’t do anything without seeing him. Feeling him. Hearing him. And even smelling him. It’s as if he lingers in the spirit—like a ghost, haunting you every waking second of the day. Except, you know nothing about ghosts and how to rid of them.
And the memories…
You can’t forget the times when life was oh so simple—when you knew who he used to be, the he you grew fond of and loved with every fiber in your being. You can’t get over those shiny, gold, silky sheets you had become accustomed to lace yourself in, wrapped within his embrace. Both of your bare bodies glued together by perspiration, and those deep-chocolate irises that make you crumble under his gaze. Especially when he’d whisper to you with that voice of his dipped in comfort and say,
“I don’t think I’ve ever been more happier in my life.”
However, it’s too late. You tell yourself that it’s over, and there is no going back. Ever.
five months earlier
You wiped away the perspiration, on your forehead, with the back of your hand. As people say, “Another day, another dollar.” Literally. You’re only paid 16 cents/hr for your work at the town’s local textile factory. Your hands often find themselves cracked and dried by the end of your shift. It’s the roaring 20′s and everything was booming. Well, at least for everyone else except you.
“Oh, Betty! I told you already I don’t ‘party’.” You whined, while clutching your purse to head beeline out of the factory.
“You’re telling me that a doll like yourself doesn’t ‘party’ during this Jazz Age?” Your blonde-haired co-worker scoffed with a laugh. “Surely, you ought to be ashamed!”
Your mouth flew agape at her audacity, “Well-” You attempted to muster up a comeback, “Well- speakeasy’s are not even legal!”
Betty added, “Oh, you’re no fun! You know that?” You giggled at her frustrated expression since she seemed so conflicted.
“I know. Which is probably why a man would never want me.” Betty stopped you in your tracks, placing her hand over your arm.
“Oh, nonsense! You’re a doll and you know it.” She contemplated for a moment, “You just need some… opening up is all!”
You nodded in reply, “I suppose so.” Betty’s face lit up as if an idea popped up in that wild brain of hers, “How about this?” She gripped onto you tighter. “Why don’t you join me this weekend at Mr. Worldwide Handsome’s wingding!”
Your eyebrows furrowed, “I don’t think you understand what “partying” means, when I say I do-”
“Now, now wait! Before you say no, it’s not what you think.” She reassured with a beaming smile.
“Who is this Mr. Worldwide Handsome?” You questioned, finally reaching the bus stop to catch a jitney.
Betty hesitated for a moment, “Why I don’t know. Well, I don’t think anyone knows.” You scoffed at her coy way of attempting to convince you.
“Oh, that’s just nonsense, Betty! If this is your way of trying to get me to go with you to that party- then, you’re doing quite an awful job at it.”
Betty rolled her eyes at you, “____, you’ve got it all wrong! I promise. It’s not what you think. It’s just a place where you can be yourself. He holds these gatherings every weekend and it’s so… lively! You can be free and… gay!”
You nervously stepped out of the automobile, as you and Betty were dropped off outside of the grand mansion where dozens if not hundreds of people gathered within the entrance of the establishment. Flappers and big shots roamed the premises.
“Why did I let you persuade me into coming here?” You whispered to Betty who had her arm interlinked with yours. You plastered a fake smile amongst the guests. Betty was dressed in a mini, black dress with sparkling fringes, a deep red lipstick adding an extra pop to her porcelain skin.
She cooed back at you, “Because you are my friend, and I was not going to take no for an answer.” As you relayed to your friend earlier in the week, you weren’t one of those “party girls” or “flappers” as they call it.
Seokjin roamed about his mansion, at the top of the stairwell, tapping his feet on the marble flooring below him, sipping on a glass of champagne in his hand. His handsomeness granted numerous glances and coos toward his towering figure. He sported his signature, jet-black mullet that’s slicked back. His white tuxedo glowed effervescently, blinding anyone within his perimeter. Plush, pink lips decorated his dashing face.
He busied himself in obtaining another glass of champagne as another server passed by. But when he turned away to face the entrance of the palace, his heart dropped, his lips parted distinctively, tongue sliding along the bottom of his lip. It’s as if everything and everyone around him had stopped, whilst his almond-shaped eyes landed on a Jane that he grew to be familiar with many years ago—two decades to be exact.
Ever since you both departed, he wanted desperately to find you again just as you did. He missed you, and you missed him, and there hadn’t been a day that passed when you didn’t cross his mind. You both grew up in the same quaint town, but then Jin’s family moved to the big city and that was when everything changed.
You both drifted apart, and it was now a good twenty years later that you both finally crossed paths. But see, that was only part of the plan. Seokjin hosted these grand parties, and spread the word throughout the entire city to fuck his way out of a heartbreak he thought was silly to have. He treasured the attention and the numerous dolls flaunting themselves at him—that eventually he’d forgotten all about you.
It was something about big gatherings, quite like these that made your insides churn. A sense of anxiety resided within you when being in the presence of countless individuals. You felt like all of their gazes were solely focused on you; you’d never been a fan of attention. Although, you were unaware this party would change your life.
Drastically.
You desperately attempted to shake off your anxiousness, scanning the environment for anything or something you could do or use as an escape. And then…
Champagne.
Perfect. You thought to yourself, hurriedly scurrying toward the server, grabbing a glass filled with fizzing liquor.
“Thank you,” You noted with a smile and took a sip, an attempt to calm your nerves. But you still couldn’t shake that feeling, that someone was watching you. And it was as if your worst nightmare had come true, because followed by that feeling, there was a voice. One that was calling your name.
“____?” Your body trembled of chills, and you turned around to discover the voice that was noticeably behind you. When your eyes met the tall, slender form, you nearly dropped your wine glass into shattering pieces.
With a gasp, “Seokjin?” you questioned, placing a hand over your chest where a thumping heart hides from behind. His pupils sparkled with something you thought was admiration, and then he shined those perfect, pearly whites that stole your heart in that moment. You thought to yourself, This is it. He’s the one.
“It’s been so long. Wow, I am speechless.” He stated, with an extended hand, “May I?” He probed, rising his eyebrows. You foolishly lended him your hand, his plump lips pressed a gentle kiss on top.
