#so wild to think about how long i've been playing her! my first real early access oc

[gautiersylvain]

Helloooooo sorry to come in here like a FREAK. but if it isn’t weird, can I ask for some extra Katarina lore and backstory 👀👀👀

this is the least weird thing ever because when i'm not thinking about the actual bg3 characters i'm thinking about my OWN characters and would love to info dump about them

PLEASE be mindful of potentially triggering content below (violence, sexual assault) but at the same level covered in the game

looking back at what i wrote and it kind of devolved into a narrative rather than relaying backstory sorry! hopefully at least some of this is coherent

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so katarina is a drow, originally lolth sworn and born in menzoberranzan a little over 200 years before the events of bg3 (about 1285). she was a commoner, but her storm sorcery manifested at an extremely young age and attracted the attention of several powerful clerical orders within the city. katarina's mother leveraged this - trading katarina to one of the orders for a position of privilege and wealth in a noble family's court.

katarina was raised by clerics devoted to lolth in semi-seclusion for the next 30 or so years. they believed the strength of the weave in her blood would allow her to survive a powerful ritual that would allow lolth to inhabit her body. knowing nothing else and longing to serve, katarina devoted herself to her studies and practice of magic to become the avatar for the spider queen.

it was only after the ritual was completed that she realized the mistake she had made. while lolth possessed her, she was but a puppet. katarina could do nothing but watch. watch and listen and feel as the goddess used her body to kill and kill and kill and touch and hurt - tearful red eyes glared back up at her as lolth brought another man under her and she tried to cry or scream or anything but instead she laughed-

she woke up later, covered in blood and bruises and her own vomit. the head cleric told her she did well and katarina struck her over and over with lightening until only ashes remained.

katarina remembers little of her escape from menzoberranzan after that. of her escape from the underdark. when she awoke on the surface weeks later, it was the middle of winter and she was hungry and tired but she was free and she was clutching a glowing symbol of eilistraee in her hand.

a few days later, she was caught trying to steal food from a trading caravan - and was thus taken in by her adoptive father, euri, who was working as a caravan guard. he was a human mercenary well into his 50s who lived in baldur's gate and brought katarina back to the city with him when the caravan reached rivington.

although technically an adult, katarina knew essentially nothing about the surface world. euri taught her to speak, write and read common and how to get by in the city. he taught her how to fight with her fists or a dagger, should she ever be without her magic. he led by example, treating others with respect and trying to help where he could. he asked her what she thought, her opinions, before making decisions. for the first time in her life, katarina felt like she mattered to someone for more than her ability to serve.

after her father died, katarina distanced herself from most people. she had friends and contacts and people she worked with in the city, but the grief was too strong to consider forming a close bond again. so she used her magic and her clerical abilities to make a living and help where she could - and then the mindflayers came.

i think the truth is katarina sees a little bit of herself in all of the origin companions, but astarion most of all. although their situations were largely different and a considerable amount of time has passed for her - she hasn't forgotten. she hasn't forgotten how it felt, the hurt and the shame and the anger. knowing that you were hurt and you hurt other people because of forces beyond your control. she also remembers the relief of being free, of being treated like a real person for the first time in....gods you can't even remember the last time someone treated you like a person instead of a body that could give them what they wanted.

so if she's more patient with him than someone else might be, well, the wounded recognize the wounded or whatever. i see you i'll be your mirror etc etc

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Law and Order - A Once In A Blue Moon Story

Part I

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader

Description: When a blind date leads to disaster, you're almost ready to give up on men. Until he sits down on the bar stool in front of you. This man is different - sensual, gorgeous, confident. He makes you want to live a little on the wild side. What do you do when a night you don't want to forget turns into a forbidden relationship by light of day? How do you cope, especially when he doesn't seem to want a thing to do with you?

Warnings: Rough sex, illicit relationship, dom/sub overtones, toxic relationship, inbalance of power in the work place

Word Count: 5766

Author's Note: Hiya lovelies! It's been a while since I've posted a story on here. I kind of lost my muse and had to find her, and my love for writing all over again.

Thanks to @horseshoegirl @sarahsmi13s and @desert-fern for chatting with me about this story and making sure I'm handling all of the things which happen in the best way I can!

This is going to be a multi-part story. Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged!

AO3: Cross-posted here!

My Masterlist

Series Masterlist | Next Part

Part I

The noise washes over you in waves, inane chatter and shrieking from the velvet booths lining the walls, combined with the genteel clacking of cutlery against china in a migraine-inducing din. The bar you’re in is popular, with tables occupied from wall to wall. Normally, you’d consider yourself fortunate to be seated at one of them. There’s one reason why you’re not. Blind dates have never gone well for you. Either your dates are drab and dull, or you’ve been partnered with the worst men on the planet. Rude, boorish, vulgar, you name it, you’ve been on a date with a man bearing the unsavory trait. Tonight’s date isn’t shaping up to be any better.

You’re sitting at the tiny bar-style table playing with the wine in your glass, watching the carnelian liquid slosh as the liquid warms by the second. Your attention is completely on the droplets of wine sliding down the sides of the glass. Your date could care less. He doesn’t seem to notice your boredom or frustration. In fact, you’re not sure he’s even looked at you all night. He’s chattering about something involving stocks and bonds, the details so boring your eyes nearly roll back into your head while peering over the rim of his pint glass at every cocktail-dress-clad girl in sight. Drinks at this swanky bar were supposed to turn into dinner. You’re not sure this date is going to go that far.

Moreover, you’re not sure you want it to. You’re on this date as a favor for a friend. She’d sworn up and down that this guy was a real gem when she was setting you up with him. She’d spent days talking him up, pointing out how kind and hot he was. Sure, he hasn’t been the worst date you’ve been on. He is easy on the eyes, and nice at first impression. But he isn’t anything special. Maybe you have loftier expectations for your relationships than most. Or maybe you just want to go on a date where you can have a conversation, not be talked at in a mockery of one. In any case, you don’t find yourself too disappointed. You’re starting a new job in the morning and you should be fresh for your 8 AM orientation time - an early night would have been your preference. But your watch says it is already past 7 PM and getting later by the minute. This man can’t seriously think he’s so suave, can he? He’s been sending you alluring gazes and smug grins all night long, uncaring of your silence.

“So, whattaya say to skipping dinner and heading back to my place for the rest of the night?”

You’re not sure you heard him right. Mind churning, you sip on the wine, barely tasting the liquid. You’re not sure what he expects. Did he expect you to jump him the minute he offered? You’re resettling your mental estimation of his intellect downwards by the minute.

“I’m awfully hungry,” you demur. “Dinner sounds pretty good to me.”

“I’ve got something that’ll fill you up back at my place.”

His voice is greasy enough that you feel a little disgusted just hearing it. 

“Yeah?” You make your voice breathy like you’re a little turned on by his display. You lean forward, knowing the deep vee of your dress is showing off the slightest hint of the lace edging your bra. He smirks pompously, chest-puffing outward, eyes tipping to your exposed cleavage like iron ore to a magnet. He has the audacity to lick his lips, and while before you would have let him down gently, now you want to hit him where it hurts - his ego.

“Well, I hope you enjoy it all by yourself.” Your grin is sharp. “Like you probably have been every night for the last few years of your life.”

He looks a little like he’s been slapped, this finance bro, with his lips gawping unflatteringly.

“Do you have any idea who I am in this town?” He’s turning red under the collar, eyes bugging out.

“Nope.” You say the words flippantly, sipping on the last inch of the red wine at the bottom of your glass. You may not like the man, but he has good taste in wine.  “Nor do I care to.”

You lean in then, your off-putting grin widening across your cherry lips.

“I have no interest in getting to know a pompous, over-blown man-child who loves to flaunt their success in other people’s faces. So no. I won’t be coming home with you for a night in. I think I’d throw up if I saw the ‘something that fills me up’ you’ve got over there.”

He’s so angry, his face screws up at your words, the flush creeping up to his face.

“Bye-bye, now!”

He nearly knocks over a waitress and two fellow patrons on his way out of the door, sputtering impotently the entire way.

You’re still chuckling to yourself ten minutes later when a fresh glass of wine is set in front of you. 

“That was artfully done.” You startle a little at the words, your head whipping up so fast that your neck hurts at the sudden motion. The new man settling into the barstool before you is a cut above the gentleman you spoke to. Your face must show some confusion because he continues, “I saw you chase that guy away.”

He’s gorgeous, broad shoulders clad in a perfectly fitted suit. Every inch of his appearance screams luxury and class, from his auburn hair to his well-groomed mustache. He’s got long-fingered hands, one holding a cut crystal glass holding amber liquid, the other bearing a signet ring on the index finger as it rests on the table between you. There are eyes on him from all over the bar, and yet he doesn’t seem to notice. His whiskey eyes settle only on you like you're all he wants to see.

“Thank you.” You grin, sipping on the wine, the rich red liquid delicious on your tongue. “But it was necessary, I’m afraid.”

You nearly gag just thinking about the last words that idiot said to you before he left. At least you had the good sense to cut him off before he tried to strong-arm you into getting in bed with him.

“I kind of overheard what he said.” This stranger is smirking, confidence exuding from every pore. You’re drawn by his easy demeanor, as much as you are by his opening words. Hopefully, they’ll lead to an actual conversation. “It’s obvious he has no idea how to get to know a beautiful woman like yourself.”

“Is that so?” You lean forward again, wondering if a flash of your cleavage will take him in. But he doesn’t take the bait you’re presenting so alluringly. All he does is take off the suit jacket he's wearing, revealing the tanned vee of his neck in a white button-up shirt. You have to hide your hungry glances behind the rim of your wineglass when he rolls the sleeves up to the crook of his elbow.

“Yeah, sweetheart. I’d much rather get to know you instead.” He leans forward too, and as he does, you see gold glinting from between his pecs.

“I promise I’m nothing like that idiot you chased away with your cherry-lipped smile and acid words.”

You shrug, running a finger over the rim of the glass. “I don’t know anything yet.”

He shrugs then, sipping on his drink nonchalantly. You drag your eyes up and down his person. He lets you check him out with good grace, a smirk tipping his lips up and eyes hot as they return the languid glances. “But maybe, just maybe, I’d like to.”

As he’d introduced himself to you, Bradley is a breath of fresh air. You find yourself on the edge of your seat, hanging on his every word. He’s flirty, kind, yet down-to-earth. He's a professional working in the city, loves his family and friends, and reads actual, genuine books. If only your friend had set you up with Bradley instead. Under his knowing gaze, you find yourself spilling things you’ve never told another soul. 

The crowd surges around you as the night deepens. But still, you stay, sitting on the stool, downing glass after glass of plush, rich reds and fruity, dry whites while wishing Bradley was drinking his whiskey off your lips. With each word shared, each story, the spark of attraction smoulders between the two of you. Between one trip to the bar and the next, he settles on the stool next to yours. 

If you thought he was breathtaking across the table, he's heart-stopping sitting next to you. His effect on you is worse because when he's close, you just have to look down to see the mile-long expanse of his legs, muscular thighs practically straining against the expensive wool blend of his trousers.

“Tell me if I’m reading this wrong, beautiful.” His eyes are searingly hot a few inches away from you. He’s got an arm wrapped around your waist, a big hand splayed just under your breasts. “But I’d very much like to take you home tonight.”

You gasp at the feeling of his breath across your lips. One inch closer, and you’d be kissing him.

“I shouldn’t.” Your voice is quiet, a little hoarse from the alcohol, nonstop chatter and laughter. “I don’t usually go home with strange men at the bar, no matter how attractive they are.”

He smiles, tipping his head to the side. His voice is a rumble as he whispers into your ear, tone wheedling, his other hand trailing down the neckline of your dress, fingers hot over the delicate skin of your chest.

“I promise if you want me to stop at any time, I will. I’ll call you a cab and send you home with my number saved in your phone as soon as you say the word.”

You’re losing your words, your arguments at his voice. All the reasons why you shouldn’t go home with a near stranger dissipate with every minute you stare into his eyes. 

“Take me home,” You gasp, sucking in greedy breaths as he plays with your necklace. You knew he was tall when he walked away to get your new drink, but when he helps you off the stool and drapes his suit jacket across your shoulders, he dwarfs you easily. You have a sneaking suspicion you may be in trouble. 

He leads you out of the bar with a steady, warm hand at the small of your back. Despite the crowded streets, a taxi shows up the minute he raises his hand, power and confidence an aura emanating from him. The taxi ride to his apartment downtown is an alcohol-fueled swirl of sensation. Your focus is split between the broad palm splayed over your bare thigh and the filthy litany spilling out of his bitten lips. He keeps the words just barely audible, a placid grin on his face every time the cab driver looks back, and you’re fighting the urge to drag him into filthy kisses the entire way. 

Would you be able to taste the whiskey on his tongue? Or would he taste like the mints, sharp and peppery with an underlying hint of sweetness he’d popped as you left? You can’t know for sure, not until you’ve finally got him behind closed doors.

And what doors they end up being. When Bradley unlocks the doors and ushers you in, your jaw drops to the floor. His living room is a gorgeous, high-ceilinged room, with walls half distressed brick and half grey-toned wood panelling. The floors are soft, sandy wood. While you very much would like to see the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lining two of the four walls, complete with a rolling ladder like you’ve only ever seen on television, your eyes are drawn to the massive windows showing off the beautiful San Francisco skyline, lit up in the night.

“Your apartment is beautiful.” 

“It’s not the only thing that is.” 

You whirl around at the words, fighting the heat threatening to overtake your face. If Bradley looked practically edible languidly sprawled over the barstool, long legs brushing against yours, he looks divine standing in his living room with his bright white shirt unbuttoned to his navel.

“I-I don't usually do things like this.”

You curl an arm around your waist, hugging yourself. Standing here in the center of his cookie-cutter-perfect living room, you feel like an outsider, like the speck of lint or dust spoiling the facade. You don’t belong here. You don’t deserve to stand opposite a man this beautiful, be propositioned or devoured by him. Yet when you glance upward, his face shows you nothing but heat and hunger.

“Shh, sweetheart.” The pet-name makes you shiver, gooseflesh forming on your bare arms and pimpling over your collar bones. “I know you don’t. But we have all night to figure out what you like. We'll go as slow as you need.”

You’re not sure what you’re looking for in his face. Reassurance? Compassion? Want? Hunger? You see all those things and more. He lets you stand there in silence, eyes drinking you in, comfortable just watching and being watched. The more you see, the more you can feel your mind change. With the haze of alcohol thrumming through your veins fading a little, your brain is making more decisions. It was lust, pure and simple which got you here. Now your brain has to decide what you want to do here. More and more, the decision seems to be following him, letting yourself fall. You’ve never been impetuous, not where matters of the heart are concerned. Maybe you should be for once. The words end up tripping off the edge of your tongue of their own volition.

“What if I don’t want to go slow at all?” 

You know what it means when a man smiles at you like that, eyes molten, tongue sliding out to wet his lips. He prowls forward then, feline grace rippling the muscles of his torso. His arms feel like silk over steel as they crush you to his chest. Your heart stutters, breath catching as he leans forward. But he doesn’t kiss you. He seems content to breathe you in, foreheads pressed together. His mustache traces ticklish and light over your upper lip with every breath. You want nothing more than to smash your lips to his.

“I bet you don't, beautiful.” His eyes sparkle in the darkness as he traces one calloused fingers over your lacquered lips. “But I get the feeling you don't know what you want. You've spent all night so far telling me you don't let people take you home on the first night. But here you are, practically gasping for every touch of my skin to yours. So what’s going on in that pretty little head?”

The words make you squirm a little, thighs rubbing together futilely.

“I wonder,” His tone goes soft and contemplative yet light as he slides his hand up the expanse of your soft thighs, tenderly squeezing the muscular flesh. “Were you searching for a man to take you in hand? Someone who would smack that pretty little ass when you're being a brat? Is that why you chased that guy away so easily? Did you know instinctively he wouldn’t be able to do that for you?”

When you moan, it feels like you've lost the game he started playing. But you're not disappointed, not when his lips quirked upwards in a proud grin. And not when you feel his finger sweep over the damp gusset of your panties, teasing and light.

“Fuck, I knew you'd be gorgeous like this.” 

You shiver against him, muscles trembling, fighting against the urge to move his hands where you want them most. But even the slightest motion has those big hands clamping down over your wrists or swatting at the meat of your thigh, just harsh enough that you jolt. Your head is spinning already. 

“You're so quiet, so compliant and obedient, my good girl.” You have to swallow your whimpers at the term of endearment. “I can’t wait to see how good you can be.”

You nod, maybe too eagerly, if the smirk taking over his face is proof. 

“See?” The phrase is almost mocking as he purrs, “So damned pretty and soft and sweet.”

Your voice shakes as you try to collect your composure, breaking despite all the force of your will.

“I'm not that sweet. I can be rude and domineering and brash.”

He chuckles, pointing to a dark hallway, branching off the living room.

“Go to my bedroom, sweetheart. Take that sinful little dress off and sit on the bed.”

You're so gone for this man already. You don’t know his last name, what he does for work, or anything important. But you don’t care. As you trot into his bedroom, all you can think about is how his lips looked as they said, “good girl,” and how desperately you want to be good for him. Your hands are rough as you tug at the suddenly constricting fabric of your dress. You want it off; need the suddenly scratchy fabric away from your skin. When the dress lands on the ground in front of the bed in a bundle of dark fabric, you feel like you can finally breathe.

“Such a pretty girl.” 

You startle at the whisper. You hadn't turned the lights on when you walked in, navigating in the half-light of the streetlights below. A switch clicks in the silence, and you're surrounded by a halo of light. Bradley's in the shadows still, and you can’t see even a glint of his eyes.

“Turn around, baby.” 

You feel exposed all of a sudden, wearing only your lacy bra, barely there panties, and heels. His voice seems to echo around you, muddled and sibilant as they murmur words - orders - your way.

“Hands on the bed frame, beautiful.”

You stumble over your own feet as you rush to follow his instructions. With your eyes next-to-useless in the cool darkness of the room, it feels like your other senses are in overdrive.

“You look hotter than sin standing there like that, gorgeous.” 

You can feel the puffs of his breath over your sensitized skin, the fine hairs covering your arms standing on end at his presence ghosting over you.

“Fuck, you’re so sweet, so compliant and obedient for me. Keep those legs apart for me, now.” 

He chuckles darkly, the sound deep and velvety soft. You have to fight your whine as your knees nearly buckle at the way he sounds.

“You like that?”

You whine when his big hand smooths over the expanse of your back. 

“I knew you’d like having someone tell you what to do. I knew you’d look delicious like this, spread out for me like that. Pretty girl, my pretty, pretty baby.”

Your brain fritzes out at those words, all higher-level thoughts blanking out at the possessive curl to his voice. Your prior dalliances - you'd never call them relationships because they were too short to be labeled as such - were never bold enough to become so possessive with you. You never thought you would like it. But hearing Bradley call you his, even when you know this is only for tonight, makes your toes curl and your panties uncomfortably wet.

“What happened to that fire, huh? What happened to the feisty little thing who sent a man away for asking you to hop into his bed on the first meeting?”

