#BISTRO MILLE | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sincerelybubbles · 3 months ago

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Here's a dialogue prompt for Emily please! Try this out pls. Love you Kam sm sm. "So why are you here?" "To make a fool of myself." ok ty lysm

even though i watched u type this, the wording makes me giggle every time i look at it.

emily prentiss x tech analyst!reader <3

warnings: fem!reader, cannon typical violence, very brief allusions to sexual assault (nothing happens!), angst and fluff! mutual pining.

word count: 5.4k

Emily is the loveliest thing you've ever seen and you can't imagine how she could ever possibly like you back. She enjoys the game, though, and teasing you is her favorite hobby.

It’s a sunny day. Warmth trickles down with the scattered light through the leaves. Patterns trace your arms, throwing your skin into a collage of different shapes and shades. Leaning back on your elbows, you watch people mill about the park. You look back down at your arm after a few more minutes, this time focused on the small watch resting there. With a sigh, you stand up and dust off your pants before picking up the small blanket you laid out and tucking it into your bag.

You walk back to work, enjoying the sounds of the people around you. You lingered too long at the park during your break and are hoping that nobody notices your slightly late return. Maybe the team will be in a meeting, gruesome pictures you never quite learned to stomach plastered on the board, entirely oblivious to your tardiness.

Unlikely, but a welcome thought soothing your anxiety as you push the door open and scan your badge at the security desk.

“Welcome back,” the security guard says, smiling at you over his paperback. He’s an old greying man and you vaguely recognize him. You think he’s new and send him a warm smile in return.

“Thanks,” you glance at his name badge, “Martin!”

You walk past him and step into the elevator. “Wait!” A voice calls and you reach forward to hit the hold button instinctively before you register the voice as Emily’s.

She jogs into the elevator with you, smiling gratefully. “Thanks, I’m already running a little behind.” She lifts a container and shakes it a little. The label is from the Italian bistro across the street, about a ten-minute walk away and always nearly triple that in wait time.

“Brave of you to go there during your lunch,” you joke, returning her smile and pressing the button for your floor.

You hope she can’t see how your hands shake as you reach forward.

“I know, I just love their Pasta Brado. Have you tried it?”

“Can’t say I have. I’m boring, I usually go for the parm.”

“You’re not boring,” she says so earnestly that you can’t help but blush. You cough as an excuse to raise your hand to your face and hopefully hide it some. “You do have to try it, though. Here,” she offers you the plastic box.

“Oh, I couldn’t. And I already ate.” You ignore the way your chest hurts a little at how enthusiastic she is. The worst part? She doesn’t even know how endearing her simple kindness, her casual enthusiasm, is to you.

“Tomorrow, then. We can go together.” The elevator doors open as she says it and she steps out with an affirmative nod to solidify it. “Don’t try to bail out on me either, I know where to find you.”

“Yeah, I'm okay,” you say, feeling lame as you step out behind her. “I would love to.” She’s too far to hear you, though, already heading to Spencer’s desk and jumping right into his conversation with Morgan.

Someone says your last name and you turn on your heel to see Hotch and cringe slightly. “I was trying to find you.” It’s a kinder way of him reminding you that you’re nearly ten minutes late back from your lunch.

“Sorry, sir.”

“It’s fine. Do you have the reports finished from last week's trip to Huston?”

“Yes, sir, they’re at my desk. One moment.”

You and Emily don’t go to the bistro the next day because she and the team are sent to a small town in Kansas that night.

“I’ll owe you lunch,” she says, hand on the back of your desk chair and brushing your shoulder as the team rushes to the jet.

“Don’t worry about it!” You reassure her.

“I’m taking you to lunch,” she calls over her shoulder, pretend-glaring, “you will try that Brado!”

And then she’s gone, leaving you giddy and breathless.

You know she’s just being friendly – she treats Spencer, Morgan, and JJ all the same as you – but her efforts to spend one-on-one time with you outside of work still have you feeling like a schoolgirl passed a note from her crush in class.

You try to remind your heart to stop singing because Emily probably isn’t even gay and definitely isn’t interested. Instead, Garcia scares the shit out of you when she interrupts your inner monologue.

“Lunch with Emily? Things are getting serious in your work marriage.” You hadn’t seen her walk into the room and jump at her voice, hand jumping to your mouth to suppress a yelp. “Sorry! Sorry!”

“It’s okay, didn’t see you.”

“Your loss, I look fantastic today.”

“As always,” you smile up at her, nose wrinkling and genuine fondness filling your senses.

“Careful, wouldn’t want a workplace affair,” she jokes, leaning against your desk and picking up the stress ball you keep handy.

“Stop,” you moan in good nature. “Nobody else calls us work wives.”

“That’s just because they don’t have my brilliance and excellent observational skills.”

“Nor do they have the same privy to my more personal thoughts,” you say, glancing up at her before returning to your paperwork. With the team leaving so quickly to tend to a missing child's case, you’re not getting home in time to cook dinner but are hoping to leave early enough to grab food instead of resorting to your freezer stash.

“I would hope not. You know I can’t be replaced, baby.”

“Does Morgan know you talk to all your work besties like this?”

“I most certainly do not. You’re a regular bestie, not a work bestie.” A wink and then her expression sobers. “I do have an actual reason for visiting your humble cubical, though.”

“Hm?”

“I’m going to need extra hands for this case. It’s time-sensitive, as usual, and seems like it will be particularly tricky.”

“Yes ma’am,” you say, dropping your pen and standing to follow her.

Your position at the bureau is kind of a catch-all. Most of your time is spent logging data, building reports, and doing general research for the team. Occasionally, though, you jump in to help Garcia with real-time research. Nothing as high-stakes as her direct assignments, more background work. Calling offices to talk to managers, combing through more meticulous data, generic census material to rule out obvious dead ends.

It’s stressful work that technically isn’t what you’re paid for but you never complain. Your team saves lives, consistently putting themselves in the line of danger. If you have to spend a few hours a month helping Garcia call a suspect's manager at McDonald's to see if he still works there, it’s literally the least you can do.

“Yes, so, it looks like our unsub…”

You drown out Garcia’s brief about information you already have sitting in front of you and begin vetting possible suspects from the large pool her system created.

It’s going to be a long night. You think about future Brado to cheer you up.

“Reid, Prentiss take the back,” Hotch’s voice fills your ears. You imagine the pair nodding and splitting off from the group.

This is your least favorite part of helping the team with active investigations – listening in on the calls. It’s rare that you and Garcia join the line when they’re approaching the unsub but, with you helping her, it isn’t a risk to distract Garcia and a much quicker method of getting any new information the team needs. It’s a new system you’ve only tried thrice, unsure how having microphones on 24/7 will work, and it grants you and the team more fluid communication.

Still, adrenaline floods your veins as you listen to their coms, the sounds of Garcia typing a constant behind their voices, imagining every way this could go wrong.

You suspect the girl is still alive, the uncle doesn’t seem to have any reason to kill her just yet, but your fear for her grows with every minute.

“Clear!”

Your eyes fall to the receipts flooding your screen. Ammo. A new rifle and pistol. The team knows but the evidence of this unsubs ability to hurt any of your friends, your family, isn’t helping your nerves.

“I think he’s going to the roof!” Morgan’s voice, clear in the comms.

You click out of the documents. Two swift motions on the screen. The firm press of the button.

“Morgan, you’re on foot. Prentiss, follow him. Everyone else in vans, go!”

“Garcia, map out possible escape routes from the roof,” you instruct.

She nods, screens shifting immediately. She puts on her own headset with one hand and clicks on the call and starts to bark information to Hotch.

“Got her!” Reid’s voice sounds and you deflate a little. He mutes as he begins to console the small girl.

You know you can take off your headset now, leave the call, and go to your paperwork. There isn’t much more you can do to help – you’re sure that’s what you’re supposed to do – but you stay on anyway, listening.

“Right on Elmore!” Morgan calls. You find the street on Garcia’s screen, eyes tracing the path you think they’re taking.

“We’ll try to cut him off,” Rossi says and you can hear tires in the background of the call. The click of a steering wheel cutting to the side too quickly. Someone’s labored breathing – probably Morgan’s as he dead sprints.

“Stop! Put your hands up!” Emily shouts. The firmness in her voice makes you sit up straighter in your chair.

You hear something that sounds vaguely like, “bitch,” before a loud pop drowns anything else out.

“Emily!” Morgan’s voice, more pops.

Gunfire. That’s gunfire, your brain recognizes.

Your blood has gone cold.

“We need a medic!” Morgan shouts. Hotch’s line blinks red, going dead as he calls the ambulance. “Emily, Emily.”

Rustling. Cars. Sirens. Morgan’s line goes dead after you hear a car door slam shut. Then Reid’s and Rossi’s. Emily’s is the last to stay green, blinking.

You and Garcia stare at each other as you listen to Emily be loaded into an ambulance. Listen to Morgan tell the team, voice far away and barely tangible, that the unsub only managed to fire out one shot before he downed him.

Neither of you can hear where she was shot or how badly injured she is before Emily’s line goes red as well.

“Emily?” You call softly, rapping your knuckles softly on the frame of the cracked hospital door.

Your name, faint, answers you and you take that as permission to nudge the door open. The room looked dark from the hallway but Emily has the small lamp embedded on the wall switched on, throwing her face into harsh shadow.

“Hey, you,” you say, walking in, arms full. “I brought things.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” she says, trying to sit herself up further and wincing as the motion pulls on her stitches in her abdomen.

“Wait, let me help you,” you say, setting your things down and reaching out a hand.

You wait for her nod before touching her, letting her grasp your arm and looping your other arm around the back of her waist to take most of her weight yourself.

“Thanks,” she mumbles. You can tell she hates feeling useless, hates needing help for something as simple as sitting up, so you drop the subject with a nod and kind smile.

You turn around to the small rolling tray where you put your things down, pulling two black containers out from a plastic bag. You feel silly and very awkward as you turn around to show them to her.

“I know it’s probably not quite what you meant but,” you set the containers down on her bed and pop one open.

“The Pasta Brado! Oh man, I was going to treat you.” She’s pouting through a smile, attempting to put on an upset facade and failing miserably.

It’s so cute that you struggle with what to say next.

“Thank you, really. You can pull up that chair, if you’re hungry now.”

