#Everything makes so much more sense all at once

[cosmos-kitty]

Do you have any tips for painting with gouache? like how do you get it to stay a nice solid color over a large swath of paper? and how do you blend it so seamlessly?

Of course, here's a few pointers off the top of my head:

1. I've used gouache for this in the past so it's possible, but the flat backdrop on my latest WIP is actually acrylic! A nifty thing I've found about putting a layer of acrylic down, is that it creates a barrier once dried and essentially makes the paper waterproof. This means you can work in gouache on top without it mixing with the background, and you can wet a section and completely wipe it clean with a cloth/tissue and it won't disturb the acrylic layer underneath. It also makes the paper more resilient, and you don't get as much pilling/tearing from the moisture

To get an even wash it's mostly getting the right consistency, I add just a little water - enough that the paint is less "tacky" as you drag your brush along paper, but not so much that it's runny or translucent. It takes a couple of attempts sometimes!

2. Also for the current WIP that I posted earlier, like the vast majority of my traditional pieces, keep in mind that it's mixed media. So I assume you're referring to the blue-green gradient on the bird and wondering how I got the gouache to blend like that - it's actually colouring pencils! I'll often switch between dry and wet media, even layer them back and forth, whatever makes the most sense to get the effect I want 😁

3. On that note, when you're working with paint, or any medium really, I can't recommend enough having a "test" sheet that you do both before and during a traditional piece. It allows you try out different medium combos, see what shade your gouache will dry into, and catch any issues before it ends up on your artwork. I often see artists being encouraged to just Bob Ross their way through a piece, the idea being that you'll just have happy little accidents that you'll naturally work into the piece - maybe, but you'll also possibly irreversibly wreck your hard work and have to start again. I don't know, I'm just a methodical person I guess, but seeing someone just directly apply something to the page when they're not sure what it's going to do makes me wince - no two art supplies are the same! All of those paints and pens have different chemical makeups, there's an unlimited number of ways what you're using could interact, good or bad.

Since it's already there, I usually reuse one of the leftover failsons from the process of making the wash background, then test everything on top of that. That way you can see exactly what shade the paint will dry on top of whatever colour the background is:

Doesn't need to look good, nobody sees it (usually) and you can also test the thickness of your brushstrokes while you're at it.

Anyway, I hope this helps!

[strwberri-milk]

How would the lads boys react to a reader that is touch starved but is to shy to initiate physical contact (at the beginning) cuz she’s afraid of making them uncomfortable ?

Zayne doesn't initiate physical contact often either on account of just being a little too busy to be cuddly. He will hold your hand your or put his arm around your waist - showing you affection in socially acceptable ways because that's just how he shows affection. He isn't one to pull you into an intense kiss in the middle of the street - that's reserved for dark alleyways or the car on your way home.

He just thinks you're the same, not realising that it's a need you have. You'd have to communicate it with him or else he won't understand that you want him to initiate more contact. He doesn't mind holding you whenever he feels the need to or kissing your cheek and would assume that you'd do the same as he's never expressed not liking your attention.

Once you confide in him, telling him that you're just worried about making him uncomfortable he won't understand it at all. He reassures you that you'd never bother him, wanting you to reach out to him whenever you feel like you need him. It makes him feel needed by you as well, something he definitely appreciates because he wants you to find comfort in him.

Xavier can sense your unease because he sees how you always seem to hesitate whenever you touch him. He doesn't understand why you're acting like that but decides to continue observing just for now. When he determines it's a habit you have he'll ask you why you don't just touch him or hold him or kiss him whenever you want without seeming so nervous. He's worried he's somehow scared you off, made you feel like you shouldn't reach out to him for comfort.

You have to vehemently deny that statement, now feeling a little bad that you made Xavier think that he did something wrong. Thankfully, he's not going to dwell on it too long, telling you that he wants you to reach out and initiate physical contact whenever you feel the need to. He likes it when you're affectionate with him and wants you to do it more often, egging you on by responding with a little more enthusiasm than normal to reinforce the positive behaviour. You laugh a little at how obvious he's trying to make it, knowing he's doing it for your benefit, especially when he normally isn't this emotive in day to day things.

Rafayel is incredibly affectionate so for the most part, you don't find yourself needing too much of his attention since he usually gives all of it to you unprompted. The times you need to seek him out would be when he's deep into an art piece since he tends to forget everything. He'll still greet you with a kiss if you enter the room and hug you tightly to recharge his batteries but it's not nearly as much as he normally subjects you to, making you miss him a little bit more.

He notices you hanging around in the studio a little aimlessly, raising a brow at you. He decides to see what you're doing while he waits for his layers to dry, seeing you just sort of wandering until he calls you over. You practically bound over, looking at him expectantly. He doesn't get it quite yet, looking at you with mild confusion but also loving how adorably you're looking up at him.

It'll take him a second to realise you're waiting for him to shower you in attention the way he normally would, pulling you into his lap and letting you bury your face into his neck. He realises how much he's been neglecting you now, apologising and telling you that you can always make him give you attention. He loves you and would do anything for you, reinforcing the fact that he wants you to shower him in attention too whenever you feel like it. It makes him feel loved too and when you finally start doing it he'll overreact a little, practically melting at your touch because of his adoration for you.

Sylus can tell you have an aversion to initiating physical touch so he decides to make his cues for you more obvious. He'll look at you a little longer, opening an arm for you to crawl into his lap or come to his side to have a kiss pressed to your cheek. He doesn't mind initiating the physical contact this way because it clearly makes you more comfortable.

Over time with his patience you'll start to pick up on the fact that he's trying to acclimate you to initiating more physical contact. It works though, which you're glad about as you realise your nervousness around giving him physical affection is beginning to become far more manageable. He always leans into your touch whenever you initiate no matter where or what you're doing, thanking you in that smooth voice of his as he presses a kiss to your lips.

[grimmsbride]

▒ ❀ ̭͡⠀ ❛ SOME ENCOURAGEMENT. NAM-GYU / PLAYER 124

nam-gyu attempts to recruit beloved, timid reader into thanos’s world. all it takes is a little encouragement.

𖥔 ࣪˖ TAGS, nam-gyu is a little pushy (but everything is consensual between him and reader) | unconsensual voyuerism (again everyone is asleep but i don’t wanna make anyone uncomfortable) | ooc characters (first time writing for nam-gyu) | minor degradation & praise (+humiliation(?)) | use of the words slut, good girl, etc. | fingering | minor dacryphilia | just a silly little imagine | nam-gyu is lowkey manipulative | reader is a freak with a thing for fingers/hands | etc.

𖥔 ࣪˖ NOTES, writing smut on company time is actually hilarious, idk why i got this idea during work. but anywho — i hope you enjoy, i tried my hand at his character. as always please ignore any grammar mistakes or typos.

