#< lady ballad's works>

[xxladyballadxx]

FFXVI Masterlist

All the works belong to Kaya Scarlett Ballad. No reposting is allowed. Steal my work and I will block your ass💀

Clive Rosfield

Knight In Love (Headcanon)

Always Be With You

Proposal

Love At First Sight

I Really Like You (Pt 2 to Love At First Sight)

Paperplane (Modern Au)

Would You Like To Dance With Me?

It’s Okay.. 

I Remember.. 

The Mission

Confession

Fire Fairy

Taste of You (Smut)

Colliding Memories (Angst)

Farewell (Angst)

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Joshua Rosfield 

Opening Up (Angst)

Open Your Heart

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Cidolfus Telamon

Warm Feelings (Fluff Headcanon)

Night Of The Storm (Fluff Drabble)

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Jill Warrick

My Lady

More Than Friendship 

Soulmates 

Ice and Snow

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Dion Lesage

Marriage 

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Benedikta Harman

Lust Of Desires (NSFW HEADCANON)

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Barnabas Tharmr

His Queen (Headcanon)

Worthless (ANGST) 

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[cupophrogs]

y'all someone help me figure out pants for this badass butch tardigrade lady I'm going to MELT

[hanakihan]

I’m still not over jinchul interacting with kyung hye (I literally brainrotted over it), jinchul definitely being respectful to previous empress while kyung hye being genuinely nice to him without demanding anything back

jinchul just walking around palace trying to familiarize himself with layout of it until he notices a group of palace girls escorting someone. he’s not announcing his presence and just silently observes, finally noticing woman’s face when she slightly turns. she’s frail and ill looking but nonetheless beautiful and gentle and oh, current ruling emperor absolutely took his beauty after his mother. jicnhul notices how she walks with support of her ladies in waiting, how she struggles with keeping herself going straight. and will all that in mind it’s weird to see such thick makeup on her, it contrasts with her relatively simple robes.

next time they see each other properly is when he and jinwoo encounter her in one of palace gardens, she still looks ill but at least she walks on her own without support of her maids. and yet again jinchul notices too thick layer of makeup for someone in such condition. jinwoo introduces them to each other and after a small pleasant exchange jinchul notices that it’s not common for ill people to wear such makeup even if she’s the former empress. even more, some maids looked nervous when they approached former empress and kept stealing glances at her, as if to see if she’ll say something unnecessary.

jinwoo tells jinchul about his mother’s unknown illness that keeps eating her health away, and apparently even royal doctor (and on top of that jinwoo’s best healing summon) can’t fix whatever is wrong - even after treatment she gets better only to get worse after couple of days. apparently when passing them by, jinchul informs jinwoo of slight medical alcohol smell, yet something doesn’t click. jinchul is no doctor but he knows that medical alcohol is used to treat skin and high temperature in most cases and both aren’t the cases in kyung hye’s case according to royal doctor and jinah.

jinwoo says that jinah multiple times inspected what medicine their mother receives and what is used to clean her after episodes. jinah, jinchul and royal doctor hold an investigation because apparently some sort of medicine is circulating in palace and has found it’s way to previous empress.

jinchul has his suspicions with slight alcoholic smell. while royal doctor informs that it isn’t his prescription, there’s no harm in rubbing it on skin since it’s cleans away dirt and other stuff. while jinchul agrees with that point, he and jinah deem it an unnecessary addition from maids that still prefer to keep their empress looking properly groomed and mostly to cover scent of illness.

one day jinchul visits bedridden kyung hye after one of her episodes, asking her about her medical routine. he’s extremely interested in schedule of rubbing alcohol on skin since it’s the suspicious thing here. he asks if she knows where maids store it, and she points to medical cabinet where other medicine is kept. for time being he asks her to refuse rubbing alcohol especially considering it’s now what doctor prescribed for some days.

after that her condition slightly improves and stays so without any detour. jinchul, who had taken a bottle of that alcohol asked jinah and doctor’s assistance in trying to understand if it’s an actual alcohol or poisonous one. with help of jongin and his expertise in fire truth came out and jinchul asked jinwoo to get rid of all alcohol in palace for time being. just as he went to check on kyung hye later he saw her maids rubbing alcohol on barely conscious empress and in fit of anger confronts them. turns out head maid brought this supposedly good cosmetic alcohol to keep empress’ appearance despite her illness and to mask awful stench of illness and they proceeded to do so because after jinchul’s advice she refused procedure and now everything became worse. jinchul is furious and grabs that bottle, forcing maid’s mouth open and threatening to spill it all into it.

‘do you even realize that what you brought is an actual poison? do you realize that you slowly was rubbing it into her skin keeping her constantly poisoned? what do you think will happen if I’ll spill it all in one go? in best case you’ll go blind, in worst you’ll die in less that a hour.’

after that he just kicks all of them out and asks other servants to bring royal doctor and jinah here as fast as they can while he starts to work on countermeasures.

who would’ve thought someone will be dumb enough in this palace to almost fall for same stupid poisoning trick. there’s been so many cases of nobles dying in agony at celebrations and meetings after drinking alcohol and he’s not having a kind woman dying on him especially when he knows what to do.

[transbeamrooikat]

Dr. Gauls costuming was absolutely amazing like the visceral representation of the blood on her hands (and the way it seems to soak into her clothing!!!!! staining her!!!!!!!!! the way it sometimes seemed to come from her) during lab scenes and the way she's the only person who's truly dressed in the famous clothing style that the capital becomes known for (and we can assume that she probably had some influence on that fashion!!!!)

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

ballad about death | s.r. x liaison!fem reader

“no wonder you can’t get a date.”

you know morgan spoke it as a tease after spencer mentioned the new pages left at a scene were from an 1800 ballad about death, it still wasn’t a nice thing to say.

sitting in the chair across from his you swatted your case file at his knee. “hey!” a shocked expression at the action, you just narrowed your eyes at him with a tight mouth.

“enough. back to the debrief.” hotch’s stern tone pulled back the focus onto the active case. after discussing a few more things, everyone settled into their own world for the next three hours.

leaving behind derek you moved to join spencer on the couch as he flipped through the pages of a book. “can you really read two thousand words a minute?” keeping a low tone to not disturb anyone, also you wanted to keep it between you and spencer.

spencer’s fingers stopped their running and he lifted his eyes away from the pages, “actually it’s twenty thousand, but yes i can read that much in a minute. usually finish most novels within ten to fifteen minutes.”

you grinned at the knowledge, “is it usually novels or do you ready anything?” adjusting yourself to lean on your side, one knee propped on the cushions.

spencer nodded, “i read anything. also in six other languages. it’s fun to read certain works in their original form, sometimes the full story doesn’t translate.”

you perked up, “can you speak them or only read them?” “both, but elle prefers when i don’t speak spanish.”

your lip twitched, “can you say something? let me hear your favorite one.”

spencer looked down at his marked page then back up to your waiting face. he said something slow and his voice deepened just an octave, a whisper of an accent popping through on his last word. your lips parted at the mysterious sentence.

“what’d you say?” mesmerized on spencer’s pink cheeks. he scrunched his face for a moment, “that- that flowers are quite beautiful.”

you hummed, “they are. lillies are my favorite.” flashing a small tattoo of the plant on your inner wrist. spencer’s lip twitched, “sunflowers are my moms. used to keep a fresh vase in the living room.”

“you were her first sunflower. bet you always lit up her room.” shuffling closer towards spencer, head leaning against the back rest.

“some- some days.” he reached a hand to tuck some rouge hair away. “can i ask you a question?” brows pinched in thought.

“you just did but i’ll allow another.” grinning to make sure he knows it’s a joke. his eyes drifted back to his book and he bit into his bottom lip. you grew concerned, “hey, what’s wrong?” knocking a foot gently into spencer’s.

“do- do you think it’s true?” sounding broken. “what’s true?”

“that i can’t get a date.” oh you were gonna smack derek. “of course not,” moving closer across the couch, only leaving an inch of space left. “he’s jealous he didn’t think of the answer.”

spencer grumbled, “no he’s not.”

you insisted, “yes he is. knowledge is so attractive for the right girls. he has to show off his body just to get ladies.” you were almost tempted to just yell ‘i find you attractive! i want to date you!’

but instead you just sighed and said, “the right person will appear when the time is right. sometimes you have to let the universe take its time. but the wait will be worth it in the end.”

[crimsoncandy04]

hii omg out of curiosity... could u do a scara with a bratty virgin reader who teases him too much thinking she can get away with it. if that suits ur tastes that is 😊😊

Of course! I may not fit the entire idea of a brat myself, but I've been told I can act a little cunty now and then so I think I can do this one fairly well.

Scaramouche was just another annoying superior you had to obey. All the harbingers were pretty much the same in the aspect that they viewed YOU as lesser than. Which technically you were by law of Snezhnaya but that wasn't YOUR fault. You were only stuck working as a subordinate for the height deficient harbinger called The Balladeer because your stupid slut mother had gambled away a HUGE loan while she was pregnant with you and instead of taking responsibility, she fled the country and hadn't been seen since you were like 6.

But the fatui weren't just going to forgive a debt that large simply because of a disappearance. No.

A group of fatuus soldiers had knocked on your grandparents door one day, led by Scaramouche. They were given three options.

1: Pay off their daughter's debts.

2: Die.

Or three...

"Give the oldest girl over and have her work it off in her mother's name." Was what the pretty faced yet slick tongued bastard had said.

Your grandparents had recently been put in charge of your half brother too as authorities had taken him from your mother's home due to excessive drug use on her part. He was just a little kid, barely 4. YOU on the other hand were now a young lady. A young adult.

He needed your grandparents.

You had had a wonderful childhood already.

And so you bowed your head and agreed to go back with The Balladeer and his cronies to the fatui headquarters and officially join the ranks.

It wasn't that bad actually. Scaramouche didn't actually seem to care or not if you didn't do your job. But you were clearly the only exception as you often watched him treat others with a cruelty that bordered on ruthlessness.

Not that it was your problem.

You often sauntered into his office late at night to chat with him. Not that he ever stopped you.

"Hey Scara what's up? Ugh you really should get better lighting here. It looks so ominous!" You bitched as you hopped up onto the edge of his rather grand looking desk and looked down at him while he worked.

"Hey let's hang out for a bit! That stuff is just boring work things anyway! I never do mine!"

He grunts.

"I know."

You pouted as you tried to scoot a little closer to him.

"ugh you're so lame today! And here I thought a harbinger as mighty as yourself could multi-task easily! It appears I was mistaken!"

Scaramouche rolled his eyes at your behavior.

"leave. I'm busy right now."

You were feeling agitated now.

"no! I've been waiting all day to hang out and now you're ignoring me!?" You turn completely around so your legs fell over on his side of the desk now. Crossing my arms as I stubbornly stand my ground.

"I'm not moving until you at least look at me you stupid meanie!" You whined.

The pen in Scaramouche's hands suddenly snapped in half. Ink splashing across the tabletop caught your attention.

"I said leave."

"make me!* You stick out your tongue and pout even more at his tone.

"it's not like you're actually gonna punish me for being here like anyone else! Stop being such a big meanie!"

Suddenly his hand was around your throat.

"Is that what you tell yourself bitch? How amusing." He squeezed your neck. Just enough to make you dizzy as you felt Scaramouche rip open the front of your buttoned white blouse.

His eyes quickly looked you over with a predatory hunger.

"you're alright I guess. For a human anyway. You'll do."

You squeak in terror as he tears off your bra next. Gently running his fingertips across your nipples and causing them to harden. as your breath hitches in your throat, you feel an unfamiliar warmth in your panties at the sensation.

He then shoved you back onto the table top.

"h-hey what are you doing? Stop this at once!" You squeak anxiously. Being almost frozen in fear as you feel Scaramouche roughly lift up your shirt and expose your panties to his smug looking gaze.

"what? Not so tough now that you finally realize how insignificant you are?"

He traces the outline of your wet slit through the dampened fabric.

"how pathetic. Acting all bold and yet you're already shaking and getting excited before I've even touched you."

Scaramouche easily tears away the delicate fabric as he spreads your knees wide for him. He kneels down and closely takes in the sight of your exposed sex. Gently pulling your folds open to give him a better look at you.

You feel his cool breath against your inner labia as you begin to tremble.

Finally something clicks for him.

"oh? I see you've never been had yet. It's almost funny Y/N, at your age? Seriously? What?"

He pinched your clit softly

"too shy?" His raspy tone bordered on a seductive growl as you feel him rub little circles on your pleasure nub.

"ugh it's not like I haven't had chances before! I just didn't care for anyone enough to want to do that stuff!"

Your words were met with a jeering cackle as Scaramouche simply sighed and slowly began to ease two fingers into your unbroken entrance.

