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threeacttragedy · 2 days ago

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Entry 11: The One About the Heart of the Ocean

My father is a big history buff. He fancies himself a bit of an expert about the U.S. Civil War, U.S. Presidents, and World War II. In fact, he’s gifted me with the Useless Knowledge of which four U.S. Presidents were assassinated while in office (Lincoln, Garfield, McKinley, and Kennedy – you’re welcome for that little addition to your own Library of Useless Knowledge).

But, more importantly, my dad has instilled in me the importance of a timeline. The idea that, if you’re collecting information, it’s vital to keep it in chronological order, that way you can look at it, (try to) understand it, and theorize about what happened before and after an event. If the facts are out of order, the conclusion you reach may be in error.

My father and I also like to solve True Crime together. When he visits, we spend hours on the porch studying some random, usually cold, true crime event. We timeline the shit out of it, connect the puzzle pieces together, and exclaim in the end, “We’ve solved it!” I suppose that is part of what keeps me interested in Lukola – not that there is anything criminal in Lukola, except perhaps the “Single White Female” that pops up behind Nicola from time to time – I just enjoy the game of trying to put the pieces together.

Lukola has become a rather intriguing puzzle, don’t you think? It’s definitely one to which I do not have all the pieces. I do, however, enjoy collecting the information and chronologizing it, and now I find it enjoyable to scribble my thoughts out on Tumblr.

So, how did I get here?

Well, it started with boredom and ended with a timeline.

My first entry to the timeline?

July 20, 2024.

What happened on that date?

Well, nothing spectacular really, except JVN posted –

HOLD UP!

HOLD THE FUCK UP!!

OH SHIT!!

YES!

YES, you guessed it! After blowing JVN off for at least three, maybe four, posts in a row, I’m finally getting around to dedicating an entire entry to Their Royal Highness.

JVN is such a fascinating creature. I mean, you get beautiful, witty, and intelligent wrapped into one human being. Oh, and they are kind of a catty bitch, too, and who doesn’t love one of those? That’s why they're the Heart of the Ocean on the USS Lukola; they just give off this very rare blue diamond vibe. Well, that, and because something they did marks the focal point – the heart – from which the rest of my timeline branches.

*I will cut in here to note that I am referring to JVN as they/their in this entry as their Instagram bio indicates they accept “they/he/she.”

Okay, back to July 20.

On that date, JVN posted to TikTok their version of the Charli xcx “Apple” dance. You know that annoying TikTok trend that took over our summer? Yeah, that’s the one – the same one Antonia tried doing – she just couldn’t pull off the JVN version of it. Dear girl couldn’t come close to matching JVN’s “enthusiasm,” and JVN’s version was only made more enjoyable in that they were seemingly mocking Antonia!

But, all’s fair in love and war, right?

JVN’s bestie, Nicola, had already spent the entire summer subtlety combating Antonia over social media. The vibe in the fandom was that Antonia was always trying to one-up Nicola, with Nicola always coming out the victor. I’m sorry, Antonia, you just can’t beat some perfectly timed BTS drops.

So, why did JVN’s TikTok post intrigue me? It wasn’t because it was that amusing. It was because they’d done something I hadn’t noticed before – they’d taunted Antonia on a public forum.

Curious, that.

Now, I’m not saying it was the first time JVN mocked Antonia, but July 20 was the first time I noticed it. That date is the heart of my timeline, but it does not have to be the heart of yours. We can all start at different times but still reach the same conclusions, so long as we keep the information in order.

You would think one wouldn’t mess with the “girl friend” of your best friend’s “best friend,” at least not publicly. But, here was JVN shamelessly mocking Antonia on TikTok. And, just so we’re clear, the public opinion of what JVN was doing with this TikTok is available to view in the comments of their TikTok post. It wasn’t just me that came to this conclusion – and JVN has left these comments up for four months at this point.

JVN’s “Apple” dance was only made more interesting the following day – July 21 – when they included it in their Sunday Dump post on Instagram.

And, Nicola liked it.

Hmm, things were becoming curiouser and curiouser.

Let’s not even pretend that Nicola isn’t street savvy and didn’t understand the context of that video. And, let’s definitely not underestimate the length of her claws.

To be honest, I hadn’t paid too much attention to Lukola since mid-June. It was an “it is what it is” thing for me. Even though I believed the relationship between Luke and Nicola was complicated (see my first blog for that story), Luke had also apparently disappeared into the summertime sun with his friend group, which included Antonia.

Something about JVN openly making fun of Antonia, and Nicola, at the very least acknowledging it with an Instagram like, made me realize something in Luke’s situation must be shifting.

What have I said about little changes? That deviations in modus operandi are what make people start giving the side-eye to a situation.

And, side-eye I did!

I started paying attention to JVN and, on July 25, they posted a series of photos on TikTok and Instagram showcasing “What I would wear if you invited me to your…” We will fast-forward through all the slides until we get to the last one, which read, “…just got dumped and going to take 8 shots dinner at Lupe’s in SoHo.” Was it possible that JVN was hinting at a dumpster fire at the Soho Farmhouse?

If you don’t know what the Soho Farmhouse is, it’s the place where Luke and his friend group, including Antonia, frequented, probably on Luke’s dime (*insert wicked laugh – oh, and a disclaimer that this is all speculation).

Funny that Nicola liked this post on Instagram, too, and it wasn’t even buried in a Sunday Dump.

At this point, JVN had really sparked my damn interest. Like, dear one, what are you hinting at?

On July 29, Deux Moi creeped out from under its rock and reminded the fandom to hate Luke by rehashing Papsmear. Thank you, we needed that. I mean, half of us almost forgot how much we hated him! That’s me being a sarcastic tart, by the way. If we were to fast-forward to today, I’d argue that Luke was the most darling thing to come out of Bridgerton.

Any ways, again, thank you, Deux Moi, for those suspiciously timed Papsmear pictures because they aligned perfectly with the pap pictures People dropped the following day – July 30.

Yep, I am talking about those strangely awkward pap pictures of Luke hanging out in the murky waters of Sorrento with Antonia. Oh, and let’s not forget the video footage of that encounter, which I am sure still upsets and confuses people to this day. In fact, I know it does because, as I was researching this, I had a couple of people get annoyed after I asked them to view it. Funny thing is, that shit never bothered me (I didn’t say that it didn’t later confuse me!). The first time I saw them, I was like, “Luke is not into that girl at all,” and my next thought was, “I wonder how old these pictures are because I would have sworn JVN was hinting at something.”

Now, this story wouldn’t be complete if I didn’t address the rumor portion of it.

First rumor? That Antonia set up the entire Italy pap photo-op because she seemingly knew where to find the cameraman. So, let’s discuss that video everyone seems to hate to acknowledge exists. In the video, you can see Antonia maybe looking in the direction of the cameraman. She then leans into Luke, either to whisper something to him or to reach for something behind him. In my opinion – and this is strictly my opinion – it looks like she’s pretending to reach for something over his shoulder. Still shots of this interaction are the photos People published, presumably because Luke and Antonia looked like they were cheek to cheek.

Okay, notice I said, “first rumor,” because, yeah, there’s a second rumor, too! But, it fits snuggly into that first rumor. Almost immediately – because that’s how fast the Lukola Sleuths get to work around here – rumors began to circulate that Antonia was following on Instagram the photographer that took the Italy pap pictures. In fact, several people I’ve spoken to swear that they witnessed during a TikTok Live a host prove that Antonia was following this photographer. That’s a bit suspicious, isn’t it? Yeah, it fucking is.

Let’s keep moving.

That same day, we had that video drop of Luke watching fireworks, at night, with sunglasses. Speaking of sunglasses, I guess Luke found those motherfuckers because he sure as shit didn’t have them while floating around in that dirty ass water. Any ways, at the end of the video, Rory appears behind Luke, looking in the direction of the camera and smiling like a condescending, sneaky little shit. Now, who was the cameraman? Well, a possible suspect would be Antonia since she was not seen in the video. Go figure.

Alright, so that day finally ended and on July 31, JVN posted to TikTok a cutesy video of themself at the market titled, “When you catch someone trying to sneak a pic but you were born for these moments.” They prance around the market and randomly look at the cameraman (Mark) with a smile and a pose. The caption reads, “I welcome sneaky pics but I can’t guarantee I won’t sneak some back or put on a show for you.”

WAIT A MINUTE!

Did JVN just inexplicably confirm Luke was getting papped by his own friends?

Yeah, I kind of think JVN did.

And, Nicola liked this one as well when JVN posted it to Instagram on August 8.

Didn’t I tell you JVN was a fascinating creature? And, to be honest, JVN only gets better as this Lukola ship continues on its voyage.

Oh, strangely enough, a few days after the Italy pap crap, Luke returned to London alone. The friend group became unsettlingly silent, and Nicola started to get really, really loud – Chaos Week was incoming! And, so were some more JVN crumbs (and nicely timed clap backs).

#lukola #luke newton #nicola coughlan #my thoughts #my opinion #speculation only #the heart of the ocean

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ink-and-dagger · 1 day ago

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What if Astrid find a pic of young Silco by accident hehhehehehhehehehehhe

Snapshot

A Drink With Me ficlet

870 words || Established relationship || Silco x Astrid (but can be read as gen f!reader) || SFW but suggestive || MDNI

“Oh my Gods.”

“What?”

“Oh. My Gods.”

Time has stripped the photograph between your fingers of its glossy sheen and has left the edges blunt and frayed, but you would recognise those features anywhere; no less sharp nor striking through the faded sepia.

“This is you.”

It had slipped from between two ledgers as you’d perused Silco’s bookshelves – an activity more to entertain your idle hands than a genuine search for reading material. The image itself is simple and candid: A young man, seemingly oblivious to the fact his portrait is being taken, sat at a familiar bar, with eyes downcast toward a spread of papers.

That same man looks up at you now from a very similar spread of papers. “What is?”

“This.” You drift over to his desk and perch on its edge, all the while unable to tear your gaze from the photo in your hands. The pitch dark hair swept back into a low bun. The familiar strays – the same ones that even now will always be the first to escape any styling under the combing of agitated fingers – falling forward into his face, only far longer and thicker than you’re used to. His skin, unblemished and smooth, save for the chronic furrow between his brows – etched there long before time and tragedy ravaged the rest.

Silco hums absently; an indication that he acknowledges your discovery but finds little interest in it. You can imagine the man in the photograph making the exact same noise, were someone to distract him from his paperwork for a reason he deemed benign. You flip the photo over. No date.

“How old are you here?”

Silco exhales through his nose, places his pen down with a pointed clack, and extends his hand wordlessly toward you.

“Hah! Do you think I’m wet behind the ears?” you hold the photograph out of his reach, “You can tell just fine from over there thank you very much.”

He cuts you a scathing glance, before leaning forward in his chair with a foreboding creak to peer more closely at the image. His scarred lips purse slightly in thought.

“Mid–late twenties. I can’t say for certain.”

“You were hot.”

“Were?”

“Were and are,” you coo, reclining backwards over the desk into his space, one elbow pitched on his paperwork to hold your weight whilst you flap the photograph in front of his face, “Can I keep this?”

“For what reason?”

“Dirty ones.”

“Hardly necessary,” Silco says, the very corner of his mouth creasing upwards as he catches your wrist to halt your photo-flapping, “You have access to the real thing.”

“True, true, and you can be sure I’ll continue taking advantage of that.” You grin, shoving your captured, photo-wielding arm a little closer to him in emphasis, “But right now I’m talking about some alone time with this guy.”

Silco scoffs under his breath and releases your wrist. You twist onto your front, weight propped on both elbows as you admire the photograph in your grip. You trace a finger down the slender throat of the man in the photo, over the generous wedge of chest exposed by his open crimson collar.

“D’you think he’d notice me? If I came into that bar?”

“Oh I’m certain he would.”

“Yeah?” You lift your gaze from the man in the photo to the one before you – as equally breathtaking. More so. You catch your lower lip between your teeth. “What line would he use?”

Silco hums, low and thoughtful, leaning forward in his chair, closing in on your space. He picks up his abandoned pen, briefly twirling the implement until it’s poised between his elegant fingers like a cigarette. Nib safely facing his own palm.

“After downing the dregs of his drink for courage... he would have approached you.”

With sensual tenderness, he brushes the barrel of his pen along your cheek, warmed metal against warmer skin. Catching at the curve of your jawline, and tracing over your pulse in a way that makes it fumble a beat.

��Cast his gaze over each of your pretty, pretty features. One by one,” he murmurs, slowly drawing the end of the pen down your jugular, down the slope of your collar bone, to leisurely trail through the cut of your cleavage. The corner of your mouth hooks up. The warmth low in your belly coils a little tighter.

“He would have leaned in close,” Silco whispers, demonstrating just so, “Close enough that you’d almost taste the whiskey on his breath.”

Blunt metal drags a purposeful line up your throat, and your lips part softly as he tilts your face toward his with the barrel of his pen flat and firm beneath your chin.

“And asked you – very nicely – to stop leaning on his paperwork.”

You press your tongue against the inside of your cheek while Silco’s dual eyes sizzle with smug mirth. It’d be unthinkable, really – to forfeit either one for the sake of a matching pair.

You straighten and push off his desk, hips swaying as you saunter over to the bedroom with the photograph in hand.

“Well,” you say, pausing in the threshold and turning to him with a smirk, “If you need us, you know where we’ll be.”

#inky answers #drink with me #DWM ficlet #Silco #Silco x reader #Silco x Astrid #Astro #Silco fic #arcane

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blyszczopies · 3 days ago

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I’m now taking commissions for animated pagedolls like these for 80$!

Animated in a wobbly way, reminiscent if the Generation 5 Pokemon sprites. Perfect to use as a decoration for your blog theme or a personal website!

If you’re interested, please read the terms of service and how to contact me under the read more.

I take payment through Paypal and I take it upfront; I will not sketch your commission unless you have paid at least half of the price. No refunds if I’m already past the sketch phase. Do not order a commission if you are not sure if you can afford one.

These are not first come first serve. I claim the right to decline a commission for any reason.

I do not work with deadlines. I will do my best to get your commission done as quickly as possible, but I can not promise I will get it done in specified time.

I will send you WIP images of your commission as I work on it, to make sure you’re satisfied with the final product.

The owner of the character featured in the commissioned drawing is allowed to use and repost their commission, preferably with proper credit. The commissioned image is only for personal use of the commissioner or the person who owns the character(s) from the drawing.

I claim the right to post a commission publicly. However, upon requests I can keep the commissioner anonymous or refrain from posting their commission online.

I will draw: Quadruped and anthropomorphic animals and fantasy creatures; Original characters and real-life pets; Characters based off a description, if no image is available; Complex designs and several characters in a single image (for an additional fee); Mature themes (blood, gore, nudity, substance abuse, etc)

I will not draw: Humans and highly humanoid characters; Artwork promoting bigotry; Pornography

I might draw: Fanart/fandom characters. Just ask if I would draw characters from a specific media you have on your mind! Same goes for anything not explicitly mentioned here.

By commissioning me you agree to my terms of service. If interested, you can contact either DM me here on tumblr or send me an email to timo666dlugiewlosy(at)gmail.com with everything I could use while working on your commission: reference images, descriptions, various kinds of inspiration sources. Feel free to ramble about the thing you would like me to draw! That will greatly help me get an idea of what I could create for you. ^___^

Thank you so much for taking your time to read this! Have a great day!

#animation #commissions #furry commissions #gif #my art

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letorip · 1 day ago

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aline

“et j'ai crié, crié "aline!" pour qu'elle revienne, et j'ai pleuré, pleuré, oh j'avais trop de peine”

===+++===

pairing: wednesday addams x reader

summary: sometimes you’d talk about dying to wednesday, though it was something an addams couldn’t ever really fear. that was, until the person being lost was you.

warnings: erm you die lol, major character death, wednesday being sad, mentions of blood, self sacrifice, maybe a little contrived way to die but too bad

word count: 1.6k

A/N: i promise im okay but this was truly an interesting plot line to follow, and i couldn’t bear not writing it down. if it made you sad, don’t worry, because i have more fluffy stuff on the way. it was something short i had considered doing for a long time, so even if this flops i'm completely happy with how it came out.

===+++===

"Wednesday?" you asked, eyes on the wooden ceiling of her room. From the way her head rests against the warm plane of your chest, she can feel the smooth skin move as you say her name, heart right under her ear. It nearly lulls her to sleep, had it not been a question.

"Yes?" she purrs, lazily propping herself up on her arm. There are heavy weights on her eyelids, but the line of your mouth tells her something is troubling you. You’re too saturnine, much too glum for what you and Wednesday just did, and her eyes soften imperceptibly, her thumb going to your side to quietly stroke itself back and forth there. “What’s plaguing you?”

You can’t help but shudder at the contact of her hand and the goosebumps the pads of her fingers leave in their wake. “Are you... do you...," you attempt, the question falling flat on your tongue. She furrows her eyebrows at your hesitation.

"Say your thoughts,” she says, forehead creased in concern. It's almost funny, how caring and soft she is, now that she's given up on trying to seem aloof and apathetic towards you, her skin warm against your own.

The Addams Curse to love someone with every fibre of their being had taken hold of Wednesday entirely, and she looked at you sometimes like you held her beating heart in your hands, or at least like she'd cut it out for you, if you were to need it. She raises a hand, gently brushing a few hairs from your forehead.

“Are you afraid of dying?”

Her eyebrows furrow even further, scanning your face for any indicators of harm. “Where is this coming from? Has something been done to you?”

