#the fans her peers the lovers and HERSELF

[octaviasdread]

I hereby conduct this tortured poets society album meeting in all of its mania and sorrowful blues as I move from unhinged impressions to unhinged first-listen analysis because I am incapable of saying less.

(and to all the Aimees i’m so sorry but that’s on Kim)

This Anthology is taking me so long to process, but nothing feels like the first jarring moments of I Can Do It With a Broken Heart - the cacophony and flashes of a birthday breakdown bopping to 80s arcade game synth. It's crumbled cake and mascara streaks when Bejewelled is actually a delusional Mirrorball,

and The Secret Garden reference in I Hate It Here, oh god, she’s so me:

I hate it here so I will go to / secret gardens in my mind / people need a key to get to / the only one is mine / i read about it in a book when I was a precocious child

I need to come back to that. But the whirlwind of Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me? Plans cancelled. IM THE ONE barricaded in the bathroom with a bottle of wine, actually. It's me chained-up in that poor things victorian mourning dress shrieking elegies in my tortured nightingale screams.

She's Grammys Taylor looking at the crowd of her peers rolling their eyes, she's the litany of snide jokes diminishing her success, and the children, sisters, friends, and girlfriends of those who wronged her loudly singing her songs.

so i leap from the gallows and i levitate down your street / crash the party like a record scratch as I scream / who’s afraid of little old me

i was tame i was gentle til the circus made me mean / don’t you worry folks we took out all her teeth

ohhh, the throwback to Speak Now and the significance of MEAN. The song and its titular word show how childish language encapsulates that pointless spite and the bone deep hurt mean behaviour breeds - but now she’s a phoenix risen, and they hurl her youth and her downfall back in her face - word for word, surprised face - its the dark side the The Lucky One, of not escaping the cage of fame games.

you lured me and you hurt me and you taught me / you caged me and then you called me crazy

i wanna snarl and show you just how disturbed this has made me / you wouldn’t last an hour in the asylum where they raised me / so all you kids can sneak into my house with all the cobwebs / i’m always drunk on my own tears isn’t that what they all said?

PUT NARCOTICS IN MY SONG took me out. This album is funny in the most sardonic and absurdly humorous ways,

like the classic cowboy western guitar strings in her crime songs (I Can Fix Him, No Really I Can - pistols drawn), but especially the ones leading into Fresh Out The Slammer. Fucking genius, and to follow on with static sounds at 2:26ish to the house where you still wait up, is exactly the kinda detail I adore.

Naively, I thought Florence was done with me after Florida!!! It's a lyrical meme for single 20 & 30 somethings who moved away from home,

my friends all smell of like weed or little babies / and the city reeks of driving myself crazy / little did you know your home’s really only / a town you’re just a guest in

and the haunting morphs from the ghost of your girlhood into the catalogue of decisions and delusions which get you through adulthood. Yet it feels almost like an interlude within the song when

me and my ghosts we’ve had a hell of a time / yes i’m haunted but i’m feeling fine / all my girls got their lace and their crimes / and your cheating husband disappeared/ well no one asks questions here

appears like an alternative pov for No Body, No Crime with the girls and their ghosts and their pacts made over wine. Every Action has an Equal Reaction. Run away to Florida, or Texas, and lose yourself to lose the heartbreak. Its self-destruction, it's trauma-healing, bonding, and its breaking.

(what a song for an angsty girl collab, problematic girl in hand with problematic girl, lyrically and thematically, maybe the real love story is the friends we make along the way.)

And that wasn't even the last of it. It's Florence 2.0 with B side Cassandra, but instead of Dance Fever, its Taylor’s glorious mythology with all the allusions, parallels, intertextual and lyrical ruining of my mind:

when the first stone’s thrown they’re screaming / when its burn the bitch they’re shrieking / when the truth comes out its quiet

so they killed cassandra first cus she feared the worst / and tried to tell the town / so they filled my cell with snakes i regret to say / do you believe me now?

No apologies anymore. A girl given the gift of prophecy by Apollo, the GOD OF POETRY, is cursed with her prophecy never being believed: Burning all the witches even if you aren't one, indeed. She saw the truth of the Trojan horse, and the Trojans insulted her. Rep snake branding and the current cultural view of KK and Ye. I don't need to say anything else.

i was in the tower weaving nightmares / twisting all my smiles into snarls

the family the pure greed the christian chrous line / bloods thick but nothing like a payroll / bet they never spared a prayer for my soul

I literally played that THREE times before I got over it enough to finish my first listen,

and i’m still thinking about Clara Bow and that Stevie Nicks tambourine we collectively freaked over from the Spotify installation, and all the silent movie speculation from the track title release.

you look like Clara Bow in this light - you look like Stevie Nicks in '75 - you look like Taylor Swift

Three women whose public profession became entangled with their pain. Silver Springs. Boyfriend songs. The jokes. Clara Bow.

Clara feared being left behind by 'talkies.' Miss Americana. The fear of 30 bringing death to a woman's Hollywood/Musical career,

beauty is a beast that roars down on all fours demanding more / only when your girlish glow flickers just so / do they let you know?

Three women who beat the odds - three women whose talent, craft, and popularity carried them through.

But there's something more to unpack here with cycles and patterns - of the past endlessly repeating. It's the transient nature of fame and our fleeting view of beauty mapped out in the untouchable, ever-changing, and culturally worshiped moon.

It's a body of physical craters, a natural body we call discovered, and fight to claim. We project emotions and create rituals of worship - you're the new god we're worshipping. Endless stories are told about her, but we can never fully see the moon with human eyes. Eclipses, shadows, - 'half moonshinе, a full eclipse' - half-truths and half-moons:

this town is fake but you're the real thing / breath of fresh air through smoke rings / take the glory, give everything / promise to be dazzling

There's a play on light and a play on words in the repetition of Dazzling, shining so bright so blindingly bright. Who is dazzled? Who is doing the dazzling? There's an instability between Director - Public - Star. It's Hollywood lights, No one in my small town thought I'd see the lights of Manhattan / No one in my small town thought I'd meet these suits in LA.

She beat the 'War Big Machine' - but for me, there's ambivalence and illusion on all sides of the final lyrics, you've got edge, she never did / the future's bright, dazzling.

(and ‘Edge’ is particularly ironic when you consider the songs on this album…)

Moving again into the B Side, it's Taylor's departure from Invisible string, red strings of fate, and golden threads à la the golden chain of fate in Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities that strikes me.

First, I thought her writing was a complete departure from the themes of destiny and fate, but then, The Prophecy:

cards on thе table / Mine play out like fools in a fablе

it isn't an absent symbol; it transformed. It's the evermore forest amped to the max. Witches, folklore, fairy-tale and fable - a homeric epic. Its the hero's journey distilled as she opens the song with a move from 'full throttle' adventure, to slowing down 'Hand on the Throttle' to appeal for Supernatural aid at the hero's transformative fall.

and it was written / I got cursed like eve got bitten / a greater woman wouldn't beg / but I looked at the sky and said / please I've been on my knees / change the prophecy

Lover asking Traffic Lights becomes spending my last coin so someone will tell me, and this might be the most slept-on heartbreaking line. Her search for reassurance can't be framed as an arbitrary musing anymore. It can't be dismissed as a mere thought on her drive home, or something triggered throughout the day - its intent. It's a quest for answers, a plea, a last-ditch hope difficult to deny.

and I sound like an infant / feeling like the very last drops of an ink pen/ a greater woman stays cool/ but I howl like a wolf at the moon / and I look unstable /

gathered with a coven 'round a sorceress' table / a greater woman has faith But even statues crumble if they're made to wait / i'm so afraid I sealed my fate / no sign of soulmates

She's asking for a gift from the Gods, and when the God's won't answer, she plunges straight down from heaven or Olympus into the self seizure of power in witchcraft. And when it fails, she descends further - Spending my last coin so someone will tell me it'll be okay - paying mortal fortune tellers, even if they lie.

The song leans on figures without redemption, on the Eve's, on the women cursed and punished, and those who scream like infants rather than enduring burdens and pain in silence. She's poisoned, infected like Aurora from the wound of the pricked hand with dreams of him. Is this a punishment?

She's infected, cursed like Eve got bitten, [lyric of all time!!!!] but does a monster always do monstrous things? Who is the monster? Who is the folkloric, the literary Mad Woman? Perhaps she's written from the desperate, the scarred, and the wronged.

and the transition into another tale with Peter? As in Peter losing Wendy? Is it an epilogue to the Betty trilogy? or a different use of the metaphor?

and I didn't wanna hang around / we said it was just goodbye for now /said you were gonna grow up / then you were gonna come find me / words from the mouths of babes / promises oceans deep / but never to keep

The triangle is echoed in love's never lost when perspective is earned, reflecting the different povs of Betty, August, and James, and placing Peter as the new conclusion - the shelf life of those fantasies has expired / lost to the lost boys chapter of your life/ the woman who sits by the window/ has turned out the (porch?) light.

Promises wear out. Wendy's window closes, and so does this chapter in her life.

my lost fearless leader / in closets like cedar / preserved from when we were just kids / is it something I did? / the goddess of timing / once found us beguiling

is also - intentionally or not - Narnia coded. Is the storybook collecting dust in her closet? Or is the closet still holding a portal to another fairytale land accessible only in youth, another home you can't return to (and another folklore parallel with mtr, anywhere I want just not home).

Side B is so harmonious with ttpd being the end of a chapter as the anthology moves through all the seven stages (or Taylor playlists) of grief.

The Manuscript, the signing of the autopsy, is the Death of the Author. It's the Roland Barthes realisation of All Too Well reborn in joy and fan culture, the story isn't mine anymore, of the Eras - 'I hope you hear these songs and think of this night' - Tour. She knew what the agony had been for - art. connection. - and its these things that create the hope lost in ttpd's journey through mania, disorientation, loss and despair. It all leads to healing, nothing left but a manuscript.

So many thoughts from listen no.1 and they’ll probably change, but i’m so exhausted from this 31 song rollercoaster that I'm just gonna let this sit. death of the author, I guess.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

sebek and his big ol' heart

Y’all thought I would be writing an extensive analysis on [REDACTED] or Skully but JOKE’S ON YOU, I love my lame idiot child Sebek 😭

When I tell you I actually CRIED MULTIPLE TIMES reading his Nightmare Suit vignettes… because all the pieces fit together SO well…

Before reading this (long) post, I’d like to ask that you also take your time to read this analysis and this analysis. They will help you understand some of the points I made later regarding Sebek and his internalized racism + how he expresses himself.

Have your recommended reading done? Great, then let’s hop to it!

***Spoilers for Sebek's Nightmare Suit vignettes, book 7, and various other Sebek and Silver card vignettes.***

Sebek is one of those characters that lives in infamy for how much time he takes to get warmed up to. He presents himself as loud and brazen, with these traits often earning him the ire of both in-universe peers and irl fans alike. Worst case scenario, Sebek can be seen as someone who is outright hateful. He’s rude to most people (including Silver, his childhood friend, sometimes), denounces humans, acts like Malleus can do nothing wrong, and doesn’t seem to respect his own father.

Well, I’m here today to tell you those claims are false and that Sebek is actually capable of so, so much love. All you need to really do is look at his Nightmare Suit vignettes—and how well they connect with the rest of his lore—to understand what I mean.

The vignettes start with Jack Skellington finishing a bento that Sally made for him. Sebek tells Jack that he should now return the basket that the bento was delivered in to her and to let her know what he thinks of her meals, but Jack says he can’t because he’s busy with Halloween preparations. Jack asks Sebek and Azul to return the basket in his stead, which they do. (These vignettes appear to be following Trey’s Nightmare Suit vignettes, as those open with Sebek and Trey seeing Sally jump out of a window with food with Jack. Sebek points out to Trey that Sally wants to hand deliver that food and says he believes there is some other reason than just being nice to Jack.)

They aren't allowed to see Sally because Dr. Finkelstein has locked her up for misbehaving, so they leave the basket. Azul advises that they also pass along Jack's comments (he had called Sally smart, thoughtful, and kind; he often forgets to have meals when he's absorbed with his work, so it's generous for her to prepare a delicious meal like this for him). Sebek loudly refuses, as he believes that hearing these grateful words from Jack himself would be much more meaningful to Sally.

He later confronts Sally at Town Hall and asks to speak with her privately (in an ALLEYWAY lol). There, Sebek flat-out tells Sally that such roundabout tactics will never help her feelings reach Jack because he's way too dense. Of course, she reacts with denial which sends Sebek into a passionate speech about the lengths Sally will go to for love (short of actually speaking about it). She literally threw herself out of a window and put herself in bodily harm to get to Jack when Dr. Finkelstein locked her in her room. She deliberately disobeyed her guardian and brainstormed a way to get out when theoretically she should not have been able to move around freely. If that's not motivated by love, then what is? Sebek declares that it's really annoying to watch Sally dance around the issue and to see her devotion go to waste. IT'S LIKE HE'S WATCHING/READING A ROMCOM AND THE TWO MAIN CHARACTERS KEEP PLAYING THE "WILL THEY, WON'T THEY" CARD... She admits that she can't share her feelings because Sally thinks she's not worthy of someone as impressive as Jack... They're not compatible. And you know how Sebek responds??? BY TELLING SALLY ABOUT WHAT IS BASICALLY TWISTED ROMEO AND JULIET... Sebek reading tragic romance confirmed 😭 He describes the story as one of two lovers whose families do not approve of their union. In desperation, the lovers try to elope--but their plan fails and they return to their warring families. Instead of committing dying like in the original tale, the lovers live the rest of their lives lamenting the outcome and how they can no longer see the person they love most. Sebek shares his own interpretation of the story and its moral: because the lovers gave up hope that they could get their families to accept one another... because they never tried to get their families to get along... because they could not properly articulate their feelings to their families... the lovers could not be together. He is convinced that if they had communicated better, the story would have a happier ending. Sebek is of the firm belief that a story itself cannot come to be without the author wanting to share their own thoughts or feelings; he even suggests that maybe the author of Romeo and Juliet experienced something similar--a regret that resulted from neglecting to express deep-seated feelings. It's not just this book either, Sebek claims to have many stories with a similar theme or miscommunication leading to conflict.

Above all, Sebek stresses to Sally that she must believe in herself and take swift, decisive action. And why does Sebek whole-heartedly throw himself into this belief? Because his own family is living proof that a happy ending is possible if you try hard for it.

If you've paid attention to Sebek lore prior to this, you'll know that he has a human father and a fae mother. Their marriage faced opposition and scrutiny in Briar Valley, a country which is isolated from the rest of the world and suffered greatly from human invaders pilfering the fae lands for resources. One of these sources of opposition and scrutiny is Sebek's own grandfather and his mother's father, Baur. Apparently, Mrs. Zigvolt married Mr. Zigvolt against the wishes of her dad.

Sebek shares even more details with Sally in his Nightmare Suit vignettes. To this day, Baur does NOT approve of his daughter's marriage--but Mrs. Zigvolt doesn't let that get her down! No, she does everything in her power to prove to her father that she made the right choice and she's perfectly content with her life. She'll send letters enclosed with photographs of her family, take her children to visit Baur's home, and invites him to join family dinners. Sebek adds that he's sure his mom made other efforts too--all to try and get Baur to acknowledge her marriage. More recently, Baur seems to have lightened up a little... as in, he always used to turn Mr. Zigvolt away at the door, but now lets him in about once a year (though Baur still avoids eye contact with him and continues to frown). Mrs. Zigvolt stubbornly believes that if she keeps this up, her dad will one day change and bless her marriage with the man she truly loves. Sally commends Sebek and his mother's ability to speak their minds loudly and proudly, but then disparages herself again by saying she can't do the same. Sebek then confesses that he can relate to Sally's frustrations. He related her feelings to his own inadequacy in serving Malleus, the powerful and noble king-to-be of his country. That feeling... Sebek describes it as akin to heartache. But instead of wallowing in that heartache, he pushes himself to close that distance between himself and his idol. If he keeps hesitating, then there is absolutely no way he can catch up to where Malleus is! Sebek must dedicate himself to becoming someone worthy of serving him. He encourages Sally to do the same through both her words and her actions! At that moment, Jack walks in and Sally makes good on Sebek's advice. (This part isn't important to the analysis on Sebek's character, so I'm glossing over it.) The vignettes end with Epel complaining about Sebek being loud as per usual. Sally doesn't take issue with his volume though. She simply giggles and informs Epel that Sebek speaks so loudly and clearly so that his words can resonate with others--like how his words gave her courage.

We have learned new lore about Sebek's grandfather and mother. What does this tell us about Sebek? A lot, actually--if you slate it with all the other lore we have on hand.

We see just how strong of a woman his mother is. I suspect this is where Sebek picked up a lot of his hard-headedness, as well as the tendency to express himself very overtly, from. However, it also speaks to the loving environment he grew up in.

His mother seemingly never questioned her own life choices and never gave up fighting to prove her happiness to a father--and likely an entire community--that rejected her marriage, her husband, and maybe even her children. She fiercely loves and defends her family and the life they have made for themselves. Sebek states that he looks up to her for her magical strength, but that he also admires her principles and strong convictions. Indeed, it was her who ardently pursued Mr. Zigvolt and did not allow naysaying to deter her.

Then there is Mr. Zigvolt. In Sebek's Birthday Boy vignettes, he describes his father as "a strange man" who is "magically deficient" and "never lets his smile fade, no matter what I say to him [...] he defies comprehension." Though Sebek doesn't seem to hold the same amount of respect he has for his mother for his father, we don't hear Sebek openly insulting his dad, just expressing confusion about him. When asked about it, Sebek denies depending on his father--but it's clear there is a fondness there that he's not addressing. Mr. Zigvolt is impressed whenever his children use magic, buys them snacks they never asked for, and talks with them for long periods of time in a calm, patient manner. His father, too, has given Sebek so much compassion and understanding.

We don't know a lot about Sebek's siblings, but they seem to get along fine! He has mentioned going to parks with them. They've also gone fishing together and witnessed magic competitions, which they were all amazed by. The Zigvolts in general (or at least the parents) seem to be accepting too, as they volunteer to take Silver in whenever Lilia is unable to take care of him.

And you'd think that's where it ends, but NO. Baur ALSO has a lot of love to give. Despite not approving of his daughter's marriage, he doesn't actively despise his grandchildren. Quite the opposite, in fact! Though he's rough around the edges and looks scary, Baur doesn't fault any of his grandchildren for being born half fae and half human. He actually makes it a point to bond with them, and especially with Sebek. It was Baur who taught Sebek the language of nocturnal fae and instilled in Sebek his love for reading (as he bought many books for him and tells many stories himself). He also personally reached out to Lilia to train Sebek, as the young boy (at around age 7) expressed an interest in martial arts. Sebek has a love for salmon carpaccio because he and his siblings would fish at Baur's house and then prepare the dish for him--Baur was so happy about it. Additionally, Baur values getting a good education and was proud when Sebek shared with him that he was invited to attend Night Raven College.

Sebek grew up in a country that dislikes humans, but he was raised in an household where he was loved unconditionally and provided with all the resources he could need to get a good education and become someone who is physically strong. So of course he becomes frustrated when he sees Sally, who is so nervous to act on her feelings. What would have happened if Sebek’s mother had been like Sally, thinking she and her now-husband are incompatible? If she didn’t try pursuing her feelings at all? Sebek, as the youngest of three, might not event exist. His parents may not still be together… or maybe they wouldn’t have gotten together in the first place. It’s exactly because Sebek knows what love is supposed to be like--courtesy of his own family—that he can see it so well in others, and wants them to act on it. His very existence is proof that love is possible, and it transcends arbitrary labels like race that serve to divide people into categories.

One quirk of Sebek's is how he's always dishing out back-handed compliments or making comments that come off as rude but aren't at their core. He can't seem to help but say a good thing that sounds like something bad. His Diasomnia classmates, usually Silver, have to translate these Sebek-isms for others, who misunderstand him or interpret his words in the worst possible way. For example, from one of Silver’s Fairy Gala lines; “Sebek said to me that no self-respecting disciple of Lilia’s would dare get a single stain on this clothing. That's his way of encouraging me.” In Silver's Dorm Uniform vignettes, Sebek tries to reassure his friend and tell him to not let other people's opinions hurt him--but he phrases it as, "Hmph, ridiculous! I see no reason for you to heed a few random comments from some humans." The duo is also shown to be competitive with one another in training; it's never malicious, they both want to prove themselves as the superior knight, and the other serves as motivation to improve and/or a means of measuring one's own growth against a fellow disciple. When the mostly elderly population of Harveston is in need of physical labor, Sebek comments "[...] the humans in Harveston are woefully out of shape," yet he insists he "still [has] energy to burn" (as if to volunteer himself to do more work) and calls such tasks "simple" (as if to point out how easy it is for him to do, so don't worry about troubling him). He hauls apples and helps the villagers with whatever they need, declaring that they should "be grateful"--but if he truly did not care, he could have stopped at any time or settled for just making fun of them. But Sebek doesn't, because he DOES care deep down. This aspect of Sebek is made even more obvious in Fairy Gala: What If. He appears at Ramshackle and opens by declaring, "NO! I am by no means worried about anyone! [...] Don't mistake my intentions. I am NOT here to help! If your mission doesn't succeed, the repercussions will definitely affect Malleus and Lilia. Hence... I shall lend you uneducated humans my aid! [...] You're welcome to weep with joy at my magnanimity..." Time and time again, we see Sebek demonstrating a lot of kindness, but deflecting or not being totally transparent with his intentions due to pride or embarrassment. This behavior is very reminiscent of Baur, the grandfather that Sebek loves dearly and spent so much time with. Baur, too, can be very passionate and loving, but struggles to speak of those feelings openly. Just look at how the man deals with Mr. Zigvolt. The behaviors of the family, then, imprint on Sebek and influence his behaviors--and being that Sebek is from such a loving group, it follows that Sebek puts out a lot of love into the world too.

A lot of times when the fandom discusses Sebek's attitude, I feel it's from the context of him being hateful towards humans. I'm not going to deny that Sebek has said some pretty nasty things about half of his own identity. The point I would like to make here is that Sebek can love just as strongly.

The most obvious thing that supports the claim that Sebek is capable of strong love is how he views Malleus. It's no great secret that Sebek practically worships the ground his dorm leader walks on. That's essentially Sebek's key defining character trait. What I'll ask you to consider instead is the nature of Sebek's love--not the obsessiveness of it, but rather the unconditional nature of it.

In Lost in the Book with Nightmare Before Christmas, Skully laments that Sebek has not been disappointed by his idol, Malleus. Sebek actually corrects him by saying that love isn't imposing your own views on your idol, it means preparing to accept them, flaws and all. He says the same of Malleus; should the time ever come where Sebek's expectations of Malleus falter or their paths have to diverge, then he will still embrace his young master, never once turning his back on him. And where does Sebek gets this from? His parents. The father who loves his children no matter how critical Sebek may be of him. The mother who remained so strong in the face of her friends and family being against her life choices.

A common fandom sentiment regarding Sebek is that he blindly follows Malleus--but when speaking about his idol to Skully, Sebek says that agreeing with someone and continuing to love them are different things. You can disagree with someone's actions and still continue to love them and accept them. This follows what Sebek does in book 7; though he is betrayed and hurt by Malleus turning his powers against the world, Sebek does not let up on the hope that he can bring his young master back. He even sillily calls the yet-to-be-hatched Malleus tamago/egg-sama, showing even an infant form of Malleus great respect after witnessing his OB. Skully took the opposite path that Sebek did; when he realized that his own idol, Jack Skellington, was not as he imagined him to be, Skully became enraged and lashed out over it. Sebek points out Skully's inadequacies as well, which ties back to how he spoke of his own drive to improve in his Nightmare Suit vignettes. Skully confesses to trying desperately to emulate Jack--so much so that he breaks down when Sebek's UM destroys his iconic shades. He wallows in his current state and doesn't make efforts to change or to be better; the past and his own vision is where he's comfortable. It's a strong contrast to Sebek, who has made it clear he will continue to train and work hard to prove his merits and to be someone worthy of protecting the great Malleus Draconia.

It is Sebek's passion and boundless love that makes him a hero both in Lost in the Book with Nightmare Before Christmas AND in the main story's book 7. He serves as a foil to Skully in the former and actively saves Silver when he's on the brink of despair in the latter. After learning that his biological father is the man responsible for killing Malleus's mother and leading the Silver Owls' onslaught on Briar Valley, Silver despairs and comes to the conclusion that his father must loathe him. "He could never love the son of the man he despised! He has to hate me! He has to!" Sebek rushes to Silver's side using Living Bolt, a UM he has yet to master (thus causing residual damage to him when he casts it), to correct him:

"You have this much strength... and you dare to say you weren't loved?! That you were hated?! [...] If [Lilia] hated you, he didn't have to give or teach you anything. He could've just raised you into a dimwitted coward and made you a servant. But he didn't--and look at you now. Even alone and helpless, you stood firm. You spoke up, unfaltering in the face of our liege's madness. Even trapped in the darkest despair, you kept on fighting! Who raised you to be so strong? LILIA DID! Why don't you see? Why do you doubt? You should have understood years ago! What can you call your strength, if not the direct result of Lilia's love?!"