“What are you doing here?” You asked, curious to understand how the universe joined you both together in this moment.
“Follow me,” was all he said. He lead you through the bustling crowd, and into his office. He removed the jacket of his tuxedo while you admired the maroon-tinted walls paired with large bookshelves and persian rugs decorated the space—modern art pieces adding an extra touch. One in particular stood out to you, in which Jin noticed your stare didn’t break away.
“Edward Hopper’s Automat,” He added, whilst standing beside you and relishing the sight of gorgeous pearls that decorated your neckline—thanks to Betty. He was stunned at the beautiful woman you blossomed into. Considering that the last memory he had of you, was when he’d been taken away in a locomobile, and there you stood at the end of the dirt road—with puffy, wet eyes as you cried out his name, begging him to not leave. And so did he, as he waved you goodbye and tears streamed down his cheeks. It was when his entire world fell apart.
Jin lost himself for a moment, reminiscing on the past. “Seokjin?” You said for now the third time, an attempt to get his attention.
“Yes? I- My apologies,” he replied. You shook it off with a giggle, a warmth having filled up your heart. “No need to worry.” You dropped your head low, as a flash of heat washed upon your face, and suddenly you felt shy.
You felt the cool embrace from Jin’s palm on your back, and when you looked up to meet his gaze, he was already staring at you.
With a sigh of relief, he slipped, “I’ve missed you, ____.” You wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him in for a hug, and he smelt of the liquor he’d been dousing himself in, paired with a tantalizing scent of cologne, notes of bergamot, tangerine and a hint of fruity persimmon. As you pull away, you peer into each other’s eyes, his slender fingers graze underneath your chin and you both lock lips with one another—his own tasted of the wine they’d been soaked in from earlier. The amount of desire drowned by your kisses sent a wave of heat through the both of you, and before you could think of pulling away to catch your own breath, Jin pulled away, his fingers lacing into yours to lead you toward the master bedroom.
“I missed you too,” you replied, maybe a little too late, but you still made him smile. His hands found purchase on your small back, “I can’t believe that you’re finally here. I don’t think I’ve ever been more happier in my life.” You caressed his broad shoulders, admiring how he towered over you. Oh how handsome he’d become, you thought.
It was as if both of you read each other’s minds, an unspoken tension between the two of you—like gravity pulled you two together, your actions in tune with each other. He laid on top of you, caressing your body and placing gentle kisses along your jawline and onto your collarbone. His silky sheets felt like bliss under your now scorching skin.
“Seokjin,” You moaned. His fingers found the zipper on the side of your dress, and he removed his bow tie and waistcoat, while undressing himself completely. He gently pulled the delicate material of your dress down and off your body.
“So beautiful,” He slipped, while trailing kisses along your leg and worshiping your body as if he was truly in love with you—especially when he entered you and buried himself to the hilt.
He was your first and he knew this. When you slipped, “I’ve never- Oh!” He simply caressed your cheek and planted kisses onto your now swollen lips, drips of sweat clinging on his forehead, your hands grazing along his back—the heels of your feet digging into his bottom. You couldn’t get the rest of your sentence out, the feeling of his member too much for your being, but there was this nostalgic sentiment that followed afterwards—a drawn out moan muffled by kisses.
“You’re saying that a Jane like you hasn’t had any nookie? Ever?” He chimed in with a chuckle. You slapped his arm in reply, “Well, don’t make fun of me now!”
But instead, you both broke out into a laughter, having completely forgotten about the party that continued on just one floor below.
“You feel so amazing,” Jin moaned, thrusting his hips into your core, your walls clenched relentlessly around him and it made his cock throb. Leaks of pre-cum oozed into you paired with your own wetness, soaking his shaft completely.
“Oh, Please don’t stop!” He picked up the pace and rammed into you, losing control of himself, so much that the headboard knocked against the wall in a beat-making manner. “Don’t stop! Yes, yes!” You egged him on, fueling his hunger.
“You’re such a doll, you know that?” He slipped between breaths. Your being now glued to the sheets from the sweat that accumulated.
He eventually slowed his momentum as an orgasm shortly approached. Your walls contracted around him repeatedly, and you were instantly drowned in euphoria. You hadn’t processed that Jin’s fingers were rubbing your clit furiously, making your orgasm crash upon you. And right after, you felt the warmth of his semen painting your walls—his bedroom now filled with the harmony of your moans.
Seokjin fell beside you on the bed, his chest rising and falling.
“That was amazing,” He slipped in between breaths. But to his surprise, you’d risen from the bed to re-dress yourself.
“Hey…” He hopped up on his feet, his flaccid cock jumping in the process. “Where you going?” He asked, grabbing your wrist.
“I-I shouldn’t keep Betty waiting…” You trailed off, his eyebrows quirked upwards. “She’s my friend. I came with her tonight.” His strong grip pulled you closer toward him; his fingers caressed your face.
“When will I see you again?” He asked, his grip on you becoming tighter. You shrugged your shoulders, because you weren’t sure when you’d see him again or if you’d have the chance to. Some part of you had hope because you know where he lives now, and you know he’s not far away and out of reach.
When you attempted to pull away, he pulled you back again, “Cash or check?” You contemplated a few moments, and with a tilt of your head, you tiptoed to give him a quick peck.
But it all just felt like a dream. One that you didn’t know would come crashing down. Because that’s all you can remember now. His sheets, his face, his voice, his length, and his scent—everything was Seokjin.
You came back and more than once. But the next few times, you came alone. It became a routine, almost. You’d join him during the night, and the two of you would escape into the part of his mansion where no one was around—everyone else having occupied the lower level and the courtyard. He’d always bring you to his bedroom, never letting you out in public together. You should have known that was a sign.
Anytime you both were together, you were alone. Because truth is, Seokjin was embarrassed. He held a high status and couldn’t be seen with someone like you. That’s what he told himself. He thought you wouldn’t have come back after the first night, but then you proved him wrong. And he wasn’t going to turn down free sex, especially since you were inexperienced—which gave him more power in the bedroom. He simply went with the flow, taking you as you gave to him.