But you shrug, finally looking down to look her in the eyes with softness. “I was just wondering… are you?”

She narrows her eyes. “You know I’m an Addams. Death is a friend, not a foe. Fear of that serves no purpose. Only cowardice from facing a fight. Only to make you weak.”

Your eyes flit away. “Hm.” There’s no hiding of disagreement in your tone, and it has an embarrassing amount of power over her, how she itches to know what goes on in that head of yours.

“What?”

“I think… I think my fear is what makes me strong. I’m afraid of losing those I care about. And so I fight with every bit of sweat, blood, and tears that I have. Your loss is my deepest fear, Wednesday. My deepest.”

She stared at you momentarily, then looked out the window to the stars. “How is one to fear death when it is far from the end? Death may take me from your sight, but it cannot take me from your heart. There I live, vibrant and whole. Forever.”

===+++===

You’d never even realised how much blood the human body could actually hold, until you were standing there in the centre of the quad with an arrow straight right below your heart, its steel tip poking from your back. Your own blood coated your hands where you cupped it, dribbling down the splintered wood and splattering in droplets to the cobblestone in thick, dark red splotches.

The blood— your blood— is coming out even more now, and you turn to look at Wednesday, where you had shoved her out of harm’s way. Her eyes are wide in horror, like she's seeing something straight from a nightmare of hers, and you take a clammy step towards her, frigid and burning at the same time.

“Wens—” you stammer, and suddenly your knees are giving out. She rushes forward, trying to catch you in her arms, but you're too heavy, deadweight that tugs on her. You fall onto them, your knees, clutching at the newly opened maw of your chest with a gasp, and before you know it you’re falling forward towards the floor.

Wednesday follows you down, catching you before you can land, and she holds you tight, turning you over onto your back as the arrow sticks straight up from the heart she cherishes so much. The wood is already splintering, nearly falling apart, and her hand goes to your wound as if trying to put your blood back into your body.

It’s uncomfortable, with the metal tip of Xavier’s arrow sticking from the back of your chest and lightly prodding at her front, but she squeezes you tightly against herself, hands frantically travelling the length of your torso and raking over your arms, anywhere she can reach. But there’s nothing she can do. It’s a thought she refuses to confront, but Wednesday specialised in dealing with dead things; she was unfamiliar with how to keep things alive, no matter how much she needed you to stay that way.

Crackstone is cackling from his belly, a toothy sneer spreading itself out onto his leathery face as he looks at the damage he’s done, stomping towards you. “Hey!” Bianca yells from the opposite door, and the pilgrim whips around, as Xavier takes another shot at him. It lands in the pilgrim’s arm but he pulls it out like a twig, snapping it and tossing it to the ground, before he makes his way towards Bianca.

Your white shirt is completely soaking itself in your blood, droplets running down Wednesday’s fingers where she tries to hold the wound and apply pressure. But there was no saving a skewered heart.

"No, no, no," she coos, voice barely above a whisper and tears already pricking at the corners of her eyes. You're crying out in pain as the arrow shifts within you, fingers scrabbling at Wednesday's arms where they hold at you. Your fingernails sink into her skin, and she winces but doesn't pull away.

"Wens," you say again, infinitely weaker than before. "Wednesday…” It’s like your mouth won’t move coherently with your brain, like words mean trudging through ice and slush to come out, even the red-hot ones you need to say. “H—Hurts,” you spit out, and with it comes a small stream of blood from your mouth as you cough and air becomes less and less available.

She nods in a rush, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. “I’m aware, I know,” she’s completely crying now. “We will get you care, cara mia, just hol— just hold on for a little while.” But you’re shaking your head.

“Don’t have— I don’t have—” you’re coughing up more blood, and she wipes it from your chin with a shaky hand. There’s just too much of it, everywhere. You had once gifted her some as a token of your devotion and it was a prized possession of hers, but now there was so much and she would have given it back in a heartbeat if it gave you any more of those.

She can vaguely hear Bianca and Xavier yelling on the other side of the quad, and various fires rage on in their chaotic yet vibrant corners, tickling against her skin in large crackles, burning in the reflection of your eyes that stare up at the sky. Your head is leaning against her shoulder, and she raises her hand, stroking through your soft hair as you heave in her arms.

“You must live, I promise you,” Wednesday insists fiercely, “I promise you, if you die right now, I will kill you.” But its tears that streak down her face, her jaw clenching and dark eyeliner running down her cheeks. She’s squeezing you right against herself, feeling the pain of the sharp arrow poke at her own skin.

“Vibrant and wh—whole?” you said with a smile, feeling your voice begin to slow down and with it, the beating of your heart. The blood has pooled in a sick puddle around your body.

She’s shaking her head. “Cara mia, we don’t need to do this, we will get you to a doctor. You will be—”

“—Wednesday,” you interrupt. Your voice has reached an eerie calm that sends a shiver down her spine, and it snaps her from any sort of hope. “Vibrant… and whole?”

She looks down at you for a moment, tracing the features of your nose, the planes of your cheeks, the colours of your eyes and the wryness of your smile. Wednesday swallows. “Forever. You know that. You must always know that.”

You nod, letting out a small laugh. It hurts, she can hear you wheeze right after you done it, but you sit in silence for a moment, and she can feel you get slower and slower, and your shirt gets redder and redder. The tears are uncontrollable, now, as she sits there with you. Her friends are losing in the corner, but she's losing something unthinkable, and she's so damn scared the entire time it's happening.

"The stars look beautiful tonight," you whisper so only she can hear it, your voice cracking at the end. In seconds, you're gone. She can feel the life, the glorious life, evaporate from you, your head lulling back against her and your weight becoming a hundred times heavier, but she doesn't move, squeezing you against her.

She's unsure how long she stays like that, but when she can no longer take it, she shifts, laying you down on the ground. You look peaceful, looking up at the stars, and it takes an effort to close your eyes that Wednesday had never felt with the dead before. She gently closes them, shutting the door on the eyes that used to captivate her very heart. It's almost like she could convince herself that you're only resting for a moment, and she leans over you, placing a meaningful kiss upon your forehead, just like she would when she snuck out after a night of sleeping over, and there were no prying eyes there to watch.

"Vibrant and whole," she whispers like a promise, turning back to the fight with a piece of the sword in her shaking fists. "For you, cara mia."

===+++===

well that was sad... anyways more happy stuff coming next time

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #letorip #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams #wednesday addams x you #wednesday addams x y/n

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axeeglitter · 2 days ago

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Lights are up but no one's home

Brad adjusted his letterman jacket and grinned as he caught sight of Emma walking down the driveway. She looked perfect, as always, with her auburn hair shining staircase morning light. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek before her father, Mr. Gaines, stepped out onto the porch.

"Good morning, sir," Brad said, trying his best to sound polite.

Mr. Gaines didn't bother to respond, his sharp eyes scanning Brad as if he were unworthy. “Emma, be back by 3pm. And, Brad…” His voice was cold. “We’ll talk later.”

Brad shrugged it off, flashing his confident smile at Emma. "I think your dad will come around."

Emma gave him a concerned look, but Brad dismissed it, brushing off the tension.

Later that evening, as Brad walked Emma back to her house, Mr. Gaines met them at the door. “Brad, a word. Alone.”

Brad hesitated but eventually nodded. “Sure thing.” He gave Emma a reassuring glance before following her father into the study. Brad followed Mr. Gaines into the study, the older man closing the door firmly behind them. The heavy scent of leather and cedar filled the room, matching the dark, intimidating décor. A single lamp cast a golden glow over the desk, its light flickering slightly, giving the space a tense, almost foreboding atmosphere.

Brad stood his ground, towering over Mr. Gaines with his broad, athletic build. Years of football and rigorous workouts had shaped him into the picture of masculinity: square shoulders, a defined chest, and an aura of cocky confidence.

“Look, sir,” Brad began, his voice firm yet polite, “I know we don’t see eye-to-eye, but I care about Emma. I’m good to her, and…”

Mr. Gaines raised a hand, cutting him off. “Spare me the charm, Brad. I see right through it.”

Brad bristled, his jaw tightening. “With all due respect, I don’t need your approval. Emma and I…”

“You’ll find you need more than you think,” Mr. Gaines interrupted again, his voice cold and commanding. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small glass vial filled with an iridescent liquid that shimmered unnaturally in the dim light.

Brad frowned, his brow furrowing. “What is that? Some kind of whiskey or…”

Before he could finish, Mr. Gaines popped the cap off and flung the contents at him with surprising speed. The liquid hit Brad square in the chest, seeping through his letterman jacket and white tight shirt and into his skin.

“What the hell?!” Brad shouted, stepping back as he frantically tried to wipe the liquid away. His hands tingled where they touched it, as though the substance was alive.

“You’ve had your time with my daughter,” Mr. Gaines said, his lips curling into a smirk. “Now, it’s time to see what you’re really made of.”

Brad opened his mouth to retort, but a sudden, searing heat coursed through his body, cutting him off. It started in his chest, radiating outward in waves that left his muscles twitching uncontrollably.

“Wha, what’s happening to me?!” he gasped, clutching at his chest. The heat intensified, and he felt his ribs shifting beneath his hands. His sturdy chest, once broad and solid, began to shrink. The hard ridges of his pecs softened, the thick slabs of muscle deflating like a balloon.

“No!” Brad groaned, his voice cracking. He could feel his sternum pulling inward, the bones grinding painfully as his torso narrowed. His shirt hung awkwardly now, loose in places it had once hugged snugly.

The heat spread downward, latching onto his abs. His once-chiseled six-pack, earned through countless hours of crunches and dieting, began to fade. He pressed his hands against his stomach, desperate to hold onto the definition, but the flesh grew soft and smooth under his touch.

“Stop this!” he begged, his voice trembling.

Mr. Gaines crossed his arms, watching with a cruel, detached interest. “Oh, we’re just getting started.”

Brad stumbled forward, his legs shaking as a sharp pain erupted in his pelvis. He fell to his knees with a grunt, his jeans tightening uncomfortably around his hips. He groaned as his pelvis shifted, the bones grinding and reshaping into a narrower, more delicate structure.

His thighs quivered, the thick muscle softening and slimming. He had always prided himself on his powerful legs, tools of a star athlete, but now they looked more suited to a dancer. His calves followed suit, becoming slender and shapely, their once-prominent muscles fading into gentle curves.

“No, no, no!” Brad whimpered, clutching at his thighs as if sheer willpower could stop the transformation. His jeans shimmered and morphed, the denim becoming tight, ripped skinny jeans that clung to his new, slimmer legs like a second skin.

The heat moved downward, pooling in his feet. Brad gasped as his sneakers began to tighten painfully. His feet shrank, the size 12 shoes compressing around his toes until they reformed into smaller, more delicate size 9 feet. The sneakers warped, reshaping into sleek, white designer trainers that felt foreign and wrong.

He scrambled to his feet, swaying as he realized how much shorter he’d become. The once-commanding 6’2” frame that had made him stand out on the field was now gone and replaced by a slim and delicate 5’4”. He felt fragile, like a shadow of his former self.

“Why can’t I stop this?!” Brad cried, his voice growing higher-pitched with each word. He clapped his hands over his throat, horrified as his Adam’s apple receded. His deep, commanding voice was replaced by a soft, boyish tone that sounded utterly alien to his ears.

“Your height suited your arrogance,” Mr. Gaines said with a smirk. “But this? This is much better.”

The heat moved back up to Brad’s arms, and he watched in horror as his biceps and triceps, once bulging with power, shrank down to slender, almost dainty proportions. His shoulders narrowed, losing their broad, masculine width, leaving him with a delicate, almost effeminate frame.

His hands began to tingle, and he stared down at them in disbelief. The calluses that had marked years of lifting weights and gripping footballs faded, leaving his palms smooth and soft. His fingers slimmed, their rough, masculine shape replaced by long, elegant digits.

“This isn’t real,” Brad muttered, his voice trembling. “This can’t be real!”

“Oh, it’s real,” Mr. Gaines replied, his tone dripping with amusement.

Brad’s skin began to tingle as the transformation spread across his body. The fine dusting of body hair that had covered his chest, arms, and legs vanished, leaving his skin unnaturally smooth. He tugged at the collar of his shirt, desperate to cool the burning in his armpits, but the familiar musky scent of sweat was gone, replaced by a faint, floral fragrance. brad then felt his letterman jacket and white shirt starting to tighten around him. He turned his head to look at it only to realize he was now wearing a tight blue stripped shirt.

The heat surged into his face, and Brad stumbled back, clutching at his cheeks. His square jawline softened, the sharp edges rounding out into delicate curves. His cheekbones became more pronounced, giving his face a refined, almost ethereal beauty. His lips tingled and swelled, becoming fuller and pinker, while his nose slimmed into a petite, upturned shape.

Brad turned to the mirror on the wall, his heart sinking as he saw the stranger staring back at him. The rugged, masculine face he had always known was gone, replaced by one so pretty it could have graced a magazine cover.

The heat shifted to his scalp, and he reached up, gasping as his long, messy brown hair grew longer and softer on the top. It lightened to a golden blond, shimmering in the lamplight as it styled itself into a trendy, tousled look. His sides receded back in his scalp in millions of ant bites as Brad took his lobes in his hands screaming in pain.

“Look at you,” Mr. Gaines said, stepping closer. “You could pass for a model now. A twink, as they say.”

Brad stumbled away; his legs weak. “This… this isn’t me,” he whispered, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“It is now,” Mr. Gaines replied coldly.

The final wave of heat pooled in Brad’s groin, and he doubled over, clutching at his hips. The muscles and bones there shifted painfully, completing the lithe, feminine shape his body had taken on. He wanted to scream, but his voice cracked once more, betraying the raw emotion he felt. Brad could feel his huge 8 inches cut dick boiling with heat as he could feel his cock grinding against his new jockstrap and his hairless thighs until it stopped to a 3 inches uncut cock. His nuts followed as he felt them taking less and less place inside the pouch. Brad tilted his head and looked as the front of his slim jeans was shrinking faster and faster. When the shrinking stopped, brad exhaled from fear as he tried to get up once more. But as his hands touched the ground to help himself, he felt a discharge of electricity zap him in the ass. He screamed from surprised and pain as he heard Mr. Gaines laugh viciously. “Now we’ll see how you handle these new sensations” he said with a deep voice while looking at Brad trying to find his breath again.

He collapsed to the floor, trembling as the heat finally began to subside. His body felt alien, every movement unfamiliar and wrong. He could feel the smoothness of his skin, the slenderness of his limbs, the absence of his once-powerful build.

Brad looked up at Mr. Gaines, his deep brown eyes glitching as they finished turning into bright blue eyes wide with horror. “Why… why would you do this to me?”

Mr. Gaines crouched down, smirking as he looked the transformed Brad in the eye. “Because you needed a lesson, boy. And now, you’re exactly what you deserve to be.”

Brad lay on the floor of the study, his altered body trembling with lingering heat. He tried to push himself up, but his new, slender arms buckled under the effort. The unfamiliar weight distribution of his body threw him off balance, and he collapsed again, the smoothness of his skin and the strange proportions of his limbs only amplifying his panic.

Inside his mind, Brad’s thoughts whirled. This isn’t me. This can’t be me. He clenched his teeth, or at least tried to, but even the sensation of his now-soft jawline felt wrong. Every breath was foreign, the floral scent from his armpits a mockery of the musky, masculine odor he’d once carried.

Mr. Gaines stood over him, arms crossed, his smirk cold and calculating. “You’ll get used to it,” he said. “Or maybe you won’t. Who knows?”

“You won’t get away with this, Emma will know, I will tell everyone” Brad spat, his voice unnaturally high and trembling. He cringed at the sound of it. “I will sue you!”

But as if to mock his resolve, a sharp pain stabbed into his temples, sending him sprawling onto his back. The room spun as his hands flew to his head, gripping at the blond strands of his new hair. It felt like something was clawing its way into his brain, rewriting him from the inside out.

“What is going on?! Fuck it hurts!!” he screamed, but the words came out in a whiny, petulant tone, almost like a pout.

“You think you can threaten me under my roof, Brad?” Mr. Gaines said smoothly. “Well… I thought this was enough, but seems not! Let’s see how you’ll behave now, Blaine!”

Another jolt of pain struck, this time deeper and more insistent. Memories flashed through his mind and memories of who he was, who he had been. The star athlete, the golden boy, the charming boyfriend who could talk his way out of trouble with a grin. He clung to those images desperately, but they began to fracture, splintering like glass.

In their place came foreign thoughts, feelings, and impulses. Bright colors danced behind his eyes, an overwhelming hunger for attention and admiration bubbling up from nowhere. He tried to suppress it, but it grew stronger with each passing second, like a dam about to burst.

“No,” Brad whimpered, tears streaming down his now-delicate face. “This isn’t me. I’m not…”

But the assault on his mind continued. His thoughts grew disjointed, a battle between his old self and the intrusive presence worming its way into his consciousness. His sense of humor shifted, memories of football games and weightlifting sessions replaced by an inexplicable appreciation for fashion trends and pop music.

The new personality emerged, brash and unyielding. It wasn’t subtle; it stormed into his mind like a diva on a stage, shoving Brad’s old self aside.

“Oh my God,” a voice bubbled in his head, light and effervescent. “This room is so drab. Like, who decorated this? A sad old man?”

No! That’s not me! Brad screamed internally, but the words didn’t make it out. His lips parted, and instead of the defiance he wanted to express, a soft giggle escaped.