WHETHER SEBEK REALIZES IT OR NOT, A LOT OF WHAT HE TELLS SILVER HITS HOME FOR HIM TOO... Like, thinking about it... Sebek must have faced a lot of prejudice from his community because of who his father is. He might have grown up thinking he, too, was hated, had he not been protected by his loving mother, father, and, yes, even grandfather, who is still struggling to accept the human in their family. Baur must have been feeling very complicated emotions upon meeting his half human grandchildren for the first time... but even though he dislikes humans, he could never find it in himself to dislike his grandkids. If he had hated Sebek, he wouldn't have wanted him to get a good education. Baur wouldn't be happy that he got into NRC. He wouldn't personally ask Lilia to train the grandson who expressed an interest in combat. He wouldn't buy so many books for Sebek or read with him or tell him stories or teach him his language. He wouldn’t spoil Sebek by giving him sweets (which, by the way, Baur himself dislikes). But Baur DOES do all of these things, because deep down he loves Sebek no matter what he is. You can hear it in the hurt of Sebek’s voice when dream!Baur reacts to him coldly. That isn’t the grandfather he is used to. Though it’s said that Baur doesn’t exactly welcome his grandchildren with open arms, he definitely loves them and cares for them in his own way. If it was anything less than love Baur felt for his grandson, if he decided to neglect his grandkids, then Sebek would have grown up as some "dimwitted coward". IT'S ALL CONNECTED.

And now here Sebek stands, able to tell others that they are loved and should be cognizant of that love. He reminds Silver that Lilia loves him. He advises Skully to reevaluate how he sees his idol. He tells Sally to speak honestly about her feelings, because it was his own mother speaking honestly about hers that led to Sebek and his entire family being as happy as they are now. He shouts at people to act and to speak their minds because he doesn't want them to live with regrets, because he doesn't want to see them be weak and timid--a version of himself that could have resulted if he hadn't been loved so strongly.

You can say many things about Sebek: that he's loud, that he's rude, that he's a fanboy, that he has big muscles. But of all those muscles, Sebek has a very big heart too. And what made him so strong? All the love he received from his family, despite growing up an environment that surely invited hatred for humans.

[zot3-flopped]

Sylvia Plath did not stick her head in an oven for this! When Taylor Swift took the Grammys stage last month to claim her award for Best Pop Vocal Album for Midnights, she saw that spotlight as an opportunity to announce her 11th studio album: The Tortured Poets Department. The follow-up cut to audience members—Swift’s music industry peers, mind you—told us all that we would ever need to know, and the collective disinterest across the crowd echoed through our TVs.

Folks from all walks of life took to social media to express a multitude of reactions. Swifties clamored to their beloved monarch’s forthcoming era, while others lambasted the terminally cringe title and artwork and ridiculed Swift for making a night recognizing musical achievements across an entire industry about herself—knowing perfectly well that it would send her fanbase into a surge that would, no doubt, overpower the excitement around the ceremony itself.

Quite a few people questioned whether or not that moment suggested that a critical—definitely not commercial—tide would turn against the world’s most-famous pop star. And, perhaps it has—but, to most, it will look like nothing more than a single ripple in Swift’s ocean of successes.

Swift remained relatively hush-hush about The Tortured Poets Department up until its release, leaving her fans, admirers and haters alike with nothing but an album title to ponder about. And it’s a bad title.

If you have never been in Swift’s corner, her taking the route of labeling her next “era” as “tortured” was likely catnip for your disinterest. If you are a fan—not necessarily a Swiftie, but even just a casual lover of her best and brightest work—you might be beside yourself about the first Swift album title longer than one word in 14 years.

In terms of popularity—certainly not always in terms of quality—no musician has been bigger this century than Swift, which makes it impossible to really buy into the “torture” of it all.

This is not to say that Swift being the most famous person in the world makes her immune to having multi-dimensional feelings of heartbreak, mental illness or what-have-you.

But, she has made the choice—as a 34-year-old adult—to take those complex, universal familiars and monetize them into a wardrobe she can wear for whatever portion of her Eras Tour setlist she opts to dedicate to the material.

Torture is fashion to Taylor Swift, and she wears her milieu dully. This album will surely get comparisons to Rupi Kaur’s poetry, either for its simplicity, empty language, commodification or all of the above.

And, sure, there are parallels there, especially in how The Tortured Poets Department, too, is going to set the art of poetry back another decade—as Swift’s naive call-to-arms of her own milky-white sorrow rings in like some quintessential “I am going to take pictures of a typewriter on my desk and have a Pinterest mood-board of Courier New font” iPhone fodder. 2013 called and it wants it capricious, suburban girl-who-is-taking-a-gap-year wig back!

Soaking our book reports in coffee or having our moms burn the edges with a kitchen lighter cannot come back into fashion; the cyclical notions of culture cannot make the space for such retreads.

There is nothing poetic about a billionaire—who, mind you, threatens legal action against a Twitter account for tracking her destructive private jet paths—telling stadiums of thousands of people every night that she sees and adores them.

Tavi Gevinson says it well in her Fan Fiction zine: “When 80,000 people are also crying, you become less special, too.” If Swift can return to one of her dozen beach houses across the world, kick up her feet and say “I’m a poet of struggle,” then who is to say that millions—maybe billions—of people with access to a notes app and a social media account won’t dream that dream, too?

Maybe that looks like a net-positive, but it’s inherently damning and destructive to take an art form that has long stood on the shoulders of resistance, of love and of opposition to power, systematic injustice and climate warfare and boil it down to the new defining era of your own 10-digit revenue empire. “My culture is not your costume,” yada, etc.

The Tortured Poets Department does begin with a shred of hope that, just maybe, Swift knows what she’s talking about—as she sneaks in a cheeky “all of this to say,” textbook transitional phrasing for poets, on opening track “Fortnight.”

But “Fortnight” unmasks itself quickly as a heady vat of pop nothingness, though it isn’t all Swift’s fault. “I was a functioning alcoholic, ‘til nobody noticed my new aesthetic,” she muses, attempting to bridge the gap between a behind-the-scenes life and on-stage performance—only for it to occur while propped up against the most dog-water, uninspired synth arrangement you could possibly imagine.

Between producer Jack Antonoff’s atrocious backing instrumental and the Y2K-era, teen dramedy echo chamber of a vocal harmony provided by out-of-place guest performer Post Malone, “Fortnight” chokes on the vomit of its own opaqueness.

“I took the miracle move-on drug, the effects were temporary,” Swift muses, and it sounds like satire. This is your songwriter of the century? Open the schools.

The Tortured Poets Department title-track features some of Swift’s worst lyricism to-date, including the irredeemable, relentlessly cringe “You smoked then ate seven bars of chocolate, we declared Charlie Puth should be a bigger artist / I scratch your head, you fall asleep like a tattooed golden retriever” lines glazed atop some synthesizers and drums that just ring in as hollow, unfascinating costuming.

Aside from the Puth nod, which I can only discern as a joke (given the fact that he is one of the 150-most streamed artists in the world and is one of the blandest pop practitioners alive—I don’t care if he can figure out the pitch of any sound you throw at him), I think Antonoff should stick to guitar-playing. Get that man away from a keyboard, I’m begging you.

Synths can be, if you use them correctly, one of the most emotional and provocative instruments in any musician’s tool-box. There’s a reason why keyboards defined the 1980s; they rebelled against the very oppressive nature existing outside of the cultural company they kept. There’s resistance in electronic music that, while they brandish an aesthetic that, to a layman’s ears, seems like technicolor hues for any infectious pop track, it’s a genre that aches to tell its own story. That is simply not the case here, and that electronica hangs Swift out to dry when she drags us through the lukewarm “I laughed in your face and said, ‘You’re not Dylan Thomas, I’m not Patti Smith’ / This ain’t the Chelsea Hotel, we’re modern idiots” lines, only to hit us with a softly sung F-bomb that sounds like a billionaire’s rendition of that one Miranda Cosgrove podcast clip.

I used to rag pretty heavily on Reputation—mostly because I thought (and still do, mostly) that it sounded like Swift had given up on making interesting, progressive pop music; that, in the wake of her (arguably) best album, 1989, it seemed like she’d lost the plot on where to go next. But as she’s put out Midnights and The Tortured Poets Department back-to-back, I find myself clamoring for the Reputation-era more than ever—at least seven years ago, Swift wrote songs like she had something to prove and even more to lose.

That was the always-obvious charm of Reputation, even despite the downsides—that she took a big swing from the echelons of her own musical immortality, that the comforts of winning every award and selling out the biggest venues in the world were no longer pillowing her aspirations. Even though that swing didn’t land, she still made it in the first place—and Swift is at her best either when she is clawing upwards (Reputation) or faced with nowhere to go but into the studio and noodle with the bare-bones of her own sensibilities (folklore).

You get something like The Tortured Poets Department when the artist making it no longer feels challenged, where she strikes out looking.

The mid-ness of The Tortured Poets Department will not be a net-loss for Swift. She will sell out arenas and get her streams until she elects to quit this business (a phrase decidedly not in her vocabulary, surely).

She will sell more merch bundles than vinyl plants have the capacity to make, and rows of variant LP copies will haunt the record aisles of Target stores just as long as Midnights has—if not longer.

Perhaps, in five or six years’ time, we will speak of this record just as we now do of Reputation. But right now, it is obvious that Swift no longer feels challenged to be good. The Tortured Poets Department is the mark of an artist now interested in seeing how much their empire can atone for the sins of mediocrity.

Can Swift win another Album of the Year Grammy simply because she released a record during the eligibility period? The Tortured Poets Department reeks of “because I can,” not “because I should.”

On “I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can),” Swift tries stepping into the shoes of the country renegades who came before her—the Tammy Wynettes and Loretta Lynns of the world. But her self-aggrandizing inflation of importance, glinting through via a seismically-bland bridge, is backed by a minimal set dressing of guitar, drum machine and keys.

“Good boy, that’s right, come close,” she sings. “I’ll show you Heaven if you’ll be an angel—all mine. Trust me, I can handle me a dangerous man. No, really, I can.” On “Florida!!!,” Swift calls upon Florence + the Machine to help her sing the worst chorus of 2024: “Florida is one hell of a drug / Florida, can I use you up?”

Even Welch, who is a fantastic pop singer-songwriter in her own right, delivers a grossly watery verse: “The hurricane with my name, when it came I got drunk and I dared it to wash me away.”

Not even the typos on the Spotify promotional materials for this album could have foretold such offenses. I won’t even get into the sonics, because Antonoff just rewrites the same soulless patterns every time.

What separates The Tortured Poets Department from something like Reputation is that, on the latter, Swift made it known what was at stake and who she was making that album for—herself, in the aftermath of her greatest long-standing criticisms (“Look What You Made Me Do” triumphs exactly because of this).

On The Tortured Poets Department, there is a striking level of moral nothingness. The stakes are practically non-existent, and the album sounds like it was made by someone who believes that they had no other choice but to finish it, as if Swift fundamentally believes that her creative measures are firmly embedded in the massive monopoly her name and brand currently hold on popular music. That’s how you get meandering pop songs about hookups, wine moms, Stevie Nicks comparisons, Jehovah’s Witness suit mentions, hollowed-out, tone-deaf nods to white-collar crime in lieu of empowerment and, topically, Barbie dolls.

(Don’t even get me started on the Anthology lyrics, which feature these absolute barn-burners: “Touch me while your bros play Grand Theft Auto” and “My friends used to play a game where / We would pick a decade / We wished we could live in instead of this / I’d say the 1830s, but without all the racists / And getting married off for the highest bid.”) This album and its hackneyed grasps at relevance exist as “Did I just hear that?” personified, but in the most derogatory sense of the notion.

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys” features another low-point in Swift’s lyrical oeuvre, as she sings “I felt more when we played pretend than with all the Kens, ‘cause he took me out of my box”—perhaps a measure of her capitalizing on the Barbenheimer mania that none of us could escape, not even the musician who spent most of 2023 flying across the world from one country to another.

But you, us, the listener—we want to believe that Swift makes these records because she has the artistic will, drive and interest to continue giving us parts of her story in such ways that they exist as an archival of her life.

But the problem is that, on The Tortured Poets Department, Swift is packaging her life into a form that is easily consumable for the 17 or 18 years olds who pour over her music. Just because her Eras Tour film is on Disney+ doesn’t mean she has to strip her songwriting (which we know can be, and has been, phenomenal) down for the sake of it being digestible by a wide spectrum of ages.

And, sure, maybe that makes the work accessible. But on The Tortured Poets Department, Swift makes Zoomer jargon her bag—titling a song after one of the most popular video games in the world and conjuring flickers of “down bad” and “I can fix him”—and it feels like she’s cosplaying because the Fountain of Youth was out of order.

Now that Swift is in her 30s, it sounds like she is infantilizing her own audience more than ever before—that singing to them at a level that could force them to reckon with something more akin with adulthood would be some kind of kink in the coil or her consumeristic threshold, that writing lyrics that sound like they were penned by a 30-year-old would, somehow, deter the interests of the billions of people who adore her.

If making one, continuous coming-of-age album is what Swift has been doing for 15 years, folklore and evermore were hiccups in the timeline—existing as the most fully-formed renderings of Swift’s own insecurities and concerns. They mirrored our platitudes towards an uncertain future with sweet, stirring remarks about isolation and heartbreak and the unavoidable, hard-worn truth about getting older. On those records, her larger-than-life living seemed, for once, to truly feel as close to the ground as ours.

Now, though, Taylor Swift is at the top of the mountain. Far better artists have made far worse records than The Tortured Poets Department, but you can’t read between the lines of this project. There is nothing to decipher from a place of quality.

Sure, Swift’s fan base will pour over these lyrics for the rest of their lives—insisting they know, for certain, which song is about who. But you cannot place a bad album on the shoulders of lore and expect it to be rectified.

We are now left at a crossroads. Women can’t critique Swift because they’ll run the risk of being labeled a “gender traitor” for doing so. Men can’t critique her because they’ll be touted as “sexist.”

And, sure, Swift is probably too easy a punching bag in this case—and most of the time, I would argue she is undeserving of being a victim of such barbs. But, you cannot write about someone being a “tattooed golden retriever” and get away with it and still retain your title as the best songwriter of your generation. You just cannot.

Sisyphus should be glad he never got the boulder to the top of the mountain—because Taylor Swift is showing us that such immortality and success ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. And, when you’re standing on the peak alone, who else is there left to hit?

In a recent interview with The Standard, Courtney Love said that Swift is “not interesting as an artist,” and I think The Tortured Poets Department proves as much. She has nothing to fight for, no doubters left to drown.

So where does she turn? Well, to boredoms of celebrity thinly veiled as sorrow everyone and their mother can latch onto—because we’ve all had to “ditch the clowns, get the crown” at some point in our lives, right?

The billionaire is having an identity crisis, but there are no social media apps for her to buy up. So she sings like Lana Del Rey and writes meta-self-referential songs about looking like Stevie Nicks.

What’s hollow about The Tortured Poets Department is that the real torture is just how unlivable these songs really are. No one can resonate with “So I leap from the gallows and I levitate down your street, crash the party like a record, scratch as I scream ‘Who’s afraid of little old me?’ You should be.” And normally, that wouldn’t be an end-all-be-all for a pop record—but when your brand is built on copious levels of “I’m just like you!” as the demigod saying it to their fans does so from a multi-million-dollar production set, it’s hard to not feel nauseated by the overlording, overbearing sense of heavy-handed detritus we’re tasked with sifting through on The Tortured Poets Department.

Love’s words to Lana, her advice to “take seven years off,” should be applied to Swift. Now, that doesn’t mean that, to make a good album, you must sit on material for years and labor extensively through the sketching, shaping and recording in order for it to be transcendentally landmark. But it’s obvious now that not even Taylor Swift wants to be the head of an empire—that she, too, can’t outrun the damning fate of being plum out of ideas by hopping in her jet and skirting off to God knows where.

See you at the Grammys.

****

[princessbrunette]

hai!!!! just curious, because ik everyone kinda has their own definitions when it comes to different kinds of readers, what do you describe puppy/kitty/bunny/deer!reader as? what makes them them?

anyway, luv ya n all that ya do- ,,^-^,,

ooo fun question !! ໒꒰ྀིᵔ ³ ᵔ ꒱ྀིა

BUNNY:

she was born for the soft life. a highly organised system in her closet, and a whole separate closet just for shoes. she’s not bratty, she doesn’t even know what being bratty is or how to do it, but there are of course times she starts thumping her foot, whining and pulling at rafes clothes. this petulant behaviour is often solved by a stern look, a tap on the cheek or a reach under the skirt to tug at her fluffy bunny butt plug. her nose twitches when she’s upset, and has a big toothy grin when she’s happy. she leaves the glitter from her body all over rafe’s clothes, mink eyelash extensions on the sink, tubes of lipgloss in her boyfriends pockets. she’s an r&b / rap girl lover to her core, and a day isn’t complete without bouncing around her room to flo milli or saweetie. bunny doesn’t have an ounce of shame in her body— whether that’s from her skirt riding up in public (as to which rafe has to irritably tug it down again) to pawing at him, begging him for dick infront of his friends. luckily, rafe doesn’t have much shame either.

KITTY:

be careful, she bites! no really, she does — cross her and she’s squinting at you, sinking her teeth into an arm until you yelp. according to jj, anyway. she’s odd, and that’s what he likes about her— collecting horror movie memorabilia and trinkets from the thrift store she thinks might be ‘haunted’. she keeps her nails long, stiletto shaped even — whether that’s from scraping her money together for acrylics or growing them out herself. she has the craziest oral fixation, always needing something to lick, suck or chew on— that something often being her boyfriend jj. despite the black liner in her waterline, she is still a spoilt little priss who needs her pink ribbons tied round anything and everything, requiring the fluffiest of blankets and pillows for her daily nap. unlike bunny, she does work — having a little gig as a bartender/waitress at a beachside restaurant. she gets super huffy and puffy, not enjoying having to speak to so many people — but her boyfriend gaining a linecook job at the same joint makes things better. she’s deftones biggest fan, even owning a pair of panties with their album cover on the front. jj loves seeing them on the floor of his room.

PUPPY:

she’s playful, clingy, and ever so whiny. shes the most energetic of the bunch, firing off into a million topics at once, talking and talking until john b has to interrupt her to tell her to breathe or she will pass out. her signature is her big doe eyes, used as a weapon ready to fire at all times on anyone who dares to upset her. she’s not spoilt, infact she’s very humble and fairly docile unless provoked— she just requires oodles of attention and affection, pats on the head and praise are her love language! she works at the local pet store, often coming home with hilarious stories about handling animals, john b plucking hay out of her hair as she tells them. she has the energy to keep up with all the animals, running around until she arrives home to john b and passes out on his lap for a quick nap before bursting into a fit of energy once more. pup is never seen without her walkman, and can often be found dancing around the empty chateau with 80s pop blaring in her ears, or knocked out with the audio tapes john b had recorded for her to help her sleep.

DEER:

riddled with anxiety, whilst somehow being the most still and unsettling person in the room. deer!reader, much like a real deer is skittish, easily frightened, but ever so curious. she has a different view on the world to most of her peers, a master in people watching and could win any staring competition. she’s often found with her nose in a book, the topic being either of something completely fanatical, or something informative and peculiar. due to her reading habits, much like her boyfriend pope she is a whirlpool of information, constantly quietly spewing facts into his ear (which let’s be real, is practically foreplay for the two of them.) she has a tendency to get into trouble from her prying, exploring and staring — but she doesn’t mean to come across that way, she’s the picture of innocence really! she likes 50s/ 60s music, finding a charming and simple peace to the sound — and is a mass collector of callico critters, sonny angels and blythe dolls. pope finds it adorable.

[constantinerkives]

The Model and the Muse // YJM, one-shot

PAIRINGS: Model! Karina x Non-celeb fem reader WARNINGS: Established relationship, secret relationship - well, not anymore IG, jealousy haha, Karina is FERAL for you in a soft way, territorial Rina, soft ending, I think that's pretty much it A/N: I based this on a prompt submitted to me:

You asked, I shall deliver <3

When you care for someone - love someone, sacrifices are made. 

You just weren't informed that one of those sacrifices would be telling the world that you love her. Enter Karina Yoo, one of the highest-paid models in the European Fashion Houses, mainly Givenchy, Yves Saint Laurent, and Loius Vuitton. 

She courted you three years ago, she was a rising star, and you were just a junior stylist. And you said yes to becoming her lover a year ago before her agency hired her as a model, and to your amusement and irritation, her 'fans' abhor the concept of dating when it comes to her. They're allergic to that term. But that didn't stop the older woman from sneaking out to see you, sending you gifts even when both of you were busy with Fashion Week. 

So for your safety and hers (not to mention her career), you two decided to keep it a secret until the crowd becomes more forgiving. 

It's challenging - especially when the media and the public are fixated on her.

Do you know what else is challenging? 

Remain composed whenever someone blatantly flirts with her. 

Who can blame them? Your lover is a beautiful woman - beautiful is an understatement. She's like a goddess reincarnated as a human, blessed with elegance, wit, and grace. You thank the universe for blessing you with her, but you pray to the universe to give you patience and not strength whenever someone tries to shoot their shot because if the universe grants you strength; you might jam your powder blush brush into their neck. But there's nothing you can do about it. It was your agreement with her, so you learned to live with it because every time someone tried after the event, Karina would reciprocate, but her words were empty, and you'd share an irritated glance before she excused herself to an isolated room, signaling for you to follow and the next thing you know your back is pressed against any firm surface, and her lips are molding against yours, her perfume will infiltrate your sense of smell and her scent would linger on you for a while before she'd get out of the room looking fresh as if she wasn't ravaging your lips and your neck two minutes ago. 

Even so, you tried to keep your interactions minimum knowing that when you two slip away from the buzz of both the media and the public, Karina Yoo transforms; gone is the practiced persona of Givenchy, YSL, and LV's brand, replaced by a much simpler girl, Yoo Jimin; who loves dinosaurs and cuddling you until both your body temperature becomes unbearable. 

Your ears perked upon hearing the keypad of your rented apartment in Paris beeping. Giddy, a smile breaks past your lips, and you hastily turn off the stove before rushing to the living room. She's home. A soft laugh falls from her lips the moment your body comes in contact with hers. Soon, you feel her lean arms wrap around your figure, flushing you against her front. 

"Oh," You inhale her favorite scent, pressing your nose against the skin of her neck that's exposed by her white, button-down shirt. Top notes of blackberry, releasing an instant burst of juiciness, natural blackcurrant buds, and a fruity, slightly tart scent. Heart notes of bay leaves, and base notes of Cedarwood. "How I've missed you." 

"I miss you too," She whispers, low and husky. Her breath fans your lips as soon as you pull away to hold her delicate face. "How're the rehearsals for the Fashion Week?" 

Jimin closes her eyes and leans into your warmth, "Tiring," She then opens her eyes and peers over your shoulders. "What's for dinner?"

"Steak tartare and onion soup." You answer with a grin and gently massage her jaw. "Go get changed. I'll prepare the dishes." 

"Yes, ma'am." Your lover obeys before pecking your lips, taking her messenger bag, and disappearing into your shared room. You watched her with a fond smile and began preparing the plates. 

In Paris, there are fewer eyes, few are aware, and maybe you hope they won't care. Jimin, being an A-list model, used her privileges and bought an apartment that's private and near the venue for their Fashion Week. With this, she can go home in peace and be with you every day and night. But that doesn't stop you from staying careful, but you're glad for small mercies like this one. 

"I'll be starting the event," She tells you with a gleeful smile while she takes a spoonful of onion soup and hums in delight. "Damn, this tastes good!"

A bemused laugh falls off your lips as your eyes watch her fondly while she recounts the events that happened during her rehearsals. "Oh, don't you know - I'm going to wear Nicolas Chesquière's pieces! Oh, you should have seen them-" 

She stops upon looking up to see you looking at her warmly. Her cheeks subtly turn pink, and she sheepishly puts down her spoon. "Oh, I'm rambling again, aren't I?"

You giggle at her, "No, no," You shake your head sideways. "Keep talking. I like your voice." Your lover giggles in return before sighing heavily, "You'll be there in the event, right? I mean, as our designated stylist?"

"Of course," You reach out for her hand, "Where you go, I go - it's part of the job, Jiminnie." She smiles softly, "Then can you stay after the event?"

"For what?" 

"A party, honey." 

You blink at the older woman, "I - have nothing to wear, Jimin - you know those parties are full of elites and socialites. I'll look out of place." 

The latter's face becomes serious, "No, no you won't. You'll match with me during the party, Y/N." You incline your head at her notion as she gracefully stands up from her seat and walks to your shared bedroom. 

"Karina?" You furrow your brows and follow after her, "What are you doing?"

The hinges of the door allow you to push them smoothly and see the raven-haired beauty holding up a huge Loius Vuitton shopping bag, and she's holding two of them.