Yet, you didn’t understand any of it. Especially when one night you took the lead, riding him with your breasts on full display. He moaned your name repeatedly and admitted, “I love you, ____.” And you fell for it, you actually believed him, with his cock fully sheathed inside of you. You were both wrapped up in the moment, your feels at their maximum. Except, you meant it when you replied, “I love you too, Seokjin.” That was the difference.
But one night, he slipped.
You paraded through his estate during one of his parties, brushing past numerous guests and bumping into some, but you couldn’t find him anywhere. He’d normally await for your arrival at the top of the stairwell, but he wasn’t there. He wasn’t in the courtyard or the balcony or the pool. Your heart thumped with a never-ending beat, and you couldn’t ignore the feeling.
Eventually, you found yourself entering the room that you remember oh so well, and you wished you hadn’t. The sight you witnessed sent a burning ache within your chest. Moans and groans filled the atmosphere as you neared the bed that contained those golden sheets you’d become familiar with. To say you were horrified was an understatement. Jin was plunging into another woman while another woman sat on the other woman’s face, a sudden churn of your stomach ascended—you felt as though everything you consumed that  day would come right back up.
“S-Seokjin?” You let out, and he abruptly stopped his motions, snapping his gaze toward you. His eyes blown wide and lips parted.
“Fuck!” He spilled, stumbling out of the woman he was in. You turned away, heading beeline for the door. He quickly found his grip on you, and you fought him off, pushing him away and continuously slapping him away.
“How could you? How?!” You screamed. The sound of your heels clicking against the marble floor echoed throughout the palace, as you strutted out and never looked back.
He knew that he fucked up, because truth is, he didn’t even know what he really wanted—but he knew he was selfish. He continued hosting more wingdings, and he never stopped screwing more women. He convinced himself that you were just another Jane he checked off his “To do” list. Because that’s who Seokjin had become. He was no longer that sweet, innocent little boy you once knew. He was no longer your only best friend that you could trust. He was no longer who you thought he was.
After receiving the test results from your doctor, that’s when everything sunk in, and you made a promise to yourself that you’d eliminate the abuse of caffeine and tobacco you’d taken within your diet. Although somehow, someway, Seokjin found out that you were pregnant (more than likely it was Betty who told him at his still ongoing wingdings, since you spilled who Mr. Worldwide Handsome is), and he had the guts to show himself at your workplace. He paraded through the establishment, calling out your name. To your embarrassment, you remained at your station, internally cursing yourself for having gotten involved with him.
“____!” He raged, searching for your tired figure. You let out a sigh of exhaustion. And there he stood, with creased slacks in his million-dollar man attire, but his gaze was only focused on you.
“____, we need to talk.” He reassured to you, but too loud for prying eyes nearby. You swiped away the sweat that clung to your forehead.
“Well, I am working. How dare you barge in like this as if you have the right?” You retort with a hint of rage in your tone.
He took a deep breath, not wanting to hear it from you. “Listen, I didn’t come to cause any trouble, alright? We need to talk about my baby.”
You scoffed in reply, “Your baby?” His eyes widen slightly, “I am the one carrying our child! This is our baby, not just yours!” He ran his fingers through his hair in a frustrated manner.
“Last I remember, you were too busy having nookie with those quiff’s who were in the same bed you had knocked me up!” Your chest heaves of anger, suddenly feeling overwhelmed.
“You can’t just show up here like you’re this-this- bimbo! Because you’re not!” You hadn’t even realized you’d been yelling the entire time, gaining the attention from your nearby co-workers—who attentively watch your riled up figure, courtesy of your hormones.
Jin attempted to speak, “____, I’m-” but then you cut him off, tiredly yelling, “Beat it, Jin!”
His face instantly contorted into an expression you didn’t like to witness. It was a face of pure defeat. His jaw clenched under your stare, but he turned the other cheek and strutted away. You can’t say you felt sorry for him or embarrassed that you called him out because deep down, you knew that he brought everything upon himself.
You had a baby girl, and the moment you met eyes with her, was when you promised yourself you would climb mountains, swim oceans, and fight any battle to protect and love her the correct way—because she is you and you are her. The first two months were tough, yet Seokjin was nowhere to be found. Betty had been there for you through every step of the way, and you were beyond grateful for that. Although, you felt guilty for not letting Seokjin see his daughter, because after all she is still yours and his child. You asked Betty to accompany you to his mansion, where you had hoped to encounter him—but to no avail, you turned up with nothing. The entire palace was abandoned, like a wasteland. No automobiles, no servants, no Jane’s, no Seokjin.
A few days later on your way home from work, you overheard a few pedestrians gossiping about him. “Mr. Worldwide Handsome? I can’t believe it! Is it true? That he’s really on the run?” One of them says, the other woman replies, “Look, it’s in the paper!” Your eyebrows furrow on the spot.
“Pardon me. Can I see that?” You probe, pointing to the newspaper the two ladies were observing, and surely they were right. His photo was in the daily paper, with the headline of the name of Mr. Worldwide Handsome. He was wanted for bootlegging. He never told you who he really was, all he mentioned to you was that he was indeed Mr. Worldwide Handsome, but never confided in you about his supposed work.
Now he was gone, and you had a feeling that he was never coming back, because the first night when you two were reunited, it was in that moment, just as he’d practiced with numerous other women for years—Seokjin had one goal in mind:
To get her.
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dreamljve · 3 years
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A Family Visit (Neville Longbottom)
A/N: hey yall! ive never wrote fanfic before so please go easy on me. suggestions/criticisms are encouraged as i literally wrote this for a class & want a decent grade. no warnings, just a sad neville but its a nice ending. also, i should note that im reading the series for the first time rn and i just started book 5 and this was inspired by the scene where dumbledore tells harry about neville’s parents in gof. im like 99% sure that you cant get to the hospital via floo powder but it was just easier to write it that way and i was already way over page limit. so... yeah. floo powder. just accept it.
Summary: Neville visits his parents the day of the Yule Ball.
word count: 2745 :)
With the end of the term nearing and the snow covering the ground, Neville once again was met with the bittersweet feeling of Christmas break. In the back of his Potion’s class with Professor Snape, Neville was counting the minutes down. Snape’s lesson was boring as usual, he was saying something about a Pepperup Potion but Neville couldn’t care less. This was his last class of the term. He planned to stay at Hogwarts over Christmas break for the Yule Ball, albeit his date was a third year, Ginny Weasley. Almost as if he could read his mind, Snape interrupted his daydreaming.