“Stop it!” he thought desperately, but his body betrayed him. His delicate fingers brushed a strand of golden hair from his face, and he caught his reflection in the nearby mirror. A coquettish smile spread across his lips without his consent.

The final blow came when the pain in his head spiked to a blinding crescendo. Brad’s name, his name, slipped away, leaving a void where his identity had been. In its place, a new name blossomed, sugary sweet and unbearable.

“Blaine,” Mr. Gaines said with satisfaction, as though plucking the name from Brad’s own thoughts. “That suits you. Blaine, my new personal assistant.”

No, no, no! Brad’s mind screamed, but it was as if he were trapped behind a glass wall, watching his body and voice act without him.

Blaine blinked a few times, his wide, blue eyes fluttering. “Blaine,” he repeated, his voice sing-song.

Inside, Brad seethed. He was still there, buried deep, but he couldn’t control his body anymore. Every word, every movement, was Blaine’s now. And Blaine was everything Brad wasn’t: flamboyant, animated, and utterly unconcerned with the past.

“Do you need me for anything, sir?” Blaine said, tugging at the tight, ripped skinny jeans and tight blue striped shirt that had replaced Brad’s clothes. “I remember you told me to come to work on The Fortress Club folder, right?”

“Plenty of time for that later,” Mr. Gaines said, his smirk widening as he took a step about to grab Blaine’s shirt.

At that moment, the door to the study swung open, and Emma stepped in. “Dad? Have you seen Brad? He just vanished, and… Oh hello, I didn’t know you were busy working, you must be my dad’s new personal assistant, right?”

Her eyes landed on Blaine, who was standing with his hands behind his back, his head tilted in a way that screamed playful mischief. She froze, her brow furrowing.

“Who… are you?” she asked, clearly confused.

Blaine smiled as he presented himself while Brad’s trapped consciousness burn with humiliation.

“I’m Blaine!” he chirped, twirling a lock of his golden hair. “Just helping your dad out with… um… his work schedule. Nice to meet you!”

Emma blinked, then turned to her father. “Where’s Brad? He said he was coming in here to talk to you.”

Mr. Gaines feigned a heavy sigh, shaking his head. “Brad showed his true colors, I’m afraid. I caught him cheating on you. Told him to pack his things and leave. He didn’t even argue, just walked out without a word.”

Emma’s face fell, hurt flickering across her features. “He… what?”

Inside, Brad screamed. No! That’s a lie! I would never do that to her! But Blaine remained silent, batting his long lashes at Emma.

“You’re better off without him,” Mr. Gaines said firmly. “He wasn’t right for you.”

Emma shook her head, clearly unsettled. “Fuck him! If I ever see him again, he is dead! Well, I’m going to go. I need to process all of this.”

She turned and left the room without another word, leaving Blaine standing in the center of the study and Brad crying and screaming for Emma to come back.

Inside, Brad felt his heart shatter. She doesn’t even recognize me. She thinks I abandoned her. I’m still here! I’m still me!

Mr. Gaines clapped a hand on Blaine’s shoulder, ignoring the storm raging inside the former jock’s mind. “Well, Blaine, it looks like you’re all mine now.”

Blaine turned to him with a bright smile. “Ooh, what do you need first? Coffee? A snack”

Brad’s mind recoiled, hating every word, every exaggerated gesture. He was trapped, forced to watch and feel everything Blaine did, powerless to fight back.

“None of that, I was thinking something more… personal,” Mr. Gaines said as he walked to Blaine, grabbing his shirt and tucking it behind his head. “And you’ll do exactly as I say.”

“Anything for you, Mr. G!” Blaine said with a wink as he got on his knees, his small hard cock pressing on his thighs and leaking in his jockstrap.

As Mr. Gaines’s hard daddy cock entered Blaine’s virgin mouth, he came, leaking through his ripped jeans and directly on the carpeted floor. Mr. Gaines laugh and started to face fuck Blaine even faster with a smile on his lips, not caring about Brad's gagging please for this to stop. “I think you’ve learned your lesson son. And you’ll have to clean this up!”

______________________________________________________________ Hey guys! Here is my contribution to the story swap I did with @misctf. Go check his content if you haven't already. He has lots of great stuff there. See you soon!

#male transformation #my writing #mental change #male tf #reality change #tf #gay #personality change #straight to gay #jock to nerd #jock to twink #nerdification

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covenofagatha · 8 hours ago

Text

Sugar, spice, and everything nice (Part 2)

Word count: 3500+

Warnings: making out, slight mentions of masturbation, sex toys

You’re on your new laptop the next day when Agatha walks into the bakery. Your face lights up and she smiles at you the second she’s through the door. Like every time you see her, she manages to take your breath away.

“Hey!” You exclaim, motioning your hands around the laptop. “Thank you so much again. You did not have to do this.”

“I know I didn’t. But I wanted to, hon,” she says. Agatha’s now stopped in front of the counter, looking at you expectantly.

“Do you want the usual?”

She smirks playfully. “Do you remember everyone’s order?”

“Only the ones that tip about 500% and buy me laptops,” you joke, but there’s some truth to it. You’ve had customers that have come in every day for a week and you don’t even realize it’s the same person. She seems satisfied with your quip and nods.

“I’d love the ‘usual,’ thank you.”

This time, though, when she holds out the typical $50, you pull out the change from the register and insist she take it. She raises an eyebrow.

“Please, Agatha, you just bought me a computer,” you say, the beg coming out a little whiny. She teasingly rolls her eyes and takes the money from you. “Thank you. Your coffee will be right up.”

“Actually, can you make it two?”

Your heart skips a beat. Who is joining her? A friend? Her partner?

And then you inwardly scold yourself for caring.

“Oh, yeah, sure. Another espresso?”

She shrugs slyly and skates a finger over the countertop. “I don’t know. What kind of coffee do you want?”

You stare at her blankly, trying to make sense of her question. She must see your puzzled expression because she tosses her head back with a laugh.

“I’m asking you to have coffee with me, doll,” she explains and the lightbulb clicks in your mind.

“Oh–oh my god! I’m sorry.” Of course you’re making a fool out of yourself in front of the most beautiful woman on the planet.

“You don’t have to.” This is the first time you’ve ever seen a flicker of doubt on her face.

“No, no, I want to. Go sit down and I’ll bring the coffee over when I’m ready.”

She sits down at the normal booth and you busy yourself making an espresso and a pumpkin spice latte. This time, you allow yourself to glance at Agatha and you feel something in your stomach when you notice that she’s already looking at you, a fond smile on her lips. There’s a tug in your gut and you smile back. You’re not sure why the older woman is drawn to you this much, but you are not complaining.

There’s something about her too. Something that pulls you in and doesn’t want to let you go.

You successfully make the coffee this time without any broken laptops and you bring them over to the table, sitting across from her before she has to ask. She looks pleased and blows on her coffee before taking a sip.

“What’s your drink of choice?” She asks, nodding at your cup.

“Oh, just a pumpkin spice latte,” you say dismissively. “I’m a big pumpkin fan.” She nods like it’s the most interesting thing she’s ever heard. “And, thank you again. For the laptop. You really didn’t have to do that. Is there anything I can do to repay you?” You don’t mean for it to sound as dirty as it does and she smirks like she hears it too.

“There is one thing you can do.” You urge her earnestly with your eyes. “Go ice skating with me tonight?” It’s getting colder in Westview and the winter festivities are being broken out, including the Winter Wonderland in the square. Complete with an ice skating rink, hot chocolate stands, a snow pit, a hill for the kids to sled down, and even more, it was a town favorite.

You frown but your heart skips a beat at the thought of her wanting to hang with you. As a date? “How is that repaying you?”

She flicks her hand. “The money isn’t a big deal. I just want to get to know you better. Unless you’re busy.”

“No, I have literally nothing to do later,” you say, shaking your head. She looks relieved. “Can I at least pay for the tickets?”

“Honey,” she scoffs playfully. “I asked, so I’m paying. If you want to pay, you’ll just have to ask me to do something another time.”

“This sounds an awful lot like a date,” you say before you can stop yourself. The corners of her mouth quirk up and she raises an eyebrow.

“Do you want it to be?”

“Yeah,” you answer almost immediately, your voice hoarse at the thought. A date. With a rich, hot, older woman. She smiles genuinely. “What time? Oh, I hope all my winter clothes aren’t at home.” You haven’t been back in awhile to your parents’ house and you only brought the necessities to make it until you go back. You’re not sure how many cute options you’ll have.

“I’ll pick you up around five-thirty? And do you have warm clothes?” She gives you a once-over. You’re in jeans and your uniform top. In the back, you have the heavy coat you wear when you have to go outside, and back at your dorm, you have sweatpants. Not exactly up to par with this gorgeous woman.

You smile and nod and try to not appear too nervous. What to wear is always a point of stress for you. She must sense this because she reaches over to pat your hand reassuringly and then pulls out her wallet from her pocket.

Before you can protest, she slaps a credit card down on the table. Your jaw drops and you look back and forth between it and Agatha.

“Go to the mall and get whatever you want,” she tells you, and there is not even a trace of a joke in her tone.

“How do you know I won’t just buy a car or something crazy?”

She laughs. “I trust you. And I don’t think you would. You seem like a good girl.” She puts a lot of emphasis on those words and it makes you feel hot. You’re sure your cheeks have turned red. “Text me your address before tonight, yeah?”

You nod because you don’t trust yourself to talk at this point. What kind of woman just casually hands over her credit card to someone she barely knows?

“Um, thank you,” is all you can muster the strength to say. She gives you one last smile before getting up from the table.

“I’ll see you tonight, doll.”

The moment you’re done with your shift, you head to the mall. You’re not exactly sure what will suffice for the date, but you hope you’ll know it when you see it.

You eventually find some black pants that make your ass look great and a cute purple sweater with a blue vest. It’s a little pricey though. You know Agatha said to get whatever you wanted, but you still feel a little guilty, especially after she’s thrown so much other money at you.

So you text her. Hey Agatha! At the mall right now. Just want to check if there was a limit to how much I could spend? I found some stuff but it’s almost $200. If that’s too much, no worries at all! You send her your address as well before you can forget.

She immediately replies. Get the stuff and anything else you want. I can’t wait to see what you’ve picked out ;) see you later.

The winky face causes heat to pump through your veins and you bite your lip. You clear your throat and head to the check-out, heart beating fast when you press Agatha’s credit card to the reader. It goes through and you breathe a sigh of relief.

You still can’t believe she just handed it over so willingly.

Is she your sugar mommy now?

The question weighs on your mind until she texts you that she’s outside your building later that afternoon. You give yourself a once-over and run downstairs to her car. The new clothes are comfy and warm and she looks at you approvingly when you slide into the passenger seat.

“Good choice,” she says.

“Thank you again,” you reply, a little breathless from the cold and your speed. You take out her card from your wallet and hand it to her. “I can’t believe you just gave your card to some random stranger like that.”

She laughs along with you. “I know you wouldn’t do anything. You seem too desperate to please.” Your face heats and you’re not really sure what to say. She isn’t wrong. There’s something about Agatha that makes you want to do whatever she says. “How was the rest of work?”

“Oh, good.” You wave a hand dismissively. “It was a pretty slow day today. Did you have work?”

She launches into telling you about her newest court case and you find yourself absolutely fascinated to the point of not even realizing that you’ve arrived. Everything Agatha says has you absolutely enthralled and by the faint smirk on her face, she knows it too.

She leads you over to the ticket stand, her hand on your lower back, and confidently buys two.

“Thank you,” you say again, a little flustered by how she hasn’t let you pay for anything. You’ll be damned if you leave without buying her a drink or something.

“Of course, doll. Do you want to skate first?” You nod eagerly, causing her to chuckle, and you both go to pick out skates. She has to help you lace them up after you fumble with them for a while since your hands have become so cold.

“Full disclosure, I’m not very good at skating,” you warn her when she’s holding onto your arm at the gate.

“I can help you, sweetheart,” she says and your heart feels so full.

She gets onto the ice first and lets go of the railing so she can grab your hands and assist you in stepping onto the rink. Your eyes widen when you almost fall after moving your foot forward and it shoots back, but Agatha catches you in her strong arms.

“Oh my god,” you exclaim as she stands you back up, never letting go of her tight grip on you.

“It takes a bit to figure out. How many times have you ice skated?”

“None,” you say, tongue poking through your lips as you look down at your feet and focus on sliding them forward. She glides backwards with you effortlessly. When you finally look up at her, she’s staring at you with something written on her face you can’t quite read. “What?”

“You could’ve told me that you hadn’t, I would’ve taken you to dinner or something else,” she says.

“No, no, it’s totally fine. I would’ve done whatever you wanted to do,” you reply half-mindedly. You’re more focused on skating around the corner. Once you do so successfully, her hands move from your wrists to only one hand holding your hip.

But her touch makes you jump, fire igniting in your stomach, and you slip and fall on the ice.

You groan in pain and Agatha stifles a laugh before squatting down to check on you. The cold has seeped into your wet pants and the humiliation burns your cheeks.

“You okay, doll?”

You nod your head defeatedly. “Yeah, just a little wet.” The moment you say it, you can see her eyes darken just the slightest. Your breath catches when you realize the innuendo and there’s a tense silence with the two of you just staring at each other while others skate around you.

“Well, let’s get you up. Want to keep trying?” Agatha asks finally. She gets back on her feet as gracefully as ever.

“As long as you don’t let me fall again,” you joke and take her outstretched hands.

“I didn’t let you fall, you did that all on your own,” she says playfully.

She carefully lifts you up and you grab onto her biceps when you’re fully standing so you don’t crash back down. Her hands grab your waist again to hold you steady and when you look at her face, she’s staring at your lips.

“Agatha,” you say, but you’re not sure what else to add because now you’re staring at her lips too. She leans in an imperceptible amount and your mouth parts involuntarily, ready for a kiss.

“Look out!” Someone shouts and the next thing you know, a three foot tall blur runs straight into you, knocking you, Agatha, and the random person down.

“Sorry!” The kid exclaims and jumps up to skate away, leaving you and Agatha wincing on the ice.

“Why don’t we go find something else to do?” She asks and you’ve never been more happy to agree.

Agatha helps you up once again and this time, interlocks her fingers with yours and slowly skates with you to the exit.

Once you’ve gotten your shoes back on, Agatha buys the two of you cups of hot chocolate and a pretzel to split and leads you over to a bench so you can sit.

“Thank you for this,” you say, shoving a piece of the pretzel into your mouth.

“My pleasure, sweetheart.”

The pet name does things to you that you can’t say and you find yourself wishing that the almost-kiss on the ice actually happened. You feel so connected and attracted to Agatha, even though you’re not sure why.

“Why do you keep tipping me so much and buying me all these nice things?” You’re finally brave enough to voice the question that’s been on your mind since the first day she came into the bakery.

She smiles and reaches over to squeeze your hand. “You deserve it. And I like spoiling you. You get this cute little look in your eye.” You blush instantly and she laughs. “Like that.”

“Well, can I take you out sometime soon? Maybe for dinner or a movie or something?”

“I’d like that. I’m free Tuesday or Thursday night this week.”

“I’ll see you Tuesday then,” you say, happy that she’s finally going to let you treat her to something. “Unless I see you at the bakery first. It seems to have become an integral part of your morning.” You’re teasing but part of you wants her to elaborate on what she’s doing.

“What can I say? The cinnamon crumb cake and the espresso are to die for,” she says with a wink. You laugh despite yourself.

Comfortable silence falls over the two of you as you sip on your drinks and eat the pretzel.

“Is there anything else you want to do?” She asks.

“Can we go on the ferris wheel?”

“Of course, dear.” She stands up and offers you her hand and you obviously take it.

The line for the ride isn’t long at all so you basically walk right into a passenger car. Agatha sits next to you instead of across from you so she can wrap an arm around your shoulders. The wheel starts turning and something on the ceiling catches your eye.

“Is that mistletoe?” You ask, pointing up at it and then looking at Agatha, who is also peering up at it, corners of her mouth quirking up.

“Looks like it,” she answers thoughtfully and then glances at you playfully. “Shall we?”

You don’t even answer, just clasp her cheek with your hand and pull her in.

It’s a slow kiss at first, just a press of your mouth against hers, but then she opens her lips and slides her tongue into your mouth. You moan into her mouth and try to pull her even closer to you so you can feel more of her. She sucks on your tongue and your teeth make a clicking noise when they clash against each other.

When you have to pull back for air, she kisses down your jaw and then gently bites on your neck. You gasp and your hips jump against nothing.

“Agatha,” you breathe and you can feel her smirking as she nibbles on your earlobe. A fire stokes to life in your stomach and your body feels like a lifewire. One of her hands dips under your vest so she can cup your breast through your sweater. You whimper and she chuckles lowly. “Please.”

“Is this okay?” She asks and you nod so hard your head hurts. She smirks and her hand slides down and under your sweater.

The coldness of her fingers against your warm stomach makes you gasp but you like it and you pull her back in for a kiss. Her hand keeps moving up under your shirt and she’s about to reach your bra—

—and the Ferris wheel stops. You let out a sigh of disappointment and Agatha laughs.

The door to your car opens and the two of you step out. You wonder if your face is as red as it seems and you hope that no one accidentally saw you two making out.

“So what now?” She asks once you’re back in the middle of the fair. But there’s only one thing on your mind right now.

You don’t care that you’re surrounded by people right now; you stand up on your tiptoes and give her a searing kiss which she returns immediately. Your hands wrap around her neck and hers find their place on your waist. You end the kiss by tugging on her bottom lip and when you pull back, her blue eyes are dark and hooded.