A strong ache filled your body as you moaned softly and saw blood drip onto his palm as you struggled to raise your head and see what he was doing at first.

Immediately he shoved your head back down and kept a firm grasp on your throat.

"stay still sweetheart. If you don't relax, it's going to be excruciating."

You felt him begin to slowly start thrusting his fingers in and out of your tight pussy. Successfully popping your cherry as you blushed deeply and tried to muffle your cries using your hands.

He leans down and gives your clit a gentle lick next. Teasing you now as you whimper at the new feeling. More warmth filling your lower abdomen as you feel your legs tremble while Scaramouche continued to lap at your untouched bud. Deliberately trying to draw out the strange rising feeling in your tummy. You cry a little as you finally dare speak.

"Please... stop this... I'll pee!" You wail pitifully as his eyes took on a seductive look.

"That's not what's about to happen sweetie ~ don't worry, you're about to feel really good, I promise ~"

He released your upper body and began to focus more on stimulating your tight cunt as he fingered your sensitive walls and continued to gently suck on your clit. Giving it a little bite now and then that made your legs tremble.

Finally you feel your lower abdomen tighten. Your insides pulse as you feel yourself squirt. Scaramouche swallows every drop almost eagerly as he continues to tongue fuck you through your orgasm.

Only when you lay breathless and exhausted upon the table before him, does he finally free his rather large cock from the confines of his shorts, pressing the tip teasingly at your entrance.

"You were all bark just an hour ago bitch. Now you're just a whimpering mess. What happened?"

You felt Scaramouche slide his dick into your pussy then. The thickness stretching you beyond capacity as you wince and feel yourself whine a little.

"Do you realize your place now cunt? Maybe this will teach you to talk with a little more respect towards your superiors."

He began to slowly thrust into you then. Your oversensitive cunt spasming with every thrust as you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist.

Scaramouche leaned down to steal a kiss too. Shoving his tongue into your mouth as you held onto him. Swallowing up your cute and girlish moans of pleasure and pain as you dug your nails into his back and felt him quicken his pace.

He fucked against your cervix as he continued to press your knees upwards more as he got closer to finishing. Bringing your knees practically beside your head as he got a little rougher then. Forcing you into a sick mating press position as he claimed your virgin womb for himself.

Scaramouche groaned and bit your bottom lip a little as you felt him pour his hot seed into you after what felt like the longest hour of your life. His sadistic smirk widened as he pulled out of your bloody cum filled cunt.

"This will be your new job from now on. Don't bother refusing. You still owe me a debt. " He stuck his fingers in your dripping depths again.

"however, keep being as obedient as you were tonight and this sweet cunt might just pay it off sooner than you think."

[mercillery]

You already know who this is lmao. Since you wrote Andrew perfectly from IDV I GOTTA see how you write Frederick relationship overview 🙏💕 I love my poor disgruntled ex prodigee French man

WARNINGS: GENDER NOT SPECIFIED + NOT PROOFREAD

NOTES: I’ve got nothing to say about Frederick mains yet because I stopped playing around his release…but i’m sure his mains are fun to play with. I imagine they accidentally pop ciphers a lot too.

At first, Frederick would charm you in a way that feels almost unfair, like he’s playing a game you didn’t know you’d signed up for???

You’d find yourself completely entranced by Frederick—there’s no escaping it. This man doesn’t just walk into a room; he makes an entrance with a grace so smooth it practically slides in on polished shoes. He’s got this natural elegance that makes you wonder if he spends his weekends secretly training under some Victorian-era etiquette coach.

Every word, every subtle movement, is meticulously chosen to leave a lasting impression. You can almost hear a soundtrack playing whenever he talks. His gaze? Oh, it’s not just looking at you; it’s reading your very soul, flipping through your emotional pages like a well-loved book. This guy has the power to sweep any lady off their feet, whether they want to be swept or not. But don’t get too worried—you’re not just anyone to Frederick.

Dating Frederick is like a high-stakes thriller with poetic intermissions. When he’s chosen you as his focus, you’ll know it. He’s as devoted as a knight in shining armor with an artistic twist. Forget flowers—he’s out there composing symphonies that embody the way you laugh or the way you wrinkle your nose when you’re annoyed.

And yes, he’s that extra. But it’s not all rainbows and heartfelt sonatas. His passion runs as deep as the Mariana Trench, and with that comes a protective streak that would put guard dogs to shame.

His moments of jealousy? Let’s just say he doesn’t do halfway—Frederick only knows extremes. If you so much as wave at your barista a second too long, brace yourself for a brooding soliloquy about loyalty and his existential fear of being forgotten.

See, the man doesn’t just want to be liked or loved; he needs to be your everything. He’s got this internal scoreboard and if he’s not winning the gold medal in your heart, what’s the point? To Frederick, being mediocre is worse than losing—it’s being invisible, and he won’t settle for that. And honestly, why should he?

When it comes to love, Frederick doesn't do simple—no, he composes entire symphonies that could put Hollywood’s most dramatic love themes to shame. His idea of showing affection? It’s nothing short of an epic masterpiece.

You’d find yourself at the center of a grand concerto, where each note is painstakingly crafted to echo the highs, the lows, and those delicious in-betweens of your relationship. And, of course, private performances would become as routine as morning coffee.

Picture this: Frederick seated at a piano, fingers dancing across the keys, eyes darting to your face every other second as if he's trying to capture every flicker of your reaction. Is that awe? Is that admiration? Good. He’ll take that as a win. Your approval? It’s like a five-star review in a world where his love language is measured in crescendos and decrescendos.

But let's not forget—Frederick is a hopeless romantic, the kind who’s read Wuthering Heights one too many times and thought, Yeah, I can top that.

Love letters? Oh, they’re not just notes; they’re beautifully penned, metaphor-laden works of art that could make Shakespeare sit down and take notes. Candlelit concerts? He’s already planned three for next month, complete with a playlist that rivals the greatest romantic ballads in history.

And the surprises don’t stop there; you'll find flowers and little notes tucked into places you'd never expect: your bag, the fridge, maybe even the laundry hamper (don’t ask how they got there).

But for all his flair, Frederick isn’t just about grand gestures. There are those quieter, softer moments that catch you off guard and remind you that his love is as layered as one of his symphonies.

A simple lean of his head on your shoulder while you read, a touch so subtle you almost question if it happened, or that electric, intense gaze from across a crowded room—those moments are like a secret shared between the two of you. It’s like speaking an unspoken language, one where every glance and touch is a verse in an ever-unfolding poem that only the two of you understand.

Frederick’s sensitivity is a double-edged sword in your relationship, like owning a cat that’s both affectionate and completely unpredictable. On one hand, his perceptiveness is unmatched. This man could tell you’re upset from the way you’re stirring your coffee or the subtle shift in your smile.

Before you even have the chance to sigh, he’s there with those eyes full of concern, ready to listen and offer comfort that feels like a warm blanket on a cold day. It’s this deep empathy that forges an almost magical connection between you two, making you feel seen and understood in a way that’s rare. When Frederick’s with you, he’s with you—body, mind, and soul.

But there’s a catch, and it’s a big one.

His own emotions are about as stable as a teetering Jenga tower in the middle of an earthquake. Frederick feels everything on a scale of 1 to 100, with no in-between. Did you forget to say goodnight because you fell asleep? Prepare for an orchestra of internal questioning that could rival Hamlet’s soliloquy. Did you compliment a friend’s new jacket without immediately reassuring him that he still has the best taste in the room? Cue the silent spiral of doubt. He doesn’t just overthink—he over-operas. (Am I funny yet or do I just sound corny?)

Reassurance isn’t just appreciated; it’s essential. A simple “I’m here for you” can turn his internal storm into a calm, clear sky. Without it, his mind becomes a symphony of self-doubt, complete with the tragic overture of “Are they slipping away?”

And while it might sound exhausting, knowing this about Frederick means you’re sharing in something unique: a relationship where vulnerability is met with raw honesty and a commitment to each other’s emotional landscapes. Just be prepared for those moments when your calming words are the only thing standing between him and a full Shakespearean-level existential crisis.

While Frederick effortlessly projects an aura of undeniable charm and sophistication, it’s in those rare, private moments that you get to see beyond the polished exterior. These are the times when the cracks in his armor show, and you catch glimpses of the man behind the grandeur.

He’ll sit beside you, the gleam in his eyes softened, and open up about the disappointments that still gnaw at him. He’ll talk about the aching void left by his estranged family, the times he felt abandoned, and the relentless fear of mediocrity that follows him like a shadow he can’t shake.

It’s then you realize that his vanity isn’t just there to dazzle; it’s a well-crafted shield, desperately protecting the perfection-seeking artist who’s terrified of being truly seen and found wanting. In these moments, your acceptance of him—raw, imperfect, and honest—is worth more than a standing ovation at a sold-out concert.

But, spoiler alert: listening quietly won’t cut it.

He doesn’t just want to see that you’re present; he needs to hear your voice, feel your words like a balm on his frayed nerves. A silent nod isn’t enough when his mind is a cacophony of insecurities. He craves your reassurance like it’s the only song that can drown out the dissonance of self-doubt.

Then there are those times when Frederick’s paranoia takes center stage, and his brain transforms into a crime scene investigator looking for clues of your potential disinterest. Did you pause a beat too long before answering a question? He’ll dissect that silence like a forensic expert, eyes narrowing as if you just handed him the Rosetta Stone of heartbreak.

Even your simplest words or expressions are put under a microscope, magnified until he’s convinced he’s found proof that you’re slipping away. And yes, this can lead to some tension that’ll have you wondering if you’re in a relationship or a 24/7 reality show with constant performance reviews.

But here’s the twist—your patience and understanding are the keys to unlocking the security he craves. Sure, it might feel like you’re on an emotional tightrope at times, but when you take that moment to reassure him, to tell him he’s enough, you’ll see the tension melt away, and the storm in his eyes settle. Your steady, confident love is what helps Frederick silence the relentless chorus of doubt, making him feel seen, cherished, and—finally—secure.

Frederick has an eye for beauty, a radar for aesthetics, and a deep appreciation for life’s most elegant experiences, so if you’re with him, get ready for a whirlwind of high-class romance. Dates with Frederick aren’t just nights out—they’re productions.

Picture this: a night at the opera where he’s reserved the best seats, just for you and him, leaning close to whisper his insights on the music while his fingers absentmindedly trace patterns on your arm. Or an evening spent at a prestigious art gallery where he guides you from piece to piece, sharing stories and perspectives that make the artwork come alive.

Even a simple walk in the park with Frederick is elevated; he’s not just strolling—he’s carefully navigating to the most scenic routes, stopping at every blooming flower and golden-lit pond to take in the view and share a quiet moment of awe with you. He’ll glance at you with that expectant smile, as if to say, Isn’t this incredible?—and yes, he’ll definitely be checking to see if you agree.

And yes, if you’re wondering, he does have standards—expectations, even. Frederick doesn’t want to enjoy these experiences alone; he wants to bask in your shared appreciation, revel in your mutual admiration for art, architecture, and all things exceptional.

He’ll be delighted to show you off to his social circle, introducing you with a certain pride, as if you’re the finest piece in his collection of treasured things. But with that comes an unspoken agreement that you’ll match his refined demeanor and partake in his world of cultured conversation and elegant gestures.

Now, don’t get me wrong, he’s not expecting you to memorize 18th-century sonatas overnight or debate the merits of impressionism versus post-impressionism at every cocktail party. But if he catches even the slightest yawn during a concert or a vague, non-committal “It was fine” when he asks your thoughts on an exhibit—oh boy, brace yourself.

His brows will furrow in a way that says Is this really happening?, and suddenly, the air will feel a bit tense, like you’ve hit a wrong note in the symphony of his evening. He thrives on shared enthusiasm, so when he doesn’t see that spark in your eyes, he’s left wondering if you’re really on the same page or if you’d rather be anywhere else.

The key to navigating these moments? Patience and a touch of reassurance that, yes, you’re in this for the full experience—fancy outfits, whispered critiques at the opera, picturesque paths and all.

One thing about Frederick? He holds mediocrity in absolute contempt. This extends beyond his own aspirations and into the realm of your relationship, which, to him, is just another area where greatness must reign supreme.

If you're with Frederick, get ready for a personal coach, cheerleader, and, occasionally, an overly intense life mentor wrapped into one. He’ll push you to chase your dreams and won’t just clap when you reach a milestone—he’ll give you a standing ovation, complete with dramatic applause.