“Mr. Longbottom, can you repeat what I just told the class?” Snape squinted at him.
“Er-” Neville pursed his lips together and scratched the back of his head.
“I figured,” Snape rolled his eyes and his lips curled into a smirk. “I said that 12 inches of parchment will be due when you return from break. But that’ll be 18 inches for you, Longbottom. And 10 points from Gryffindor.”
The Slytherins in the front of the class snickered. Neville merely nodded. There was no use in arguing Snape, it’ll only end in more homework.
“Don’t worry, you could use the extra practice.” Malfoy spit at him. Snape glanced at the blonde boy with a disapproving look but said nothing.
“Why don’t you bug off, Malfoy?” Harry shot at him, standing up.
“Are you going to stop me, Potter?” Crabbe and Goyle laughed with Draco. Harry felt his face heating up. He was sick of Snape playing favorites. He allows the Slytherins to do whatever they please since he’s head of the Slytherin house.
“Sit down, Mr. Potter. Unless you want extra work.”
As if on cue, the bell rang. Harry grabbed his bag and walked over to Neville.
“Hey, you alright? Don’t mind them. The lousy gits don’t have anything better to do.”
“Hey, yeah, I’m okay. At least we’re free for the next two weeks.” Neville says half-heartedly as he stands up and walks out of the classroom with Harry. The two boys walked through the corridor towards the Gryffindor common room.
“Hey, I’ve got to talk to Dumbledore quickly. I’ll see you later though, yeah?” Harry says with a small smile.
“Right then, see you later.” Neville replies.
Neville watched as Harry jogged away. He wondered what he was going to talk to Dumbledore about. Neville turned and was met with the fat lady painting.
“Password?” She asks with her arms crossed.
“Oh, er-” Neville always struggled with passwords.
“Fortuna Major.” Ron says from behind him.
Neville mutters a small “thanks” and steps in through the portrait. He had planned to hang out in the common room, but soon realizes that his roommates were all in there. Neville hasn’t had a moment to himself since Summer so he decided to go upstairs to his room. He says a quick hello to Seamus and Dean as he walks past them. He went up the stairs and found the door to his dormitory. He enters and shuts it quickly, breathing a sigh of relief. He walks over to his bed and falls backwards, staring up at the ceiling. He started thinking about the holidays and how much he hated Professor Snape and his greasy hair. What kind of teacher just bullies students? Frustrated, Neville turns to lay on his side. He started thinking about how he was meeting his Gran the next day to go visit his parents. Neville doesn’t think about his parents often. How could he? He doesn’t remember them, thinking about them wouldn’t help anything.
But he still allows himself to think about them, from time to time. Neville’s Gran is a stern lady. Growing up, she worried that Neville was a squib, as he didn’t show early signs of magic very often. She often berated him, telling him he didn’t live up to his father’s honor. Neville couldn’t help but believe her.
Neville was proud of his parents, though. They were Aurors, their job was to fight against the Dark Arts He smiled at the thought of them being praised for their noble work. They were well respected amongst their peers, Neville wondered what it felt like. He reaches in his pocket and pulls out his wand. It was his father’s. Neville runs his fingers along the wood and the not-so-intricate designs of it. Even though it doesn’t look like much, he knows it's powerful. Neville’s father had fought in the first Wizarding War and was an Auror with that very wand. He holds the wand a little tighter and brings it to his chest. Neville fought back the urge to cry. It was unfair. He never got to know his parents, they were good people who only wanted the best for everyone, wizards and muggles alike. Neville bit his lip to stop it from quivering and he sat up. He set his wand next to him on the quilt his grandmother gave him a few Christmases ago. He smooths the banket and stands up. It was getting late and none of his roommates were showing up, so Neville changed into his pajamas and turned on some music. He wanted to practice his dancing skills for the Yule Ball, so he started to pretend to hold a girl and danced to the music. He furrowed his eyebrows as he tried to get the footwork correct. After a few minutes, he heard a knock at the door. Startled, he quickly gathers himself and says “come in,” and Harry walks through the door.
Harry was quiet, he merely smiled and nodded at Nevile before grabbing his nightwear. His eyes had an apologetic look, as if he had just found out something sad about Neville. Harry is the only one who gets it, really. Both of their parents were taken down by the same cause, the only difference being that Harry’s are actually dead. Neville felt a shameful relief wash over him with that thought, he bowed his head and scratched his neck. He was getting tired, and decided to lie in bed. He turned off the lamp next to his bed and closed his eyes. He finally started drifting away as he heard Seamus and Dean enter their room.
The next morning, Neville is woken up by the sun and sound of birds outside their dorm. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, sat up, and stretched. Seamus, Ron, Dean, and Harry were all sleeping yet. Neville gets dressed and goes to the Great Hall, where he is met with Christmas and winter decorations. There are silver and blue streamers hanging about the Hall, as well as snowflakes covering the walls and hanging from the ceiling. The Christmas tree by the teacher’s table was decorated with white lights, fake snow, and a shiny snowflake on the top. There were presents under the tree wrapped in white and blue wrapping paper. “Bet they’re empty,” Neville thinks to himself, slightly chuckling. He finds his seat at the Gryffindor table and begins to eat his breakfast alone. There was a group of second years at the end of the table, laughing amongst themselves. Neville is already finished with his food when his roommates find their way to the Hall. It was 8:00 and he had to meet his grandmother in an hour. He was meeting his Gran in Hogsmeade to go to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries in London. Neville and his grandmother had to have a special meeting with Dumbledore his first year about his parents. Of course, Dumbledore knew his parents and their tragic fate. He made a special exception for him this year, allowing him to leave to visit his parents for the day and come back for the Yule Ball this evening.