“Can we do more of that?” You breathe and she chuckles. You’ve never wanted anyone so badly in your life and you think if you don’t have her hands on you in the next ten minutes you might die.

“Anything you want,” she whispers and presses one last chaste kiss to your lips. “Does this mean you want to leave?”

“Please,” you beg and she smirks at how visibly desperate you are. You’ve become so wet and needy since she put her hand on your waist on the ice. You practically drag her back to the car and when she pulls back in front of your dorm, you look at her with begging eyes. “Come in?”

The moment you say it, you realize how ridiculous it sounds. Bringing a hot, rich, older woman up to your living space that’s probably the size of her closet so she can fuck you in your twin sized bed? Plus it was your first date and you’ve known her for less than a week.

She’s clearly thinking the same thing because she smiles softly and says, “Maybe on Tuesday, doll.”

And yet, you whine. “Why can’t we just go back to your place right now? Please, I’m so-” You cut yourself off before you can tell her just how much you really need her.

Her smile turns into a knowing smirk. “Why don’t you go upstairs and take care of that yourself then?” You gape and a flush climbs up your neck and to your face, but she leans in and keeps going. “Use your hand, or a toy, to think about me. Just to tide you over for a bit.”

“I don’t have a toy,” is all you can think to say with your brain short-circuiting. That shouldn’t have been the part to focus on, but Agatha pulls back with wide eyes.

“You don’t?”

And then the image of Agatha using a toy on herself inserts itself in your brain and you have to cross a leg over the other to get some sense of relief. “No,” you squeak out.

The glint in her eyes is positively evil. “Have a good night, doll.�� She gives you one last kiss and then unlocks the car door. You give her a playful glare and then go upstairs.

After you’ve showered and put on pajamas, you slide your hand down your sweatpants and touch yourself.

It takes all of three minutes before you cum all over your hand, just replaying the kiss with Agatha in your mind.

You fall asleep quickly after that and in the morning, you’re surprised to see a notification saying that you have a package in the delivery room. You throw on a sweatshirt and head down and it’s a medium sized brown box with your name and an A. Harkness as the mailer.

Frowning, you take it back to your room and cut it open. Moving the flaps aside, you peer in the box and gasp.

There’s at least four sex toys. A vibrator, a dildo, a different type of toy, and then a small box. You pick up the box and immediately drop it.

It’s a remote controlled, long-distance vibrator.

Your breathing has quickened and you feel your underwear growing wet yet again because of Agatha.

And then you see a piece of paper. Hands shaking, you pull it out and open it.

Hope you enjoy ;) Maybe you can wear the vibrator on Tuesday. See you soon.

#agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha x reader #agatha harkness x reader #agatha x you #agatha harkness x you #kathryn hahn x reader #agatha smut #agatha all along

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mrsfancyferrari · 2 days ago

Text

My Priority

Summary: MV1 + "You're my priority." 🍂🦃

Song: i'm yours by Isabel LaRosa

Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 6.8k

The sun dipped low over the Monaco harbor, casting a golden hue over the sleek yachts and classic buildings. It was race weekend, and the atmosphere buzzed with excitement.

Fans adorned in vibrant team colors filled the streets, while the pit lanes prepared for the moment that would thrill millions around the globe.

Among the horde of dedicated supporters and high-profile personalities were three friends, caught in a whirlwind of competition and camaraderie: Max, Charles and Lando.

Today, he stood in the crowd, his eyes fixed on you—a talented influencer and recently appointed ambassador for the racing team.

With your effortless smile and magnetic personality, you effortlessly drew a gathering of admirers around you, signing autographs and taking cheerful selfies, your laughter ringing like music above the cacophony.

Charles and Lando, seated comfortably on a nearby bench, exchanged knowing glances as they watched Max, who seemed lost in a dreamy haze.

“Look at him,” Lando snickered, leaning back on his hands. “I swear he’s drooling.”

“Max, the biggest simp in Monaco,” Charles teased, suppressing a laugh. “He’s got those hearts in his eyes again.”

Max was clearly oblivious, completely entranced by your graceful presence. He didn’t just admire you; it was as though he had built a world around the very idea of you.

The way you spoke with your fans, how you listened to each story and responded with genuine interest—it captivated him.

“Should we go over and rescue him?” Lando suggested, feigning concern while he grinned. “Or do we let him bask in his hopeless dreams for a little longer?”

“He’ll be fine,” Charles replied, shaking his head. “But maybe we should give him a little push. He wouldn’t take any of this as serious if it were us in front of that crowd.”

“I can’t believe he’s got it this bad,” Lando said, his tone playful, “What spice do you think he would add to the word ‘simp’ if it was his turn to describe it? Charismatic? Earned? I can practically hear his monologue right now.”

Charles laughed, then leaned forward, narrowing his eyes as he studied Max. “But seriously, look at him. It’s like watching a puppy. You know he wouldn’t even know what to say to her.”

While they teased Max, he remained entranced. Conscious of his friends’ snickering, he reluctantly stole a glance at them and noticed their laughter.

Realizing what they were up to, he straightened, a blush creeping up his neck.

“Guys! Quit it!” he called out, his voice laced with embarrassment. “I’m just watching!”

“Yeah, watching her while looking like you’re in a personal rom-com,” Lando snickered. “How about a quick flirt, huh? We can’t let those hours of sim racing go to waste, Max!”

“Or we could help you,” Charles added, the corners of his mouth curling into a teasing grin. “I could distract her while you swoop in for a heroic rescue.”

Max rolled his eyes, attempting to shake off their banter, yet a smile tugged at his lips, unable to fully resist the comedic timing of his over-the-top friends.

“You two are ridiculous, you know that? I’d rather drown than ask either one of you for ‘help’.”

“Oh please, it wouldn’t even be asking!” Lando exchanged a knowing grin with Charles. “You’d be thanking us with how epic this moment will be.”

Just as their banter continued, you finished with the last group of fans, standing tall under the sun, blissfully unaware of the trio observing you.

You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear and took out your phone, scrolling through your messages.

“Look! She’s free! Go now!” Lando exclaimed, shoving Max lightly.

“What? No! I can't!” Max stuttered, standing rigid, his earlier confidence evaporating.

Charles leaned closer, unfazed by Max’s protests. “You brought this on yourself. You can’t let the opportunity pass you by. Just be yourself.”

“Be myself?” Max echoed incredulously. “What does that even mean? Look at her! She’s amazing. I’m just… me.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Charles replied. “She doesn't want another trophy; she wants someone real. If you don’t go talk to her, you’ll never know.”

With a deep breath, Max took a step back, contemplating the ocean of thoughts that whirled within him. “What if I mess up? Or worse, what if she thinks I’m just a weird guy?”

“Mate! You're the Max Verstappen,” Lando shrugged. “I don't think she'll care.” He winked. “Now go. You could get all the cool points.”

With a silent nod and a rush of adrenaline, Max finally took a step forward. As he approached you, he tried to focus on the words swirling in his mind.

Closer and closer, he felt his heart race—this was it.

You looked up just as he reached you, and your eyes met his. His breath caught, a mix of excitement and nervousness weaving together. “Hey…,” he managed to say, suddenly feeling small in this vast world of possibility.

You smiled brightly, that same warmth radiating from you that had drawn him here. “Hi there! You’re a fan of the team, right?”

Max nodded, wrestling with the best response while standing here, finally face to face with the person he admired yet knew so little about. “Yeah, I mean, um, I—I am.” He swallowed hard. “I saw you with your fans over there, and, um, you were amazing.”

A soft chuckle escaped you. “Thank you! I love connecting with them. It’s the least I can do. They make our sport so vibrant and exciting.”

“I can see that,” Max said, feeling the confidence slowly emerging. “Just like you’re making this whole weekend brighter.”

The two of you shared a laugh that alleviated the tension, and with each word, the distance between you lessened. The shimmer of stars began to paint the sky as the sun set, casting a magical glow over the race circuit, where a new chapter began to unfold.

Meanwhile, Charles and Lando watched from a distance, an approving grin plastered on their faces. “Maybe our Max isn’t such a hopeless case after all,” Lando mused, nudging Charles.

“Looks like our little simp might just prove us all wrong,” Charles replied, folding his arms in satisfaction as they witnessed the unfolding moment between you and Max, already knowing it was destined to be a story worth telling.

You’ve always found comfort in the chaos of racing. The revving engines, the smell of burnt rubber, and the exhilaration hanging in the air—every race was a whirlwind of excitement.

As a social media influencer, you had the chance to immerse yourself in this electrifying world, and attending each Grand Prix was like living in a breathtaking dream.

But it wasn't just the races that thrilled you; it was the company you kept, particularly Max.

He was a whirlwind on the track, deftly maneuvering through the chaos of his competitors. Off the track, however, he was refreshingly down-to-earth.

From the moment you met, a strong bond formed—a friendship that quickly evolved into the kind of connection that made fans and onlookers raise their eyebrows with curiosity.

Your camaraderie was vibrant and infectious, turning the drivers’ lounge into your personal arena of chaos where everyone else was a spectator.

“Hey, Max!” you exclaimed, waving as he walked through the driver’s lounge after a particularly grueling race in Miami. A smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth.

“Y/N! Ready for some ‘maxplaining’?” he teased, giving you a playful nudge.

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “You mean me doing the yapping, Maxplaining is your job.”

“Touché,” he grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “But let’s compare notes on what went wrong today. I have a few things to say.”

You led him to a quieter corner, the hum of the lounge fading as the two of you settled into a rhythm. You were comfortable with each other, like family.

“Okay, admit it,” you began, leaning in conspiratorially. “You totally could have cut that last corner better. What were you thinking?”

Max feigned a horrified gasp. “What do you mean? I was just giving the crowds a show! It’s about the drama, Y/N!”

“Drama?” you chuckled. “More like a slow dance with the wall! Lando warned you, didn’t he?”

Max smirked, clearly enjoying the banter. “Lando is always going on about it. It’s like he thinks he can drive better just because he’s got a fancy new helmet.”

At that, you burst out laughing, imagining Lando prancing around, confidently boasting about helmet aerodynamics while utterly ignoring the zen of driving.

Lando had long since accepted his role in your friendship as the comedic relief, always reminding you both to loosen up amidst the pressure.

As the races sped by from more distant tracks like COTA to the legendary Brazil Grand Prix, your friendship deepened wonderfully, forming an unbreakable bond.

Instagram stories filled with laughter and spontaneous videos of Max’s antics, unfiltered and untamed, all while being followed by millions.

It wasn’t merely a friendship; it was an adventure, one you cherished.

“Oh, I’m definitely maxplaining this one for the Gram,” you declared one day, holding up your phone as Max attempted to juggle a football while simultaneously answering questions from fans.

“Y/N, focus! We need to practice our pre-race rituals, not showcase my juggling skills,” Max replied, though he couldn’t resist the allure of the camera, striking a mock-serious pose.

“Fine, focus mode activated! But I’ll always film your epic fails,” you bantered, capturing him dramatically failing to keep the football afloat.

The moments you shared were infused with invaluable lessons and effortless joy. It was on a chill evening following a hot race that things began to shift for you both.

“Do you ever think about what life would be like if you weren’t racing? Like, normal stuff?” you asked, settling comfortably in a lounge chair, your gaze fixed on the sunset outside the paddock.

Max paused, his expression turning thoughtful. “Sometimes. It’s hard, though. Racing is everything I know—you lose track of reality. But I guess if I weren’t here...” he trailed off, his brow furrowing, “I’d probably be lost.”

“I get that,” you affirmed. “But you’re not just a racer, Max. You’re an inspiration to so many. It’s more than just speed; it’s the grit and passion the fans see.”

A shy smile crept across his face. “And you, Y/N, you’re more than just this influencer. You humanize the sport. You put a face to racing that isn’t just helmets and stats.”

Caught off guard by his sincerity, you felt a flutter in your chest. “Thanks, Max. That means a lot,” you replied, warmth spreading through you.

There was a beat of silence before he continued, “Have you ever thought about how this could go beyond racing?”

Your heart raced. “What do you mean?”

"Nothing," he muttered shyly, his ears went bright red and excused himself to finish his debriefing. . . .

The evening sun cast a warm glow over the park as Max leaned against a nearby wall, scrolling through his phone.

He had been enjoying his time with you, your banter and laughter filling the air, a comfortable rhythm you had established over the weeks.

Yet, beneath the surface of your friendship, Max felt a flicker of something deeper, a burgeoning affection he hadn’t quite dared to voice.

Suddenly, he noticed a figure approaching you—a tall, dark-haired guy who carried himself with an ease that annoyed Max for reasons he couldn’t fully articulate.

As the guy drew closer, he greeted you with a wide smile, and you responded with a tension in your shoulders that sent alarm bells ringing in Max’s head.

"Hey, Y/N!" the guy said, his voice overly cheerful as if he were trying to create an upbeat atmosphere. "Long time no see! How have you been?"

“Uh, hi, Ben,” you replied, your voice lacking its usual vibrancy. “I’ve been… good.” You shifted your weight uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact while fiddling with the strap of your bag.

Max couldn’t hear the rest of your conversation, but he could see your discomfort rise like a tide. Ben leaned in closer, gesturing animatedly with his hands, and Max’s heart raced.

It was clear you wanted to retreat, but Ben seemed oblivious to your disinterest.

Max took a step off the wall, deciding he didn't like the way Ben was invading your personal space. He approached them, a casual yet protective demeanor in his stride.

“Hey, babe! There you are!” he had called out, forcing the brightness into his tone, hoping to drown out the awkwardness hanging in the air.

Your relief was evident as you turned to him with that light that made everything feel right.

“Oh! Maxy, hey!” you exclaimed, that simple greeting sending a jolt of happiness through him.

He couldn’t help but grin at the way your eyes lit up when you saw him, a stark contrast to the cloud that overhung your expression when you were with Ben.

“Yeah, I just… um, was catching up with Ben here,” you said, the slight falter in your voice not going unnoticed by Max.

He felt a flicker of protectiveness flare up inside him, and he stepped closer, narrowing the space between you and Ben.

“Ben!” Max called, feigning cheerfulness as he directed his attention to the other guy, whose smile seemed to dim the moment he realized Max had entered the scene. “You’re still talking about high school? What a wild ride that was, right?”

Ben chuckled lightly, clearly irritated with Max's interruption but not wanting to show it. “Yeah, we were just reminiscing about old times,” he replied, shooting you a glance. “Isn’t that right, Y/N?”

“Right,” you muttered, your gaze darting away, unable to meet either of their eyes.

Max could see you were struggling, trapped in some unspoken tension, but he didn’t want to let you stay there any longer.

“Well, we’ve got our own plans,” Max interjected smoothly, a hint of challenge in his voice as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder gently.

“So, are you ready to grab that smoothie we talked about? The mango one?” He leaned in closer, lowering his voice like a conspirator sharing a secret, “I hear it’s worth it.”

You caught his eyes, and in that moment, your gratitude was palpable.

“Yes! I could really go for a mango smoothie right now,” you said, the tension easing from your face as you shifted your weight towards Max, your unexpected ally in this moment.

“Smoothies are great for tackling the past,” Max added with an exaggerated grin at Ben, who now looked like a puppet with its strings cut.

Max felt a thrill of satisfaction watching the other man’s expression sour, knowing you were finally free to escape this uncomfortable confrontation.

“Good to see you, Y/N,” Ben forced through gritted teeth, his eyes boring into Max as if trying to figure him out.

“Yeah, you too,” you replied, the practiced politeness in your tone striking a sharp contrast to the warmth you’d shown Max.

Together, you turned away from Ben, the café’s atmosphere lightening as you stepped outside into the warm sun.

Once you reached the sidewalk, your sigh of relief was almost comical. “Thank you for that, Max. I didn’t know how to get away.”

“Anytime,” he said, trying to keep his voice casual while his heart raced. “Ben can be a little… intense, can’t he?”

You laughed, the sound genuine and bright. “Intense is one way to put it. He has a way of making things complicated.”

“He’s... well, we have some history that’s not exactly fun,” you admitted, your expression somber as you waited for your smoothies.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Max asked gently, his heart thumping in his chest.

He didn’t want to push you, but he was curious and concerned at the same time.

You hesitated for a moment, your fingers tracing the rim of your phone. “It was just a complicated relationship. One of those where things started out great, but eventually spiraled into something toxic. It was… hard to let go.”

Max’s expression softened. “I understand. You don’t have to share everything if you’re not comfortable, though. I just want you to know I’m here for you, always.”

You smiled, a genuine light coming back to your eyes. “I appreciate that, Max. I think after all this time, I’ve finally learned what I want in my life. You just being here means a lot.”

“That’s what friends are for, right? And I wouldn’t want anyone to make you feel uncomfortable. You deserve better than that,” Max said, handing you the smoothie.

“Thanks, Max. You really are a great friend.” As you two walked away from the stand, you stole a glance at him, your eyes shining. “You know, I’m really glad to have you in my life.”

Max smiled. He just hoped he was something more to you. . . . .

It was a sunny Thursday afternoon when your phone buzzed unexpectedly. The screen lit up, revealing an incoming call from a number you recognized as belonging to Red Bull Racing's media team.

Your heart raced; you just had been following F1 closely, and your recent friendship with Max Verstappen had garnered its fair share of attention on social media.

You answered the call, curiosity piqued.

“Hey! Is this Y/N?” a cheerful voice greeted on the other end.