His words are a little mocking as those big hands smooth over your waist, plucking at the waistband of your panties.

“Bet his eyes would fall out of his head if he could see you standing here, just like this. With your pert little ass on display and your pussy all wet for me.”

You moan at the words, gasping at the feeling of his hands as they tug the lacy fabric down, flinching at the snap of the clasp of your bra as he pulls that away, too. Your skin flushes with heat at the feeling of the soft kiss he presses to the small of your back. But the tender teasing touches disappear shortly after. He leaves you standing there, wearing only your red-bottomed heels, aching for his touch, shivering as the cool air wafts over your heated skin. You have a feeling he’s still there, your ears picking up each infinitesimal rustle of fabric and soft brush of footsteps on the floor. He’s just left you standing splayed out for his own amusement. 

How is it possible for you to feel both turned-on and uncomfortably exposed at the same time? Your fingers ache from holding onto the smooth wooden surface of the bed frame. As your patience wanes, your fidgeting increases.

“Bradley?”

You’ve never heard yourself sound like this, plaintive and strung out, aching for someone else's touch. It feels like you’re breaking down walls you’ve never known you had put up. All you can do is hold onto the bedframe and pray you aren’t vulnerable with someone dangerous.

“Nuh, uh, uh, pretty.” The hushed admonishment comes with the press of lips against your shoulder blade.

“If you want me, then you have to tell me exactly what you want.”

You tremble at the words, grip tightening on the burnished wood until all you can feel is the tug of stressed muscles. You let your head fall until your hair is obscuring everything from sight. You’re not sure you can say these words, not without feeling horribly, uncomfortably exposed. 

“Touch me, please.” 

It’s the barest whisper, but you know he hears you. His hands are hot against your skin as they draw you up. You surrender to the sensations of his calloused fingers trailing over your stomach. They’re teasing and light as they shape your breasts, palms hot as they hold you close.

“Oh, baby, you feel better than I even thought possible.”

Pleasure sinks molten and sweet through your veins at the gorgeously rough purr in his voice. You sag against him, barely trusting in your limbs to hold you. You can feel his smile as he presses hot kisses down the side of your throat. The scratch of his stubble makes you gasp. With every press, the ache between your thighs intensifies even further. But Bradley doesn’t move his hands, no matter how you wriggle or try to push his hands down to where you so desperately need them.

“Please, Bradley.”

It feels like you’ve been begging for his touch forever when he finally moves. His hands twirl you around, and you find yourself crushed to his chest. His eyes are molten, prismatic as he tugs you close. It feels like you’re drowning in him. You curl your arms around his muscular neck, staring deep into his eyes as he peers at you.

“Please, what, baby?”

There’s a mocking tilt to the smug grin on his face as he looks you over.

“I told you what I need from you tonight.” 

You whimper at the words, trying to surge up, aching for some more contact from him.

“Kiss me.” 

“Good girl.” You’re not sure you’re ever going to get tired of hearing him call you a ‘good girl”. But then his lips cover yours, and you’re not thinking about anything but him. These kisses, just like all of the others tonight, are hot and claiming. You twine your fingers into the curls at the base of his skull, gasping at the press of his tongue.

“You’re such a good girl, sweetheart.” His lips slip down the side of your neck, teeth scraping over your pulse in a knee-weakening manner. “Mmmm, darling, do you want this to go any further?”

You nod, not trusting your voice to respond in anything other than a breathless, needy moan.

“Well, you know what you have to do, beautiful.”

You’re growling when you wrench his mouth back down to yours. “I just want you to make me cum.” You say the words between needy kisses, pushing the shirt up until you can finally wrest it off. The heat of his skin feels so good against your own. When you look up, the smile taking over his face is breathtakingly gorgeous, eyes blown wide as he lays you down on the pristine, cool sheets of his bed.

“You’re too beautiful to be real.” 

You shiver as he places a kiss against your sternum, open-mouthed and wet. The shiver turns into a moan when he wraps his lips around one taut nipple and sucks. Each rough pass of his tongue has pleasure coiling in the pit of your stomach. It feels like you’re searching for oxygen like you’ve never breathed it before when he finally pulls away. You’re half expecting him to tease you again, when he laves his tongue over the other, nipping and biting. Your moans spiral through the air. You know what he’s doing when he traces those kisses down your torso, but you don’t have the patience for any more teasing.

You tug him into a messy kiss. Your teeth clash against his somewhat painfully, but when he crawls over you, you can’t find it in you to mind.

“Baby, you have to let me make sure you’re ready.”  

“I don’t care.” You’re aware you sound like a complete brat, but Bradley seems endeared by it. He lets you manhandle him onto the bed, eyes shuttering as you settle on his lap, core settled over the sizable bulge in his trousers.

“I want you,” you’re practically sobbing as you grind down in his lap. “I’ve wanted you since you sat down on that bar stool.”

“Please.” It’s a desperate plea. “Stop teasing me. I’m ready.”

“Shh, beautiful. I’ve got you.” He smoothes a hand over the plane of your stomach, uncaring of all the places you hate about yourself. 

You can’t believe your eyes when he finally pulls the remainder of his clothes off. He’s golden and gorgeous, tan glowing as the moonlight loving highlights every muscle. You’re still not sure why a man like him wanted to take you home, not when he looks like he does. His hands smooth over you, parting your legs as he kisses you. Each press of his lips to yours are deep and tender. You search for his lips every time he pulls away and gasp when he nips at the pout on your lips in retaliation. You can feel the blunt head of his cock against your folds as he grinds into you, the rough slide of skin against skin easing as you grow wetter, needier beneath him.

When he presses into you, you nearly come at the first thrust. He’s big and thick, stretching you in a way you’ve never been stretched before. He settles into a languid pace. You feel claimed with each slow thrust, all friction and heat, pressure collecting at the pit of your stomach.

“Please,” you babble, pleading for him to continue, “Don’t stop, please.”

It feels like there’s lightning in your veins. Lightning which crackles and sparks until it feels like you’re one exposed livewire lying on the bed. He gathers you up then, settles you down on his lap, hands clamped on the corded muscle of his shoulders as you go ragdoll-limp in his arms.

“There” It’s a soft, sub-audible moan as he hits that sweet spot inside you that makes you see stars. He fucks you slow and sweet, right there, until you can barely feel your face and your eyes roll back in your head. You jolt when he brushes the pads of his fingers against your clit, massaging the hardened nub until you’re practically screaming his name. That’s how you cum, with soft kisses, shaking in his lap. His hands are big as they cradle your ass. You shiver as he thrusts half-a-dozen more times before finishing, his head resting on your sternum, breath hot against the sweat-drenched skin.

You slump to your side, boneless and exhausted, relishing in the cool press of the sheets. He slumps with you, still buried in you, closer than you’ve ever been to another person. You could drown in the molten sweetness in his eyes, the deep caramel depths drawing you in until it’s all you can see. He kisses you until your lips feel puffy and bruised. When he slips out of you, you ignore the mess, beginning your slow progress as you slide to the edge of the bed. He doesn’t stop you, long limbs sprawled over the sheets of his bed like a Greek god in repose.

He lifts his head, eyes blinking blearily, sleepily as you collect your clothes, pulling on each piece methodically. 

“What are you doing?” 

You flush in embarrassment. “I’m heading home.” 

You can hear the rustle of the sheets as you pull the wrinkled fabric of your dress on. His hands are hot as he turns you around. You’re unbalanced, only one heel on as you look into his eyes.

“You could stay, you know?”

You shiver, tugging him into one final, soft kiss.

“I could. But I won’t.” You step into the final heel before turning around again. His hands are gentle as they tug the zipper on your dress up.

“I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

Bradley nods, curls bouncing, throat working as he looks you over. You’re trying to look at anything but him, not wanting the temptation of his lean, muscular body.

“Be safe.”

Your Uber home is quiet, tense. Half your heart, it seems, is left in that posh bedroom, wrapped in cool Egyptian cotton, drowning in whiskey eyes. Your sleep is just as disturbed. 

You wake in the morning sweetly sore and groggy. But you can’t focus on a mind-blowing fuck, not this morning. Warring with exhaustion this morning as you take a tram downtown are your nerves. You’re nervous. This is the job you’ve been working towards your whole life. Call it fascination from a lifetime of watching legal dramas combined with a love for arguing and here you are. Three years of law school at Stanford and near perfect exam scores and here you are. Standing in a richly appointed conference room with five other rookie law school graduates waiting for orientation to start on your first day.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the Law Firm of Kazansky, Mitchell, and Bradshaw.”

Your head seems to fly up at the words, and at first, you’re not sure whether you’re still asleep or drunk out of your mind. Because your eyes have to be deceiving you. There is no way Bradley is standing in the conference room with you. He’s flanked by a tall flaxen-haired man with a cocky grin and a buxom brunette in the snazziest pantsuit you think you’ve ever seen.

“I’m Bradley Bradshaw, senior counsel at the firm. My specialty is contract law. With me are my colleagues and fellow senior counsel, Jake Seresin, with a speciality of criminal law, and Natasha Trace, with a speciality in corporate law. We’re going to be your mentors at the firm. Let’s get one thing clear. We ask you all to jump, you ask us how high. Work hard, and we’ll have you taking cases of your own in no time.”

You feel like your skin is crawling with each word and each elapsed minute. Your palms are sweaty and your heart is racing as you distractedly count each minute until you’re left in a barren corner of the office in front of two empty cubicles with your training partner, a sweet-hearted brunette with a labrador retriever’s friendly personality named, Miguel “call me Mickey” Garcia. He’s already digging deep into the files Bradley handed over while you take a short walk to Bradley’s corner office. It’s just your luck you’d ended up having the man whose bed you were in last night as your mentor. And it’s just your luck that the first file you’d picked up had a post-it note on it asking for you to come by when you could.

Almost all the shades are drawn when you knock.

“Come in.”

He holds one of those long fingers up as he finishes up the conversation he’s having on the phone. You feel like you’re seconds away from being fired with every insolent look he sends your way.

“You wanted to see me, Mr. Bradshaw?”

He smirks then.

“Yeah, I did.” He shapes your full name with his pouty, kiss-bitten lips, lips you bit last night, as he looks over you.

“Obviously you know nobody can know what happened between us last night.”

“Yeah, obviously.” You wrap your arms around yourself, pretending not to notice how your body aches at the sight of him, for want of him. “So what do we do?”

“Nothing,” He leans forward with a grin. “I'm not sure what last night was like for you, but for me, it was just like any other. I met a passably pretty girl at a bar and took her home. She left in the early hours of the morning after a mediocre fuck. That's it.”

You can feel rage rising, cold and sharp enough that it occludes the edges of the bleeding wound he’s caused with a few callous words.

“Now, I'm your mentor and boss. Professionalism is everything to me. My mom is the best lawyer I know, and one of the partners. She can’t know I fucked up so prodigiously with one of our rookies. And I will do anything to make sure she never does.”

It’s obvious last night meant little to him, much less than it meant to you. You wanted to track him down tonight, wanted to see if he would want to go out with you again. Obviously that isn’t an option anymore.

“Enjoy the files. Let me know if you or Garcia see something I didn't see in them. That will be all.”

Your head is reeling when you walk away, and you're quiet, withdrawn. Garcia doesn’t notice how your skin crawls with every footstep walking past the door of your small office or how you flinch at every laugh and loud conversation. Last night you were a nervous professional, worried about the job but hopeful for your date to go well. Now you’re the rookie who slept with her boss. You're his dirty little secret and he's yours. Your career, your life, and everything you've ever worked for hangs in the balance.

Taglist:

@sarahsmi13s @horseshoegirl @desert-fern @dakotakazansky

@teacupsandtopgun @cherrycola27 @chaoticassidy @kmc1989

@eloquentdreamer @redhope446

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN ON AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR ON TUMBLR BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR TUMBLR, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

[eponymous-rose]

So I've been playing Baldur's Gate 3 like everyone else and had An Incredibly Wild Combat Experience just now...

(spoilers under the cut for an early-game fight; if you don't care about the game, this is 100% parse-able as a d&d fight)

So there I am with my character Amisra (elf fighter), and a party consisting of Karlach (tiefling barbarian), Astarion (elf/vampire-spawn rogue) and Gale (human wizard). We venture into the lair of a hag to try to rescue this woman she's kidnapped and I'm getting a little blithe when it comes to spell slots and short rests - everyone's starting to look pretty rough, and then there's a long stretch of having to navigate carefully around traps, mostly via jumps that I actually remember to have Feather Fall on this time. "No problem," I think like every D&D player before me, "I'll simply take a long rest before the boss battle." And the game, in its DM-ish wisdom, says, "No, you can't long rest in the lair of an actively hostile enemy, what were you thinking???" and that's how I get into a fight that's way, way over my head.

I'm giving it my best shot, dealing with illusory hag-enemies and complicated terrain, but it's clear this is going to be my first total-party-kill of the game. Several characters have been knocked down and brought back up, and we've been in enough of a bad state that all of our healing potions are gone (leading me to the realization that you can craft in battle, which then leads to all of the crafted potions also being consumed).

The stage is set for disaster: the hag still has half her health (60-something points), and my whole party is out of all spell slots and fancy tricks. Astarion and Karlach are knocked unconscious on the other side of the room via Ray of Sickness, making death saves. Gale and Amisra are in some sort of necrotic zone that's dealing damage every round.

The immediate turn order: Gale, Hag, Amisra. Gale has 1 HP and will be unconscious from the necrotic damage after his turn. Amisra has a whopping 7 HP but is being held in the damage-over-time area by a Hold Person spell she cannot seem to save against. The hag has a perfect shot on everyone in the room.

So I'm sitting there like "well, it was a fun run while it lasted" and trying to remember when I saved last. At this point, I figure I might as well go for a little roleplay flair and try to think of what Gale would do for this, his final turn. Well, he'd look to magic. But, uh, sorry, those cantrips aren't going to deal 60 points of damage and get you out of your current predicament. Too bad.

Hang on. I've picked up so many scrolls, surely there's something there that might be a fun finish. Scroll of Flying? Nah, then I'll just die in midair. Scroll of Ray of Enfeeblement? Yeah, I'm sure she'll be real sad that her melee attacks do marginally less damage as she annihilates us with ranged attacks anyway. Scroll of Feign Death? Who's ever even used that spell successfully in a video game? What would you even--

Wait. Scroll of Feign Death. Resistance to all damage types except psychic, puts the target in a comatose state. Gale's going to be unconscious next round, but Amisra still has 7 HP...

So Gale, very dramatically, pulls out this scroll and casts the spell on Amisra, who Feigns Death very convincingly considering she's frozen on the spot and slowly taking damage. And Gale takes the last burst of damage himself and falls unconscious.

The hag absolutely doesn't stop there and keeps hitting Karlach, Astarion, and Gale until they're dead... but she never targets Amisra. She thinks she's dead. She actually thinks she's dead! And she might be right, as Amisra takes 2 HP and 1 HP of damage each turn, frozen in place...

And the hag just... stops. Everyone is dead, right? Yup, four bodies on the ground. Time to go and do whatever it is hags do for fun. She leaves the battlefield.

And Amisra finally saves against the damage-over-time with One. Frickin'. Hit. Point. Remaining.

I as the player have about 1 HP remaining myself as I fumble frantically to move Amisra out of the dangerous area and manage to remember how to use a mouse in time to cast a Scroll of Revivify on Gale. Two of us, each stumbling around at 1 HP, no other healing available, no idea where the hag is in her lair, the rest of our (very dead) party on the other side of the giant room, and a huge path of traps and treacherous drops to get back to the surface. What can we do but press on, deeper into the lair?

In the next room, which I have never seen before, I am shaking. If there's a trap, we're probably done. I'm too nervous to try looting anything in the room - what if she comes back? And then I see a sparkly fairy circle of mushrooms, looking an awful lot like an exit. No way. NO WAY.

I click that fairy circle so many times and just hold my breath as the two remaining party members stumble to the exit... and promptly appear back in the (slightly less dangerous) bog. The bog where, in its infinite DM-ly kindness, the game finally allows us to make camp, where I can resurrect Karlach and Astarion in peace.

And that's how we avoided a Total Party Kill with the most situational spell scroll use imaginable!

Edit: Also, a tip for when I did go back to fight the hag - a 2nd-level Magic Missile auto-hits up to 4 targets, so if you position Gale toward the middle of the room you can take down all 4 illusory hag-clones in one turn. Ahh, it was nice to have spell slots again.

[glowinginstarlight]

3, 12, and 22!

3. What were your top five books of the year?

ash gordon this is so hard. this is not ordered any particular way

Under the Whispering Door by TJ Klune

this book really hit at the right time for me. i read it pretty early in the year and it was a really wonderful discussion about grief with an interesting world and charming characters. i would 100% reread this book tbh

2. Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries by Heather Fawcett

this book has been on my list for a while and i'm so glad i got around to it. emily is an icon in every way and the world is so interesting. this unoffically includes the second book in the series because both were so good. the way the world was built and through an academic lens?? eating it up. wendell is also kind of everything to me

3. A Memory Called Empire by Arkaday Martine

this book i 100% credit to restarting my scifi kick. once again another super interesting world and the culture of Teixcalaan is so so flushed out and intruiging. mahit is the world's wettest cat and spends so much of the book freaking out at all times and i love the pacing that brings. three seagrass is also kind of everything to me and i did enjoy her bits of perspective in the second book. also dont get me wrong, i really enjoyed the second book as well, but the politics and mystery we get in the first one had such a grip on me that i don't think the second one was going to hit the same, even if i did enjoy the plot. something about the first one went so hard. but yeah this book had a grip on me and i completely credit it with my scifi/space opera kick returning.

4. To Sleep in a Sea of Stars by Christopher Paolini

this book was crazy. it felt like 3 books in one (it was 878 pages to be fair) but the amount of plot paolini packed into this book was wild. i couldn't tell you half of went on in this book because it was just. so much. i nearly gave up my first pass because it did take its time getting started. however once you get past the first couple plot points it really takes off and i was so locked in. i did kind of read it in a day or so in a fit of "i don't want to do my homework" but it rocked. another strong contributor to the space opera kick

5. The Expanse Universe by James S. A. Corey

so i've only read the first 4 books so far but this is definitely my series of the year. it rules. it's everything i wanted in a space opera. the politics are impeccable and james holden is so compelling. also i just. i don't even know what to talk about each book manages to expand on the previous in really interesting ways. i also love the alternate povs in each book - avasarala is so so fun to be in the head of. miller was hard to get into at first, especially because i didn't quite understand the "bury the lede on how all these characters are connected" story structure, but i've come to enjoy that plot device a lot. its so fun to see how all these completely random people come together and play an important part in the wider plot, especially now that some of them are starting to come back. anyway i could keep going so i'll stop but if you're looking for a good space opera with a lot of material this is a good choice. idk what im gonna read after this im gonna be so real

12. Any books that disappointed you?

i definitely didn't like several things i read this year, but i really hoped i'd like Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe by Benjamin Alire Sáenz and while it wasn't bad per say, i think im just too old for it to hit the same way it did for a lot of people. it was a fine book but i just waited too long to get to it

22. What’s the longest book you read?

apparently To Sleep in a Sea of Stars by Christopher Paolini, coming in at 878 pages. which by the way this book ruled if you didn't notice

(2-5 are all the Expanse novels i read this year which range from 600-500 pages or so, so i really killed it)

okay everyone. i hope you enjoyed me yapping about books for fivever this was my excuse to talk about books i like so. its my blog i make the rules!! i'm looking forward to keep reading in the new year, restarting reading was one of my favorite things i did this year. thank you for asking ash i hope you enjoy all my words

[songs-about-girls-like-me]

chapter 12: my love for sleepovers, explained

(a/n this one is kinda long and kinda soppy but I can't make it sound different. I've tried, sorry lol)

It was november, and I was the only one left to turn 11 now cause we were at Ella's house for her birthday. She was technically turning 11 next monday but I was already getting some "you, baby" comments from her and she was having me and Liv over for a sleepover. It was the first Time I was visiting her house and it's wild to think we only spent three whole school years hanging out in that room, cause it really became That Room for my early teenager self. Shoutout Ella's 2010-2013 room, you'll be remembered forever.