Neville ventured back to his dorm, muttering a quick “Fortuna Major” to the portrait of the fat lady guarding the Gryffindor common room. He stepped through and was met with Fred and George Weasley in the common room, sitting by the fireplace talking about something secretly. As soon as he enters his room, he grabs a coat and wand and lays them on his bed. Every time Neville visits his parents, he secretly hopes they’ll remember him, even though it isn’t possible. Neville felt his hand involuntarily tighten into a fist, his nails digging into his palm. He patiently sat for what felt like hours but was realistically 20 minutes or so when he finally decided to head down to meet Dumbledore. He grabs his things and puts his wand in his pocket with his right fist still clenched. He felt his nails break the skin of palm as he got more anxious with every step. When he finally meets Dumbledore at the stairs by the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Neville wondered why he was standing so close to the one-eyed witch statue.
“Good morning, Neville.” Dumbledore greets him with a soft smile.
“Good morning, Professor.” He returns the smile, but quickly lets it fade.
“I hope you keep this between you and me,” Dumbledore says cooly, “Dissendium.” Dumbledore says seemingly at the witch as he taps the hump of the statue with his wand. The hump opens just wide enough for a small person to get through.
“This will take you to the cellar of Honeydukes. Be back by 6:30 so you have enough time to get ready for the Ball. Have a good time, Neville.” Dumbledore smiles at him. Neville thanks him and wonders how many other people knew about this secret. He quickly snaps out of it and enters the passage, giving a final smile and nod towards his headmaster. The passage was cold and rather gross, so he just walked forward until he got to the entrance of the cellar. He opens the latch and enters Honeydukes, trying to be quiet as he enters the door of the store. He quickly exits Honeydukes. He walks to meet his grandmother at The Leaky Cauldron. He gives his father’s mother a faint smile and a quick hello.
“Glad to see you made it here safely, Neville,” she brushes off some dirt on his shoulder, “Are you ready to go?” His grandmother asks him.
Neville merely nods, he was never ready to go. He wonders how she is ready. Neville never knew his parents, so there weren’t many memories to miss, but his grandmother raised his father. Every year she takes Neville to visit but never says anything about how she is feeling about it. Neville furrows his eyebrows and looks at his only parental figure. For a second, he feels remorse for her. Losing your parents is difficult, but losing your child has to be the worst. Neville says a silent prayer to Merlin that he’ll never have to go through that pain himself.
Neville’s grandmother finds a floo system and pulls out floo powder. She hands him a handful of it.
“Do you want to go first?” She asks him.
“No, that’s alright. Have at it.” He just wanted a second without her to compose himself.
She nods and says “St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries”, throwing the powder down at her feet and vanishing.
Neville takes a deep breath and repeats her actions. He feels his stomach twist and turn as he travels. He tries to not focus on it by remembering it’ll end within seconds. And with that, Neville feels his feet fall flat on the floor and he opens his eyes. Letting his eyes adjust to the lighting, Neville subtle forwards a bit.
“Can you manage to stay on your feet, please?” His grandmother remarks.
“Er- yeah. Sorry.” He says lightly.
His grandmother shakes her head as they find the reception desk.
“Who are you here to see?” The receptionist asks. She had long blonde hair and enticing eyes. Neville stares at her for a second and thinks about how she reminds him of Fleur Delacour, the champion from Beauxbatons.
“Frank and Alice Longbottom.” Neville’s grandmother says with a slight smile.
“Right, just down that hall to the left.” His grandmother’s smile is returned as she points to a corridor to the right of the desk.
Neville thanks the woman and thinks about how she probably has her parents. She properly grew up with parents who knew who she was, with a grandmother who doesn't resent her. Brushing that thought aside, Neville and his Gran walk down the hallway that seems to be getting longer with every step. Eventually they find the door labeled “Visitation Room”. Neville exchanges looks with his grandmother as she reluctantly grabs the door knob, turning it. She pushes the door open and gestures for Neville to enter first, closing the door behind them. Neville felt his heart beat faster as his eyes found his parents. They’re sitting at a round table whispering to one another. Neville and his grandmother find their seats, sitting across from them. The boy’s parents stare at them with empty eyes.
“Hi Frank,” His grandmother smiles lightly, “Hi Alice.”
“Hi mom and dad.” Neville looks at them with gentle eyes with a small smile.
“Hello.” Frank replies with wide eyes.
“Hello.” Alice says, turning her attention to Frank.
“How are you guys?” Neville’s grandmother asks.
“We’re good. Although it is cold in here.” Alice says, hugging herself.
Neville’s parents usually complained about the cold when he visited during Christmas. The hospital does get significantly colder as the weather starts to turn. Do they think crazy people don’t need heat?
“Do you want to wear my jacket?” Neville starts to take his arms out of his sleeves, maintaining eyes on his mother.
She nods and smiles at him, and Neville returns the smile. He stands up and walks to his mom, wrapping his jacket around her and kissing the top of her head. She looks up at him and smiles wider, and intertwines her fingers together. Neville’s dad thanks him and places an arm around her. Neville finds his seat again, earning a pat on the back from his Gran. Moments like this are few and far in between, making it all the more special. Neville doesn’t have many happy memories with his family, so making both of his parents and Gran happy was an accomplishment in his eyes.
After almost two hours of mindless small talk, Neville looks at his Gran and realizes it’s time to go. His parents can only handle so much per visit, so when they start getting antsy and irritable they know it’s time to leave them be. Neville stands up and brushes himself off, holding an arm out to help his Gran stand up. Frank and Alice stand up as well, mirroring his moves. Neville smiles as he makes his way over to his mother, removing the coat from her back and embracing her. She reluctantly hugged him back. He didn’t blame her, he was a stranger hugging her. Neville squeezed her a little tighter, resting his head on top of hers. When he finally pulled away, his eyes were full of tears. He looks over at his dad releasing his hug from his own mother, who is also teary-eyed. Neville switches places with his Gran, looking at his dad for a second before he hugs him. Frank lightly wraps his arms around his son giving him a friendly pat on the back. Neville holds onto him until his Gran interrupts,
“It’s time to leave, Nev.” He is taken aback for a moment at the nickname, but then smiles. He releases his father and looks up at him again.