Imagine Nam-Gyu attempting to recruit someone without the advice of his beloved purple-haired leader. Surprising, right? Despite his own issues with inferiority; the ex-club worker just seems to follow behind Thanos like a hungry puppy desperate for a bone— or drugs, for that matter. But no, just this once, Nam-Gyu takes the lead. The numbers are growing closer and even more scarce, fear lacing people’s minds and causing them to hit that dreaded X button. Thanos’s World’s dream is to continue the games to pay off their debts, right?— so it only made sense for Nam-Gyu to turn an X over to the O side.

He couldn’t just pick anyone. Someone far too strong-willed would definitely tell him no, and someone far too weak would just be a curse rather than a blessing.

Who to choose.. Who to choose..

Soon enough the man’s eyes are locking on to you— a contestant he has seen around, yet hasn’t heard much from. Not only were you easy on the eyes but you just seemed like the perfect person to shape into a worthy teammate.

Within minutes he’s approaching you, an easy-going smile in place as your name falls from his lips. Nam-Gyu had heard it said before by someone close to you, another random that he hadn’t bother to think about.

“Yes..?” Your words are slow, lips pursing as you take in the man before you. You were beyond nervous; this was the lackey of that purple-haired lunatic after all. Watching the two fight on the very first day was enough to tell you to avoid them at all costs. Yet here you were, a few feet away from one of them, under his gaze that trailed over you like a pretty piece of jewelry behind a display case.

You couldn’t help but bring your hands closer to yourself, teeth dragging across your cheek nervously.

From your head to your toes, Nam-Gyu’s eyes soon landed on that big red patch residing just under your bosom. With a breathy chuckle he reached over, allowing a single finger to press and trace the X.

“You wanna get out of the games that bad, huh? You voted X twice already.”

Your eyes flicked down to his hand, before traveling back to his face. “Yeah well..” You dragged slowly, watching that harsh gaze return to your features.

“I—I want to get rid of my debts.. but putting my life on the line for it just seems..” You hoped you got your words across perfectly, even without continuing your sentence. Sure, it was hard being hounded for your debts, but death looming over your head just didn’t seem worth it.

Still, Nam-Gyu only shook his head at you, a sigh full of pity escaping his lips.

“Well, that’s where you’re messing up.” Nam-Gyu hummed, stepping just a bit closer, finger still tracing that damned patch. Your attention kept flicking between his face and finger, wondering why exactly warmth was pooling throughout your entire body.

“Worrying too much about dying is what’s gonna get you killed, not anything else.”

Your eyebrows knitted close, a look of confusion plastered across your face. Worrying seemed like the right way to keep yourself alive.. right? Not worrying just seemed, well— stupid. Not that you would say that to his face, obviously.

“I have to disagree..”

Just barely did you hear the sound of the man sucking his teeth, watching the way his face turned to the side, clearly searching for his next few words. You debated on walking away from this conversation, it was clear what his objective was. And whether ordered by Thanos or not, you didn’t really want to know— nor figure out.

Yet for some reason you were practically glued to the spot, blinking up at him and waiting oh, so patiently for his next spiel. And as you watched his face turn back to you, your breath got caught in your throat.

“Okay then.. worry all you want, but you wouldn’t you want someone to look out for you?” Nam-Gyu’s other hand was reaching to your patch at this point, using both thumbs to trace it. “Being on this side, there’s no unity.. it’s every person for themself.”

The two of you locked eyes, a sickeningly sweet smile crossing his face.

“Come with us, and we’ll look after you. I’ll personally see to it too.”

Slowly did your teeth sink into your bottom lip, struggling to maintain the eye contact that he seemed so keen on keeping. The only thing you could hear was your racing heart and the gentle sounds of his thumbs sliding across that red patch. His words were.. tempting. You wondered if he rehearsed what to say, like a video game with multiple endings; did he have it all figured out before he even walked over? Was he so prepared to convert you, using every rejection you had as some silly obstacles the man easily hobbled over?

So caught up in your thoughts, you hardly realized Nam-Gyu had gotten even closer until his breath fanned across your ear in a simple;

I’ll let you think it over, let’s talk again later..

When you thought of later, you initially believed in thirty mins or so. Maybe this time he would bring over his beloved leader to really get the point across. But no, later seemed to be during lights out; when you all should be sleeping, tucked away in the rare bliss these murderous games brought.

And the only talking that was happening was the soft words Nam-Gyu continued to whisper into your ear and the even softer moans of passion that slipped from your swollen lips.

See, Nam-Gyu wasn’t an idiot despite what Thanos seems to think. Quickly he caught on to two things whilst speaking to you.

The first being, you were quite cute when nervous. And two, you just loved looking at his hands.

So what better way to really stretch his point across but using his beloved fingers to stretch you open just how he liked?

“Should have done this from the start, look how cooperative you’re being..” The smile on Nam-Gyu’s face was permanent at this point, the corner of his mouth twitching with each pitiful moan you released. His rings were tossed lazily to the side, his bare fingers now pushing into your sloppy cunt so perfectly. Longer then your own, they pushed and prodded; opening you up and rubbing against your soaked walls. With each breath you were clenching, causing the smile on his face to only grow deeper.

“Scared of dying but not of some stranger finger-fucking you, huh? What a joke.”

You wanted to tell him off, how he was so mean and so wrong. But you couldn’t, not with how your mind was getting complete lost from his movements. Your teeth were grinding into your bottom lip, a metallic taste filling your mouth as time progressed. Deep moans thundered from your throat, muffled by your harsh biting. You couldn’t imagine having your little recruitment interrupted by some poor contestant just trying to get some rest.

But with the way Nam-Gyu was practically ruining you, it didn’t seem he cared much either way. He was so hellbent on coaxing you, his lips right against your ear as that damned thumb came and circled your swollen bud.

“I told you I’d look after you right, where’s my thank you?”

Your eyes widened the moment his free hand rose, pushing at your cheeks and basically forcing your lips to part. The sound you let out was a strangled mix of a moan and gasp, quickly clasping your own hand against your mouth.

Nam-Gyu chuckled on his breath, thrusting a third finger into your wet cunt as he spoke; “What? You scared of the other contestants realizing how much of a slut you are? Shouldn’t worry too much; this messy cunt is making enough noise for you.”

Your eyes were meeting the back of your skull, so fucking mean he was— yet you couldn’t help but enjoy the attention. His digits were curling inside, brushing across that special spot that caused you to shake. Your thighs were clenching harshly around his arm, rushed breaths escaping as your chest rose and fell.

“Th—thank you.. fuck— please…!” You whimpered as softly as you possibly could, glossy eyes staring up at the man. You felt accomplished the moment he drew closer, feeling the cold metal of his chain brush against your heated skin before a gentle kiss was pressed right against your cheek.

“What a good girl.. You wanna come, hm?” The hand was lowering to your throat, fingers simply wrapping around it yet not squeezing. Nam-Gyu watched in pure enjoyment at the way your head tossed back and forth in a rushed nod; how needy you were for him. What a palpable little thing, is what he thought.