You grab the chair she’s motioned to and drag it to sit next to her. “I’m hungry if you are. It might be a little cold, though, it’s kind of a far walk.”

“You walked here?” Emily asks, tone appalled and face comically shocked.

“Yeah, my car broke down last week. I’ve been walking to work – it’s actually really nice out right now – and I couldn’t find a cab from the bistro.” You busy yourself with the food while you talk, opening the second container, setting it on her legs, and unwrapping the plastic cutlery for her.

“Jesus! You didn’t need to come and see me if you don’t have a car. You didn’t need to come at all, actually. I really appreciate it,” she amends, seeing how your bashful smile freezes on your face, reaching forward as if to touch your face and brushing your shoulder instead. “It’s really sweet of you but you didn’t need to walk all that way. Isn’t it like a twenty-minute walk from here?”

Over thirty, but you nod anyway, knowing it won’t help your case to correct her. “It’s not a big deal. You were shot in the stomach, of course I wanted to see you.”

“Ah, so you wouldn't want to see me otherwise,” she teases, nodding and pushing her pasta around with her fork. She doesn’t even try to conceal her grin.

“Ha ha, very funny,” you mumble. You take a bite of your food and your eyes widen. “Oh my god.”

“I knew you would love it,” she beams, watching your expression as you taste the food. You you she meant to say it in a gloating way but you swear you can hear a sort of fondness behind the words. Something in you warms at her ability to know you so well.

You tell yourself you’re overreacting about both thoughts.

“You were right – Emily this is unfairly good.”

“Oh, I know,” she says, taking her own bite and letting out an exaggerated moan, complete with an eye roll. You giggle and she smiles at you. “Thank you, this is exactly what I needed.”

“You’re welcome,” you say, holding her eye contact.

She's been in the hospital for three days, transferred back to Virginia last night; her hair is unwashed and unbrushed, and she’s wearing no makeup and a hospital gown.

She’s still the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen.

Your car is fixed by the time Emily is released from the hospital two days later and you offer to take her home.

“Hi Sergio,” you greet the cat brushing against your legs as Emily disengages the alarm.

You set her things down by the door before turning to offer her your arm. Emily doesn’t pretend that she doesn’t need the help when it’s just you two, something you’re grateful for after watching her struggle with the team around, and lets you guide her to her bedroom.

You set about making her comfortable, turning down her sheets and propping the pillows up so she can sit.

“I’ve got it,” she laughs, playfully pushing away your hands.

You laugh along with her, raising your hands and backing away. “I’m going to go put the rest of your stuff away and get you a drink.”

“Perfect, I’ll take an old-fashioned. Don’t forget the cherry.”

You roll your eyes at her, scoffing and leaving her room.

You throw her clothes and go-bag in her laundry room before making her a glass of water and another glass of juice. Once you’re sure she’s settled in her bed with her book, you return to the kitchen to make her a few dinners, ignoring her protests.

Emily is back in the field much sooner than you would have liked.

“I was cleared by the doctors,” she tells you, coat slung over her arm as she digs through her bag for her badge.

You smile at Martin, sending him a mock exasperated look, before she finds her ID and shows it to him.

“It still seems too soon, Em,” you persist, reaching forward to push the elevator button and turning so you can lean back to watch her face.

“Em?” Emily asks, the hint of a smile pulling up the left corner of her mouth.

You sort of feel like you could die in that moment, just from the heat that simple gesture surges through you.

“It just sort of slipped out, sorry,” you say, thoroughly embarrassed.

The elevator dings and the doors open, throwing you off balance for a second. This doesn’t help your already flared nerves as you stumble back and drop your bag. You reach down to gather it and the files scattered across the floor.

You’re kneeling to stuff everything in your bag when Emily crosses your line of sight again, wide smile on her face – teeth fully on display and nose scrunched, you are in desperate need of help – holding out your notepad.

“I think the nickname’s sweet. I kind of like the idea of having a name only one person, only you, calls me.”

All of the air has left this godforsaken elevator, the heat must be on, you stare dumbly at her as she reaches forward to grab your bag and put the rest of your papers inside of it for you.

And then, realizing you look like an absolute idiot, you snap back into your body and cough slightly. The doors ding and open again, you grab your bag from her and stand slowly. Smiling at her, still crouched on the floor and looking, amused, up at you through her eyelashes, you say, “Okay. Thanks, then, Emmy.”

You walk away after that brief flash of confidence, telling yourself you’re just imagining how you swear her face flushed bright at your comment.

And if Morgan mentions a few minutes that Emily seems flusters, well, who can blame you for floating on that high for a few days?

Except she doesn’t let it go.

She corners you on your break in the kitchenette. Literally. She catches you when you’re examining the coffee pot that has been making concerning gurgles for the past few days and leans on the counter behind you, effectively blocking your exit.

Not that you really want to leave.

She’s wearing a red tank top and dark jeans, her hair is loose around her shoulders, eyes steadily trained on your face as you work.

“Hello,” you say, quiet in a way you’re not normally.

“Hi.”

“What’re you doing?” You ask after a few more moments of her silently staring at you while you pretend to know what you’re doing with a screwdriver.

“Enjoying the view.”

You drop your screwdriver and relish in the sound of her laugh.

You’d love to say that you had some suave answer to return her charm but you think you spent it all that morning with your boldness.

You’re not shy but confidence doesn’t run in your blood either. You’d say you’re pretty normal – average. You don’t find much wrong with that, you know you have other qualities that build you up into an interesting person. You love your friends and coworkers deeply, for one. And have an intense trust in them and their abilities.

That trust is always tested in your day-to-day at work but never more than now as you feel the car around you make turns at highway speeds. You think you’re on some sort of back road but it’s hard to tell from the trunk given the obvious lack of windows.

You’re calmer than you thought you would be if kidnapped.

Groaning after one particularly rough turn that has you jostling against the sides of the trunk, you allow your head to thump back and stare at the inside of the dark car. Light breaks through the cracks of the hinges of the trunk and you wonder if water trickles through when it rains.

You’ve been in here too long to consider if you’re focused on the wrong things. You’re scared shitless, of course, but the adrenaline faded about an hour into your drive and now you’re just bored.

Imagine that – bored as fuck in the trunk of a stranger's car, wrists burning from the rope and jaw sore from where it’s been forced open too long by the fabric tied around the back of your head.

You’re just allowing yourself to reimagine your morning with Emily when the car stops and the engine cuts.

You snap back into the present, energy flooding your system again as your brain flicks into overdrive. You might spend your days paper-pushing behind a desk, but you passed your physical. You’re smart, you’ve heard the stories of how these victims survive captivity.

When the trunk pops open, you squeeze your eyes shut to prevent pain from the sudden lack of light. You don’t want to be blinded and the action has the added benefit of pleasing your captor. He put a hood over your hood when he grabbed you, muttering in your ear in tense tones that you would do best to not even try to see him.

Say what you will, you usually do a pretty good job at following directions. This one is easy and happens to be number one on your list right now – keep him happy so he keeps you alive.

“Good girl,” a gruff voice says before a calloused hand gropes the back of your neck to yank you forward. Scratchy fabric envelops your head and your hot breath bounces back against you, trapped against the fabric of the hood.

You stand when his hands start to grab your waist, pulling yourself to your knees and allowing yourself to be lifted from the trunk.

You want to run but know now’s not the time.

“Look at how well-behaved you are!” His breath is wet against your neck. He stands too close, hands clawing under the hem of your shirt to cling to your skin.

He walks you forward like that, chest pressed against your back and breath slithering down the collar of your shirt to hang uncomfortably over your collarbones.

It’s becoming increasingly more obvious what this sicko wants from you and your stomach is twisting at the thought. You urge the team to hurry up, knowing your absence would have been missed ages ago. They have to be looking for you by now. And, with how sloppy this dude seems to be, he must have left a plethora of clues waiting to be found.

You have to repeat this to yourself as you hear a door lock click.

“Took you long enough. This is the girl? She’s kind of … well,” the second man kisses his teeth with a sharp sound. You’re pushed forward again. “Whatever floats your boat man.” The door shuts and locks behind you. The second man's voice fades as he talks, disinterested.

You wonder if it’s wrong to feel slightly insulted right now.

“This way, doll.”

You listen. It’s saving your life to be complicit in his directions, so you listen. Still, you’re shoved harshly to the floor once you get to where he wants you, knees striking what feels like cement. Before you can recover, your cheek stings and your head is whipping to the side from a sudden slap.

Then, there’s a kick to your ribs. You fall onto your side, too winded to even cry out, lips falling open in a silent scream. A boot in your belly. Your ribs again, your hip and back.

“Why?” You manage to sob out. “Why, why?”

You don’t get an answer.

You’re not overly religious but you thank whatever heavens or universe exists that he leaves you alone once he’s done kicking the shit out of you. Your ribs are bruised but the worst you expected hasn’t happened.

The boredom returns as you lay with throbbing ribs. At least one is broken and every breath hurts. You can’t imagine sitting up and, luckily, with your hands tied behind your back, it’s not really an option anyway.

It must be near an hour later when you’re fading out of consciousness – a purposeful choice on your part to save your energy – when you hear the front door burst down.

“FBI! Hands where I can see them!” Morgan. You nearly weep but think better when your stuttered gasp makes your side throb. “What the fuck?” You hear shouted in reply. “Robb, what the fuck man.”

There isn’t much of a resistance from the living room. The second man is shouting at what you can only assume is the first – your initial kidnapper – but there’s nothing else other than that.

“Clear!” You hear Hotch call. Spencer replies and then you hear the door nearest you open.

His voice calls out your name. You deflate against the floor. A second, you know he’s scanning the room with his gun before holstering it. “Clear! I need a medic!”

Hands, gentle, against your face, removing the hood. Swifter after that, removing your gag, and then hand binds.

“Hey, Spence,” you say, trying to smile up at him.

“Shh, you’re okay. We’ve got you.” He starts to support your weight behind your shoulders and the pain that brings is too intense to prevent your yelp.

“Oh my god, is she okay?” You hear Emily ask seconds before you see her. She looks concerned, hair now in a tight ponytail and FBI vest strapped over her chest. She whispers your name once and then a second time, reaching forward to gently brush your hair out of your eyes.

“Hey, pretty,” you say, words tumbling out of your mouth before you can catch them.