“Yes, it is!” you replied, trying to sound composed. “Who am I speaking with?”

“This is Sarah from Red Bull's media team. We’ve been monitoring the amazing fan reactions to the content featuring you and Max. We’d love to capitalize on that momentum,” she explained.

"We’d like to invite you to join Max for a fun game, which we plan to share on our social media. Are you up for it?"

You couldn’t believe it. “Absolutely,”

“Great! We’ll set it up for tomorrow afternoon. You'll both be given ten questions. Some will be about F1, and others will be random. Sound good?”

“Sounds fantastic,” you hung up, excitement bubbling inside.

Who wouldn't want to play a game with one of F1's biggest stars?

The next day, you arrived at the Red Bull Racing headquarters, a breathtaking fusion of sleek modern design and rich motorsport culture.

The moment you stepped inside, you were greeted with genuine smiles from the team members bustling around, their energy infectious, the air thick with the anticipation that always brewed before a race.

ou could hear the chatter about tire compounds and race strategies, a symphony of excitement that made your heart race.

After a quick cup of coffee—rich and strong enough to zap you awake—you engaged in light banter with a few of the engineers, teasing them about the latest car performance.

Just as you were beginning to feel at home, Olivia, the content manager, came over and ushered me into a bright studio space designed explicitly for video content.

“Ready for some fun today?” she asked, a playful glint in her eyes.

“I’m always ready for fun, especially with Max,” you replied with a grin.

As you entered the studio, you spotted Max Verstappen lounging against a table, his trademark red and blue cap perched backward on his head.

He was scrolling through his phone, but he looked up as you walked in, his face lighting up with a warm grin.

“Hey! Finally, the famous Y/N has arrived!” he exclaimed, his tone playful and welcoming.

You chuckled, rolling your eyes. “Don’t exaggerate, Max. I’m just the guy who occasionally shows up in your videos.”

“Nah, you’re a big deal now! Everyone loves the banter we have,” he insisted, pushing himself off the table and giving you a light punch on the shoulder. “Ready to get this started?”

“Absolutely. Let’s see who knows the other better!” you replied, feeling playful and competitive.

Sarah stepped in, ready to explain the rules. “Alright, everyone! Here’s how it will work. You’ll each take turns asking questions, alternating between F1 trivia and personal ones. Let’s find out just how well you know each other!”

“Sounds good,” Max said, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Ladies first.”

“Alright, Max,” you said, preparing to razz him with your first question. “What’s my favorite food?”

He crossed his arms, a teasing glint in his eyes. “That’s easy—pasta! But the way you always go on about it makes it seem like you think you’re Italian.”

You burst out laughing, caught off guard by his accuracy. “Damn! You’ve been paying attention,” you replied with mock disbelief. “But just wait till you get yours.”

“Bring it on!” He replied, leaning in with an eager grin.

You took a deep breath and decided to up the ante. “Okay, here’s an F1 trivia question. What year did Red Bull Racing first win the Constructors’ Championship?”

Without missing a beat, he said, “2010,” You raised an eyebrow. “Impressive!”

Then it was Max’s turn. He leaned closer, an intensity in his gaze. “What’s the last concert you went to?”

You paused for a moment, recalling the memory. “It was a Coldplay concert last year. They were amazing!”

The questions flowed naturally, and laughter filled the room as the banter turned to playful teasing. Each time he got an answer right, there was a spark—a moment of connection that seemed to linger in the air a second too long.

You caught him glancing at you from the corner of his eye, his expression both challenging and curious.

“Okay, okay, I have one for you,” he said, leaning forward conspiratorially, as if ready to break some sacred bond. “What do I like to do on my days off?”

You squinted, trying to remember the few times the team had shared off days together. “Uh, you like spending time with your cats, and you also love to do sim racing?”

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “Close! I do love spending time with sim racing, but I also spend too much time playing FIFA. You should’ve known that!”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Alright, your turn! What’s my guilty pleasure?”

Max smirked, a glint of mischief swirling in his gaze. “You’re definitely a sucker for reality TV. Pretty sure I’ve caught you watching Love Island USA a couple of times.”

“Guilty as charged!” you admitted, laughing along with him. “But I can defend my choices if you want—ahem, it’s simple entertainment!”

His lighthearted ribbing felt warm and right, and the camaraderie between the two of you had grown into a familiar rapport almost effortlessly.

As the Q&A continued, you both slowly drifted into laughter punctuated by thoughtful pauses where a silence spoke volumes.

You began to wonder if he felt the same magnetic pull you were experiencing. In those fleeting glances, you saw a flash of something—curiosity, longing—as if both of you were teetering on the edge of discovery.

Finally, as the game progressed toward the final question, Sarah interrupted with an excited sway. “Alright, I think we’re done for now! This video is definitely going to be a hit.”

You glanced at Max, who still wore that boyish grin—his energy infectious as he reveled in the laughter circulating around the room.

But deeper than that, you felt a weight pressing on your heart, urging you to say something more.

“Hey, Max, can I ask you something?” you called out, your voice steady despite the rush of emotions threatening to spill over.

“Sure, what’s on your mind?” He looked at you with genuine curiosity, and for a brief moment, it felt as though you were in a bubble, shut away from everyone else.

“About our chemistry—does it mean anything to you?” The question hung in the air like a transmitted spark, and you could see his expression turn serious, the lightness shifting into something deeper.

He took a moment, weighing your words. “Ever since we started being friends, it’s been… different. Fun, but something more,” he admitted, the sincerity in his voice resonating through you.

Your heart soared. Max was just as captivated by your chemistry as you were. It was as if some invisible thread had tethered you both, pulling you closer together.

With a casual flip of his cap back to forward, Max held your gaze. The laughter faded, and there you stood, surrounded by the energy of the Red Bull Racing headquarters, but your world had narrowed down to this single moment.

You felt the magnetic connection evolve into something tangible, something real that could break the barriers between colleagues and something much deeper—a thrilling journey ahead sparked by an unexpected electric tension. . . .

You glided down the hallway, adrenaline and excitement coursing through your veins. This was no ordinary night; in an unexpected twist, Max had chosen you to accompany him to an exclusive F1 gala.

You had always seen him as more than just a friend, but the tension between you had never been openly addressed—until now.

The door to the living room gave way, revealing Max perched comfortably on the sofa, his classic black tuxedo accentuating the chiselled lines of his physique. His tousled dark hair was slicked back, emphasizing the sharp angles of his jaw.

You couldn’t help but notice how handsome he looked. But when he turned to face you, his expression changed from admiration to sheer shock.

“How do I look?” you asked playfully, knowing full well that the dress you wore clung to your curves in just the right way.

Lifting the last of your earrings into place, you caught his gaze, lingering far too long on your neckline.

Max’s mouth fell slightly open, and he stammered, “I-uh- You look— You look great.”

His eyes seemed glued to your chest, and you smirked at him, shaking your head. “Yeah, okay, let’s keep our thoughts innocent,” you teased, a playful glint in your eye.

He blinked rapidly, as if waking from a trance, and his cheeks tinged with a light shade of crimson. “Right. Innocent. Of course.” His voice dropped an octave, trying to regain composure.

“You look—really beautiful. I mean, not that you don’t always…”

You laughed softly, enjoying the fluster you’d caused in the usually confident driver. “Thanks, Max. You clean up pretty well yourself.”

He stood up, adjusting the lapels of his tux and shooting you a half-welcoming smile. “Ready to go? I think I’m about to break a world record for the longest time spent staring without saying anything coherent.”

“Let’s get out of here before you break any more records,” you replied, grabbing your clutch and heading toward the door.

The gala was being held at a splendid venue in Monaco, the ambiance glowing with extravagance. The soft sounds of classical music floated through the air as you and Max made your way inside, adorned in gold and silver decorations.

It felt surreal, the elegance around you contrasting sharply with the adrenaline-fueled world of racing that was Max’s daily routine.

As you entered, the murmurs of guests turned into a wave of excitement. “Max! Over here!” A handful of fans spotted him, rushing forward with cameras and excited whispers.

You watched as he interacted with them effortlessly, signing autographs and posing for pictures. A wave of pride washed over you; he was not just a friend but a superstar—one of the best drivers in the world.

After several moments of mingling with his fans, he returned to your side, breathless from the attention.

“I’m glad you’re here with me,” he said, his voice now lowered to an almost intimate whisper. “It’s... a lot sometimes.”

You offered him a warm smile, knowing how taxing the spotlight could be. “It’s nice to see you outside of the track. You can actually relax for once.”

With that notion in mind, he later led you to the bar, where you both ordered drinks—Max preferring a classic whiskey while you chose a sparkling signature cocktail adorned with fresh fruit.

As you sipped your second drink, you turned to him. “So, any secret dreams for the season?”

Max leaned back against the bar, an amused smile stretching across his face. “Well, aside from winning, I might want to one-up my last season’s record. Or maybe…”

He paused dramatically, “I was hoping for a podium finish on our next outing in Italy. It’s always been a special place for me.”

“Why is that? The food, the scenery?” you queried, genuinely curious.

“It’s got the perfect blend of everything. The passion, the fans... And the tire placements at Monza are—well, they’re quite thrilling,” he explained, his enthusiasm evident.

You listened, fascinated by his love for the sport and the intricacies he shared. “I can see why you love it so much,” you replied, “It’s like an art form...”

“Exactly!” His eyes sparked with enthusiasm. “And speaking of art, I could hardly choose an artwork more stunning than you tonight.”

Feeling the heat rise to your cheeks, you chuckled softly. “Smooth, Max. Just remember, I’m not a trophy to be won.”

“More like a prize, then,” he shot back, his grinning eyes glinting in the light.

After what felt like a whirl of conversations and laughter, you noticed the transition in the evening. As Max caught your gaze, he spoke softly, “Say, would you like to dance?”

You hesitated for a moment, caught off-guard. “Dance? I’m not even sure I know how to—”

“You know how to sway, don’t you?” he teased, offering his hand. “Just follow my lead.”

The two of you shifted onto the dance floor, surrounded by elegantly dressed couples twirling and gliding with grace. The music faded into an intoxicating sound that seemed to pull you both closer together.

His hand found the small of your back, guiding you smoothly.

“What do you think?” he whispered in your ear as you found your rhythm. “Not so bad, is it?”

“Not bad at all,” you replied, heart racing as you shared his space. The warmth from his body enveloped you, grounding you.

Eventually, the song slowed, and as you swayed in closer, you could feel the heat radiating between you. It was a different rhythm now, one that echoed the unspoken tension of your friendship.

You felt his breath hitch as he leaned closer, inhaling softly.

“Can I tell you something?” he asked, his voice earnest.

“Yeah?” You searched his face, and the way his eyes flickered with vulnerability sent a shiver down your spine.

“I’m glad I chose you to come with me tonight,” he admitted, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re not just a date; you’re... you’re everything.”

You felt your heart skip a beat. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I care about you. More than just a friend,” he confessed, the courage of his words electrifying.

And there it was, laid bare before you in the most romantic of settings.

“Max, I feel the same.”

His gaze held yours, vulnerability mixing with unfettered joy. The music around you faded, but the world felt suspended in time, just the two of you wrapped in honesty.

He took a breath, then leaned down, brushing his lips softly against yours, tentative at first. You melted into the kiss, feeling like the most cherished person in the room.

The night had transformed into something truly unforgettable, and you knew that this moment was the beginning of something beautiful.

You wake up to the insistent buzzing of your phone beside you on the bedside table. Light streams through the curtains, illuminating the chaos of your living room, remnants from the night before—glasses, laughter, and the unmistakable scent of champagne.

You try to ignore the phone, but the buzzing doesn’t stop, and neither does the nauseating flutter of anxiety in your stomach.

“Who is it?” you murmur to yourself, glancing at the screen. Max’s name flashes back at you, and your heart races. Memories come flooding back. The party. The laughter.

His lips brushing against yours with a tenderness that made everything else in the room melt away. The kiss—a moment suspended in time, etched forever into your mind.

But then everything changed. The kiss had been captured, and going viral made it feel all too public. You had fallen for him—hard—but now the weight of that kiss felt like a betrayal.

You were terrified it would affect his career, and yet, what happened was beautiful. You cannot reconcile the two.

“God, what have I done?” You bury your face in your hands as shame washes over you. The thought of what the public would say twists like a knife in your heart.

You pick up your phone and stare at it, the guilt tightening its grip on your throat. You tell yourself you should call Max, but what would you even say?

You can’t shake the feeling that you’ve ruined everything. You let it ring through to voicemail, your thumb hovering over the disconnect button.

“Hey, it’s Max Verstappen. I’m probably busy right now, but please leave a message.” His cheerful voice rings out, and you hear the tremor of hope in it.

You feel like you might cry, but you can’t give in. Not now. You drop the phone back onto the table, letting out a shaky breath.

A few hours later, you finally get out of bed and make yourself a cup of coffee, hoping the caffeine will steady your nerves. On impulse, you switch on your laptop.

The first thing you see is a headline blaring from every angle: Max and Y/N: The Viral Kiss That Broke the Internet. Your heart sinks further. This was surreal and terrifying all at once.

“Incredible,” you mutter under your breath, rolling your eyes. You want to escape from it all. In that moment, the coffee tastes bitter.

Later that afternoon, you’re stirring the milk when your phone lights up again. It’s Max. You feel a rush of warmth mixed with dread.

You hesitate, fingers trembling as you stare at his name. Finally, you press the button, willing yourself to answer.

“Hello?” his voice is light, almost cheerful, and you can hear how easy it is for him to smile despite the chaos surrounding both of you.

“Max,” you manage, voice shaky. “We need to talk.”

There’s a moment of silence on the other end. “Are you okay?” His concern is palpable. “What’s wrong?”

You take a deep breath. “About last night… the kiss… the cameras… I can't help but feel like I’ve ruined your career somehow. We’re all over the media, Max! What if it affects your races? Your reputation?”

“Whoa, whoa,” he interjects, clearly caught off guard. “You didn’t ruin anything. Trust me. In fact, I’m glad it happened. I wanted people to know how I feel.”

“How can you be so relaxed about this?” you manage, frustration creeping in. “You’re an F1 driver. Your image matters.”

“Yeah, but my heart matters more,” he replies, and there's an unmistakable intensity in his tone. “You matter more.”

“Max, what do you mean?” Your heart skips a beat. Those words run like electricity through you.

“You and me… last night was amazing—life-changing, actually. I’ve been wanting to be with you for a long time, and it finally happened.” He chuckles softly, the sound bringing a small smile to your lips.

“All the media chatter is just noise. I'm happy people see how I feel about you.”

“You don’t understand. They’ll twist it. They’ll make it sound like you’re just some guy who kisses his fans! This isn’t a good look!”

“Listen,” he says firmly. “If they want to spin it that way, let them. But I know the truth, and so do you. I didn’t kiss a fan; I kissed the person I care about the most. That’s you, and nothing anyone says will change that.”

You feel like you could cry. Max’s words are a balm for your frayed nerves. But still, the doubt claws at you. “What if it backfires? What if it affects your team’s performance?”

“It won’t,” he insists, voice lighter now. “I thrive on pressure. Trust me; if I can drive a Formula 1 car at 200 miles an hour, I can manage whatever they throw at me. More importantly, it’s you I want in my life. Can you at least think about that?”

The sincerity in his voice is undeniable. You take a moment, letting it seep in. “I just… I don’t want to be the reason you face backlash.”

“Only if you don’t call back,” he says, teasing you gently. “But seriously, let’s enjoy this. Go out with me, just once, without worrying about the cameras.”

“I don’t even know how the press will react,” you sigh.

“Then surprise them. Pick a restaurant, and I’ll be there.”

You can feel your heart racing as you mull it over, but deep down, something beautiful stirs—a possibility, a spark. You could face the chaos together.

Finally, you admit, “Okay, then. Tomorrow, let’s go to that Italian place we love. But just a warning: I’m not putting on a show for anyone.”

“Perfect. Just you, me, and pasta,” he chuckles, and you can’t help but laugh, feeling the tension ease a little.

As you hang up, you stare out the window, meeting your own gaze in the reflection.

The episode before you has unsettled you, but perhaps, just perhaps, you and Max are writing the first chapter of something profound—something that even the world beyond the two of you could never fully understand.

Your heart swells with anticipation for what lies ahead. . . .

The soft glow of the late afternoon sun filtered through the curtains of your room, casting playful patterns on the floor as you stared at your reflection in the mirror. Your heart raced with excitement and nerves as you brushed the last strokes of mascara on your lashes.

You wanted to look your best, not just for yourself, but for Max. After the viral moment that had your names splashed across every social media feed, meeting up felt like stepping into a whirlwind you couldn’t escape, nor did you want to.

“You look amazing!” your best friend Mia said, planting herself on your bed, her phone in hand. “That dress is perfect for you!”

You twirled in front of the mirror, the fabric swirling around your legs. “Do you think he’ll even notice?” you laughed nervously, trying to inject levity into the situation.

“Are you kidding? Max will definitely notice. He’s been on cloud nine since that kiss!” Mia replied, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I mean, who wouldn’t be a little distracted by the thought of a girl like you?”

Just then, the sound of your phone buzzing stole your attention. You rushed over, your heart leaping when you saw Max’s name.

“Hey!” you said, trying to contain your excitement.

“Hey!” he replied, his voice warm and a little nervous. “I’m outside. Ready to go?”

“Yeah, just give me a second!” you hurried to grab your jacket and purse, glancing at Mia over your shoulder. She gave you a thumbs-up and a grin before you dashed down the stairs and out the door.