“I can make that happen, you just gotta do something for me.”

More words, whispered, tempting; drifting right into your ear and hitting the same pleasurable spots right between your legs. Speaking of, you felt your peak drawing closer; a tight band resting deep in your tummy— ready to burst.

You knew what he wanted, you weren’t an idiot nor were you too fucked out to forget. Your mind was screaming at you, telling you an orgasm wasn’t worth pressing that cursed button.

Yet, for now, you weren’t thinking with your brain, but with your pussy instead.

“P—please let me join! I’ll press the button— I promise!” Another whisper-yell escaped you, desperation clinging to every word as they fled those pretty lips.

With that final confirmation Nam-Gyu was quickening the pace of his fingers, eating up the way your body convulsed, a lost look invading your eyes as you came undone. Your essence trickled down his fingers all the way to his wrist, a sticky residue that he would make sure you clean up later.

For now.. his hand rose from your throat to instead cup your cheek, rubbing his thumb right under your eye so tenderly— so sweetly.

“I knew you could do it.. just needed some encouragement, right?”

[burrowdarling]

He Really Knows Me

Summary: It’s your first time meeting Joe’s siblings. With your nerves evident, Joe gives you something to calm them. I also just had to listen to Call It What You Want - Taylor Swift

Pairings: boyfriend!Joe Burrow x girlfriend!reader

Warnings: A bit of talk about sex, otherwise just some fluffy boyfriend Joey

Note: Hi everyone! I hope you all enjoy this request from this anon, I thought the idea was absolutely adorable. I'm excited to have some more frequent content out for you all. As always, my ask box and messages are always open to requests or to chat! 

Word Count: 1.3k

Check out my Masterlist here!

Taglist: @burrowbarbie @definitelynotdomanique @one-sweet-gubler @plushkhiii @enchantedinfinity @iosivb9 @hellsingalucard18 Feel free to comment or message me if you'd like to be added to the list!

To say you were nervous was an understatement - tonight would be the night that you were meeting Joe’s brothers along with their wives for the first time. The two of you have been dating for a few months now, deciding it was time to take things a step further. You knew how important family was to Joe and were excited at the opportunity to meet those close to him. You’d heard loads about them already, excited for the chance to get to know them. To keep things casual and low pressure for you, Joe decided to invite everyone over for dinner at his place. Joe knew you felt safe there, being able to step away for a breather with ease if needed. 

You’d like to think you were a fairly confident person, believing that was part of the reason you were with Joe in the first place. The one thing that could knock you off kilter was a lack of control. You were serious about Joe, wanting to make a good first impression with his family and hoping that they would like you.

Joe had offered for you to come get ready at his place while he got a workout in at the gym, knowing you couldn’t say no to getting ready in his bathroom. It was something you were jealous of, wishing you had this type of lighting back at your place. Being in his space offered you a sense of relief, feeling like . You had music playing off your phone speaker, your makeup products were strewn out across the counter, and your hair tools at the ready. You heard the faint sound of shuffling downstairs, signalling Joe had finished his workout. You paid no mind to it, focusing on perfecting your look. 

You were in your own little world, dancing off your nerves when you just about jumped out of your skin.

“Jesus Joe, are you trying to give me a heart attack?” you said with a hand pressed to your chest trying to catch your breath. He only chuckled at you, slightly shaking his head at your comment. 

Your temper simmered once you took in his appearance. He was leaned against the door frame, hair tousled with sweat as his sleeveless shirt hung off of his torso. The holes for the sleeves were ripped so low, you could see a preview of his abs creating a spark inside you to have your hands on him. His cloth shorts were hung low on his hip and his whole demeanor had you wanting to drop to your knees before him.

“Not my intention, sweetheart, though I was enjoying your little show. It looks like I was giving you one right back based on the drool on your chin” Joe said with a smirk. You reached for your chin, falling for his joke which only made him laugh harder, causing you to give him a glare.

“You can’t expect me not to look when you come up here like that” you said as you gestured to him at a loss for any further words.

“Look as much as you like, but I’d much rather your touch. I just came to wash up before dinner, baby. I’ll take my distraction elsewhere, don’t worry your pretty head” he said moving off the door to drop a kiss to your head. He walked to the shower, turning the handle and starting to strip. It took everything in you not to watch him from the mirror and keep your focus on getting ready. You watched his silhouette through the steamy glass door, admiring his profile. You’d have time to have him later, it would help to ease your mind.

“Do you think they’re gonna like me?” you asked out of nowhere. Your voice wavered more than you expected, needing to speak up over the shower.

“They’re gonna love you because I do, there’s nothing to stress about I promise,” Joe said as his cutt of the shower. He stepped out and wrapped a towel low on his waist, walking over to meet you. “You did great with my parents, this will be a cakewalk in comparison. You’re so sweet, amazing, and funny, I’m going to have to hope they don’t like you more than me”.

He leaned down, ghosting his wet forehead above yours causing you to giggle when droplets from his hair fell to your nose and cheeks. 

“I can’t get my face wet, I just finished my makeup” you said as you gently pushed him away, letting your hands linger on his wet chest.

“You’re right, I’d much rather get something else wet instead” he spoke as he turned out of the bathroom, bracing for your reaction preemptively.

“JOSEPH! Get your mind out of the gutter” you yelled out as his laughter carried into the bathroom from his bedroom.

Once you felt that your look was perfected, you took one last look in the bathroom mirror before making your way into the bedroom. You expected Joe to be downstairs, but were surprised to see him sitting on the edge of his bed with a small gift wrapped box in his hands.

“What’s that for?” you questioned, pointing to the gift in his hands.

“It’s for you, I was gonna wait to give it to you, but this seems as good a time as any” Joe said as he patted the spot next to him.

You sat down, joining him as you felt a fresh wave of nerves course through you. Joe placed the small box in your hands as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into him. His smell offered a sense of comfort, remembering there was nothing to be worried about, this was your Joey.

You pulled the bow loose and slipped it from the box, you unwrapped the small bit of paper and removed the top from the box. A small gasp came from your lips as you took in the small piece of jewelry in front of you. It was small ‘J’ strung on a delicate gold chain, bringing a well of tears to your eyes.

You turned to face Joe, his eyes already on you as he reached up to wipe a stray tear from your cheek before it caused a streak in your makeup. Your mind was reeling, overcome with an influx of emotions and adoration for the man beside you. He always knew exactly what to do and when, having a knack for his small gestures having a big impact on you.

“Joey, I absolutely love it. Will you put it on me?” you asked, getting a soft nod in response as he moved his finger in a circular motion for you to turn away from him.

He stepped behind you, placing the delicate chain across the top of your chest as he brought the two ends together to clasp them. He softly released the ends, letting it fall naturally onto your chest. The dainty ‘J’ stood out against your skin, his initial looking nice around your neck. You looked up and turned your head to meet his gaze over your shoulder, the look of pure love in his eyes was unmistakable. 