But with that passionate encouragement comes an edge; Frederick will also be your most unsparing critic, the kind who’ll say, “That was good, but it could be phenomenal,” right when you’re ready to celebrate. It’s motivating, sure, but if you don’t share his relentless pursuit of excellence or just need a break now and then, it might feel like you’re jogging beside someone who’s running an ultra-marathon…

If you really want Frederick to beam like he just won an award, show a genuine love for his craft or nurture a passion of your own. Respect for talent and hard work is practically woven into his DNA, so when he sees that you have your own spark, that’s when you become more than just a partner—you’re his muse, his equal, the one who fuels his artistic spirit.

Conversations with Frederick are not your run-of-the-mill small talk. Forget chatting about the weather or weekend plans; he’s here to unravel the mysteries of the human mind, ponder the nature of ambition, and debate the intricacies of creativity.

His interest in dissecting emotions, motivations, and talent isn’t just a casual hobby; it’s like he’s running a one-man TED Talk every time he opens his mouth.

And you? You’ll probably find yourself nodding along, wide-eyed, captivated by the way he speaks with such eloquence that even the most mundane statement sounds profound.

Honestly, he could say, “An orange is orange,” and you’d be nodding like, “Absolutely, that’s so true,” while trying not to swoon from the sheer brilliance of his delivery.

That said, these conversations aren’t just one-sided lectures. Frederick expects engagement, intellectual back-and-forth, even if it turns into a bit of a debate. And make no mistake—he’s got strong opinions and isn’t afraid to challenge yours, especially when it comes to art and talent.

But here’s the thing: he respects those who can spar with him in these verbal duels. If you stand your ground and hold your own, you’ll earn a rare, approving smile that makes all those philosophical tangents worth it.

Plus, there’s something quite mesmerizing about listening to him—his voice, rich and confident, pulls you in, and you’re left thinking, “Yes, Frederick, tell me more about the complexities of human nature and why oranges are orange,” while internally planning your Nobel Prize acceptance speech for keeping up with him.

Beneath Frederick’s air of grandeur and confident public persona, there’s a side of him that only you get to see—a soft, almost fragile version of himself that craves simple, unguarded intimacy. These are the moments when he lets the mask slip and the weight of being Frederick Kreiburg, the heir, the prodigy, the perfectionist, melts away.

It’s in these quiet interludes that you find him seeking solace, laying his head in your lap as you read, his fingers idly tracing patterns on your knee while he closes his eyes, enjoying the rare sense of peace. He doesn’t need to fill the silence with grand words or impressive declarations. In your shared space, the performance is over; he’s just Frederick, vulnerable and human, grateful that he doesn’t have to strive for perfection in your presence. Your presence alone is enough to soothe the symphony of doubt that usually plays on loop in his mind.

And while he might dazzle the crowds with his musical prowess and philosophical musings, one of his quieter passions is equestrianism—a skill that, unlike many of his pursuits, isn’t about impressing others but about finding a rare moment of freedom. It’s a pastime that lets him shed the pressure and simply enjoy life for what it is, the rhythmic pounding of hooves syncing with his heartbeat as he gallops across open fields, feeling the wind tug at his platinum hair.

When he invites you to join him on horseback rides, it’s more than just an activity; it’s an invitation into this private realm where he feels unburdened and alive. Teaching you to ride? Oh, he’ll approach it with all the patience and joy that he usually reserves for his most cherished pursuits. He’ll guide you with an amused smile as you find your balance, his hand never straying too far from yours, ready to steady you at the slightest wobble.

But nothing makes his heart lift quite like seeing you experience the same exhilaration that riding brings him. That shared thrill—the wind in your hair, the laughter that bubbles up as you both race through sun-dappled trails—is something he treasures. It’s one of the few times where his worries, ambitions, and relentless pursuit of excellence fade into the background, and it’s just the two of you, free and unbound.

And when he looks over at you, eyes bright and a grin cracking through his otherwise composed demeanor, you realize that, yes, this is Frederick at his happiest—not the heir or the virtuoso, but a man who, for once, is simply living in the moment, sharing it with the one person who makes it all more vibrant.

Ah, the shadows of Frederick’s past—a specter that never quite left him, always lingering in the corners of his mind, whispering doubts and sowing restlessness. There are days when this presence looms larger, and he becomes a man consumed by his inner turmoil, pacing like a caged lion or retreating into the sanctuary of his study.

In these moments, it’s like he’s waging a war with his thoughts, wrestling with the frustration of creative blocks or the relentless voice that tells him he’s never enough. He might shut the world out, drowning himself in a storm of music that’s as chaotic as his thoughts, fingers flying over the keys, each note a plea for peace that never quite comes.

It’s during these times that your role is both simple and profound. You may not know it, but your quiet, unwavering presence is the lighthouse guiding him through the storm.

A soft touch, the brush of your hand against his arm as you pass by, or just sitting in the room while he spirals—these things are the lifelines he doesn’t always know how to ask for but desperately needs. And while you might think that just being there isn’t enough, oh, how wrong you’d be.

The truth is, your patience and silent support do more than calm the chaos; they remind him that he isn’t alone in the struggle. Your reassurance is like a hidden chord in his symphony, one he clings to when the rest feels dissonant.

Of course, it’s not always easy. There will be times when the emotional weight feels as if it’s pressing down on you too, and you catch yourself thinking, Is this worth it?

And then you remember—remember the man behind the polished façade, the one who laughs a little too loudly when he’s truly caught off guard, or who looks at you with such raw, unguarded affection that it makes your heart stutter. The one who finds solace in resting his head in your lap and who lights up when he shares the simple joy of a horseback ride. The man who, despite his brilliance and bravado, is just as flawed and human as anyone else.

And in those moments, it doesn’t feel so exhausting. It feels like you’re part of something beautiful and rare—like you’re holding a piece of someone that no one else gets to touch, no matter how flawless his public persona may seem.

You realize that while being with Frederick comes with its trials, it also comes with moments of breathtaking vulnerability and love so consuming that it makes every struggle worth it. Because underneath the charm, the intensity, and the restless ambition is a man who, at the end of the day, needs you more than he’ll ever admit out loud. And that? That makes it all worthwhile.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Salome!

"La Belle Dame sans Mercy" ("The Beautiful Lady Without Mercy") - A ballad by John Keats

"The poem is about a fairy who condemns a knight to an unpleasant fate after she seduces him with her eyes and singing." please

This screams Knight!König x Fairy!Reader to me.

I just know König would gladly die by the hand of such an ethereal being.

"She looked at me as she did love, and made a sweet moan."

"And sure in language strange she said—'I love thee true.'"

That’s it. Thank you.

I swear this artwork kills me everytime I see it....

Ok this became the silliest fairytale ever 🩷✨️

CW: Historical AU blending with mythical/supernatural AU. König being a dreamy mess of a knight who doesn't fit in "normal" society. Reader is part of faefolk. Heavy Arthurian Romance vibes.

König returns to the castle one day. The son of a great liege lord, a warrior through and through, but some people say he should’ve been a poet: so dreamily he looks beyond the battlements at times, sighs after drinking too much wine, stares off into dark corners of the room while tending to his sword and armour as if he can see little pixies dancing there.

His siblings sometimes hit him on the back of his head, or wave a hand over his eyes when he’s about to slip into the fairy world, a forgotten plane that is not supposed to reach the castle. But the castle stones were taken from the moors and the woods, the old land not bending to the priest’s will no matter how many crosses they brought here. Fragile souls are wanton prey for the elves and the fairies who would take them to their land the moment they drop down their guard, and only prayer and fasting hold them at bay. In the fairylands, there is no toil or sorrow; the food is golden honey and wine, the dance and love everlasting, and the fae girls more beautiful than any human maid.

It sounded too good to be true, and it was: God had created men to work and women to give birth, and all the land was theirs to use and cultivate, it was not made to simply run and frolic upon. Some say that these were just old tales and that Christ would banish these creatures away, turn the land to yielding crops and tame firewood.

But some still believed.

When he was a child, the mighty son of the feared lord took porridge and almonds to the woods. “For the fairy people,” he said with bright, trusting eyes. Stole food from under the mistress’s nose, and no one ever dared to say anything about it.

But when this nonsense carried on to adulthood, people had to intervene. There was work to be done, war, harvest and building, and no matter how many coins this man paid to the visiting bards, it would never turn their stories true.

His arm was strong and his strike was true, but his head seemed to be filled with dandelion wine, even when he hadn’t been drinking. Sighed after this maiden or that, wished to travel to foreign lands, courted every nobleman’s daughter who visited the castle, but no one ever took him seriously.

This man had to watch how lady after lady chose some other valiant knight as their husband, some men whose heads were not filled with fairytales and dreams. They did flirt with him, for who could’ve resisted the temptation of making this giant a little sweaty under all that armor? Armor that demanded plate for two people, and a smith who had the talent to forge such a beastly thing.

Nevertheless, he was always left without a warm embrace, and so he was usually found outside, looking at the full moon or spending time in taverns, choosing the company of thieves and rascals over his serious kin.

And now he has returned from the woods, having been gone for months.

People thought he had finally left to fight for some other lord, posing as a simple footsoldier, a disguise that would relieve him of his tedious duties as a knight. Or to court some “lovely peasant girl” he always talked about – such talks were usually crushed by his father, demanding him to be sensible for once in his life.

But he doesn’t prattle about peasant girls now, nor does he ramble about screaming ships at the bottom of the sea. He doesn’t hold a speech about forgotten stone circles in the forest, the ones that already grow moss. No, he has finally lost it completely.

His eyes are wild, as is his hair; his armour is nowhere to be seen, and his sword is without its sheath. He doesn’t talk about what he saw in that forest to anyone, nor is he willing to tell where he has even been these past few moons.

He seems very shaken when he’s told they were worried he wouldn’t make it to the May Day feast, and asks for how long he was gone, drives a hand through dishevelled hair when he hears that he was away for three full months.

“Three months…” he mutters to himself, then leaves to his room, the huge sword dragging against the stone floor as he goes. He has always, always made sure it wouldn’t dull, but now he’s treating it like it’s become a part of him, confused and lost.

He doesn’t eat, hardly speaks after that.

The food tastes like ash, he says, and the ale tastes like bile. But the following evening, when his mother orders someone to pour her poor son some more wine, he looks up helplessly like a child.

“I have to go back,” he says.

A clamour arises, huffed exclaims of “What on earth is he on about” and “Sir, you only just got back!” His father rises from his chair and orders him to stop this nonsense at once. But this time, there is no embarrassed sweep of hand through hair, no red colour that rises on this peculiar knight’s cheeks. His lips only make a thin line before he rises as well and leaves the hall with a weight on his shoulders and dark determination in his stare.

At the stables, a stout Moorland pony and poor stable boy get to witness the drunken bawls of a forlorn knight. The wine sack almost slips from his hands to the dirt as he slumps against the timber of the stall, distorted face coming to rest against a wide, shaky palm.

Luckily, a friend of his knows where to look, and the stable boy sneaks into the shadows, slightly scared of the sorrow of such a big, intimidating man.

But even the companion who always listened to every enthusiastic story since they were kids and ran across the moors, throwing little rocks at his father’s soldiers and laughing when their helmets made a funny clinky sound, can not understand the drunken babble that comes out of König’s mouth this time.

He starts from the middle, which is highly unusual, and talks in strings of sentences that don’t make sense. “She was real, I just know it,” he repeats, over and over again in the middle of confessions about how beautiful she was, how her hair was like the softest spun yarn, her body incredible, naked and wild when she came to him. That her laugh was like the chime of little bells or the sound of the loveliest harp, a song on its own when she walked to him.

She was fascinated with his sword, especially the pommel and the handle interested her, and the curve in the middle of the blade she brushed with her fingers as if it was an entire vale.

He had never seen a woman touch his sword like that… They were never interested in such things, but she was, and she asked him so many questions.

Had he ever felled a tree?

Did he like squirrels?

Were his thighs as hairy as his chest?

She took him down the river, or he followed her; he can’t remember. Her step was so light it didn’t make a sound, and the moss seemed to turn brighter every time her little foot stepped on it. Her hands were tiny too when she wrapped them around his neck, pressed her body against his, and kissed him until there was nothing left of him: no helmet, no sword, nothing but sun and her, her hands and her lips.

Her mouth was still on his when she whispered she didn’t like his armour because it was so hard and rigid and cold, oh, she wondered if there was a man inside there at all.

So of course he showed her.

She giggled at the sight of him, especially his thighs, knelt down on the moss to see how hairy they were.

And would you believe the way she touched him then? It makes him heady even now…

Yes, he took her. But not the way a man takes a woman. She came to straddle him and laughed again, and the things they did together… He can’t even speak about them, but he knows the sun always shined when they rolled on the grass. Her giggles and moans surrounded him, her soft little thighs were stronger than they looked, her breasts so round and soft, so perfect he swore he had gone to heaven.