Max stood leaning against his car, looking effortlessly handsome in a fitted navy shirt and jeans that accentuated his athletic figure. His hair was slightly tousled, the sun catching the glint in his blue eyes as he turned to you.

“Wow,” he said, his smile widening. “You look incredible.”

“Thanks! You don’t look too bad yourself,” you replied, trying to act cool while your cheeks heated up.

“Ready for our big adventure?” he asked, opening the car door for you.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you replied with a laugh, settling into the passenger seat.

Max drove in a comfortable silence for a while, the radio playing softly in the background as you occasionally glanced at one another, the tension palpable yet exciting. Eventually, you broke the silence.

“So, about that kiss…” you began, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress.

Max chuckled, a little shyly, “You mean the one that broke the internet?”

“Yeah, that one! Do you think… I mean, how do you feel about it?” you asked, your heart pounding in your chest.

He glanced at you, his expression serious yet playful. “Honestly? I’m still pinching myself. I didn’t expect to get carried away like that, but when I saw you, it was like everything else faded away.”

“Same here,” you admitted, your gaze locked onto his profile, trying to decipher his thoughts. “But now the whole world knows, and that’s a little overwhelming.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I get that. I wasn’t ready for the headlines either. But I kind of love that we’re doing this together, even if people are watching.”

“Are you sure you’re okay with the attention?” you asked, concern flickering across your features. “I mean, we didn’t even talk about what this means.”

Max reached over and placed his hand on yours, sending a warm jolt through your arm. “I’m okay with it because it’s you. I like you, and I want to see where this can go, with all the chaos around us.”

You smiled, your heart swelling at his words. “You really mean that?”

“Absolutely,” he said with a sincerity that made your breath catch. “So, how about we forget about the cameras and just enjoy our time together?”

Nodding eagerly, you felt a surge of relief wash over you. “I’d like that.”

You spent the afternoon at a quaint café downtown, the hum of conversation and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee setting a cozy atmosphere. You shared stories over pastries, laughter ringing between you both as you learned more about one another.

“Okay, your turn,” you said after Max revealed his embarrassing childhood nickname. “What’s your biggest fear?”

Max took a moment to think, a slight furrow spreading across his brow. “Honestly? Losing the people I care about. Being a driver means that you travel a lot which means you lose friends quickly.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, feeling a rush of empathy.

“It’s alright,” he said quickly, lifting his gaze to meet yours. “It taught me to value the people in my life even more. I guess that’s why I feel so lucky to have met you.”

Your heart fluttered as he leaned in slightly, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. “Also, I’m terrified of clowns.”

You burst into laughter, the tension from earlier melting away. “Oh come on! You can’t be serious.”

“I am! They’re just so unpredictable,” he insisted, his expression mock-stern. “One minute they’re juggling, and the next, they’re doing who knows what.”

You continued to share stories and tease each other, the world beyond the restaurant fading away. It wasn’t until you stepped out into the warm evening that you realized just how much you enjoyed his company.

“Wanna take a walk?” Max suggested, his hand naturally finding yours.

“I’d love to,” you replied, intertwining your fingers with his while you strolled through the twinkling lights of the downtown streets.

As you walked, the conversation flowed easily, your laughter mingling with the warm evening breeze. With every passing moment, the nervousness that had initially gripped you dissipated, replaced by a growing affection.

Then, as you rounded a quieter corner near the park, Max paused, turning to face me. The city lights danced in his eyes, and the warmth between you two was undeniable.

“Can I—” he hesitated, his gaze searching yours, “Can I kiss you again?”

You nodded, your heart fluttering wildly. “Definitely.”

He leaned in, his lips brushing softly against yours, igniting a flurry of butterflies in your stomach. This kiss was different, deeper, and more meaningful than the last—an unspoken promise of what was to come.

You pulled away, and you laughed breathlessly, trying to catch your breath.

“You know, if this goes viral too, at least it’ll be a better story,” Max teased, a charming smile spreading across his face.

“Let them talk!” you giggled, feeling a wave of confidence wash over you. “As long as it’s with you, I’m in.”

“Good,” he replied, his expression sincere. “Because I think we’re just getting started.”

With that, hand in hand, you continued your stroll, the world around you two fading into a beautiful blur as you embraced the adventure that lay ahead—together.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the paddock. You and Max walked hand in hand, the sensation both electrifying and soothing.

The world had made a spectacle of your private moment, and now, as you stepped into the paddock, everyone watched, their eyes glimmering with curiosity and amusement.

“Why do you have to look at me like that? It’s making me weak, please stop,” you said, your voice a soft murmur as you caught his gaze.

His eyes sparkled with mischief, but there was something deeper—an unspoken promise that made your heart race.

Max chuckled, a warm laugh that seemed to drown out the chatter of the surrounding crowd. “Look at you, though. How can I not? You’re stunning today,” he said, his fingers gently squeezing yours.

He was always so effortless, a confidence that could light up a room, and now he was casting that glow on you.

You blushed slightly, trying to suppress a smile. “You know that’s not fair. You always know what to say to make me squirm,” you replied playfully, a hint of teasing in your voice.

“I’m just being honest,” he replied, turning serious for a moment. “You have to know how lucky I feel. I can’t stop thinking about you,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate tone.

The sincerity in his words made you feel exposed, yet cherished.

You felt a blush creeping up your cheeks at the compliment. “Lucky, huh? You’re the one racing in the fastest cars in the world. I’m just here, taking selfies and trying not to trip over all the cables.”

He squeezed your hand, a reassuring gesture that made you feel as if the two of you were in your own little world, separate from the high-octane chaos surrounding you. “Nah, the real race is in my heart. And you’ve won it.”

“Smooth talker,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully, though your heart fluttered at his words. “Just wait until you end up on the podium again; you’ll be too busy celebrating to remember little ol’ me.”

“Not a chance,” he replied, his voice filled with conviction. “You know I’d dedicate every race to you if I could. Last time on the podium—remember? I pointed to you. That was for you.”

“Yeah, I remember,” you said, your smile wide. “You were practically glowing. It was such an amazing moment.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt happier,” Max said, a serious tone creeping into his voice. “Every time I look at you, I get reminded of what really matters.”

“Okay, now you’re going to make me cry,” you joked, but there was a hint of sincerity in your tone. “Don’t ruin my makeup, please!”

Max laughed, the sound warm and infectious. “I promise, I won’t deliberately make you cry. But you are basically my good luck charm. You have to come to every race now.”

“Deal. But I get to pick the after-party spots,” you replied, and he raised an eyebrow.

“Who said I was going to take you to an after-party? I might want to just take you home and cook you dinner.”

“Cook? You?” You laughed. “I thought you’d just rely on takeout after the races.”

“I can surprise you,” he said with a smirk. “Besides, there’s something nice about a home-cooked meal. Wouldn’t you want to try my pasta? I’ve perfected it over the years.”

“Fine, but it better not be like the time you tried to make pancakes and turned them into a science experiment,” you shot back, remembering the sticky disaster that had resulted in laughter and flour-coated walls.

“Hey! That was one time. I’m much better now,” he insisted, pretending to be offended. But the twinkle in his eyes told you he was just teasing.

As you walked past the team garages, you noticed the crew setting up for the next race, and the adrenaline of the environment pulsed through you. “Max, look at all of this hustle and bustle. Doesn’t it make your heart race?”

He nodded, his expression serious now as he gazed at the busy scene. “Definitely. It’s the thrill of competition—everyone’s working hard for one goal. But to me, nothing compares to this moment with you.”

Your heart swelled at his words. “You really know how to make a girl feel special, don’t you?”

“I try my best,” he admitted, a playful grin returning. “But honestly, you inspire me to push harder, to be better. I want to win races, not just for myself, but for you.”

“Max, that’s so sweet. Just promise me you won’t risk it all out there. I can’t bear the thought of anything happening to you.”

His expression softened, and he brought your hands to his lips, kissing them gently. “I promise. I’ll always be careful. You and I have a lifetime of moments to create together, and I won’t let anything take that away.”

You both stood there for a moment, the noise of the paddock fading into the background as you simply enjoyed each other’s company. The world around you became a blur, and it felt as if time stood still.

“Alright, what’s next on our agenda?” Max asked, breaking the spell of the moment.

You glanced around thoughtfully. “How about we grab a bite to eat? I’m starving.”

“Perfect! I know this great place just down the road. And after that, I’ll show you my secret hiding spot in the paddock where I keep my trophies,” he said, winking at you.

“Trophies and secrets? You really do know how to woo a girl,” you replied, playfully nudging him as you both started walking toward the exit.

“Oh, I’ve got plenty more up my sleeve,” he said confidently, pulling you closer as you stepped into the evening light, hand in hand, ready to face whatever adventures were ahead. "You are my priority after all,"

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hyperions-light · 1 day ago

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The Poison Fruit Ripens

#defendingtheending here we go

First of all mega super ultra spoilers for the ending teaser that Steam says like… 6% ? Of players have seen? So you’ve been warned. No cuts baby, it’s Miyazaki style

Okay, so it’s the Executors, and they’re probably coming across the sea in the next game (if EA doesn’t nuke BW), from what I can gather. I mean, this is fine from a lore perspective. All we knew about those people before is that 1) they are mysterious 2) they are from over there, across the ocean

And now they’re maybe connected to the revealed Qunari lore, which I am ! So excited to have! We already knew that the Qunari fled across the ocean for unspecified reasons, and that going back there was Not A Thing. But now we know that they left because of the (probably metaphorical?) Devouring Storm, which could be connected to the Executors. What are the odds that there are two separate Huge Bad Things Over There that both want to destroy Thedas? Probably is just one big thing— also the title Executor implies they are doing the bidding of someone else, so whatever the Qunari were talking about could be it. (They also talked about being agents of someone else’s will in the Inquisition War Table quest).

So the cinematic shows a bunch of our prominent villains from the previous games being influenced in some way by the Executors. Which I think people are upset about, but I think it’s fine because:

- They did not really specify the manner of influence. I would be annoyed if they retconned Loghain’s decision to leave Cailan on the battlefield because it makes him interesting, but they didn’t say that. They just said they influenced his decisions. They could have done that by stoking his paranoia about Orlais, or by planting Arl Howe to influence him after the battle. He did a lot of OOC stuff while he was King Regent, and this could be a chance to explain what didn’t make sense for his previously established character and was just put in there to make him seem Very Evil.

- They also were around some people doing a blood magic ritual… there weren’t enough of them to be the Magisters, technically, but that is usually what it looks like when we see them in DA art so I’m going to assume that’s them for now. I mean that’s wild if that’s what it is bc that was such a long time ago? Thee guys have really been playing the long game I guess

- The other person they directly influenced seems to be Bartrand, which is really easy because who the fuck gave him that damn map? We NEVER found out who pointed Bartrand to the Thaig! Someone did it, and they probably did it on purpose! It may as well be these guys

- the rest of the villains don’t get guys whispering to them, so I have to assume they mean to imply that they just set up the circumstances that would lead to these people gaining power. I mean someone sent the Carta to the Vimmark mountains, right? And there was like some weird demon there, too.

-So basically they’re just implying that these people have been manipulating events to make sure that shit in Thedas is hitting the fan all at once, which does kind of explain the frankly improbable number of world-ending events that have happened during the Dragon Age. I mean, three Blights, two Magisters, two Evanuris, Antaam invasion, major mage rebellion, Templar schism, and the death of the Southern Divine? It’s only been like 50 years!!! Before the Dragon Age there had only been four Blights since the Ancient Age! Shit does not normally happen this fast in Thedas

I think the phrase itself is pretty direct (also giving Southern Reach vibes). All this chaos they helped sew is reaching its culmination, and now they’re getting ready to cash in the chips. They’re coming to Thedas at the moment that all the great powers are at their weakest, when there’s basically no one to oppose them. Tevinter? Fucked. Qunari? No military anymore. Antiva? Haha! lol, even. Fereldan? Basically gone. Orlais? In shambles. Free Marches? Decimated. Anderfels? There’s like 100 Wardens left in a swamp. Nevarra? I actually don’t know, maybe the lichlords can do something. Maybe Rivain could field some token resistance if they didn’t get hit by the Antaam too badly, but that’s kind of it IMO. This is THE time to come in and conquer(?) the land, or whatever they’re trying to do. Kill everybody?? Turn them into Darkspawn? Who knows!

Some speculation about what could be done to repel invasion:

- shit ton of blood magic

- fix titans, wake them up??? But idk if they’d be into it

- adaari, but idk if there are that many

- people with dragon blood, like the Theirins, are maybe super special and can do things?

- pirates, baby!!! Woooooo!

- I guess Mythal could know something? She can see the future a bit

- dragon army! Dragon army!!

#dragon age #datv spoilers #veilguard #dragon age: the veilguard spoilers #veilguard spoilers #dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age the veilguard

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absolutebl · 2 days ago

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This Week in BL - Why so much on right now?

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

NOV 2024 Week 4

Ongoing Series - Thai

Your Sky (Sun iQIYI) ep 1 of 12 - Classic old school Thai BL. Of course I love it. Naïve sunshine freshman vs strict older protective boy (who already likes him but refuses to show it). Is he grumpy or just gay and tired of all of these women? We don’t know. We don’t care. We just want to see them fake a relationship. And that’s what we’re getting. I love it. I also love the friendship group, and that the younger brother is in it and he has some of the same magic BL-hottie superpowers as his older brother. It’s great.

Love Sick 2024 (Sun iQIYI) ep 10 of 15 - Phun actually turns into dangerous babygirl when he is flirting, who knew? (Dangerous Babygirl is a new archetype I have just invented by the way. Yes, I am pleased with myself.) Noh, who is a nice boy, doesn’t stand a chance. Neither does Jeed, since this new babygirl superpower gives Phun a damn near perfect “back off bitch” face.

The arm drape public claiming, it gets me every time. Has done since SOTUS. Nong Mick is hero-level in this version, hands-down my favorite character this time around (and a non-entity last time). I love him so much I can’t stand it. I haven’t updated my 1:1 comparison yet this week, didn’t have time to rewatch 2014, but I will later tonight. I'm chronicling my experience with 2024 as compared to 2014 here.

Kidnap (Fri Gaga) ep 12 end - What an absolutely excellent final episode. Smiley kisses!

Conclusion

A cute if patently absurd little show about a stuntman who is somehow convinced to kidnap a rich kid except they fall in love. It takes itself a little more seriously than it deserves for such a silly plot and some crappy stunts and contradictory content, but it was a pleasantly romantic experience all around, and I enjoyed myself. Extra credit for Q in that perfect blue color throughout. No complaints, a solid BL. 8/10

The Heart Killers (Weds Gaga) ep 1 of 12 - Jojo directs FirstKhao & JoongDunk in an action romcom about assassin brothers (Khao & Joong) who meet a tattoo artist (First) and a cocky mechanic (Dunk). I'm highly amused that Joong plays the older brother to Khao and that we have a take on the Taming of the ShrewBL. This has all GMMTV's best chemistry in one BL and some fresh concepts that I've only seen tackled in m/m romance novels (check out Amy Lane's Racing for the Sun, thank me later). My only quibble is Jojo, I like his style but his characters can get unreliably messy so…... this gonna be interesting.

Buckle up buttercups I got thoughts:

Frankly, I haven’t decided if this is good or so bad and so camp that it’s good? The latter I suspect. Either way, I’m enjoying it very much, but I had very little doubt that I would. This falls into so many of my wheelhouses. Not just the premise but the casting and the approach and the script. They pretty much knocked it out of the park with the first episode: one night stand + safe sex + linguistic negotiation = I’m in! During the opening sequence I spent the entire time worried about how many fingerprints Bison was leaving everywhere. And then I realized this show is going to require DEMAND we turn our brains entirely off.

We are in KinnPorshce / The Sign territory people. Take emergency precautions! Do not engage brain meats!

Kiss Me Kate only gay and hitmen? Frankly, it sells itself. The music is extremely stupid though. (Brain, stop it!) I gotta say that FirstKhao are good because…… FirstKhao. But JoongDunk are absolutely perfectly cast. Like: couldn’t be a better pair in these roles. Dunk, in particular, is slaying. I did not have Dunk as Petruchio down on my “best casting choice of all time” BL bingo card, but apparently there he is. Awesome.

Fourever You (Thurs YT) ep 8 of 16 - I’m warming up to the second couple a little bit. I actually don’t mind a bully romance the way some do. But this isn’t quite hitting the notes that I want from one. Still, I found this week more engaging than last week.

Secret Love (? YT?) 1-12 of 81 eps - They dropped 12 eps at once randomly on YT totaling about 20 min. So of course, I watched it. Because I have no self-control and STEPBROTHERS! Adopted into a rich family, boy falls in love with heir. But when he is made the heir instead, everything goes wrong. Now enemies the two boys reunite and sparks! I hate this format but dammit I love this utter dross. It’s very early Chinese BL feeling but from Thailand. I don’t care. It’s so stupidly great. This is my kind of BL.

Caged Again (Fri Gaga) ep 3 of 10 - There is something sweetly innocent and earnest about this show. It reminds me of Takara and Amagi or even Light On Me but less stiff - this one is quintessentially quirky and casually Thai about it. It’s interesting that this has an 18+ rating, which means it’s either gonna go very violent or sexy or both. Right now I can’t imagine that, it doesn’t suit. But I’m looking forward to seeing where this goes. Junior with his Mean Girl crop top moment is the goddess of the week though. Fierce queen penguin.