“Hi beautiful,” she answers, reply just as soft as your own. Earnest.

It makes your heart ache and, for the first time since being yanked off the road walking to grab lunch, you start to cry.

“Hey, hey, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, beautiful, it’s okay. You’re okay.” She repeats this as you’re lifted by the paramedics and cry harder.

She repeats it when they stitch up where kicks burst the skin over your cheekbone open, repeats it as she trails a hand down your arm in gentle patterns while they examine your ribs and confirm that you’ve broken two, maybe three.

She tries with you in the ambulance.

You can’t help but think about being on the phone when you heard Emily be shot weeks earlier. You squeeze your eye shut as they insert the IV, beyond grateful that she’s there to hold your hand while they do it. The tear that falls down your cheek has nothing to do with the pain and everything to do with the thought that you couldn’t have been there for her in the same way.

An odd thought, you realize, but it’s the one you’re stuck with as you drift away when the pain medicine enters your system.

You’re sent home three days later. You insist on spending the night alone, afraid to admit you’re scared because, honestly, nothing much happened to you.

Oh, of course, everyone tries to convince you otherwise but you know they’ve all had it worse. You were gone from the bureau for about eight hours and spent most of it bored.

So you force yourself to spend the night alone. You don’t need help moving around or doing things for yourself so you convince yourself you don’t need help.

You’re cooking dinner when the doorbell rings. You wipe your hands with a dish towel and take your time walking to the door to look through the peephole. You don’t know who took you yet, you haven’t asked and nobody has said, but you can imagine seeing him through the door. Waiting for you, waiting to kill you this time.

Okay, yeah, maybe Spencer was right when he talked about PTSD and usual levels of anxiety, but you’re so tired of him being so right all of the time that you really want to prove him right.

There is no man standing on the other side of the door, though. Instead, you see Emily, holding a plate wrapped in tin foil and looking serene in your apartment hallway.

You open the door quickly, unlatching it and turning off your alarm with a few clicks. “Emily?”

“Ah, man, I was getting used to Emmy,” she jokes, stepping inside with a smile in your direction and kicking off her shoes.

You can’t think of an answer so you just smile at her, hoping she’ll take the lead. You’re tired and she must see it because she offers the plate in her hands to you once the door is closed and the alarm is reengaged.

“Rossi sent me with it with explicit instructions to not let you share it.”

You giggle and take the plate. “I’ll have to tell him thank you. It’s kind of out of your way to come all this way, though, isn’t it?”

“Not out of my way at all,” she says, words dripping with meaning as she holds your eyes. “I would have come even if Rossi didn’t have food for you.”

“So why are you here?”

“To make a fool of myself,” she says, casually, like that’s something people say every day, “probably. You’ve just gotten back from the hospital and I know you said you wanted to be alone, but,” she swallows and her words are becoming more rushed as she speaks, “I said the same thing and you still stayed.”

“Emily?” You ask, setting the plate down on your hallway table and clearing your throat. “Ah, Emmy?” You amend when she cuts you a look. Your attempt to diffuse the tension doesn’t work and she steps closer so you’re toe to toe.

“That doesn’t really answer your question, though. You’re sweet enough that you would let it go, but,” she shrugs, reaching forward to gently loop her fingers around your wrists. “Stop me if this is awful timing. Please,” she says, leaning forward and staring into your eyes.

You feel like you’re suffocating, but if this is death, you’ll greet it gladly in the irises of Emily Prentiss. You’re caught in the trap of the moment, heart hardly breathing, all aches and sores forgotten because Emily is leaning closer, breath fanning across your face. You feel intoxicated, ensnared.

Everything that has ever been exists here, now, in this moment. Every breath used to blow out birthday candles and blow away eyelashes – breaths with purpose, with wishes, with intent – exists between the two of you as she leans closer and closer. Closer, still, and how can so much distance exist between you two when you’ve been standing so closely?

“Just, stop me, if you want,” she whispers against your lips, eyes falling shut.

Time yawns again, freezing. Your eyes open, hers closed, beats of seconds pausing. Hesitating for you to hold this moment in your hands. You’re grateful to appreciate it because she really is so lovely. Her bangs are pushed back from her face with a headband – imagine that! Emily owns headbands! – and you can see every detail of her face. Her elegant nose, her slim eyebrows, her narrow, prominent, lips.

And then your heart finally catches up, beats loudly, cracks whatever fragile plane of glass holding the moment so perfectly still, and her lips are meeting yours.

You gasp into her mouth, hands breaking out of her hold to grab her face. You’re afraid that she’s going to pull away before this kiss can be fully real. Before you can actually taste her – lemon cake and rain and warmth. Before you can memorize the feel of her lips pressed against your own before you can drag her closer and slip your hands into her hair.

But she doesn’t pull away. She meets your enthusiasm with a sigh and then enthusiasm tenfold. You can feel relief in the kiss, feel how she relaxes into you. She takes a step forward and you take one back half the amount to account for it.

A tilt of your head and it’s better, impossibly. She’s firm, sturdy, beautiful. Confident. Lovely, lovely, lovely.

And then she reaches forward to hold you to her, hands brushing your ribs to wrap around your back and you can’t hold in the gasp of pain that causes you to stiffen. You want to take it back, want to ignore the pain, want to keep her near, but she won’t allow it.

“Oh, I’m so so sorry. Are you okay? I’m sorry.” You smush the apologies against her lips, removing one hand from her hand to guide her arms around your shoulders where they won’t hurt. “Okay! Okay,” she giggles, leaning back with several short kisses that do nothing to satiate you. “I need to know you’re okay.”

She can obviously tell she hasn’t hurt you too bad by your reaction, but the sweet caution in her voice has you melting further.

“I’m perfect.”

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drghostwrite · 4 months ago

Text

Black is my color…

Pairing: Regina Mills x wife!reader

Summary: One jealous Regina.

Warnings: MINORS DNI, smut(like dirty sexy jaw dropping), some kinks (mommy, slight bondage/blindfold, strap on)

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

Being married to the mayor was one thing, always looking the part, being a driving force and support system, sometimes even her protector, honestly it wasn’t that bad, Regina had changed and everyone loved her so being mayor was like a no brainer.

Being married to Regina Mills, that was a whole other story, at first it was rough, proving to her that she deserved to be loved the way she loves, too many countless nights were spent arguing or even holding her in your arms as she cried from exhaustion and everything; though no one ever said marriage was easy.

You had your good times too, you had family and friends, you owned half the real estate in Storybrooke, but recently opened a bistro on Main street which allowed you to do your own thing and support Regina any way she needed, even if that meant mid day make out sessions in the office.

It was that time of year again, town hall meetings, because of not only owning half the town and also being the Mayors wife you also had to sit through back to back meetings with her.

“Dear, what’re you wearing?” Regina called out to you as she stood in front of the mirror putting earrings in. Your arms wrapped around her resting your chin on her shoulder.

“if I had my way I would say nothing, I’m going to tell them my wife wasn’t feeling well and I needed to take care of her.” You placed gentle kisses on her neck.

“Hm cute… but really?” She asked a hand coming to your hair as she leaned back into you, you inhaled the scent of her expensive perfume holding her a couple seconds longer.

“how’s this look?” You stepped back and in a moments notice she wanted to jump you, you had on the black knit top that hugged your upper body perfectly, the deep green suit complementing your skin tone the pants hugging your smooth curves, the stilettos peeking out made your legs look amazing.

“Absolutely amazing.” She said kissing you passionately.

“well then Mayor Mills, time to go remind this town what a power couple we are?” You held out your hand.

“Always.” She grinned, taking it and following you out to the car, when you arrived at the town hall you watched as people gathered and whispered among themselves.

when Regina entered the conference room followed by you it fell silent, power just permeating the room, there was a sense of security and gentleness that followed you and it was intimidating to most.

It wasn’t long before the meeting started to get slightly heated. You sat next to Regina, who was now distracted by how good you looked, oh how she wished she could take you right there, in front of everyone.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and looked at you a silent plea for help and immediately you were at her side.

“okay, okay…” you spoke up.

“So you do have a voice?” Gold snarkily replied.

“Gold…” Regina growled lowly, and he smirked.

“Hey she’s pretty persuasive at times… I’ll give her that…” Gold said raising his hands.

“Cause she’s hot, like dirty sexy hot… no offense…” Ruby started explaining, “if you weren’t married to the scariest person alive I would sleep with you.”

“Uhh, Ruby.” Snow gasped as the younger girl shrugged. You heard Regina, a scoff escaping her perfectly painted red lips behind you her signature eyebrow raised.

“Well fortunately enough, I’m happily married and my sex life is not the topic of this meeting.”

“well just saying though, no wonder you always get what you want… Regina’s hot too but you, she’s lucky she got her hands on you first.”

“Amen Sister.” Grumpy added. You knew your wife was on fire behind you as you stood and ended the meeting.

“Honestly if you ever, you know get bored… call me.” Ruby play flirted with you before leaving as you just rolled your eyes.

You felt as Regina quickly grabbed your hand and basically pulled you to the car. The car ride home was silent, Regina sat there not saying a word, you reached over and ran a hand on bare thigh were her skirt was lifted.

“Regina, love are you okay?”

“I’m fine…just ready to be home.” she said with sass and laid a hand on yours, you pulled in the driveway and she followed you in the house.

“I’ll be right there.” You said kissing her perfectly painted lips, going to put your keys away as she brushed past you to go upstairs. When you got up there you could tell something was off but thought maybe she was just tired, your eyes followed her half clothed form as she walked around your room in her underwear and the satin top partially unbuttoned. You wrapped you arms around her from behind, kissing her neck, “Hey, are you sure your okay?” She leaned her neck back to give you more access before turning around and pushing you back.

Soft kisses from you turned into bruising kisses from both of you as she pushed you back onto the bed, on flick of her wrist and you were unclothed, her in just a black lace lingerie set.

“Regina?”

“Dear?”

“Mm…” you said as her kiss stole the words from your lips. You let your hands roam her body, as she did the same to you, but not before she grabbed your hands off of her hips gathering them above your head.

“How much do you love me?”

“more than anything…” you replied.

“and you trust me?”

“with my entire life…” you said as she kissed you, her hands held yours in place as she was above you.