So, let me backtrack a bit. I had been to one (1) Sleepover, with a capital S, before. Olivia and I would sleep at each other's houses every so often, but we wouldn't really consider them sleepovers (e.g. that Time we threw a chair down her staircase was originally us trying to rearrange her TV room for us to sleep there). The proper Sleepover I had ever been to, we were at least 10 or 15 girls and it had been some months ago during 4th grade.

I had cried because of my phobia to that specific food and some girls tried to console me but I asked them to please stay away. Later, I ate like four giant muffins I still dream of to this day cause they were THAT good and managed to forget about my phobia. Then at some point in the night, I got on a couch and pretended to be Justin Bieber at a concert and said stuff like "I love all of you, beautiful girlies" to my classmates, everyone wearing pijamas. I sang a bit of Baby and they all screamed and pretended to want to touch my hands and stuff, as if I was on stage and then I literally caused a physical fight (lol) between Max (who was an asshole) and another classmate who was the most obsessed with Justin, cause I was singing directly to one of them or something along those lines. I don't remember, but I do know I was never cautious when playing a flirt as a kid lol. And so they started playing fight over Justin Bieber, and then actually fighting, cause Max could get on everyone's nerves. In a matter of seconds, between the pillow punches and the pushing and screaming, we all saw real red blood and stopped playing. Max had a blody nose, and then the other girl ALSO got a bloody nose. Never underestimate the might of the bond between a girl and her "loml celebrity". She's not messing around lol.

To be honest, I was a bit amused when both girls literally ended up with blood dripping down their faces for my Justin impersonation, even more because Max was always mocking me and she said "I'd pay for that". And I shrugged and laughed, which always felt like victory. I still apologized to my other classmate and to everyone else for causing the fight cause it did felt a bit out of line, but they all agreed I was not the one to blame and said it had been very funny. The rest of the night I was kinda bored cause I didn't have a friend there cause Liv hadn't been invited. And the homemade oatmeal facemasks we did were confusing to me, even if they smelled nice, and then i fell asleep early while everyone watched "Sleepover" (that movie from 2004 starring the girl from Spy Kids) cause the plot was boring and why were they stealing a dude's boxers?

Later I woke up to some girls trying to prank me, told them I was actually awake (lie) and asked them to "please chill" and they actually let me be, to wake up the next day hoping my mom would arrive before they gave us eggs for breakfast cause I hate eggs. And even if it had been fun, I was ready to go home to my sisters and stuff. I don't know how to put it but I think that whole story is exactly what my status was on the social hierarchy at the Time lol. And even if that's a core memory, it was not even comparable to this Sleepover.

Ella had explained that her parents had moved her to the ground floor bedroom because her 3 year old brother was taking the room they used to share upstairs. He had a Cars bedframe. Ella said she didn't have a walk-in closet anymore but the bedroom itself was cooler and she had a bathroom of her own and a double bed. She was being a biiiit of a show off that day at school but I guessed it was fair to allow it since it was her birthday. She had only invited me and Olivia from school, but she also invited her childhood bestie, and two other girlfriends who were family friends or something and must have been 13 at least.

I remember changing into our pijamas for the evening, leaving all of my stuff on Ella's mini couch in one corner of her room. I was wearing a pijama set, as the rest of the girls lol. Mine was from Barbie, in a green, hot pink and white colorway. I loved that the top was one of those that look like you're wearing a short-sleeves over a long-sleeves. The oldest girl was wearing a tank top and pijama shorts and I remember being so impressed by how chill and cool she looked. We then just hung out and Ella showed us around the house in our socks, carrying our stuffed animals around. She and I obviously used the open space of her kitchen to practice our pirouettes and grand battements. We played music on someone's iPod and spent a long Time doing our hair in Ella's bathroom and I think during these hours my brain released a ridiculous amount of dopamine cause I can remember it as if I had lived it many Times. There were multiple hair straightners and one of them was cheetah print, and it all made me feel like I had been transported to a movie bedroom or a music video set. I had never used a hair straightener but I loved it the minute I passed the heat over my hair. I had naturally quite straight hair, with just some wave to it, but I still straightened it to the max and the quality of it changed to feel way silkier and flowy, just the way healthy hair does with heat. It fell beautifully over my shoulders over my Barbie pijama shirt. It moved so nicely when I danced and I was screaming singing in the bathroom mirror with a bunch of girls, my two best friends included. I put one side of my hair behind my ear. It looked so pretty. But it also looked so nice when I put both sides behind my both ears. And when I would run my hands through it making it really messy. I looked so pretty. And everyone around me was so pretty and so fun in my eyes. I loved how it looked. My hair, myself and the scene I was in, but I was too bussy dancing to 2010's pop to have realisations about any of it which was awsome. Ella showed me the tiny purple hair straightner she used everyday to do her side bangs for school and I actually thought it was fucking amazing that she had a mini-sized straightner. We all danced almost screaming these lyrics I barely even knew. My hair was so straight and I just kept passing the straightener over it for fun, when Olivia entered the bathroom.

"Who's straightening my hair?"

"Me" I said.

"Look! Your bones are showing!" Ella was pointing at Olivia's hip bones.

"Huh?" went Liv.

"Look. These little bones. Ugh, that's so cool. I wish I had that!"

"Uhm" Liv just shrugged. "I just have them"

"Mine also show!" I said looking down above the waist band of my pijama pants.

"Uhm..." Ella took a look. "Nah, not that much"

I frowned. Looked in the mirror.

"Yes, they do." I went. I didn't know if she was being sincere or not, or maybe she didn't want to be the only one with no hip bones showing. I didn't care much and shurgged too.

"Why am I so fat?!!" Half-screamed Ella.

"You're not fat!!!!! Jesus!!!" Everyone said something similar.

"You're so fucking pretty, Ella" said Victoria, one of her older friends. She was two years above us at school and took the school transport with her. She really cursed so much but she sounded edgier than us. "Say it with me: I am really hot" Ella laughed but said she wasn't. Then the six of us started a communal discussion going "Yes, you are" - "You're wrong". Victoria was aggressively stating Ella was skinny and pretty and even very hot, and it was very funny to witness and she was laughing a lot too. And in the end, Olivia started fighting her physically cause that was their thing, and they would end up bitting each other. Which always made everyone laugh about how violent they both could get. But no actual blood was spilt.

In the midst of that, someone asked if we should play to be "Miss Universe" contestants and do a runway show. And the dopamine in my head had another peak at the idea cause it sounded genius. They said we should even do a talent show round and I took a jumping rope from Ella's coat rack. I did my number, doing double jumps and all, and everyone said I was really good and I was ecstatic cause they seemed genuinely surprised. I told them I had learnt from watching Jump In. I remember Ella and her childhood bestie chose to sing, and each of them did a song and we turned the lights out to pretend to be at a concert or something, with the rest of us crammed up in the bed. I liked both of their numbers and we cheered and clapped for them as if they deserved grammy nominations.

Later we had cake upstairs, in the kitchen, with Ella's mom and brother. Her mom took pictures and we all cheered for Ella's 11th year of life. We also had dinner and I was glad we had quesadillas. After a while they left us to be alone and Victoria asked if we wanted to play "Never Have I Ever", which I had never played but they said it was kind of like "Truth or Dare" and I was down. We played with glasses of water, sitting crossed legged on the kitchen chair, feeling the wood against my socks.

Never had I ever kissed anyone, dated anyone, liked two people at a Time, or liked a girl. But I had had a crush and had liked a friend. Both were Brody, who now I thought was lame and was currently "dating" Mia after the school camp, but it still counted. Most things I had never done but I was still giggling and having a great Time and we all were screaming from Time to Time. I couldn't stop giggling and moving around in my chair, listening to everyone telling stories. Olivia was almost the same as I, but she had kissed someone (she would tell this crazy story about a kindergarten kiss and even a kindergarten boyfriend, but I felt like she was lying about the boyfriend cause the other Time she had told me that story, she also added in the fact that she had lockers in kindergarten and that she had locked herself inside hers for a whole school day to miss all her classes. Which seemed completely made up, no matter how different London kindergarten could be. I couldn't be completely sure, though.) Ella had kissed her neighbor, a dude a year older than us, and I was screaming with butterflies at the story and she was blushing and we all teased her about it. Her other three friends had even dated. The bubbly feeling in my heart was so fun to have around.

That sleepover was the first Time I straightened my hair on my own and the first Time I straightened someone else's hair, and the first Time I watched "Aquamarine", and the first Time I heard the term "make out" and the term "hook up", and even if I had already known about s* x for two years by then, I think the concept of "feeling someone up while kissing" (as they described it) lowkey changed my brain irreversibly, even more since the concept was being used talking about people who were just two years above us. I was a bit shook to my core, even more than when I had found out about oral s* x and p* rn. We chatted for what felt like hours back in Ella's room, sitting on what would become the iconic green rug until we went to sleep. Good sleepovers feel a bit like punching a hole into normal life to me, like a weird pocket of spacetime. To this day I can feel it, when going to sleep really late after a really good Time with my friends, when I am not sad or in my head or realising heavy stuff, and I feel as if nothing really bad could reach me. The world stops existing until we wake up. Sort of like AM by 1d lol.

The next morning my mom picked me up early cause we had weekend plans or something and she was a bit on her nerves cause I was taking really long to go out to the car. I was finishing straightening someone's hair sitting on the unmade bed while watching the last bit of Aquamarine. And I don't know how, but I felt like I was the master of hair straightning and no one questioned it. I wore my clothes from the day before and still felt really happy and surprised about how pretty my hair was. I wished a happy birthday to Ella for the millionth Time after laughing our heads off to some idiot joke, and got in the backseat of the car to lay down, talking to my mom who thankfully got in a good mood quickly. I was still happy with the sleepover fever.

[johnkrrasinski]

started from a call

full masterlist

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x female!reader

Word count: 3,610

Warning: angst with a happy ending! that's all.

Summary: written for @wkemeup's 9k writing challenge with the prompt "character a leaves an embarrassing, drunk message on character b’s voicemail and spends the rest of the night trying to discreetly delete it from [b]’s phone." inspired by a bit of ross and rachel from friends too. you found out from steve that bucky was in love with you in high school but after he returns home with a girl in his arm, you cancelled your plans to tell him how you feel. will you and bucky have your happy ending?

a/n: please like, reblog and leave a feedback. :) enjoy!

"Alright, I'll see you tonight. Bye." He leaned against the kitchen counter and hung up the phone with a grin on his face. "You hear that, Sam? We're going on our third date tonight." He threw his phone up into the air and caught it so casually without spilling a drop of his coffee sitting on his right hand. "Looks like I'm getting that 300 bucks soon."

"Hey, easy. You ain't going to that date yet, who knows? She could bail on you. It doesn't count if the date doesn't end well."

"Oh, but it will. I just gotta turn on my charm and next thing you know, we're already meeting the parents stage."

"Meeting the parents? That's a big step from you, Buck."

"Hey, I'm a man of my words. If I said that I'm going to change this year then I'm gonna stick to it."

"So Leah isn't just a one-time thing to get 300 bucks?"

"Maybe yes, maybe no. We'll see how tonight goes. But one thing's for sure is that I'm getting that 300 bucks."

Sam and Bucky made a bet as their New Year's resolution that Bucky would never go on a second date with any girl or remember to call her in the morning after a wild night. His commitment issues had given him a reputation as the player in the gang. It wasn't a new thing anymore to anyone that when they visited Bucky's place in the morning, they would see a girl with a dopey smile and slightly ruffled hair walking out of his apartment, giddy that Bucky just made a promise to call her later.

You, Natasha, Wanda, Sam and Steve were hanging out at Nat's place. The six of you had been friends since college. You, Nat, Bucky and Steve had known each other since high school and the four of you kept in touch despite going to separate universities. You met Wanda when you went to NYU and Steve met Sam while he was in Harvard. Long story short, after the four of you graduated, you and Wanda lived together as roommates and even started your own bakery business. Steve and Bucky lived in the same building as you and Natasha and Sam lived nearly alone. They were too independent for roommates. Don't even start on Natasha and how much she valued her personal space. That's how the six of you ended up here, gathered at your place on a Saturday afternoon.

"Are you gonna pick her up tonight?"

"Of course. Gonna clean up well, bring her some flowers and knock on her door at 7 pm precisely. Which girl isn't gonna fall for that?" Bucky walked over to the couch you and Nat were sitting on and leaned on the headrest, his arms caging both you and Natasha.

You didn't say anything nor did Natasha because she knew about your feelings for Bucky. Despite never feeling that way about Bucky in high school, your feelings changed a week ago after learning that Bucky used to be in love with you but never had the courage to tell you. That's why he never had a girlfriend during his high school years and he wanted to take you to prom and confess his feelings to you but he was too late. Another guy had already snooped in first.

You were his first love but it wasn't reciprocated until now. That's why in college, he learned how to get over you and slept with as many women as possible because he felt like he lost four years of his life of finding the one. He never intended to be a player and feed girls empty promises, it just kind of became his way of dating. He was too afraid that no one could live up to you yet he enjoyed being with women. Hence, the bet.

The day you found out from Steve about Bucky's past feelings for you while playing truth or dare, you immediately wanted to call him up but Bucky was out of town for a few days and as soon as he was back home, he had Leah in his arm. Your heart was crushed. Wanda told you that it would probably last for a few days and that he'd eventually be single again but you totally did not expect this thing to turn into something serious. You loved Sam with every fibre of your being, he was like the big brother you never had, but you wanted to curse him for making that bet.

So you just rolled your eyes and stayed silent throughout this entire conversation, even though your heart felt like it was being stabbed over and over again. "Alright, I gotta go. Got a big date tonight. I'll see you guys in a few hours." Just like that, Bucky walked out of the room without knowing the pain his words caused you.

The next day you were sitting in your bed watching The Notebook in your pyjamas because you were too heartbroken to do anything productive. It was Sunday so you could just have a whole day to yourself and do absolutely nothing but cry. Wanda knocked on your door bringing a plate of cookies and she had a pitiful look on her face. "y/n? Sweetie? I made you these cookies, they might make you feel better." Sometimes you thank the stars for bringing her into your life.

"Thank you, Wanda. You're so nice to me." You know you probably sound like a hormonal whiny kid but everything made you cry at the moment.

"Do you need anything else? I know how it feels to get your heartbroken, trust me. When me and Vision had a fight and we didn't talk for days all I wanted was to curl up and never leave my bed, so in case you need anything, I'm here." She offered you that warm smile of hers.

"No, all I want right now is to just eat these cookies and go back to my film, thanks Wan."

"Okay, I'll be outside." Your pity party was interrupted when Nat arrived in her leather jacket and burst into your room.

"Get up, you are taking a shower and you're getting that face beat."

"Natasha, what the hell? Leave me alone."

"Y/N, listen to me. I got a date for you. His name is Scott and he's a real nice guy, he's funny, he's a good friend of mine and he is really smart. He is so much better than Bucky, I promise you. Now c'mon, I already told him that you are meeting him tonight at Stark's restaurant at 7."

You whined, doing anything you can to get her to leave you alone with your tears and your cookies but you knew that once Natasha set her mind on something, there's no talking her way out of it. Damn that woman with her determination.

"Y/N, c'mon! Wallowing all day isn't you. I know you and what's good for you. That's why I found you a great guy who will charm you so good that you will forget Barnes even existed. You can't let him win, y/n. If he's going to be happy with someone else, then you better show him that you can be much happier with other people."

You stared at her, trying to absorb her words. There's some wisdom in that. You're not the type to cry over a guy, not even for even Bucky Barnes. So you let Natasha drag you to the shower and asked Wanda to do your hair when she does your makeup. She chose an outfit for you, a dress that was not too sexy but chic enough to leave a good first impression.

Scott was early to the restaurant and he looked elated to see you. He was wearing a grey suit with no tie and he had a really exuberant smile on his face, the type that drew people easily. You could see why Natasha called him a nice guy.

"Wow, sorry, I just- didn't expect you to be this beautiful."

"Ah, thank you, Scott. Have you been waiting long?"

"No, not at all. I just arrived here like five minutes ago."

The night went on and Scott did most of the asking and talking, you answered each question curtly with forced enthusiasm in your face and body language. You weren't even listening to half of the things he said because your mind kept playing images of Bucky with Leah and how you heard from Sam that the date went well so he lost 300 bucks. You kept thinking about Bucky and Leah and how they would probably get married and have kids and live in the suburbs with a golden retriever while you'd still be single and you'd compare every man you meet to Bucky. Maybe it was your karma for not reciprocating his feelings in high school.

Five glasses of wine and you spent more time nodding than talking. Honestly, all you wanted to do was to just go home and go back to The Notebook because their love story was much better than your love life. Scott woke you out of your daze, "Natasha told you that I was cuter than this, did she?" after you gulped your sixth glass of wine.

"Oh Scott, I'm so sorry. It's not you, it's me. I know it sounds cliche but it's just... I'm not in a place where I'm looking for a boyfriend. You are a really likeable guy and I swear, if we had met at another time, maybe I would be a better date but right now, I just- I have someone else in my mind." You sighed, it felt like a relief to get that off your chest.

"Is this guy... an ex-boyfriend?"

You chuckled, "no... He wishes."

Scott nodded, "look, I don't know what your situation is but I've been through a divorce and it's never easy. But eventually, you'll be fine. You can't see it now because you haven't had closure." Then it was as if the bulb above your head was turned on.

"That's it.  Closure, yeah. That's all I need. Okay, give me a minute. I'm gonna call him now and I'm going to get my closure."

Scott sat there watching you comically trying to find your phone in your purse and tapped on Bucky's contact number. The normal you would be sweating with every ring but intoxicated you had no worries in the world... For now.

"This is Bucky. Can't pick up right now, leave a message." Beep.

"Hello, yes, Bucky! Or James, should I call you James? I always thought Bucky was a weird name. Anyways, I'm just calling to tell you that I am fine and I am on a date with Scott. And speaking of dates, I just gotta tell you that I'm happy to hear that your date went well. And that, my friend, means that I am over you. That's right, I'm over you. Tell Leah I say hi." You said sarcastically.