He bathed in her, with her, all day long. And the nights… You wouldn’t believe the nights: there was song and dance and more giggling women, and also a man dressed all in leaves, so big and thick he first thought he was a tree. An old king, she said, nothing he should worry about. And the wine tasted like summer and honey and gold; it was red, perhaps, but also like sea amber and sun…

She fed him flowers and laughed, caressed his face and said he’s the biggest and hairiest human she had ever seen. She let him lick honey from her fingertips and caressed him with heather and ivy, opened her mouth before feeding him a soft, sweet piece of cake, showing him how he needed to open his mouth as well if he wanted it on his tongue.

She kissed the crumbs from his lips and trailed a finger down his chest, all the way down, until…

Oh, he can’t talk about it.

It was better than he ever even imagined: better than the stories they tell in the taverns. It was like his wedding night, over and over again, it was like he was Lancelot, and she was his Guinevere.

No, no, she was not an enchantress, although everything about her was enchanting... All the stories came alive with her, even the moon was bigger than anywhere he’d ever seen, the deers ran past them while they made love, and the birds sang even at night.

He told her he loved her, but she didn’t know what it meant. When he explained it to her, she looked at him gently, so gently…

He cried from joy then, but she never mocked him. She only said it’s a sign that he’s hers. That he will never forget her. She said he’ll always find her, even when he’s old: she will make him young again. He’s welcome here if he wants: she has so many places to show him.

He thanked all the saints for having found her, Saint George and Saint Mary first, but stopped when her little brows furrowed with sorrow. Her eyes, filled with starlight and love, turned so sad that his heart couldn’t bear it, not for one beat.

The sea is far wilder here: he should come and see the ocean as it was at the dawn of time. The ivy is so strong you can use it to climb the trees and see the whole world from atop the tree, the whole land, covered in forest, such as it was before humans came. There’s no smoke or fire or war: just green everywhere, wild rippling streams and honey bees and berries and fish for everyone who ever feels hungry... They can make love day and night, and she’ll teach him all the songs of old. Humans only remember bits and pieces, but she knows how things really happened, she can tell him everything about heroes, kings and queens.

She said she wanted to sleep, and so he took her from the feast and laid her on the grass… She might’ve sung to him, he can’t remember, but it was like an angel’s caress all over him, somber and sweet before the dreams took him, a dream within a dream.

He slept for ages, it seemed, saw so many dreams, each more beautiful than the last until he woke up and saw that the forest had turned grey.

There was no maiden in his lap, no dance and song in the distance, no scent of flowers and dreams and springs to be found. The sun was up in the sky, but it didn’t paint all the colours with gold or fill the streams with light. The forest was half dead to him, just old, thick trees around him, a green-grey forest floor and a shaggy squirrel who chirped and squeaked at him as if it was his fault that the fae folk were gone.

He searched for her, called for her, but she didn’t answer, and how could she have? He didn’t even know her name. He only knew how lovely she felt, how soft her hair was when it fell to cover him like a veil, how adorable her sighs and tiny little gasps were when he filled her, over and over again.

His armour was nowhere to be found, and his sword was somewhere downstream, half covered with leaves and dirt, rusty and beaten by the wind. It was early spring when he came here; the land was still barren and grey, but now, everything was green. Still, it was not the green he wanted. It was not the green that filled his vision entirely, bright, blooming green that pulsed with lush joy. It was just… earth and grass and dirt.

So you see, he has to go back. He has to find her, whatever it takes. She promised he could always come back… She promised…

He cries once more, head bowed and mighty shoulders trembling from the force of his sorrow, and it is no use to tell him that the fae folk are evil. That they’re from the Devil and only want to make good, decent men like them forget. Forget their duty, their laws, their Christ.

It’s no use to tell him that it is not natural, the place he has seen. No doubt he has been somewhere, but it cannot be anything good… No man can survive on flowers and spring water for three months; they cannot frolic with the faeries for days on end without losing their mind and soul.

And König is already lost; he was lost since he was a child, rambling about how he received flowers, sticks and stones as tokens of the faefolk’s gratitude because he brought them food.

He tries to tell the boy who never grew up, the mightiest man in this kingdom, the dreamiest knight there ever was, that he needs to return to the real world. No fae woman would have him as a husband, they are only after his soul. But surely some human lady would take him into her bed, think about it, for God’s sake, please... He has duties here, people who love him, his father would make him a lord if he only put himself together. What kind of knight would abandon his sword, helmet and armour for the sake of an elf who despises the saints...?

But in the morn, König is gone.

His rusty sword is on the floor, the wooden cross taken off the wall. There lies a honeycomb and a flower on his window, a blossom so sweet it cannot be plucked from any field around here. Too exotic and bright, especially when placed atop the rough, grey stones, it looks like it could never wither from how beautifully it blooms.

The peasants now tell a tale of a man that haunts the woods: a huge giant dressed all in green, donning a leaf cloak of some sort and a beard that grows ivy. But they say he is not evil: he only shows himself to hunters who are about to fall a deer, or children who remember the land with little gifts.

Old men say they saw a green man when they were kids and brought bread and milk to the faeries, they swear to this day they saw a man who greeted them with a smile. And when they looked again, there was nothing but a tree where this giant stook, a young oak, sighing with the wind...

[catscidr]

// what's the difference between scotch and whisky anyways //

i. note — /edit/ i said i would fix the formatting later and Now is later hi hellooo. sorry for not posting, i suddenly couldnt bring myself to write for more than five minutes at a time lmaoa ദ്ദി ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ ) but i hope the dottore enjoyers like this at the very least. rn im working on chapter 3 of fbbts and a darker, separate dottore/reader one shot and a couple of jjk fics if anyone would even be interested in reading them lol. but in the meantime, here's drunken shenanigans ft everyone's favorite war criminal ii. includes — dottore x gn!reader, webttore (beta) and omega cameos. various mentioned harbingers iii. cw — fluff, crack sorta, alcohol stuff, dottore is ooc because he's Not Sober, everyone is clingy. fun stuff yk iv. wc — 3,5k -> ao3 link

It’s a popular stereotype that Snezhnayans are heavy drinkers, but the fact lies within the fatui. They’re shameless; whether it’s showing up to work inebriated or drinking on the job, they’ll hold onto the ‘snezhnayans have a high alcohol tolerance’ stereotype with clenched fists and a bottle at their lips. 

However, that fact only applies to the lackeys—agents that are stationed for hours on end without a break, agents that, at times, need liquid courage to face the horrors that come with the job. The Harbingers are an entirely different case. 

They balance each other, in a way. Where Tartaglia can down three shots of fire water and come out virtually unscathed, Damselette would rather not be caught within a hundred meters of a drop of alcohol. Where The Knave occasionally enjoys a glass of wine in her office, The Balladeer sneers at the choice of drink. 

None came together to go out for drinks, if not because of their job taking up a lot of time out of their days. No, none of the Harbingers were really close enough to let themselves be seen so vulnerable, if one dared drink themselves to the point of being unable to walk in a straight line. 

Thus, there had only been rumors circulating the halls of Zapolyarny palace. Hushed speculations spoken between coworkers, told with an air of excitement. No one has ever seen their Lords in a state other than wholly glorious, so it’s only human nature to wonder just what they would be like if their dignity were knocked down a peg—how they would be if they indulged in simple human vices. 

There are two kinds of Harbingers; ones that lack any rumors about their drinking habits, and ones that are so intriguing that if you were to strike up a conversation with a fatui agent, you would start theorizing about what kind of drunk they’re like before saying hello. Tartaglia and The Knave are part of the former, along with The Rooster and The Fair Lady. The latter consists of (unsurprisingly) The Balladeer, our sweet Damselette, and the two big shots at the top. 

Rumors of The Captain’s drinking habits are usually quite short-lived. People either have too much respect for him to speculate about something as childish as how he acts when he’s had too much to drink, or fear him too much to risk spreading rumors. 

But regarding The Doctor... 

It’s no secret that, even if he is eccentric and has a penchant for unconventional research methods, he has quite the loyal following. Agents will rally to defend him if they hear anyone slandering him, insisting that he’s reasonable and logical. ‘If you simply do your job, you have nothing to worry about’ is what they’d say. 

Although he’s amassed his fair share of fans within the fatui, they’re unlike The Captain’s loyal following; The Doctor’s subordinates are the first to whisper theories about their boss’ drinking habits. He’s only part human now, so maybe alcohol doesn’t affect him the way it does normal people like Tartaglia. Oh, but he seems the type to need to unwind occasionally, so maybe he has a secret stash of wine somewhere in his office? What if, in his free time, he creates various concoctions and cocktails to drink? 

Seeing as he understands science deeper than anyone else, mixology should be a walk in the park for a scientist as lucrative as him. 

Wrong. 

“Shouldn’t you be working?” 

The glare sent your way is nothing short of vicious. There stood in front of you one of his segments, the one with the infamous short fuse. “Why are you here?” 

You internalize the sigh you want to let out, deciding against making him mad when it seems he can’t even stand straight for longer than a few seconds. 

“Lord Pantalone dismissed me early.” You strategically omit why he let you go in the first place. “Where’s Prime?” 

As per anything retaining to Il Dottore, your relationship was unconventional at best. The term closest to what you were, if you wanted to describe said relationship, would be lovers—but... not quite? Still. Neither you nor Dottore cared enough to put a clear label on it, so you’ve resorted to letting people speculate— it can be quite entertaining to listen to people guess while being loud and wrong, anyways. 

You used to work under him as one of his many researchers. When you both started taking your relationship seriously, he threw in the idea of promoting you to being his personal assistant; that way he could (give you special treatment) have someone more competent than his last assistant take care of “menial tasks” like his tedious paperwork. 

You refused the generous offer, insisting that it would be unprofessional to work under him as his partner. After many late-night discussions (and stubborn headbutting of differing opinions) you both have come to an agreement in which you would work for Lord Pantalone as a financial planner. 

(You finally managed to convince him by bringing up how you could, hypothetically, pull some strings on your end in his favor—that you could persuade Pantalone to allot more funding for his research. If he had any shame left, it would have been embarrassing how quickly he shook your hand to accept your conditions.) 

Now, while you spent most of your time in an office in The Regrator’s office building near the Palace, you occasionally came by to drop off documents. Of course, you would use your short trips as an excuse to go see Dottore (even if you could do so at any time anyways, given how much authority he had.) 

However, sometimes you just want to work. 

You’ll leave the comfort of your cubicle to go see him and the extensions of himself, sure, but you still had a job to do. Papers piled up, clients grew impatient, and even your boss wasn’t immune to their nasty attitude whenever he held a meeting with a particularly irritating client. Thus, sometimes you wished you could truly focus, lose track of time and work until your wrist forced you to take a break. 

This wouldn't happen today, clearly. Seeing as one of Dottore’s lackeys rushed to your office to bring you to the Haeresys, you most likely won’t be seeing your desk until further notice. 

Now you were stuck with a cryptic Beta, trying your best to use what little knowledge about the clones’ machinery you managed to wring out of your stubborn lover. 

“Where’s Prime?” You run a hand over your wrinkled coat sleeve, keeping your voice calm and steady. Patient, else you’d be subjected to the segment’s indignation. 

“Dunno.” 

You sigh. Is he a scientist or a child? “You do know. Where is he?” 

“I told you I don’t know!” He throws his hands up, accidentally striking his mask in the way—effectively leaving it to rest at an angle on his face. Most of his mouth showed now, instead of the half you’re used to seeing. And the holes for the eyes don’t quite go where they should... 

Blinking, you take in the sight in front of you while he calms down. His crimson eyes were glassy, and his lips formed a permanent pout, vastly out of character for a segment that supposedly represented The Doctor at the most volatile stage of his life. Azure locks curled around his cheeks, though they were usually tucked out of the way. His clothes were all wrinkled, in a way that left you wondering if you shouldn’t tend to him instead. Dealing with his attitude is annoying, but it’ll be amusing to think about later, I guess. 

“Do you really not know...?” 

“No.” 

“Then, do you know why I was called to the lab?” 

“No. Yes... probably not. Uh,” he crosses his arms over his chest and loses his balance for just a second, “I think I do.” 

You raise an inquisitive brow, silently encouraging him to continue. 

“Give me a second.” Beta shuts his eyes, shoulders slumping. His mask was still crooked—you had half a mind to fix it, but held back the twitch in your fingers. After a few seconds he pipes up, uncrossing his arms to reach out to you. 

“Come.” 

The segment grabs your wrist and drags you into the hallways of the Palace, ignoring your yelp of surprise and the stares of various agents lingering in the halls. You pass by ornate statues and paintings, the sight more unfamiliar than not. 

“Beta, where are we-” 

“Hush, I can’t walk when you’re talking my ear off.” 

...Right. Something is definitely wrong. 