Perfect 10 Liners (Sun YT?) ep 4 of 24 - I love the side couple so damn much. How are they so adorable? Still not wild about the mains, and not likely to get there anytime soon. That said, I did like seeing the “sleeping in your boyfriend‘s class while he gives you his jacket” trope drop. We haven’t had that one for a really long time. My Engineer maybe?

Every You Every Me (Mon Gaga) ep 7 of 8 - I did find this installment kind of boring. I just don’t like actors as main characters. Much as I’m enjoying this show and I think the actors are doing a good job, I really do wish it was more like what we had been sold on: Connected reborn characters fated to be together over and over again. Not this weird little mishmash of whatever. I’m now annoyed by a format I was initially charmed by.

Jack & Joker (Mon IQIYI) ep 10-11 of 12 - still on hold until it ends or I can cope with the pain. I just can’t go into darkness right now.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Our Youth AKA Miseinen: Mijukuna Oretachi wa Bukiyo ni Shinkochu (Japan Tues Gaga) ep 3 of 11 - SNIFF TEST! But done by Japan so it’s that much better and more kinky. The way H looks at M pretty much defines naked lust. “I got extra beat up so you’d take pity on me and then I admitted it to you” is so damn warped I can’t even with this boy. This feral kid is gonna drive me feral. The power and the control and the execution of this show is just spectacular. I keep thinking about it after its done and telling people IRL about it. (I rarely talk BL IRL.) It’s classy. I do love it when Japan does classy BL for us.

See Your Love (Taiwan Weds Gaga) ep 6 of 13 - so completely and utterly adorable. The learning sign language thing! I loved it so much.

Love is Like a Poison AKA Doku Koi: Doku mo Sugireba Koi to Naru (Japan Tues Netflix?) 10 of 12 eps - Possibly one of the best confessions of the year I have to say. Also a wonderful character growth arc for our lawyer. Exactly as one might hope. The plot twist was slightly predictable but still adds a delicious note of tension to our final episodes.

Blue Canvas of Youthful Days (China Sun iQIYI) eps 7-8 of 12 - You don’t want me but you won’t let anybody else have me either. The song of the repressed seme. I did like the irrational jealousy moment and a few other bits, of course the crying kiss. You know I love a crying kiss. Even if it’s a somewhat censored one. But this is also leaning a little bit darker than I want at the moment. This being China, I anticipate the darkness and doom getting worse not better.

Teenager Judge (Vietnam Sat YT) ep 9 of ? - The incredible migrating lip injury continues. Could we please get on with the BL aspect of this show? I’m getting frustrated as well as slightly bored at this juncture. Pacing darlings. Pacing.

Love in the Air: Koi no Yokan (Japan Sat Gaga) ep 4 of 10 - Still not sure. I think I like this better than the original, but I’m confused. I did make disgusted scoff noises and say “oh dear” a couple of times. Which makes me sound like a World War II grandpa (only the housemate's cat noticed), but is also classic me when profoundly disappointed by a piece of media. That’s said, the sex scene was pretty good. In the end, I wasn’t as frustrated by this version of these characters, but they didn’t have as many highs or lows as the original. So first half probably works out about the same in my all-purpose rating system. The true proof in the pudding is going to be couple number 2 tho......

It's airing but......

Winter Is Not The Death of Summer (Weds YT) ?? eps - Criminals who meet in prison fall in love. I did find it on YouTube, but I did not find any English subs for it. The first episode seems to be only six minutes long. It is very pulp. But it is intriguing. So I hope it gets some sort of international or something at some point. for now I’ll put it to the wayside.

Bad Guy My Boss (Thai Sun Gaga) 10 eps - I DNF'd at ep 7, I couldn't make it. I am weak. Life is hard enough right now, this show is making it harder. It’s not what I want from my entertainment.

Bad to Bed (Taiwan Sat YT) 10 eps - This is a little too low production value even for me + just very very odd. DNF

In Case You Missed it

Love for Loves Sake got some kind of special on 11/9. Not sure what, why, or where. Only the rumor that it...... is. I'll believe it when I see it...... literally. Let me know if you found it.

The Bangkok Podcast covered Marriage Equality in Thailand: More Complex Than it Seems. They missed some of the point and all of the queer perspective. But it's a local lawyer talking about it and how it was implemented, which is quite interesting.

Dominant Yakuza and Wimpy Corporate Slave AKA Ore-sama Yakuza to Hetare Shachiku: Kuni wo Koeta Jingi Naki Dekiai, Japan YT. A 30 min slice of ridiculousness. This mini walked out the back of one of my 1999 yaoi (you know those little shorts they always had along with the main story?) and randomly got cut together by some helpful malcontent, tumbled into my YT feed like a Taiwanese prat fall, and I couldn't be happier.

This is the Cliff's notes of a story that could have been amazing, but I adored it anyway. Basically what it says on the tin: office cutie from Taiwan working in Japan runs across hot AF mafia hit man beating up lesser thugs. Falls instantly in love, turns out so does the yakuza. They end up together for...... reasons? (one is cute and the other is cool?) That's it. It's dumb and I loved it. 7/10 because it really isn't good, but it lives on in a very warped corner of my shriveled old heart.

Next Week Looks Like This:

Still to come:

11/28 Spare Me Your Mercy (Thai Thurs iQIYI) 8 eps on OneD (no word on inter) - Increased rates of deaths in terminal patients has a police captain investigating the palliative care doctor with whom he's fallen in love. Their relationship deepens but the mystery persists, driven by mistrust. Adapted from the novel "Euthanasia" by Sammon (Triage, Manner of Death) stars some old guard BL actors: Tor Thanapob from Hormones as the doctor and (fuck me YES) Jaylerr from Great Men Academy and goddamn Grean Fictions as the captain!

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

We stan a smitten seme who's too reserved for his own good. Sunshine is gonna have this boy wrapped around his little finger in no time. (Well in 12 eps, but we know what we like!) Your Sky

King behavior.

Dangerous Babygirl behavior.

Both Love Sick 2024.

(last week)

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

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gotta-winwin · 3 days ago

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(🎄) ... mirth and good cheer - xmas special teaser

⭐ starring: vernon

🎄preview: vernon used to fly back to new york every christmas for one reason only: his childhood best friend. christmas used to be his and y/n’s thing, until he got seemingly too busy to ever return. now, as y/n departs to korea for the first time, she can’t help but wonder if her and vernon would ever cross paths again. vernon, unbeknownst to her, has been wondering the exact same thing. as the boys set up their christmas tree in their dorm, he does his best to ignore how hints of y/n still seemed to linger throughout the holiday air.

tw/cw: idol!vernon x nonidol!reader, childhood friends to lovers, estranged friends, slight miscommunication, fluff, slight angst, best christmas romcom vibes, features svt members, stubborn!reader, equallystubborn!vernon, use of y/n, flips between past and present day

🐻‍❄️ release date: christmas day

☁️ masterlist & a/n: dropping a vernon x reader fic for our xmas special! doesn't vernon just scream childhood bestie to lover (੭˃ᴗ˂)੭ i just know i'm going to have sm fun writing this cuz the dynamic is so interesting! its already giving christmas romcom vibes and omg you guys are not ready.

11 DAYS FROM CHRISTMAS 2024:

“That’s not how it’s supposed to work.” Mingyu slapped Vernon’s hand away from the tree they were decorating. “It’s supposed to be symmetrical, not whatever you’re doing.”

Vernon had to admit he wasn’t really paying attention. Their dorm auntie, the one who came around once a week to clean up the place, had baked them gingerbread men as a Christmas gift, and the smell felt like it had seeped into the walls of their dorm. It was a nostalgic smell, one that took him back to his childhood, new york and-

“Vernon?” Mingyu waved a hand in front of his face. “Are you even listening right now?”

He blinked, brought back from his thoughts. “Sorry, hyung. What?”

Mingyu could only let out a deep sigh, moving to place the bauble where he intended it to be. “You’re like this every Christmas. If you miss her so much, why don’t you just fly back?”

Vernon didn’t really know why he wasn’t flying back. He certainly could be, they were off work for the holidays and a plane ticket back wasn’t hard to find. He would be doing himself a favor, putting himself out of misery and finally seeing his childhood best friend. The thing was, he wasn’t really sure if Y/N wanted to see him. He shrugged. “I don’t miss her.” It was a lie and everyone in the room knew it.

CHRISTMAS DAY 2003:

Everyone who knew either of them would say they were smart kids for their age. Both only five, they whispered secrets to each other like little middle schoolers would on the playground.

“My parents say I’m going to Korea.” Vernon whispered to Y/N as they watched a christmas movie. “Forever.” Vernon always had a dramatic, theatrical side to him, even as a child.

Y/N could only frown. “Forever? Why?” She couldn’t imagine her best friend moving anywhere without her. “Am I going too?”

Vernon mirrored her frown on his own face. “I don’t know.” Sensing her sadness, he reached over and gave her a hug. “I’ll visit every year.” He promised.

“Every christmas.” Y/N insisted. She had always loved christmas above all else. “So we can watch movies again.”

Vernon agreed. “Okay. Every christmas. It’ll be like-” He paused, his young mind searching for the word. “Tradition.” He smiled at her, proud of the big word.

“Promise?” Y/N stared at him with wide eyes, reaching out with her pinky, extended. “Pinky promise me.”

Vernon grasped her pinky with his, shaking it firmly. He felt like a grown up, making one of those important business deals. “I promise.” Turning back to the screen, he let out a whine when he realized they had missed the best part. “We missed the part where the grinch screams down the mountain.” He complained. “I wanted to watch that part.”

Y/N got up, searching for the remote. “I’ll turn it back.”

Their dynamic never changed, even as they grew older. Vernon walked through life, Y/N following behind him with eyes filled with admiration, gently nudging the boy whenever he got distracted and began walking off-track. It stayed that way even with the distance, until one Christmas, Y/N woke up and Vernon had not returned.

CHRISTMAS DAY 2016:

“Mom?” Y/N called as she walked slowly down the stairs. She had returned home from university for the holidays and was confused when Vernon wasn’t at his usual spot to welcome her home. “Where’s Vernon?” He was usually back from Korea by now.

She didn’t like the look of pity her mother was giving her. “He didn’t tell you, honey? He’s been so busy with work, looks like he can’t fly back to join us for christmas this year.”

She felt her heart sink. She had been looking forward to spending time with him, even if it was just a couple of days out of the year. “Oh.” Of course, she understood. His work was important and she was sure the kpop industry couldn’t be easy. “That’s okay. I guess he must’ve been too busy to tell me.”

“What are you still doing here?” Joshua frowned at Vernon, who was lying down on his bed. “Shouldn’t you be in New York by now?” He was used to Vernon flying back to New York every christmas since they had met.

Vernon let out a huff. “Not going back this year, Josh.”

“Why not?” His friend pressed, confused. Vernon was usually so excited to go back. “Isn’t your friend going to be sad?”

“I can’t miss any more practice before our comeback. One Christmas should be fine.” Vernon explained, although his voice betrayed his disappointment. He had been looking forward to going back home, to be able to see Y/N again. He thought to himself that one christmas couldn’t hurt, right?

One christmas missed turned into two. Then four. Then the timing felt too long and awkward and Vernon just never got the confidence to ever go back.

10 DAYS FROM CHRISTMAS 2024:

Korea was beautiful underneath a sheet of snow. Y/N had landed last night, having made up her mind to give living in Korea a try. Ever since graduating university and landing a job as a screenwriter, her friends and family had always urged her to try working for the Korean film scene.

She supposed she had always just avoided the country because of Vernon.

Her new job writing for some K-drama started after New Years. She thought maybe spending Christmas in a new place would bring back the mirth and good cheer the holiday used to give her, but she knew she was here for a different reason. A selfish and pathetic one. It burned her, that a part of her still wished to bump into Vernon after all these years. She knew he was doing well, SEVENTEEN was soaring through new heights and she had kept tabs on his ongoing success. It was the only way she kept going: his large internet presence sometimes made it feel like he never even left at all.

It hurt her the most that he could be doing so well without ever seeing her again.

Rounding the corner to the coffee shop, she rubbed her raw hands to regain heat. Ordering, she was relieved to find out she could still hold a conversation in Korean. It had gone rusty, the only people she ever used Korean with back home was Vernon’s dad and sister.

“Hello?” Someone from behind her tapped her on the shoulder. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

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deantfwinchester · 2 days ago

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Love Me Right

Part 1: Henrietta’s

Pairing: ConstructionCEO!Joel x Waitress!Reader

She's eventually gonna be a teacher again bc let's be real, i'm a one-trick pony.

This is a Millionaire Joel AU x Most Eligible Bachelor Trope

Summary: Joel Miller, CEO and Co-Founder of Miller Construction, hasn't been dealing with an Empty Nest very well. His family and friends have tried their best to cheer him up since Sarah left for college in the fall, but the storm cloud above his head remains. On top of that (or perhaps because of it), he has just been named one of Austin's Most Eligible Bachelors.

What will that mean for the new-in-town waitress he meets in his favorite diner? As far as she knows, he's just an average contractor.

Warnings: age gap (reader late 20s, Joel late 40s); family-centered trauma and conflict; lethal levels of fluff otw

A/N: Bear with me for this one y'all. My imagination is ambitious and my brain is obstinate. Title inspired by Sabrina Carpenter’s Short ‘n Sweet - bc i can’t stop fckn listening to Juno 🫣

Word Count: 4.6k

_______________________________________________

“Tommy, there ain’t a chance in hell that’s gonna happen. Why on earth did you bring this to me?”

“Well they talked to Joanna at the front desk first. She said wasn’t going to bring it up to you, but I couldn’t just let it slide,” Tommy raises his eyebrows at Joel, shooting him a mischievous look. “Because one - I wasn’t gonna pass up the chance to see this look on your face, and two - would a little publicity be so bad?”

“Who in their right mind is gonna choose a fuckin contractor from the goddamn ‘society pages’?” Joel bristles at his brother’s amusement with an unwavering scowl.

Tommy stares right back, but the playful nature of his expression is unmarred. “Most men won’t Joel - but their wives will.” Tommy’s salacious grin is damn near wider than Joel’s ever seen. Christ, he’s loving this.

“You gotta be kiddin’ me,” Joel says plainly, rolling his eyes.

“Come on brother, think about it - plenty of busy men in this city with bored housewives in need of a project. He tosses her a few thousand to redo the dining room - well who’s gonna do the job? She hasn’t got a clue where to begin and then BOOM! She sees the list of Austin’s Most Eligible Bachelors in the paper - where she finds a photo of the distinguished CEO and senior founder of Miller Construction—”

“Senior, seriously?,” Joel deadpans at him. Tommy ignores him, continuing to wax poetic.

“And can’t help but wonder if the rest of his staff is as dashing as he appears to be,”

“Flattery’s cheap Tommy.”

“Of course then she meets with me and the deal is sealed.” Tommy smiles smugly now that his story is complete.

“Boy can you paint a picture,” responds Joel, rolling his eyes at his brother’s antics. “So you wanna parade me around like a two-bit hooker, huh?

“Whaddya say — can I give ‘em a call?”

“If you’re so hell-bent on ‘marketing’ why don’t you do it?” Joel says flippantly.

“Well I’m not a bachelor anymore, am I?,” he grins brightly at him. This time, it’s sincere.

“Don’t break your arm pattin' yourself on the back, Tommy. Maria mighta said yes, but there ain’t a ring on your finger yet. She’s still got a few months to wise up,” Joel challenges, his tone playful.

Tommy glares at him, but then gives a sobered nod. “You’re right about that. I know I’m a lucky fucker, and I’m not interested in testing that luck - even for a charity auction. Sorry to the dogs, or the food bank or — is it old people?”

“Hell bent on it, and don’t even know what it’s for? Christ - it’s a Make-A-Wish thing Tommy, damn,” Joel replies, looking bewildered at his brother’s callous and cavalier response.

“And isn’t your attention and concern for the bigger picture just what they need in volunteers?” Tommy retorts, expression still smug but eyes hopeful. “What, ‘s it gonna kill you to go out for once? It’ll be a formality at worst and maybe even a good time if you loosen up a bit.”

“I can think of a number of other ‘worsts’ than a formality,” Joel muses

“You’re gentleman enough to handle it just fine,” Tommy continues.

It has been quite a while since Joel’s been out of his house for much other than work or routine, and even longer since he’s been out with anyone other than Tommy, Maria, and the guys from work here and there. He’ll admit, he hasn’t been dealing with an empty nest very well. He’s done a pretty terrible job of keeping busy since he dropped Sarah off at school back in the fall. She’d gotten in exactly where she’d hoped, and made friends fast - for this he was over the moon - but he misses her like crazy. He’s been swimming back and forth in swelling pride and stabbing grief since September, ecstatic and aching all at once. He knew Tommy’s intentions were relatively pure, business interest aside. He knows they’ve been worried about him for a couple of months now - they haven’t exactly been subtle — they’d started having him over for dinner damn near once a week.

This newfound hobby of Tommy’s, cooking like a grown-up, had become the ruse en vogue for getting Joel out of his house. As Maria’s caseload grew at the law firm, Tommy wanted to make sure she had a real meal to eat when she finally got home — so he started cooking. Joel had to admit it was real sweet, watching his brother dive headfirst into learning a new skill just to take care of his bride-to-be. He claimed it only made sense with his far more flexible schedule, but Joel knew it made Tommy proud to be able to do this for her, and the very fact he wanted to made Joel proud as well.