“Hm,” she softly moaned, “then be good for mommy.”

You let out a soft moan as she applied some pressure to your hands, grinding her hips into yours as she straddled you. You saw as she sat back biting her lip, going to move your hands but you felt the soft fabric as it strained against the headboard.

“Baby…” you whined.

“uh uh…” she moaned back, biting her bottom lip.

“mommy?” You asked, with a whine.

“are you asking or telling?” She leaned forward her breasts brushing your stomach as she slithered up your body, her hands roaming the goosebumps forming on your skin.

“I need you…” you whispered breathlessly.

“need me?… come on, you can do better than that…” she said her hands teasing your excited body, “I’m going to make you beg for my attention.” She chuckled darkly, her pupils blown as she pulled a hard nipple into her mouth.

“mommy I need you.” You whined out begging for her to touch you, to fuck you until you were seeing stars.

“if only they could see you now, the sexy and domineering mayors wife, falling apart at my touch.” She whispered in your ear, one hand traveling down to your core, between your legs where she was lying.

she slowly pulled her middle finger through your folds, teasing you, drawing moans from your plump lips. She knew you well, too well, enough that just her skilled fingers brushing against your sensitive clit was bringing you close to the edge, she moved down the bed her breath warm against your core.

“I-shittt, Regina…” you hissed out as she licked up your slit, pulling your clit into her mouth, letting her tongue make magic, you felt one finger then two slide in as she started pumping them, the black satin fabric around your wrist straining as you tried to touch her. You were so close panting, as you were on the verge of climax, then she pulled out, sitting back up to straddle your hips.

“Ughhh…” you let out a frustrated moan as she had robbed you of your high.

“not yet darling,” she said kissing your lips, her tongue roaming your mouth.

“don’t you taste amazing?” She asked you as you could taste you on her lips, she placed kisses on you neck and breast, leaving dark red marks that would definitely be purple by morning.

“the marks…” you struggled to get out, you would leave them on her in the most discreet places knowing that she hated when anyone else could see and yet here she was leaving them everywhere that someone could and would see them.

“I want everyone to know who you belong to, who’s wife you are, who makes you feel this good.” She said marking your body, hands pulling at the restraints as you tried touching her again.

“Damnit… let me touch you, please.” You begged again.

“Only if you’re a good girl.” She said crawling off of you and standing next to the bed, she stripped of her panties throwing them on the bed next to you, she tied another piece of black satin around your eyes, disappearing into your large walk in closet, you tried peering but the fabric wouldn’t let you see anything.

When she returned you felt as the bed dipped beside you and she undid your wrists, she slowly slid the blindfold from your eyes and you shot up on your knees pulling her into a kiss, but you were quickly met with a hand grabbing your hair and pulling you back.

“be a good girl for mommy.” She said her white teeth peeking through her signature smirk. You looked her over seeing the strap on that she currently wore, the thick black dick staring back at you.

“go ahead… show me what you can do.” she trailed as you lowered yourself in front of her pulling it into your mouth, feeling the bumps and ridges on your tongue. She sat there watching, admiring the perfect view of your ass in front of her. You looked up at her making eye contact as she reached down lifting your chin so she could pull you closer to her.

“you ready?”

“yes, mommy.” You said in a low tone watching her lips lightly part.

“Mm, then be a good girl and ride mommy’s dick.” She said sitting down her back against the pillows, you straddled her lap feeling as she positioned the toy at your entrance and you slowly lowered yourself. You hissed as you felt the slight burn as it stretched you, slowly turning into pleasure, you started grinding your hips against hers, the double sided strap on bringing you both pleasure.

you started moving you pace a little faster, “oh god, shit,” you reached out steadying yourself on the head board, your wife taking in the view, you riding the silicone cock, skin glistening, your boobs bouncing in front of her, it wasn’t long before you were both on the verge of climax, she thrusted up into you matching the pace of your hips, her hands gripping onto your hips helping to guide you, keep you steady. You threw your head back, eyes rolling in pleasure as a loud moan escaped from both of your lips. Your orgasms rocked your body, your legs shaking as you felt your muscles clenching.

You stayed there a moment the toy inside of you both as you sat in her lap, letting your breathing steady, gently kissing her lips, breath ghosting over each other as it slowed, you climbed off of her settling next to her on the bed.

“I would never leave you…” you whispered breathless, “I’m always yours.” You looked at her as she smiled at you and climbed on top of you placing delicate kisses on your lips.

“Dear, I’m not done with you yet.” She whispered in your ear, one hand going down to spread your legs, quickly repositioning herself between them, pushing the silicone toy back into you.

“im not going to be able to walk tomorrow,” you said breathlessly in between moans.

“Not when I’m done with you.” She said thrusting back into you bringing you to the edge of another orgasm.

******************************************************** Taglist:

@poisonappleeater @thesamesweetie @gayestswiftie

#x yn #x reader #x reader smut #regina mills x reader #regina mills #ouat x reader #ouat #ouat fanfiction #once upon a time #smut #mommy k!nk #smut prompts #wlw smut #jealousy #evil queen

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simdertalia · 8 months ago

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☕ ACNH Coffee Stuff Set ☕

Sims 4, base game compatible. 26 items. I hope you enjoy! This set is brought to you by the lovely patrons who voted 💗

I hope you enjoy! 💗

Always suggested: bb.objects ON, it makes placing items much easier. For further placement tweaking, check out the TOOL mod.

Build:-Wall | 2 swatches | Tile & Paneling

Type “acnh coffee" into the search query in build mode to find quickly. You can always find items like this, just begin typing the title and it will appear.

Always suggested: bb.objects ON, it makes placing items much easier. For further placement tweaking, check out the TOOL mod.

As always, please let me know if you have any issues! Happy Simming!

📁 Download all or pick & choose (SFS, No Ads): https://simfileshare.net/folder/214327/

📁 Alt Mega Download (still no ads): https://mega.nz/folder/QpAV0bZS#am_IxERH1ShD4Go0r-7e3w

📁 Download On Patreon

Will be public on April 1st, 2024 💗

Happy Simming! ✨ Some of my sets are early access. If you like my work, please consider supporting me:

★ Patreon 🎉 ❤️ |★ Ko-Fi ☕️ ❤️ ★ Instagram📷

Thank you for reblogging ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

@sssvitlanz @maxismatchccworld @mmoutfitters @coffee-cc-finds @itsjessicaccfinds @gamommypeach @stargazer-sims-finds @khelga68 @suricringe @vaporwavesims @mystictrance15 @moonglitchccfinds @xlost-in-wonderlandx @jbthedisabledvet @public-ccfinds @freeexclusives4thesims

The rest of my CC

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simaginary-friend · 8 months ago

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Mods to enhance Sims 3 store content to go with my video

Cupcake by nraas

Bakery Register Overhaul by fantuanss12

Produce Stand by ani

Canning Station Overhaul by Butterbot

Old Mill Tea Set Revamped by SimTangerine

The Savvier Seller by ani

Objects for the Savvy Seller Collection by Around The Sims 3

Business As Unusual Bistro by ani

Pasteurize Milk Mod by Twinsimming

MudBathTub + Standalone Sauna by Arsil

Professional Massage Table by Arsil

Hang Ten by mspoodle

;)

#the sims 3 #sims 3 #ts3 #simblr #the sims 3 mods #ts3cc

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theroyalsims · 10 months ago

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PRINCE ALISTAIR DEBUTS "OFFICIAL" NEW RELATIONSHIP WITH SIMDIAN SOCIALITE

Prince Alistair finally confirms the real status of his relationship with Simdian beauty Amarthi Crishan.

The pair set the set rumour mill ablaze after they were first spotted together on a date at a seaside bistro a few months ago. Although both the Prince and Amarthi refused to comment on the status of their relationship at the time, multiple sources confirmed that things were still very new and casual between the pair.

The Prince was further involved in another controversy after he was spotted out on a coffee run with a mystery redhead mere days after his supposed date with Amarthi. The lady was eventually identified to be the longtime girlfriend of one of Prince Al's best mates, and the coffee run was indeed just that - a simple errand to get coffee between two very platonic friends.

Today marks the first time Al and Amarthi are photographed together after their controversial first date, and this time, there's no denying that they are very much together. The couple was photographed holding hands as they wandered around the Arts District (where Amarthi reportedly lives).

Both Al and Amarthi lead very busy lives, however, they found some way to connect and get to know each other these past few months without all the intrusion. The duo apparently went old school and exchanged love letters, or should we say "love e-mails." They also managed to meet briefly abroad, especially during the holidays. Rumour has it Amarthi was invited to Anya's board game night a few days before New Year's.

What Al reportedly adores about Amarthi is how she's unfazed by all the attention and crap that comes with dating a royal, having come from a very well-known family herself. One source shares:

"They're clearly very attracted to each other. Al thinks she's amazing - whip-smart, funny, and utterly gorgeous. But above all else, he loves that she's confident and sure of herself without being cocky. She doesn't walk on eggshells around him. She makes him feel normal. She's met his sisters, and already, she's made a great impression."

(Above: The raven-haired beauty looked stylish during the outing, keeping warm and cozy in a belted red coat from designer brand Draap.)

Looks like Amarthi's hitting it off quite well with our royals! And it's lovely to see Prince Al looking so happy again! We're so here for this couple!

#ts4 #theroyalsims #ts4 simblr #simblr #ts4 royals #ts4 royal family #ts4 royal story #ts4 royal legacy #ts4 royal simblr #mystory #amarthi #alistair

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brian-in-finance · 11 months ago

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The actress Caitríona Balfe, center, taking her seat at the table. Photo: Rich Gilligan

T ENTERTAINING WITH

In Belfast, a Celebration of Art, Community and Pizza

In October, on the second floor of a former spinning mill in east Belfast, the visual artist and author Oliver Jeffers, 46, hosted a candlelit dinner for a group of Irish and Northern Irish artists and friends. The Portview Trade Centre, as the building is called, stopped producing textiles in the 1970s and is now home to 54 artists’ studios and creative businesses, including Jeffers’s, and his neighbors made up a large portion of the guests and the organizers. The occasion was a personal one — the launch of his 20th book, “Begin Again” — but he also wanted to celebrate his wider creative community. Accordingly, the evening combined tributes to both Belfast, where the artist has a home in the Holywood area, and Brooklyn, where he lived until recently and still has a studio.