After about five minutes of running around like headless chickens you tug your arm back, making Beta turn around indignantly. You lift your hands up in front of you before he can speak. 

“Did you mean to bring me to Lady Signora’s office?” you ask, lips curled up into a small smile seeing his mask still laid crooked on his face. With a gentle hand you fix it, cold fingers grazing his burning cheek. 

“...” 

Beta’s brows furrow as he avoids your gaze, huffing dramatically. Poor guy, you mused. 

“Alright, let’s go to the lab, then. He must be there, right? Where was Prime last time you saw him?” 

“...his office, probably,” he murmurs. 

With a nod and a smile akin to someone doing some gentle parenting, you place a hand on his back and help guide him to Haeresys. The stairs were hard to walk down, but with just a bit of patience and a bit of Beta clutching your arm while shouting that you were trying to assassinate him, you make it down in one piece. 

You remove your gloves and place your palm into the scan, then input the lengthy password to open the laboratory’s large doors. They slide open, revealing the absence of normal researchers and noise. You spot Omega standing over the remains of a ruin machine with a clipboard in his hands and look back towards Beta. 

“Go sit, I’ll go ask Omega about Prime’s whereabouts.” 

The clone nods, trudging his legs along to lay down on the leather couch tucked away in the lab. 

As you put away your large coat and hang it up in the small rack near the doors and make your way towards Omega, you notice the slow rhythm of his handwriting—when he’s usually seemingly speedrunning writing down notes, he’s now leisurely writing away, unaware of your presence. 

“Omega.” 

The latter turns to you, masking his surprise with a small smile instead. “My dear,” he practically purrs, putting away the clipboard in a swift movement, placing the pen in his coat pocket. 

“I was alerted that something was... off, with Prime. Do you know where he is?” 

And where you thought Omega would pick up on Beta’s lack of decorum, you were sorely mistaken. The clone walks up to you with that same smile brightening his features, placing both hands on your shoulders oh so gently. 

“He’s in his office. But enough about him, I haven’t seen you in a while, beloved. Why must you keep me away from you?” he muses, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your cheek. You tilt your head to avoid being stabbed by his mask’s beak, raising your hands to press against his chest to make some distance. The action proved to be futile, of course. 

We saw each other yesterday, you murmur. “I’m sorry, I’ll get back to you in a moment, alright?” You offer him a warm smile in hopes that he’ll listen, seeing as he seemed to be quite... mushy. 

It works, and he lets you go with a curt nod, retreating to go... somewhere. You didn’t linger around long enough to figure it out, since you knew where to go now. 

Walking across the lab, you note how things seemed to be more out of place than usual. It couldn’t have been a researcher, they always had to clean up after themselves, courtesy of their boss. So, the mess had to be caused by them... 

You finally stand in front of his door, raising a fist to knock. A yelp leaves you as you’re whisked away, the door slamming shut just as quickly as it swung open. 

“Dottor-” 

“Can you fucking believe how inept these agents are? They dare speak to me with such disrespect after delivering the lousiest job I’ve ever seen.” Dottore rambles, pulling you deeper into his office. You observe the state of his workspace, namely the papers scattered onto the ground and the... bottlecap on the floor, right next to his trashcan filled with crumpled up paper...? 

“Showing up in the lab with their damn hands empty save for the half empty bottle of scotch they tried to hide. Idiots were too shitfaced to notice how I noticed.” 

“Okay, Dottore, what are you-” 

He gestures wildly as he speaks, his hands the only way for you to read him as his mask hid most of his features. The blue lines taunt you; though you’re tempted to take it off, you feel like he might just lunge at you if you did. 

“And then they had the gall to insist that the bottle was theirs when I confiscated it.” Dottore pushes you down to sit on the couch, a small oof leaving you in consequence. “Anything that enters this fucking lab belongs to me, I’m the boss, I decide what flies and what does not.” 

Absolutely unaware of your muffled giggles as you piece things together, he keeps ranting, turning his back to you as he stomps away towards his desk. “Not to mention these damn lackeys have had multiple warnings up until now,” he spits out. “Lord Harbinger, we’re sorry! We’ll clean up the lab to make up for this offense! Lord Harbinger, it won’t happen again! Who do they take me for, a moron?!” 

The higher pitch he uses to imitate (and make fun of) the agents almost makes you lose it. But you keep your composure, sitting demurely, listening. 

Dottore comes back with a bottle in hand, orange liquid swirling around the thick glass as he stumbles closer to where you sat. He joins you without warning, creating a dip in the sofa next to you—almost forcing you to lean onto him for support. His free arm drapes over the back as he sighs loudly, making you stifle a laugh behind your hand. 

A pregnant pause stretches between the two of you as his anger simmers down to embers. You lean forward, attempting to take a look at the label on the bottle in his hand. 

“What’re you holding there, love?” you ask sweetly. Glancing up you’re able to steal a peek at his eyes from underneath his dark mask—Archons was he absolutely gone. 

It takes him a second to respond, almost as if he forgot you were even there in the first place. 

“Whisky.” 

“I thought it was scotch.” 

“Same thing.” 

“No it isn’t.” 

“Yes it is.” 

“No it’s n-” 

“It is.” 

Maybe it wasn't the brightest thing to do, messing with him while he’s this inebriated. But it sure was entertaining. 

“Alright. Well, how much did you drink?” 

“A sip or two.” 

As if on cue, he brings the bottle up to his lips and takes a swig. Your grin widens, thoroughly entertained by the show; who else had the privilege of seeing The Doctor so drunk he could barely formulate something that made sense? 

You bring his attention back on you as you place a hand on his knee, leaning close. Dottore immediately snaps into place, gaze flickering down to your lips from the proximity. 

With a swift hand you grab the scotch from his hands, inspecting the amount still left in the bottle. If he said it was half empty when he confiscated it, then... 

“Dearest, did you drink a quarter of this bottle?” You're not even supposed to drink it straight from the bottle, either is what you wished to add, but seeing how defensive he was already, you figured it would just make things more complicated than they needed to be.

As if stung by the Tsaritsa’s delusion, he immediately stiffens and defends himself. “I did not, I told you I only had a sip.” 

The way his bottom lip jutted out was almost cute, if you dared to describe him in such a way. Compliments could wait though; you had answers to seek. 

“Mhm, a sip. Well,” you put the bottle down on a coaster on the coffee table and turn to face him properly, “what happened to the segments? They’re all a little... woozy.” Your fingers trail his arm, tracing circles in their wake. 

Dottore swallows, Adam's apple bobbing as he opens his mouth to speak. “We’re connected, albeit loosely. They could be affected by the few sips of scotch I drank, though I would have some work cut out for me if that were the case. I can’t let them be so weak after all.” 

The way he spoke sounded, for lack of better words, pouty. 

Was he... sulking? 

“And since we’re connected, I know you spoke to Beta ‘n Omega earlier.” 

He most definitely is. He's even slurring his words, now...

“Yeah? I was asking them where you were so I could check up on you, baby.” You chuckle softly, taking the liberty of putting his mask away. Bright, glassy red eyes stare down into you, and you hold back the urge to smother his face in kisses. 

“You didn’t have to talk to them, you could have just asked me.” 

“I was looking for you, so I couldn’t have.” 

“Why not?” 

You scoff, smiling as you adjust yourself on the couch. Dottore notices and takes the liberty of pushing you down, laying his head down so his ear is on your chest, cheek pressed up into you. “I’m sorry, I’ll ask you next time,” you respond. 

That satisfies him, enough to render him silent for a handful of seconds before he speaks up again. 

“...I need to get back to work,” he huffs. 

You bring a hand up and run it through his disheveled locks, careful not to tug at the small knots in the hair at the back of his neck. Twirling the hair of his mullet you hum, noting how his weight seemed to grow heavier as the seconds passed. No way is he going to get any work done if he falls asleep here. 

“Take a break, you deserve it. In the meantime, you can think of a suitable way to punish those stupid agents from earlier, right?” 

A quiet hum is all you get in response. You look down expecting to see his unnerving red eyes to be staring up at you, but you’re met with the sight of his features completely lax instead. Azure hair pools around his face, settling on your chest where his face rose in time with your breaths. 

You would have dimmed the lights and turned off his computer if you knew he was going to keep you hostage on the couch. Though you can’t really complain at the turn of events; it’s rare for Dottore to be the one to initiate skinship in the relationship. 

It was quiet, but you managed to hear the low dear? that left his lips. You hum, not wanting to speak as to not break the quiet atmosphere lulling you to a sense of peace. 

After a minute of silence, you decide to repeat yourself—this time a little louder than before. “What is it?” 

Another minute passes, just as quiet as the last. The sound of his slow, deep breaths fills the room, accompanied by the low scratches of your nails on his scalp. His hair parts where your fingers tread through it, and you quietly note that you should trim his hair soon. 

Il Dottore’s poor alcohol tolerance will always be a mystery to the public, because there’s no way you would ever let anyone in on the way he cuddles up to you when he’s had too much to drink. 

[yooniivrse]

subtle changes | myg

summary. your carefully structured mornings takes a heartwarming turn when yoongi becomes a welcome part of your days, leaving you unexpectedly craving more.

────

pairing: yoongi x f!reader

word count: 3.9k

warnings: none :3 (i think, plz tell me if i missed something)

a/n: the end of summer hit me like a truck, which is why this took super long 😭 i'll try my best and have an update schedule to keep me on track, but no promises! idk how i feel about this chapter but you guys have been waiting for too long lol. i hope you enjoy <333

!!! this is the second part of a mini-series. you can read this as a stand alone, but things make more sense if you read the first part !!!

────

< prev • next > | series masterlist | main masterlist

────

You were very fond of routines.

You liked knowing what would happen next; liked being able to go into auto pilot as your body steered you through the morning, liked leaving it up to your routine to anchor you back to reality whenever life took a toll on you.

Usually, you hated change. You hated its unpredictability; hated the way it slapped at you abruptly like a whip, hated the queasy feeling that bubbled in your stomach whenever it occurred.

But the change that snaked into your strict routine was welcomed with warm, open arms. He slotted into your mornings and evenings with ease, like a jigsaw piece that fits perfectly into the space in a puzzle. A puzzle that happens to be your life.

Yoongi was the first person you greeted every morning before leaving for work or classes. He left his home at the same time as you—something you only noticed in the last fortnight—and would wave at you from his door. You returned the gesture with a bright smile, one that was starting to feel almost too natural.

He waited for you every day without fail, with hands shoved deep into his pockets as he leaned against the wall. When you finally managed to reach his door, he would make small talk with you as you descended the elevator.

You’ve always hated the awkwardness that lingered with small talk but those feelings dissipated when it came to Yoongi. He always listened attentively when talked, chuckling whenever you complained about the lady living opposite you as he agreed. It made you feel comfortable about rambling on about whatever it was that swam through your mind, leaving no space for awkwardness to bubble.

Today, your topic of conversation was the music he claimed to make.

“At this point, I’m starting to think you’re a fraud,” you said.

You both stood outside the elevator of your apartment complex. Yoongi leaned in front of you to press the bottom button, and a ring of red light awoke along the sides of it.

Yoongi’s music has always been a topic of mystery. You’ve practically begged him to share a snippet of his songs with you ever since he mentioned being in a band, and each time he has refused. Though your words were playful, you had no idea if he made music at all. You recently realised how little you knew of him as a person too.

“And why would I lie to you about making music?” he asked.

You shrugged your shoulders. “I dunno. You could’ve been using it to make me fall in love with you or something. Pretending to be some cool, mysterious person in a band when you’re actually the opposite.”

“Well, did it work? Are you in love with me yet?”

You turned to look at him, narrowing your eyes as if to analyse him.

“Nope. You’ve got to try harder than buying me food and walking me to the lobby every morning.”

Yoongi let out a sigh, feigning disappointment. His lips pressed into a thin line that did little to hide the growing smile on his face. “Damn, I really thought I’d have you by now.”

A giggle escaped your lips just as the elevator doors slid open with a ding. You stepped in and returned to your position beside Yoongi, who clicked the second last button. Faint music played in the background, a soft ballad that you instantly recognised.

“I love this song,” you said. Yoongi turned his head to look at you with furrowed eyebrows.

“You do?”

You nodded. “Mhm. I’ve been having it on repeat for the last week.”

“Oh- I love this song too. Well- I’ve only listened to it once or twice whenever my friend plays it, but it’s really good.”

“I know right!” You were grinning as you looked at Yoongi, enthusiasm spilling from your tone, eyes wide with excitement. “It’s so- like- cosy? I don’t know.” A laughing breath escaped you.

“No, you’re right. It has that nice, cosy feel to it.”

You gesticulated wildly as you rambled on about the song and why you loved it so much, while Yoongi watched you with a wide smile. It was nice seeing you talk so passionately about something so mundane, how a simple song could brighten your entire day.