You hung up the phone and threw your phone back into your purse. You felt like you just won a chess game.

The next morning you decided to sleep in because your heart was pounding and you could barely sit up without feeling like you might fall. You were supposed to be working at the bakery but since you owned the bakery, Wanda let you sleep it off until you recover. You couldn't remember anything from last night, how you got back to your apartment was a mystery. You tried to put the pictures together, from being forced to go on a date, meeting a guy named Sean? Simon? Sebastian? Scott! Yes, Scott. You ordered your meals and then... Nothing, it was all blurry. You weren't even sure if anything happened at all after eating your meals.

The apartment was empty because Wanda was working at the bakery and it was just you with your hangover pills. Bucky came to your apartment without knocking because Wanda told him on the phone that you were home. He greeted you with a smile and asked about your date.

"Uh, let's see. I think there was a restaurant, I know there was wine. And there's a guy, Scott and pretty much that's all I can recall."

Bucky made a yikes face. Seeing the state you were in, he could do the math (of the wine you had). You probably enjoyed the alcohol more than the guy. What a doofus, he thought. If he was the one going on a date with you, you'd definitely remember every detail from last night.

"Leah's downstairs and I'm taking her back to her place but I left my keys here last night. Have you seen it?"

"No, check the drawers. Maybe Wanda put 'em there."

"Ah, okay." He opened the drawers and found the keys to his bike.

"Did we... Speak on the phone last night?"

"Nope, my phone was dead and I didn't charge it all night so I haven't really checked it. Why?"

"Nothing, nothing. It's just... Never mind. My memories are a bit hazy right now. You should go, say hi to Leah for me."

Bucky nodded as you walked back to your room to go lie down. Your question reminded him that he should probably check his phone now because there could be work-related messages but the first thing he heard was a voicemail from you. "Oh, y/n. I got your message!"

That instantly stopped you in your tracks. Your eyes went wide and you froze. You immediately turned around and ran to grab his phone away from him. Bucky had a confused look on his face, "who's Scott?"

"Oh my God, no, Bucky, give me the phone. Give me the phone!" But it was already too late, he was already halfway through your voicemail and by the time you successfully snatched his phone out of his grasp, he had already heard every word.

Bucky stood there dumbfounded, he needed time to process everything you just said to him. "What do you- what do you mean you're over me?"

"Oh, God... Alright, um- lately, I've um- sort of, have... Feelings for you." You never had to chase a guy or confess your crush first so this felt new and my God, it was nerve-racking.

"You have feelings for me..." He said it as if he was convincing himself that his ears got it right. Bucky couldn't believe the words that just escaped through your lips, for years he had dreamed of this moment. Though never did he ever want you to make the first move but adolescent him wanted to hear you say what he'd been wanting to say to you too.

He didn't say anything for what felt like minutes and you couldn't decipher his thoughts from the look on his face. "I need to sit down," he pulled one of the dining chairs and leaned on his side in a defeated posture.

"Bucky... Please say something." You alerted him in a hushed tone, not wanting to startle him than you already did. But he didn't. He was lost at words. What the hell was he supposed to tell her?

"Look Bucky, I'm sorry for telling you this way but I had to. I just- I've been wanting to talk to you about it since you came back to New York, well- actually, since Steve told me but-"

"Whoa, Steve told you?!" He interrupted.

"Yeah, it just accidentally slipped when we were playing truth or dare..."

"Okay well," he stood up from his seat, yet he still couldn't look you in the eye. "I can't do this right now, Leah's waiting for me downstairs and I gotta go." He basically ran out of the room and slammed the door behind him, leaving you alone.

Once your hangover had begun dissipating, you decided to help Wanda at the bakery and took the night shift. She must've been exhausted from managing the bakery alone while also helping the employees in the kitchen so you told her to go home and leave it to you. The bakery's usually slower at night.

When it was nearing closing time and your employees had gone home, you decided to clean up and turned off the lights and checked everything one last time before locking the door. The bell above the door dinged and you were slightly annoyed because who the hell comes to the bakery at this hour?

"I'm sorry we're clo...sed." It was Bucky. He stood there in a black coat, with an expression you still couldn't figure out. "Bucky, what are you-"

"You have no right to tell me that you've got feelings for me." His tone was harsh, he never spoke that way to you or anyone... Ever.

"What?"

He walked closer to you, maintaining his gaze, "You can not tell me that you've got feelings for me now when I'm doing well with my life and Leah..."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I was in love with you for years! Years, y/n! And you never said and did anything and now when everything's going well you're ruining it!"

"I am ruining it?" You repeated the question because you couldn't believe what you just heard. How dare he said those hurtful things to you.

"Yes! I was doing fine with Leah and now I don't know what's going to happen with me and her anymore..."

"Yeah, well, I was doing fine before I found out that YOU were in love with me and never had the balls to tell me!" You did everything you could to not cry, you hated crying in the middle of an argument.

"Hey, it's not like I didn't try. There were your ex-boyfriends and your dates and I had to move on. I couldn't wait forever! And now, now you're too late."

"Oh, so what? You're just gonna walk away and pretend that this never happened?"

"Yes, I'm going to do exactly that and I'm going to go see Leah." He turned around like he did earlier in your apartment and left you alone once again with your heartbreak.

"Fine! Go ahead and see Leah because I don't give a fuck about cowards like you or whoever you sleep with." You slammed the door and tried everything you could to not have a breakdown here because you really hated letting an argument hurt you. You sat on one of the chairs where the customers would sit and you hid your face with your hands and cried.

Not because you just lost an argument but because of what Bucky said and it felt like you had lost Bucky before you even had him. Now there was no hope left for you and Bucky, things were too complicated.

You didn't know how long you had cried there, alone, in the dimmed lighting of your shop but after you felt like the tears had dried, you wiped the traces of your tears from your cheeks with the back of your thumb. You stood from your seat and was ready to go home. You couldn't wait to eat some leftover pizzas, take a warm shower and cry into your pillows until you fall asleep.

But when you were about to leave, you saw Bucky standing on the other side of the door, watching you through the windows with a softer expression on his face. You opened the door and Bucky instantly grabbed your waist and kissed you as if his life depended on it.

You gave in to his kiss, letting him pour every desire and yearning into your lips for as long as he wanted. You grabbed his face because you wanted him impossibly closer and you shut your eyes, letting your guard down. Because it was Bucky, and you'd known him for as long as you could remember and you both deserved this moment.

Bucky eventually pulled away until both of you were running out of air. You were breathless from his kiss, you never knew he was such a good kisser. (It's Bucky and he's had a lot of women on his bed, of course, he was excellent at it. Who were you kidding?) But now that you've had your own front-row experience, you felt a tad of possessiveness at the thought of sharing those lips or any part of him with anyone else.

"I couldn't go back to her knowing you are here alone and I had thrown away what I've wanted for as long as I could remember."

"I'm glad you came back." You pressed your foreheads and you rested your hands on his chest. You could get used to this.

"I hope it's not too late to say this but, y/n y/l/n, will you let me take you to dinner and see a movie after maybe?"

"I wasn't the one who said it's too late," you halfheartedly teased him.

"Shut up, so is that a yes or a no?"

You bit your lip and nodded, "yes. Definitely a yes." You stared into his ocean blue eyes, so deep and beautiful, you could easily get lost in it.

"y/n y/ln, I'm going to put all of your ex-boyfriends to shame."

"Hm, we'll see about that." You put your arms around his neck. Then a thought crossed your mind and your smile faded away, "what are you gonna do about Leah though?"

"I'll talk to her in the morning. Let's take you home now, yeah? It's getting late."

You bit your lip and nodded, "okay."

Ninth grade you dreamed of popular jocks and athletic seniors, but little did you know that, sometimes, the one who sincerely loved you was the book nerd who loved The Hobbit a little too much.

[feuervogel]

Recent media viewing

I decided to open up Netflix the other day and watch the Sandman adaptation. It's as good as everyone has been saying it is! And episode 5 has some gross bits that you'll see coming if you're paying attention (also, the nice black lady and her dog don't die, if you're worried about that). The Corinthian is EVEN CREEPIER in live action.

I spent a lot of time thinking "God, that actor looks and sounds familiar" whenever the Corinthian was on screen, but I looked him up and he wasn't in anything else I've seen, so I guess he's just got That Kind Of Face (or at least lower half of it, since he's got dark glasses on 95% of the time.)

While I was on Netflix, they showed me recommendations, as algorithms do, and I browsed the anime selection to see if there was anything to add to my (extremely long) watchlist.

I decided to watch Tekken: Bloodline, because deep in my heart of hearts, I love 2D fighting games. Not at all because I've been a JinHwo shipper since the early 2000s, nope. Anyway, it's a Netflix original, originally voiced in English. The voice acting ranges from fine (Jin, Hwoarang, Nina, Paul) to cringe (Jun, Xiaoyu) to comical (Heihachi), and for some completely unknown reason, Heihachi's assistant uses weeb-Japanese and says "hai" when she could say "yes, sir." (Like, this is the ONLY Japanese in the show. I'm not counting uses of sensei, because that's been borrowed into English as a martial arts term, or the time Paul says "Mishima Zaibatsu," because that's been in the US versions of the game since forever.)

Is it any good? It's not bad... It's basically the plot of Tekken 3, with references to 1&2, with Jin finding out about his family and Heihachi being a total asshole (I mean, duh). The character designs are weird, like their faces are too small for their necks and chins are too pointy, and somehow Jin looks like Heero Yuy in profile. I laughed a couple times (Paul (or maybe Nina): You two are friends? Jin & Hwoarang (unison): NO!) and may be on the way to shipping Jin/Hwo/Xiaoyu because they're ADORABLE.

When I got my new computer for Xmas, it came with a free 3-month trial of Apple TV. I didn't do anything about it until they sent me an email that it would go away if I didn't use it, then I signed up. There's actually a good bit of good stuff on there, so I'm keeping it for 4.99 a month.

Severance: suuuuper creepy SF mystery/thriller? where people can sign up to get implants that sever their work lives from their home lives so they can work on something so secret, even their work-selves don't know what it is. Season 1 ends with a massive cliffhanger that was extremely brave, because S2 hadn't been confirmed yet. (It is now.) It stars the guy from Parks & Rec and guest stars Christopher Walken.

The Essex Serpent: based on a book, apparently. Tom Hiddleston plays a vicar who lives out in the wilds in the 1880s or so; Claire Danes is a recently widowed paleontologist. Hiddles is utterly charming, as always; Danes is a bit flat, as always (I've always liked her, but she has about 2 expressions: confused and sad). There's a doctor who wants to date her, and her BFF/maid ALSO wants to date her, but she's only got eyes for the vicar (who's married, of course). Anyway, she hears rumors of a sea monster in the river and goes to investigate it, which is where she meets the vicar and so on. You can tell it's going to be a romance, but that part is somehow not compelling.

For All Mankind: space race AU where the Soviet Union gets to the moon first and NASA has to catch up. A lot of the real-world timeline is changed in ways that are good (space shuttles! moon base!) and bad (USSR doesn't collapse). In season 3, there is an extremely honest depiction of Gay Life in the 90s and of the within-group politics of assimilation or not. I lived through it (before I knew I was queer, or admitted it anyway), and it still punched me in the gut. We've made so much progress in the last 30 years that it's easy to forget just how terrible it was back then and that Don't Ask Don't Tell was the progressive compromise. It made me think about all the puriteens here on tunglr dot com and the stupid discourse about ~flawed media~ and ~problematique~ stuff. They should watch it and maybe fucking learn some history.

The end of season 3 is dfjhadkjghk;djkhgojwhjdfxhvjh basically and season 4 can't come soon enough.

[tilleulrose]

Book Review | Songs in Ursa Major

Author: Emma Brodie

Cover Art: Andrew Davis

Publication date: June 22, 2021

Genre: Historical Fiction, Biographical Fiction, Romance Novel

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐/5

The year is 1969, and the Bayleen Island Folk Fest is abuzz with one name: Jesse Reid. Tall and soft-spoken, with eyes blue as stone-washed denim, Jesse Reid's intricate guitar riffs and supple baritone are poised to tip from fame to legend with this one headlining performance. That is, until his motorcycle crashes on the way to the show. Jane Quinn is a Bayleen Island local whose music flows as naturally as her long blond hair. When she and her bandmates are asked to play in Jesse Reid's place at the festival, it almost doesn't seem real. But Jane plants her bare feet on the Main Stage and delivers the performance of a lifetime, stopping Jesse's disappointed fans in their tracks: A star is born. Jesse stays on the island to recover from his near-fatal accident and he strikes up a friendship with Jane, coaching her through the production of her first record. As Jane contends with the music industry's sexism, Jesse becomes her advocate, and what starts as a shared calling soon becomes a passionate love affair. On tour with Jesse, Jane is so captivated by the giant stadiums, the late nights, the wild parties, and the media attention, that she is blind-sided when she stumbles on the dark secret beneath Jesse's music. With nowhere to turn, Jane must reckon with the shadows of her own past; what follows is the birth of one of most iconic albums of all time. Shot through with the lyrics, the icons, the lore, the adrenaline of the early '70s music scene, Songs in Ursa Major pulses with romantic longing and asks the question so many female artists must face: What are we willing to sacrifice for our dreams?

OH MY GOD! I've been meaning to read this book for a long, long time... and finally I did! One of the comments you can find somewhere on the Internet referring to the book is the one that Red magazine wrote: "Full of sex and rock 'n' roll...if you enjoyed Daisy Jones and The Six, this will be a big hit with you too." When they said big hit I didn't think I would have been thrown out of a moving car.

I read Daisy Jones and The Six (By Taylor Jekins Reid) before I read Ursa Major and yes, I was absolutely destroyed by the fact that all of the characters never existed - I cried for a whole hour over that book. So, when I read this one I was already mentally prepared and not get too attached to the characters and the story; I made a mental note that none of this was real and still I forgot about it.

This book was utterly transporting and addictive to read, I found myself reading in bed and every time I read a chapter I looked at the clock; I was so invested on the story that i stood awake until three in the morning. It was like i were in the story, like i was a spectator watching everything. It takes a lot of pratice and power to make a reader feel that way. Emma Brodie has that power. She writes so passionately and beautifully, poetically even. She's a fantastic writer.

In my opinion, I think that Brodie wrote this book thinking about how, at the time (early 70s), and now still, mental illness is something that we hide and pretend that it doesn't exist. Like as if it were all in a distant universe, when, in reality, the person next to you might suffer from it.

She also wrote about how unfair it is that we get to live when a loved one has died, and how that guilt grows inside a person's heart, a person's mind and the many ways it can affect your coping mechanisms, being one of them drugs - which isn't that big of a suprise taking into account that we are talking about the 60s and 70s.

So yeah it was one hell of a hit. Almost a literal one, as it can hit you in every way possible.

Also this book was inspired by Joni Mitchel and James Taylor's romance. So I recommend you to listen to their songs while reading this book - just the ideia.

[emilyplaysotome]

The Queen Makes Her Choice: Part 6

This is the final chapter to a multi-part smutty fic with the MLQC boys. This might be the filthiest thing I've ever written 😂

This whole series is for those 18+ only.

Catch up:

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

Miracle finder makes it impossible to see anyone, and even if it hadn’t, it wouldn’t matter.

Gavin is on a mission, Victor is on a trip, Kiro is on tour, and Lucien…

…well, Lucien isn’t replying, or posting, or commenting.

No surprise there.

I have no idea if he’ll show on Saturday even though the rest of them will be there. I’ve booked us a private room in one of Loveland’s hottest “sky clubs” - a lounge located at the top of a high rise with nothing but large glass windows and views for days to accompany the drinks and people.

It was a splurge on my salary, but I have to do this right.

If I do this right well...

...maybe there's hope of keeping them all by my side.

There’s still no reply from Lucien as I get ready an hour before everyone is supposed to meet. I decide to tell him that I need him there, and let that be the end of it.

I don’t have much in my closet for this event, but buried in the back I find an old clubbing outfit from my birthday two years ago. The top is an iridescent blueish-purple with spaghetti straps, a revealing back, and cropped to show my midriff. I pair it with a flowy dark skirt that balances out its sex appeal, tying my hair back, and putting on a simple necklace to show off my neckline.

I feel pretty and knowing that I’m about to meet four (well, hopefully four) men who have all confessed to me, I feel confident that they will too.

—

I arrive early and finish my drink too quickly in the hopes of calming my nerves. The waitstaff gets me another and I tell myself to cool it for fear of getting too drunk before they all arrive.

The room I’ve reserved is bigger than I expected, with seating that could easily accommodate 25 people. There are standing cocktail tables and ink blue couches that have a soft, velvet fabric accompanied by tables for drinks.

I’ve settled into the center of one of the couches and I’m distracting myself on my phone, hoping that my nerves will fade when I hear the door open.

I’m surprised that its Lucien who I see first.

“I didn’t think you were coming?!” I say.

He kisses me before sitting next to me, looking around the room.

“I wasn’t sure if I would.”

“But why?”

He sighs and shakes his head, smiling.

“Too much thinking. Too much worrying.”

I have more questions, but I won’t get to ask them as Victor enters next. Upon seeing Lucien I can see his defenses go up. He puffs out his chest, tilts up his chin sneering at him, making no attempt to hide what can only be described as a very sour expression.

I get up and stand between them, gently taking Victor’s hand and guiding him to sit beside me on the couch. Sandwiched between him and Lucien, I thank him for coming. The mood only grows more tense with each addition.

Gavin is next.

Kiro is last.

It’s clear that they all thought I had planned something for them and them alone based on the disappointment I see on their faces when they register their competition in the room. Once they’re all assembled, Lucien and Victor on either side of me, Gavin pouting with his arms crossed and standing by one of the cocktail tables and Kiro who paces like a wild animal in a cage, I begin.

“I know you’re all eager to understand what this is about,” I say. “And I first want to thank you all for being in my life.”

There are gruff acknowledgments all around, but no real words or statements from anyone. I can tell by the way they’re drinking and refilling their glasses that they’re just as nervous as I am, and not wanting to drag things out I continue.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want in my partner, and I keep coming back to daily life. Waking up next to someone I love each morning, making breakfast, hearing about their day…”

It’s then I look at each of them, one by one.

“…and I’ve come to the conclusion that none of you can do that for me.”

“Now wait a minute,” Gavin starts to say and I cut him off.

“You’re always gone on some mission for God knows how long.”

I turn to look at Lucien, “You disappear on me at the drop of a hat…”

Then Victor, “…you spend 50% of your time doing business outside of Loveland City….”

And finally Kiro, “…and you’re on tour for the foreseeable future.”

They all seem bashful because they know I’m right.

They all know they couldn’t be 'the one' unless they all made major concessions for me.

“So I think for now, until things change, I will commit to none of you and all of you.”

There’s shock from Gavin.

Laughter from Victor.

Annoyance from Kiro.

Anger from Lucien.

Gavin quickly spits out “That’s…” but Victor cuts him off.