VIDEO 📹 The author and illustrator Oliver Jeffers invited friends to toast his new book at a dinner in a former textile mill.

Jeffers is perhaps best known for his philosophical, understated children’s books, including “The Book Eating Boy” (2006) and “The Heart and the Bottle” (2010). And true to his style, “Begin Again” is curious, warm and quietly profound. “Not for kids, but not not for kids,” Jeffers says, the book is a vibrantly illustrated exploration of the climate crisis that attempts to lay out a hopeful future for humanity. “It offers an idea of slowing down, of using what’s near us — of starting over,” says Jeffers, “with the realization that we cannot do anything until we start to act with a sense of unity, to tell ourselves new stories that are defined by what we want.”

Jeﬀers, center (in tan jacket), sat beside the ﬁlm director Lisa Barros Da’Sa, at left. Photo: Rich Gilligan (and Caitríona Balfe, at right… BIF)

Pearson Morris, the head chef of the Belfast restaurant Noble, pan-fried wild halibut in a makeshift kitchen set up not far from the table. Photo: Rich Gilligan

While guests gathered for drinks, the sun could be seen setting over the city; on the north side of the building, hills rolled down toward the sea. The food too — a collaboration between the local bistro Noble, known for its unpretentious ingredient-led dishes, and Flout, an American-style pizzeria on the ground floor of Portview — was unmistakably rooted in Belfast. Despite a limited power supply and a lack of running water in the room, dishes were assembled and cooked in situ using three portable pizza ovens and a small stove. The table was lit with clusters of white candles and, after the sun finally went down, said Jeffers, it glowed with “the warmth of a hearth at home.”

The dinner table stood at the center of the 10,000-square-foot room. Photo: Rich Gilligan

The attendees: Jeffers celebrated with his wife and business manager, Suzanne Jeffers, and a group of Irish and Northern Irish artists, including the actress Caitríona Balfe, 44; the portrait artist Colin Davidson, 55; the electronic musician and composer David Holmes, 54; the husband-and-wife film director duo Glenn Leyburn, 54, and Lisa Barros Da’Sa, 49; and the writers Glenn Patterson, 61, and Jan Carson, 43. “Everybody at this dinner,” said Jeffers, “was interested in the power of narrative, the impact of what they do and how it makes other people feel.”

The table: Guests sat at two long tables — pushed together to create a more intimate arrangement — in the middle of the otherwise nearly empty 10,000-square-foot room. The events stylist Rachel Worthington McQueen, 30, sourced an Irish linen tablecloth in the same navy hue as the book cover’s background. Mismatched dishes in traditional Blue Willow patterns (originally bought from secondhand websites for Worthington McQueen’s wedding two years ago) held squat candles, and food was served on simple white plates brought over from Noble. Seasonal blooms — including deep burgundy dahlias and pale pink spray roses — echoed the rich palette of the book and were provided by the local, sustainable flower farm Sow Grateful. Each display was tied with bright pink twine, sourced by Suzanne Jeffers to match the exact Pantone color (number 812U) of the book’s title.

New Haven-style mussels pizza by Peter Thompson, the founder of the pizzeria Flout, was served alongside Noble’s halibut. Photo: Rich Gilligan

The food: To start, Noble’s co-founder and head chef, Pearson Morris, 34, served crab and lobster from nearby Bangor Bay dressed with homemade mayonnaise and his Bloody Mary tomatoes (heritage tomatoes steeped overnight in a mix of vodka, celery and Tabasco sauce) on Flout’s blackened focaccia. “I bake things so you think they’re burned — that’s flavor for me,” said the pizzeria’s founder, Peter Thompson, 45. Next was a take on the classic New Haven-style clam pie made with steamed Galway Bay mussels, alongside which Morris served pan-fried wild halibut with a fish head sauce. Then came Flout’s Detroit-style pepperoni pizza and a salad featuring locally grown baby gem lettuces. Dessert was Noble’s chocolate delice — jaconde sponge cake topped with salted caramel, dark chocolate parfait and a chocolate mirror glaze — accompanied by a salted caramel ice cream with Flout’s sourdough chocolate cookies tumbled through.

The drinks: Noble’s front-of-house manager and co-founder, Saul McConnell, 38, oversaw the drinks, which ranged from a vibrant Blanc de Meunier champagne for arriving guests to an amber passito-style Liastos wine from Lyrarakis, Crete, for the dessert course. The Boundary Brewing Company, Belfast’s first tap room and one of Jeffers’s neighbors in the building, provided an alternative aperitif: a full-bodied English bitter called A Certain Romance, a favorite of Jeffers’s studio team.

Jeﬀers illustrated the evening’s menus. Photo: Rich Gilligan

Noble’s chocolate delice, a jaconde sponge cake with salted caramel and a chocolate mirror glaze. Photo: Rich Gilligan

The conversation: Many artists talked shop, swapping notes on the production problems they encounter in their respective industries, and conversation also turned to global events. “There’s always been a comparison between the conflict in Northern Ireland and the conflict in Israel-Palestine,” said Jeffers. “We talked about the divisive rhetoric that’s going on right now.”

The music: Jeffers enlisted the Irish producer and D.J. Marion Hawkes, who runs the record store Sound Advice in Portview, to create a playlist, which ranged from classic folk to contemporary electronic tracks.

The recipe for Noble’s mayonnaise: It’s hard to beat fresh, homemade mayonnaise, says Morris, and it’s a quick, thoughtful addition to a dinner at home. But despite its few ingredients, it’s deceptively difficult to make. He recommends starting with equal parts white wine vinegar and egg yolk (approximately 2 teaspoons of vinegar to two yolks), which prevents the eggs from splitting as you very gradually beat in 250 ml of oil, then season with 5 grams of sugar and 5 grams of salt. Morris likes to use extra-virgin rapeseed oil for its neutral flavor, and an electric mixer for ease.

The New York Times Style Magazine

Remember… there’s always been a comparison between the conflict in Northern Ireland and the conflict in Israel-Palestine. We talked about the divisive rhetoric that’s going on right now. — Oliver Jeffers

Anon: Thanks… didn’t see your message until 10 minutes after posting. 🙁

#Tait rhymes with hat #Good times #Oliver Jeffers #Begin Again #2023 #The New York Times #Style Magazine #8 December 2023 #Thanks castlemaine123 #My screenrecording

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loknette · 28 days ago

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Hi! :) I built this House You can find this Modern House in my gallery

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ Speedbuildings on Youtube

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ Build Details ☆ 99, 947 §§ ☆ Lot type: House ☆ Moonwood Mill ☆ Lot name: Modern House ☆ 40x30 ☆ Reshade: Strawberry Milk Tea by Malixa

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ☆EP Get To Work Get Together City Living Seasons Get Famous Eco Lifestyle Snowy Escape High School Years Growing Together For Rent Lovestruck

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ☆GP Spa Day Dine Out Parenthood Jungle Adventure StrangerVille My Wedding Stories Werewolves

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ☆SP Cool kitchen Vintage Glamour Fitness Laundry Day My First Pet Moshino Paranormal Home Chef Hustle Crystal Creations

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ☆KIT Industrial Loft Blooming Rooms Decor to the Max Desert Luxe Everyday Clutter Bathroom Clutter Modern Luxe Riviera Retreat Cozy Bistro Artist Studio Storybook Nursery

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ Gallery ID Loknette ✨

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cdyssey · 2 years ago

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Valentine’s Night

Summary: After her airport date with Gerald, Barbara can't help but call and check up on Melissa. [Post-2.14]

CW: Adultery Mentions, Alcohol Mentions, Sexual Innuendo/Mentions

AO3 Link

—

That night, when Gerald falls asleep less than five minutes after his head hits the pillow, Barbara smiles fondly at her husband and presses a gentle kiss against the side of his head. He doesn’t stir at all, a heavy sleeper, a snorer even, which is fine by her. It just means that she can all the more capably slip from beneath the sheets, grab her phone from the nightstand, and leave the room entirely unnoticed, a specific thought on her mind, a singular person, really…

One who is admittedly not him.

After all, Barbara feels content in her marriage again: safe, satisfied, and totally secure. She and Gerald are fine. They’re on solid ground. They always have been—a few run-of-the-mill bumps in the road withstanding—but that’s normal. That’s to be expected after nearly forty years of marriage.

The occasional bump.

Half of any relationship worth its salt is just getting over the bumps, waiting for the pavement to even out—as it inevitably does.

They’d had a lovely dinner at the airport bistro, sitting at their reserved table by the window, watching the planes take off from the brightly lit runway, and idly wondering where they were all heading when they became pinpricks against the dark—bits and bobs in the soup of the sky. When they were both two glasses of champagne in, and the pleasant buzz loosened their habitually reticent tongues, they apologized to each other for having been so preoccupied with their jobs lately, with Barbara often staying late at Abbott to finish up paperwork and Gerald working far more overtime than should be allowed.

It’s been exhausting.

They are both equally and utterly exhausted.

But they’re going to try to be better about setting aside private time for themselves—no, really! They promise! Gerald swears he’s going to start coming home by six a couple of nights a week. Barbara’s going to stop staying past the bell on those rare days that he’s not working. Maybe they’ll even start going out on their weekly dinner dates again, holding hands across the table in the dearest display of their intimacy.

Of course, though, even as she and Gerald fantasized about all of these wonderful plans, the perpetual rationalist in her was naggingly aware that there’s a hefty mortgage payment coming up, and they’re still helping Gina with her tuition, and they need to budget for grocery inflation, and—

As Barbara descends the staircase, she stops halfway down and scoldingly shakes her head, one hand tightly curled around the railing. It’s going to get better for her and Gerald. They kissed tonight. They embraced in the shower. They even discussed the possibility of having sex again soon when they both have the time, energy, and libido…

All is currently well in the Howard marriage.

Which gives her ample permission and leave to think about Melissa.