“I’m not gonna lie, I got the idea from that taylor song you listen to all the time. I knew you were feeling some nerves about tonight so I wanted to give you something as a way to let you know I’m always there. Thank you for all that you do for me, you’re truly amazing and I have no idea what I’d do without you.”

“I swear you always know the right things to say and do, you never cease to surprise me” you said with a smile from ear to ear.

You placed your hands to his cheeks as you pulled him in for a passionate kiss, feeling things began to heat up rather quickly. You felt him pull back as he rested his forehead against your properly. 

“Now as much as I’d like to have you with this new addition, it’ll have to be later. We got dinner to eat and you have people who want to meet you.”

[storm-and-starlight]

okay I really love this take on it, and I'd like to add in two more possible factorsI could see as influencing this: 1.) the modern increase in popularity of fandom/fanfic and former fic authors and 2.) Sturgeon's law.

The first one is bc fanfic is very often directly based off of a visual property -- if, for example, I'm writing Doctor Who fic featuring the Tenth Doctor, then I'll probably do my best to directly convey David Tennant's particular physicality because it's such an integral part of the character, which in prose often translates to detailed descriptions of how he's moving in every instant, and that carries over to other characters in other fandoms. If you transfer from fandom/fic-reading/fic-writing to original fiction, it makes sense to me that that habit would also transfer (eg: the problem I have with trying to convey emotion and thought by describing where the characters are looking in every single paragraph bc I'm so used to thinking about How This Actor Conveys This Emotion, and gaze is big in acting but not so much in prose), and generate that same focus on character actions without describing their interiority, as well as that over-description of every little movement.

The second one is "90% of everything is crud". Out of every category in existence, for every really good example you're gonna get a bunch of bad ones -- unless you have some kind of gatekeeping process in place. (To be clear: gatekeeping = bad) This was the reason I was once given for why fanfiction was seen as "low quality" for so long: trad publishing had the publishing house screening through submissions and pulling out the ones they thought were bad, so only the 10% got actually published. Since the barrier for posting and sharing is so much lower on the internet and there's no one going around rejecting fanfic for "not being good enough", you didn't just get the 10%, you got all of it, from the incredibly crazy good stuff to the bottom of the barrel. I bring this up bc lately, it seems like self-publishing is becoming more and more popular (to be clear: THIS IS GOOD), which means that you're getting less of the screening publishing houses used to do, so just. more of the crud slips through. There have always been absolutely terribly written-books (pretty sure "crucifix nail nipples" (if you don't know what that is the story is on thebibliosphere 's blog) predates this trend and. uh. well.), we're just seeing more of them lately because it's getting easier and easier to share you're writing without someone else deciding if it's "good enough".

A lot of fiction these days reads as if—as I saw Peter Raleigh put it the other day, and as I’ve discussed it before—the author is trying to describe a video playing in their mind. Often there is little or no interiority. Scenes play out in “real time” without summary. First-person POV stories describe things the character can’t see, but a distant camera could. There’s an overemphasis on characters’ outfits and facial expressions, including my personal pet peeve: the “reaction shot round-up” in which we get a description of every character’s reaction to something as if a camera was cutting between sitcom actors.

When I talk with other creative writing professors, we all seem to agree that interiority is disappearing. Even in first-person POV stories, younger writers often skip describing their character’s hopes, dreams, fears, thoughts, memories, or reactions. This trend is hardly limited to young writers though. I was speaking to an editor yesterday who agreed interiority has largely vanished from commercial fiction, and I think you increasingly notice its absence even in works shelved as “literary fiction.” When interiority does appear on the page, it is often brief and redundant with the dialogue and action. All of this is a great shame. Interiority is perhaps the prime example of an advantage prose as a medium holds over other artforms.

fascinated by this article, "Turning Off the TV in Your Mind," about the influences of visual narratives on writing prose narratives. i def notice the two things i excerpted above in fanfic, which i guess makes even more sense as most of the fic i read is for tv and film. i will also be thinking about its discussion of time in prose - i think that's something i often struggle with and i will try to be more conscious of the differences between screen and page next time i'm writing.

[revelboo]

I’m here for Soundwave stealing away reader from Starscream. It’s a very likely scenario to occur if Starscream continues to be his own downfall but it’s amusing to consider nonetheless the less because he knows that is an outcome that can happen.

He absolutely would at this point if reader wasn’t fully bonded to Starscream. He’s just trying to keep Star from dragging you with him when he self destructs at this point

Everything Is Alright Pt 106

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• “Megatron.” Turning at Soundwave’s deep voice, he waits for his communications officer to catch up to him. “A word?” Servos flexing because he can still smell you on Soundwave, he inclines his head. Starts walking again with the other mech and waits for Soundwave to begin speaking again. Because this is about you, he knows it is. And you’re a problem. The way his spark heats when you glare at him or snap back an unexpected thrill. Afraid, but willing to stand up to him for your mates, but not yourself. Why does he care when you really shouldn’t matter.

• “This is about the human. Your mate.” Ignoring the thinly veiled growl in Megatron’s voice, Soundwave nods. Carefully. If Megatron realizes he’s being manipulated, he’ll never cooperate. So he waits and walks, feeling when Megatron glances sidelong at him, optics narrowed. “Why a human?” Because of the way you smile when you see him, though those have been fragile things lately because of his own actions. Because he loves the chaos of your emotions within his thoughts, those soft hands, having someone that doesn’t mind if he’s too quiet. If he’s lost in thought. The way you trace little patterns on his plating when you’re drowsy and the way you never shy away when he reaches for you. That soft voice talking to him about anything and everything. All things he can’t say to Megatron.

• “Easy to control,” Soundwave replies and Megatron’s lips twist. Because he’s almost certain that’s a lie. No, definitely a lie. Remembering the affectionate way Soundwave had brushed his cheek against you and feathered kisses against your skin. Murmuring to you as you curled into him, trusting yourself fully to his care. And part of him wonders what that would be like. Someone waiting for him, happy to see him and with no ulterior motives behind their smiles. He’s lonely, but he’s been lonely a very long time. Letting his reputation and temper keep everyone at bay.

• “The truth,” Megatron admonishes, voice soft and Soundwave vents. Tiredly reaching up to press his servos against his chassis over his cassette compartment. Can still sense your emotions despite the distance. That incomplete bond a tie to you. A way to ensure the Seeker can’t just run away with you. And a gamble that you’ll hopefully survive Starscream if he won’t stop clawing for power. If Megatron ends him once and for all because of the Seeker’s own treacherous actions, you don’t deserve to die with him. And he doesn’t know how this will work. If he‘ll be tied to Starscream’s fate alongside you if he fully bonds you or if it might spare you. Spark bonds are a taboo and who knows which or if any of the old stories are real or just legends.