“I love you, dad,” Neville turns to his mother, “and I love you, mom.” He gently grabs their hands for a second before letting go. His Gran puts a hand on his back, rubbing it slightly. Neville feels his lower lip quiver as they walk to exit the door. His Gran opens it and gestures for him to leave first. He turns around to look at his parents, they look at each other and then at Neville, smiling and waving at him. Neville leaves the room and is greeted with the hallway of the hospital. He looks at his Gran as she closes the door with a final click. Her hand lingers on the doorknob for a second before turning to Neville with a tear spilling on her cheek and the slightest smile,
“How about we stop at Honeydukes for some candy?”
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petri808 · 3 years
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@thenaluarchive AU modern setting, the KFC tradition in Japan because I think it’s cute they do this lol
‘I’m on my way up.’
Was the last text message Natsu had sent just a few minutes before Lucy heard the knock on her apartment door. Christmas wasn’t a secular holiday in Japan, but they’d taken to celebrating the spirit of the holiday no differently than in many other countries. Families would gather together for meals of a poultry feast and couples went out on dates to spend time with one another. Many gave each other gifts as well to show how much they appreciated their friendships.
And that’s what Lucy assumed had brought Natsu to her door this Christmas Eve. They were best friends since childhood, been through thick and thin together, and knew each other well enough to finish each other’s sentences. An outsider looking in would assume they were more... much, much more than friends. Lucy wished it were so, but Natsu’s never shown such an interest in anyone and when she’d asked once... for research purposes... he’d said he wanted to finish college and have a secure job before getting into any relationships.
Okay, Lucy could respect that kind of an answer. Some people thought Natsu was a goof ball and aloof, but she knew he was much smarter than he looked. So it was highly plausible he was merely thinking of the future. Frankly he was a typical Japanese male in that regard, but Lucy also knew there was more to it. Natsu was an orphan who’d had to work hard for what he had. He probably just wanted to make sure when the time came for a family, he’d be ready to take care of one. It made him all the more endearing to Lucy and her heart flutter whenever she thought too much about it.
Lucy readied her gift seconds before the knock came. She opened her front door. “Hey Natsu! Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas, Lucy,” he smiled wide and held up a plastic bag holding a bucket of KFC. “Hope you’re hungry!”
“Oh, wow! You ordered that in advance huh? I heard you have to preorder those meals.”
“Yup! Cause I wanted to share this tradition with you.”
She blushed. “Aww, you’re so sweet.”
“Like candy,” he beamed causing her to chuckle at his silly answer.
They settle in her living room around the warm kotatsu and set up the meal on the table top. She really loved her kotatsu during winter. Tokyo rarely if ever got a spattering of snow but the air could still be mighty cold. So many nights were spent with her legs curled under its heater with a good book before bed. This wasn’t the first time the best friends shared a meal on Christmas Eve together, but it was the first time Natsu had brought KFC and the possibilities were not lost on Lucy.
It’s been awhile since she’d had KFC, not that she didn’t like their food, the restaurant was just out of the way for her. And she knew it wasn’t close to his apartment either, so maybe Natsu just felt like eating it. No, that didn’t make sense because he had to preorder the meal which meant it had been planned. Lucy pushed away her logical debate and filed it away for later. They make small talk while they eat their dinner, catching up on work or friend related topics. It wasn’t as if they didn’t speak often because they did, but sitting down and relaxing like this was less frequent in recent months. Lucy was working for a magazine and Natsu had landed a good job at an import/export company.
“Did you hear, Levy’s pregnant with twins.”
Natsu almost spit out his food. “Twins?! What was Gajeel packing to knock her up with two babies?!”
“You goof! That’s not how it works!” Now it was Lucy’s turn to cough out a laugh. “She told me twins just run in her family.”
“So, when’s she due?”
“It’s still the first trimester, so 6 more months I think.”
“Wow...” Natsu sat back in contemplation. “Our group is really growing up, huh? Gray and Juvia got married last year. Erza and Jellal are engaged. And now Levy’s pregnant.”
“Yeah,” Lucy looked down, smiling, thinking. They were all in their late-20s now, and time really was flying by. “We’re all growing up.”
“You know, Lucy I’d been thinking about that a lot lately.”
She looked back up to see a serious expression on Natsu’s face that sent heat flooding to her cheeks. “A-About what?” Lucy asked, though the question almost died on her tongue over anxiety of its answer.
“The idea of settling down... getting married...” he reached over the table and took her by the hand. “And a family... do you ever think about these things?”
“I, um— sometimes...”
“Remember what I told you about once I had a good job?”
“Yeah...”
“Well, now I have a stable job, with good benefits, so I thought maybe, it’s time.”
“For?”
“To take this friendship to the next level.” Natsu pushed a small jewelry box along the table surface towards her. “I know I’m skipping a step, but Lucy Heartfilia, you’ve always been the only girl for me.”
Lucy gasped. This was definitely sudden and they haven’t even kissed before! Skipping a step? That’s an understatement. “I-Is that what I think it is?!” He opened the box and there it was, a shiny gold band with a small diamond. Her eyes widen, “oh my goodness, it is...” she looked up at him. “Natsu?”
“The only Christmas gift I wish for this year, is a yes. Please say yes Lucy.”
Moisture clouded her crinkled eyes. It was sudden, true, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t dreamt of it either. Who needed dating when they already knew so much about each other? “Yes,” Lucy smiled. “Yes, I’ll marry you Natsu Dragneel.”
He moved from around the table closer to Lucy, then took the ring and placed it on her finger. Natsu leaned in and kissed her lips, almost moaning at the contact. “Kami, I’ve wanted to do that for so long!”
“Idiot, you could have done it ages ago!” She smacked his shoulder playfully. “And leave it to you to propose over a KFC dinner. Such a romantic at heart.”
He chuckled and grinned. “I try my best.”
This time it’s Lucy who leaned in and kissed Natsu soft and slow, letting their lips linger as she pulled away with a smile. “And your best is good enough for me.”
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spencervoid · 4 years
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Undercover | Spencer Reid
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*I do not own this GIF nor do I take credit for it!*
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader
A/N: This idea was inspired by the song “Us” by James Bay and Alicia Keys which is an INCREDIBLE song by the way! [Edited] Okay, writing this I didn’t expect to be this long but I kept adding as I went along aha so bear with it!
Warnings: angst, tension, death, blood, a lot of sadness, fluff, kissing, happy ending :)
NO SMUT! I’m not comfortable with writing that sort of stuff so I won’t go further than a very intense kiss, thank you.