Though Barbara left her and Gary to their own—(and clearly physical)—devices in the teacher’s lounge, in so many ways, Barbara took her dearest friend with her, packing her in the passenger seat of her beaten sedan alongside the rest of her essentials. On the car ride home, the more she thought about it, the less pleased she was with what Gary the Vending Machine Guy ended up doing. All throughout the God blessed day, he kept promising the kindergarten teacher over text that he had something big planned for Melissa. Something romantic.

just need some time during your free period 2 get everything set up

And so, Barbara had dutifully complied, taking Melissa to the park around the block when their kids were at gym, where she spent that entire half-hour just as she had spent most of the day—reassuring her friend that he was going to come through. But Melissa was anxious. Melissa was clearly terrified. She had every right to be after the hell Joseph Lombardo had put her through, and she balked at every attempt that Barbara made to console her, already fearing the worst.

He was cheating on her, wasn’t he?

She’d seen the way Gary was eyeing Marlene—”y’know, that sexy lunch lady.”

(Joseph had done that after all, had cheated on Melissa with one of their mutual friends, and thus put the nail in the coffin of a marriage that had already started to decompose anyway.)

Or maybe he’d just gotten bored with her?

(Because that’s how Joseph had made her feel too. She only confessed as much to Barbara once. She’d been drunk, and Barbara picked her up from the batting cages, where she instantly clocked the unsightly bruise that was already swelling beneath Melissa's eye where a stray ball had caught her in the cheek. She’d panicked at the sight of the blueness and the blackness and the blood, had suggested that they go to urgent care where someone could stitch the cut right up, but just as she had reached out to tenderly probe the wound, the younger woman caught her wrist, fingernails digging into the soft skin there.)

(And she cried—Melissa Schemmenti, the most unshaken and unshakeable person she knew.)

(She wept.)

Well, if he is, his freakin’ loss, she’d scoffed immediately upon suggesting the same about Gary, sniffing, her brilliant head turned away.

But Barbara could read between the bravado and the lines.

His loss, she said.

What she really meant was her fault.

She always assumed that it was her fault.

When the school day ended, and Melissa still hadn’t heard from the man, Barbara invited her to the airport with her and Gerald. Didn’t so much as hesitate. Didn’t even ask her dear husband. Just knew it would be okay. Gerald would understand.

Oh, we don’t mind.

And they didn’t.

Never have.

Melissa has long been a welcome guest at their table set for only two.

(Sometimes, Gerald—once a player back in the day—even jokes that if they had to choose a third...)

But Melissa had adamantly refused and Gary had finally texted, and when they’d gone back to the lounge, there was a bouquet of roses with the orange price tag still on the cellophane wrapper. There was candy in the vending machine that said I love you only if one squinted the right way. There was Gary the Vending Machine Guy somehow thinking it was ever appropriate to throw the word crap into a romantic confession.

In the heat of the moment, gloriously relieved that he’d had at least done something, Barbara had smiled radiantly for the cameras as Melissa and Gary sucked each other’s faces behind her… but in hindsight, as she left Abbott in her rearview mirror, it gradually settled in her, as tangibly as a stomachache, that what he’d promised to be big was absurdly, emphatically, and unforgivably lame. It didn’t take an entire day to buy flowers from the grocery store and put candy in a vending machine—not when at least half of that equation was his literal job! Moreover, he could have at least come to see her in the morning or called and let her know that he had remembered the date, that he had something planned.

Melissa’s love language has always been words of affirmation.

She has to hear that she’s loved to ever really believe it.

And so, righteously, biblically, and perhaps even a little disproportionately mad, Barbara brought Melissa to the airport with her too, talking her poor husband’s ear off for at least the first fifteen minutes of their date.

“The audacity of that man,” she had harrumphed, idly swirling her dark wine around the glass. “Just how non-romantic can you possibly get?”

Gerald had only chuckled at this second—maybe third—iteration of the exact same sentiment, amusement in his gently lined eyes.

“I’m not sure we can say we’re much better, Barb,” he shrugged as he spread a copious amount of butter on his roll. “We both nearly forgot today was Valentine’s Day in the first place.”

“It’s different with us,” she insisted indignantly as her spouse continued to smirk at her. “We’re a long-establishing couple who has celebrated three decades worth of Valentines together. We’ve been there, done that, and are mutually tired of the hassle. This is their first one. He should treat her like a queen—a goddess even!”

(In her nearly always correct opinion, Gary is lucky to even be allowed in the same room as Melissa, much less be granted access to her inner sanctums.)

But Gerald had pinned her down with another one of his quietly shrewd looks; it was kind but knowing, deliberate but not patronizing, and it made her feel exposed, as though she’d said too much, as though her heart pulsated on a silver platter between them on the white-clothed table. She could not bear to prod the rotten thing. She was chronically afraid of what might come leaking out if she ever had to truly interrogate how she felt about Melissa Schemmenti, if she had to put a finger on it.

An exact and exacting name.

“But did it make Mel happy?” He asked gently, and the question had nearly skewered her where she sat. She remembered turning in the doorway of the teacher’s lounge as she was getting ready to leave. She was going to say goodbye to them both.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

Have a wonderful night, you two.

And she had seen Melissa’s fingers curled into the lapels of Gary’s jacket first—the tension of those bent knuckles, the desperation in the grip—before her gaze traveled upwards and upwards still to the geometric configurations that they were making with their mouths.

And to the indelicate rapture in her friend’s face, even though her eyes were closed.

The visible and utter bliss.

It did something to Barbara Howard.

That expression.

That kiss.

The gnawing sensation that precisely none of it was deserved for such a half-assed gesture.

(It ruined her.)

“Well, you know Melissa.” Barbara averted her eyes away from her husband’s own. Hated that his attention was so kind and understanding. Hated that he was being reasonable. That was her job. To be the reasonable one in every relationship that she was a participant in. “She’s always believed that she deserves the bare minimum from someone else’s love…”

Gerald laughed again; it was an incredulous sound—and though he surely didn’t intend it to, knowing him—it shamed her. Still holding her wine glass, she dug her nails into her palm, gripping the delicate stem as though she had every intention to snap it in half.

“Ouch!" He scratched his head. “Don’t ever let her hear you say that, hon. She’d never speak to you again.”

She knew her husband well enough to get that he was half-joking, trying to counterbalance her solemnity, as adroit from shying away from emotional vulnerability as she was. And she knew Melissa well enough to immediately understand that though it was a joke, it was still a damn good approximation to how she’d react to such a declaration.

Yet another one of Barbara Howard’s righteous judgments.

So tonight, she carries the weight of that with her too, all the way from the bottom of the stairs to the cold and dark living room. She flicks on the tall lamp closest to her favorite recliner and wonders if she’s being too hard on Gary. Sure, he’s not a modern-day Romeo, but most men aren’t.

And some men even do less than Gary.

At least Gary had tried.

At least he had told Melissa that he loved her.

As golden light suffuses through the cozy space, she lowers herself into her plush chair and hears her husband’s voice in her head: But did it make Mel happy?

And as she stares emptily into the nothingness in front of her, she thinks about how the answer to that remarkably simple question is an even simpler yes, but she’d said something horribly mean about Melissa instead. Something truthful, maybe, but that doesn’t mean she had to ever articulate that something aloud.

But she did.

And she can’t take it back, how she feels about the way Melissa constantly accepts scraps from the people she loves.

Just as she’s opening her phone and impulsively clicking the fourth number on her speed dial, she’s suddenly reminded of something else from earlier that day too—five words and an equivalent number of syllables, slung so easily, so casually from Melissa’s quick tongue.

I love you too, Barb.

She grips the phone as she pulls it up to her ear, sudden pain ricocheting through her core, fresh waves of it scored to the rhythmic buzzing of the line.

Barbara is lucky enough to be counted among the people whom Melissa loves.

Barbara clearly believes that this choice number isn’t doing right by her.

An analytical thinker—(always, to the last, she knows of no other way to both exist and be)—she can’t help but see the disconnect between these two truths, and it abruptly hits her that maybe she’s a hypocrite. Melissa loves her, and she’s spent at least three-fourths of her evening lamenting that someone dared to make her happy.

Melissa loves her and she doesn’t know what to do with that fact except wallow in it.

Maybe she’s just a damn fool.

“Barb?” Melissa’s familiar voice, caught between sleepiness and alarm, suddenly replaces the ringing. “What is it? You okay, hon?”

Barbara glances at the grandfather clock on the wall and sees that it’s a quarter ‘til nine. Usually, she’s well on her way to sleep by now, so this call is definitely out-of-the-ordinary—as so much of this day has already been. She supposes she should find it somewhere in her to be remorseful—she knows that Melissa doesn’t particularly do well with surprises—but she can’t entirely muster the emotion, her stomach strangely coiling at the huskiness in her friend’s timbre. It’s a pleasant sound… pressed right next to her ear as it is, it almost makes her shiver.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she apologizes anyway. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just up grabbing a drink of water”—it’s a believable enough white lie—“and wanted to check up on you. Hear about how the rest of your Valentine’s Day went even.”

Barbara forces a warm chuckle—affects a playfulness that she doesn’t exactly feel—but maybe this is a form of apology for the horrible thing she’d said earlier. She’s well aware of how to fake a smile. She’s very good at intimating a plausible laugh.

“Oh, shit, thank God,” Melissa exhales. “Thought you were in trouble or somethin’. Between you and Gary, you’re gonna give me palpitations.”

Barbara frowns at this—she doesn’t particularly like being lumped in the same category as Gary—but before she gets a chance to sit with this awful feeling, the other teacher goes on.

“But, uh, anyway, it went pretty damn good! We went to Barclay Prime and shared the porterhouse, and then we came back to my place and canoodled a bit.”

“Oh, goodness gracious, Melissa,” she hears herself chide, assaulted with unwelcome images of Melissa and Gary in the sheets. The younger woman’s bared skin, creamy but delicately flushed. That stupid, godawful mustache scraping the outline of her strong jaw. The oscillating of solid bodies. His big, clumsy fingers holding the hourglass of her hips. Blood rushes to Barbara’s face, settling somewhere in her cheeks. Her stomach strangely lurches. “You could have omitted that last part, you know.”

“Prude,” the other teacher teases, audibly clicking her tongue. “I’m sure you and old Ger Bear got up to some fun stuff as well.”

“Melissa!” She half-chokes, clutching at invisible pearls.

“Okay, okay,” comes the other’s laughter, loud and vibrant and so gloriously carefree. And it’s such a far cry from the strained way that she’d held herself earlier when she thought that Gary was a dud, that Barbara’s breath catches in the column of her throat. She loathes herself all over again for disliking the man—the man she had pushed Melissa to date in the first place. Still, she cannot bring herself to overcome her long-ingrained and stubbornly nurtured prejudices.