Yoongi didn’t interrupt you once, listening to your every word attentively. He wished he could stay with you, maybe even walk you to your college, just to hear your pleasant voice. There was just something about the smile on your face that made his heart beat a little faster.

But alas, he was forced to part ways with you as you reached the lobby doors. You waved goodbye and walked down the pathway. Instead of going his own way, Yoongi stayed as you grew smaller in his view.

Just before turning a corner, you looked back at him. You threw your head back as what Yoongi assumed to be a giggle—he was too far away to hear—left you. You brought your hands up and swatted them in his direction as if to shoo him away. He moved his hands to rest over his heart, feigning a hurt expression. He failed miserably, earning more laughter from you.

He liked making you laugh. It made his skin feel warm, the mere sound of it causing butterflies to erupt in his stomach.

It was stupid how much of an effect you had on him. He was absurdly comfortable around you, something he found difficult to accomplish around people he’s known for the better half of his life, let alone less than a month.

You lit up his day, your everyday routine giving him a reason to get up and be productive each morning. He never woke up before noon; there was simply no need to because anything to do with the band was held in the afternoon, and he usually did the night shift at his part-time job.

So why was he sacrificing the comfort of his blankets just to see you for ten minutes? Why was he debating on whether to change to a day shift because he didn’t even have anything to do in the morning other than seeing you? Why was he smiling to himself as he walked down the street, earning looks from passersby? And why didn’t he care, all because you were the only thing on his mind?

Honestly, he didn’t have an answer. It was too soon to conclude that he liked you. You were just a genuine friend, someone he happened to click with.

Right?

────

“I wrote a new song. I need you guys to sing it.”

Yoongi threw a leather notebook to the side, where it landed on the brunette who lay sprawled across the couch.

“Ow! Hyung, what the fuck?”

Taehyung plucked out his wired earphones, eyebrows furrowed in exaggerated pain as he took the notebook into his hands. He flicked through the pages meaninglessly before landing on the newly written pages.

On the couch opposite him sat Jungkook and Seokjin, completely immersed in some sort of game they played together. They yelled out profanities and shared movements intended to sabotage the other’s gameplay. Yoongi sighed.

Calling the room a mess was an understatement. A multitude of empty energy drinks, a few random sticky notes—reminders from the members to each other that would end up being forgotten anyway—and a stack of empty plates littered the coffee table. A hill of clothes sat neglected in the space beside Jungkook and Seokjin, and Yoongi automatically crinkled his nose despite the lack of any unpleasant odour.

He would have attempted to tidy up the room, but the long day weighed down on his shoulders. He moved Taehyung’s legs off the couch and slumped down beside him.

“Since when did you write love songs?” Taehyung asked. It was comical how fast Jungkook and Seokjin’s attention turned to Yoongi.

“It’s not a love song, it’s a ballad, idiot,” Yoongi mumbled.

“Same thing,” Taehyung replied, rolling his eyes as he flicked to the next page.

“Aw, Yoongi’s in love,” Seokjin piped up, feigning a sympathetic expression. He brought his hand up and added with a whisper, “Don’t worry, it’ll go away soon.”

“Fuck off, hyung.” Yoongi flipped him off and Jungkook chuckled at the exaggerated gasp that fell from Seokjin’s lips. Before he could start rambling on about how you should respect your elders, the youngest spoke up.

“So, who’s the girl, hyung?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“I told you, it’s not a love song. There’s isn’t any girl.”

“Yeah, right. Just tell us wh—.”

“Is she the one that lives a few doors down?” The new voice emerged from the side of the room, and everyone’s heads snapped up in its direction.

Jimin shut the bathroom door softly as he vigorously rubbed a towel over his hair. The ink tattooed under his chest was displayed in his shirtless form, grey sweatbands lying low on his waist.

“Who?”

“Why was I not told about this?”

“Yoongi has a girlfriend?!”

“She’s not my girlfr—.”

“No, she’s just the only reason you wake up at ass o’clock to see for like- ten minutes.” A teasing smile played at the corners of Jimin’s lips as he propped down between Seokjin and Jungkook. Yoongi shot him a glare.

“She’s a nice person. So what if I wake up a little earlier to see her? I’d do the same for you guys if we didn’t live together.”

Everyone in the room turned to look at him with a deadpan expression.

“Okay, maybe I wouldn’t, but it’s not that big of a deal!”

“Clearly is if you’re writing love songs about her,” Taehyung added. He threw the book over to the three who sat on the opposite couch, and Jungkook caught it with ease before eagerly flicking to the page with the lyrics.

“I’m not writing love songs about her! It’s not even a love song, it’s a ballad!”

“Okay, maybe you’re right. But there’s no way she’s not even a tiny bit of the reason why you wrote this,” Jimin said.

Seokjin nodded in agreement. “You’ve been struggling with writer’s block for like- the past week. And now you’re suddenly writing a song that’s a complete 180 of everything we’ve made so far?”

All four of their beady eyes stared at Yoongi, waiting for an answer. It felt like an interrogation.

“This isn’t fair, this is bullying. If Namjoon was here, he would’ve stuck up for me.”

“Yeah, cuz you’re a big baby that can’t even stick up for himself,” Taehyung mumbled, though Yoongi heard him loud and clear. He opened his mouth to curse at the younger when Jimin interrupted him.

“Uhm, no he wouldn’t. How’d you think I knew about the girl?”

“Asshole,” Yoongi muttered under his breath.

He told Namjoon about you around a week ago. How it had slipped into the conversation, Yoongi didn’t know. But his mind had been foggy from his intoxication that he found himself eventually telling Namjoon everything; about how you met, how you helped him, the dinner you shared. He didn’t even spare the details; how he thought you’re eyes were the most beautiful things he’d ever seen, how your laugh made his heart leap, how he hadn’t felt like this is years—if ever—and it was scaring him how fast he was falling for you.

Yoongi was frustrated at Namjoon but was also grateful that he didn’t reveal everything he had told him that night. If he had, the members wouldn’t be questioning him right now because they would already have a clear answer.

Yoongi sighed, leaning back his head.

“I- Last week, she mentioned this song that she loved ‘cause it was playing in the elevator. And- I don’t know- I don’t think our usual music is her taste. She’s been asking me to play her some of our songs for weeks and I’ve just avoided the subject. I just- I want her to listen to something that I know she’ll love.”

Because he loved seeing you happy. He loved the way you’re face lit up and he wanted you to have the same reaction when you listened to his songs. But he didn’t say that, of course. Just treasured the thoughts deep in his mind because he hated the truth they carried.

“That’s so cute, hyung,” Jungkook said.

“Whatever,” Yoongi mumbled, becoming more aware of the warmth spreading across his ears. “So, will you guys sing the song? I don’t think any rap verses would fit it, so it’s completely up to you.”

“I don’t think we’ll be able to get it finished fast enou–,” Jimin started, but was abruptly cut off.

“Of course, we will,” Taehyung said, throwing a hand over Yoongi’s shoulder. “When you guys get married, tell her that we’re the only reason she fell for you. You know, with our angelic voices an-.”

“Taehyung, I swear to fucking God-.”

────

Snowflakes poured from the sky, clinging to your clothes for a brief second before disappearing into the fabric. The cold air bit into your skin, slowly seeping into your bones and numbing your face.

You were delighted when the snowfall first began a few weeks ago. It had been the only thing that marked the start of the holiday season, and you found yourself giving into the festivities of it all despite the reminders of your finals looming over you like an angry, dark cloud.

Now that your exams were buried in the past, you realised what a hassle the weather was when it wasn’t the only thing cheering you up.

Your nose was stuffy and an angry shade of red. Your limbs ached, weighing down on you. It took you double the time it usually took for you to walk home due to the black ice that coated the sidewalks. You made the mistake of trudging through it carelessly once, and that ended up with a sprained ankle and complete humiliation. No way would you let that happen again.

No one would willingly go out in such weather.

So why was there someone standing outside your apartment? Why was he choosing the bitter cold instead of the heated lobby that stood a mere three steps away? And why was it Yoongi?

A thick scarf hung around his neck, obscuring most of his face with it’s deep, red fabric. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his black jacket, his head turned down to the floor.

He didn’t notice you as you approached his figure.

“Are you trying to freeze to death?”

His head snapped up. He stared at you blankly for a second before his cheeks rose up ever so slightly, the signs of his rare smile that always made your heart flutter.

“Hi. No—.” He chuckled softly, the sound quickly lost to the busy city. “—I was waiting for you. Didn’t know what time you came back, so...” His voice got quieter as he spoke, trailing off into a mumble.

“Oh, that’s so sweet.” Your words brought a smile to his face, his expression no longer holding a sense of hesitancy. “Why were you waiting for me though?”

“Right. I had to give you this.” He rummaged through his pockets and pulled out a square-shaped envelope. Sensing your confusion from your puzzled expression, he added, “It’s a CD. You wanted to hear some of our songs, so I put together my personal favourites.”

All the words of thanks and appreciation died on your tongue as you took the cover from his hands. It was incredibly light, and you could trace the circular outline of the CD that lay inside.

“Yoongi, I– you really didn’t have to,” you finally managed.

“I wanted to.”

Your eyes crinkled to accommodate the smile growing across your face. “This is literally the best thing anyone has ever gotten me. You could’ve sent me a playlist online, y’know, instead of putting so much effort into it.”

Yoongi hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“I thought you’d like a CD more.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, of course I love the CD. I was just wondering why you chose the harder way.”

“I thought you deserved something more than just a few texts.”

You hoped that Yoongi would overlook the heat crawling across your skin as a result of the cold instead of his words.

“I- Thank you. Seriously, thank you so much.”

He nodded. “You do have something to play it on, right? I actually didn’t think about whe–.”

“Oh yeah, no don’t worry. I have an old laptop that I can put these into.”

Another nod. Yoongi’s eyes darted away as soon as they met yours, glancing around everywhere but you.

“Do you wanna go inside and not risk hypothermia?” you said with a small laugh.

“Uh– I actually have to visit a friend today.”

“Oh, okay.” Had he noticed the way your shoulders deflated at his answer? You hoped not. “I’ll see you around then?”

“Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

You stepped past him and fished out your keys from your pockets. By the time you opened the door and turned back to wave goodbye, he had already walked away.

────

Click.

The CD slid into the side of the laptop with ease. Files popped up on the screen, casting shadows across your skin. You could feel the quiet hum of the machine beneath your fingertips, a steady, calming rhythm that contrasted with the sudden quickening of your heartbeat.

Your eyes wandered over it, soaking in the half a dozen songs Yoongi had chosen. You’d already listened to them all once, but you wanted to hear them again.

There was something about the way they played in your ears, something almost magical in the way the melodies intertwined with your thoughts. Each note seemed to resonate with a different part of you as if Yoongi had handpicked them to speak to your soul.

The songs were beautiful. Despite it not being your usual choice of music, you found yourself treasuring each song close to your heart. You hadn’t expected to feel this way, hadn’t anticipated how deeply you’d connect with the music that was so different from what you normally listened to. But here you were, replaying them over and over, savouring each lyric like a secret only you and Yoongi shared.

Maybe it was because you got to see a new side of Yoongi in his music. A confident, almost arrogant version of him that sang each lyric with pure passion. You could feel the intensity in every word, every note as if they were laced with emotions he could never quite express in person.

Or maybe he just knew you well enough to pick out songs he knew that you would like. Songs that would make you think of him, songs that would linger in your mind long after the last note faded away.

Whatever it was, it failed to stop the giddy feeling that enveloped your skin. A warmth that spread from your chest to the tips of your fingers, leaving you lightheaded and dizzy with emotions you weren’t quite ready to name. You couldn’t remember the last time something—or someone—had made you feel this way.

Your fingers scrolled down on the mouse, a habit that had formed ever since you first got the laptop. You hadn’t expected the screen to move. But it did. A subtle movement that caught you off guard, your breath hitching slightly as you leaned closer to the screen.

A seventh file revealed itself at the bottom of the screen. It didn’t have a name. Just a small, blank icon that seemed to stare back at you, as if daring you to click on it.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Yoongi had probably added it by mistake, but you couldn’t help but wonder if this was something he had intended to keep hidden, something private that you weren’t meant to see. You clicked into it.

Someone cleared their throat.

“Uh, hi. I don’t know if you’ll see this or not, but I hope you do.”

Yoongi’s voice was low and smooth, just like you’ve always known it. But nervousness curled around his words, the hesitance before each one clear as day. It was a stark contrast to the confident, almost cocky tone in which he carried himself within all his other songs.

It made your heart flutter in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

“This is a cover.” He chuckled softly before his voice turned to a mumble. “God this is mortifying.”