Your jaw slacks as she holds them out to you with a beaming grin, "I bought these for you." 

"Jesus," You mutter as you slowly approach the model, "Are you for real?"

"You want to see them? They're ready to be released tomorrow, but the creative director allowed me to choose." She pauses, "I also got the one for your size, don't worry; I picked them alone in the production room." Her soft brown eyes traverse to the shopping bag, "Take it, my love. I picked them just for you."  

With tentative hands, you take the bag from her and open it under her expectant gaze as she sits at the edge of the bed. You open it carefully, and you nearly drop the bag. 

The coat Jimin chose for you is a white, elegant, double-breasted coat. A white nautical leather accent ribbed coat, "You can use the relaxed-fit shirt for the top." 

You caress the soft fabric of your shirt before gently placing it on top of the bed, Karina giggles at your action as you move your attention to your second bag. It's just as big as the first one.

"Laureate desert boots," Karina grins as you examine the article on footwear. "It's beautiful," You mumbled before looking at her, slacked-jawed. The latter subtly blushes and sheepishly scratches the nape of her neck. "What about yours, though?" You inquire, and she replies with a wink. "You'll see it after the event."

You place your index finger against your chin as if you were thinking as your eyes dart from the attire and your lover, who looks at you softly with a smile before finally giving in. "Alright, after all, it would be a shame if I don't flaunt this newly released piece." 

That pleased the raven-haired model as she got up from the bed, and unexpectedly lifted you by the hips and spun you around. That is always her reaction whenever you'd agree to join her for the after-party of the event. 

"Thank you," She says breathlessly after putting you down, warmth spreads through your body as you cup her right cheek and massage it softly with your thumb. "Seeing you there means a lot to me." 

She leans in for more and closes her eyes as you whisper to her, vow to her:

"Anything for you, my love." 

"Girls! You have fifteen minutes before we need to bring the models backstage! Hurry up!"

A hiss leaves your lips as you run from stall to stall, helping distribute their pieces for the runway. "Hey! Watch it!" One of the staff members snapped, but you didn't pay attention. Apologizing can come second. You need to do your job first, otherwise, the coordinator will have your head on a platter. 

As you approach the stock room for more articles of expensive clothing, you locked eyes with Karina who's being accessorized by her stylists, she sends you a small smile and you flash her yours before you return to work. 

"Fuck," One of your coworkers, Chaewon, cursed. 

"What?" You inquire the short-haired girl as she skims through the wardrobe. She looks at you apologetically. 

"I'm sorry, Y/N, I can multiply myself so," You chuckle at her words as she comes to you with a sealed LV box; jewelry. "Can you make sure that Yunjin wears this before she steps on the runway?"

Yunjin? As in The Huh Yunjin? The rumored nepo baby?

As if reading your thoughts, Chaewaon shoves the box against your chest, "Yes - that Yunjin, I'm so sorry, Y/N, I'm needed at the other department-"

"Chae," You raise an open palm, "No worries, now go. I'll take care of this." 

The short-haired girl smiles in relief before departing from you while you look for Huh Yunjin's fitting room. Huh Yunjin, standing at exactly 5'8, has black, long hair, and softer features, and has been part of the agency since she was 18 years old. Not to mention, a rumored nepo baby due to her father's connections and influence with the fashion industry he was a part of. 

 Your knuckles gently knock against Yunjin's fitting room. You hear a faint: "Come in!" 

Upon entering, you immediately spot the model being pampered by her make-up artist, her kind, bright obsidian eyes lock with yours through the reflection, and her plump, pink lips curl to a kind smile and raise her hand to stop her make-up, the latter obeys as she stands up to face you. Huh Yunjin is wearing LV's Inverted Mahina Monogram Shirt Dress and Donna high boots. She's stunning. 

"Hello, Miss Huh," You greet her with a bow before presenting her with the jewelry box, "I'm here to add finishing touches to your outfit before you hit the runway."

"Wonderful," She approaches you, the heels of her boots scraping against the marble floors as she walks towards you. "Can I see it, Miss?" She pauses as she holds your confused gaze. Then it clicks, she doesn't know you, and she needs to address you by your name as a stylist. 

"Ah," You flush, "I'm Y/N." You open the box to reveal her matching chain earrings and necklace. "Perfect," The model grins and takes a handful of her luscious, black hair and turns around, and lowers her height by bending her knees. 

"Can you help me with the necklace?"

"Sure," Gently, you put the box down and delicately take the necklace before opening the hook and letting it rest at the base of the model's slim neck before locking it in place. 

Yunjin turns around, and her collar is ruffled, "Oh," You click your tongue, "Let me fix that for you." 

The black-haired beauty obliges with a smile before bending her knees for you to fix her dress. "Stay like that, please." You tell her gently before taking the earrings and donning them on the gorgeous model. 

"There," You step back to admire your work, and Yunjin stands up and looks at her reflection. "Thank you, Y/N." Her make-up artist approaches her and hands Yunjin her petite handbag. "I've been meaning to ask since it's my first time seeing you here," The model begins, "What happened to Chaewon?"

"Oh, that," You examine her attire to see if there's anything out of place There was none. "She was called to another department to handle technical issues." You place a hand over your chest, " I came in her stead." 

 The latter hums, and your two-way radio beeps, garnering your attention. "Miss Lee, please bring Yunjin backstage ASAP." 

You look at her, "Time to go, Miss Huh." 

"Please, just address me by my first name: Yunjin. And can you accompany me backstage, Y/N? Just to see if my attire needs more fixing." 

An innocent request, and besides, she's a model so of course her attire as well as her appearance must be the top priority. "Sure, Yunjin, follow me." The taller woman obliges and follows you backstage where the rest of the models are stationed, hidden behind the velvet curtains of the runway stage. You can hear music blaring from the other side as LV's models go in and out backstage to change their attires. Immediately, your eyes spot Jimin talking to a male model with feminine features, Hwang Hyunjin. You know the man, him and his twin Yeji; both of them come from respectable backgrounds with a matching humble attitude. 

You trust them both with your secret lover. 

Your soft features twist to a scowl as you spot a familiar, arrogant face approaching her. 

Except him

Yunjin groans as she sees the man, or at least that is what you assumed before she confirms it. "Jeno is back for more." She whispers close to you, "But before I spread hate, you know about him, yeah? His reputation with female models?"

"Of course," You confirm as you ball your hands. "It's not difficult to believe them with a face like that." 

The model chuckles, and you turn to face her with an arched brow, "What?" She waves her hand dismissively, "Nothing Y/N. Let's say I like your vibe already." You hum and look back at your lover who's throwing him a strained smile. "Poor Karina, ever since she began modeling for Loius Vuitton, she became Jeno's fixation." 

"I agree," You mumble. Yunjin looks at you and hums. "Now that you've seen the designs, what's your favorite?"

The inquiry distracts you, and you tear your gaze from Jimin, "Designs?" You repeat as you look around before answering her. "Karina's, Kazuha's, and lastly," You gesture a hand at her dress, "Yours, or maybe because you're wearing it?" You playfully stated, and the model threw her head back with a soft laugh, eliciting the same reaction from you.

For a moment, your jealousy ebbs; you've gained a new friend.

And a few meters away from you two, Karina's eyes were focused on you. Her hearing blocks Jeno's nonsense while you and Yunjin laugh and move closer to each other and talk in hushed voices before giggling amongst yourselves. 

In three days, you and Yunjin became close. 

She wasn't hard to talk to, Yunjin is open-minded to various topics, and you two share the same expression whenever Jeno walks by. The other stylist picked this up as the model seems comfortable enough to cackle with you, and you cackle with her. You two are that close. 

Karina doesn't seem to mind, but she's mindful of how close you two are, especially with Yunjin's touchy persona to the people she's closest to. 

"Hey Y/N, it's Chae. Karina's stylist is going to be late. Can you file in for her?"

The mention of your lover's name perks you up, "Sure!" You clear your throat and change your tone to a neutral octave. "Sure,"

Giddy, you rushed to find Karina's fitting room. She didn't mention bringing anything, so you assumed that Karina was waiting for your guidance with her attire. Upon entering her fitting room, Karina is seen laying down on the sectional couch wearing a white bathrobe, her hair is slightly wet, and her eyes are closed. 

Smiling softly, you quietly approach the sleeping beauty. The event doesn't start in the next three hours, but as the coordinator said: The earlier, the better. They can nap afterward once they're done dressing up. 

You bend until your face is only centimeters apart, "Rina," You whisper, "Get up. You need to get ready." The older girl groans softly before opening one eye, "Y/N," She calls out softly before smiling, and before you know it, her arms are around your neck as she pulls you close to her, eliciting a yelp of surprise from you as you land on top of her firm body, Karina hums and entraps you with her arms as she hides her head in between your neck and inhales your scent. 

As much as you like being in her arms, this is a public venue. 

"Karina!" You whisper in alarm, "We'll get caught!"

The latter whine and presses soft kisses against the exposed expanse of your neck. 

"Karina!" You whisper more firmly, and she sighs. You relent, "Okay, okay. Five minutes."

Five minutes later, you two began to work. You waited patiently while the make-up artist adds finishing touches to her makeup, Karina kept her eyes closed while the latter works on her face. While that happens, you take secret photos of her and admire them. The camera doesn't do her justice as you examine her features. Soft brown eyes mapping her sharp, upturned nose, her small jaw, big, intelligent, sharp eyes, and Karina's soft lips. 

All of her: you memorized and fell for every day. 

"Okay, she's done." Declares the artist, "I'll get going now." She bows at Karina, "I have another model waiting for me." 

"It's fine," Karina assures, "Y/N will take it from here."

The artist didn't waste tie and immediately left the room. Karina smiles upon hearing the door click close as you approach the wardrobe and skim through its contents before setting your eyes on the white, tapered wool-crepe mini dress. "Perfect," You purr to yourself before turning to face her. Karina was already standing with her loose bathrobe. 

"This should look perfect on you," You then paused, "Who am I kidding, you look good in everything." 

The latter chuckles, "I'm flattered," She grins as you come close to her, "But the clothes are just accessories. I look better when I'm with you." 

Warmth spreads to your cheeks, and you playfully swat her shoulder, "Cheeky," You mused, "Change into this, and I'll get you boots-"

If your cheeks were pink, now they've turned red; Karina discarded her robe and allowed it to slip until it reached her shoulders. "Rina!" 

"What?" She shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly, "You've seen me naked before. That shouldn't bother you." 

"We're in public," You hiss but make no move to cover her. Karina's lip curls to a smirk, "The way I see it, darling." She brushes her knuckles gently against your left cheek; you shudder at her touch. "It's just the two of us here, alone." 

"You wouldn't dare," You protested. The older woman grins, "I'm kidding. Help me change, baby." 

You grunt as she allows the robe to pool around her feet while you unzip the dress and help her don it. While you're busy fixing the dress, Karina just stares at you, shamelessly ogling as you correct her dress. 

"It'll last longer if you take a picture," You joked. Karina hums and grasps your waist, "Why would I need that when I see you every day and night?"

A small smile graces your lips, "You're right."

"And I have you in my bed," She leans close, "Satisfied with my warmth, my touch." Your brow raises at the innuendo. "Karina," 

"What?" She slyly queries, "I'm just stating a fact," 

"Behave," 

Her chest rumbles a low chuckle, causing your guts to churn as she rasps:

"Are you nervous?" She ghost her lips against the side of your face, her cold breath fans your skin. "It's just me, darling, there's nothing to be nervous about." 

"That's the thing," You whisper, your voice becoming weak when it comes to her. "God knows what you do whenever we're alone, and you're acting like this."

Your lover chuckles and assaults your neck with butterfly kisses. For a moment, you allow her to map your skin with her lips before she reaches yours. Her grip becomes tight, and she kisses you with ardent need, searing and unrelenting. And you allow her to do this. Your arms; still aware of the expensive fabric she's wearing, decided to wrap your arms around her neck and pull her closer. Both your lips move languidly against each other, swallowing each other's breaths until both of your lungs burn for oxygen. You were the first to pull away with a pant, Karina looks at you with a hooded gaze before swiping your lower lip with her thumb. 

"You're mine, Lee Y/N."

"And so are you," 

She grasps your jaw, "And I love you."

That caught you off-guard. Your heart swells, and you peck her lips. 

"I love you too, Yoo Jimin." 

"Good," She whispers before you lean away from her to get her ankle-length boots. 

Karina is a simple creature. If she sees you, she's happy. 

But if she sees someone being a little too friendly with you, she becomes territorial. 

She shouldn't be irritated when Yunjin's with you, from what she's heard and seen; Yunjin is a kind woman with a caring personality. She's touchy with the people whom she's close with. She shouldn't feel threatened, but every time Yunjin whispers a little too close for her liking, or whenever she fixes your clothes, something inside her threatens to snap. 

It feels all too intimate, all too soon. 

She grips the stem of her wine glass, courtesy of the aforementioned competition leading you to her friends by the small area of your back, wearing the coat she had picked for you before the Fashion Week began. 

Paris Fashion Week had just ended five hours ago, cue in the after-party - and you look gorgeous in your attire with your hair neatly combed and pressed. Gorgeous, and only she should be admiring you. She knows it's selfish, but that's what makes her human, to yearn for you and have you forever beside her, to tell the world - tell the goddamn world that she loves you. 

"Karina," Jeno's voice snaps her from her reverie, and a scowl threatens to show. "What is it, Jeno?"

"Now that the Fashion Week's over, I was wondering..." In her head, she blocks out his voice as she sees Yunjin's friends gather around you like a prized item. Her sight sharpens as Yunjin brushes your hair back with a smile. 

"She's been doing that frequently," The raven-haired beauty mumbles and sips her drink lightly while Jeno babbles incoherently. 

Yunjin leans in to whisper something in your ear once again, causing you to giggle and playfully swat her shoulder while the taller woman grins at you and takes you to another group. 

Before your lover can even think about her next action, her body gracefully follows you and Yunjin, no longer heeding the protest of the man as she keeps her eyes trained on you. 

Upon following you, she sees you conversing with a familiar group; Giselle, Winter, and the youngest of the bunch: Minji. You and Yunjin seem to be having fun conversing with them judging by the way your pleasant laugh falls from your pristine lips. She decides to listen before approaching.

"Lee Y/N?" Winter, the short-haired girl repeats, "Oh my god, I didn't recognize you in your outfit, you look good!" Karina smirks as she sips her drink. 

"Oh," You flushed, "Stop it,"

"It's true," Minji affirms, "You should wear clothes like that more, Y/N. It brings out the stylist in you." 

"If it does, then I'd be spending millions just to look the part." You joked, and the group laughs, even Karina, who chuckles. 

"Oh, don't worry about a thing," Yunjin grins, "If it makes you feel better, "I'll spoil you with such gifts." Karina's eye twitches. No, that's her job. 

The group lets out a loud "Oooh," 

"You know," Giselle slyly smiles, "If I hadn't known any better, I'd think you two are actually dating." You chuckle nervously while Yunjin hums, "Do you think we'd make a great couple if we are?"

Karina didn't dare let them finish, no. She stormed towards the group, muttering a rough: "Excuse me, I'll be taking her for a moment." And grabs you by the wrist, surprising you as she immediately whisks you away from them without waiting for a reply and leads you to the podium. 

"Jimin!" You whisper harshly to her, "What are you planning to do?"

She didn't say anything before she finally reaches the podium with you standing awkwardly next to her. She then garners the attention of the crowd by tapping on the mic while your eyes find Yunjin looking at the two of you, confusion etched on her beautiful face. 

"Hello, everyone. May I please have your attention?" Karina begins, and the crowd obliges in confusion and curiosity. "Jimin," You fidgeted, and she leaned away from the mic and looked at you fondly, "Let me do this, my love. Let me tell the world who you are to me."

Your posture relaxes, and you nod in agreement. Jimin felt elated; a nod from you is all she needs as you held her hand tightly. 

"Everyone," She grins and tightens her hold around your hand. "This is Lee Y/N, all of you may know her as a stylist - but she is my girlfriend." 

The crowd gasps and cheers and your girlfriend laughs. "And I want to tell everyone in this room that she is mine as I am hers. So to those who think she's single, she is not." The hall is mixed with the crowds' chuckles and murmurs. 

"That's all everyone, do enjoy your evening." She ends her announcement by moving your intertwined hands to her lips and pressing a kiss against the back of your palm mouthing: I love you.

And the day after, the world knew the two of you. From yearning glances and minimal brushes to proud stares and warm touches. 

You are hers as she is yours; the world finally knows this and accepts it or either ignores it, you don't care so long as they know that the two of you belong to each other:

The Model, and her Muse. 

Fin.

[jadeoru]

coffee beans.

synopsis: valentine's day was spent the same way every year: coffee, and studying, all while trying her best to avoid the happy couples in love. unfortunately, her tradition was interrupted by a clumsy pretty barista. or: kiyoko felt like she wasn't capable of feeling love, turns out she's just gay

warnings/tags: reader is a barista! fluff, meet-ugly, afab!reader, reader is referred to as a girl, kiyoko's pov, kiyoko is an anxious shy mess (me too), flirting (pathetic), kiyoko's gay awakening lmfao, kiyoko's a la dispute fan because i said so, poop jokes, i actually hate how this turned out but oh well, wrote this for the 3 kiyoko lovers of the world

wc: 3.5k words

now playing: very cliché but definitely girls - girl in red lmao 🎶

Kiyoko saw love as a waste of time. She lived her whole life in a society held together by the prospect of love. It chased her in many forms: her parents, her friends, music, art, - she knew it well. In her childhood, love was just another friend of hers; a familiar taste on her tongue, similar to her mother’s cooking. It was a feeling of home. But as she grew up, the flavour grew progressively more acrid; bitter. She watched as her friends changed, each of them infatuated by the weird feeling. Everyone around her had a crush on someone. Conversations with her friends quickly became dull. No one was the same as they got older. Everyone around her was falling in love; a victim of cupid's spell. She felt left out; ostracised. In her eyes, love seemed like a trap; a chain, connecting you to someone for the rest of your life. She never understood the appeal, and how everyone saw the cruel, suffocating feeling as a warm embrace - whirling inside of you. She was frustrated. It was stressful not knowing what was wrong with her - why she was so different from her peers. She tried relationships, they always felt wrong. She was asked out by 2 different guys, each time she said yes. She agreed not because the feeling was mutual, but because she hoped she could force herself to feel the same. In the end, she discovered that butterflies are just colourful moths that find home inside of your gut, and mess everything up as they inevitably rot away. Cupid shot Kiyoko with their arrow on multiple occasions; each time left her on the cusp of bleeding out. All everyone cared about was love. As everyone around her found their person, she found herself slowly left behind. Love was in the air, and she was allergic.

In a way, her friends felt bad for her. They didn’t understand, and honestly, neither did she. They frequently tried setting her up on dates. She met all kinds of guys, each one somewhat worse than the last. Every date felt so strange; something wasn’t right. Was that how all dates went? - That’s it? She honestly felt guilty. Her friends put so much effort into those dates, trying to find her soulmate. They genuinely cared about her. They wanted her to experience true love. She felt bad for being so difficult. It got to the point where she’d resort to pretending. She’d choose a random guy in her class, one that was objectively attractive, and led her friend’s to believe her poorly acted out infatuation was true love. A part of her hoped that by lying to her friends, she could lie to herself, and believe it. With fingers crossed, she prayed for her to finally succeed, She hoped that maybe, she’d finally experience the warmth of her heart pounding in her chest. 

Graduation passed her by; it never worked.

To her, it was pointless. She tried it so many times, and in the end, she was always left unsatisfied. She lost faith in her search for love ages ago, and honestly stopped believing in it. Instead of flowers and holding hands with someone, love found her in other strange ways. To her, love was the cat that always met with her on her way to college, or when she found a song that she related to deeply. Love was the face of her mother when she was accepted into college. Love was spending time by herself; writing mediocre poetry, back pressed almost comfortably against a tree. With the exception of her father, love was never the face of a man. That was something she never came to terms with until her early adult years. That was something she thought she'd never understand;

She was wrong.

February was the worst. As if the people around her couldn’t get even more annoying, someone had the bright idea to make a whole day about love. She hated it. The commute to town was even more unbearable than it usually was. Instead of being surrounded by groaning strangers that had too much to drink last night; definitely did not get any sleep, mother’s carrying their screaming babies, the annoying screeching noise that erupted from the train every time it came to a halt, she was surrounded by cheesy lovers that flirted way too loudly. Noise-cancelling headphones were the greatest purchase she ever made.

The train to town was almost worse than the bustling, busy streets. Almost. As if her day couldn’t get any worse, all of her favourite places to spend her lunch were overrun, infected by insufferable couples. She turned her nose up with negativity. She wasn’t mad at them, if anything, she was envious. Why did she have to spend this magical holiday alone? It was unfair. She wanted not just to be loved, but to love. Her head spiralled every time she questioned herself;  she never thought about it too much to prevent her from the gnawing pit that grew within her. It took a few miserable Valentine’s Day’s for her to cultivate a steady ‘celebration’ routine; A survival plan: she would take the train at 8:20, which would be significantly less busy than the one she usually got, put on her headphones, blasted La Dispute for the entire duration of the train ride while staring out the window, and then scurried her way through the hectic crowds to her favorite, quaint, quiet, family-owned coffee shop. There, she would grab the biggest, strongest coffee they had (with a generous amount of caramel syrup, to satiate her sweet tooth), and ploughed through her assignments with peaceful relief etched into every line her pen wrote. 

That was how she spent every Valentine’s Day without fail - Without interruption. She finally had a stable routine that wouldn’t make her feel like a dysfunctional human. A routine that wouldn’t make her feel like there was something wrong with her. A distraction from the onslaught of love that crept up behind her; always facing her back, never once meeting her face to face. Up until now, it almost always went smoothly. It almost worked. She got off the train with high hopes, a subtle smile on her features as she silently appreciated the lyricism of the song she had on shuffle. She had only one notification on her phone: a warning to turn her volume down. All of her friends were busy spending time with their person. Of course they were too busy to text her. With a sigh, she increased the volume to the loudest it could go, and drowned out every thought and jealousy that plagued her mind. She didn’t care about damaging her hearing. At least she wouldn’t have to listen to grown adults talking and cooing to each other like babies. She hated that.

The walk to the coffee shop was fine. She kept to her side of the footpath, and held stern eye contact with the pavement. The cracks in the concrete were way more interesting than the romance that clouded the public anyways. Turning the door-handle, she silently rehearsed her order in her mind, before making her way to the counter. It was relatively quiet; empty. That’s how it normally was. This place was her escape from reality. It was small, quiet, the music they played was nice, and the baristas were always so polite to her. However, as she walked up to the counter, she was unable to recognise the barista behind the register. Was she new? She must’ve been, Kiyoko went there at least three times a week, and never once had she seen her. She wasn’t upset though, not in the slightest. She just hoped she would be as nice as the others. She watched attentively as the girl took the order of the person in front of her. She was smiling widely after each sentence that fled her lips. Not a fake customer-service smile, but a real genuine one. Kiyoko admired that. She continued to watch as she took the money from the customer and quickly placed it into the cash register. In one quick moment, Kiyoko found herself standing speechless directly in front of her. “Hey, what can I get for you?” She asked, giving Kiyoko absolutely zero time to mentally prepare herself to talk to her. She stuttered out her order with a strange feeling in her chest. She cringed at how stupid she sounded. “Of course! Would you like that in a takeaway cup?” She asked, flashing her a smile. It was so strange. Her smile seemed so familiar, so warm. The smile on her face almost made her feel at home; safe. She typed her order into the machine. Kiyoko was relieved - the eye contact was becoming too much for her. “Yes please.” She almost whispered, her voice unusually soft. She only nodded in response, letting out an “mhm!” in acknowledgement. She looked up at Kiyoko again, and she finally understood what it meant to have your heart skip a beat. “That’ll be 5,60! Are you paying with cash or card?”

The moment lasted only 30 seconds at most, and yet Kiyoko felt like she was suffering with a life-long crisis. As she handed her cash to her, she found herself questioning every choice she had ever made that led up to that moment. She couldn’t find the right words to describe how she felt. Conflicted? Confused? She couldn’t think of the right one. She couldn’t think of anything, besides the feeling of her hand touching hers for a split second, as she handed the money to her. She placed the money inside the register just like she did with the last customer. But, unlike she did with them, she leaned over the counter - propping her head up with her hands.

“It’ll be ready in about 5 minutes, pretty.”

With bright red cheeks and wobbly knees, she nodded her head, and almost sprinted to the pick-up counter.

There are a lot of things you could do in 5 minutes. You could listen to a song, count the tiles on the floor, or even count each second down to the last minute. Kiyoko chose neither of those. Instead, she stared at the floor, replaying the interaction in her head over a hundred times. She wasn’t entirely sure what was wrong with her, but one thing she knew for certain was she never felt that way about someone before. Ever. Those five minutes were spent questioning her entire existence. She struggled to come to an obvious conclusion. As it reached the tip of her tongue, her name was called out.