Still, she cannot help but think her friend deserves so much and entirely more.

“I’m stoppin’, I swear. You know I just love to make you squirm.”

“Yes, well,” she disciplines herself to murmur, resisting the urge to shift a little in her chair. “If this is the price that I have to pay to hear you so happy, then I suppose it’s worth it.”

She tries to pull a Gerald—or a Melissa even—and make it sound like a joke there in the end, but she can hear it.

The aching sadness in her own voice.

The fondness that has but one other, monosyllabic name…

But no—she can’t go there.

She refuses to.

Did it make Mel happy? Her husband had asked and inadvertently articulated the only measure that Barbara has any right to live by when it comes to her best friend. It’s something she supposes she forgot this evening, wrapped up in her indignation, wholly consumed by it, but as she clutches the phone to her ear and listens to the sound of the younger woman breathing on the other end of the line, she implicitly understands that it has to be enough.

For Melissa to be happy.

Even if it means—especially if it means—that she has to share her with Gary.

It’s better to have Melissa in her life than to not have her there at all. They’ve carved out so many unspoken intimacies together at the school, sitting side-by-side in the teacher’s lounge every day, brushing shoulders as they walk out to their cars, sharing tupperwares at lunch, passing through each other’s classrooms like the stark lines that demarcate the boundaries of their relationship are only ever permeable on the grounds of Abbott Elementary.

And Barbara is happily married—yes, this is true.

And Melissa is happy with Gary—yes, this is apparently not a lie either.

Sweetheart, she’d told Janine just today, it is possible to like two people at the same time.

But in saying the words, she had meant to gently direct her young protégé in the direction of a clearly besotted Gregory Eddie, not expose a cleaved and broken heart within herself.

“Barbara…?” Her own name washes over her, voiced with gentle and quiet concern. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, of course,” she readily masters herself—for some reason assuming a smile that she knows that Melissa can’t see. Muscle memory. Force of habit. A deeply entrenched fear that people will chip away the elegant mask of Barbara Howard and discover that she is far from the paradigm that she has meticulously constructed herself to be. “Just a little tired—that’s all.”

And she affects a perfectly theatrical yawn at this assertion—right on cue.

“I’m so glad that you and Gary had a lovely evening, sweet friend,” she finishes, obsessively picking at a loose thread on her robe like it actually matters. “You deserved it.”

It would be arrogant of her to believe that this pretense is working—especially on Melissa, who she sometimes suspects knows her better than she knows herself—but all the same, she is grateful when the younger woman apparently decides not to press the issue.

At least not directly.

“Thanks,” she returns warmly, “but that cavolo can’t take all the credit for makin’ me feel all gooey inside, y’know. I gotta also hand it to you, Barb.”

Barbara scarcely knows what to say to this unexpected diversion, how to appropriately react, a pathetic lump almost immediately surfacing to the edge of her throat at just being acknowledged by Melissa.

“Oh?” She finally settles upon. “Now why’s that?”

“Shit, Barb,” Melissa chuckles, at once exasperated and fond. “Don’t think I forgot about you being my biggest cheerleader all day—never lettin’ me get away with all my sad horse crap. If you were single and a lady enjoyer, I would have gotten down on one knee and proposed to ya for all the ways you were there for me today.”

They both laugh a little too loudly at this, a little too hard.

At the hypothetical of Barbara Howard being single.

At the possibility of her ever being romantically interested in another woman.

“Well, that’s what friends are for,” she volleys back when she finally catches her breath, swiping a little at eyes that are trying to run. From all the laughter, of course. “I always have you, Melissa Schemmenti.”

“Yeah, I know,” Melissa replies, tender and gentle and amused. “And that’s why I really love ya, Barb.”

It’s the second time in one day that her friend has said this to her, and reciprocation almost certainly rises to her tongue, perching on the tip of it—almost falling off and into the miles and miles between them, the syllables becoming particles in the air, waves that are forever circulating in the infinite stew of this world. Once those three words are said aloud, they can never, ever be taken back.

Of course, Barbara has absolutely said that she loves Melissa before.

Dozens of times, in fact—if not hundreds.

But there’s something about those choice three words that feels a little different tonight.

Profound even.

Before Barbara can ever do it, though, and she swears that she had been going to do it—(probably, potentially, maybe)—she hears a loud thud-like sound on the other end of the line before Melissa suddenly giggles, the sound high and flirtatious and utterly unlike her.

“Fuck off, Gary!” She chokes out between those mirthful noises as Barbara instinctively palms her abdomen, nausea plummeting from her sternum all the way to the pit of her stomach. “I’m on the phone with Barbara.”

“Yeah, well, tell Barb you’ll see her tomorrow, woman. I’m tryin’ to get your panties off—” She hears Gary grunts lecherously in the background.

“Shut up!” Melissa guffaws before gasping as that man does something, as he elicits ecstasy from her.

It makes Barbara utterly sick. Her free hand travels from her stomach all the way to her mouth as though to prematurely stop the spillage of everything that threatens to come out.

Melissa is happy, she tries to tell herself.

That’s all that matters.

That’s the only metric that counts.

She’s happy. She’s happy. Gary the Vending Machine Guy is going to make love to her tonight. She’s happy.

“Listen, Barb,” Melissa huffs, breathless, ”I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow, okay? I’ll grab us coffees from the Loft and—”

But the line abruptly goes dead, the silence that it leaves behind absolute, and Barbara sits in her recliner, a monolith carved from smooth stone, with the phone still pressed to her ear. The shadows stretch on the walls, leering at her with their darkness. The minutes rush by her as though they’re eager to give her a wide berth.

Melissa is happy.

It’s Barbara’s lot in life to live with this knowledge as best as she can.

#work wives #melissa schemmenti #barbara howard #s: abbott elementary #reginianwrites #on god #i thought this was just going to be a nice and simply post-episode retrospective #but then it went and ended up being 3k words

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beefrobeefcal · 4 months ago

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Hello Beef,

Pedro boys meet up at an ice cream shop to order ice cream. What are they ordering snd what flavor?

Here is an apple pie ice cream scoop for you!

Apple Pie Ice Cream?? For me??

I'm picking three P-boys for this bc there is getting to be quite a few milling around the Bistro now.

Javi Gutierrez would order a Honey Comb gelato, three scoops, with a honey lemon drizzle and Teddy Grahams on top.

Marcus Pike would get a strawberry swirl that was meant for sharing with at least 2 people, but he'd have the whole thing to himself.

Dave York would order one scoop of chocolate. Then ask to add some Oreo cookie crumble. Then some sprinkles. Then some marshmallow fluff. Then some hot fudge. Then a scoop of strawberry. Then some short cake crumbs. Then some gummy bears. Then a scoop of vanilla. The some cookie dough crumble. Then another scoop of chocolate. Then a waffle bowl. Then a banana. Then some gummy sharks. Then some whip cream...

Javi and Marcus just watch, bewildered. They had no idea you could have that much in one small cup, and Dave just keeps going...

Thanks for the ask! Yours in sin,

Beefro👌🥩💜

#pedro scouts #pedro scouts of tumblr #you ask beefro answers #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #thot tank #you asked beefro answered #🥩#ice cream social

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queeniecook · 2 years ago

Text

April 6

After spending yesterday being lazy (I slept a lot yesterday), today we went on a walk around the town. It truly is a lovely place. Caleb also filled me in on his past more.

“Do you remember when I mentioned that I have a cousin who is a werewolf?” Caleb asked me suddenly. We had just had lunch at a local bistro that overlooks the sea.

I nodded my head, it was during our makeup conversation.

“Her name is Lily Zhu. She is the only child of my Aunt Angelina, who was the only sibling to my Mother. She and Lilith were born a month apart, with Lily being the oldest of the two.” Caleb started to explain. “She and Lilith were pretty close. I was close to her as well but their relationship was different. I suppose it was from being close in age and both being female.”

Caleb seemed to get lost for a moment, staring ahead of us but not really focusing on anything. I remained quiet, not wanting to interrupt him.

He snapped back to reality and placed his arm around me, rubbing my shoulder gently. “Since she is a werewolf, she ages more slowly than normal humans.”

“Kind of like merfolk age slower?” I asked him.

“Yes. Though werewolves seem to age even more slowly than you and your kind. She was not born a werewolf, she was bitten at some point and turned.” Caleb told me, pausing. “Lilith and I have always felt responsible for her being a werewolf though the few times we have caught a glimpse of her, she does seem in her element with who and what she is.”

“I’m getting the feeling there’s a huge rift between the three of you now, especially since I’ve never met her and she wasn’t at our wedding.” I commented gently.

Caleb nodded his head. “Outside of the natural division between vampires and werewolves, there is. I believe my creator, Helena or Miss Hell as she was later known, had something to do with it.”

Caleb had told me how he was turned and how Lilith had asked Vladislaus Straud to turn her so she could be a vampire as well to be with her brother and help him. Caleb doesn’t really say it but I think he carries some guilt over the situation. I think he feels Lilith is only a vampire because of him.

“My parents were away on business when both Lilith and I were turned and Lily came looking for us after not hearing getting any correspondence from us for weeks, I believe. My theory is supported by the fact that Lily showed up at Count Straud’s estate.”

“She saw Lilith and I being trained by Vladislaus Straud. As long as I exist, I will never forget the look on her face when she saw what became of Lilith and I. We wanted to follow her, explain to her what happened but Straud stopped us. He said following her and smelling her would most likely trigger our vampire instincts and we might end up killing her. We had to let her go for her own safety.”

I didn’t know what to say at first because the whole thing as breaking my heart. “You haven’t gotten to talk to her at all since then?”

“She lives in Moonwood Mill. Vampires are forbidden from going there. That condition is part of a treaty that was signed decades ago between The Count himself and the werewolves leader at the time. Before that, it was mayhem. Werewolves would come to Forgotten Hollow and hunt down vampires. Vampires would go to Moonwood Mill and kill off families of werewolves. Humans were collateral damage in all of it.” Caleb explained to me as we slowly walked along.

“I get the feeling werewolves are banned from Forgotten Hollow then?” I asked him. Caleb nodded his head in confirmation.