• “Happier since finding them,” Soundwave admits. That isn’t a lie, his communications officer looking at him as if daring him to judge. And he really can’t. Because he understands as much as it makes him uncomfortable. Likes speaking to you despite the fact that you’re beneath him. Insignificant. “Less lonely.” And that strikes home.

• “I don’t know what that means,” you whisper and that hint of miserable fear in your voice pierces Starscream’s own worries. “I don’t know what a protoform even is.” Feels when you start to tremble and wraps his arms around you as he realizes that he’s not the only one completely lost in this. You’re worried and scared, too. “I need someone to talk to me, okay? Please?”

• “I know.” Raspy voice low as he tucks you more firmly against him, chin resting on top of your head. “We’ll do this together.” Feeling his palm sliding up and down your spine, you desperately want to believe that. That he’s not going anywhere. That he won’t panic and run again. But you’re not sure that you can anymore. “Figure it out together.” And you need to believe that so much it hurts, but can you?

Previous

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[theartofwoompwoomp]

I love your sweet comfort Jazz fic. He just fits that perfectly.

I’m wondering about a moment where he goes protective mode. I love sweet fic where the bots goes switch mode on demeanor. Could be platonic or romantic. Something like they’re out and about being goofy then something happens he goes almost feral in protection mode. Does that frighten or impress?

Im their Guardian.

Jazz x reader

a/n : Thanks im glad you enjoyed the fics, personally im never sure if i get the characters personality well, so im glad ya like it. Also thanks for the ask i loved this idea <3

———————————————————————

Now, Jazz is an amazing guardian. His love for human culture and chill personality definitely made it easier for you to get along with him.

And in all the time you have known him, he’s always been the same. Usually when describing him your go to words were “hard worker” and “cool dude”. 

Never once had you truly seen any serious sides of him, unless he was fighting in the war. 

Which is why your image of him never changed.

But that’s the thing with personalities. They can be so complex to the point certain sides only are seen in special circumstances.

Which is why today shouldn’t have been any different.

Jazz knew how much you wanted to go (an event of something you like). You had gotten dressed up and everything. How could he not take you himself? Especially when you’re so excited about it as well.

Once there, he didn’t mind if he had to wait in a parking lot or be in a garage. You both prepared a bunch of things he could do while being in aft-mode.

And time definitely went a lot faster when you called him and stayed on call the rest of the time. 

He felt as he were there with you. 

Both of you continued talking about the surroundings and stuff you got from giftshops. Even buying a shirt that says “I ❤️ Robots”

The whole time his spark was warm at the smile on your face. He loved seeing you light up as you continued talking with him about your interests, and how you got stuff for him and yourself.

But, his first suspicion of something being wrong was from your movement on the screen. You seemed to have speed up your pace. But when the call got cut off he was long gone from the parking spot.

Speeding towards the entrance hoping to pick you up.

When he arrived he saw you not far ahead, but you were worried… and, scared? 

Getting closer he saw someone older than you following behind. … too closely 

Observing a bit more, he saw they had your phone in hand, and were taking you somewhere and trying to not make it obvious. 

His motor went full power as he rushed in alt-mode. And when you turned around with a tear stained face, all of his sense was lost. 

Revving his engine as he not so subtlety headed straight for the person, he stuck out his arm and pulled you in. Tucking you safely inside him and bumping pretty hard into the person hurting you. 

He was pissed.

No one should dare think they could get away with hurting the person most dear to him.

You are everything he has. And no one was going to take that away. Only calming down when you do.

And you were definitely shaken up by the whole thing.

Honestly, it was a bit of a roller coaster. First, you felt extremely relieved you’re big guy had found you. Next, feeling terrified at the thought he might actually put someone down with the fishies. Finally, calmed down cause he didn’t, and the whole time after he treated you with extra care. 

Still inside him as he drove back to base, you place a small kiss on the dashboard and thank him. Feeling him chuckle as the car vibrates. He’d tell ya to rest and start playing a playlist he created for you.

——————————————————————

Masterlist 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Death Wish 14

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, violence/abuse and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Bucky Barnes

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you’re desperate for a way out of your life and you ask a powerful man for help (plus!reader)

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Photo Inspo

When Castro leaves, there’s no buffer left to you. As usual, you have no defense against this man. You feel Bucky watching you as you avoid him.

You take in the decor. As nice as it is, it’s just another reminder of the distance between you and this man. He has everything and you have nothing. You are entirely at his whim. 

He sighs and you sense the subtle shift behind you as he stands. You glance over your shoulder as he strips off his jacket. He stretches his neck to either side and it pops. 

“May as well get settled, doll, too late to send you off now,” he drawls. 

You face him entirely and nod. Resignation isn’t such a new feeling to you. He looks at you with a fire in his eyes. He comes forward and you plant your feet. 

“Are you excited? At all? A wedding? A wardrobe? The most powerful man in the city?” He stops before you and tilts his head. 

You stare at him and open your mouth. You should lie to him but you can’t force the words out. Despite your speechless gape, he doesn’t appear disappointed. He cups your cheek and his tongue peeks out over his lip and he considers you. 

“I respect that. You’re too honest for your own good.” His thumb brushes up to your temple. “So I’ll ask the big question, do you think... do you think I’m handsome, doll? I have been told I got nice eyes but I got a lot of people around me who will tell me whatever I wanna hear.” 

You flinch and narrow your eyes. You feel a dimple pinch. He smirks. 

“You think that’s funny,” he states. 

“I guess. You don’t need me to answer that, do you?” 

He takes a breath, “maybe not but I’d like to hear it from you.” 

You look down then flick your eyes back up, “yes, you are handsome, Mr. Barnes.” 

He snickers and brings his other hand up, cradling your head gently. “And you’re gorgeous, baby.” You scrunch your face and clucks, “don’t make that face, you know it too.” 

“Barnes--” 

“Bucky,” he insists. 

“Bucky,” you echo wistfully. 

“Hey, I know I gotta treat you right or one day you’ll find someone to take care of me--” 

You shove him, not thinking. His words lash you like a fiery whip. He takes a step back, though you know that you truly can’t impact him that much. 

“Don’t you dare—How could you say that to me?” 

His eyes drift placidly then spark as they fall on you again, “you play innocent with everyone else. It’s perfect, but not with me. I know what you’re capable of.” 

Your nose tingles, “you don’t understand--” 

“I don’t?” He arches a brow. “I don’t understand the bruises on your neck or the desperation in your voice? I didn’t deliver you exactly what you wanted on a platter?” 

“Why are you doing all this? What—do I have to get on my knees and thank you?” You step forward then stop. You sneer and drop to your knees. You clasp your hands together with a clap. “Oh, Bucky Barnes, the King, thank you for putting that gun in my hand. Thank you for taking those years of abuse and twisting them into your prize. Thank you. Is that good enough?” 

He looks down at you. His expression is clear, calm. He holds out his hands. 