Once Sarah left for school, however, Tommy quickly discovered his brother’s less-than-satisfactory habits of microwave dinners or forgetting to eat in general. He was a fair chef in his own right once upon a time, but without his little girl there to feed, bothering to make a balanced meal fell by the wayside. Joanna, a kindly woman in her seventies, had been one of the first to notice the change in Joel’s demeanor and the drawn nature of his features. Not much younger than the boys’ mother would be today, Joanna worked at the front desk of Miller Construction, greeting clients with a maternal warmth that, Tommy had to admit, was in part strategic. Disarm a client while they wait with a smile and you’d be able to pry open their hearts and their pockets.

Joanna was not unaware of the role she played in this game, though she did not approve. She’d informed Tommy of her concern for Joel, and the regular dinner invitations followed suit. This, accompanied with Joanna’s tugging Joel along to a nearby diner for lunch a couple of times a week in November had practically pulled Joel through the fall slump and into the new year. The holiday visits home from Sarah had helped a great deal, as well.

Joel wasn’t blind to his friends and family’s kahoots to help him through this patch. Though he sometimes grudgingly obliged to Joanna’s pestering him out the door because she hadn’t “seen you eat a bite all day. Four cups of black coffee don’t count, and you know it. Up!,” or Tommy’s employing Maria to send a text herself inviting him to dinner after he’d tried and simply received the finger, he was grateful for their efforts and care. Sarah was too, but he didn’t need to know that. Those lunchtime diner visits soon turned into breakfasts — a preemptive measure on Joanna’s part to add some time out in public to Joel’s routine of home — office — work site — home. Eventually she’d pavolv-ed him into it, and Joel was at the diner for coffee, breakfast, and one of the only physical newspapers left in existence every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, at first following behind Joanna and eventually on his own.

Joanna had been with the Miller brothers since the business was far smaller, just a few years after its inception, when they started needing a receptionist/secretary/assistant, just someone who knew how to manage their slowly growing demand. She’d been a friend of their mother’s and had taken up some of the slack when she’d passed, grieving alongside her friend’s sons and looking after them in her wake. She’d been one of the only reasons Joel and Tommy had been able to build the tiny Miller Bros. into its current position as Miller Construction, multi-million-dollar contracting firm, and the largest in the Austin Metro area. Joel’s practical thinking and creativity combined with Tommy’s ambition and idealistic hopes of grandeur got them into successful meetings with investors that Joanna quietly set up via her husband’s business contacts. Their vision reminded her so much of their mother’s optimism she couldn’t help herself. She’d keep an eye on Sarah when Joel needed and ensured they were taken care of in the moments they would have needed their mother around.

As the boys’ surrogate mother figure and Sarah’s Aunt Jo, it came as no surprise that amid Joel’s season of empty-nested loneliness Joanna had begun encouraging him to “get back out there” and claimed that she “won’t be around forever” and “would like to see him settled before I go.” Classic maternal guilt-tripping, and Joel told her each time that he hears 70 is the new 50. She told him to try that again in a few years when he hits the real 50.

Truth of the matter was, Joel had been alone for a long time. He’d seen people on and off while Sarah was growing up, but it was a rare occasion, and no fling had ever lasted more than a couple of months. With Sarah at home, it never mattered much to Joel — he had someone to care for who was the best company he’d ever had right in front of him. She’d needed him a little less as she’d grown up, but he always had a purpose.

Joel was a natural-born caretaker — between brotherhood and fatherhood, he took to it like a tadpole to water. With Sarah away at school and his little brother engaged, however, he couldn’t figure out where to put all that love, and so it crackled into grief like a blackening candle wick, blooming into a flower of ash that nestled in his chest. The cloud of soot hovered around him for a while as he went through the motions of his everyday. Tommy, Maria, and Joanna all wanted to see him find his way again, as did Sarah when she received honest reports from her family members after some prodding. He always put on his biggest smile for her, never wanting her to worry, but she could see something hurting in his eyes, just below the surface.

While it may have been blatantly out of his comfort zone, Tommy and Joanna jumped at the opportunity to convince Joel when the Most Eligible Bachelors’ Auction came knocking. He needed something to disrupt his routine, with the added bonus of his coming out into the social scene like a plaid-clad debutante with a few extra crow’s feet.

After rolling the last few months’ events around in his mind for a couple of minutes while Tommy answers a phone call, Joel is broken from his reverie. Tommy’s standing in front of him again, waving a hand back and forth.

“Hey ground control - you with me?,” he asks before Joel’s eyes focus on him once again. “Can I give em a call?,” and this time Joel notices the concern in Tommy’s eyes as his joking facade flickers with hope. It’s more than just publicity, and he owes it to them to give it a shot.

Joel releases a measured sigh, relenting. “Can’t believe I’m saying this but sure, fuck it. Call ‘em back,” he says rolling his eyes, resigning himself to whatever nonsense his participation will entail. He reminds himself it’s for charity, and returns to his computer, refocusing on his work as Tommy darts out of his office to return to his own, reporting his success to Joanna along the way.

_______________________________________________

You got lucky with this job at Henrietta’s, with its flexible hours and fairly livable wage, you had time to settle into your new place and get to know the city. You spend your off days wandering around, doing research on local schools and prepping your applications for summer school and the new year.

Never had you pictured yourself leaving students mid-year, and having to do it hurt like hell. You missed the kids you left behind every day, but when a friend caught wind of an acquaintance needing a subletter for a little studio within your price range, you didn’t have much of a choice. You needed to take up the lease starting in January, or you’d be starting over at square one. It had been a long time coming, this encroaching need to run and start over somewhere new. Staying in your hometown was no longer an option — work may have been a saving grace, but the other areas of your life were suffering. You knew healing couldn’t begin without separation. You needed to be far away from everything — it was the only way you could picture trying to feel whole again. Grad school had ended the previous year, so you fled.

With each mile you put between you and your family, you started to feel like your lungs could fully inflate once again. The oppressive air of scrutiny and memory that swam around you at home dropped off piece by piece with each passing mile marker. You’d put a few states between yourself and your parents once it was all said and done, and while it was scary, starting from scratch all over again, it was invigorating. You’d done it at eighteen when you left for college, you could damn well do it again with eight years’ more life experience under your belt.

You’d walked into the diner on your second day in the city. You had some money saved up from time living at home, but knew it would dwindle quickly with rent to pay and no salary coming in on the regular. You would need something to keep busy and pay for necessities until the end of the spring semester. When Diane, the manager caught sight of you, bright-eyed and looking like a deer in headlights, she welcomed you with a warmth you’d only read about in books. She interviewed you then and there and offered you a job on the spot, waiting tables on the breakfast and lunch shifts at least four days a week. She told you your “sweet smile and wide-eyed look will do wonders for you in tips, precious!” You think it’s probably just teacher face you can’t shake, and hope she’s right — maybe it could do you some favors until you get back in the classroom where you belong.

Diane’s rounded face was accentuated with wonderfully deep crow’s feet and smile lines that suggested a lifetime of sharing this warmth, and her dark hair streaked with gray around her hairline and temples rested atop her head in a frazzled bun. She made you comfortable out the gate, and had set you up with a uniform immediately. More aptly, she handed you a t-shirt and an apron to go over your leggings. You were thankful for the relaxed dress code, knowing plenty of other establishments required a much more specific ensemble. Once you’d changed she introduced you to your shift lead, Reggie, and the line-cook-on-duty, Tony, patting you comfortingly on the shoulder and insisting they welcome you, hoping to keep you around to solve their persistent staffing issue.

While Diane was quite a bit older than you, somewhere in her mid-fifties, Reggie and Tony were younger, floating between mid-thirties and early forties, if you had to guess. Reggie was a slim black man you’d put in his thirties, and he greeted you with a smile and an exclamation that he was more than ready to gossip ad nauseum with someone so much closer to his age. He’d been the one to fill you in on Diane’s immediate taking to you, letting you know with little ambiguity that you were just a few years younger than Diane’s daughter, who had moved out of the city about a year ago, and that you favored her to boot. Reggie had called this particular gossip session your orientation.

“Don’t get me wrong honey, Diane’s a sweetheart. But never have I seen her offer a position on the spot. I think having you here may do her some good,” he’d said, before turning to fill you in on Tony the line cook. “Yeah Tony’s hot, but he chain smokes like a chimney and doesn’t care at all when I ask him to keep his second hand smoke to himself on the days I have a performance!,” he shouted pointedly at Tony, who only looked up long enough to give Reggie the finger and wink at you. Tony was a muscular Italian guy in his forties with tattoos of a sort that didn’t quite match up with the gold chain and cross pendant hanging around his neck. When your eyes went wide at the wink, Reggie giggled a bit and leaned toward you. “Don’t worry, Tony’s a little sleazy but harmless. He’ll hit on anything in a skirt, but as soon as you tell him you aren’t interested he’ll back off and won’t bring it up again. He’s a good guy, but don’t tell him I said that.”

Over the course of your shift you discovered that Diane’s been at Henrietta’s for fifteen years, Reggie is a drag queen and lounge singer by the name of Wizz Tiria at a few different clubs around town, and Tony has a few other business ventures he mentions on and off (the details of which he keeps to himself), but never misses taking his Mom to church on Sundays. You share a good bit about yourself as well in exchange — what brought you to Austin, why now, and where you may go from here. It doesn’t take long for you to make yourself at home among this eclectic little bunch, and for the first time in a really, really long time, you’re content with the peaceful monotony of these early winter days.

_______________________________________________

It’s a brisk February morning when you walk into the diner for your shift. You’ve spent the last month working in the cozy little greasy spoon, so you’re still getting to know the regulars, but you’ve caught on pretty quick. You’ve been working the Tuesday, Thursday, and weekend shifts, but when Diane loses another server, you’re eager to pick up the slack — extra pocket change and keep your mind busy. The company’s pretty good too. Thus, you find yourself walking into the diner at 7 AM on a Wednesday morning with a hoodie over your t-shirt and a scarf to ward off more of the wind cutting into your cheeks. You head to the staff room to remove your hoodie and don your apron and emerge, finding the diner a bit colder than it had been up to this point. You’d kept a light jacket or a cardigan on you previously, but today’s need for something heavier led you to selecting a favorite hoodie to throw over your work t-shirt — which you didn’t quite think through until you came into the dining room and felt a chil run up your spine. Diane catches sight of you before you can still yourself.

“Sweetie, what on earth fo you think you’re doing?,” she asks like you’ve done something obviously egregious.

“Huh? What is it?,” you ask innocently, but you know the answer. She can probably see the goosebumps you feel rising on your arms.

“You need somethin’ on under that, you’re gonna freeze in here today!,” she chastises.

“Yeah, I brought my hoodie, but forgot I’d be taking it off. It’s not so bad in here, I’ll be alright,’ you tell her reassuringly.

“Absolutely not. Wait, hold on a second - REGGIE! We got any more o’ those long sleeve souvenir shirts in the case?!” she hollers after him.

“Hold awn!,” he hollers back, Southern twang taking center stage when he yells, just like the rest of them. After a few seconds he emerges with a few in hand. “Got a few left. Ugly as hell, probably why they’re still here. Watcha need ‘em for?”

“Sweetie, go on and change into that before the rush starts. Not the staff shirt, but the branding’ll be fine in case Jason drops by,” she says, rolling her eyes. She pats you on the shoulder, nudging you toward Reggie to take one of the shirts. They’re bright green with a gaudy design on them that makes you laugh when he hands it to you. Jason’s the owner of Henrietta’s, and so you’ve heard, the bane of Diane’s existence. You’ve only heard tale of this rotten Jason thus far, never quite laying eyes on the mythical beast. You really hope today in this goofy shirt isn’t the day you do.

You return to the dining room a few minutes later clad in the neon green monstrosity, tugging at it in a futile effort to make it look better. “Happy now, Diane?!,” you holler as you enter, only to find her standing directly in front of you at the hostess stand, face to face with a man you’d never seen in here before — who you almost run right into, not looking where you’re going. He’s tall and broad with dark brown curls laced with grey streaks, and gray patches in the short beard that frames his jaw. He catches you when you nearly bump right into him, and you look up to meet the deepest brown eyes you’ve ever encountered. Your cheeks go red when you realize what you’ve done.

“Whoa there,” he says, smiling down at you as you stutter out an apology. “It’s alright, no harm done,” he responds, voice gentle but deep. It’s true, he didn’t even budge when he caught you, and you’re fairly certain if you’d fallen, the outcome would’ve been the same.

“Sorry about that Joel. C’mon, your table’s ready,” she says, patting Joel’s arm and leading him forward, not before turning back to you and saying, “Certainly am. Now go grab some coffee for Table 7 for me, will ya sweetie?” with a smile. You’d just run almost smack into a customer, and she wasn’t upset with you or anything. You shouldn’t be surprised, that’s just Diane, but you’re used to much larger reactions to small mistakes. You just nodded and breathed a sigh of relief, but your eyes are drawn once again to the man she’s leading away. He’s looking back at you with a smile that sends a shiver down your spine, one you’re certain has nothing to do with the chill in the air this time. He’s wearing a plaid button-down and a utility jacket, with cheeks and a nose tinged pink from the cold. You tear your eyes away anxiously and head for the coffee pot.

You’ve got your hand around the decaf pot, pouring another cup for the regular at the bar counter, when your eyes find Table 7, your next destination. You see the man, Joel, Diane had called him, with his back to you, facing out the window, newspaper in hand. You steel yourself once again, switch coffee pots, and head for his table.

You approach from the side, hoping not to spook him as he’s engrossed in the paper he has in hand. Christ, when was the last time you saw a physical newspaper? It’s kinda cute, you think, seeing someone reading one on a cold morning with a cup of coffee. So picturesque. Especially someone as handsome as he is, and you find yourself staring at his broad shoulders and dark curls again before he looks up from his reading.

“Hey,” you start, a little shaky, “sorry again, about before. Don’t know what I was doing, not looking where I was going,” you smile a little, shaking your head at your mishap.

“Really, it’s fine. You seemed, uh, preoccupied,” he says, looking down at the offending design on the tshirt you’re wearing, before looking back up at you. “It’s certainly a change from the regular uniform, huh?” he says, smiling at you. The way his eyes crinkle as he does plants a warmth in your chest you aren’t expecting. It’s been so long since you felt it, it’s almost unfamiliar. Your cheeks warm as you smile back at him, hoping it comes off as embarrassment from your wardrobe rather than bashful attraction. You’re about to tell him it’s certainly not a permanent solution, when he speaks again. “So, Sweetie, huh? Haven’t seen you around before — that what they call you in here?” he questions, smirk playing at his lips.

You laugh in response and introduce yourself, and tell him this isn’t your normal shift, but you’ll probably be around for it moving forward. You take his breakfast order, and tell him you’ll let him get back to his paper.

You don’t converse much more when you bring Joel his breakfast, just quiet thanks when you refill his coffee cup. He looks so peaceful, you almost hate to interrupt each time. You ask Reggie about him when you both have a minute behind the counter.

“Yep, that’s Joel. Gorgeous, isn’t he? Started coming in a few months back with an older lady, then more regularly by himself. She’s with him once in a while, kinda seems like a mom vibe, but she doesn’t look like him. Anyway, I think he works construction or something, always coming in with those boots on looking like a lumberjack,” Reggie says flippantly. “Heard from the older lady one day when he was in the bathroom — his daughter went to college back in the fall, they’ve been trying to get him out ever since,” he said, looking sympathetic at the thought.

You feel your heart do a little squeeze at this newfound tidbit. A fresh empty nester. You know how hard it’s been for Diane, so much she’s taken to parenting the staff in her daughter’s stead. Staring at Joel’s back as his head is bowed reading the paper, you begin wondering more and more about him. His daughter’s probably around eighteen, so how old is he? You’d guess he isn’t married, and you didn’t see a ring. Who is he? Why does he come here to read his paper each day? And most importantly — how soon can you find out the answers to these questions? You don’t want to ambush him at all and scare him off, but you’re drawn to him, and so very curious.

Meanwhile, Joel is stealing glances at your reflection in the diner window in front of him, watching you laugh with Reggie and the customers at the bar, smiling sweetly when someone makes a request of you. He needs to get out of there before he starts feeling creepy, he thinks. He rises and walks to the counter to settle his bill with Reggie at the cash register, glancing at you when he does so, futilely trying to balance showing interest and being weird. He leaves a nice tip in the jar for all of you to share, but just before he turns to go, he looks back at you, locking eyes.

“Oh uh, Sweetie?,” he says, smirk on his face. He looks almost bashful when he speaks next, like he’s working up the courage. “Glad you’re picking up. Look forward to seein’ you again,” he smiles. The look on his face when he says it is so sincere, you could melt on the spot. He was nervous about his joke, you could tell, but recovered when you laughed in reply.

“Looking forward to it too, Joel. Enjoy your day,” you say, smiling wide in return. He gives a little wave to everyone before grinnig down at his shoes and walking out of the diner into the crisp February air. Your eyes follow him out to the pick-up he hops into, before looking back over to Reggie and Tony, staring at you devilishly.

“And I’m looking forward to seeing this story unravel,” says Reggie, looking over at Tony and grinning, like something juicy has just unfolded before their eyes. The two are laughing while you smile and wave them off, wiping down the counter. Diane emerges from the office at the sound of their hearty laughter, reading glasses slipping down her nose, notepad in hand, and stares back at the three of you.

“What’d I miss?!,” she asks. You’re smiling too much to respond with anything genuine, so you return to your wiping, and let Reggie take the lead.

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