“Not that Lilith and I let the treaty stop us from trying to see glimpses of her. We used to stand outside the border and see her at times, going about her business. From what we could tell, she never married or had children.” He told me, sadly. He probably hoped she could of had a family of her own to try to replace the one that was lost.

I stopped our walk and turned to my husband. “You know this isn’t all your fault, right? Lily isn’t a werewolf because of you or Lilith. From what you said, she is where she belongs. She most likely has a pack which means family.” I told him seriously, staring him directly in the eyes. “Lilith also made her own choice to become a vampire, Caleb and you didn’t make Miss Hell turn you.”

I just hope he takes my words to heart.

#the grant legacy #ts4 legacy #vera grant-vatore #vera grant #caleb vatore #lilith vatore #lily zhu #vladislaus straud #ts4 vampires #ts4 #sims4 #ts4 story #sims4 story #generation 2 #tartosa babymoon #tartosa #sims4 storytelling #simsstories

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noonmutter · 1 year ago

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Teatime: Has Leon had any time-traveling adventures? What does he think of the rumors of it all?

Leon's actually been enjoying a lot of quiet, non-adventuresome time this time around, since he's had a lot of work and lot of wedding planning to get done! He's barely been out to the Isles since spring, during a final hunting/trading trip to pick up more pelts for building up stock for the World's Faire and Tournament of Ages.

Now that he's not stuck doing that, he's looking forward to doing a whole lot of nothing except doting on his husband-to-be. And trying not to look utterly confused whenever said husband-to-be starts talking about color stories and themed decor and the difference between shades of blue.

As far as rumors go... Leon does an astonishingly good job of staying out of rumor mills entirely, especially now that he doesn't spend a lot of time at his bistro in Stormwind. What rumors he's heard have been fairly generalized, though since a lot of his buddies (y'know, The Meddlers) are adventurers, he does hear their stories. Which he 100% believes happened, though probably there were some slight embellishments.

He personally doesn't want to think too long on timelines or time travel, because that way lies some very deep melancholy and some ugly temptations.

( @valarin-sunstorm for mention)

#prompty things #leon

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wandringaesthetic · 2 years ago

Text

Final Fantasy Distant Worlds “Coral” Nashville, 1/25/23

Isare went to the symphony. No, it’s not a misspelling of “choral.” I don’t get it either.

Before the show:

I dressed up (basically) as my FFXIV character, so a version of the level 50 Healer’s Robe and elf ears. I feel the effect was pretty good and so did a bunch of random strangers, but I didn’t get a good picture of all of it and don’t feel like sharing my visage right now. We stopped at a bougie bistro/grocery place in Franklin that had among other things a bunch of artisanal olive oils. And here I am some kind of elf priestess and I feel like the people who worked there wanted to ask “what the heck are you wearing?” but were too busy or afraid of losing their job to actually comment. Very nice salmon tacos, though.

Vibes in Nashville on the other hand were extraordinarily good. Like, we went to Opry Mills (big mall) and had casually friendly interactions with multiple people who worked there that did not give off the vibe that they hated their job? Everyone we encountered seemed extremely chipper in a not-feigned way. Even the conversation with a lady trying to solicit us for donations was mostly pleasant. Maybe I should wear elf ears all the time?

We went to a very cool, extremely fancy cafe/restaurant and I had turkish coffee and some sort of italian fruit and cream pastry. Next time we go to Nashville we’re going to try to eat a meal there.

The show itself:

This was my third Distant Worlds concert. Fourth if you count the Final Fantasy VII Remake concert. (which I suppose you should as it was Arnie Roth conducting and I think was generally part of the same mission and idiom.) I got a music box that plays “Theme of Love” from the merch table.

I think I remember everything that was played, but possibly not in correct order.

“Final Fantasy I-III Medley” (Prelude, Final Fantasy I Main Theme, Matoya’s Cave (I), Elia Maiden of Water (III), Chocobo Theme (II), The Rebel Army (II))

“Eternal Wind” (III)

“The Red Wings”/”Castle Baron” (IV)

“Home Sweet Home”/”Music Box” (V)

“Phantom Forest”/”Phantom Train”/”The Veldt” (VI)

Battle Theme Medley (IIRC, the regular battle themes from I-VI, followed by the victory fanfare)

INTERMISSION (a very nice person gave me a piece of Final Fantasy IX fanart in the hallway)

“Liberi Fatali” (VIII. it is at this point revealed that we have a choir, and because we have gone in order up ‘til now I say “FUCK VII” hopefully not too loudly)

“Not Alone!” (previously “You Are Not Alone!”, IX)

(I know I am probably screwing up the order at this point)

“Ragnarok” (from XI)

“Aerith’s Theme” (VII)

“Apocalypsis Noctis” (with the choir, XV)

“Flash of Steel” (XII)

“Blinded By Light” (XIII)

At some point Arnie Roth introduces SUSAN CALLOWAY. I know that I am IN FOR IT. She, and the choir, and the orchestra perform:

“ANSWERS” (XIV)

Every XIV player is now deceased. We are revived by

“MAIN THEME OF FINAL FANTASY” (also with the choir, singing “aaaaaa”)

Of course we all realize that they have skipped one so there is an

ENCORE:

“To Zanarkand” (X)

And because what would a Distant Worlds concert be without the worstie, a second encore:

“One-Winged Angel” (VII)

OBSERVATIONS/THOUGHTS/FEELINGS:

I seem to have been on whatever point in my hormone cycle that makes it easy to cry, so while there were not, like, tears running down my face, my eyes were wet through more of it than not.

“Matoya’s Cave” and “Eternal Wind” borrow a lot more emotions from XIV than they do from their original games at this point. I find that really interesting, especially with the repeated themes, your “Prelude” and “Main Theme” and “Victory Fanfare” &etc, how things from the future recontextualize and give more weight to the past.

Video montages from the games play during the performance, and for I-VI they used the pixel remasters. I couldn’t swear to the content of each because I spent some of my time paying attention to that and some looking at the orchestra and some with my eyes closed. But I wonder what the impression the moms and girlfriends and boyfriends who have little to no exposure was of this series? Elia DIES, Alus’ dad tries to kill him and then turns the knife on himself (I had straight up forgotten about that), Josef? DIES. Minwu? DIES. Look, a chocobo!

(that post that’s something like: the best pieces of fiction are the most heartrending scenes followed by the most unbelievable bullshit)

The medleys chosen for IV thru VI were interesting because they’re very curated slices of the games in question. For IV, extremely grandiose and martial. For V, the very specific feeling of going back to your hometown and realizing its not home anymore. For VI, a very SPECIFIC part if the experience of playing that game (highlighted by the video): find your way through the SPOOKY WOODS. Hop a ride (with the souls of the dead) on the PHANTOM TRAIN (and suplex it), befriend a FERAL CHILD (thou? thou! thouthouthouthouthouthouthou!)

I love the way that battle medley reflected the experience of playing the games. The video ended on a pile of screens of our 16bit heroes pumping their fists, and, if you’re like me, you’re forced to reflect up the thousands of these screens after the thousands of battles of you’ve been through playing and replaying these games.

In the same way I loved ANSWERS followed by the MAIN THEME. We have been on a LONG JOURNEY. We have reached a CLIMAX. The ending cutscenes have GUTTED YOU. Recover while you listen to some nice orchestral music that dates from the series debut while we roll credits.

Being in the process of finally playing XI, “Ragnarok” is an interesting choice as representative of that game, no? The video was specifically a quick trip through the plot of Treasures of Aht Urhgan. Luzaf is probably the #1 FFXI character I’ve caught feelings about and my general feeling about that whole expansion was “Man I would be ALL ABOUT THIS were it just SLIGHTLY better written.” But when I think about, say, VIII, or XII, part of what makes the stories great is context embellished or even fully made up by the player. I don’t know. Aht Urhgan hasn’t simmered long enough in my brain to make a good stew.

ANSWERS with the full choir live and in person was basically at the top of my wish list for this concert, but it was hard to slip out of a double consciousness (pay attention! pay attention! savor this! this is your chance!) to be fully in the moment. Susan Calloway is obviously a hell of a performer (IIRC what led to her winding up on the vocal tracks for XIV was being a soloist on this concert series for things like “Eyes On Me” and “Kiss Me Goodbye”). You have to be a hell of a performer to do “Answers” full-throated and with a straight face through those spoken lines (”Roam. Roam! ROAM!”). “Play the actual goddess of this fantasy universe while doing your best Celine Dion” is a tall order. Savored all the “slightly-different from the recorded version I’m most familiar with” vocal embellishments. She did a thing that I’m going to find difficult to describe and I’m not 100% sure I perceived correctly where she started going for like, realized her voice was going to crack on it if she did and did like a less intense aaAAAaaAAA type thing instead. Only really noticeable, I think, if you’re extremely overly familiar with the ARR cutscene recording. What a pro.

But there was also a TRIPLE consciousness there. Because. I get the idea the person next to me was in the “girlfriend along for the ride” camp from overhearing her talk to her date and she was getting kind of shifty and maybe bored by this point and ANSWERS, if you’re not completely in the headspace of accepting it as a thing, is A Lot. It is probably Too Much. It is. Several layers of cheese. Set over a CG cutscene of a multination battle while the world literally ends and some elf man dies for our sins and the moon is a dragon now, deal with it (which they played as the video accompaniment for this, btw).

*shakes fist at the heavens* HIGH FANTASY!!

I had a lot of feelings about ANSWERS even back in 2013/2014 or whenever it was I played ARR, and now thru Shadowbringers and Endwalker I have much more feelings because its another of those things that has gained meaning over time.

IN CONCLUSION:

I had a very great time. I’ve had a hard time, lately, with doing some things that are supposed to be fun but are going to take a lot of time and preparation. Like trying to party when what you really need to do is sleep. In a way, I was dreading this as much as I was looking forward. Ugh, I’m using one of my off days on this. Ugh, I gotta clean the house because my parents are going to be staying here while we’re gone in order to watch my kid. Ugh, I gotta drive to Nashville. Ugh, I’ve taken it upon myself to wear this whole elf getup. Ugh, I gotta park in downtown Nashville. Ugh, I’m gonna get home after midnight. But it all felt extremely nice and not that effortful. I am grateful.

#my posts #final fantasy #distant worlds

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