“Get up,” he demands. 

“No, you want me on my knees. You want me beneath you. To know that I owe you this life.” You tug but he doesn’t let go. “I don’t want it. I never did. I just wanted... I wanted my sisters to be free.” 

He slowly bends his knees and lets you go. He comes eye level with you as you take a breath. He scoops you up in a single motion and you cry out. He hikes you up, turning you sideways in his arms. You push on his chest, your other arm stuck against him. 

“Barnes--” 

“Why don’t you just call me James then? If you’re going to act like my mother,” he growls as he marches past the sofa. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t--” 

“You meant it. Goddamn it, doll, that’s as genuine as you’ve been with me. Don’t think I’m stupid,” he takes you into the foyer and turns up the large staircase. You wriggle as panic swells in me. 

“Please, I’m... I don’t know what I’m doing. I told you--” 

You voice fizzles as he remains silent, his expression stone. You look down and shudder in his embrace. He carries you to the second floor and down a hallway. He doesn’t stop until he reaches the four-postered bed, dropping you onto the plush cushion. 

“All you need to worry about knowing how to do, is keeping me happy,” he snarls. “That’s it.” He glares at you with a fearsome leer. “I told you, all I want is you. Not your lies, not your groveling, just you.” 

You prop yourself up on your elbows, “I...” you search his face. “I don’t know how to give you that.” 

He steps closer and bends over you slowly. A hot breath plumes from his nose as he plants his hands on either side of you. You drag yourself up on the bed and he lowers himself to trap you there. He leans in until his nose touches yours. 

“You don’t gotta try so hard,” he brushes his nose on your cloyingly. “You just gotta... be...” his traces down to your cheek, nuzzling you. “Doll,” he tilts his head to nibble your lower lip. He growls and pulls on it until it slips free. 

He frames your chin as he comes down onto an elbow. He crushes his lips to yours and you hum in surprise. His tongue begs for entrance and you easily abide his plea. His hand slips down to your throat as he invades your mouth. Like everything he ever taken, he claims you with brute force. 

[baphometsss]

the 'memories of a duet' codex is so interesting and not just because you can read it in so many ways. given that mythal is on the codex card i think you can safely assume it's about her, but it reveals so much about their relationship if you pay attention. this is a memory of solas learning a song/composing it for her, to remind her of who they are (were) when everything sang the same (in the fade, when they were spirits). she's doing her own thing at court but he does it all just to get a single happy glance from her, to see her remember the familiarity that is so integral to solas's understanding of who he is. 'seeing wholly, being wholly seen'. remember that spirits reflect: solas reflected mythal's benevolence, and mythal reflected his wisdom. they need to reflect to maintain their sense of who they are: it is not just about his love for mythal, but his way of retaining his sense of who he is, by prolonging the memory of that reflection even as she grew away from him.

the 'away from mindless worship and well-meant misunderstanding' is really fucking interesting too. it's a memory of a moment where mythal could forget her role of the charismatic all-mother, who was loved and adored by her children, and where solas could ignore the no doubt frequent insinuations from others that his devotion was romantic. it was a way for them to connect in a way where they could just be true to who they were and how they felt about each other: like branches of the same tree, like family. of course, this was before he rebelled, before mythal betrayed him by joining the evanuris--although how long before is questionable since they're only sharing glances at this point. it's kind of sad, too; it reads like he's already having to do so much to get barely anything in return from this person who is meant to be his family.

it also puts a lot of things into perspective about solas's feelings on the modern elves in dai. that feeling of kinship, the twinning he felt with mythal and felassan and no doubt other elvhen and spirits, is so precious to him. he doesn't want to share it with anyone in this terrible, broken world he created, as if to share it with them would somehow taint it. it's only by the end of dai and into datv that he sees he was wrong, that the elves may have forgotten their history, but they are of the same family: different branches on the same tree.

when he says to a romanced lavellan, you are unique, i have never found a spirit such as yours, you have a rare and marvellous spirit, etc. he's also saying that he hasn't felt this sense of kinship for a long time, that he didn't expect to bond with someone from this broken world in the way he did. it's a different bond to the one he had with mythal, too, because he says he never thought he would find someone who would draw his attention from the fade and by extension, his longing to be a spirit once again--something he constantly tried to get mythal to agree with him on and failed. with lavellan, for the first time, he actually wants someone in this overwhelmingly physical and romantic way--something spirits don't feel, apparently. cole doesn't get with maryden unless you make him more human, and he also says he doesn't feel any attraction as a spirit. solas is actually glad to be a person and not just a spirit, because it means he's actually able to experience romantic love and desire for the very first time (as the romance description in datv heavily suggests). what's more, despite his misgivings, he likes it.

as others have pointed out, lavellan's speech in datv is in hallelujah cadence like the dialogue with the other elvhen. the duet is being sung once again--in a different context, but no less meaningful. there's a song by bjork called stonemilker, where she sings: 'a juxtaposition in fate/find our mutual coordinates'. it really reminds me of this; the need emotional synchronicity, of being completely on someone's wavelength, understood totally, seeing wholly and being wholly seen.

[itsrlymine]

i apologize for the really long ask but i really wanted to share my thoughts and i would make my own loa blog but i dont have it in me to deal with anons so i fear i will dump them all on you 😔 first off i want to say THANKKKK YOUUUUUU you literally changed my manifestation journey i used to be really into manifestation back in 2021/2022 and i was trying to manifest my dream face but it never happened no matter how much i affirmed or listened to subs or anything so i was just like fuck it this manifesting stuff isnt real imma just move on with my life and thats how i went about my life until you popped up on my dashboard a month ago and usually i would click not interested on any loa content but i was like you know what lemme give this stuff a chance again bc i did try the non manifesting route and it didnt work out bc when i tell you my life went DOWNHILL i used to protect myself from negative experiences by having the belief that i was simply the exception to terrible stuff but the moment i left the loa behind and was like no thats unrealistic anything can happen well guess what!! so many bad stuff happened in my life the last 2 years its genuinely crazy. so i was like lemme try this again and i went through your blog and really tried to materialize everything you were saying and read it with the attitude that what you are saying IS real instead of the doubting attitude i had towards loa advice/info back in 2022 and things really shifted for me.