She spoke her name in a way that drove her crazy. The way each syllable rolled off her tongue had her worried she was going to suffer a heart attack. She quickly whipped her head around to face the barista again. She was suddenly very aware of how uncomfortably warm her face was. “You know… your name is almost as pretty as your face.” She almost whispered, a grin widely displayed on her cheeks as her eyes consumed Kiyoko whole. She leaned over the counter again, holding the cup out to Kiyoko. She really liked when she did that - for some strange reason. Her compliment caught Kiyoko completely off guard, hitting her almost like an arrow to the heart. A stupid smile spread out on her face. She wasn’t sure how else to react; It wasn’t socially acceptable to kick your feet and squeal in the middle of a coffee shop. Muttering a shy, “thank you so much!”, she held her hand out to grab the coffee from her. But, before she could get a stable grip on the cup, the barista let go of it too soon, almost out of embarrassment. In doing so, it caused the large, hot coffee to fall directly onto Kiyoko’s hand-made, wool sweater; crashing onto it like a boiling wave, spilling all over her and soaking her in the warm liquid.

There was a moment of mutual shock between them, a brief few seconds spent silently staring at each other. She did a terrible job at hiding the disgusted, uncomfortable look on her face as the coffee seeped through her sweater, ruining the shirt she was wearing under it, and sticking to her bare skin. She looked down to assess the damage done to her clothes. They were ruined. A big, attention-grabbing stain was spread unevenly on her sweater. This was the worst. She looked up at the barista, who looked even more terrified than she was. Her hands flew to cover her mouth, but Kiyoko could see the guilty, fearful look in her eyes. They stayed like that for a few seconds. Uncomfortable silence engulfed the room; like time stopped. Kiyoko didn’t look away from the barista, but she could tell that other people were definitely staring at the two of them. She wanted the ground to swallow her up. The barista was the first one to speak up.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” She could tell by the tone of her voice just how serious she was. Kiyoko opened her mouth to speak, to quickly forgive her. She just wanted to go home. Embarrassment enveloped her entirely, and the strong scent of coffee attacked her nostrils in an almost painful way, but the barista spoke up again. “Wait here, I’ll go get you some tissues!” She pleaded, raising her hands cautiously. She nodded in response, watching in silence as the barista urgently dashed through the door behind her. She silently cursed herself for not staying silent. She wiped her hand on her sweater, before holding it to her face to look at it. Her fingers were stained brown. At least her sweater didn’t absorb it all. She waited at the counter for the barista to return like a deer in headlights. She didn’t close the door to her break-room, so Kiyoko could just barely see her.

She was really pretty. Like, really really pretty. Even in her coffee-stained apron (She’s probably done this before to someone else - Kiyoko almost laughed at the thought), and her hair all messy from a probably stressful day, she was beautiful. Even as she frantically tore apart her break-room, Kiyoko couldn’t help but feel her heart whirling around at her irresistible pulchritude. A dumb smile plastered across Kiyoko's face. Technically, she should feel annoyed. She loved that sweater to death. But, in a weird way, she was glad. She knew that from then on, every time she looked at that stain, she would see a trace of her. Although she wasn’t entirely sure what any of her feelings meant, she didn’t have the time to care. For now, she would just let herself feel whatever feelings she felt, without the need to understand. She would have a crisis later. For now, she needed to befriend the clumsy, pretty barista. 

She speed-walked back to the counter, holding tissues out to her. Realistically, tissues would not reverse any of the damage, but it was the thought that counted. “Here. I’m so sorry about that.” She said, lips curving into an apologetic smile so nice Kiyoko couldn’t help but mirror it. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” She answered, staring at her lips for an embarrassingly long moment, before finally returning to her eyes. She reached out to take the tissues from her hand. Have her fingers always been this shaky? The lack of sleep she got the night before must’ve been affecting her mind, because she could’ve sworn you grazed your hand over hers purposefully. She must’ve imagined it. She awkwardly wiped her sweater with it, staining the tissue in the process. The stain didn’t budge.

The barista cleared her throat. “Would it help if I told you I still think you’re really pretty?” She fidgeted with her hands, an empathetic look in her eyes as she silently hoped to uplift Kiyoko’s spirits. Totally not because she was also insanely into her. Totally. Kiyoko almost dropped the tissue. Hell, she almost dropped her jaw at the sudden flirtatious remark. Her face went hot as the line between a friendly compliment and flirting was incredibly unclear to her. Was she just being nice? “Maybe it would.” She began, raising her hands, leaving the stain on full display. and tilting her head with a smile. “Would it help if I told you I think you’re really cute?” Kiyoko made a mental note to learn how to flirt later. The barista smiled, letting out an airy chuckle. “Well, it wouldn’t help the sweater I ruined, but it would help my ruined confidence.” She joked, looking at the ground. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed, it was my fault.” Kiyoko stated matter-of-factly, the girl looked at her like she had two heads. “Nope. It was my fault, cutie. I won't accept any other opinions.” She said with a wink - a wink that almost made Kiyoko fall over. Her knees were immensely weak, and she couldn’t tell if it was from the nickname, the wink, or both.

She sighed with defeat knowing not to debate with her any further. “Does it look like I just shit myself?” She asked with a laugh. The barista laughed with her, which only sorta, kind of, slightly, made her heart flutter. “Nah, more like someone shit on you.” She responded, scratching her chin in playful thought. “I’m seriously so sorry about that by the way. Let me make you another coffee, free of charge. Is there anything else I can do to help?” She asked, her words laced with genuine interest. She grabbed an empty cup, writing something on it before turning around and beginning to make her drink. Kiyoko waved her hands dismissively. “Don’t be sorry, accidents happen! - At least now I have an excuse to talk to you longer.” If she didn’t stutter her way through that sentence, it probably would’ve sounded way less pathetic. Unfortunately, Kiyoko felt she wasn’t anything but pathetic. She wasn’t aware of how it took everything in the barista not to get on one knee and propose to her at that very second. “You have a point. Maybe it’s a good thing I spilled it on you.” She chuckled, turning back around to face her again, handing her the new drink - carefully this time. 

“Um, this might be incredibly out of line, but could I maybe get your number?” She smiled nervously at Kiyoko. Normally, whenever a guy asked her for her number, it made her scoff and roll her eyes. But she was different, Kiyoko never nodded her head so enthusiastically in her life. “Yeah, of course!” She did little to hide the excitement laced in her words. The barista smiled the widest she’d seen that morning. Whispering a quiet “thank you,” she handed Kiyoko her phone, and she shakily typed in her number.

“Oh uh, I never got your name?” Through a smile, she responded, “it’s Y/n.”

“Y/n..” she repeated, handing her her phone back, “that’s a really pretty name. It suits you.” With every sentence it was as if their smiles grew tenfold; heightened by mutual happiness. “Thanks Kiyoko, your name is lovely too.” “Shimizu.” She corrected abruptly, y/n furrowed her brow in response. “Please, call me Shimizu.” she almost begged, craving to taste her name on her tongue. “Well then, Shimizu. It was lovely meeting you. I’ll stop bothering you and let you enjoy your coffee, for now.” She winked again, doing very little absolutely nothing to help convince Kiyoko she’s still straight. “For now?” She asked, confused. “Well I’ll definitely be texting you after my shift, so, for now, I will grant you peace and quiet.” She laughed her words out, to which Kiyoko reciprocated.

“I definitely won’t enjoy it when I could be talking to you instead.” Kiyoko took a sip from her drink. If she wasn’t sure then, the deliciousness of her coffee definitely confirmed just how in love Kiyoko was with her barista. She laughed, “Call me whenever you want someone to spill coffee on you. I’ve proven myself to be very good at that”

“Oh believe me, I will.”

[bardic-inspo]

aeterna nostalgia

chapter one: as it was

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Vampire Bride Tav

🩸Full Chapter List (Coming Soon) 🩸BG3 Fic Masterlist

Series Summary:

Astarion’s carefully crafted empire is thrown into upheaval when his bride falls victim to a modify memory spell. Without any memory of her lover or her own vampirism, his dark consort is a threat to both herself and her sire. 

Astarion must win back her trust and affections, all while hunting down whoever sought to break the most powerful bond in Faerûn.

Chapter CW: Blood kink, masturbation, minor character death, Astarion being racist/hateful towards gnomes

A/N: This fic incorporates vampire bride lore and headcanons. Special thanks for the wonderful @locallegume for beta reading.

Click here if you prefer to read on AO3

“Sometimes, however, the emotion may be close to what mortals classify as love. The happiness of the vampire becomes tied up with the prospective bride, and its well-being depends on hers. In these cases, the vampire might actually believe it is bestowing a gift when it turns the mortal into its bride - the gift of freedom from aging and death.”

-Van Richten’s Guide to Vampires

Come to me.

Astarion allows their connection to slacken. With each step she takes nearer to him, springy anticipation pulses through their bond. It’s not unlike the wag of a tail.

And the slow dawn of his smile behind the fan of his fingers isn’t so different from the sun peering between the clouds. The sight of his most precious pet stokes that same delectable warmth inside of him.

“My sweet sunlight,” he calls to her, “how was your trance?”

His voice echoes off the vaulted ceiling of the throne room. There’s enough space in the chamber to hold dozens, but there’s only seating for two. The lavish chair at Astarion’s left is vacant as it always is. And this morning, only one needy patriar comes to the Crimson Palace to pay its lord homage. Lord Ventris is stout for a human, with a face lined in age and a dark, well-manicured beard. His attention follows Astarion’s eyeline as the gilded doors at the head of the hall groan apart. 

Finer company comes his way, following the red runner that crosses the checkerboard marble. Naomi’s shift sways just past her knees. The silk robe draped over her shoulders hardly offers any modesty; she didn’t bother to cinch it.

“I was well,” she answers primly, “until I woke without you.”

Astarion adores her in that shade of mauve. It wakes the faint trace of pink in her cheeks, the flush that only blooms after she’s fed. There’s hardly any hint of it now. Astarion’s smile fades.

Lord Ventris balks, scandalized by the sight of those lithe, lilac legs striding past him. “My lady!”  

Naomi matches Astarion’s unflinching stare, a slight lift at the corner of her mouth. His heart skips to the soft sound of her bare feet climbing the dais.

“It’s nearly midday,” Ventris prattles on, “surely some shoes, at least slippers--”

“Are you worried I might step on something sharp?” Her voice is steel as she stops, her cheek only halfway turned.

“I-I’m merely expressing benign concern. Not many drow hold title here, so perhaps you’re uneducated on the typical decorum befitting your husband’s house. But--”

“You shouldn’t worry so much. This is my home. I know exactly where all the sharp things are.”

Astarion pats his thigh expectantly. Like a sword to a sheath, Naomi slides into her customary place in his lap. He lets out a long, satisfied sigh while she settles against him. Her smile curves against his collar. 

To Ventris, he snaps, “Our house is the reason why you still have one. And I understand it’s a further favor you came here to ask. Do get on with it.”

“I-- “ he stammers, “of course, Lord Ancunín. As I was saying, you’ve invested greatly in the city’s revival, in the restoration of so many of our most prized institutions. I know you recognize the value of legacy, and its role in the renewed prosperity of the Gate. The preservation of its eldest, most distinguished lineages…”

Ventris speaks as he’s commanded, but Astarion doesn’t deem to listen. His head dips to the fine edge of Naomi’s ear, nosing past a stray wave of ivory hair hanging free of her bun. His arm winds her waist, clutching her close.

“Are you well now, darling? Now that I’ve remedied my wrongs?” 

Naomi hums contentedly, eyes shut, head tucked into the crook of his neck. And yet, he’s acutely aware of the disquiet lurking at the fringes of her happiness, circling their safe haven like a mangy dog seeking scraps.

“I think not,” Astarion murmurs darkly. “You're hungry, aren’t you, sweet thing?” His fingers stroke beneath her chin and guide her gaze to his. 

Even as the ascendant, he can’t curtail her hunger entirely. He can only see to it that she never feels it for more than a moment.

“Only as much as you allow me to be,” she says, batting her eyes open again. There’s a glimmer of laughter in them, among his favorite shade of cherry. He expected her eyes to change color when she turned, but he hadn’t expected she’d keep a tinge of her former violet. A lovely surprise.

You’re full of surprises, he’d told her once, when they were only just beginning. Aren’t you?

Astarion had known he was making a bride, and not simply a spawn, the night she knelt for him. He’d known they’d be bound for eternity. Aeterna Amantes. As it should be. As it was always meant to be.

As it will be. Forever.

But how was he to know how heady her delight would feel, when it fluttered like a hummingbird from her mind to his? How intoxicating her submission would taste, when he could witness the very moment her thoughts bent for him, feel her mind yield before her body gave way exactly the way he wanted? 

Without compulsion. Without question. Without barriers. With a bond like theirs, nothing between them is secret and all of it is sacred.

Perhaps accounts of other such unions exist. But there’s never been a vampire ascendant before; there’s never been an ascendant bride, either. None of the crusted scrolls he inherited from Cazador could’ve warned him how utterly offensive her slightest discomfort would come to feel.

That he’d feel it exactly as his own discomfort.

“How could I sit idle while my precious treasure starves?” He implores her with a blooming pout. “What manner of husband would I be, hm?”

Ventris, on the other hand, seems to have forgotten his manners entirely. He dares a step towards the dais, volume rising with the red in his cheeks.

“...and so I ask you, Lord Ancunín, what manner of philanthropist makes donations to some Sharran sanctuary? Hasn’t this city seen enough fanatics? They say those cultists have a new compound, thanks to you! And the Upper City has a new, so-called theater in your so-called lady’s name! Well, sir, I see no lady here! And that should tell you what opinion I have of that den of debauchery she’s opened!”

Astarion arches a brow. Ventris’ lower lip quivers as he babbles on.

“And you build all of this while my own house remains half-ruined! It was a proud estate before that business with the brain. Curious how all of my neighbors managed to escape the worst of the debris. Curious how they’ve already rebuilt what was broken!”

Naomi raises her head, surveying Ventris lazily. Astarion hears her effortlessly, as if the words were said aloud. Were you going to kill him with or without me? 

Astarion’s answer is honest, if not innocent at all. You’d be fed either way. It’s simply a happy accident.

“It’s quite simple, Ventris,” Astarion shrugs. “You’re not necessary. Your daughter will marry that sweetheart of hers that you hate so much, what’s remaining of your pride will be inherited by their heirs, and the world will be better for it. Without you and those gaudy pillars in the way of what should be a pretty sea view from the Upper City.  A pity the mindflayers didn’t finish leveling your estate. Though, I suppose they made the job easier.”

“How dare you!” Ventris fumes, spittle flecking his beard. “I’ll have your name dragged through the streets! The city will know you spent coin on the Sharrans-- and that gods forsaken whorehouse--”

“You won’t. Besides, Grand Duke Ravengard already knows. He’ll suppress any slander because he knows every other patriar is in my pocket. After all, their own coffers are so pitifully empty these days. That’s why you’re here, Ventris. To beg.”

Ventris shrivels into his ill-fitted suit coat. Astarion’s free hand curls around the armrest of his throne.

“So I’ll say it a second time,” Astarion sneers, “There won’t be a third. Get on with it.”

“I--” Ventis stammers, cheeks purpled with indignation. “You won’t get away with--”

Naomi snaps her fingers. Violet light sparks between them. “On your knees.”

It’s not the kind of compulsion Astarion can wield, but a spell that works in the same vein. Ventris drops with a shrill cry, kneecaps crunching against the hard stone. 

Naomi slinks from his lap. Astarion catches her hand as she goes, brushing a kiss to her knuckles. The faint, lingering thrum of her magic tingles pleasantly against his lips.

She stalks forward, predatory. As her hands slip from his, her robe slips from her shoulders, pooling like spilled wine at her heels. Ventris quivers, a little leaf buffeted by the wind, but he can’t flee. And he still can’t help himself from staring, ogling at what isn’t his. 

Astarion’s grip on the armrest tightens to a chokehold.

Sunlight slices the room in brilliant rays, as righteous as any flaming sword. And in it, Naomi is scintillating. The sheer fabric of her shift seems more mist than material. His eyes burn across her supple shape, taking in the ripple through her breasts with every step, and the tease of her nipples, pushing pert against her nightgown. 

Astarion wets his lips, letting a fang tug at the tender flesh. Anticipation thrums through him again, only now, it’s hot. Thick. Permeating.

His grip on the armest eases as he leans back in the chair.

Ventris’ mouth hangs open, a great gaping maw for such a middling, waste of a man. His wide eyes bore into the last sight he’ll see. And what a sight she is. Naomi tilts her head one way, then the other, peering down at her meal like a bird choosing a worm.

She’s careful, picking her vein. She’s not, when she claws a hand into his hair, lifts him from the floor by a fist of it, and rips into his throat.

Because she wants it to hurt. 

Screams slap wet against the palace walls. Astarion’s head falls back in his chair, his eyes slitted. The ceiling swims in a blur above him. He can feel the blood flooding warm in Naomi’s mouth, the spray of it coating the back of her throat. The thickness of it, swelling stiff within his trousers. 

He parts his buttons hastily, stroking his hardened length, scarcely feeling his own touch. It’s her tongue he feels instead. Surrounding him. Sucking so greedily. Taking, just as he taught her to. 

Her cheeks hollow as she pulls for more, more. And of course, more is what she gets. Blood leaks sticky sweet down her chin. Astarion’s cock throbs with her every moan. 

It's effortless now, to pretend it's her mouth around his girth and not his own hand. He doesn't even have to picture it. She lets him feel every pleasure that ever paints her pretty lips. Like they were his own.

She is his own. Naomi and all her tenderness belong to him. Every pleasure she takes, Astarion takes, too. And while she’s taking her fill, she feels the familiar fit of his cock in her mouth, pouring fresh heat into the body he made perfect forever. Into the woman he’s unmade an untold number of times.

His hips buck into empty air. A groan splits through his teeth. Naomi peels from her meal with a slick pop of lips, gasping with the raw edge of a growl. Astarion’s release spurts warm across his fingers. He slouches limp and boneless in his seat, relishing in the feel of her soaked within and without. Just as she should be.

He blinks blearily, chasing the breath he takes for pleasure and not for purpose. Slowly, the room steadies. He sits up, wincing as he tucks his sated, sensitive cock back into his trousers.

Naomi eases back, crouched over the corpse that was Ventris. Her chest heaves. She pants in tandem with Astarion. Not because she has to; her body echoes his own, reeling from the feel of his ascended heart thudding within his ribs.

When they’ve both come to their senses, Astarion comes to her. 

“What memory kept you tranced so late, dear?” His voice is soft, even as he scolds. What could ever be sweeter than meeting again in the flesh?

“I missed you, too.”

Astarion raises his hand lazily, and she leans forward, still kneeling. One by one, his fingers slip between her plush lips, her tongue wicking away the spend still left on them. When they’re clean, he grips her chin and turns it aside so he can see the marks on her neck that made her his evermore.

Blood blooms in stains near the neckline of her shift. It reminds him of the flowers found in their courtyard garden. His eyes drip with the leak of her leftovers, roaming over her the fresh flush waking in her skin. What a lovely, murderous, and reverent thing she is. Pride flares like a lively hearth beneath his ribs, fed by the warmth billowing from her head into his. 

She’s hungry no longer. And happy. An easy smile lifts his lips.

“Well?” He prompts, expectant.

“I was remembering our wedding hunt,” she answers dreamily, eyes-half lidded.

Astarion’s smirk widens, his fangs peering out. What a delicious memory to sink into. Savory enough to trance the day away.

There was the night they wed truly. After taking her fill of him, Naomi knelt, and Astarion had his fill of her. He bit her thrice, drained her dry, and bound her as his bride for all of time to follow. The papers that came later put her surname on record as Ancunín. But they didn’t make her his; she belonged to him already.

There was the party. Mostly, they hosted it for the patriars they intended to weave into their web of influence. They spared no expense for the lavish affair. He could think of no finer way to spend Cazador’s fortune than on his and his darling’s debut into Baldurian high society.

And then, there was the hunt.

Wordlessly, it slips into his mind from hers: not the extravagant soiree, but the party of unfortunate souls that stumbled into the palace drunk that very eve. They later woke to white, opalescent stone walls. Pearly bricks laid where Astarion had once shrieked and bled uncounted times beneath Godey’s blades. 

But that night, not a speck of blood or dirt stained the corridors to the old kennels. Astarion still hasn’t settled on the chambers’ future use, but he rather likes them better this way, as a polished blank slate. The sheen is crisp enough, he can see his clear reflection every time he stalks those halls. 

He sees his own stunning visage again in the play of Naomi’s memories. He sees the seven huddled, sniveling figures that awaited them there, and feels their spines shudder again. His mouth waters at the mere recollection of it.

“The last of you alive will live forever,” he told them cheerfully, before cutting them free of their bonds. “Run along now! Go on!” 

And off they scampered, scrabbling over each other in their desperation to reach a destination forever out of reach. There’d be no escape. Not a living one, anyway. 

Astarion had turned to his bride. So beautiful, sheathed in an ivory gown with the finest of shimmers, her long white hair plaited back, a sheer veil draped over it. A teardrop train of lace fanned from the flared edge of her skirts, and her eyes glowed with the promise of violence.

He lifted Naomi’s chin in a delicate grip. “Now, feast, my sweet.”

The memory smears, vivid red. Red, like the dripping trails down the walls. Red, like color she stained his pristine coat when their lips collided, a hungry mess of blood and adoration. Red, like the streaks across her wedding gown as Astarion tore through it. He swore he saw handprints at her skirts, in the brief blur before he ripped her free of them. Perhaps her victims gripped them for mercy. 

Astarion’s grip on her hips was anything but merciful. Binding, perhaps. And liberating, all the same.

It was hours later, his body weak with bliss, Naomi bare and drifting towards trance in his arms, that he lifted her from his throne and brought them both to bed. 

Presently, she muses, “It took me forever to find that fucking Harper. Could’ve been her that you made spawn instead of Zylar.”

Astarion smirks. Naomi drained all but one of their late-night guests that evening. Their final victim was a promising twenty-something human named Zylar with no surname, no family, and nothing but a fervent dedication to his duties as a Flaming Fist. Astarion took that dedication for his own. Now, Zylar will be young forever, live out all his small dreams of climbing the Fists’ ranks, and, most importantly, serve the interests of the Ancuníns above all else.

When Zylar rose as Astarion’s second spawn, gaping in horror at the blood-smeared walls that surrounded him, Astarion told him, “Clean it up. With your mouth, if it pleases you.”  

Within the hour, the old kennels were spotless once more.

Now, he snaps his fingers at the cloaked shadow lurking at the edge of the audience hall. At once, Zylar peels from the perimeter, prowling towards the corpse at the heart of the room. There’s barely blood on the tiles at all, but Astarion’s sure there won’t be a speck of it left by the time they return here.

“Your lessers will see to the scraps, my dear,” he says, offering Naomi his arm. She takes it, rising to his side. “I have something to show you. A present.”

The happy hum in her head is a knowing one. They enter the ballroom, where the white marble tile swirls with gold, and a long, windowed wall overlooks the palace gardens. There waits her latest gift, shining radiant in the sunlight. Her smile is a fitting match for it.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathes.

They’ve had three such marvels call this ballroom home in just as many years. She’s said the same of the other two as well. He’s inclined to agree. The grand piano shimmers, resplendent. All but the keys and its insides are coated in gold leaf. The lid is propped, shedding light on landscape painted on its underside: Baldur’s Gate, by view of the sea, vivid in the setting sun.

Astarion allows her to part from his arm and rush to the piano, as if it’s a lover she’s running towards, and not away from. His arm sways, empty at his side, in the wake of her momentum. The delicate stroke of her fingers down the keys plays the most delectable shiver down his own spine. A long, stuttering sigh leaves his lips.

Strange that, only three short years ago, she didn’t know what to do with the first piano he gifted her. He remembers, crystal clear, the timid trepidation that crept across her face, the hesitancy with which she reached and just barely brushed the keys. 

“Little love,” he’d purred in her ear, “whatever could be the matter?”

“I-I don’t know how to play it,” she’d confessed, sheepishly retracting her fingers. He’d seen those same nimble hands curl the neck of a fiddle and flit effortlessly across a flute at least a hundred times over.

Astarion only grinned, letting his teeth graze the slant of her ear. “You’ll learn it. We’ve an eternity now, darling. You can take as much time as you wish and never run out of it.”

He never tires of taking his time with her. Taking her here, in the ballroom, even at the expense of their most expensive furnishings. No, this one won’t last any longer than the others, he decides as she saddles over the cushioned bench, her hands poised. He wets his lips, mulling over at least a dozen ways to put an arch in her back as she straightens tall.

But, in the interest of not breaking her gift so soon after it's been given…

He turns, like the perfect vision of restraint he is, and says, “Why don’t you play me something as pretty as you are?”

The instrument was made for her, and Naomi plays it as if it’s what she was always meant to do. What pours from the piano melts across his ears and leaves a saccharine taste on his tongue. It carries the tang of her magic with it, as all her music does. Tantalizing. Mesmerizing. Numbing, in its own way. Astarion could spend hours soaking in it. He’s spent so many mornings this way, warmed by the sun, staring out over the city he and his consort share, complicit with her in shared contentment.