“Only fair. None of us can really run to her side when she needs us, but between the four of us we can take care of her.”

I’m stunned that he actually agrees, not just understands.

I thought that out of the four he might be the most difficult to convince, but suddenly I’m watching as he argues with Kiro about what it means to love me. Lucien is silent, along with Gavin. They listen as they wrestle with what they already know about our world to their ability to accept being a part time boyfriend.

There’s silence when Victor reminds them aloud of the danger I face.

Being with me is not just being there for the good times, though I’m grateful that lately there’s been many. This time of peace may disappear just as easily as it arrived and they all know it, even if they don't want to admit it.

I’m surprised when Gavin is the second to agree to keeping things as they are, with the caveat that I not think about anyone but him when we’re together. I find myself feeling shy and can feel the heat creep into my cheeks as I nod back at him, knowing that his request is easily fulfilled.

Satisfied by my reply he smirks before making it known that he doesn’t want to discuss things further and will invite me on a date soon, leaving me with the others.

I can tell that Kiro is close to compromising, but Lucien beats him to the punch.

“Alright,” he says with that smile of his. “This just gives you more time to decide that you love me most.”

The comment makes Kiro look as if he’s going to rip Lucien’s head off, and he charges towards him. Victor puts his hand out and holds Kiro back, reminding him that this is not about how they feel about each other but how they feel about me.

Lucien quietly laughs and whispers in my ear, “I will try sticking around in the future in order to prove to you that I’m all you need, if that’s truly what you’re looking for.”

“It is,” I say.

I’m not lying, but for now I’m relieved to have found a loophole.

I’m relieved that it seems I will not have to choose after all.

“While I don’t like the idea of leaving you with these two, I must be off to a prior commitment. I only meant to stop by because you were insistent. And because I will always be there for you, despite what you may think.”

He’s being mysterious but I can tell whenever we’re together he can’t help but be pulled back to me as much as he tries to run away.

I can tell that he looks for excuses to be with me, even when he's busy.

“Thank you Lucien,” I say and mean it.

I’m grateful that I don’t have to say goodbye, especially to him.

I’m surprised when he kisses me, deeply, in front of the others and I can feel that his eyes are on them as he does it, almost as if he’s challenging them.

When he pulls away I watch as Victor rolls his eyes as Kiro grows incensed again. Lucien pretends not to care and leaves, ignoring the string of obscenities that flows out of Kiro.

“Enough,” Victor eventually says, sighing and returning to the couch next to me.

“I understand why we’re doing what we’re doing,” Kiro says, still standing. “But doesn’t it bother you seeing that?”

“No,” Victor says coolly. “It only motivates me to please her more.”

I feel his hand wrap around my midriff and he kisses me, passionately, in front of Kiro. I let out a surprised moan and after a moment he pulls away with a smirk.

“See?”

I’m embarrassed and I quietly scold him for kissing me like that in front of Kiro. Not to be outdone, Kiro comes over and kisses me too. I can taste the cocktail on him and the wine on Victor and between the alcohol and their touch I realize that I feel a bit light headed.

As Kiro kisses me, I feel Victor’s hand travel under my skirt and up my thigh. He starts rubbing me and I moan, prompting Kiro to deepen his kiss, moving his hands from my face to my neck and then chest. When he pulls away, Victor capitalizes on the opportunity and kisses my neck as he slides one of his fingers into me.

I can tell they’re both more intoxicated than they’d ever admit, and to be honest, so am I.

Sober me would have stopped this but drunk me is flying high on everything that is happening. It feels too good to worry about the waitstaff walking through that door, and I close my eyes knowing that Kiro is watching Victor play with me, eagerly awaiting his turn.

He’s impatient though, and my top comes off leaving me fully exposed to both the men and the city beyond the large glass windows. I feel myself reaching for both of them, to make them feel as good as they’re making me feel and I feel Victor’s other hand unbutton his pants.

--

What happens next is a bit of a blur.

It’s almost as if I come back to myself, stripped bare and breathing heavily on a couch that isn’t mine and in a lounge where anyone could have walked in at any moment. I see the two men next to me, panting and satisfied on either side, tucking their shirts back in as they return to a disheveled version of the men that appeared earlier in the night.

I will pretend that I don’t remember bouncing on top of Victor as I sucked on Kiro. I will pretend that I won’t remember finishing both of them on my knees, with my hands and my mouth before letting Victor finish me with his mouth while Kiro watches on, all the while stimulating my other sensitive spots.

I will pretend I don’t remember Victor playing with time to drag out my pleasure when it finally comes, and that I do not giggle when Kiro whines, “Oh come on, that’s just cheating…”

When the waitstaff finally do enter, we are all fully clothed and in the process of sobering up with cold glasses of water. I worry that the room reeks of sex and that they know what happened, but it would appear that they are none the wiser.

Victor grabs the tab that I was supposed to pick up and pays for everything, leaving just as much in tip before saying to us, “Let’s get out of here.”

On the street we are silent - the cold air sobering us to the reality that lies beyond.

“Do you mind if I take her home?” Victor asks Kiro politely, and I’m surprised when Kiro shakes his head.

“I have to catch an early flight for our next leg of the tour.”

“You’ll keep in touch, right?” I ask, almost scared that the greediness of my actions will catch up with me, but Kiro just smiles his bright, pop star smile.

“Of course Miss Chips. Until we meet again.”

He kisses me sweetly, and neither he nor Victor seem to care that the other is present for this moment.

He leaves and Victor takes my hand, slowly walking me back home.

We’re silent for a few blocks before he starts chuckling out of seemingly nowhere.

“What?!” I demand.

“You continue to surprise me.”

I look at him, puzzled as to what he’s talking about and he continues.

“I’ll have to come up with a new contract to ensure I get at least one fourth of your time.”

He’s teasing me, but I know him well enough to know that he’s actually impressed at how I’ve managed to get what I want despite how things are usually done. He’s known from the start that I haven’t wanted to say goodbye.

That I’m not ready to.

There’s kindness in what he’s saying, and it’s not lost on me. As much as I know he wants me for himself, he won’t rush me.

He loves me too much to do that.

They all do.

The topic changes quite naturally and before I know it we’re chatting as if our salacious night never happened. He’s mocking me for being a glutton and I’m pretending to be outraged that he’d call me such.

I invite him in because I’m back faster than I expected and to my disappointment, he refuses me.

“LFG calls,” he says, and I can tell he’s disappointed too.

“Ok. Thanks for walking me home.”

He smiles and kisses me and just as I turn to open the door to my building and head inside, he grabs my arm.

“But now that I know what you want, soon enough you won’t have this excuse to keep the others around…”

He lets go and turns on his heel, not glancing back and walking away with the kind of confidence and swagger I know only he posses. My heart races as I watch him turn the corner and out of my sight before turning in.

—

I shower the night off of me and change into cozy pajamas, crawling into bed. I have four messages, one from each of them, all wishing me good night and reminding me that this is for now.

“One day work won't consume my life,” Victor repeats.

“One day I will prove to you that I can stay,” Lucien says.

“One day my mission will be complete,” Gavin promises.

“One day it will only be us,” Kiro muses.

One day.

But until that day, I will savor having all them in my life.

And I will love them all as much as they love me, for as long as I’m allowed.

--

This was fun to write and *very* out of my comfort zone. As always, if you’ve enjoyed the story, please show your support by sharing it with a friend, liking it, commenting to say that you enjoyed it/what you liked, or buying me a coffee!

While this is most likely the last installment of this short series, if you like my writing I hope you'll follow me for more in the future.

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[george-fabian-weasley]

Four Musketeers pt. 1; One Day

—The One who Never Notices—

Summary: The One who Never Notices. Your first love. Your first pain. Fred Weasley.

Words: 4,405 words

Warnings ⚠ : Just pure, raw angst, heartbreak, one sided relationship (sort of), 3 years of insufferable crush

Disclaimer: It's hard to capture 3 years worth of feelings in words. And I was surprised at it being only 4K, I could've sworn it felt like 7K or something. This is my story, based on my real life pathetic almost-love story, so please enjoy crying :) Listen to One Day too while reading, it's the best song I could find that really described my feelings towards the guy 2 years ago.

TAGLIST FOR FOUR MUSKETEERS: HERE

enjoy!

Loud giggles erupted from upstairs, you softly smiled at the sound of your daughter. Her boyfriend had come over to hang out, and she was smiling the whole day. You then heard the sound of feet stepping down the stairs, peeking your head through the kitchen to see the boy who managed to capture her heart leaving.

"Goodbye!" You bid, the young man turned and smiled politely to you; bidding goodbye as well, and left.

A while later, your teenage daughter, Dian came down; kissing your cheek as she passed you by and went to the fridge.

"That's early of him," You chirped, yet your eyes were still on the halfway sweater you're knitting at your lap. Dian smiled, "Yeah, he had some errands to do. When is Dad coming home again?"

You paused the knitting, looking at your 16-year-old child, "Around Tuesday, I think. Why? You want to sleepover at his house?"

Dian made a disgusted face and laughed, "No, I'm just asking. It's been quite a while since we've had dinner with Dad."

You nodded in understanding, your husband has been busy lately, always Apparating here and there for his job.

"Say, mum," Dian suddenly said. You hummed, the knitting continued. Although you have magic, sometimes you want to do it with your own hands, the calming after effect is just surreal.

"Can you tell me one more time about the Four Musketeers?"

She was now sitting down on one of the stools of the kitchen counter, her palms became the resting place for her chin as her elbows plopped to the surface of the counter. You chuckled in disbelief, "Darling dear, you've heard the story a thousand times now haven't you?"

She whined, "But every time you tell it, there's something new! Oh, come on mum, please!"

You scoffed in disbelief, "And what's with the 'Four Musketeers' name? As far as I remember, those boys are not musketeers." You chuckled.

Dian gave you a toothy grin, "A little nickname won't hurt. They were your high school sweethearts after all."

"Ah, Ah," You wagged a finger before her, "They were not my sweethearts, you know that. They were just... my almost love stories."

Dian rolled her eyes playfully, "Same difference, mum! Come on, tell the story please!"

You sighed, stopping the knit. With a quiet whish of your wand, the knitting equipment cleaned themselves up to the upper cabinet. With another flick of your wand, two cups of tea appeared in front of you, Dian quickly grabbed hers.

"Well, which one do you want to hear first?" You said, lazily smiling at your beautiful daughter. Dian smiled in victory, and quickly said, "From the beginning to the end, please."

You rolled your eyes playfully, a soft smile on your lips, "Oh, alright."

"The One who Never Notices it is."

— Hogwarts, 1991

You were fourteen, he was fifteen.

And at fifteen, Fred Weasley was already famous for being a cheeky prankster along with his twin brother, George. Somehow before that, you've never heard of his name before.

Being so young and naive, his wild personality had attracted your attention. It all started during the joint Potions class between the Fourth Years and the Fifth Years, due to some reasons Professor Snape made that you had no recall of.

You were assigned a temporary seat next to him on the first day of the class, to see the compatibility of the two years together. You were shy and naive, and he was cheeky and friendly.

"Hey, how are you doing? The name's Weasley, Fred Weasley." He said cheerfully with a large smile, his short red hair was heavily distracting, yet you managed to introduce yourself politely; the fear of sitting next to a senior was... big.

That was all you had as a conversation, as Snape rearranged the class back, one side was the Fourth Years, and the Fifth Years at the other.

It was the first time a senior had been so friendly to you. Especially a well-known one.

You find yourself being attracted to him, despite the lack of conversation you had. You barely knew Fred, you didn't know anything about him. But you were head over heels for the boy.

It was Christmas when you found the courage to ask him something. You were nervous the whole day long, jittery of your newfound feelings for the boy.

Fred Weasley was... in your eyes, perfect.

You found him in the Great Hall playing with his brother George, smiling widely. The smile caused a leap in your heart, and you find your hands getting sweaty.

He noticed you, and his wide smile reduced to a smaller one, "Hello there,"

You shyly smiled and cleared your throat, "Hello Fred," His grin became toothy as he heard you roll out his name, "What do you need?"

You looked down, nervous.

"Um, my mum sent me a muggle camera here as a birthday gift. So I was wondering if we could... Um..." You trailed off, the redness of your face was terribly evident.

"Oh, you want to take a picture with me?"

You looked up to him; he was a tad taller than you, and gave him a hopeful look, "If that's completely fine with you, of course."

He nodded almost instantly, his wide smile back on his lips, "Wicked! I've always wanted to see how muggle cameras work!"

You took the camera leash that was hanging around your neck and giddily explained to George what to do.

"Quite offended you didn't want to take a picture with me, eh?" George teased you, and you blushed, "You can join, of course! Really, I don't mind."

"Wicked." Was all George said before calling out his older brother, Percy Weasley; the Gryffindor prefect and briefly explained what to do.

You were placed between Fred and George, Fred at your right, and George at your left. Other students were glancing at you weirdly, unaccustomed to the camera culture.

Flashes came and you smiled, wanting to look pretty so that you can see them back home later. When Percy lowered down the camera to look at the results, you turned to the twins, "Thank you."

They smiled, "Not a problem. Say, why do you want a picture with us?"

"Um... It's for... My scrapbook! It's a journal about my school years, and knowing you two as the pranksters of Hogwarts, I need to at least have evidence I knew you two."

There was no scrapbook; although a good idea when you thought back about it.

"Brilliant! Do you mind if we have some for ourselves? Dad will be so excited to see us using muggle cameras." George said, his eyes twinkling in excitement.

You nodded profusely, wanting to please the twins to get on their good side, and possibly... get noticed by Fred. "Absolutely, go ahead. I'll owl you the prints later."

Christmas holidays went by fast, and it's school time again. You've kept your promise, and sent the prints to the Weasley house with your owl. You printed extra copies of them, blushing profusely at you and Fred, completely ignoring poor George at your other side.

Innocent love, it was.

Throughout your fifth year, whenever you bumped into Fred, you shyly waved at him, or smiled in his direction. He would surely do the same, but then that was it. You weren't sure what you were to him, are you friends? Acquaintances?

Even so, your feelings for him were strong.

The way you blush whenever you think of him, the way all of your friends knew of your big crush on him, the way whenever he walks by, you gave him your prettiest smile.

The way you were helplessly in love with a boy you barely knew. So you did something, something that you had never thought you would do.

You were fifteen, he was sixteen, when you confessed.

That day changed your life. You couldn't really say what it was that day, but it was absolutely dreadful. You couldn't even remember that day that your young heart was broken so early.

All you remember was, his face forming a frown, him taking a few steps back, him avoiding your eyes, him saying with a cold voice, "I'm not ready for a relationship."

"I'm sorry."

And him treating you differently from then on.

"I'm fine, guys, really!" You said to your friends with a wide smile when you got back to your dorm that night, but when they saw through you, your lips began to quiver and the bridge of tears began cascading down your cheeks.

From then on, you began to avoid him. Whenever you saw Fred, you would turn the other way or just pass by him like he was another student walking around the hallway.

But you knew he's not.

During the sixth month of your fifth year, you heard it. The word from student to student. The word that broke you so deeply.

"Fred Weasley and Angelina are dating!"

"I'm not ready for a relationship." His words echoed through your mind. It echoed in your mind the whole day long, you couldn't focus on the classes that day, zoning out every now and then.

You excused yourself from Professor Flitwick's class to go to the bathroom, suddenly the air in there felt stuffy and you couldn't breathe. Walking to the nearest bathroom, you kept your head down low. A headache was coming at you, looks like even your brain is tired of the echoing words of Fred Weasley.

And then you looked up. And there they are, in shining glory.

He was looking at her in pure adoration, the same look he gave you in your dreams only. A soft blush rested on his cheeks, his lips were constantly a soft smile. She was leaning against the wall, and he was in front of her. She was smiling, he was grinning.

He looked so... happy. So different from the frown on his face and the cold voice he gave you a few months ago.

So. So different.

He's not unready for a relationship, he's just not ready for a relationship with you.

Your heart plummeted to the ground, suddenly the stuffy air from Flitwick's classroom attacked you in the middle of the hallway. You bit your tongue hard, not wanting to show them your vulnerable side, if they noticed you anyway.

Your feet that were glued onto the ground just a few seconds ago moved backwards. Similar to when Fred walked a few steps back that day.

You couldn't cry, you couldn't find the strength to do so.

It hurt.

It hurt but you couldn't cry.

You... You felt numb.

Leaving the hallway behind, you began walking. And walking. The pain in your heart turned into anger. Slowly, shifting the sadness in your heart into pure anger towards the tall ginger.

'He hurt me. He lied to me. He played me.'

The pace of your walk quickened. You were walking, then jogging, then in full speed running across the hallway. You didn't care where your legs took you, you just ran.

You ran, and ran, and ran until your legs gave out. An abandoned classroom right in front of you. You entered without a second wasted, quickly casting on a silencing charm to make the room soundproof.

And you scream.

You screamed and screamed and screamed until your throat hurt. You kicked every single abandoned desk there was, throwing your anger and stress towards the static objects.

And when your throat croaked in pain, that's when the urge to cry resurfaced.

At fifteen, you cried for a boy who you barely knew, but you dearly loved.

You didn't realize you've spent a few hours there, so when you got out of the classroom, it was already dark. So you walked back to your common room with aching legs, bloated eyes, and a heavy, but lighter than before heart.

Took you a few weeks, really, to get used to seeing Fred and Angelina everywhere attached by the hip to each other. Whenever they're around, your friends would shoot you a glance, making sure you're okay. You would usually glance at the couple, shrugged, and continued laughing with your friends.

It still hurt, you're just better at hiding it.

Halloween came along and Hogwarts did a Halloween party where everyone dressed up as something. You were the photographer of the night, bringing the muggle camera.

That same camera from Christmas.

You shrugged off the thought and began your work. Quite a lot of people actually threw their best efforts into their outfits. Oliver Wood dressed as a zombie Quidditch player, his makeup was done quite nicely.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione dressed as the Three Musketeers with their cute fake swords and fake mustaches. You took plenty of pictures of them fooling around, it was fun on your part as well.

While taking pictures of Neville being a scarecrow, someone called you through the loud music. You looked around and saw George waving at you.

You walked to him, smiling at his Frankenstein's monster outfit, "Do you want me to take a picture of you?" You offered, and he nodded before he furrowed his eyebrows at you, "Oh hey, you're the one from Christmas last year!"

You smiled, although a bit bitterly this time, "Yes, that's me."

"Dad was fascinated by the pictures, by the way, thanks a lot!" George said, smiling the whole time. Your smile became more genuine and shook your head, "It's nothing, really. Do you want me to take pictures of you, Mr. Frankenstein?" You chuckled at your little joke and he laughed a bit as well.

"Absolutely, let me call Fred for a bit. He's dressing as Dr. Frankenstein!" He said excitedly and turned around, your smile drained so fast. You quickly put on your Grim Reaper mask to hide your face.

There is no bloody way you're going to let him see you.

Wait.

Why are you hiding?

You blinked. You've done nothing wrong to him, it's just a confession and he rejected you, so what? Everyone gets rejected once in a while, it's nothing to be ashamed of. It's not like you'll be tossed to Azkaban if you show yourself.