so the first thing i learned is that MANIFESTATION IS REAL and more importantly NOTHING IS IMPOSSIBLE what i went through these past two years was proof to me that manifestation is real because once i adopted that negative mindset and dropped any positive beliefs i had my life became a nightmare and all those terrible thoughts manifested right before my eyes. for example i used to believe that i always looked pretty no matter what, this was just something part of my belief system but when i abandoned the law and everything i told myself no thats crazy i cant mAniFeSt looking pretty its unrealistic if im not pretty then im just not and bro when i tell you i was at my lowest appearance wise I WAS AT MY LOWESSTT my classmates at school would come up to me and tell me i looked so different and so dull even my mom would say the same stuff to me and tell me i changed i also noticed a difference when i looked in the mirror. the reason why i felt like manifestation wasnt real was because it just seemed really crazy to me, i felt like things materializing out of nowhere and appearances changing drastically was just like something fantastical and just not possible here in the real world. well i am here to tell you that is NAWT THE CASE! the world is not logical and im gonna tell you why. most of us here have grew up religious, and whats more illogical than religion? there are so many stories in the bible where illogical stuff happen like youre telling me some guy can turn water into wine? doesnt that sound like something out of a fantasy movie? but it happened, right? you believe in the bible so you believe in all the stuff that happened in it even the magical stuff. and another thing with growing up religious is that we always hear stories about miracles where for example a neighbor who was really sick suddenly woke up completely healthy. and we also were taught that we can ask god for anything and that god can make anything happen. i remember when my dad would teach me about religion he would say that god can make the grass is purple if he wanted to. it isnt just in religion but also in another spiritual communities and stuff they also have their own stories where things that dont really make sense logically happen. this goes to show that the world and humanity were never logical and that illogical things can happen, they've been happening since the dawn of time. people just came up with their own explanations. so get that thought that you cant change your entire face because its too crazy out of your head because it isn't. anything is possible. we literally live on a rock and we somehow move and speak and talk and somehow atoms exist so pls get with the program aint nothing logical in this life and the sooner you come to terms with that the better. nothing is too crazy because existence itself is crazy.

the second thing i learned was that MANIFESTATION IS NOT A PROCESS. i used to hear this all the time back in 2022 and it never made sense to me i was always like what tf are yall talking about???? my understanding was that manifestation is the act of trying to get something, but i was so so wrong. everything changed for me when i started approaching manifestation with the attitude that i was reminding myself of what i have, not trying to get what i want. basically stop thinking of manifestation as manifestation if ykwim. to really understand this im gonna have to talk about the whole "decide that you have your desire > affirm that you have it > keep presisting" thing and break it down.

so what do people mean when they tell you to decide that you have your desire? does it mean saying out loud "i have __" and then a few seconds going "alright wheres my ___?" no. it means you in your mind decide that its ALREADY YOURS and that you ALREADY GOT IT. i dont know how to word this any differently because its so simple its literally in the words. im gonna try an example. im assuming that youre reading this with your eyes so you have eyes. are you trying to 'manifest' having eyes? when you say "i have eyes" are you using an affirmation to get eyes? is having eyes a desire youre trying to 'manifest'? no because you literally already have eyes bro how else are you reading this with your bootyhole??? so when you say "i have eyes" you arent manifesting via affirming, youre just saying it to remind yourself because well you have eyes. you arent trying to manifest eyes because you already have them. thats what it means to decide that your desire is yours. it means to stop treating what is yours as a desire because its literally yours. stop seeing it as something youre trying to manifest because you already have it, wtf do you need to manifest for? do you get it? don't think of doing this as you tricking your mind into thinking you have your desires because AGAINN you arent tricking anything you literally already have it. when you say "i have eyes" and you have eyes are you trying to trick gour brain? no. that sounds silly. im sorry that this is so repetitive but its literally that simple idk what everyone else is doing complicating the most simple thing ever.

and now, what do people mean by affirm that you have it? does that mean using affirmations to manifest your 'desire'? (i put desire in quotations bc you already have it since you decided you do) no. it simply means reminding yourself that you do. ill go back to the eyes example. if you were to say "i have eyes" right now would you understand that as some woo woo manifestation affirmation technique? no because you already have eyes. what youre doing is simply stating a fact and reminding yourself of it for funsies. you arent trying to manifest anything because you already have it. affirming doesn't mean tricking your brain or your subconscious that you have your desire or whatever, its just you reminding yourself.

and finally, what does it mean to persist? does that mean fighting for your life trying to convince yourself that you have your desire? no. because you already have it. it simply means that everytime you ask yourself "oh why isnt this showing up in my 3d?" you tell yourself "bro what tf are you on about were not manifesting anything we already have it are you crazy?" that's all. going back to the eyes example, you know you have eyes, so if someone came up to you rn and was like "hey did your eyes come in yet?" you'd probably think they hit their head or something because your eyes are literally right there its how youre seeing their dumbass. that's the same attitude you have to have towards your 'desires'. stop thinking of your 'desires' as desires, stop thinking youre trying to manifest anything, stop thinking you have to wait for anything to show up in the 3d or that the 3d is lagging behind or whatever, stop seeing manifestation as manifestation, stop imagining yourself sending in success stories asks when you get your desires, basically just stop dawg. you already have it. "dont contradict yourself" (although again you arent contradicting anything bc you already have it im just running out of ways to simply something thats already so simple). thats what it means to manifest instantly.

anyways thats all i wanted to say. im so sorry for the horrendously long ask i would make it even longer by talking about my success now but i think you would beat my ass if i did. bye bye love u

!!!!! you ate this whole thing up. y'all better come read this.

[blueberrymilkcookie]

kye's shmilk trailer Nooticing compilation

The Keys

if you've seen the leaks from a while back, we already know that one of the stage assets for shadow milk's update is a room with an extremely big key hole dead center of it. here in the trailer we can see more key imagery! in the first shot, we see the white pillars have a keyhole, and the gold ones have a key shape on the bottom of them. when we finally see the depiction of past-sm, his staff has a key shape on the bottom!!!!! also in the bottom right, you can also see a pillar that seems to be a key as well. (edit: ALSO THE KEYHOLE ON HIS CHEST idk why i forgot to mention that)

as for what this could mean, i mean my best guess is that they key symbolizes unlocking more knowledge, as we know from the 4th anni description that shadow milk was very curious and tried to learn everything there was to learn. the fact that it's a key also gives us a sense of mystery and secrecy although, and may tie into unlocking hidden/forbidden knowledge?

different soul jam design

so this is most definitely a different design from what we saw in both the beast-yeast trailer even past-sm's staff in the image above. i'm not entirely sure why this is, but i'm just gonna throw out another idea.

if the soul jam physically change upon the user's emotional state/will (dark cacao's soul jam turning white when he became apathetic in ep. 4) then it's possible that past-sm's soul jam changed into this very obviously darker and corrupted form once he began to embrace deceit. this could be wrong though and it's just a cool visual thing for the trailer *shrug*

Pondering His Orb

so this is very obviously pure vanilla (same skin tone and his chin is being covered with the same fabric) but why the hell is he pondering his orb rn. and why is he in a shady ass cloak and watching himself go to the spire of knowledge ?? is this like him in the future or... idk. WE'LL SEE I GUESS cuz idk what to make of this

interesting thing to add, past-sm is holding an orb. they're both orb ponderers

(this makes me think he might have had the ability to prophesize the future with a crystal ball or some shit. we already know he likes tarot cards so... Btw i already had this idea so devsis needs to pay me again.)