Siren, some call her in whispers. They’re right to whisper. Astarion’s seen Naomi kill with one.

He stiffens to the sound of a throat clearing. It’s a cutting, and unwelcome intrusion. Claude, the rancid little gnome who tuts at him so expectantly, is eternally an intrusion. 

It’s the carrot of vampirism Claude chases. It’s easy enough to dangle it, just out of reach. He served Cazador with a religious fervor. He serves Astarion with even more zeal. He’s mortal, still, and Astarion can’t think of a single good reason to turn a servant already so eagerly playing their role. The thought alone makes his stomach roil.

“My Lord,” the nasally wretch says, “they’re waiting for you in your office.”

Astarion scowls. For all the patriars they’ve killed, there’s still a bumper crop of them crowding into his office every other week. Wanting the favor of Baldur’s Gate’s best-loved benefactor. Unknowingly begging at the heels of the one and only Vampire Ascendant. 

Such is the ignorant bliss of the cattle. He’s more than they know. But they know well enough to beg while they still can. 

What they do know is that he’s a hero. A savior of the city. The holder of its purse strings, while his heroine lover pulls the strings of the city’s heart. All in service to the web of power and influence that will see him named Grand Duke by summer’s end.

“Shall I tell them you’ll reschedule?” Claude asks.

“No,” he relents with an exasperated groan. “You shall not.”

Naomi plays on as he passes, but he feels a tug in the back of his mind. A flicker of a familiar feeling: her hand leaving his, and his arm left loose with an empty grasp.

I won’t be but an hour, my sweet. And then, I think, it’s back to bed with you. I think you might never leave it.

Her answer floats about his mind like a dandelion buffeted by the wind. I think I died happy.

Happy, Astarion muses, already half a palace away from her. He pauses by the mirror in the corridor, adjusting his high collar before he makes for his office door and the waiting patriars. As you should be.

Astarion drums the richly polished oak with restless fingers, his chin situated in his other palm. From his seat at the table’s head, he has a prime view of today’s entertainment: a pair of bickering magistrates. They hold the table’s attention as they trade barbs, too ablaze in their own irritations to notice their host’s growing disinterest. 

Do try to pay attention, dear, Naomi snickers in his head. We paid a hefty sum to get this little feud off the ground, after all.

Ostensibly, Lady Ancunín isn't interested in politics. Such manners bore her, and would detract from her management of the city’s finest theater. In reality, it's as if his little love never left his lap at all. She should be in this chair. He’s the one who's bored. 

Naomi’s left the piano now, though it plays on without her. Her steps patter in the back of his mind as she takes to the footpath through their gardens, her music still wafting pleasantly with the scent of the roses. With their minds linked, she listens more closely to his meeting than he can bear to.

Astarion’s gaze drifts to the open windows, to the bustling Gate, throbbing with life. Ripe for the taking, all due to his careful tending. A breeze ruffles the curtains, carrying the salt of the sea with it. 

It used to thrill him, to sit here, steeple his hands, and watch his empire be built brick by unwitting brick. He’s amassed enough influence to carry a current, even while sitting entirely still. There’s an inevitability to it all now that should please him. Instead, he feels the restless urge to pluck those bricks from the pile and dash all the heads in this room with them. To hear fresh screams instead of circular whining. But instead, he must endure their peevish--

Silence.

Abruptly, Astarion stiffens. The patriars prattle on unbothered, but beneath their noise, a stagnant quiet furls through his halls like a fast-moving fog, setting his hairs on end. Across the palace, the piano ceases playing. It’s not a remarkable change on its own; the magic expires after some time without Naomi’s touch.

That familiar, slipping sensation comes again: the feel of Naomi’s palm sliding from his and leaving it empty. His head feels empty as an echoing, vacant cathedral, only home to his own thoughts. His own mind. 

Darling? The word reverberates inside his skull, making it no farther than it would if he said it aloud in this room without her. His nails claw the table’s edge.

Naomi? Answer me. He calls again, anger flaring, but it feels futile. Like banging his fists against stone. 

Footsteps race down the corridor. His head turns for the door before the knob even moves. By the time it opens, he’s already standing. Every head in the room turns to Claude stammering frantically in the doorway.

“M-My lord, a visitor--”

Astarion grips his collar, storming from the room with the little wretch in tow.

“Lord Ancunín,” an old crone of a tiefling barks from the other end of the table, “what is the meaning of--”

Astarion slams the door on her inane protest, not even pausing to savor the flinch that passes through his captive audience.

“Where is your mistress?” Astarion growls. 

“The throne room,” Calude answers meekly. “W-we think.”

“You think?!” Astarion releases his grip on Claude’s shirt, wiping his hand on the leg of his pants. 

He doesn’t wait for Claude to elaborate. Astarion sheds his form and flies. Moments later, he materializes again before the great shut doors to his audience hall. A blue veil of magic simmers over them.

With a boiling vitriol, he rounds on the other elf kneeled near the doors. Strictly speaking, Emilia is his favorite of his lesser spawn. It isn’t the highest of praises; her only competition is Zylar, and her knack for magic makes her useful. And yet, he feels a dawning hatred for her as she crouches there, glowing hands outstretched in vain.

“What in the hells is this?” He shouts, the sound bounding like fitful thunder. 

“A magical barrier, my Lord,” Emilia says, strained. “It’s elaborate, but I’ll have it down shortly.”

“Who cast this? Who’s in there with her?”

“We received a visitor at the front door. He said the gatekeep allowed him entry, that he was a scholar from Waterdeep here to inform you of something of great import. He didn’t give a name. We intended to turn him away, but Claude went to Lady Naomi to inform her, and the lady said she would see him in your absence. She awaited him here, but all the doors closed when he entered, and the barriers appeared at once.”

Astarion grits his teeth. “And the guards at the gate simply let him pass?”

“It seems so.”

How could that be?! Astarion snarls, his fist curling with flame. He hurls it at the barrier, but the firebolt only melts harmlessly against its surface, dissipating into useless smoke. 

His bond with his bride can be turned like a faucet on either end, but neither of them can stem the drip of it entirely. Naomi would never wish for such separation. But even if she had, she could never hide from him fully. 

And yet, he hadn’t even an inkling of this stranger’s arrival. The last he felt her, she’d been in the gardens raking her fingers through thorns, savoring the sting of the cuts, and thinking of his fangs. 

“I believe Zylar is in there as well, my Lord.”

Astarion tenses, thoughts racing. Zylar never stays anywhere alone with Naomi if he can help it. Ever since the wedding hunt, he’s stayed terrified of her.

His mind blanks abruptly. The barrier dissipates, flecks of magic raining down from the doorway like sleet. The doors part. Through the narrow split, he sees Naomi as her knees buckle against the marble. 

A cloaked figure looms over her, one hand outstretched, the other clutching a fluttering scroll. Red magic twists just above Naomi’s forehead, coiling on itself like a knotted vine. Astarion surges towards them.

Ascension made him swifter than anything he’s yet to encounter. Sharper. Stronger. But now that he’s  near enough to see the spell reflecting in Naomi’s irises, near enough to see them washed in fear, his bones feel leaden. Slow. 

Weak.

The spell flares into a blinding, burning orb. Bloody light scorches the room. Astarion feels the heat of it spear through his temples. Carving, like the tadpole used to. Cutting. His lips split around the pain, but it’s Naomi’s scream that pierces his ears.

The quiet that comes after lays against the room like a knife to a throat.

Naomi wavers where she kneels. Astarion skids across the floor, catching her before she can collapse. The light vanishes as quickly as it came, leaving the cloaked mage crumpled in a limp heap. 

“Master!” Emilia gasps. “Master wait-- she might--”

“Shh,” Astarion coos, caressing a hand through Naomi’s hair and down her cheek. Blood leaks from the corners of her fluttering eyes, drying in dark trails. The magic burns a ruby outline around her body before it sinks beneath her skin.

“I’m here,” he rasps, pleading. “Come to me, darling. Come back to me.”

He holds a taut breath as her eyes open wider. Naomi blinks dazedly up at him, lips trembling, face glazed in confusion. Her gaze settles to his and sharpens. 

“W-who are you?”

Thank you so much for reading! It would mean the world to me if you let me know you did in box at the end here. It's scary and exciting and invigorating to share a new story!

And HUGE thank you to so many Tumblr moots and discord friends who have supported me along the way in drafting this one. 💜

[zeroseuniverse]

User

WC: 1.2 K Pairing: Kim Seungmin X reader Warnings: Angst, breakup

It was expected, how could it not be? Dating an Idol would never have been easy, but she at least thought it would be the fans she was battling and not the other members. So when she had heard Changbin explain to Seungmin that all of them thought she was using him, she didn’t exactly know how to approach the situation, she could come out from behind the wall and act like everything is okay, she can walk out of the dorm and away from the boys where she’s not wanted, she can go out and confront the issues head on, or she can excuse herself politely and ask Seungmin to speak to her in private. The latter seemed like the best option for Seeungmin, he preferred when she was upfront about her feelings, but she felt like maybe she could change their minds. So she waited, she didn’t distance herself, it would defeat the whole purpose, but she didn’t go out of her way to make time for them as well. 

The tension lasted months, and it was visibly taking a toll on Seungmin who felt like he had to divide his time between his lover and his group mates. He refused to mention her to his groupmates not willing to start that argument up again, and honestly he would’ve happily kept them physically separated if they didn’t purposefully crash their dates without his permission.

“All I’m saying is, you definitely make more money than her. You’re always paying for the dates. How can you be sure she’s not just using you?” Hyunjin asked, not knowing that the girl in question was just outside the door having come to bring Seungmin his lunch.

“I pay because I want to. And don’t talk as if you know her.” Seungmin frowned, looking down at his phone as he types out a text to his girlfriend asking how far out she was.

“You’re an Idol! She could totally just be using you. She doesn’t belong in this world.” Changbin said, he and Hyunjin seemed the most adverse to Seungmin’s relationship, Felix had tried making her feel welcome but she just gave him a smile and stayed quiet usually, Han naturally didn’t like having her around but it was just because his anxiety spiked everytime the thought of Seungmin getting hurt crossed his mind, Lee Know didn’t care about her, whether she was there or not he just ignored her existence, Chan had nothing against her but avoided her to avoid any issues, Jeongin didn’t hate her per say but he did find her odd, nobody was just naturally that nice in his opinion.

“You don’t know her! You never took the chance to know her so stop making assumptions based on your own fears!” He shouted and would have continued if the door hadn’t opened revealing a teary eyed woman holding a bag of food, she approached her boyfriend without sparing a glance at anyone else. The way she was acting was enough to tell Seungmin exactly how she was going to handle this situation so he quickly gripped her wrist to try and keep her there but she simply pressed a long kiss to his lips before nudging his sad figure away from her.

“Please don’t do this.”

“It’s okay, If it’s meant to be we will be.” was all she said before parting ways and walking past the seven stunned members, all of them confused as to why a gold digger wasn’t trying to force their way into their lives further.

–

She hummed the tune of Case 143 softly as she packed the canned goods into the boxes to be shipped. She was making a lot of progress, especially since her brothers were finding any excuse possible to be near her after the breakup.

The door opening snapped her attention from her work as well as her brothers from the kitchen area, he peered through the window curiously. The entrance of two men made her head tilt in confusion.

“What are you two doing here?”

“The past month Seungmin hasn’t been himself,” Felix murmured, earning a nod from the woman. She knew. Of course she knew she had kept in contact with him and listened to all of his weeping over the situation, “So we did research.” 

“We came across this place and read everything we could about you. Jeongin’s reasoning was he didn’t think anyone could ever be that nice but he was proven wrong, we all were. You were with Seungmin because you truly loved him.” Lee Know sighed, running a hand through his hair as he looked around, taking in the different projects in production, so many donation boxes sitting against the wall, clothes, food, blankets so many things scattered about in a mess of organized chaos as the woman worked to make it all ready for shipping.

“Yea well, everyone makes mistakes.” Was all she said, lifting the box and moving around two to make her way towards her other brother who was waiting nearby to carry the next box out to the truck. 

“Is there a way you can forgive us, I really don’t think Seungmin should be punished for our mistakes.” Lee Know tried to reason, earning an eye roll from the family members in the room.

“He’s not being punished.”

“You broke up with him, I’d call that being punished.” Felix commented.

“Yeah well you all tend to make plenty of assumptions, don’t you?”

“This isn’t an assumption, it’s a fact.”

“Is it?” A new voice chirped, making everyone turn to face her oldest brother who had jut entered with Seungmin by his side, the younger boy glaring at his friends who keep butting into his personal life.

“Seungmin?” Felix asked in astonishment, not thinking the two were still in contact, “Look we’re just trying to talk her into talking to you again.”

“She has been talking to me, every night, she calls me every time I have a nightmare, everytime I’m stressed, everytime the tension gets too much and she listens. Despite all the jabs and taunts all of you threw she stayed. We broke up because you guys were too close minded to think anyone could ever love an idol without other intentions. You guys didn’t even give her a chance, well Felix did but everyone else? You guys hated her right off of the back.”

“We were just trying to protect you.” Changbin’s voice spoke up making the woman tense turning to the door to see the other 5 gathered in the door.

“I didn’t need protection, have you seen her? She’s quite literally an angel.”

“We see that now but we were cautious at first, it’s normal.”

“Oh stop trying to rationalize your prejudice, just because she’s not an idol doesn’t mean she’s any less than you. She’s been through more pain than you’ve experienced, that’s why she built this place. To help people who go through what she has gone through. Better yourself. Because that is the only way she’s ever going to get back with Seungmin. She won’t put him in the position where he needs to choose again. So fix it. Because those two were the definition of puppy love and quite frankly I could punch you for taking that away from her.” The eldest brother spoked, patting Seungmin on the back before moving to work with his other brother in the kitchen.

“You guys know where the door is.” She said simply, motioning for the uninvited 7 to leave before turning to her ex with a small smile, “Come on, the puppies are back here.” 

And as the 7 watched the two leave the room, looking lighter as they stood together, their hearts shattered taking in the strain they had placed on their bonds.

[pinkslipxox]

May I please request a kind of enemies to lovers fic with Miko? She & reader met in high school through Mari, and reader just never liked her cockiness and thought Miko was a fuck girl, but really the only reason Miko ever entertained other girls was because we kept turning her down. Now years later, she's recording Trap Kitty and we go to the studio with Mari and Miko is just so sincere and sweet so we finally give her a chance 🥹

Of course, angel! Ugh I loved writing this one 😭🙈

——————————————————————————

“C‘mon, Y/N! I promise she’s changed since high school,” Mari tries to reason with you.

“Vicky? Change?” you scoff in disbelief.

“It’s been five years, of course she has! Besides, you’re the only person she asked for,” Mari says and for a moment you put down your defenses.

Your jaw drops. “I-I am?”

You are genuinely shocked.

María Victoria Ramírez de Arellano Cardona— known to everyone at the time as Vicky— was a name that you knew all too well. You met her through Mari, your best friend since childhood, in high school. Everyone in school knew who she was. Her bold personality and cocky attitude made her stand out of the crowd. It was what made her loved or annoyed by your peers and teachers.

In your case, she annoyed you.

Vicky absolutely loved to pick on you. Her flirtatious smile, the mischievous gleam in her eyes, the way she sweet talked everyone made her into the typical fuck girl that you swore to never fall victim to. Yet, little by little, you started to notice that she started to pick on you less and less. Instead she started to pick on other girls, which confused you, but at the sametime made you feel relieved.

The last time you’ve seen or heard from Vicky was at graduation day. You picked up songwriting, a hobby of your that soon became into your career. While you were still not as well known, up and coming artists have reached out to you for your expertise, which made you grow a small fan base. And if it weren’t for Mari, you would never have known or even guessed that one of those up and coming artists was Vicky herself.

Under the name Young Miko.

“She wants to meet with you— today,” Mari reveals and your jaw drops even lower.

“W-what? What time?” you stammer.

“Her studio session starts at six.” Mari checks her watch. “Ya son las 4:45 p.m., Y/N. Si vas a ir, tienes que decidir ahora.”

You bite your lip. The thought of seeing Vicky after all these years both flatters you and makes you nervous. You’re surprised that she’s even remembered you in the first place. It just has to be coincidence that the two of you are even interested in the same industry together.

“I’ll go,” you tell Mari, who sighs in relief.

“Perfecto. Puedes ir conmigo en mi carro,” she says and you nod.

You quickly gather your things together and head out of the door. As the two of you drive to San Juan, Mari fills you in on Vicky’s career thus far and the album she’s planning to release later this year. And that’s where you come in. Mari tells you that she’s been having trouble finishing the lyrics to a song she’s working on, and it’s for that reason why she’s reached out to you in the first place. You’re genuinely impressed by how well Vicky was doing so far. And you admit that you’re excited to listen what she’s been working on. You absolutely love music, and the fact that Vicky did too does not come much as a surprise to you.

By the time Mari parks her car, the nerves slowly creep their way back into you. You’re just minutes away from seeing Vicky again. And you pray that she really has changed as you and Mari are whisked away to the seventh floor of the building, where Vicky’s studio is.

“Puedes pasar!” you hear her voice from the other side of the door, and Mari pushes the door open.

“Adivina quién llegó!” Mari announces as you step inside the studio.

You make eye contact with a brown haired girl. A gasp escapes your lips when you realize that it is Vicky. Physically, she hasn’t changed save for the tattoos that decorate both her arms. She is clad in an oversized hoodie with baggy jeans and a beanie on her head. That part of Vicky hasn’t changed either. She was rarely seen without a beanie or hat on her head.

“Y/N!” she exclaims with excitement, making your nerves calm down a bit, and she hurries over to you with a big smile on her face.

“Hi, Vicky,” you greet politely.

Should you shake her hand or hug her?

“Can I hug you? Is that okay?” Vicky asks sweetly as if to read your mind, and you inwardly breath a sigh of relief as you nod.

“Of course,” you say, and for a moment, you are frozen when Vicky wraps her arms around you, but nevertheless you return her sweet gesture.

“How have you been? It’s been, what, three years?” she muses and you chuckle softly.

“Five years, actually,” you correct her and she gasps.

“Acho! Time flies, doesn’t it?” Vicky giggles. She then gestures towards the she seat she was sitting on. “Siéntate, por favor. I hope you’re as ready as I am.”

“Let’s get started,” you chirp.

Turns out that Vicky is very talented. She even plays you some of her finished songs for you. And asks for your feedback once they end.

“I really like the beat. And the lyrics are catchy. What was the name of the song again?” you ask her, and you can’t help but notice that she’s gotten a little shy from your compliments.

“It’s called Riri,” Vicky says softly.

“That song would go hard in a club,” you tell her, earning a sheepish giggle from Vicky, and you can’t but admit just how adorable she looks right now.

“Gracias, mami,” she murmurs, catching you a bit off guard with the nickname she gave you.

“So…” you hum, trying to sound nonchalant, as you straighten up. “What about that song you need help writing?”

“Actually,” Miko says sheepishly after a beat of

silence, biting her lower lip, “I never needed help with the song. I… I actually just wanted an excuse to see you.”

“What?” you say softly, your heart beginning to flutter. You’re not sure if it’s by the way Vicky’s looking at you or if it’s by the confession she just made to you.

“I just really wanted to see you. And… also to apologize for bothering you throughout high school.” Vicky then takes a deep breath, her eyes looking into yours with a tenderness you’ve never seen before… and hesitation. “I had a such a big crush on you— I still do, actually. I did what I did to get your attention but…” She then gently takes your hands in hers. “If you’d be willing to give me a chance, we can start over. And I’ll prove to you just how much I’ve changed.”

Her words echo in your ears. Vicky has never been as sweet and sincere to you like this. Ever. She was always so teasing and forward. At first you think this is all a dream, but the feeling of her warm hands holding yours is proof enough to assure you that what is happening in front of you is real.

“I’d love to,” you murmur, unable to contain the smile spreading on your lips.

Vicky visibly relaxes and she breaths a sigh of relief.

“If you’re not doing anything after, let’s go out for dinner. And we can catch up,” she proposes and you nod excitedly.

“That sounds amazing,” you smile, and Miko gives your hands a gentle squeeze.

“Perfecto.” She then bites her lip again. “Can I kiss your cheek, Y/N?”

Your heart flutters again. “Of course you can.”

And so does. She holds your chin ever so gently and kisses your cheek. Your smile only grows, and you know deep inside you that is but the beginning of a beautiful new relationship with Vicky.

Your Vicky.

[porcelainseashore]

Coffee & Secrets (4)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Rookie Cop! Leon x Barista! Fem! Reader

Summary: As a cozy coffee shop owner in Raccoon City, you’re no stranger to visitors seeking comfort, quiet, and warmth. When a rookie officer named Leon finds a kindred spirit in you, it sets in motion a chain of events that forever changes the course of your lives. An alternate universe set in Resident Evil 2 Remake and inspired by the game Coffee Talk.

Content & Warnings: Canon divergence, coffee shops, romance, slow burn, strangers to lovers, idiots in love, fluff, slice of life, swearing

AO3 Link

Chapter 4: Plans

“Claire?”

You had whirled around with a mop in your hand at the unexpected intrusion, catching sight of the familiar redhead grinning like a Cheshire Cat at the door. It was partway into your cleaning routine—one you usually completed before the shop was open.

Your eyes flew to the sign at the entrance. Well, that explains it. You had left it on the other way round by accident. Oops.

“The one and only,” she crooned. “Told you I would come back.”

“A woman of your word,” you acknowledged in appreciation. Discarding the cleaning equipment in the closet, you took down the postcard you had pinned to the fridge with a kitsch souvenir magnet.

She swiped the card from your hands mischievously, asserting, “So, I believe I’m long overdue for a drink?”

“What would’ya like to have?”

“Definitely something with caffeine in it,” she declared, placing a hand on her hip as if she meant business.

Fanning herself with the postcard, she proceeded to confide in you about her recent life changes. “I can’t actually stay long, Mr. Bertolucci’s got me on doc review tonight.”

You halted suddenly in the middle of preparing the drink, a wooden spoon suspended in the air, green powder swirling like dust motes around the tea bowl. The chashaku and the chawan.

“You’re Ben’s new intern?” you questioned, giddy with excitement.

“Yeah…? It’ll count towards my college credit. I’m a journalism major,” she clarified before teasing, “That also means I’ll be in town for a while, so you better get used to me! Say, you know the guy?”

You laughed soundly as you whisked the matcha into a thick paste with a traditional chasen. Looks like he took your suggestion to heart after all. “He’s a regular.”

Steaming the full-cream milk to perfection, you frothed it up before adding it layer by layer to the paste, your hand moving with practiced precision to create a delicate pattern in the bowl. When you were satisfied with the piece, you gave it to Claire, and at the same time, pointed to the armchair in the corner. “Usually sits over there and works through the night.”

“Yeah, he’s really passionate about it,” Claire concurred, cupping the bowl that she received from you with both hands. “I like that he doesn’t take anyone’s bullshit.”

“Just make sure you get enough rest too,” you reminded her. “Have plenty of breaks.”

“Thanks, mom…” she quipped, rolling her eyes as she punched your shoulder playfully. “So, how’s our all-star cop doing?”

“Leon?” you asked casually, busying yourself with arranging the drinkware and ingredients even though you had already laid them out the night before. “He pops by every so often.”

“Like, every day…?” she probed.

How did she—?

You paused your fiddling and peered up at her. “Who told you that?”

A devilish smirk emerged. “I heard it straight from the horse’s mouth.” She took a sip from the bowl, her face lightening up in contentment. 

“He kept jabbering on about you, hounding me to visit your shop. Not that I wasn’t planning to myself already,” she sighed exasperatedly.

“Oh.” You continued where you left off, this time taking a dry cloth to polish the glassware for the umpteenth time. If you squinted hard enough, there was always a speck of dust you missed.

“It seems you’re now very interested in that glass,” she said, exposing the truth of the matter behind your evasiveness. 

Damn, she would make a good journalist.

“He likes the menu, speaking of which, how’s the Matcha Latte?” you changed the subject smoothly.

“I’m sure he likes a lot more than that,” she muttered into the bowl before raising her voice to reply, “I love it! It tastes like the real deal—”

Suddenly, the door flung open, and you could hear Ben calling out with a sense of urgency, “Redfield! I got something on the footage, you might wanna check it out!” 

He tossed a roll of film over to Claire, who dove and caught it like a baseball player in a major league game. Then, he craned his neck in your direction. “The strongest coffee you've got, to go. I think we’re onto something here!”

Giving him a mock salute, you whipped up the Triple Espresso that he was fond of and poured it into a takeaway cup, fastening on the lid as you handed it over to him.

“Life saver,” he mumbled, slipping you the cash for both drinks with a generous tip before dashing out of the shop with Claire in tow, who managed to yell out a quick “Bye!” as she ran after him.

You only had a few minutes to rest until you heard a loud commotion coming from the outside. Hurrying to the door, you could make out the voices of Leon and another boisterous man, as if he had drunk something stronger.