Word Count: 2.6k words (reading time; 20 mins average)
[If your name is Anna then change the undercover name to whatever you like]
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“I hate dresses.” You mumbled underneath your breath, stepping out of the SUV with Reid by your side. This mission was definitely out of your comfort zone but Emily claimed that there was no one better for the job. All you both had to do was profile the room after an anonymous tip came in that the unsub was going to be attending the party.
A couple of days ago, you and Reid had gotten into quite an argument and it had been awfully tense between you two since then, despite the tries from the rest of the team to get you two to at least acknowledge each other’s existence. Your heels clicked against the pavement as the warm air hugged your body closely, Reid looking around the area like the maniac he was. Defeats the purpose of being discreet. 
You walked confidently, your hair was brushed back behind your shoulders, various rings slid onto your fingers with a very shiny diamond one on your ring finger of your left hand. Shoot, you almost forgot you were ‘married’ to Reid. Seriously, why couldn’t JJ go?
You approached the front door, the bodyguard stood with a clipboard in his hand. “Names?” You looked to Reid as he studied the man’s face, a light smile built up on his face. “James Meulbrook.” You planted a fake smile on your lips, as the bodyguard flicked through the pages, chewing his gum obnoxiously. “Ah, Mr Meulbrook, yes.” 
The bodyguard spoke, ticking off the name with his black fountain pen. He looked to you, eyeing you up and down and you resisted every urge to gauge out his eyes with a fork but just tilted your chin up, a sudden hand on your waist, pulling you in. “And who’s the lovely lady?” 
“Anna. Anna Meulbrook.” The bodyguard looked up at Reid, who had his jaw clenched and his other hand balled into a fist behind his back. The man looked visibly intimidated as he cleared his throat and stood to the side, motioning for the pair of you to walk in. 
You both took his invitation in and walked side by side, but before you could go downstairs to where the hall was, you were stopped. You felt a soft grasp on your hand, turning to face Spencer, he was looking down at your face with a worrisome look. “Careful alright? We know what this unsub’s capable of.”
You nodded firmly and pulled your hand out of his, walking down the steps to where the huge hall was located. There were a couple of tables gathered on both sides of the hall, with an extravagant and expensive chandelier hanging from the ceiling.
“Woah.” You whispered, picking up your dress so you wouldn’t trip over it as you strolled down the stairs. You met the eyes of other people who had came tonight, a gleaming smile on their faces.
A waitress even complimented your dress as you made your way across the hall, being offered a drink. Spencer walked with both of his hands in his pockets, looking around the room with a tight lipped smile on his face. You refused the drink and took a seat on the table with ‘The Meulbrooks’ sign on it. 
Spencer sighed and sat down besides you, whispering in your ear, “if we’re going to make this whole marriage thing work, you can’t be mad at me.” You scoffed quietly, looking to him. “I’ll be the judge of that.” 
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Throughout the night, Spencer stayed on his side as you stayed on yours and followed the instructions Hotch strictly told you to stand by. 
‘Be welcoming, act like you fit in, and don’t approach the unsub if you spot him. You’ll be unarmed and be putting everyone else at risk. Call us. We will be watching the entire time just in case something goes wrong.’ 
You were talking with a couple of women who were sat on the same table as you, so far nothing had come up. Neither you or Reid had found anyone or even suspected anyone, despite how close you were looking at all the people here tonight.
In the middle of saying something, you felt a hand on your shoulder. “Excuse me.” You looked up and saw Reid smiling at the ladies before looking down at you, motioning to walk with him. Silently obeying, you stood up and picked your dress up off the ground, following Spencer elsewhere. 
He turned around to face you, looking around to make sure no one else was in conversation distance. “I think I’ve identified the unsub.” You furrowed your eyebrows, shifting uncomfortably where you stood. “Who?” 
“On your 6, navy blue blazer.” You looked down to the floor, whispering, “Talk to me. Pretend we’re in a conversation.” As Spencer rambled on about something to do with the laws of physics, you smiled at him and calmly looked to your left. You observed the man Reid was suspecting and looked back up at him.
“We agreed on a young male, not a 40 year old.” He rolled his eyes, pulling his hair back behind his ears. You both quietened down as a couple walked past, resuming to your conversation moments after. “He’s been staring at you for the last hour.” 
You tilted your head at him, “Can’t handle the fact men are attracted to me?” 
“He’s been staring a little too intensely to be attracted.” 
“I think I would know if he was staring a little too intensely, I am a profiler after all.” You turned to walk away but Spencer grabbed your hand, pulling you back to face him. You hastily whispered in a hushed tone, trying not to grab the attention of the people around you. “Let go of me, I have a job to do.” 
“You’re getting a bit too comfortable to be doing just a job if these men are staring at you.” Your mouth hung open as you scoffed, your voice getting louder. “What??”
You knew better than to blow your cover and put everyone at risk so you took a deep breath and yanked your hand out of his grip. “At least I’m trying to do my job right, James.” You emphasised on his fake name, a man and a woman approaching the two of you as you both simultaneously turned to them, fake smiles plastered on your lips.
“Mr Meulbrook, we just came over to say how much we admire your charity work.” You looked down to your feet for a brief moment, rolling your eyes before looking back up to face the couple and your ‘husband’. “I’m going to get a drink.” You excused yourself and gave a curt nod towards the two guests opposite you. 
You spun on your heel and walked away, heading back to your table. Spencer watched you walk away, remorse filling his chest. He wanted to apologise, not just as James but as Spencer too. 
“In trouble with the Mrs?” Spencer was shook out of his trance, looking back at the man. “Don’t we all?” He threw a light-hearted comment in an attempt to make him feel distracted but it didn’t work nonetheless. You were the only thing he could think about. 
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As you gazed at yourself in the mirror, you desperately tried to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall out, Spencer’s comment earlier running through your mind. Did he actually mean that? Did he think you were purposely trying to get men to stare at you? As if it was your fault that men couldn’t keep their thing in their pants when seeing an attractive woman, that was their problem. Not yours. 