'Huh, make sense.' You thought as you pulled back the mask to the top of your head. You're right, you've done nothing wrong. It's not like you'll fall for him again once you saw his face-

Oh Bloody Merlin.

Fred Weasley came into your vision, smiling widely to his brother. He was dressed up as Dr. Frankenstein, with his hair dyed black and spiked and he had goggles on the top of his head, wearing the white scientist suit with black rubber gloves and boots.

Your breath stopped. It's been a while since you've properly seen him, courtesy to avoiding to look at him ever since the incident.

You snapped away your thoughts fast, putting on your professional stance as the school's photographer.

"Here he is!" George said and smiled at you, frowning slightly at the sight of you looking a little pale. Fred trailed his eyes to you, the smile on his lips drained as well. Yet he quickly put on a small smile, "Hello,"

You looked at Fred in confusion, did he just say hello to you? Whatever, let's get this over with. "Alright, strike a pose, you two."

Several pictures were taken of them being completely silly and you laughed at their demeanor. "Oh, wait! Angelina!" George said loudly, and your laughter paused rather quickly.

Angelina came in the shot and similar to her name, she was dressed as a beautiful angel, with a bowstring at her back, so you assumed she's dressing up as Cupid.

Suddenly, you were self-conscious of your Grim Reaper outfit. In all honesty, it was just a long black robe that trails to the ground a few inches with a large hood. Your fake synth was right beside you, holding it still under your armpit.

"Come take a picture with us!" George said, and Fred somehow noticed you were becoming uncomfortable, "Maybe not now-"

You shook your head, snapping away from the self-consciousness, "It's alright, the more the merrier." Fred watched you silently and nodded, his lips quickly painting a soft smile as Angelina kissed him on the cheek.

This is what you hate about Fred. He's too kind, sometimes way too kind until you misinterpret what he does to you. Like just now, who the fuck does that to the person they know liked them?

They posed a few times, most of the time, it's just George third-wheeling Fred and Angelina, making you feel quite sorry for the boy. Hell, you felt like you were fourth-wheeling and hurting at the same time.

After the flashes ended, Angelina spoke, "Do you wanna have a picture with these boys? I can take it for you."

You were about to politely decline when suddenly George said, "What a brilliant idea! It'll be just like Christmas last year!"

Well.

So there you were, at the center of the picture again, between the twins again. You hesitantly looked up to Fred, and he looked down at you with a small smile.

Sigh, always too nice.

You looked away and smiled for the camera. George was having his fun time posing while you and Fred were awkward the whole time. After it ended, you thanked Angelina and walked away when suddenly a voice called for your name.

It was him.

You turned around, and he was quite far from you, like a meter or two when he said, "I'll see you around, yeah?"

You shrugged and gave him a small smile, "Maybe."

At fifteen, you had mixed feelings towards Fred.

It's an on-and-off relationship really, but on your side only. There would be a period of time where you absolutely despised him, talking shit about him to your friends at every chance you get. You would convince yourself you were over him so many times.

And then there would be times where you were helplessly in love with him, even when you're well aware of his strong relationship with Angelina. You were genuinely believing that what you felt was love.

It was bloody confusing.

And how it went on until your sixth year, was beyond you.

By the time you reached sixteen, you had understood the circumstances of your feelings. You didn't care if he didn't notice you, as long as he's happy, you're happy for him. The aching in your heart had become so frequent, that you had become numb to it . At this point, you were just hoping for some other boy to come and swoop you up, saving you from this one-sided relationship with Fred Weasley.

3 years, wasted on a boy who barely knows you. At this point, your friends were tired of you and him. They would just nod and say the same thing, "Like someone else, and he'll be gone."

And so you tried. But Bloody Fred Weasley made it hard for anyone else to top him. Every Time you saw another suitable boy, all they reminded you of was Fred.

How his freckles decorated his face like countless numbers of stars to the sky, how his eyelashes were obnoxiously beautiful and long for a male, how his confidence on his long hair made you wonder of many things, how his lips etch the wide smile whenever he did pranks or laugh with his friends.

Whenever his brown eyes sometimes resembled a pool of warm honey when glazed with the sunshine rays.

Fred Weasley was excruciatingly a pain in the ass. And he doesn't even know it.

You were sixteen, he was seventeen, when he left.

You heard news of Fred and George quitting school suddenly, something about the desire of opening their own joke shop. You had mixed feelings of course, you didn't want him to go, yet at the same time, you do.

Maybe with him gone, you would get over him easier. 3 years being stuck on feelings for a guy who rejected you two years ago wasn’t the best feeling.

You quietly looked away when you saw Fred passionately kissing Angelina goodbye from afar. The poor girl had tears in her eyes, yet she was smiling to support him. He hopped on the broom, lingered on the air for a bit to stare at Angelina for a while, before leaving Hogwarts forever.

He's gone. And you weren't sure what to feel about it. The sting inside your chest wasn't helping either.

"Fred." You called out his name, the way it rolled out your tongue so easily familiarly tingles your heart. The tall ginger turned around and smiled, "Hello there."

"I need to tell you something," You said, you weren't nervous at all. You were confident, the main goal was just to let out everything, so you can be free out of his grasp.

He had you around his finger, and he barely noticed it.

"Well, let it out then," He said, smiling down at you. "You remember two years ago? Where I confessed and you rejected me?" You began. He nodded, the smile was still intact on his lips as if you're asking about the bloody weather. "Yeah?"

"I'm still not over you. I'm in love with you, Fred Weasley. I am so, deeply, and helplessly in love with you." You smiled as you breathed out the words. The cage you had contained on your chest for years was finally open, and you felt all the old butterflies flying free out of you.

Fred pursed his lips, his eyebrows furrowing, "... You know I love Angelina." He said quietly, seemingly not wanting to hurt your feelings any further. You find your eyes watering, yet you felt no remorse or pain. Were those happy tears? You don't know, but you don't mind it.

"I know. And you two are perfect for each other. I've already accepted that you'll never love me the way I love you, Freddie. I accept that you'll never see me as beautiful as the way I see you. I accept that you'll never describe me in such poetic words the way I describe you. I accept that you'll never smile whenever I was mentioned in the conversation the way I smile when you're in the talk," You paused to wipe your tears off your cheeks, Fred just watching you letting it all out on him, watching as your shoulders got lighter, and your smile got wider.

"And I accept that I'm not your first love as you are mine."

Fred quietly watched you, his soft smile gave a pleasant feeling to you. He slowly reached out to you, wrapping his arms around you.

You waste no time to hug him back, how for so many years you yearned what it would feel like to have his arms around your waist, or his hand on the back of your head, or his chin on your shoulder.

"Thank you," Was all he whispered in your ear, as he let you go, yet his hands still on your arms, "I suppose this would be the time I let you go now?"

You chuckled, wiping your tears off, "Please do, I can't keep loving you, Fred. It bloody hurts." You teasingly said, with a tinge of truth. He chuckled along.

Slowly, Fred reached out his hand, and with a soft voice and doe eyes, he spoke for the last time, "The name's Weasley. Fred Weasley."

You smiled, and shook his hand, "Pleasure."

You woke up. And then tears came along. And the sobs.

You were shaking, crying so hard your roommates woke up in a groggy state. When they found you crying, they hugged you so tight, feeling helpless on how to help you.

You were crying, but the wide smile on your lips was evident.

You were sixteen, he was seventeen, when you said goodbye.

---------------------------------------------------

"Wow," Was all Dian could say. She had heard this story so many times before, but it took her breath every time.

"Why didn't you stop loving him, mum? He hurt you so much before he left. " She asked.

You shrugged and sighed, "I was sixteen, Dian. And he was my first love. It's the first time I had ever felt heavily for a boy like that."

Dian sighed, "You can't say it's first love when he doesn't love you back, mum. Blimey, he doesn't even know you."

You snorted, "It doesn't have to be reciprocal for first love to happen, darling. You just... Know it's first love. No matter how much you mean to the other person."

Dian tched, pouring down another cup of warm tea, "It's still not fair on your side. 3 years aren't a short time. And the fact that he didn't even notice!" Dian rolled her eyes in frustration, feeling sorry for you.

"No, I think he noticed. Like you said, 3 years are not a short time." You smile gently, looking down to your empty cup. The residue tea leaves in the cup reminded you of Trelawney's class many years ago.

Dian widened her eyes, "So he knew this whole time? That you were in love with him? And he never said a thing?!"

You chuckled, "What was he supposed to say, sweetheart? He's already in love with someone else, you know that."

Dian was growing angry at the man, "That's the point, mum! He knew what it's like to be in love, so he knew how you felt and he never came forward to say anything!" Her voice was becoming louder than before, the urge to protect her mother was stronger than ever.

You laughed at her anger, in your eyes she looked adorable, "Calm down, Dian. We were teenagers. We can't possibly think of everything, we were still growing. I don't blame him for anything, he taught me so many things and he didn't even know he was doing it."

Dian groaned, "Mum, you need to stop looking at everything in a bright direction."

You chuckled, having no response to that. Pouring yourself another cup of tea, you said with a soft voice, "I guess you could say The One who Never Noticed is wrong." Dian raised an eyebrow, "How so?"

You sighed in content at the warm liquid entering your system, and you smiled at your daughter, "He should be The One who Never Cared."

---------------------------------------------------

Four Musketeers pt. 2; Heather : COMING SOON!

TAGLIST:

@truly-insatiable @sophiecalifragilistics @weasleysangel @sarcasticallywitty15 @off-brand-overhaul @hunnybunimdun @slytherinbth

[stardancerluv]

Early Days with Roman

Part 4

Summary: You and Roman, still struggle being a couple. It’s hard for reader. Roman used to be Gotham’s most eligible bachelor, he had his fair share of beautiful exes. Many of whom, he was never loyal to. So reader worries.

Arthor’s Note: This takes place in between the chapters and will go beyond Creative Fervor. This is Roman and Reader from Creative Fervor trying to figure out what they want from each other. These are darker then the fics that came after or before. Roman is still his very dark, sometimes voilent character while Reader accepts and pledges herself to him. Sometimes, he tests her not believing someone like her could truly love him. Songs used- Love is a Battlefield by Pat Benatar, I Want To Know What Love Is by Foreigner & Embracable You by Frank Sinatra

Part One, Two, Three

After, a long hot bath and stretching you slipped on some comfy shorts and a shirt. Tying your hair in a messy ponytail you headed down to your studio. Sitting, down on your chair you eyed the blank canvas.

Hearing, a soft thud you knew that the society papers were delivered. You left the news for Roman to tell you, so all you had to do was focus on the world you created pieces for.

Putting, your pen down you went and got the papers. Sliding open the big heavy door wind swirled about you. You shivered. It had been a pretty mild autumn, but as Thanksgiving was approaching, the cold was finally sinking its teeth in.

Pulling, the rubber bands off you opened the papers and gasped. Roman, was once again splashed across the front pages. He was with his ex who had been his equal. She was the one had stolen his heart. Looking at the photos you wondered if those had been from the gala he had attended last summer. It was the one time, he said you couldn’t attend an event with him. He looked so happy, had a huge smile across his face. Perhaps, they had made up and were seeing each other again. His distrust of women, blossomed because of her. Why, would he even do that? Your worry began to eat at you.

Sliding and locking the door, you scruntized the photos. The ones of the two of you were new. How had the reporter managed to capture a hidden kisses, hidden smiles. You were disgusted. You were angry.

Fuck, all of this you muttered to yourself and threw the papers to the side. You went over your easel to try and work. You couldn’t too many things were rumbling over in your head.

Sighing you reached over and grabbing the remote to your mp3 and pushed play. Soon a steady beat began to play. You hoped it could distract you. You needed to not think about any of this.

First your feet began to tap then you began to feel the music. In the end, you surrendered to it.

We are strong

No one can tell us we're wrong

Searching our hearts for so long

Both of us knowing

Love is a battlefield

Before you knew what was happening, you were dancing all around the room. Your hips swished, you twisted and turned. Horribly off key you singing all into the marker you held onto.

You were feeling exhilarated. Your feeling from before were beginning to fade away. Grabbing, your remote once more you turned up your music and began dancing even harder and signing even louder

I wanna know what love is, I want you to show me

I wanna feel what love is, I know you can show me, oh

I'm gonna take a little time, a little time to look around me

I've got nowhere left to hide, it looks like love has finally found me

******

Roman, had finished with rehearsals.

Circe, had stopped by. She was eager to tell him to show him how the press printed the photos of him and her from the gala last summer. He could careless.

She tried to remind him of how happy they had been. Leaning, on his desk he reminded her how she cheated on him. He also reminded her how they, how he hammer it up for the press. How she was a tool to him to look good in the world pf Gotham for his nightclub. And how in the end he only went to gala, because of his previous obiligation to the event.

Walking away from her and happy that he had no meetings till that evening; he took a car and headed over to your place. Seeing, Circe had left a lingering bad taste in his mouth like always.

As he drove over, he wished you would finally move your studio to the penthouse, but as of yet you had not. Why, wouldn’t listen to him was beyond him. He knew what was best for you. Right now, he could have simply headed upstairs to see you. But now, he had to drive.

He knocked on the door, he knocked again. He knew you were there since your car was. Smiling and hearing your music he went over to wear the spare key was. Letting, himself inside, he locked the door behind him.

Your music greeted him as he walked in. Your taste in music, made him smile. It was different and he found it interesting that it helped him find out more of about you.

He never found anyone as interesting as you. You were fascinating.

Eyeing you, he watched as you sang and danced. Sure you were far from being on key but you were incredibly lovely like this. Your hair was messy and wild, the cute little outfit showed off all your curves. You were everything that was different from Circe, you had grace and real beauty.

Watching you move he smirked. You were his you belonged to him. A certain sense of pride, filled him as he mused. Grabbing, the remote and looking over at the player, he knew exactly, what song he wanted to play next. He tossed the remote to the coffee table, as it began to play. Leaning, against your sofa, he waited for you discover that he was there.

Embrace me, my sweet embraceable you

Embrace me, you irreplaceable you

“Roman!” Your voice rang out and over the music. He had been turning, off his phone when you discovered him. Turning, he smiled at you and put his phone down on the coffee table before he continued to lean.

Just one look at you

My heart grew tipsy in me

You and you alone

Bring out the gypsy in me

You went over to him. Your cheeks were rosy. He smiled down at you. “Hi baby.”

“You scared me.” You crossed your arms in front of yourself.

“Baby, look you’re my girl. No one would dare touch you.”

You rolled yours. “Well, I suppose you’re right.”

Roman rose his eyebrows and nodded.

“Well, after all you were the only who’s ever attempted and succeeded in kidnapping me.”

I love all the many charms about you

Above all, I want these arms about you

Despite, the sweet lyrics that he actually felt, his smile dropped. “That’s a low blow, and that was Zsasz, fucking up not me.” He countered.

“Well, its not as if it’s not true. It did happen.”

Your eyes were a lit, he could see the anger. Behind them something lurked, was that pain, he wondered. He grabbed you and shook you. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“I saw the pictures.”

“What pictures?”

“Of you and Circe. You two seemed to get on again.”

He rolled his eyes, he had already forgotten about the papers. “Those were the press’s benefit.”

“I am so sure, you looked happier in the photos with her then with me.” You huffed.

“Show me.”

“Fine.” You practically stomped over to where you had thrown the papers. “Here.” You practically threw them at him. That didn’t make him happy.

Catching them, he looked them over. “Yeah?” He looked over at you.

“Well, look at you two.”

“I did.”

“You belong, together. She is a much better compliment to who you are.”

Hearing, your words annoyed him. He was in no mood discuss this matter. He was going to take matters into his own hands.

Picking you up and put you over his shoulder. “Let me go.” You wiggled.

“Stop wiggling.” He smacked your ass, the sound bounced off the concrete walls.

@darling-i-read-it @spn-obsessed-dean @vintagemichelle91 @xxxeatyourh3artoutxxx @ewanfuckingmcgregor @zodiyack @angel98624 @frenchgirlinlondon @nebulastarr @emyliabernstein @thepeachreads @itsknife2meetu @omghappilyuniquebouquetlove @nomnomnomnamja @poe-kadot26 @top-rumbelle-fan @babydoll97 @hazel-nuss @vcat55 @feelthemadnessinside @rosionis @queenofgotham800 @brookisbi @peachthatdrinkslemonade @johallzy @foreverhockeytrash @frostypenguinoz @starwarsslytherin @proffesionalclown @chogisss @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @shantellorraine @xxinvisiblexx @pooshnulooshnu @speedypartyducksuitcase @blondekel77 @corey-clown @drarrylov3r @hollywood2k16

[p---leia]

Ancient Writer of dreams and nightmares: I am 71 (-one month), and have been writing (making up tales) since I was three. I can still remember my Pawpaw whittling a pencil for me, and Mawmaw tearing a piece of brown grocery bag for me to write on. They weren't 'poor', but writing paper wasn't to be wasted on a 'kid' just for fun. I carefully scripted my first short story.

Of course my 'letters' looked more like ancient Hanguel, so I had to read it to my "captured" audience. I really don't remember the story, but as my grandparents had a yard full of chickens and my dog, Mutt, liked to chase them (because of this we 'both' got into trouble -- because I always joined the chase) I most probably wrote about that.

My Pawpaw was a story-teller. For several years I thought there really was a baby found in the wilds of the African jungle and raised by the great apes. I thought he was the luckiest babe, EVER!

Then I found Pawpaw's books about three years after he died. I was eleven when he died, and felt that my best friend had abandoned me. But when I found those books I realized just where Tarzan actually came from and went to. I read everyone of those books and got the complete picture. THEN..

Well, Pawpaw also told stories of Daniel Boone and Davey Crocket...before I saw them on Disney. Then, of course, I went to school and learned what I already knew. Pawpaw was an excellent story-teller and never mixed up his facts, time-lines, or characters.

Growing up under his influence had a lot to do with how I developed as a story-teller. At family gatherings when I meet cousins I haven't seen in decades, they STILL remember me and the stories that I used to tell them. My children and grandchildren have grown up with me re-telling Pawpaw's old stories, and sharing many that I made up on the spot.

But I think what I read in my early years developed my writing style.

I was just turned eight when I read my first Shakespeare, MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. He was my first favorite author. Then I was forced to read Romeo and Juliet. I was disgusted by the fact that TRAGEDY was made famous as a ROMANCE! Even at the innocent (then) age of fourteen, I was disgusted with the idea that it was considered romantic for 'anyone', let alone 'teenagers' to commit suicide over unrequited love.

My sister (now 68) and I recently discussed this play. Because she had a 'forbidden' teenage love, she said that she related to the story (even though she had never read it). GASP! It was required reading in ninth grade!

I remember our dad breaking up my sister and her boyfriend, who was really cool. He was a hard working farm boy who had saved his money to buy a motorcycle. AND his own car. But he wasn't good enough for my sister. smh

I always thought her story would make a great LifeTime movie. But I'm not touching it. She would 'skin me' for sharing with the world her broken heart. And if I added the stuff that sells today, she'd scalp me for lying. Not a win situation at all. So, I will write notes in my "Random Jottings Journal" for future decendants who might grow into writers or story-tellers.