“This the place?”

“No, Ryman, I’m not taking you in there! Let’s get you home.”

“Why? I’ve got two legs, don’t I? Never asked for a babysitter.”

“You won’t like it anyway, it’s not a bar.”

“Aww, come on, rookie! Gotta show me this girl you’re head over heels for!”

“It’s not like that! And don’t call me by that name!”

“Or what, Kennedy? You gonna sue me?”

At this, you swung the door open, and the two men stared at you sheepishly from the entrance. “Would you like to come in?” you gestured towards the shop behind you amicably.

The dumbfounded look on the brunette’s face gradually morphed into a smug smirk. The sharp smell of alcohol wafted from his breath. “How could I say no to a sweetheart like you?”

You noticed Leon cringing internally at the man’s flirtatious behavior as they both ambled in. Passing by, Leon gave you a weak smile before drawing close, whispering apologetically, “Sorry about my colleague, he can be quite a handful.”

Your lips stirred, but no words came. Maybe you didn’t have any for what you wanted to express. Instead, your hand moved on its own accord, touching his shoulder and tracing down his arm. He shivered in response, his breathing uneven as he reached up and clasped your hand in his, brushing his thumb against its back. “I—”

“Hey, Romeo, over here!” the other man shouted from across the room, already seated snuggly at the counter row.

Letting go, your hand dropped limply back to your side as Leon ripped his gaze away, grumbling at the interruption as he sluggishly lumbered over to its source.

“Anything I can get you?” you asked as you shifted behind the counter.

“Hmm, that’s a loaded question, sweet cheeks. What wouldn’t I like to have?” the man laughed, only to have it cut short with an ‘oof’ when Leon nudged him in the ribs.

“Right, where are my manners? The name’s Kevin,” he followed up, extending his hand which you shook while using the other to rub his side sorely.

“We were just at Jack’s Bar,” Leon informed you, his words chosen carefully. You managed to read between the lines of what he was hinting at and swiftly whipped up one of your special remedies.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Kevin inquired eagerly as you laid out two portions of the mixture before them.

“Try it,” Leon answered for you as Kevin picked it up gingerly, examining it as if it were some kind of odd specimen.

“Bottoms up,” Kevin muttered, as he downed the pearly, alabaster liquid in one go. 

His face first twisted into an amorphous shape until his features relaxed and he nodded in approval. “Herby, but pretty damn good. What the hell is it?”

“Cough syrup,” you jested. It took them a while before they got the joke and joined in the laughter.

“Tell me if you still have a hangover tomorrow,” you instructed after they had settled down.

“What am I, the test subject?” Kevin blurted out. “And this, the cure?”

“It’s worked on most people,” you shrugged.

“Cute. Anyway, did you slip my friend here a love potion, ’cause—ow! Hey! What the—”

“Ryman…” Leon warned, as you watched the events unfolding before you with amusement.

You saw Kevin mumble something into the irate officer’s ear about “being his wingman” before turning towards you with a charming smile. Then, he addressed his colleague again, “Talking about minxes, what did you think about that lady in red today at the station?”

All at once, Leon’s face darkened and his mouth curled into a frown. “I don’t trust her.”

Patting his back, Kevin concurred, “Neither do I, Kennedy. She can flash that fancy FBI badge all she wants, but I smell bullshit.”

“Chief Irons seems to take to her.”

This seemed to annoy Kevin even more as he spat, “Chief Irons is a—” but then paused, realizing the situation he was in. Glancing at you, he sighed, “Yeah, foul mouth, my bad.”

“I don’t mind,” you admitted, guessing that the man was trying to keep up appearances for the sake of his friend.

“Keep an eye on her,” he advised Leon, who seemed to agree with him for once. “I’m gonna run some background checks. Doesn’t sit right with me how she can access all our private files like that.”

Fishing a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket, he offered it around, but the both of you declined politely. Dumping some cash on the table, he hopped off his seat and grunted, “Well, I’m gonna leave you two lovebirds for the night.”

Before Leon could utter a single word, Kevin yanked him by the collar like an older brother roughhousing his younger sibling and said, “You better get in there before I do, rookie.” 

With a brazen laugh, he ruffled the blonde boy’s hair and sprinted for the door, leaving whoever was left behind to clean up the mess he made.

Burying his face into his hands, Leon groaned loudly as you snickered at him. “Cool guy,” you mentioned.

“He’s a piece of work,” came his muffled reply.

“I’m sure he just wanted the best for you,” you comforted.

There was an audible snort as Leon took his face out of his hands and peered at you. “What season do you like the most?”

You almost stumbled backwards at the abrupt change of topic and being thrust into the spotlight again. “Now, where did that come from?”

“I’m curious.”

You searched his eyes, but upon realizing he was not going to let up, you humored him, “When the air turns crisp and the daylight shifts tonally, so everything is awash in amber.”

He perked up, his smile widening as you continued, “And the smell of pine, spice, and bonfire just floods your senses.”

“The time before nature goes into hibernation—I know, I love it too,” he finished your sentence.

“Did you go hunting a lot back home?”

“I swear—” he laughed.

You had an idea of what he was referring to. “It was just a hunch.”

He nodded. “At this rate, you must be psychic. But yeah, I did. My dad brought me.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Mm-hmm. He taught me to take only what we need,” he recounted wistfully. “And those walks in the woods—god, I miss that. Just having the time, space, and quiet to think.”

Finally, he gazed at you, swallowing as if there were a lump in his throat. “I know this is a long way off, but… would you like to come with me next fall?”

“I’d love to.”

Dividers by @cafekitsune

[milfygerard]

Lots of her peers are on their first divorces and some of them even have kids and Taylor seemingly hasn't done that in her journey to world domination and I think people are selectively forgetting that in wishing her marry this man she's only known for a year and a half. Even if it is happening I think it's kinda gross how a lot of so called fans of The Taylor Swift don't consider her truly successful until she's wedded, or at least engaged. Gross gross gross gross gross.

this whole thing goes into a neat phenomenon ive rambled about in many a mutuals tags which is taylors tightrope walk of gender performance. This ties some ways into gaylor and ndlor but i find taylors sort of cartoonish understanding of femininity and her attempts and failure to adhere to it such a fascinating undercurrent to her career. The fact that theres a massive amount of lesbian rumors around her and there have been for most of her career by itself regardless of the rumors credibility says something about how people look at her as a woman. She sort of obsessively curates her looks to conform with whatever current idea of feminine beauty is popular at any given moment but is also someone who just exudes this sot of full body awkwardness and desperate energy that kind of undermines her attempts at complete conformity. She is popular insofar as when everyone decides that they like her, and despite seeming to know fucking everybody she seems like a lonely and solitary person who writes about feeling disconnected and cut off socially (tangent about envy of her lovers in her music goes here). She has never been "cool" except for the moment from like 2013 to late 2015 where being uncool and awkward and kind of socially inept WAS cool and she rode that fucking high to the moon until it crashed and shattered into a million pieces and nearly killed her. Her being such a social target no matter her popularity or trendiness or how much she tries to conform to others is something that clearly kills her and something she still hasnt really deconstructed even as shes tried to several times through her art. That sort of confusion and alienation is actually a part of her art that ive always deeply connected with as someone whose gone most of my life without even a self diagnosis and never knew what was "wrong" with me or what made people seemingly impusively target me as someone who could be ridiculed without pushback and seemed to be constantly breaking silent rules.

This response has gone kind of extremely off topic and out of control and barely relates to your ask sorry its the vodka iced tea running thru my system. I do agree theres a massive amount of misogynistic pressure on taylor to properly perform and recreate gender norms as expected, its a massive part of the fervor surrounding travlor specifically bc theyre the complete encapsulation of white american heterosexuality and people desperately want taylor to finally fold herself completely into that world of conformity even if what they like about taylor is her inability to conform.

[ohmymalice]

"Brawn & Brains"

Jschlatt x Reader | Video Game Highschool AU | Enemies to Lovers

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

Schlatt watched her intently as she gave a pep talk to her team, probably praising them for the first round. He had to hand it to her, she may not be as good as him (of course she isn't) but what she lacks in aim, she makes up for with her sneaky 200 IQ plays.

He expected her to read him, but he didn't expect that she was willing to die to get her team the win. He had this idea of her, only an idea not a full thought out view of her— She was smart, one of those girls who did things by the book, that's how she'd win, all purely by skill not by luck while he on the other hand, liked to gamble with his chances. Sometimes throwing a whole game just so he can win it back in one round. His team hates him for it, but they couldn't complain with their win ratio.

He remembered hearing her name for the first time, he was waiting for his acceptance letter into VGHS but he got rejected, the principal named Calhoun said some bullshit that he barely listened to. Something along the lines of "It's all about the game" or some shit like that, he mentioned how Schlatt focused too much on the winning aspect and not the time that goes into the game, not the skill, not what it means to be passionate.

He is passionate though! Only with winning, not much the game... Guess that's why he didn't get in. He heard her name from peers, how she was the first female varsity captain in VGHS. He remembered searching up her top clips, seeing her no scope people from a distance. To him, the person on screen was barely visible but to her? It seemed like she perceived them in an arms length distance, he was blown away, impressed even and he is hard to please.

He was jealous, he could never snipe like that, he could never read opponents like that. People chat about how he was lucky, how he's so talented but nobody ever knew the nights he spent balling his fists and slamming his desk, losing sleep for tournaments to become the best of the best, he would never settle for less.

He couldn't tell if he was her number one fan or her number one hater, or maybe both. Whatever it is, he still wanted to watch her games out of curiosity so when the opportunity came and she was in a tournament he watched and she played well until the last round, she completely fucked up and missed a shot on a guy last minute as he reached objective. He remembered seeing that look in her eye, he couldn't see her whole face but just from her eyes.

He knew she would never let herself live that down.

He couldn't tell if he wanted to hug her, tell her all about his own experiences and how he's had a lot of fuck ups too or if he wanted to laugh in her face and brag how he'd never miss such an easy shot.

He's an asshole, he knows it and there's this gnawing feeling at the back of his head, guilt maybe? Shame? Probably both.

He just didn't know how to face it.

Soon when the two got into their respective schools and started competing it was only natural they'd run into each other.

The game started and Schlatt didn't even bother telling his team shit, it was a common occurrence where he wouldn't give his team a plan and he'd just kill everyone or the majority.

"Captain, any plan?" Connor asked, one of his team mates that he grew to like. "The usual, just kill 'em'." He responded lazily, Connor nodded, used to his antics by now.

Schlatt walked off on his on, not caring whether or not his team lives. He camped up on a hill, waiting for Y/N to get near their base. He waits a couple minutes and sees her team but no sign of her. He frowned a little as he realizes she probably stayed at base.

He equips his gun and aims, the recoil making him jolt back as the bullet breaks through the air, cleanly hitting an enemy in the head. He smirks as he hears the crowd cheer, of course they were spectating him. He widely grins as he pulls back.

Few minutes go by and nothing happens, pure silence.

His team starts getting paranoid, giving comms through their walkie talkies.

"Where are they? It's oddly quiet."

"I'm looking through my scope, I don't see anything?"

Schlatt scoffs, these fuckers are over reacting.

"Schlatt? Is anything happening on your end?" Ted asks, the tall man with glasses sighed, knowing that he wouldn't respond. The rest of the team would be left alone to fend for themselves.

Schlatt mutes his walkie talkie and lays against a tree as he grumbles to himself how stupid his team is, how they won't shut their damn mouth and all they had to do was pretend that they were putting effort in the game while he did all the work.

Crack!

He whips his head to the other direction across from his base, multiple shots were fired in such specific locations.

Fuck that fucking bitch was mapping out our base.

He grabbed his gun and redirected it to the enemy's base, trying to find whoever was shooting. He couldn't tell where the main source was coming from, the sound of shots from all sorts of directions filled his ears. From a distance he heard the yells of panic from his team mates. Connor was yelling out his name in attempt to call their captain back and help them while Ted was shouting at him to shut up and focus.

"Goddamn idiots." He grunted, shuffling on the bare dirt on his stomach to properly get a look through the scope of his sniper.

He grabbed his walkie talkie again, unmuting it.

"Connor, give me the run down."

Everyone on his team sighed in relief that their captain was still alive and not wounded in anyway.

"I- They're shooting from their base but I saw some behind trees and other angles, we can't pin point where they are because they're playing aggressive, one of us tried peeking but he immediately got shot in the head-" Connor said quickly, word stumbling out of his mouth.

Trees? Schlatt looked around and spotted one behind a tree not too far off from enemy territory. He got a hit and repositioned, finding another place to hide in since the opposition probably realized where he was now.

He watched as his team in their base refused to peek, any place that they could look through was being shot at. Windows, doors, any entrance or place someone could come from was adorned with markings from the bullets.

They were making sure they couldn't step foot out of base.

Schlatt immediately grabbed his walkie talkie.

"Fuck, three of you idiots get out from the back, make sure they don't see you. Start trying to pick them off, distract them."

Before Connor, Ted, and Charlie could reply Schlatt immediately muted his walkie talkie and took a pistol and an AK47 with him.

Watching as Charlie slowly opened the back door and cleared it, Ted and Connor shuffle along. They start peeking, making sure that the enemy team knows of their presence. Nobody dies, it's mostly an exchange of utility and bullets flying through the air.

Schlatt makes a run for it across the wooded area, making sure nobody sees or hears him. He looks off to the side, taking note of where the enemies were stationed. One on top of a tree, two looking out of the window, and last two weren't visable.

He checked his equipment and took a deep inhale.

He swiftly pulled out his assault rifle, a clean shot to the head towards one of the enemies in the trees. In the corner of his eye he can see the two figures in the window of the base, their heads snapping towards the sound of his gun. Schlatt was only able to shoot one down but the other was swift and went back into base.

He grunts in frustration, realizing how everyone in their team now knew where he was. He started getting antsy, looking around and getting a bit paranoid. He hasn't seen Y/n all round as well as another one of her team mates.

He could storm into their base, clear it and try to get as much information for his team as much as possible, as much as he didn't say it much— they were very capable and good players, I mean duh they are, how else could they have joined the varsity team?

But chances are he'll die and he didn't know if he wanted to risk that.

He could also regroup with his team, give them the run down of what he knows so far (which is not much) but if they all go in blind while the other team knows all of their positions and plans, it might just end in a full team wipe out.

"God fucking damn it" He cocks his gun and decides the former was better, he grabbed his walkie talkie.

"Goin' in blind, gonna stay unmuted and comm whatever I see so we have intel. If I die, you fuckers better win." He busts down the door and clears all his corners.

"First floor clear so far," He said in a hushed tone into his walkie talkie. He continued scanning the area.

He heard a foot step up stairs, his eyes immediately dart to the stair case. "Heard someone up stairs, any info?" He whispers even lower into his walkie talkie.

Charlie peers from behind a wall, he stayed outside to patrol while Connor stayed inside and Ted was on the roof looking over at enemy territory.

"I don't see anything on the roof." Charlie's slightly distorted voice came through the device, Schlatt winced at how loud his voice was, he turned down the volume. Charlie went back to his original position, no longer wanting to look out into the other base but before he could even step further he hit a tree behind him.

A quick mumble of an apology escaped his lips out of habit.

"It's alright, I don't mind." a female voice rang out from behind him.

He sighed, not thinking much of it. His eyes grew wide.

"Wait, fuck isn't that?—"

He recognized the voice after a split second. He flicks to look behind him to meet face to face with the enemy team's captain. She gives an apologetic smile, mumbling out a sorry before she fires a bullet into his head.

Ted, Connor, and Schlatt heard the gun shot, without another word Ted looked over the railing from the roof and before he could even make out the girl's features he gets shot by Y/n. She already took note of where everyone would be position and where they could possibly reposition.

She smirked to herself, her heart swelling with pride. She could finally prove aim isn't everything, you need brains to win a damn game.

She picked up the walkie talkie on the ground that Charlie left behind.

"Hiiiiiii Schlatt!! Are you proud? I didn't miss this time." She dragged her words, greeting him in a mocking tone.

"Fuck you." His tone cold, no longer finding this funny. She cackled into the walkie talkie. His knuckles turned white, clutching the device in his hand tightly. "I'm gonna fuckin' kill you."

"I'd like to see you try." She's never seen him this pissed off, he always kept his cool or just laughed in people's faces anytime they tried anything.

"You're playing hard ball for a bitch that missed the easiest fucking shot a few tournaments ago." He sneered at her.

Connor listened to the conversation, the two were loud, not caring at this point if everyone knew their position was. While Y/n was distracted Connor snuck up towards the door that led to the back of the building. He pushed it open slightly, a loud creaked followed.

She let out a small gasp out of her lips and immediately slid towards the door, shutting it as Connor tried to kick it down. She waited for him to continuously kick, as he kicked forward she let go of the door.

The weight of his body pushed the door open, not expecting that she would suddenly let go he stumbled and fell face first. The sound of a gunshot ensued, making Schlatt look out the window in concern. He was left wondering what happened until he saw the kill feed.

Y/n ︻┳═一 ConnorEatsPants

[misshoneyimhome]

So here’s my post for @callsign-denmark's Birthday Bingo 🤗 Naturally, I had to choose my beloved Frederik Andersen ❤️

I know this is also part of my 500 FOLLOWERS FESTIVAL, but I thought, why not combine the two celebrations ✨🥂 I really hope you like it, love! And, of course, HAPPY BIRTHDAY for the 13th 🥳🥳

[In short, this is basically 'just' a series of events that I imagine it could be like dating Freddie - but I still hope it's an enjoyable read]

➼｡ﾟ

Summary: The journey of Frederik and Olive wasn’t as straightforward as Olive had hoped—however, on her wedding day, reflecting on it all, she can’t help but smile as she tells their story 🤍

Bingo; Wedding, “Please stay”, comfort, learning to skate, Free space: heartache

Tropes & warnings; strangers to lovers, soulmates, heartache, fluff, angsty romance, happy ending; some smut 18+ (mildly described), penetrative sex (p in v)

Word count; 8K

➼｡ﾟ

“I am done. I'm done waiting for you." I Freddie Andersen

Present 2025 - The Wedding

Olive rose from her seat, her heart fluttering like a trapped bird in her chest. The soft, elegant fabric of her wedding dress whispered around her ankles as she glanced nervously at the sea of expectant faces before her. This was her moment, her wedding day, yet the spotlight felt uncomfortably bright.

In her hand, the delicate crystal glass held a few sips of champagne, a lifeline amidst her nerves; and beside her, a neatly handwritten speech, its words a testament to the journey she and her new husband had travelled together.

Just as she was about to speak, a reassuring warmth enveloped her; Frederik's hand, familiar and steady, rested gently on her lower back. His touch sent a wave of calm through her, grounding her in the present moment.

"You've got this, min skat," his voice, a soft murmur meant only for her ears, whispered encouragement.

Drawing strength from his presence, Olive closed her eyes briefly, allowing herself a moment to collect her thoughts. Then, with a deep breath, she opened her eyes again, her gaze steady and determined.

“Most of you here have probably already heard the story - or versions of the story - of how Freddie and I met," she began, her voice clear and steady, carrying across the room. "But what many of you don’t know is that, though it was definitely love at first sight, the journey of our love wasn’t exactly a straight path.”

_

Flashback to September 2021

Frederik Andersen had just settled into Raleigh, North Carolina, having joined the Carolina Hurricanes for the upcoming season. The city, with its Southern charm and vibrant hockey culture, presented a new adventure waiting to unfold. And while adjusting to a new place and team was both exciting and daunting, he relished the challenge ahead on the ice. The welcoming nature of the Hurricanes' fans and the supportive atmosphere of the organisation made the transition smoother, yet there was still an underlying pressure to prove himself.

Frederik was a formidable goaltender, and he knew it. With several years in the NHL on his CV, he had earned a reputation for his sharp reflexes, keen game sense, and unwavering composure under pressure. He occasionally allowed himself a pat on the back, reminding himself of his achievements, which included crucial saves in high-stakes games, accolades from his peers, and the respect of coaches and teammates across the league.

However, Frederik was also aware of his veteran status in the sport. At 32 years old, he was no longer among the young talents but counted among the experienced players. The whispers of time's relentless march were growing louder, and he often reflected on his journey: the countless hours of training, the injuries overcome, the sacrifices made. Each scar and accolade told the story of his perseverance and passion for the game.

The physical demands of hockey were always present. Frederik maintained a rigorous training regime, balancing on-ice drills with off-ice conditioning to keep his body in peak form. He worked closely with the team's trainers to ensure he could withstand the gruelling schedule of an NHL season. Despite the toll on his body, his love for the game remained undiminished.

And mentally, Frederik embraced his role as a leader and mentor to younger players. He took pride in guiding rookies, sharing insights from his years of experience, and helping them navigate the challenges of professional hockey. His wisdom and steady presence in the locker room were invaluable, fostering a sense of camaraderie and mutual respect among the team.

Yet, Frederik also found himself contemplating life beyond hockey, recognising the importance of a balanced life.

_

One evening, during a team dinner at one of Raleigh's top restaurants, Frederik found himself momentarily drawn to the bar. The atmosphere buzzed with the chatter of teammates and the clinking of glasses. The restaurant boasted an upscale ambiance and exquisite cuisine, with subdued lighting and elegant decor creating an intimate setting for conversations and laughter.

Approaching the bar, Frederik caught sight of a young woman who immediately captivated him. She moved gracefully, her dark hair flowing over her shoulders as she expertly mixed drinks. There was something mesmerising about her—a quiet confidence that caught his attention.

So, leaning casually against the bar counter, the goaltender offered a soft smile and requested, "A Whiskey Sour, please," speaking gently while subtly admiring the bartender's skilled movements. She responded with a professional smile and nodded, focusing on preparing his drink with practised ease.

And as she worked, Frederik couldn’t help but watch her every move. What started as simply observing a skilled bartender at work felt like watching an entertaining ballet performance, captivated by her beauty.

"Here you go, sir," she said in her gentle, sweet voice, interrupting Freddie’s train of thought as she slid the drink across the bar with a warm smile. "Please, enjoy."

"Thank you," Frederik replied simply, returning her smile before taking a sip of his drink. It was perfect, the balance of flavours just right. He savoured the taste, appreciating the craftsmanship, and allowed himself another moment to enjoy the woman’s captivating grace before returning to his table.

And throughout the evening, the usually composed hockey veteran couldn’t help himself, occasionally stealing glances at the bartender. He was so intrigued by her poise and how effortlessly she handled the bustling crowd. She exuded a calm demeanour, much like himself, as she attended to customers with a friendly manner.

Later that night, as Frederik made his way through the bustling restaurant towards the men's room, he overheard fragments of conversations—a blend of laughter, casual banter, and occasional complaints about the noise. And near the end of the bar, he noticed a waitress and the beautiful bartender fully engaged in a quiet discussion, their voices carrying over the background clamour.

"Ugh, I can't wait until this shift is over. These hockey jerks are so loud," sighed the waitress, deftly balancing a stack of empty glasses, her frustration evident.

The bartender chuckled softly, her voice tinged with amusement despite sharing the waitress's sentiment. "Yeah, seriously. They act like they own the place."

Frederik couldn't help but smile to himself at their candid remarks. It was refreshing to hear such honest commentary amidst the usual polite chatter and flattery he encountered; their authenticity was a stark contrast to the sometimes superficial interactions that came with his status as a professional athlete.

After inadvertently eavesdropping, Frederik continued on his way, the conversation between the waitress and bartender lingering in his mind. Then rejoining his teammates, he engaged in their lively discussions and good-natured teasing throughout the evening.

Yet, as the night progressed and the players prepared to leave, Frederik found himself unable to shake the thoughts of the bartender. Her directness, grace, and quiet confidence had made a profound impact on him. Despite not even knowing her name, he felt an inexplicable urge to discover more about her.

As he was about to leave the restaurant, though, he realised with disappointment that she had already left her post. And as he made his way home, he felt a twinge of regret for not taking action sooner.

_

Flashback continued

About a week later, Frederik found himself at an ice skating rink with some of his new teammates and their family members for an open event before the hockey season started. The rink resounded with laughter, the sharp cuts of skates on ice, and the occasional thud of someone falling. Children wobbled around with their parents' careful guidance, while teenagers zipped across, showing off their skating prowess. The atmosphere was vibrant with infectious joy.

And gliding gracefully across the ice, enjoying the freedom and the cool breeze against his face, Frederik then spotted the bartender again. This time, though, she seemed a bit unsure on the ice, cautiously navigating with a few friends. They held onto each other for support, their faces lit up with both delight and mild apprehension as they tried to maintain balance.

Frederik couldn’t help but feel his heart skip a beat as he recognised her. He watched her for a moment, admiring the sparkle in her eyes and the clarity of her laughter amidst the rink's commotion. He could see her determination as she concentrated on staying upright, a mix of focus and joy that only enhanced her charm.

However, interrupted by Jarvy, Frederik shook his head and refocused on his teammates and friends. But a little while later, after signing several autographs, his mind was elsewhere as he made a few more rounds. Suddenly, he gently collided with someone, his larger frame absorbing most of the impact. Quickly reaching out to steady the person, Frederik's hands were firm yet gentle on their arms.