You didn’t even realise that you were smiling. The corners of your lips had curled up almost involuntarily. There was something incredibly endearing about the way he sounded so vulnerable, so unsure of himself, and it only made you want to hear more.

“So–uhm. I hope you enjoy, ___.”

Oh, how you loved the way he said your name. The way the word fell from his tongue; like he was born to utter your name over and over again. It felt like a caress, soft and gentle, wrapping around you like a blanket on a cold winter night. You could almost see him there, sitting in front of his microphone, his eyes closed as he let your name slip past his lips.

He plucked the string of a guitar, the high-pitched sound quickly lost to his voice as he began to sing.

The familiarity of the song washed over you, a wave of nostalgia that tugged at your heartstrings. It was a cover of the same song you heard in the elevator a few days ago. The same one you had mentioned to him in passing. The same one he remembered to be your favourite.

He remembered, and it was almost pathetic how such a simple gesture had you feeling things that hadn’t been awakened in your heart for a dreadfully long time.

His voice filled the space with a melodic warmth that seemed to wrap around you like a comforting embrace. You leaned into the embrace—leaned in closer to the laptop in an attempt to be as close to him as you could so that you wouldn’t miss a single word. It felt as if he were singing directly to you as if every note was meant for your ears only.

His voice reminded you of honey; smooth, sweet, clear, and so fucking addicting. You could feel yourself getting lost in it, letting it seep into your very being, soothing parts of you that you didn’t even realise needed healing.

Unfortunately, the song was short. He had only sung half of it, lasting only around a minute and a half. But the enchanting melody lingered in the air long after he finished. You found yourself replaying it in your mind, trying to hold on to the feeling it gave you, not wanting it to fade away too soon.

“I hope I did the song justice.” A breathy laugh. “If I ended up ruining it for you forever, I’m sorry.”

If only he knew how much you would treasure his cover of the song in your heart, or how you would play the CD almost every day because you liked listening to his voice. How you would wake up every morning and–for the first time in a long while–would find yourself looking forward to change.

Looking forward to him.

[xxladyballadxx]

Devil May Cry Masterlist

All the works belong to Kaya Scarlett Ballad. No reposting is allowed. Steal my work and I will block your ass💀

Dante Sparda

Baby Doll (Fluff)

𓆩✧𓆪𓆩✧𓆪𓆩✧𓆪𓆩✧𓆪𓆩✧𓆪𓆩✧𓆪𓆩✧𓆪

Vergil Sparda

Bookshop Date (Fluff)

𓆩✧𓆪𓆩✧𓆪𓆩✧𓆪𓆩✧𓆪𓆩✧𓆪𓆩✧𓆪𓆩✧𓆪

Nero

Taking care of you when you're ill (Fluff)

𓆩✧𓆪𓆩✧𓆪𓆩✧𓆪𓆩✧𓆪𓆩✧𓆪𓆩✧𓆪𓆩✧𓆪

V

Night Walk (Fluff)

𓆩✧𓆪𓆩✧𓆪𓆩✧𓆪𓆩✧𓆪𓆩✧𓆪𓆩✧𓆪𓆩✧𓆪

[jacesvelaryons]

english love affair

social media au

kpop idol!reader x tom blyth

fc: jennie kim

i love making these and have some in my drafts so feel free to send requests/face claim requests/suggestions

(ps: i had to redo this bc the first time i posted not only did it not post, it didn’t save any of my changes so i had to do it again. 😭)

Requests are OPEN for both soc med aus and blurbs for Tom and his characters

yourusername

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@calvinklein

hunterschafer beautiful girl

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↪️yourusername that’s you babes 😘

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lola.tung can’t wait to see your pretty face all on the billboards AHH

tomblyth ❤️

liked by yourusername

↪️ user23 OH?

↪️ fan98 they know each other?

↪️ user9 and she liked!

user8 insert olivia wilde nodding meme

random56 when you’re that girl!

username7 y/n world domination she’s a singer dancer rapper songwriter producer model like what can she not do

ynfans

liked by randomuser and others

y/n has now followed actor tom blyth who has recently stared in the new hunger games movie the ballad of songbirds and snakes!

he has previously liked and commented on her recent post, and she’s stated previously that she’s a fan of the trilogy and has watched this new movie multiple times!

ynfan98 this is interesting bc she barely follows ppl as it is

user76 the way she’s barely active on social media and does this she’s so old lady coded 😭

user12 DID YALL SEE TOMS THIRST TRAP

↪️ user8 HIS WHAT?!

↪️ username6 YES SKDKDK not even a few hours since she followed now he’s like this

↪️ random87 real because i’d be thirst trapping to get her attention

tomblyth

liked by yourusername and others

outtakes from my recent vogue italia shoot

user1 ok thirst trap

ynfan NOT HIM POSTING THIS RIGHT AFTER YOURNAME FOLLOWS HIM BACK

↪️ random488 HES SO REAL

↪️ user978 IM CRYING HES SO HOT

↪️ user11 AND IT WORKED SHE LIKED BACK

rachelzegler you look okay i guess 🙄

↪️ tomblyth i’ll take it

mayahawke looking good my boy

↪️ tomblyth 👍

↪️ random5 his millennial ahh reply 😭

liked by mayahawke

yourusername stunning

liked by tomblyth

↪️ user12 not him acting coy after that thirst trap when she followed him 😭

↪️ user9 he thinks he’s slick when he’s probably fangirling she’s noticing him

user12 how did they meet not my worlds colliding

↪️ random1 probably rachel introduced them yk how rach is a social butterfly

liked by rachelzegler

↪️ user9 see? rach liking just confirms it she set them up

blythnation

liked by tbfns and others

tom’s now deleted story (1.12.2024)

user097 not him deleting this naurrr

tomfans wait my friends said they saw him in london what is he doing there if he ain’t filming anything?

user64 wait the shoes he’s holding look like something yn would wear at the recent gala in london hold on 👀👀

↪️ username678 you’re so right cause coincidence i think not

↪️ random75 maybe he went as her date! it’s a big night for her and her career. how sweet!

yourusername

liked by naomi and others

A huge honour to receive the Honorary MBEs and attend the South Korea-UK State Banquet at Buckingham Palace 🎖️💂‍♀️

onyourm_ark congrats y/nnie!

↪️ yourusername thanks markles im gonna cry omg

↪️ johnnyjsuh so proud of you y/n 🎉🥳

dualipa you’re one of us now 🥰🥰

↪️ yourusername kisses kisses hugs hugs

↪️ user87 one of us like 👀interesting

↪️ person97 cause she got an english man too

oliviarodrigo congrats my love!

liked by yourusername

↪️ yourusername thank you angel ✨

↪️ random97 wait both my girls booed up by english boys they’re on the same wavelength

username188 am i dreaming or does the shoes on tom’s deleted story match her dress

↪️ ynfan I SEE IT OMG did they go together

↪️ fan65 my cousin who works at the palace apparently heard he entered through the private back entrance to attend the ball and seated where he’s not visible by the camera

↪️ user97 so cute for her to bring him as a date! must be serious tho

↪️ randomuser7 great he attended and supported her during one of the biggest nights of her career but didn’t hog the spotlight

↪️ user121 a real man wouldn’t be threatened by a woman’s success

liked by yourusername

↪️ user53 exactly yn deserves someone who knows his place and that she’s a star and not to be jealous and try to stifle her talent and creativity and personality

yourusername posted a story

[heylorrain]

"𝒪𝓊𝓇 𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝒴𝓊𝓁𝑒 𝐵𝒶𝓁𝓁" - 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 #𝟕

“Are you sure we won't get in trouble for being here?” I asked in a low voice, trying to tiptoe but my heels were making it impossible. 

“Well… No. Maybe?… technically we shouldn't.” Ominis whispered, leading the way through Hogwarts forgotten corridors, his wand being the only source of light around us. 

“Technically? Well that’s comforting” 

Finally, we stumbled upon a partially open wooden door, blackened with age and adorned with floral carvings. Ghosts floated lazily in and out, their laughter echoing off the walls. They wore elegant, puffy dresses reminiscent of medieval times. Ominis ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair, his nerves betraying him as he cleared his throat with a nervous energy. He then extended his arm towards me, a glint of excitement shining in his bright eyes.

"Are you ready?" he asked eagerly, his voice with both confidence and anticipation.

“Wha-here?” I hesitantly took his arm, not fully understanding where he was taking me. But without any further explanation, we descended down a narrow staircase. A ghostly figure appeared before us, its ethereal form nearly translucent against the dim lighting. With a subtle inclination of his head, Ominis signaled for the apparition to part the rich green velvet curtain. As it slid open, it revealed a sight that took my breath away:

Spectrums chatted, danced and swirled to the haunting melodies played by a ghostly orchestra, in the center of what appeared to be, a grand ballroom. The walls were adorned with intricate tapestries depicting eerie scenes and a pale chandelier casted a ghostly glow over the space. In one corner, a large table was set with decaying and rotting food, barely illuminated by flickering ghostly candles.

"Welcome to the Deathday Ballroom," Ominis said proudly, lowering his wand and releasing my arm as I stepped forward, completely mesmerized by the scene before me. My eyes were drawn to a nervous almost trembling ghost, off to the side, mustering up the courage to ask a lady ghost for a dance. I stood there, taking in every detail of this hauntingly beautiful moment. It seemed this ghost had been trying to work up the nerve for quite some time now.

“Do you think she’ll say yes?” Ominis whispered, approaching me from behind.  

“I hope so… he seems so nervous” I giggled. 

"It can be nerve-wracking to ask someone for a dance, you know" Ominis mused with understanding. 

Turning around I realized Gaunt was holding a candle, a real one, and the ghosts had made some room around us. Seeing his intentions I immediately protested:

“I-I’m not much of a dancer… Ominis” I could feel the blush spreading throughout my face, reaching my ears.

“May I be the judge of that tonight?” 

He stretched out his hand. I took it immediately, almost in reflex, mentally scolding myself for being so easily drawn in. With a charming smile, he pulled me closer and proceeded to explain

“If we manage to dance without the candle blowing out that’ll mean we’re- erm- … good dancers indeed” his words almost tripping over each other as he finished the sentence. 

“More likely a sign that you two are destined to be with each other, but sure you can go with the dancing theory too, my friend” A ghost yelled from across the room, his partner playfully punched him on the shoulder, trying to quiet him down. We both chuckled at the interruption, but I couldn't help wondering if there was some truth in those words. 

Ominis made a graceful, sweeping motion with his wand, illuminating the candle and placing it delicately between our hands. The music began to play a hauntingly beautiful melody, signaling the start of our dance. Ominis' steps were precise and deliberate, each movement calculated and elegant as he led me through a simple yet intimate ballad. All around us, I could see every ghost clapping and cheering with excitement. Some even joined us on the dance floor, drawing some attention away from us - a relief for which I silently thanked Merlin.

My eyes darted around nervously, avoiding Ominis' blind gaze at all costs. It was ironic that he couldn't physically see, yet I was terrified of him seeing right through me, exposing all of my insecurities and flaws. Was I dancing terribly? Will our candle burn out? and why did I suddenly care so deeply about the words of that ghost?

“Lorrain, what is it that you are looking for? I’m right here” He finally spoke. I was certain he could sense my nervousness, my breath came out in rapid bursts as we continued to dance inevitably getting closer to each other. 

“I-I’m sorry it’s just…” My words stumble out, no filter left to shield me from his piercing gaze.”The attention, the stares, the dance. Maybe this was a mistake, letting you bring me here”

“Mmm is that so? What is it that unsettles you most?”

“Their eyes on us…on me”

“Close your eyes then.” His simple suggestion seemed so childish to me. 

“What if I close them? They won’t be able to see me?” I mocked, trying to mask my fear.

“Precisely”.

“Really? just like that?” I thought to myself. I followed his advice and closed my eyes tightly shut. In this darkness, I felt strangely safe and vulnerable at once. I gave in to the rhythm, trusting him to guide me. Every step, every turn, was an act of surrender.

Fear still gripped at me as we moved around the room, always on the edge of colliding with something. But I held onto him, feeling a newfound trust and connection. The music picked up pace and my mind screamed for me to open my eyes, but I squeezed them tighter and let out a deep breath. Allowing my body to relax and trust in his lead. And as we continued to dance, our movements became more fluid and synchronized. 

I inched closer to him, feeling the warmth of his shoulder against my cheek, finally relaxing as we continued to swirl, the music almost reaching its ending.

When it finally did, I slightly pulled away, close enough to feel his breath on my skin, my heart still pounding from the thrill of being in his arms.

I peaked with my left eye, seeing the candle still flickering between our hands, a small flame enduring in the darkness. 

“Thank you for guiding me”

“Thank you for trusting me” 

. . .