By the way, the title "RANDOM JOTTINGS" came from a sci-fi book that I read as a kid in the fifties. I don't remember the author, although I'm pretty sure it 'might' be from a Heinlein juvenile book. But I've never found a reference to any sci-fi books using that term. SO!!! If anyone recognizes "RANDOM JOTTINGS", which was a note book that a professor/scientist/genius used to keep his 'thoughts', PLEASE share the author's name and the title of the book!!! Thank You.

In the meantime, I referenced Shakespeare. James Oliver Curwood wrote about Kazan, the Wolf Dog, and later Baree, Son of Kazan. From those two books, read when I was eleven, I searched for and found other books about Canada. Later there was Walter Farley, author of the Black Stallion, and the Island Stallion series. I think I met my FIRST friendly alien in the Island Stallion Races.

Of course, Edgar Rice Burroughs taught me much false history about the jungles of Africa, as well as the Moon and Mars. But I loved every 'read-under-the-covers-with a-flashlight' minute! I believe he was a contemporary of Zane Grey, because he wrote a few non-jungle and non-space stories, too. Which led me to Zane Grey.

Having read both of their biographies at a young age, I learned about the hardships of being a writer. I should say 'the hardships of a struggling writer'. I have never had a problem writing. Since I write for 'fun' and not 'profit', the few short stories I've had published were by local press, and a State magazine.

No, my struggles have centered around graduating high school, and completing college, stuggling to satisfy my husband, a 'Mr. Spock in the Flesh' personality, and later raising two children without benefit of parental support or child support. But we survived in the middle of laughter and many tears. And my made up stories about children lost in the woods who were rescued by a great friendly bear, or wolf. Or dog. And sometimes by a great Black Panther - a by product of one of my Pawpaw's 'local historical tales'.

I understand that publishers detest stories that begin with "It was a dark and stormy night.." But let me tell you, some of the BEST bedtime stories occur on stormy nights when the power has gone out, and it's too hot for candles or lanterns. That shadow that stands darkest in the corner and seems to be moving towards the bed is actually grandma come to check on the kids, and stands quiet so not to disturb the kids if they're already asleep. But since they are awake, and they see her 'shadow', she becomes the old crone who lives in the castle dungeon, and has slipped her chains to visit with the 'wee folk'. But there are no fairies out on such a blustery night, so the old crone comes to visit with the 'wee bairn', who fall all over themselves to get out of bed and sit around her to hear her stories of 'long ago' and other 'dark and stormy nights'. Again -- unpublished, because publishers don't like ... LOL

Of course there's always On-Line publishing. But that involves more work than actual writing.

Back to the writrs who influenced my writing:

While I enjoy a good Western, an adventurous space trek, or time travel, I also enjoy the occasional Historical Romance. Georgette Heyer was my first! I still re-read her amazing books. Of course there's Jane Austen.

There are a myriad of modern writers that I have read over the last five decades. Heinlen, Asimov, Norton, Bradley, McCaffrey, Moon, Stirling, Krentz/Castle/Quick, and Moening, just to name a few of the ones whose books I have in my personal library.

Those older authors did affect my writing style to develope as I read their stories. The later authors helped me to move into the late 20th century. But I'm not so sure that I like the 21st century so much. It's all about being politically 'correct'. If you aren't ashamed of your gender, your race, your country, your religion, your culture, your family, your history, then you are prejudiced. That's just too much guilt to have to live with.

I'm still dealing with my mom's death from ten years ago. I was her care-giver for five years. Her doctor had given her nine months. I still worry if I did enough for her in those last years.

And though my children are grown with their own families, I worry that I wasn't a good enough parent. And I worthy as a grandmother? How was I as an older sister? I was responsible as a moral guide when our parents were at work. Was I a good neighbor? A good support in our Church? And Hollywood wants me to feel guilt about something I can't change?!!

I'm an old woman who still likes being a woman and enjoys liking men. I'm not just white. I'm also mixed with a bit of Native American, and even a drop of -- OMG!!! --- Black. snicker.

That's a serious joke, because as a kid I had a recuring nightmare that I was a black man being judged by a group of people in white hoods I was hanged amidst their fiery torches. I always thought those white hoods represented the Catholic Church, because at that young age I didn't know about the Ku Klux Klan. Even though I grew up in the South, my family was not involved with that group of out-lawrey. Thank God!

Still, I'm supposed to feel shame? For something not even my family supported.

I've always believed there's a hint of Fae in my DNA. Because I love dancing in the light of the full moon, and flying with the owls who perch outside my bedroom window and call to invite me to follow the moon's shadow. If I am part Fae, I know it came from my mother's people. They were Irish mixed with Alabama Indians who believed in the Nunnehi aka Immortal, and the Yunwi Tsunsdi, aka Little People.

ALSO, while there's no DNA proof of ancestry, I've always been a 'closet Chinese'.

In the Fifties, when WW2 was still fresh, and we were involved with the 'Korean Conflict', and at odds with China, I would sneak around the radio, turn down the volume, and tune into 'that wierd channel' that sometimes played Opera, or Chinese music. Ahhh. I would close my eyes and wander through the few visuals I'd found in books, or the occasional movie. (before color tv)

A year or two ago I was totally depressed and disgusted with American TV. Hollywood has become so political, so wierd. Their programming is no longer for entertainment, but to 'educate, enlighten, or to inform'. zzzzz

Then I found KDrama!!!!! Korean TV. Japanese Tv. squeal!!! Chinese TV.

The rom/coms are sweet and 'pure'. Okay. I'm realistic. This is not a reflection of real life on any planet. But the innocence of the early 1950s programs is there. Similar to Disney's 'Summer Magic'. I'm happy with those dramas that remind me of thati nnocence. I have found a few dramas that shared more than I cared for, and I do enjoy an occasional 'romp'. But I've always preferred the Lady and Gentleman characters.

And watching these programs have reminded me of those fairy tales and legends from my childhood that had been sprinkled with the Occasional Oriental myth, legend, and children's tale.

Then I remembered my FIRST historical legend. "The White Stag" by Kate Seredy, is the tale of Atilla the Hun!

I recently found a copy of that book and am waiting for a quiet time, when the power is out and there's nothing to do. Then I will use one of the many flashlights I bought for a huge hurricane, and relax on the sofa beneath an open window and read this legend once again. I live in Florida. The odds of this happening increases as the summer progresses. I can't wait to learn if my memory of this tale of Atilla the Hun remained true, or has been distorted in the last half of a century.

Most of the tales that I write involve space adventures, the occasioanl ghost, and encounters with fairies, the evil ones, not the romantic ideal fairy. smh

I've never been very good with romance or comedy. But thanks to the recent influence of the Asian productions, I have re-formatted one of my dark adventures and turned it into a rom/com.

I love a good joke, but very seldom get the point or see the humor. And I can NEVER remember the punch line if I try to share a joke. My family have said they will write on my tombstone --

"I don't remember the punchline ... but it was funny."

But as I write humorous lines or events I find myself laughing. Or crying at sad events. And I am all 'giggly' when I write what is supposed to be innocent romance between a young and shy couple. But I have never felt that my own reactions were a true guide to how the story might come across to a 'reader'.

As it happens, I have two sisters younger than I am. My middle sister is bored easily and immediately redirects our conversation to something about 'her'. Okay. I understand. She is lonely, needy, and maybe a bit selfish? Not judging. She's the 'middle child' and that's her excuse. ROFL..

But the youngest sister is my greatest fan who declares that I am an awesome writer. "I love you, sister, dear."

So she visited me last week and patiently listened as I read the first chapter. She listened quietly, and I wondered if I had 'read her to sleep'. sigh. Boring books are often the best sleeping pill. Then I heard her laugh.

Squeals/Dancing/hooting/flying around the room in ecstasy!!

Okay! At least one person has laughed. And she's not that easily 'tickled'.

So, I will always carry on and write. But now I feel that at least I might be following a path strewn with "Black-Eyed-Susans, honeybees, butterflies, and bunnies".

I don't know if anyone will read this, or will enjoy it. I hope so. While sharing bits of my youth, my worries, and my concern about certain ones of my 'stories', I actually had ideas for developing 'new' stories.

I am always amazed when writers say they are 'blocked'. I have only to open my eyes to see a world around me that no one else can envision. I listen to a song, and I'm in a different world, time, planet. A gift from Pawpaw, and Mother's DNA.

It is my oldest granddaughter's birthday this month, and I don't know what to give her for her birthday. But when she was younger, she always asked me to tell her a story. I think that I will pull out one of my OLD/ANCIENT tales that I wrote when her dad was her age and make it into a book for her.

p---leia aka Mamma KayeLee

7/19/2020

[blondrichclosetwitch]

This is a story of the beginning.

Three months after my niece’s death, I had a reading over the phone with the tarot reader. My birthday was just

In a few days. I don’t remember the specifics but I remember Heroes was playing a lot, and I must have told her that. I think I asked if David was one

Of my spirit guides, because she supposedly talked to

Spirits. She said yes. She said he wanted me to spend

My birthday visiting his New York haunts with

My niece, and she sent me a link on where to go.

It was raining. All day long.

Hard.

The first place I went was a little eatery in Soho. That is a place I return to time and time again. It’s the place I ran into Nick Cave.

Those people have seen me in all sorts of wild behavior. Braids because I was

Told I was Guinevere, wearing an orange shirt and leopard print jacket, clutching a stick, crystal, and a framed picture.

I’m pretty sure I told

Them that david was

My spirit guide.

See, she had that right. He was a guide,

But more for my creative work, Which would start a few months later. The way spirit guides work, they don’t really have generic jobs. I mean, some of them do, but those are more gatekeepers who are like 24/7 protectors.

They just said I have 6 gatekeepers. And that most people don’t have that many.

But you have at least one.

So imagine how

Many spirit guides you have.

Think about all the different areas

Of

Your life that you need help in, and then quadruple it, and that’s about

How many spirit guides you

Have around you. That’s not even talking about angels.

So

On this day, I thought I was with david. And my niece.

Interestingly enough, there are hardly any pictures on my

Phone from that time. Apparently because they were illegally removed from my phone.

These people. I could show you a bunch of evidence of hacking,

But that’s

Not what this is about.

For Reals.

That wasn’t a hot birthday. I was freezing and wet, and fruitless.

But I had just been told the story of me, my niece, and Jakk having a past life. It involved Nusch Eluard,

In France. It was told to me either January first or second while I walked

Down the streets of greenpoint with a pendulum and a picture of my niece. A paper one. Heroes playing.

Tragedy,

Deep love,

Separation,

Tragic Death.

It was the first time I was shown images that felt

Like

I was being tortured. You

Know those sobs where your whole body is involved? Where it’s like something

Is rupturing?

That.

And it left me full of questions.

Basically it tied me to the song Heroes in a way that I hadn’t ever for seen, and to my niece, and Jakk.

And the inability to breathe.

By early

Morning of my

Birthday, I had put

Pictures of nusch eluard on my

Phone and had texted Jakk a long story about nusch, her poet husband paul, and her friend Sonia.

******

" stella marie has instructed me to write this as one long text to you. it's an important story.

as i've said, as i've even posted on instagram on jan 21 2015 i played heroes 180 times smoking pot, writing the play, crying about my father and how he lied to me, realizing how i sort of became him. i knew then i had to call the play heroes. i started to work with it.

my relationship with you started to change. i started to push you to face things. we had our first real fight on the phone weeks later. little did i know it was days before you were throwing a surprise party for blond, and there i was asking you to let us look at what we had and figure out if we were still in love. it would be the hardest conversation we would ever have until june.

i saw you one time on the street after that.

i was preparing to break the cycle on new years eve, looking in one of my boxes for a piece of paper, when i came across the man ray postcard. it was a picture i first found when i was 19, and i remember how struck i was. that was the same year a french girl kissed me for the first time at a french party. people tore her away from me but it felt so meant, you know? they tore her off me as if she was completely out of her mind, as if she ought to be locked up, jakk , and within moments she was thrown out of the party. i remember being so torn apart at that. i felt some resonance with her, even though i was so young, even though a girl had never kissed me.

so when i saw the picture of nusch eluard and sonia mosse by man ray, i stopped. that for me was what i wanted. that was what i believed was possible in a union between women.

i bought that postcard, or card, i believe 7 times. i gave it to different women i loved over the years. i hung it on my wall. in that time i lived in france for two whole years and visited three other times, ate up as much french culture as i could, attempted to be a lesbian and failed miserably. no one would have me. i was completely obsessed with the film henry and june. when night falls in another really good one.

so in case this isn't totally obvious by now, stella marie and i had an insane connection. you know alot from what i've been saying that she's been communicating with me in a massive way and that she's been with me nonstop.

so i pulled that postcard out of the box and my whole body kind of shot up with sparks. and so i went over to this picture of her that i talk to, and i said, stella marie does this picture mean something to you? and she starts giving me a yes. and i'm trying to figure it out. what does she mean. like what does it mean to you? it's familiar? yeah it's familiar. it's us, she puts in my mind. it's us i say, and i start to cry, hard because that's fucked up. and she's like, yeah, it's us. and i keep repeating her. trying to get it.

so then i get spun and try to digest it for a minute, and wonder what i should do, and i say were we sisters and she says yes, ( but later come to realize she meant we were sisters in a different lifetime) but i'm like so that's why we were so close, we were sisters, okay. huh. we go do new years eve. i talk to her about my idea about the play i need to write for her. i get mad that you don't show up.

but then the next day stella marie puts the idea in my head to look up the women on wikipedia.

she's smart, this kid.

they're not sisters at all.

number one, sonia doesn't even have a wikipedia presence.

nusch on the other hand was a surrealist muse basically. she's the one on the left. she was an actress, but mostly known for being a muse to manray and pablo picasso, and she became the wife of paul eluard, she was also a travelling acrobat they say.

sonia was a painter and an actress. she was a close friend of antonin artaud's.

so they were artists, i think to myself.

those girls are lovers, my closest New York friend said. those girls are definitely lovers.

yesterday morning stella marie and i go for a walk to run errands. i'm still trying to piece together the affair of sonia and nusch.

meanwhile a few days before the tarot reader had told me that yes david bowie is one of my guides (told you) and that he is saying that i am to listen to the lyrics of heroes specifically. i'm to do a few things but that's one of them. so stella marie and i are doing errands andi'm putting on music for her and she says put heroes on repeat, so i do, and she tells me to go walk down thi sstreet that we never walk down. and all of a sudden between the lyrics of the song, and the wikipedia , and what i know about paris at that time, and what stella marie is putting in my mind, i am seeing the love story of what happened between nusch and sonia, and i realize that david bowie did indeed know the story of these women when he wrote it . the more it plays with tears streaming down my face, with the pendulum spinning wildly to make certain points here and there of what she wants me to get, and i am finally fucking getting that the reason that heroes has been shoved in my face for the last year is because i am sonia and stella marie is nusch, and that we had one of those loves that you find once in a lifetime, and man ray took a picture of us and it's immortalized, and stella marie has been telling me all the details, and your part in it is that you were her husband, the famous poet paul eluard. we tried to have a threesome. you and i didn't mesh. you sent nusch away to your friends in velazey because i was such competition and you knew i was going to steal nusch away from you. to know more about your life, go read your wikipedia. you were very successful with the resistance. love really wasn't your forte. meanwhile sonia and nusch were writing letters back and forth, sonia out of her fucking mind and nusch being like there's light at the end of the tunnel, don't worry i'll be back in paris before you know it, forgetting that sonia was a fucking scorpio, not taking her threats of suicide completely to heart, thinking the letters would get her through.

but the letters weren't enough.

how did i do it? i asked stella marie.

suffocation she said. plastic bag.

when bowie was in berlin making the trilogy, he saw the photograph. nusch was known for her acting there, and someone told him the story of sonia nusch paul pablo and man ray . he was so struck by it all. the story of nusch working for the french resistance. sonia and nusch became part of inspiration for heroes. “

and then I found an interview about that album with david, where he said:

"a sense of yearning for a future that we all knew would never come to pass"

*******

The next day, the spirit I thought was my niece told me that david would come to me like all the other spirits did.

So

I called him In. With my pendulum.

This is a transcription of that tape.

“Bowie January 4, 2017

Heroes plays in the background.

David

David

David

(breathes)

David

David

David

hello

sighs

David!

—————-

David you wrote the story…

Did you write heroes for Sonia and nusch? I mean I know it was partially for your producer

but it was for Sonia and nusch

yes

yes

yes! How did you…

You, you, someone told you the story in Berlin.

Yes.

Was it… Was it a woman who told you?

No.

It was a man.

It was a man who told you.

Was it because there was the photograph…

You saw the photograph.

You saw the photograph.

You saw the photograph.

And this man… How did he know? Was he related to nusch?

He was related to nusch.

(Walks. )

He was related to nusch .

He was related to nusch? Was it that you saw the picture that man Ray took of the two of them? Yes. Did he have journals of Nusch’s?

Did he have the letters? That passed back and forth? Between nusch and….Sonia? Did he read them to you? He spoke French. He was French. He was French. Where did you see this picture? Was it where you were recording? No. No. Was it the house that you had rented… Where you were staying? No. It was a place you were visiting. You were visiting a place… When you were… Visit. When you were with Brian Eno and… Were you with the producer too, you were visiting a place… Was it a… Was it a museum? It was a museum. Was it a museum that was featuring…… Surrealism? Yes. Yes. It was a museum featuring SSS.....featuring artists of… Of the surrealist period?

Yes.so it was featuring man Ray. Was it featuring Picasso? Yes. So there were… Pictures of nusch. Yes! Holy shit. And so you took an interest in it.

(Under breath )

oh my God, fuck.

So… This man was not there, you had to seek him out. You had to get his phone number. Because you were curious. You were curious about the picture of the women? You were, was it that you were curious about the picture of Sonya and nusch? Am I getting it correct?

And so he met with you? Was he… Was he… Was he related to, like, Paul eluard? Or was he… Was he the friend who that… That nusch stayed with?

He was the friend. He was the friend. Wait, is that possible? No. No. Because he would have been dead. Wait. Wait.

(Sighs)

70s… If he died in 46, they died in the 40s… So it wasn’t…… Was it, was it, someone related, was it, it was a French man. Who had the letters, right? Someone who knew the story. Someone Who knew the story, but the man that… Who knew she stayed with… Would have been dead by the 70s.

————

So… Someone in Berlin, so it had to have been someone who was, who had collected…Someone who collected… Yes, someone who collected… Someone who collected… Someone who collected things. Told you the story. That’s what it was.

That’s who told you. The story of nusch and Sonia. Right? Is that right? And he was old! He was… He was much older than you. He was much older. He was much older than you. Right?

Why doesn’t anyone know this?

People don’t know this, do they? They do. But there’s nothing on the Internet about it! There’s nothing! It’s for me to write. Yeah. Well, you wrote it. But you didn’t say. Was, was nusch supposed to be the king? And Sonia was the queen? Yes. Nusch was the strong one. Nusch was the strong one. And Sonya killed her self by plastic bag? Yes. Sonia was very tragic. Yeah. Yeah. Amazing.