"I'm so sorry," he apologised reflexively, genuine concern evident in his eyes as he looked down, only to notice it was none other than the bartender he’d been so keen on watching earlier that day.

The bartender smiled sheepishly, her cheeks flushed from the unexpected encounter. "No, it's my fault. I'm just not that great at skating," she admitted, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face.

Gracefully helping her steady herself, Frederik reminded himself not to let the moment pass. "I'm Freddie, by the way," he quickly introduced himself with a warm smile—perhaps a little too rushed, but he hoped to ease any awkwardness.

The bartender let out a soft laugh. "Yeah, I know," she replied with a hint of playfulness in her voice. "You’re the goaltender for the Carolina Hurricanes."

"Right," Frederik sighed softly, slightly disappointed that this was the only reason she recognised him. Yet, just as he was about to say something else, she spoke again with a smile.

"And you were at the restaurant last week. I remember serving you a drink."

That made Frederik let out a soft chuckle. "Yeah, with the rest of the hockey jerks," he said, recalling her remark, teasing gently and causing her to blush slightly.

"Oh right - gosh, I’m so sorry about that… It's not that we don't like you guys... it’s just… We were just really tired during that shift," she explained, feeling a bit embarrassed as she looked up at him, her eyes sincere.

But Frederik just shook his head. "No need to apologise. I get it," he reassured her, his smile comforting as he admired her honesty and the way she didn't shy away from the truth.

"Anyway, I won’t take up more of your time, Freddie. You’re busy with your hockey stuff—but I am sorry about the collision—and the comment last week," she offered him a smile.

But as she then began to carefully skate away, Frederik couldn't resist calling out, "Wait, what's your name?"

Turning her head, she replied with a smile, "Olive, but my friends call me Liv.”

He watched her rejoin her friends, her laughter and presence still standing out in the crowd. And from that moment on, Frederik found himself thinking about Olive's smile, her easy laughter, and the genuine warmth he felt in her presence.

Similarly, Olive couldn't shake off the impression Frederik had left on her. She had expected him to be like the rest—cocky and self-assured—but instead, she found him surprisingly humble and kind. His gentle demeanour and the way he had treated her with respect and kindness had caught her off guard in the best possible way.

And surprisingly, the universe seemed to conspire to bring them together, causing their paths to casually cross over the next few weeks.

Olive attended her first Hurricanes home game with her hockey enthusiast friends, who had also managed to arrange a meet-and-greet with some of the players for an autograph session before the match. The excitement of the crowd was palpable, and Olive quickly found herself swept up in the fans’ energy.

And naturally, among the players, Frederik was there, who immediately spotted Olive in the crowd. His heart raced as he instinctively made his way over to her, nerves bubbling up unexpectedly as he focused solely on her, ignoring everyone else around him.

"Hey, Olive," he greeted, a genuine smile spreading across his face.

"Oh hi, Freddie," she replied, her eyes sparkling with recognition.

The noise of the crowd softly faded into the background as they connected in a gaze. And completely captivated by Olive's charm, Frederik momentarily forgot his surroundings. She had a way of making him feel at ease, her laughter contagious and her insights thoughtful.

But then her friends approached, their jaws almost dropping as they realised Olive was actually on a first-name - well, nickname - basis with Frederik Andersen.

And Frederik couldn’t help but chuckle at their reaction. Yet, ever the professional, he quickly offered them autographs, followed by Olive taking photos of them. 

“Hey, what about you, Liv?” one of her friends suggested.

“Oh no, that’s okay,” she timidly replied.

Frederik offered her a soft smile, trying his best to hide any hints of disappointment. However, her other friend pressed on and encouraged Olive to stand close to Frederik, prompting him to gently wrap his arm around her. “Come on, Liv! You know you want to.”

Olive felt slightly awkward standing next to the towering goaltender, yet she couldn’t deny how comfortable his presence felt. His body was warm against hers, his hand gently resting on her waist as they both smiled at the camera.

But their moment was fleeting as Frederik was then quickly called away to continue his obligations. Yet, just before parting ways, he gathered his courage and asked Olive out for coffee.

And naturally, she quickly accepted with a smile that lit up the room. They exchanged numbers, and as Frederik then walked away, he felt a sense of excitement he hadn't felt in a long time. The anticipation of their upcoming coffee date filled him with a warmth that stayed with him long after he had left the arena.

_

Flashback to October 2021

Frederik and Olive's first coffee date was nothing short of blissful. They sat across from each other in a cosy café, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the warmth of their conversation. The café itself was charming, with exposed brick walls adorned with local artwork and soft jazz music playing in the background. And from the moment they started talking, time seemed to slip away unnoticed.

Frederik was genuinely fascinated by Olive's travels and her passion for writing. He listened intently as she animatedly described her favourite destinations and the stories she hoped to tell through her works. Olive's eyes lit up as she recounted her adventures in Paris, her quiet retreat in a small village in Tuscany, and the bustling markets of Marrakech. She shared stories of the characters she had met along the way, the inspiration they provided for her writing, and her dream of publishing a novel one day.

In return, Olive found herself captivated by Frederik's hockey experiences, his dedication to his craft, and the unwavering support of his family in his success. He shared tales from his childhood in Denmark, where his father first introduced him to the sport, and the journey that led him from local rinks to the NHL. Frederik spoke passionately about the thrill of his first professional game, the camaraderie among his teammates, and the sacrifices he had made to pursue his passion.

And as the evening drew to a close, neither of them wanted the night to end. They lingered outside the café, reluctant to part ways, with the city lights casting a soft glow around them, creating a magical atmosphere. Then with a shy smile, Frederik asked Olive if she would like to meet again.

"Definitely," she replied quickly, her heart fluttering with excitement.

And about a week later, they met for dinner at a quaint restaurant tucked away in a quiet corner of Raleigh. The atmosphere was intimate, with flickering candlelight casting a soft glow over their faces as they continued to talk and laugh effortlessly.

The restaurant's rustic charm, featuring wooden beams and vintage décor, added to the sense of intimacy as they discovered common interests and a shared sense of humour that strengthened their connection. They laughed over their mutual love for different cuisines, shared their favourite books and music, and debated quirky action films.

“No way,” Olive insisted. “Die Hard is NOT a Christmas movie.”

Frederik chuckled. “Well, it does take place during a Christmas party, and it’s listed under the category of Christmas classics on Disney+, so… that settles it.”

Olive shook her head. “Well, they seriously need to do some proper research then.”

From the moment they met, Frederik was charmed by Olive's wit and intelligence, while Olive admired Frederik's humility and genuine kindness. Their connection was undeniable, and neither felt any awkwardness or doubt as they spent hour after hour together.

However, as weeks turned into months, the demands of Frederik's hockey season took precedence. His schedule was filled with training sessions, games, and team commitments, leaving little time for leisurely dates and quiet moments with Olive. Days became a whirlwind of practices, strategy meetings, and travel for away games, and Frederik found himself constantly on the move, with little opportunity to catch his breath.

Despite his best intentions, maintaining regular contact with Olive became a challenge. Text messages went unanswered for hours, and plans for meet-ups were often postponed. Frederik knew he was letting her slip through his fingers, but the relentless pace of the season left him torn between his passion for hockey and his growing feelings for her.

Meanwhile, Olive began to feel uncertainty creeping in. While she cherished the moments they had shared and the connection they had formed, she couldn't shake the feeling of being sidelined as the hockey season intensified. She tried to understand Frederik's commitments, but deep down, she couldn't help feeling neglected and unimportant.

Many evenings were spent alone, reminiscing about their time together, and Olive found herself drafting texts to him, only to delete them out of fear of appearing needy and clingy. The growing silence between them became deafening, amplifying her doubts and insecurities.

So, as weeks turned into months, Olive reluctantly started to distance herself emotionally. She convinced herself that their relationship was merely a fleeting romance—a beautiful chapter in her life, but not meant to last. She buried her feelings, telling herself that perhaps Frederik had never felt as strongly for her as she had hoped. Then turning to her writing, Olive used her emotions as fuel for her stories, seeking solace in her creative expression.

Their once vibrant connection began to fade, replaced by a bittersweet ache of what could have been. Despite sensing the shift in Olive's demeanour, Frederik felt powerless to bridge the growing gap between them amidst the demands of his career and the pressures of the season. He missed her laughter, her stories, and the way she grounded him, but changing the situation seemed beyond his control.

And as the hockey season reached its peak, Frederik and Olive found themselves drifting further apart, their love story seemingly slipping away into memories and what-ifs. The initial spark that had brought them together dimmed under the weight of unspoken words and missed opportunities, leaving both with a lingering sense of loss.

_

Flashback to December 2021

As Frederik had finally settled into his role within the team and achieved a better balance between his career and personal life, thoughts of Olive quickly returned to occupy his mind. It had been two months since their paths had diverged, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he had let something special slip away. Determined to make amends, he gathered his courage and reached out to her, hoping for an opportunity to reconnect.

To his surprise and relief, Olive agreed to meet him again. She approached this reunion cautiously, wary of opening herself up to potential hurt once more. Despite her reservations, she found herself unable to resist Frederik's gentle persistence and the lingering memories of their time together.

So, for their next outing, Frederik suggested ice skating, eager to make up for their awkward first encounter on the ice. Arriving at the rink with a mix of excitement and nerves, Olive felt a flutter of anticipation as she laced up her skates beside Frederik. He flashed her a reassuring smile, his warm honey-brown eyes filled with determination to make this experience memorable for both of them.

And sensing her slight struggles, Frederik then knelt before her, gently taking over to tie her skates properly. It felt almost like a Cinderella moment for Olive as she gazed down at Frederik, who effortlessly secured the laces. And she couldn't help but feel a rush of affectionate emotions within her.

"There you go," he interrupted her thoughts, looking up with a smile. "All sorted?"

Olive nodded eagerly, "Absolutely."

Then stepping onto the ice, Frederik took Olive's hand in his, his touch tender and supportive as he guided her patiently, explaining the basics of balance and movement. His voice became a comforting backdrop to the sounds of blades slicing through the ice.

Olive chuckled at her initial wobbles, finding reassurance in his encouraging words and steady grip. And as they glided across the rink together, Frederik led with the grace born of years spent on the ice, and Olive followed his lead, gaining confidence with each lap they completed. Their laughter mingled as they shared in the delight of their newfound rhythm, the awkwardness of their first attempt melting away in the warmth of their shared smiles.

After a few laps around the ice, they paused to catch their breath, leaning against the rink's railings. Frederik's eyes sparkled with admiration as he looked at Olive, proud of her progress and the passion she displayed for something he cherished deeply. They exchanged stories and laughter, savouring the simple pleasure of being together again in this moment of shared joy.

And by the end of their date, Olive felt a sense of achievement she hadn't anticipated. Not only had she improved her skating skills under Frederik's patient guidance, but she also felt closer to him than ever before. The spark of their connection had reignited amidst the playful banter and shared triumphs on the ice, leaving them both with a renewed sense of closeness and affection.

As they left the rink, hand in hand, she just couldn’t help but marvel at how Frederik had transformed what could have been a daunting experience into a cherished memory. Once again, she found herself drawn to his easy charm and genuine kindness. Yet, she guarded her heart, reminding herself that they were embarking on a fresh start—a new beginning without expectations of where it might lead.

Frederik felt a deep sense of contentment. The day had surpassed his expectations, not just in reigniting their connection but in reaffirming the bond they shared. So, as they strolled away from the rink, the night air crisp and filled with promise, he suddenly halted and spoke with confidence.

"Hey Liv."

"Yes, Freddie?"

But Frederik didn’t really need to say anything. Instead, with gallantry and genuine care, he simply stole a tender kiss from her—a gesture he had contemplated all day but hadn’t dared to attempt until he was sure she desired him as much as he desired her.

Needless to say, Olive eagerly returned the kiss with equal longing.

Fortunately, their next meeting came less than a week later, and this time it was at a Hurricanes home game in the PNC Arena. The atmosphere was tense as the team faced off against the New York Islanders, but despite their best efforts, the Canes suffered a disappointing loss. The crowd, which had been electric with anticipation all night, now buzzed with the sting of defeat as everyone gradually dispersed from their seats.

Frederik's emotions were raw after the game. He didn’t want Olive to witness his vulnerability so soon after reconnecting, to see him like that. But as she approached him in the corridor with a comforting smile, he couldn't resist the pull of her empathy and genuine care. So, instinctively, he pulled her into a tight hug, seeking comfort in her presence.

"Hey, you did amazing, Freddie," Olive said, looking up at him as he released his arms from around her smaller frame.

"I know," he sighed deeply. "But a loss is still a loss."

Olive tried her best to muster a smile in the face of disappointment. "Well, the good thing about hitting rock bottom is that at least it can't get any worse."

Frederik couldn’t help but let a smile appear on his lips, her words both comforting and amusing. And as they made their way out of the arena, Frederik insisted on driving Olive home, to which she happily accepted. However, neither of them wanted the night to end on a sombre note, so Olive invited him inside her apartment.

The small space was cosy and filled with personal touches—framed photos, shelves lined with books, and soft, ambient lighting that created an inviting atmosphere. And in the quiet intimacy of Olive's living room, they swiftly engaged in heartfelt conversations that ranged from hockey to their deepest aspirations and fears. 

Olive shared her recent writing submission to the local paper, expressing her dreams of building a career beyond bartending and the fears that sometimes held her back. Frederik, in turn, opened up about the pressures of his career, the constant demand to perform, and the uncertainty of what lay ahead after his time in the NHL. 

It was a tender evening marked by sensitive topics, and as their emotions lay bare, their connection only deepened, culminating in a tender kiss.

Surprising even herself, Olive let go of her reservations, allowing their kiss to deepen into something more passionate and consuming. In that moment, their physical desire mirrored the emotional intensity they had both been denying themselves for so long. Each touch and caress spoke volumes of their longing and the bond they shared.

Then with unspoken understanding and mutual consent, they moved to Olive's bedroom, where their bodies eagerly intertwined in an expression that transcended mere physical attraction. Frederik took his time undressing her, studying every curve of her body as his fingers gently explored her smooth skin, gradually exposing more of her.

Meanwhile, Olive found herself unable to suppress her desire for him. Each touch and caress ignited a deeper longing, and as she helped him discard his clothing as well, she savoured the feel of his muscles beneath her palms. 

No words were necessary as their eyes locked in a tender gaze, a profound connection as Frederik positioned himself above her on the mattress. Then without hesitation, he lined himself up with her entrance and eased himself into her, causing moans to escape them both as their bodies joined together. With every movement, every thrust and kiss, the heat between them intensified. Their lovemaking was tender yet passionate, a culmination of deep, raw lust and heartfelt emotions for one another.

As they moved together in sync, quickening the pace and getting closer to the brim of ecstacy, their moans grew deeper and louder, names slipping off their tongues. Then with a few more final pounds, they managed to reach an intense climax together, a rush filling their minds as they breathed heavily and allowed euphoria to take over. 

And in the serene aftermath, nestled in each other's embrace, Frederik and Olive found solace in the warmth of their connection, the steady rhythm of their breathing echoing softly in the room. As they drifted into sleep, intertwined and content, they realised they were no longer merely skirting around their emotions—they were diving headfirst into the depths of a love that had patiently been waiting.

_

Flashback to February 2022

Olive experienced every moment with Frederik Andersen as a whirlwind of emotions and passion. Their dates were filled with laughter, deep conversations, and an increasing sense of closeness that left her breathless. Day by day, she found herself falling deeper in love with him, his presence becoming both comforting and exhilarating in her life.

Their physical connection was undeniable, each touch igniting a fire within her unlike anything she had felt before, as Frederik's tender caresses and passionate embraces brought her to heights of pleasure she had only dreamed of. It was in those intimate moments, she felt a connection that went beyond the physical—a deep bond that whispered promises of forever.

Olive simply found herself completely in love and believed she had found her soulmate in Frederik. She cherished their time together, treasuring every stolen kiss and shared glance as precious moments. In his arms, she felt safe, cherished, and truly alive.

However, Frederik was struggling with his own internal battle. While he cared deeply for Olive, and possibly even loved her, he couldn't ignore the demands of his hockey career. And as their relationship grew, he felt torn between being a devoted boyfriend to her and giving his all to his training and team responsibilities.

So, after navigating this delicate balance for several months, which included sharing meaningful moments during the Christmas season, Frederik came to a painful realisation. He knew that continuing their relationship would mean sacrificing valuable time and focus on his career—a sacrifice he wasn't prepared to make.

And caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, Frederik wrestled with how to best handle the situation. Part of him considered reducing their time together, hoping Olive would understand his need to prioritise hockey. Yet, after agonising over the decision, he ultimately concluded that ending their relationship was the kindest option, sparing Olive from further heartache and disappointment.

With a heavy heart, Frederik then explained to her that he needed to focus on his career and couldn't give her the time and commitment she deserved. 

Olive was completely blindsided by his decision. She had believed their love was deep and meaningful, capable of overcoming ayn challenges including his demanding career. So, naturally, the sudden breakup left her reeling with a mix of anger, betrayal, and heartbreak.

She struggled to understand how their seemingly profound connection could be discarded so easily. In her anguish, she felt deceived and used, convinced that Frederik had viewed her as a temporary distraction—a fleeting amusement with no lasting significance.

Beneath her hurt, anger simmered not only towards Frederik but also towards herself for believing so blindly in a love that seemed one-sided. Rejection wounded her deeply, shaking her self-worth and trust in her own judgement.

Despite the ache in her heart, Olive sought solace in the memories they had created—the laughter, passion, and genuine moments of connection. So, as she navigated the aftermath of their breakup, she made a solemn vow to protect herself from further heartache. She resolved to focus on healing, rebuilding her confidence, and learning to trust again—knowing that with time, the pain would ease and she would emerge stronger.

For now, however, the wound remained raw, and the weight of lost love hung heavily on her soul.

_

Flashback to April 2022

Months passed, and Olive gradually began to mend her broken heart. She tried to distract herself with casual flings and meaningless encounters in an effort to fill the void left by Frederik's abrupt departure. Yet, no matter how hard she tried to move forward, reminders of him persisted in her life.

As the goaltender for the city's beloved hockey team, Frederik Andersen was omnipresent in the media and among her friends, many of whom were avid fans. Olive couldn't escape reminders of him—the sight of his face on billboards, mentions of his name in conversations, and the ache in her heart whenever she watched him play.

Her mornings started with glimpses of him on TV highlights, a reminder of their shared passion for life. During lunches with friends, his name inevitably came up, forcing her to mask her discomfort with forced smiles and polite nods. Evenings brought photos of him on social media, where friends shared moments of his public life that she felt painfully excluded from.

Olive had never fully confided in her friends about the depth of her heartbreak, brushing off their gentle inquiries with a simple explanation that their relationship had ended due to his demanding schedule—partially true. However, her friends could see through her façade, sensing the pain that flickered in her eyes whenever Frederik's name arose. And their supportive embraces and silent understanding provided some solace amid the tumultuous emotions threatening to overwhelm her.

One evening, her friends managed to convince her to join them for another Hurricanes home game. By then, Olive had grown somewhat numb to the sharp sting of seeing Frederik on the ice, resigned to the ache in her heart that seemed to have taken up permanent residence.

And as the game progressed, Frederik focused on his performance and the team's objectives. Yet, during a break, as he came to scan the crowd, his gaze suddenly locked onto Olive's familiar face in one of the  front rows. In that instant, the weight of remorse and regret crashed over him like a tidal wave.

When the final buzzer sounded, Frederik's resolve solidified. He knew he needed to speak to Olive, to apologise for the pain he had caused her. So, approaching her cautiously, his heart racing with nerves and determination, he messaged her asking if she could meet him in the locker room after the game.

But Olive couldn't face him so soon. The wounds were still fresh, the emotions raw. So, with a gentle yet firm refusal, she declined his invitation, unsure if she could maintain her composure in his presence.

Despite her reluctance, fate intervened yet again a few days later when Frederik found himself dining at the restaurant where Olive worked. And this time, their paths couldn't avoid crossing. Accompanied by friends, managers, and his agent, Frederik's presence made it impossible for Olive to avoid the unexpected - and perhaps awkward, encounter.

Hours passed as she watched him from the bar, her heart still aching. So ,seeking solace, Olive slipped out behind the restaurant for fresh air, but only to find Frederik following her.

"You shouldn’t be out here," she said firmly, crossing her arms as he approached gently.

"I needed to see you," he said softly, taking a small step forward. 

"Freddie, please, I can’t do this..."

Despite her protest, Frederik moved closer to her. His expression was earnest, his eyes filled with regret and longing. And before she could object further, he pulled her into his arms with force, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that reignited a fire she thought had died.

Passionate and fueled by desire, the kiss brought forth unresolved emotions. Olive struggled against conflicting feelings, torn between past hurt and their undeniable chemistry. Yet, instinctively, her arms found Frederik’s neck, deepening the kiss.

And as the night unfolded, they found themselves back at Olive's apartment, their bodies entwined in a frenzy of longing and need. Their lovemaking was intense, a physical manifestation of the longing and desire that had simmered beneath the surface for months. 

Just like many times before, it felt so effortlessly easy to allow their bodies to melt together. With Olive straddling Frederik, she moved with determination and deep breaths, their moans harmonising while approaching their climaxes. 

Yet, in need for more closeness, Frederik swiftly turned them over into missionary, where he held his face close to hers, thrusting with force and vigorous motions till they both reached the peak in a symphony. 

And in the aftermath of their passionate reunion, Olive found herself whispering those two words that held both vulnerability and hope: "Please, stay."

Frederik knew he shouldn't have stayed. He owed her honesty about where they stood. But in that moment, holding her close, feeling the warmth of her against him, he couldn't leave. She was the love he craved, the one person he couldn’t let go of.

So, they fell asleep together, wrapped in each other's arms, finding solace in shared intimacy.

However, when Olive woke the next morning, she found herself alone in bed. Frederik had left quietly, only leaving behind a simple message: "I'm sorry."

The words echoed in Olive's mind as she lay there, her heart aching with a familiar pain. She had allowed herself to hope for a second chance at love. Yet, Frederik's departure left her grappling once more with uncertainty and heartbreak, questioning if their love story was destined to be fleeting rather than enduring.

_

Flashback to May 2021

For seven turbulent months, Olive experienced the unpredictable highs and lows of love and heartbreak, all because of Frederik Andersen. She had tasted the bliss of their intense connection and endured the pain of his repeated departures. Despite the hurt he caused, she couldn't ignore the enduring love she still felt.

So, to heal her broken heart and move forward, Olive found solace in Colin—a dependable man who offered her security and the attention she craved. Their relationship blossomed, giving her the comfort and stability she had lacked during her tumultuous time with Frederik.

And immersed in this new relationship, Olive gradually regained her confidence and found moments of happiness. Colin was attentive, always ready to listen to her thoughts and dreams, in stark contrast to Frederik's unpredictable presence.

However, despite her growing affection for Colin, she couldn't completely erase Frederik from her heart. Memories of their passionate connection and emotional bond lingered, casting a shadow over her newfound stability. She wrestled with guilt, questioning the fairness of her lingering feelings for Frederik towards Colin.

So, navigating this emotional maze, Olive struggled with conflicting desires, torn between her past and present, unsure of where her true feelings lay.

But as always fate intervened one evening as Frederik unexpectedly saw Olive at a bar during a rare free night in Raleigh. Her laughter and smiles quickly caught his attention, stirring jealousy as he watched her with Colin, making him torn between bantering with his teammates and the painful realisation of what he had lost.

Every laugh, every touch between Olive and Colin felt like a dagger twisting in Frederik's chest, a reminder of the love he had let slip away. His heart ached with longing and regret, unable to bear seeing Olive move on without him.

And so, driven by desperation and needing to confront his feelings, Frederik sought a private moment with her. He found her in a quiet corner of the pub, softly lit by a nearby lamp, and reached out to gently grasp her wrist.

“Liv!” 

"Freddie, please don’t!" Olive exclaimed firmly, trying to pull away, but he held on.

"I’m sorry, but I just can't bear to see you with someone else, please talk to me,” his voice cracked with emotion.

Olive's heart wrenched at the sight of Frederik, vulnerable and exposed. Tears welled in her eyes as she struggled against the surge of desire threatening to engulf her once more. But she knew she had to be strong, to protect herself from the pain he had unintentionally caused.

"No, Freddie," she protested, her voice trembling as she withdrew her hand. "I can't do this anymore."

Her words echoed through the corridor, a painful declaration of finality amidst the noise of the crowded bar. With tears streaming down her face, Olive turned away from Frederik, but he grabbed her arm again, preventing her from leaving.

"Just listen to me..." he pleaded softly, filled with anguish.

Frederik's heart shattered at her rejection. He tried to explain, to beg for another chance, to convey the depth of his feelings and the turmoil within him. But Olive had reached her limit. She could no longer wait for Frederik to prioritise their relationship over his career and uncertainties.