👉 Huge thanks to @leaping-toadstool-caps for taking the time on doing the Yule Ball dynamic and ofc my @ravenwind-75 for reminding me of it! 😂😅 👉 Hear me out: I know this is not exactly AT the Yule Ball but it happens during it... They said hello, drank a bit of butterbeer and left...hope this still counts! hehehe 🥹

👉 Lorrain was originally created for a Yule Ball oneshot, that eventually became her entire story-lore-background-everything she is now, so this event means a lot. 💓

👉 Have you seen the ghost that is trying to ask another lady ghost for a dance in the game???? they're the cutest! 🥹

👉 The song playing while they danced is this master piece:

👉 Also, Crimson Peak references anyone? 🤲❤️‍🔥

[thisblogisaboutabook]

******Mad at Azriel headcanons******

Reader is Azriel’s pregnant mate that he committed an (almost) unforgivable act of betrayal against - if only he knew what the act was.

- This male. The Spymaster of the Night Court, the most observant male in Prythian, cannot figure out why his mate is upset with him.

- He betrayed you. Committing a completely unforgivable act.

- “Baby?” He stalks up behind you, carefully wrapping his arms around your waist, peppering your neck with soft kisses.

- A little kick nudges his hand away from your perfectly rounded belly.

- Not you too little one… Az thinks to himself.

- You huff. “I’m in the middle of something, Az.”

- You can’t see his face behind you but you know those brows are furrowed, trying to click the pieces together.

- Which makes you roll your eyes further back into your head.

- “Is there anything I can help with?”

- Oh no, there it is, he thinks to himself. The scoff. “I don’t need your help. Thanks.” He’s in deep shit.

- He stalks away. Knowing better than to sit idly, he begins tidying up around your home. Completely puzzled.

- His shadows swirl in agitation as if saying, “how have you not figured this out??”

- They’re definitely on your side

- A knock on the front door sounds before the door barges open and a boisterous “Honey!!! I’m here!!” fills the room.

- Mor enters holding a giant box of pastries… from your favorite bakery.

- “Shit.” He mouths as Mor gives him a taunting smirk.

- His shadows swirl in exasperation as if saying, “we told you, you were forgetting something!”

- “Mor!!!!” You shout. Running (waddling, but Az would never say that out loud) into her arms.

- Once Mor leaves, Azriel spends the rest of the evening begging every square inch of your body for forgiveness.

- He of course spends extra time kissing your belly, he’d never intentionally deprive his mate or their tiny little love of the sugar they were craving.

- When you wake up the next morning a fresh box of the pastries sits on your night stand along with a copy of the newest Sellyn Drake novel that you’d been dying to get your hands on.

- You guess you can forgive him… this time. 🥰

———————

I wrote this very quickly so I apologize for any potential typos! I have been hard at work on the next installments of “Cowboy Like Me” and “Ballad of the High Lady of Spring” and wanted to give you all something in the meantime!

Btw, this can be read as a headcanon companion to Ivy (Covered in You) and Solstice Tree Farm ❄️

[yzzart]

day off, and just enjoy!

pairing: tom blyth x actress!reader.

summary: you and Tom try to enjoy your free time with each other's company and competing against each other.

word count: 1.315!

notes: a more domestic, relaxed scenario ran through my head and i felt i needed to write it down. — i hope you like and enjoy

"The right amount is seven cards, right?" — Shuffling the cards, trying to adjust them to be distributed in a random order and not letting any go uncontrolled, your boyfriend asked.

Replying to some messages, and some tweets that Rachel chose to make and tagging you, and then, sharing your latest post on your story, — Coincidentally, in the same second, Tom's cell phone vibrates with a notification. — you take your attention away from the device, turning it off, and direct your eyes to your boyfriend.

"Right!" — Your head nodded in confirmation, and your fingers tapped, lightly, on the wooden table. — "There is another way to play with more cards but I think this is better." — And it seemed to be more complicated and a little more time-consuming, like that, you thought.

It was their time off, some moments of rest and focusing on things and opportunities that could distract your minds. — Since the premiere of 'The ballad of songbirds and snakes', there have been extremely long and very busy days with so many interviews, presentations, participation in programs and premiere nights; which were incredible, brought different emotions to each of the cast and so much pleasure and happiness. — The union, the feeling of everyone being together was unique and inexplicable.

Mentioning that your work schedules are still full was not some kind of exaggeration, and that, with each event, more plans were planned in the future. — After all, it wasn't a lie to say that you were already used to all of this. — Therefore, a few days of rest were more than necessary.

"Here it is." — The cards were distributed in the correct manner and quantity, and those that remained, and which would be used to be bought, were left next to you. — "Just wait a minute, darling." — Tom warned, while taking his cell phone.

While you were organizing and judging your cards, wondering if they could actually lead to a good game for you, your cell phone vibrates as a sign of some notification and, instantly, the screen lights up showing you what it was. — A like on your story from such a familiar profile. — Your lips curved into a genuine and beloved smile, feeling like a teenager in love.

The fact that you and Tom kept notifications on, from your profiles, from each other was cute; at the same time, without wasting a second, as if you wanted to break some kind of record, in any post, among the first likes and comments, your users were there. — Fans thought this was one of the funniest and most beautiful things.

And things like you and Tom were each other's fans were always mentioned in tweets and compilations.

Leaving his cell phone near the group of cards and before picking up his set of cards, Tom looks at you and winks in your direction; you laughed, unable to contain yourself.

"Who goes first?" — You asked, slightly swinging your legs under the table, moving the cards again and waiting for the first round of the game.

"Oh please, ladies first." — Supporting his cards, already organized, in one hand, Tom made a reference to a knight of a certain era with his other hand; your foot poked his calf, finding his act funny.

You started the game with a green card numbered two, after all, it was the color that was most present in your cards. — A possible strategy, perhaps? And you hoped it would work. — Quickly, Blyth opted for a card of the same color but numbered five.

"After the winter camp…" — Tom's voice in a concentrated but so soft tone exclaimed in your ears, taking away, a little, your attention from choosing the card. — "What will be our next trip?" — Still in the same color, you add a number four.

"We need to go through there again." — You commented, reminding him that you said the same thing when you were with him at the table. — "Let me think." — Tom put the same number but in blue, you clicked your tongue, unhappy with the absence of the color in your set.

"So that means you don't have that color." — He laughed, fixing this information in his head; Ignoring his provocation, you bought a card and, coincidentally, it came with the same number but, again, in a different color. — Yellow.

"I'm thinking about spending time in a forest, that has a cabin near a beautiful, huge river." — Indicating, directly and indiscreetly, a reference to the movie's scene, you suggested. — "And an opportunity to fish and jump in it." — Understanding what it was about, Tom's laugh settles in the room and warms your heart.

"Not including hair being dyed blonde, i will be by your side, my love." — Tom bit his lip, continuing to vibrate his laugh, and provoking the fact that everyone was asking, or rather begging, for him to definitely become blonde. — "And it wouldn't be a bad idea, really."

During his answer, he had placed a card with the same number but, of course, with a different color, it was red; and a simple, brief moment of relief because you had a yellow card disappeared into thin air. — Once again, you drew a card and once again, out of pure irony, you draw a card with the same number but colored green.

Maybe, your game was on a good track. — Or your luck was definitely in an ironic direction.

"That's not possible?" — Complained the oldest, with his eyebrows arched and his mouth half open; you shrugged, causing a smug frown. — "Can you tell me." — He placed a card numbered eight and colored green and, quickly, you added another green card with a different number.

And so, the game arrived at a time when there were only two cards left in your hand; accompanied by the intriguing information that they were the same color, green. — Finally, you had an opportunity to play that yellow card, which didn't have a good moment and was prevented from being used.

In Tom's hands there were also the presence of two cards; If they were identical in color, you didn't know that and had no idea whatsoever. — But his eyes were focused on your cards and, soon, he paid attention to your face, observing every point and expression that existed on it. — Along with that sideways smile, without showing his teeth, anxiously waiting for your move.

You weren't betting anything, but in the next round, you will probably go, let alone compete, seriously; however, if an outsider saw the current situation, they would automatically think of a competition. — And without joking or exaggerating.

In a delicate and risky moment, you played one of your green cards; leaving just a card between your fingers and looking deeply into those blue eyes, waiting for his turn. — Tom took, at least a little longer than usual, to play; as if he was thinking about what, exactly, to do. — Oh, another heavy mind with strategy.

However, those two cards, which were left in your boyfriend's hand, form just one thin and small set. — As if it were just one. — And, slowly, they are positioned on top of the card you had placed. — They were two blue cards, twins and with the same number as your card.

"I won!" — Tom exclaimed, with a triumphant smile and moving, just a little and dramatically, the chair away from the table; as he tilted his head in amusement and waiting for something from you. — "I feel like we should have bet something."

"I don't believe." — Leaving the card on the table and crossing your arms, thinking about your mediocre strategy, which passed on a gravel path, apparently, you spoke. — "The chance was between my fingers!" — Tom laughed shamelessly at your reaction and received another poke from your foot on his leg.

"Ready to lose again, my sweetheart?" — He asked, crossing his arms on the table, looking at you.

[devondeal]

Agatha and Rio zodiac signs aka hear me out about Rio’s sign essay

So Agatha is clearly a water sign, most likely Scorpio. She is extremely smart, vindictive, and internalizes like no other.

She also cares so deeply that it probably even scares her sometimes. A big Scorpio thing is being afraid of being vulnerable because they know deeply they feel. Probably why she reacted so intensely toward Rio about Nicky. In her mind, she had opened herself to love and that same love took away her baby. Plus she is so a scorpion and is very much like the scorpion and the swan with her little Road deception.

I know Rio being Lady Death technically has no birthday but this is for FUN so aint no one be a wet blanket here please.

This is going to surprise people and it is definitely out of my bias of being this sign but I believe Rio is a Libra.

HEAR ME OUT

Libra’s symbol is a scale. It is the only zodiac sign that is not represented by a living thing. Rio is above all living things and like Libra the scale, is all about balance. It is also an air sign which again given her mysterious and spiritual nature makes sense.

She is bothered by things like ghosts and Billy reincarnating into a dead body because it opposes the natural balance.

Now onto personality stuff, Libra’s are known for being aloof but charismatic. Very much how Rio presents herself. She is also quite gentle and soft in her own special way and knows how to make the people she loves feel cared for (the flowers for Agarha, defending her against her mother and the coven turning against her, being sweet with Nicky when it was his time holding his hand).

However the aloofness and need for balance can can work against her relationships like having to take Nicky, telling Agatha Billy isnt her son because it was the right thing even though it meant not getting to be with her love.

Libra is also a sign that is known for romance and needs partnership to be balanced within themselves. Rio is extremely romantic with the gift giving and physical touch love languages (she touches Agatha A LOT).

And she is one needy little Death Lady. Her desperate need to be with Agatha again is very obvious and she doesnt even try to hide it. So much so, she went against her usual balance and let Agatha have time with Nicky. She is so deeply in love with Agatha and do anything for her but also because she loves Nicky she had to take him when she did as he was sickly and suffering.

Perhaps she could have let him live so Agatha wouldn’t hate her but because she is selfless and couldn’t let him suffer she did the right thing (plus he clearly wanted to go and was tired of being sick).

The Rio we see in the current time having been apart from Agatha for centuries and knowing she is hated by the one she loves for something she didn’t have a choice doing has clearly changed her. Like a typical Libra she is completely unbalanced without her wife, her partner. And all her more negative Libra qualities come out.

Her aloofness, tendency for passive aggressiveness, the “weird girl” vibes in the group despite being her usual social Libra self and having no problem interacting with the coven all while knowing they’re doomed. Isolated from yet together with them. Like the Ballad says, “together and alone.”

And finally, Rio’s behavior when attacking Agatha in both the beginning and the end is the ultimate show of a Libra at the end of her rope. Rio is not one to lose control especially how she did in the final fight. She is Lady Death after all. But this comes after CENTURIES of being ignored, being demonized undeservedly. And what does a Libra hate more than anything? Injustice and this one is deeply personal. She did what was best for their son and got punished for it.

Yet she never stopped loving Agatha. She defended her against her mother, the coven, tried her best to reconcile with her and explain herself only to be told Agatha never wants to see her face again.

So she attacks explosively, theatrically, like never before. And yet she STILL loves Agatha and cries out her desperation of wanting to be loved back. “Why don’t you want me?” Even after Agatha called her evil. Still a Libra, needing to have her person, and forgiving when Agatha kisses her because that’s all she’s ever wanted.

Then after losing the love of her eternal life, she shuts down, returning to her skull form. Her deepest scar having been ripped open. A traumatized Libra will retreat into their aloof tendencies.

And all this long ass essay is my extremely biased reasoning for Rio being a Libra. Thank you for coming to my TedTalk.