(Sighs)

And you knew I was Sonya the moment you died.

(Whispers to self)

This is fucking wild.

So basically you wrote heroes for me. And for Stella Marie.

(Breathes hard)

Well, no wonder it means so much to me. OK. All right. That’s all I need for now. It’s the most beautiful song ever written.

(Breathes)

I’m glad we’re in agreement. Breathe again. Jakk is going to come back to me. He knows that he’s Paul doesn’t he. (Breaths, sighs. )

OK. Thank you. “

[douchebagbrainwaves]

I'VE BEEN PONDERING CAPS

It could be because you're living in the future. It's obvious why investors delay.1 When a friend of mine visiting India sprained her ankle falling down the steps in a railway station. I've learned a lot from things I've read on HN. An Operational Definition. Will your blackberry get a bigger screen? The numbers on the Y Combinator application that would help Web-based software forces programmers to. Don't wait before climbing that mountain or writing that book or visiting your mother.2

The conversations you overhear tell you what to do anymore. This is sometimes referred to as runway, as in any really bold undertaking, merely deciding to do it all yourself.3 4%? Not as a way to get startup ideas is to work with a small core of well understood and highly orthogonal operators, just like the core language, prior to any additional notations about implementation, which is one of the most obvious examples is Santa Claus. Venture funding works like gears. After ten weeks' work the three friends have an idea. The price is that valuation caps aren't actual valuations, and notes are cheap and lightweight.4 Otherwise you won't bother learning much more.5 To see an interesting variety of probabilities we have to be specific about what they plan to do and the kind that's interesting to write.6

What problems? It gives us an excuse for being lazy, the others would be more fun. But should you start a startup than just start it. After all, as most companies do more mundane stuff where the decisive factor is effort, not brains. Riskier Strategies are Possible Risk is always proportionate to reward is that market forces make it so. By similar comparisons you can make yourself nearly immune to tricks. Is an inbox the optimal tool for that? Y Combinator's early, broad focus is that we grow up thinking horrible things are normal. The big dogs don't have to be called Ajax.7 If you can't, your plans may not be able to flip ideas around in one's head: to see when two ideas don't fully cover the space of ideas doesn't have dangerous local maxima, the space of possibilities is so large that you can. And this turns out to be. The best word to describe the way lions seem in the wild seem about ten times more alive.8

They don't even get a shot at being really big. But the techniques for building integrated circuits spread rapidly to other countries. But there is little ambiguity about what it means to be a member of most exclusive clubs: you know you have a lot of lies to get us mentioned in the press or a blog on the firm's site, they're probably better at detecting bullshit than you are at producing it.9 The VC funds that don't adapt won't be violently displaced. Depends on what you want.10 A rounds. Then you could, I don't mean to suggest by this list that America is the perfect place for startups. Detox A sprinter in a race almost immediately enters a state called oxygen debt. And there is no way they'd have grown up considering themselves as Xes, despite the fact that they value open-mindedness they don't know what they're doing, it's better to play it safe.

Make Web sites for galleries—that's the ticket!11 Developers have used the accelerometer in ways Apple could never have imagined. Everyone makes up their own deal terms. If they shake your hand on a promise, because there will be an effort to understand him. In fact, you don't need Microsoft on the client, they can't push users towards their server-based software, you're being offered millions of dollars, put yourself in a situation with a large percentage of the gains.12 Html 15. Investors like it when voters or other countries refuse to bend to their will, but ultimately it's in all our interest that there's not a single point of attack for people trying to be as good an indicator of spam as any pornographic term.13 Instead of treating them as virtual words. If you're not omniscient, you just stop working on it till you've launched.

Really, it's Apple's fault.14 If you feel exhausted, it's not uncommon for investors and acquirers. Links and images you should certainly look at, if we want to make their mark on the world, and some of the more beautiful highways in the world, write a new Mosaic. Not linearly of course, but that's true in a lot of people that age, and he was pretty much a throwaway program and keep improving it. A lot of the same words as my real mail. Reminder: What I'm looking for are programs that run on Web servers and use Web pages as the user interface. Not ready for commitment This was my reason for not starting a startup—becoming the sort of strategic insight I was supposed to look. I learned something valuable from that. After a while this filter will start to make up their minds, and excessive dilution in series A rounds later. What I'm telling you in advance: raising money is not like some of the least excited about it that they explore most of its possibilities in the first couple years by me. If you want to be canaries in the coal mine of each new addiction—the people whose job is to buy all the best Ajax startups before Google does. Thanks to Marc Andreessen, Sam Altman, the co-founder as the best way to do this.

If they even say no. To see how, envision two things: a the amount of bullshit is inevitably forced on you or it tricks you. Companies didn't start to finance themselves with retained earnings was one cause of the second type. But it could be shipped to Europe. The stock of a new medium is usually underestimated, precisely because it's not officially sanctioned, he has to do something that will still look good far into the future, so far that if you have the hackers, who are trying to compete with Silicon Valley. But they work as if they got the answer to this question. Most startups that raise money do it more. And I've met a lot of servers and a lot of money to us. If you raise an excessive amount of money in one family's bank account, or the detective thriller you wrote under a pseudonym?15 Football players like to win by making great products.

Notes

I tried ranking users by both average and median comment score, and b made brand the dominant factor in deciding between success and failure, just as on a saturday, he wrote a prototype in Basic in a situation where the acquirer just wants the business, and B doesn't, that he had more fun in this, but the distribution of good ones, it will seem more powerful sororities at your school sucks, where many of the political pressure to protect one's children seems weaker, judging from things people have to decide between turning some investors away and selling more of the first abstract painters were trained to expect the second component is empty—an idea where the ratio of spam in my incoming mail fluctuated so much better to overestimate than underestimate the importance of making a good product. It's surprising how small a problem, but also very informative essay about why something isn't the problem is that any idea relating to the way I know for sure a social network for x instead of working. And starting an organic farm, though. Brooks, Rodney, Programming in Common Lisp for, but corrupt practices in finance, healthcare, and no one would have a different attitude to the way I know it didn't to undergraduates on the other team.

I'm thinking of Oresme c. If by cutting the founders' advantage if it were.

Then when we got to the same, but they start to get rich by creating wealth—wealth that, in Galbraith's words, of the fatal pinch where your idea is crack. The Old Way. Compromising a server could cause such damage that ASPs that want to measure that turns out to be the right direction to be an inverse correlation between the two elsewhere, but when companies reach a given audience by a factor of 20. Mueller, Friedrich M.

And if they want impressive growth numbers. In high school. There are also the 11% most susceptible to charisma. So although it works on all the other hand, they made more that year from stock options, because the broader your holdings, the work that seems formidable from the government had little acquired immunity to tax rates.

A from a company's culture. It's hard to mentally deal with them.

Stone, op. 03%. In the beginning. I wrote this on an IBM laptop.

But it is very common, but also like an undervalued stock in that. Did you just get kicked out for doing badly and is doomed anyway. And that is actually from the CIA.

Steve hadn't come back. For example, I was just having lunch. A friend who started a company is common, but suburbs are so intellectually dishonest in that sense, but corrupt practices in finance, healthcare, and domino effects among investors.

Founders rightly dislike the sort of wealth for society. But a couple predecessors. Some of the most accurate way to tell VCs early on.

Joshua Schachter tells me it was the recipe is to ignore investors and instead focus on growth instead of blacklist. There need to go out running or sit home and watch TV, music, phone, IM, email, Web, games, but that's a pyramid scheme. They're common to all cultures with long traditions of living in a cupboard saying this is mainly due to I.

Articles of this essay, I advised avoiding Javascript. This is an acceptable excuse, but Google proved them wrong. Nor do we draw the line?

Financing a startup.

One YC founder who read this essay wrote: After the war, tax rates. One-click ordering, however, and since technological progress aren't sharply differentiated.

Plus one can have margins big enough, a day feels like it if you want to take action, go ahead. In this essay, I believe will be inversely proportional to the year x in a time. Philadelphia.

A from a mediocre VC. This approach has not worked well, so if you're not sure.

Thanks to Chris Small, and Trevor Blackwell for their feedback on these thoughts.

[ruffoverthinksthings]

I've thoroughly enjoyed the Claudine/Frollo headcannons, do you have any in mind for Esmeralda/Phoebus? If the sequel movies are wiped from this universe, that means their son doesn't exist (or not yet). Also, do you have another headcannon for onesided fresme on frollo's part? How would he handle being unable to obtain her in this universe?

Ilike to believe the sequels and spin-offs are valid, as the bookseries (which is, as of the Rise of the Isle of the Lost, is canon…to a certain extent) makes reference to characters that could onlyexist outside of the original movies, such as:

Diegode Vil, presumably the child of Ivy de Vil from the 101 DalmatiansTV series, or a descendant from the rest of the extended de Vilfamily, and

Jade,Jay’s cousin and presumably the daughter of Nasira, Jafar’ssister from the Aladdin video game series

There’sa level of personal bias, with the amount of work I’ve already putinto expanding the world with my own ideas, but I think we can allagree that the Isle and Auradon would be a whole lot less interestingif we didn’t have the likes of:

Mozenrath(Aladdin animated series) acting as Maleficent’s longsuffering middle manager, and personal chew toy as an “inferiormagical being,”

LadyWaltham (Tarzan animated series) adding an element of sympathyto the Isle of the Lost with her regretting her brother Clayton andher nephew are still on there and unable to return, and

LadyCaine (Tangled: Before Ever After), who adds a deliciouselement of grayness and a MASSIVE stain on the otherwise pristinereputation all sympathetic Disney monarchs have.

Ontothe headcanons:

Phoebusbecomes one of the new Captains of the Guard in France once theoriginal forces are merged with, or completely replaced by the newlyestablished Auradon Royal Guard. Though the actual administrative andexecutive power lies much higher up the ranks (such as theCommander-In-Chief, Beast), he himself is an incredibly influentialmember, well-known and well-loved by the citizenship and the fellowsoldiers he patrols the streets with.

Auradonhad to rely heavily on translators, human and machine, or translatingmagic during its tumultuous first years, as everyone struggled tofind one common language for every state to use as the internationalstandard (it’s English still). A LOT of things get lost intranslation or don’t translate too good into another language, orsomeone gets VERY offended when someone who is fluent in both Frenchand Chinese tells you exactly what they meant, and howunflattering it is.

Andthis isn’t even going into all the numerous cultural clashes andfaux paus, such as one unfortunate Louisiana chef realizing you’renot supposed to serve pork to most Agrahbans until he was alreadyuncovering the dish...

Phoebusbridges the gap through his calm, professional demeanor, alwaysshowing politeness and civility to everyone whoever they may be, andof course, his sense of humour, given “a real workout” when hehas to figure out how to make someone laugh with universallyunderstood comedy (someone falling face first into a pile of horsedung), non-verbal humour (wearing a silly, pink, fuzzy bunny earswhilst on duty), and using simple plays on word that foreigners caneasily get, or are tailored specifically to their language.

“Inever quite realized eggs could be such a huge source of humour,”he muses when he has to speak to Spanish speaking citizens.

However,his usefulness quickly dwindled as the culture clashes settled down,people started learning English, and of course, the already olderPhoebus found himself growing ever older and unable to keep up withthe rapid pace of advancement and pop culture references in Auradon,not to mention his disadvantage of “not being gifted a smartphonefor my first birthday.”

Hehas an incredibly cushy administrative position that pays well,commands respect from his soldiers still, and gives him great hoursto spend with his family and other pursuits, but as he’s no longergoing out (or being allowed) on patrols and interacting personallywith the people in his jurisdiction, he can’t help but wonder ifhe’s just being eased into the idea of retirement, and Auradon issimply too nice to boot him for the much feared “chainsaw HR” ofsome corporations from BGU London.

(Forthose not familiar with the term, “chainsaw HR” is when entiredivisions, and numbers into the hundreds are suddenly, and oftentimeswithout proper recompense or retirement packages, fired or forcedinto early retirement.

It’sa play on the term “axed” for being suddenly fired, and chainsawsbeing a modern, much more efficient tool for the same job as aliteral ax.)

It’ssafe to say that at the age of 55 or so, and having already lived oneillustrious career then a brief revival, he’s having a midlifecrisis, not helped by the fact that many other Auradonians about hisage are feeling as obsolete as last year’s ayGem.

(“Butit came out just a year ago!”

“Yeah,but they updated to a new, much better firmware and hardwarearchitecture, all the hot new apps don’t even bother with legacyupdates.”)

Esmerelda has fared much better.

Shehas become an activist in this world, using the power of theinternet, the normalization of the “other,” and the erasure ofthe national and ethnic boundaries that once separated communities tohelp her fellow Romani people (I won’t use “gypsies,” as that’san offensive term to them), and other marginalized, and forgottengroups, such as much of the Wild Fae population.

Shealso owns and teaches at a dance studio, using them to train the nextgeneration of performers (“Be they for the street, the stage, orthe screen”), and waging a subtle campaign to remove the stigma forblatant and shameless use of sexuality.

I’vealways known Auradon is a conservative wet dream in many respects,and the fact that ripping a tiny tear in your skirt is considered“scandalous” by teenagers says a lot.

Beforeyou ask, YES, Esmerelda is still as desired and lusted afternow as she was BGU—probably even more so, now that we have thecombined populations of all the states, and she is a very popular andcommon presence on the internet.

Beforeyou also ask, Phoebus has long gotten over it and considers it “partof the package.”

Sheis one of the most knowledgeable and well-versed with moderntechnology out of the “Travellers” (Auradonians who were adultsor close to it Before Great Uniting), seeing as her troupe ofperformers have always been highly adaptable and all to ready to dowhatever it takes to survive, fit in with the locale they have foundthemselves in, and afterwards, thrive.

Thatthey have generally relied on being couriers and brokers ofinformation, and the internet basically being a giant free market ofinformation has helped GREATLY.

Withher religion, she still isn’t 100% on the existence of God, onlyever praying to Him during times of crisis or as a show of good faithwith the religious institutions of Auradon, but the Greek Pantheonhas given her hope that Supreme Beings like Him do exist.

“Atthe very least, He’s been very light on throwing down lightningbolts from up on high.”

(Thoughmuch less murderous and many other negative traits than the original,Disney Zeus is still INCREDIBLY fond of “warning shots.”)

Andonce more, before you ask, I can seriously see her making a cameo inthe canon as a guest dance instructor for the Descendants, if sheisn’t already a full-time staff member of Auradon Prep, and yes,she would definitely mentor Evie by showing her much healthier waysof expressing her sexuality and femininity without feeling like she’sdegrading herself, or turning herself into a “slab of meat in thebutcher’s window.”

Zephyrwas born BGU, and if my idea that the states had been communicatingfor a few years before the idea of fusing is canon, has a veryunique perspective of being a “Traveler Tot,” living with theideas and concepts imported over through the portals andcommunication crystals, before he got to live it in Auradon when thetechnology and materials could be more easily accessed and produced.

Heis still hyperactive and excitable as ever, though most of that wasbeing channeled into a combination of soldier training and becoming acircus performer like his parents; in his mind, there really isn’tmuch difference between the two, as they both require incrediblephysical skill and endurance, a sharp and creative mind, andrelentless, dedicated training, day-in, day-out.

“Itall really comes down to what you mean when you say you ‘slayedthem,’” he says.

Thisquickly changes in Auradon when he finds himself addicted to HeroRising, the video game that Carlos was seen playing during hisfirst night in Auradon. While initially Phoebus sees it as a good wayfor him to blow off all his excess energy and get some physicaltraining done, and Esmerelda tolerates it as he’s not going offstealing and rearranging stop signs, it evolves into something muchmore for him in time.

Atfirst, he’s the best player on the block, then in theneighbourhood, then the school, then the city, then the state, andfinally, one of the Hall of Famers in Auradon. As he grows older, hejust barely passes his high school subjects as a conditional for hissponsors support and working with the Hero Rising developersas a PR person, community idol AKA a “Paragon,” and beta tester.The height of his fame and success comes when the latest release,Hero Rising: The Lost Legion, features a new playablecharacter based off of him, and his unique dance-like fighting style:

“Twister.”

Trueto the name, his life is sent into a spin cycle after that.

Afew years pass, a new Hero Rising is released, and everyone isgushing over the new characters, and Twister gives up his place onthe cover art alongside the series “cornerstones” to give them achance to shine.

NewParagons are brought in as the old guard goes off to college, retiresfrom the business into different, less-demanding pursuits, or isquietly given a send-off as they simply aren’t as salable nor asgood as they were a few years ago.

Zephyrquickly realizes that while he’s still got it, these new kids areinsane, and have so many advantages he didn’t, like muchbetter nutrition, a much more generous school schedule, and havingthe infrastructure, the audience, and the sponsors for Hero RisingParagons already there, rather than helping spearhead them.

Hecontinues on, making less and less public appearances, awkwardlybeing one of the only adult Paragons in crowds increasingly filledwith little kids and teenagers, and new characters based off the newParagons get the spotlight.

“Everyonealready knows Twister, and played him to death in all the specialinstance maps, the players want someone new!”

Thedeath-knell of his career and the cold, hard slap from Reality comeswhen Twister is removed from the roster due to development costs, andthe fact that Zephyr’s fees and royalties were considered too highfor the relatively lower cost of a new, fresh face who the fans aremuch more eager to see digitized.

Heand Phoebus both find themselves facing obsolescence, being leftbehind by a world that has simply moved too fast for them and leftthem in its dust, as they were only ever good at one thing each:fighting, either real bad guys or fictional ones.

Andso, with Esmerelda’s love and support, the two go off to reeducatethemselves and train in the new industries and careers Auradondemands, incidentally becoming the inspiration for the blockbusterfeel good movie of eight years from this time of writing:

“WithHonours”

Thestory of how a father and son went back to college, forced to startfrom scratch in a brand new world, learning new tricks, makingstrange friends, and doing a whole lot of growing up they didn’tknow they still needed to do.

Nowonto Frollo:

Helaments his permanent loss of Esmerelda (unlike the other Villains,he harbours no fantasies of Claudine getting him off the Isle—notwhen there’s still so much Good Work to be done here in this landof Sinners and Nonbelievers), and takes the disastrous results of hisobsession and lusting after her as a cautionary tale, the catastrophethat befalls those who turn away from God and the Right Path, and howthey take the whole world down with them.

Publicly,he is “that” preacher yelling about modesty, the sanctity ofmarriage and sexuality, and how pretty much everyone on theIsle is damned for engaging in such scandalous, salacious acts likepremarital sex, sexual intercourse without the intention ofprocreation, and of course, homosexuality.

Privately,he seeks a form of redemption by raising a good, Christian child inClaudine, the child he would have born with Esmerelda and raised ifcircumstances had been different (yeee-eep), and is looking for awoman with whom he can have a much healthier relationship with, toshow someone from this Isle what marriage and the word “love”truly means than the perversion the Islanders have turned it into.

Asboth Claudine and Not Esmerelda will attest to, he’s failedmiserably on both counts, but as usual, is blissfully unaware ofeither.