"I'm done, Freddie. I'm done waiting for you," she declared, her voice a mix of grief and determination.

And as she walked away, leaving Frederik alone in the corridor, he was consumed by profound loss and regret. For the first time, he truly felt the weight of his actions—the pain he had caused her, the love he had lost.

In that moment of clarity, Frederik understood the enormity of Olive's love and the depth of his mistakes. He had sacrificed the one relationship that had made him feel alive, and haunted by her words and his own regrets, he vowed to learn from his mistakes. 

But for now, all he could do was stand there, grappling with the ache in his heart, knowing he had shattered the heart of the woman he loved the most.

_

Flashback Continued

The hockey season was reaching its peak, with the Carolina Hurricanes deeply entrenched in a pivotal playoff battle. Frederik Andersen, their dependable goalie, felt the pressure and nerves building as he prepared for the game that could define their postseason fate, as tonight wasn't just about a simple win or loss; it was about advancing to the next round or facing an early end to their season.

Frederik's mind buzzed with strategy and anticipation as he stepped onto the ice, the thunderous cheers of the home crowd echoing through the arena. Each save he made brought a rush of adrenaline, a mix of relief and determination to keep the Hurricanes competitive. Yet beneath his focused exterior, thoughts of Olive lingered—a poignant distraction that fuelled his drive to succeed while stirring up unresolved emotions.

Meanwhile, in the stands, Olive sat at the edge of her seat beside Colin, her gaze fixed on Frederik as he moved swiftly and decisively in goal. Her initial casual interest in hockey had evolved into genuine passion over the past many months, ignited by Frederik's skill and the intensity of playoff hockey. Despite her efforts to conceal it, Colin couldn't ignore the subtle changes in Olive's demeanour whenever the goalie made a crucial save or endured the disappointment of a goal against.

And as the game intensified and emotions ran high, Olive found herself torn between the thrill of the Hurricanes' offensive surges and the ache in her heart whenever Frederik faced relentless shots. She stole brief glances at Colin, aware of the unspoken tension between them—a delicate balance disrupted by Frederik's undeniable hold on her.

The Hurricanes fought fiercely, but midway through the third period, disaster struck as Frederik was substituted—a crushing blow for any goalie. His frustration was palpable as he slammed his stick on the rink railing on his way to the locker room, burdened by the weight of the team's playoff hopes.

And watching Frederik's despondent demeanour from the stands stirred a familiar ache in Olive's chest—a mix of empathy for his disappointment and a desire to comfort him. She felt torn, caught between her loyalty to Colin and the lingering emotions she still harboured for Frederik.

But then when the opposing team scored yet another goal, dashing any hope of a comeback, Olive's resolve wavered. Deciding on excusing herself from her seat, she made her way towards the locker room, driven by an irresistible urge to find Frederik amidst the playoff game chaos.

And navigating the familiar maze-like corridors of the arena, she finally reached the locker room area, where Frederik would be reflecting on his performance. The sound of subdued voices and equipment filled the air as she cautiously approached the doorway to the team's inner sanctum.

There he sat, alone in his stall, still clad in his gear, head bowed in contemplation. Yet, as he glanced up and saw Olive standing in the doorway, tears welling in her eyes, Frederik's heart skipped a beat.

"Liv," he murmured softly, his voice tinged with fragile hope.

Solid tears streamed down Olive's cheeks as she struggled to compose herself. She had come intending to offer comfort, but now as she was so close to him once more, she was overwhelmed by a rush of emotions—the months of shared memories, the lingering warmth of their connection, and the ache of their tumultuous past.

Frederik then swiftly rose from the seat and cautiously approached her. And with no words spoken, Olive instinctively rushed to close the distance between them, drawn to the familiarity and solace Frederik offered in his embrace. He wrapped his arms around her, lifting her up in a close, desperate union that spoke of longing, regret, and unspoken love.

Their lips met in a passionate kiss, her hands finding their way into Frederik's hair as she held him tightly, unwilling to let go.

Then breaking away from the heated kiss, they stood breathless. Olive knew she couldn't stay, couldn't betray Colin's trust, yet a part of her yearned to linger in Frederik's embrace forever.

"Please, stay..." Frederik pleaded, his voice filled with desperation and vulnerability. "Liv, I want you. I need you… I can’t be without you…"

Tears continued to stream down Olive's cheeks as she struggled with the torment of her conflicted emotions. "Freddie... I can't," she whispered hoarsely. "You'll just hurt me again..."

But Frederik held her tightly, his eyes pleading for her understanding. "No, not this time, Olive. I love you..."

"I love you too, Freddie," she simply confessed, her voice barely audible amidst the storm of emotions within her.

They sealed their renewed bond with another heartfelt kiss, but Olive knew she couldn't continue deceiving Colin. Despite the pain it would cause, she had to be honest with him about her feelings for Frederik. It wasn't fair to him, nor to herself, to deny the depth of her love for the man who had captured her heart months ago.

And as the Hurricanes faced an early playoff exit, Frederik and Olive sought solace in each other's arms that night, rekindling their passion amidst the echoes of disappointment.

Together, they embraced the uncertainty of their future, knowing that their love story was far from over—it was just beginning.

_

Present 2025 - The Wedding

Three years had passed swiftly, filled with love, challenges, and unwavering commitment.

As Olive concluded her heartfelt speech, basking in the applause from their friends and family, she couldn't suppress the radiant smile that spread across her face. While Frederik, her anchor and soulmate, sat beside her, his eyes filled with admiration and love.

The venue, adorned in soft hues of ivory and gold, resonated with the tender emotions of the occasion. And Olive's voice carried with a blend of sincerity and gratitude as she thanked their loved ones for their steadfast support and recounted cherished memories of their journey together. Her words were interspersed with laughter and tears, each moment affirming the depth of their bond.

Frederik knew he couldn't match Olive's speech with words alone. Despite help from loved ones in composing his own speech, he grappled with expressing the simplicity and sincerity that defined his feelings. So, rising from his seat, he briefly glanced at his notes, the inked words reflecting his devotion and the path they had walked together.

"I've never been one for lengthy speeches…" Frederik began, his voice steady with emotion. "And I'm sure many of you here know that. But that's okay, because..." He paused, taking a deep breath. "The only thing that truly matters, the only thing I need to say, is that... I love you, Liv. I have loved you from the moment I first saw you, even when I didn't trust myself to love." His gaze locked onto Olive's, their eyes meeting in a shared moment.

A reassuring smile spread across her face as she listened intently, her heart swelling with the weight of his words. Frederik’s voice grew stronger with each heartfelt sentence, resonating with the depth of their shared experiences. "I've never quite understood why you chose me," he continued, his tone filled with humility and adoration. "But I've stopped questioning it. What matters is that we chose each other. And I promise, with all my heart, to be the best husband I can be for you, for the rest of our lives."

Their love story wasn't a simple fairy tale romance devoid of challenges or imperfections. It was real, raw, and deeply meaningful—a journey marked by growth, forgiveness, and unwavering commitment. It was a testament to their resilience, having weathered every storm together, emerging stronger and more deeply in love each time.

The End

[f0rlorn]

Hii I was wondering if u can make a lamina and treech story were they dating!! Thank uuuu💗💗

love the way you lie

treech x lamina

a/n → while i don’t typically write character x character, i put that aside and decided to make an exception for these two because they are both in my top three tributes 🫶🏼 this is a rough first attempt, and if it didn’t quite reach your expectations, feel free to request again, i’m happy to try until i get it right :)

notes → in which an unlucky pair of lovers are reaped for the tenth annual hunger games. my longest fic yet at 2.5k words!

warnings → angst, violence, canon character deaths, typical hunger games warnings. not edited and uploaded via iphone

     oh, how unfortunate it was that district seven’s resident lovebirds got reaped together. treech didn’t think he could ever raise a hand to poor, sweet lamina. what was he to do? his heart was racing, fabricating all of the different possibilities, as well as outcomes. from where he stood on stage, his eyes scanned the crowd in search of her. lamina, who was already crying when they called treech’s name, couldn’t stop herself from weeping when her own name now echoed across the square. she was never a big fan of crowds, and it was worse now that everyone’s eyes were on the girl. she simply couldn’t handle it. sniffling, with tears stinging her eyes, she kept her eyes low as she shakily made her way to the stage. lamina began to ascend the steps of the hall, and treech couldn’t help but reach out to her, pulling her into a tight embrace. only then did lamina look around, possibly taking in the very last look of her district. her ears were ringing as the mayor made a final announcement that she had been unable to register. soon, the peacekeepers were forcing them into the hall, where they would then be placed on a cargo train and sent to their death.

     the first night on the train, lamina barely got a lick of sleep, and treech didn’t receive any, as he was too busy making sure lamina was okay. his reassuring affirmations lulled her to bed for at least a few hours. both sets of tributes from four and one were already in the cart when treech and lamina had boarded, and the duo from five entered not too long after. lamina cuddled up closer to treech, overwhelmed with anxiety. the boy was finally about to close his eyes and rest when the train came to a vicious hault, screeching loudly. treech winced at the volume as lamina instinctively grasped onto his arm. shouting could be heard from outside, and all the tributes had to squint when a peacekeeper swung the car door open, their eyes having not seen light for many hours. the peacekeeper began shouting, banging his gun on the wall as the tributes started to scamper out of the cart. treech’s hand found it’s way to lamina’s as the pair looked around at the change of scenery, as well as the other tributes. they didn’t have much time to adjust because almost immediately they were being beckoned to another vehicle, this time a van. treech sat lamina down near the front of the van, checking up on her to see if she was okay while more tributes filed in. with the new tributes squeezing into the seats, lamina was no longer directly next to treech, separated by the boy from ten. chaos ensued as one tribute tried to escape, sprinting out of line, causing treech to peer out of the van at him. lamina, on the other hand, was too distracted by the capital boy who had snuck his way on while the peacekeepers were preoccupied. as the little boy was apprehended and thrown into the van, the doors immediately shut and all eyes were on the capital boy. except for lamina, who kept her eyes down, not wanting to gain any attention. the capital boy greeted them hesitantly, intimidated by all the eyes on him, but he was suddenly shoved up against the wall by reaper, the male from eleven. lamina flinched, and tried making herself smaller where she sat. treech, much like the others, was glaring at the boy with animosity. with most of the tributes on the same page, many agreed to just killing the boy. at the proposition, his eyes widened and he looked around frantically. much more discourse occurred until the van started backing up, tilting backwards as the doors flung open. treech desperately tried to hold onto lamina before he fell, and the two descended nearly twenty feet, landing on a clump of rocks. 

     lamina stood behind treech as they assessed the new location, the inside of a cage. she took notice of the capital citizens that were peering in at them as if they were animals, and she took another cautious step further behind treech. a reporter was outside, calling something out to the capital boy. treech recalled the man as lucky flickerman, a weatherman. he pointed his observation out to lamina, who lacked a response. the pair watched intently as the capital boy led lucy gray up to the front of the cage, interacting with the children near the front until peacekeepers arrived to rescue the boy, leading him away. lamina gestured for treech to join her at the nearby rock she decided to claim for them, thinking it useful to have a surface to sleep on that wasn’t dirt.

     for the first time ever in their relationship, treech and lamina were both speechless. it wasn’t that they didn’t have anything to say, but rather those thoughts just couldn’t be expressed with words. as the day dragged on, more so-called mentors arrived. they came baring food and water, but unluckily for the district seven tributes, their mentors apparently had better things to do. typical. treech fumed at the thought, and lamina anxiously twiddled her thumbs, sniffling once again. she had always been quiet, spending her days atop trees, her head in the clouds; it was her happy place. the rest of the world was too much for her, too crowded, not to mention corrupt. but it was inescapable, and now lamina had to face all that she feared. the girl simply could not do it without crying. treech felt helpless as he was unsure how to make this any better for her, it seemed like an impossible task to accomplish. on top of that, both of them also had to cope with the fact that only one tribute got to come out alive. their dark thoughts were interrupted as a shrill shriek rang throughout the zoo. treech immediately jumped up, placing a protective arm in front of lamina and watching the whole ordeal. blood seeped from a mentor’s throat as she gasped for air unsuccessfully. in a matter of seconds, peacekeepers were shooting into the arena as treech pulled himself and lamina behind their rock in an attempt to dodge the bullets. adrenaline pumps through their veins, and lamina was fighting back tears. they decide right there that they should be treasuring the time they still had together.

     their plans forcibly changed when peacekeepers arrived to chain them up, hauling them away somewhere unknown. chained to desks and unable to leave, the tributes looked around in confusion, until the mentors arrived. both lamina and treech didn’t meet their mentors beforehand, so the  capitol children who sat before them were complete strangers. lamina was already on the verge of tears, and treech stared silently at his mentor coldly. pup harrington spoke something to lamina about winning and she snapped, hiding her face in her hands as she began to sob uncontrollably. treech glanced over at her in pity as he tried to answer some of his mentor’s questions, but he just couldn’t get through it without almost giving into his urges to jump at the entitled girl. both mentor’s emerged unsuccessful, and treech and lamina were taken back to the zoo, still in chains. 

     to the tributes’ surprise, when the peacekeepers came back, they came to take off their chains. treech rubbed his wrists, sore from the binds and looked over at lamina. together, they climbed into the van. this time, they were taken to the capitol arena, where they met with their mentors for the second time today. they entered the arena side by side with their mentors. upon entry, though, the tributes and mentors spread out, exploring the arena where twenty three district kids would spend their final moments. a whimpering lamina stayed nearby treech, but they were far enough apart that when a voice rung out, calling for treech, he ventured toward it without her. the disruption was caused by coral, mizzen and tanner surrounding her in a similar fashion to lackeys. when coral beckoned for treech to join them, treech turned, calling for lamina, and she began to follow before coral objected. treech stood astonished as he contemplated the idea of abandoning lamina. intrusive thoughts creeped into his mind. he would never admit it, but deep down treech was growing weary of lamina’s constant need for reassurance. if he were to stand by her side for the entirety of the games, continuing to baby her as he had been doing, she would surely drag him down, getting both of them killed. treech thought about his family back at home, the little sister that was always counting on him, his mother who cared for him with all of her heart. wasn’t that reason enough to want to win? and he surely couldn’t win if his sensitive lamina was quivering the whole time. treech told himself that this was for the better, that lamina understood where he was coming from and would want him to win as well. but he couldn’t be more wrong. as treech’s back turned to the girl, lamina’s lip trembled and she uneasily scanned the arena. she had never thought that treech would just leave her high and dry like that. what was she to do now? her mind was racing until a sudden explosion sent her flying across the arena, the impact knocking her out.

     everything was a blur after that, being yanked off of the floor of the arena, the medical attention she received later that night from a vet, even the peacekeepers waking her up the next morning, dragging her to the games. but as the countdown began, she knew she must get it together. lamina wiped her tears away, looking around at her fellow tributes as a countdown played in the arena. treech peered over at her, releasing a shaky breath before relinquishing any second thoughts. if either of them wanted to return home, they could no longer rely on each other. the blood bath began as the countdown reached an end, the strongest tributes running to grab a weapon, including treech, who had grabbed an axe, beginning to swing violently at lucy gray. lamina stayed out of their way, avoiding the rest as she tried not to draw attention to herself, something she was an expert at. amidst the chaos, lamina had inserted herself into a small alcove under the rubble cornucopia and waited. time passed, and lamina wondered if it was all over yet. carefully peeking out, she examined her surroundings before determining it was safe and fully pulling herself out of the rubble. her mind worked quickly, and she grabbed a knife as well as a small axe. she turned the axe over in her hands, testing its sharpness, and it was then that she remembered treech was the one who taught her how to properly use the weapon. she wondered if she would have to kill him with one. she then wondered if she even could. lamina’s eyes landed on marcus, strung up on a crossbeam and beaten half to death. the sight broke her heart, but there was no more room for tears here. she made her way up the rusted steel pole gracefully. after years of climbing trees in her free time, lamina could climb far better than any other tribute could. she took a deep breath, leaning down and looking to marcus for confirmation, asking with her eyes if death was something that he wanted. he begged her pitifully, voice almost gone. lamina didn’t think twice before bringing her axe down forcefully into the curved part of his neck, putting him out of his misery. she then cut the binds that held his body there, letting him fall the the floor with a thud. catching her breath, she quickly got up when she caught sight of a drone coming towards her. her eyes widened as it drew closer, forcing her to duck as the drone crashed on the pole behind her. there, lamina settled down, curling up into a ball and allowing her thoughts to run rapid, thinking about her treech who was no longer hers. was he dead yet? maybe he was coming to kill her?

     meanwhile, the boy in question was lurking the tunnels, following coral and trying not to succumb to the doubt and guilt that had been eating him alive. when he left lamina, he left a part of himself behind. it took everything in him not so swing his axe down on coral and run as fast as he could to his lover. but could he even call her that anymore? he had deserted her when she most needed him. and who knew? maybe she was already dead. while the thought tore him apart, he knew it would probably be for the better. one person closer to going back home. but on second thought, he realized his home was with lamina. the realization made him stop dead in his tracks, where he stood for a solid minute before tannner called out for him. after that, thoughts of simply killing himself arose in his mind as he continued to follow the group into the next day. coral’s obsession with killing lucy gray brought them to where they were now, surrounding her in preparation to attack. coral was just about to ram her trident at the girl when a multitude of drones came crashing at the pack. treech tried to fight them away with his axe, but they brought him to his knees. in that time, lucy gray had gotten away as coral let out a myriad of complaints. she instructed treech and tanner to collect the water that remained, while she and mizzen gunned for lamina, who was draped over the large crossbeam. lamina. his lamina, his girl, his everything. how could he just stand by when his allies were going to kill her? he didn’t know himself. treech just tried to push down his feelings, organizing the water into a pile, then following tanner to watch lamina’s undoing.

     lamina fought with everything in her, dodging jabs with her axe left and right. she had finally got into the offensive position, when coral stabbed her in the back, forcing her to turn back over. coral’s weapon had much more range than hers, and there was not much she could do now with blood seeping out of her. lamina instinctively tried to call out for treech as coral’s trident plunged into her abdomen, despite knowing that his loyalties had changed. her voice was too weak, anyway, having not spoken for days now. still, she desperately looked to him, but his eyes were fixed to the floor, unable to watch the scene in front of him. her body was on fire as she attempted to persist, her spirit overestimating the state of her body. lamina took one last look at the world around her, at her treech, before life drained from her eyes. her body limply fell to the ground, and treech had to stop himself from breaking down as coral began yelling once again. he promised to help her. to get her out of here even if it meant getting himself killed. what had he done? everything he had accomplished in the past few days went against his very morals, his heart, for the sake of what? survival? he watched blankly as tanner sunk to the ground, lifeless as coral’s trident drive into his form. he desperately wished to suffer the same fate. maybe then he could have lamina back.

[gligoo]

Could we please get general (sfw) relationship headcanons for Ann and Makoto?

note: thanks for the request, and sorry for the wait!

ann and makoto general relationship hcs

(mementos mission art by Rokuro Saito)

ann

Ann is an absolute sweetheart as a friend and even sweeter as a lover.

She’s big on communication and physical contact, so she’ll always make a point to talk and make time for you.

Physical affection is also something she loves.

She’ll gladly hold hands and lean on you if you let her.

Kisses, too. You’d started pecking each other on the cheek as a greeting, and it eventually became a small little habit to kiss each other after some time apart.

Despite how much Ann likes physical affection, she’s found herself liking compliments beyond her appearance a lot more after her experiences.

She appreciates compliments on her beauty, but she really just wants someone to be different with, less attractive, less perfect, just… someone that she won’t feel like she has to be worried about disappointing if she isn’t as ‘beautiful’ as they expect.

She wanted to gouge into food with them and not worry about if she looked ‘good’ while doing it.

That being said, she loves to shower others with compliments, especially you.

Whether you respond to it shyly or with grace, she’ll always be happy to comment on how she likes your clothes, how focused you look when you give it your all, how you look nice… she loves it all.

She’s always overjoyed when you return the compliment. She enjoys your back and forths, whether it be compliments or harmless jokes.

The most reassured part of your relationship had to have been the moments where the two of you would simply bask in each other’s company. 

Her distrust is something you’re both aware of, so you’d often find the both of you simply talking it out while doing other random stuff.

Maybe while you’re out together, pointing at the fish in the aquarium, or simply walking around some places.

Either way, there is a joint effort from the both of you. Whether it be getting to know each other, accommodating each other, etc.

She was happy to introduce you to the Phantom Thieves, although with some worry seeing how stressful it is to actually do, but Ann knew that she wanted you all to get along.

Everyone there had affected her greatly, and she genuinely believes all her friends to be good people.

So obviously she was happy when you all got along. It was nice to know the people that accompanied Ann before and with you; those who helped her find bonds with other people.

Introducing you to Shiho was even more stressful, but Ann already had such a small circle that keeping you separate distressed her more than worrying about how you’d all get along.

She genuinely wanted you to be a part of her life, so this meant visiting Shiho with you and sighing in relief when no one said anything embarrassing about her.

makoto

Makoto is, infamously, a little bit rigid. 

She genuinely believed that a relationship would be difficult for her, considering how she has some difficulty making casual connections with peers, so a significant other would be even harder.

But you reassured her that you didn’t expect her to be following any sort of ‘protocol’ on the way she acted with you, and since then she’s been keeping this in mind.

A large part of your relationship was simply trying things together. Whether it be going somewhere new, trying out holding hands in public…

Although, she soon realized that she is not a fan of PDA. 

She is much more affectionate in private; happy to lean on you or kiss you when spending time together.

She definitely enjoys being in a ‘team’ with you.

Being your equal definitely relaxed her and made her feel like she didn’t have to worry about straightening her back or acting prim with you.

Another thing it did was make her experiment with her looks more.

She started to do a little more with her face; adding slightly deeper lip glosses or lipsticks when she felt like it, or even trying her hand at eyeliner and such.

It didn’t work out much, but she appreciated the compliments and comments a lot.

It was maybe the one thing that she didn’t feel ashamed of not getting perfect on the first try. 

Reassurance and such was something the two of you exchanged a lot, simply because it was something the two of you felt you needed.

In some spaces, the two of you would actually show some outward affection, like holding hands.

This resulted in some teasing from your Phantom Thief friends and such, much to Makoto’s embarrassment and your delight.

But this didn’t really stop the two of you from doing it.

It was a pleasant surprise when Makoto gave you a small kiss on the lips once.

Especially bold of her considering that it was in front of Sae. Despite how she had gotten closer to her sister as of late, Makoto was still her younger sister and had reservations on how to present herself in front of her. So the kiss was definitely a shock.

Luckily for you two, Sae was rather fond of you. 

Bonding together at the table was nice, seeing how the table would be a combination of both you and Sae’s favourite dishes.

And after the meal was complete, you’d always insist on helping clean up, resulting in the two of you standing side by side as you did the dishes.

It was a mundane task, and maybe Makoto thought that she was done with a silent life, but she was able to realize that it’s a lot nicer with people she cares about and who aren’t looking to force her into that.

[imtryingandtired]

Since I’ve been seeing a lot of Scooby doo rewrites and redesigns for the mystery gang since Velma came out, I have my own idea.

Velma and the Dinkley family have been known to have a connection to the paranormal, often causing problems with the community that they tend to move around a lot. Being in her junior year of high school, Velma isn’t all too keen about another fresh start in her newest home of Coolsville as she rarely has time to make any connections with her peers and make friends before she has to leave them behind once more.

Despite her families paranormal curse, Velma has a great interest in the macabre and mystery, deciding that she’ll create a name for herself through starting a mystery solving club.

During her first day, she ends up meeting three people that catch her interest:

Daphne Blake, the schools student body president, head of the cheer team and fashion expert. Generally viewed as popular with her peers and feels the need to keep up the appearance of being always put together despite the stress weighing her down in making her school proud along side meeting her families high expectations for her. While she generally is interested in fashion and cheer, she has a fondness for crime novels and detective series.

Fred Jones, son of the towns mayor, football captain and resident prom king. While a popular kid due to his Captain status, he often is rumored to be spoiled/entitled, being handed everything he’s gotten all of his life. Despite this, he works hard to prove to people that he isn’t what the rumors make him out to be. Outside of football, he has a great interest in trap making and creating machinery of all sorts, having a workshop for himself in his home garage.

Norville ‘Shaggy’ Rogers, the schools resident food lover and blogger, having his own channel dedicated to different food he’s tried. He’s often a chill and laid back person, which is a stark contrast to his more strict parents who don’t approve of his lifestyle. While not a fan of horror as a whole, he does find cheesy paranormal shows and movies entertaining as they helped him deal with his anxieties alongside Scooby, his family dog that became his closest and only friend growing up.

The mystery club started by Velma is what draws them to each other, slowly but surely getting to know each other better. Eventually they begin looking into cases reported around the town, solving small mysteries that slowly grow to reveal something more sinister about the town.

Things take a turn after Velma returns home to find her home a wreck, realizing her parents had all but disappeared.

The gang begin investigating her family’s disappearance, things only beginning to unravel for the town as more things are revealed.

That’s all so far, comment below if you’d like more!