You heard heels click against the floor as you took a deep breath and pretended to fix your hair as the woman gave you a small smile in the mirror before walking into a stall. Suddenly, you stopped in your tracks when you heard a piercing sound run through the building. 
Fire alarm. 
You briskly walked back to the hall’s entrance when you got pushed back by a swamp of people who were running out, some screaming and some in complete terror. You were entirely confused, holding a lady back and trying to get her to calm down. “Hey, hey, hey, what happened?”
“I-I-I don’t know,” She was about to explain but ran away when she heard her husband calling her name out, ushering her into their car. You looked around frantically, searching for...
A sudden gunshot echoed through the hall as you ran in, seeing a young lady lying on the floor, blood flowing from the centre of her head as she laid lifeless on the ground. “Oh my god.” You whispered, tears escaping your eyes as you brought your hand to your mouth. 
You noticed the bullet holes decorated across the ceiling, a silencer on the floor only a couple of feet away from where the body was. 
Running to the girl, you saw the exit door wide open assuming it’s where the unsub must’ve escaped from. You couldn’t help the tears uncontrollably run down your cheeks, bringing your fingers to your head, running them through your hair in frustration. 
Two FBI agents, one unsub, one victim and he still got away. God you felt so stupid. 
Great, now your phone was still in the bathroom and you knew if you left, the press would be right outside so now you had no way to contact any of your team. Not to mention that you had a body laying in front of you, an escaped unsub and your own personal audience waiting for an answer outside.
You walked out of the hall, turning back every five seconds to see the girl, your chest filling up with guilt that you didn’t see to her in time. You couldn’t help but put the blame on yourself, thinking about the what-ifs.
Walking out into the outside, an army of guests and paparazzi gathered around you within seconds, knowing you had to answer for what had just happened inside but you couldn’t even bring yourself to figure it out. Being the liaison of the team really came with it’s disadvantages.
Questions, comments, blames were getting thrown at you in every direction as you agitatedly looked around, trying to calm down the situation. You were still crying, your body still pumping adrenaline, your mind still in shock and utter denial.
Thankfully, you heard a loud and deep voice take control of the situation and push the people away from you. Sighing, your body limped from the overwhelming pain you were feeling in your chest when you looked up and saw him.
But he wasn’t looking at you. Instead he was looking at Emily and JJ, talking to them in a frustrated manner.
He was shaking his head, his eyes were red and his fingers were crossed. Something he did when he was nervous. Almost instantly, he caught your eyes looking at him as he took a sigh of... relief? Suddenly, any defences you had built up against him were just paper. Before you even knew it, you were engulfed in his arms and his blazer was wrapped around you. You could feel his torso and the heart that beat from within. His hands were folded around your back, drawing you in closer. You could practically feel your body shake, crying as you nuzzled into him further.
Spencer pulled his head back and softly wiped your tears with his thumb, even his gentle touch brought more relief than your heart could hold. He pulled your hair back behind your ear, almost assessing your face for any sort of pain or damage. “I-I let him get away, she’s gone. She-She’s gone.” You cried out in whispers as he tried to calm you down, resting both of his hands on either side of your face.
“This isn’t your fault angel. You did nothing wrong. You did nothing wrong.” Spencer repeated to you, kissing your forehead gently. “They’ve secured each exit, every unit is out on the road. We’ll find the son of a bitch.”
Your cries went to silent sobs as you rested your head on Spencer’s firm chest, his hand on the back of your head as he ran his fingers through your hair in an attempt to soothe you.
“It’s okay. You’re okay.” He continued to whisper, everyone else around you keeping a safe distance, they were sure Spencer was doing a good job and he was. There was no one you trusted more to take care of you.
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After a couple of hours, the unsub was captured somewhere in the woods when a person called in, reporting someone of the exact same description. He was disarmed at the scene and was already on his way to the police station where Hotch, Rossi and Emily followed.
You were leaned up against the side of an ambulance, still wearing Spencer’s blazer, you gazed out into the distance, hearing all the chatter and noise behind you.
You felt a vibration come from the blazer’s pocket, pulling out Spencer’s mobile, you read the new message sent. “Got your phone :)” You smiled to yourself, scanning over the message a couple of times before locking the phone and putting it away.
Hearing footsteps slowly become louder, you turned your head to see a familiar brown haired boy walk over. A soft smile on his face.
He stood in front of you, hands dug into his pockets as he pulled out your phone and handed it to you. “Thank you.” You mumbled quietly, earning a hum in response.
You had every urge to ask him what was on your mind, what you were thinking since you’d shared that hug, every moment didn’t seem right until this one. When it was just the two of you. When you were both enjoying each other’s company silently, you knew it was the right moment.
“Why were you crying?” You looked up to meet his eyes who were already fixed on you, his lips twitching as he thought of what to say. Taking a step forward, he spoke confidently, “because I thought I’d lost you.”
You nodded gently, picking at the rings on your fingers as you decided on whether or not you should ask the next question. But you did anyway. “What you said in there, about me wanting men’s attention, did you m-”
“No. No I didn’t mean that Y/N. What I said in there were lies. All of it. You’re beautiful okay? You can wear anything you want and men are always going to look at you because every ounce of you is perfect. Every ounce.” You opened your mouth to reply but he beat you to it, “look, I was just jealous. I was jealous because I mean Y/N, look at you. You’re so damn beautiful.”
There was a brief pause between you both when he spoke back up again. “Just say the word and I can show you Y/N. I can show you just how much you mean to me.”
You stopped for a moment, placing a hand on Spencer’s chest as he looked down at you, waiting patiently. There were a million thoughts running through your head but you knew deep down you wanted him. Despite how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise.
“Okay.” As soon as the word left your mouth, Spencer lifted your head with his thumb, his forefinger resting underneath your chin. You closed your eyes as he leaned in to your face, feeling a pair of lips brush yours instantly afterwards. It was soft and delicate, as if he was asking for permission to go further.
You brought your hand slowly up to his face as the kiss continued, the touch of his lips against yours getting more and more intimate. He could feel the warmth of your skin, smiling against your lips at how you were probably turning pink.
And yes, you were turning pink. You could practically feel your limbs inside shaking, your heart beat quickening and your body melting under Spencer’s gentle touch.
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