Let's play a homoerotic game of chess

board game time! not sure if it means anything, but shadow milk is initially holding a bishop, uses it to attack a pawn, and then picks up the king piece and uses it to attack pure vanilla cookie. the pawns on the white team are pv's friends... so he's calling them fodder basically

(also, side note: he changed the queen piece to what looks like a jester. is he calling himself a queen? LMAO)

WELCOME TO THE MINDFUCK!!!

multiple things to be talking about right here!! 1) when shadow milk seems to be gaining control over pure vanilla, pure vanilla's third eye/star marking melts

2) interestingly, as he does this, shadow milk doing his little cool animation also melts into pure vanilla. this could be a way to show him getting inside of pv's head i think. btw i drew this already like 11 months ago so. Devsis pay me.

"It's time to accept the truth you like so much! You, you are merely following in my footsteps. Oh, but it's inevitable. In the end, you will become me!"

3) extremely interesting of them to show past-sm, then show pv looking into the reflection of seemingly his own future corruption (btw it's the same silhouette as the pv costume from the livestream). we all already know what this means guys!! we're going to see the cycle that both shadow milk and dark enchantress went through happening to pure vanilla as well!!!! yippie!!!!!!!!

FUCKING BLUEBERRY YOGURT ACADEMY FINALLY MAKES AN APPEARANCE

EVERYONEEE WOULD YA LOOK AT THAT. WHO IS THAT? THE FIRST HEADMASTER. NOW. this doesnt confirm that shadow milk is the first headmaster BUT now we know that there is canonically a very real connection between him and the first headmaster!!!!

oh yea theres also this weird fucking sun/moon thing

ok what we can currently piece together about shadow milk's lore

"You know, I've always dreamt of a beautiful world of perfect chaos, where lies and truths can't be told apart!"

this isn't gonna be a deep analysis bc we don't know anything yet, BUT, from what i can gather, shadow milk cookie was a very curious god who was always in the pursuit of more knowledge. we know now that CANONICALLY he has ties to the blueberry yogurt academy, and at some point (if not from the very start) began to use the forbidden dark moon magic.

based on the 4th anni description alone, we can see that the or one catalyst for his corruption was the fact that... people were just stupid, and listened to him no matter if he was telling the truth or not (i assume it's deeper than that, but this is all we know rn). after learning this, he began to spread lies, using his knowledge to sow chaos and confusion.

also WHY ARE ALL THREE OF HIS DESIGNS FUCKING DIFFERENT

DEVSISTERRRSSSSSSSSSSSSS

[rhiannonsknife]

okay, i don't wanna give spoilers, since you said you hadn't finished it, so.. first episode feels safe ??

fucking your cousin's is normal. it's a vault, there's limited selection. nobody blames you. but fucking your best friend.. well, that's a little much for lucy. not because your a girl. no, that's not- that has nothing to do with it, she promises. she just doesn't want to change your bond, that's all.

or super convoluted way to say lucy has a crush on you and refuses to admit it. mayb ?? idk if this makes sense sorry

also first ask i've sent that's not just conversation, so.. should probably put a name to my claim.

- 🦴 ( if possible </3 )

── KISS ME ONCE, THEN KISS ME TWICE, THEN KISS ME ONCE AGAIN

— summary: you and lucy decide to ‘practice’.

— warnings: friends to lovers. mostly fluff with some nsfw-ish content. so mdni.

the hum of the vault’s fluorescent lights buzzes overhead, the sound so constant it’s easy to forget it’s there at all until everything else is silent.

you and lucy are sprawled on the bed in her quarters, your shoulders pressed together as you share the same faded book, its pages worn from years of careful reading. the vault’s limited library doesn’t get restocked, after all.

“you ever think about what’s out there?” you ask suddenly.

lucy doesn’t look up from the pages, though her grip tightens slightly, the paper under her thumb crumbling. “not really,” she lies.

“come on!” you press, nudging her with your elbow. “you’ve never wondered what it’s like? the open sky, fresh air…”

at that, she snorts. “fresh air? you know the stories! it’s nothing but radiation and monsters out there!” lucy flips the page, her eyes fixed on the paragraph in front of her.

you roll onto your side, propping yourself up on your elbow to look at her. “you don’t think everyone out there is bad. you’re too nice for that!”

she finally glances at you, her lips quirking into a small smile. “you think i’m nice?”

“well, of course,” you say, your tone teasing. “i mean, you could just tell me to shut it and read the book, but here we are!”

lucy laughs, a quiet, breathy sound, and looks back down at the book. she doesn’t turn the page.

“okay, maybe i do think about it,” she admits after a moment.

it reminds you of childhood. of sitting in the quiet dark of the quarters, exchanging hushed secrets in the comfort of her presence.

“but not the way you do! you’ve got this whole…” she gestures vaguely, her eyes flicking back to yours. “…adventure thing in your head. like the outside world’s just waiting for you to show up and save it single-handed!”

“and you don’t?”

“nope.” she smiles. “i mean- eventually. once it is safe for all of us to return back. maybe our children will?” she clears her throat and nudges you with her shoulder. “anyway, why would i want to leave when I’ve got you around to drive me crazy?”

you grin, making a point of ignoring the way her words make your heart flutter. “lucky, lucky you!”

“don’t i know it?” she says, rolling her eyes, but her smile lingers, softer now.

the silence settles again, this time heavier with the book no longer her only focus. you don’t notice but lucy’s eyes keep darting your way, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the paper.

she’s fighting a battle in her head. one she’s been losing for weeks, maybe months.

lucy’s been told, more than once and by multiple sources, that making out with your cousin, for example, is normal. perhaps expected, even, just to have some sort experience secured.

but wanting you? her best friend ever since she can remember? that’s something different. something that makes her palms sweat and her stomach twist in ways she can’t explain whenever she tries to picture it.

“hey,” you say suddenly, pulling her out of her spiral. “are you okay?”

“yeah,” she says quickly, her voice too bright. “why wouldn’t i be?”

“you’re fidgeting,” you point out, reaching to still her hand.

the touch is light, casual even. something you’ve done a hundred times before. but it feels different now, with pictures of your lips on hers flashing through her mind. lucy knows it’s not your fault. it’s hers. it’s always hers.

“i’m fine,” she insists, pulling her hand away and crossing her arms. “just…tired, i suppose,”

you don’t look convinced, but you let it go, lying back down and turning your attention to the book. lucy stays sitting up, her eyes on you instead of the page.

she shifts awkwardly, trying not to fidget again. you've started having that effect on her, and it's driving her crazy.

“you know,” you say suddenly as if you'd been reading her mind. “people in the vault are always talking about how it's normal to…y'know, experiment?”

lucy's head jerks toward you so quickly it's a miracle she doesn't pull a muscle.

“experiment?”

“yeah," you hum. “like...with other people…everyone says it's no big deal. ‘limited options,' and all that!”

she swallows hard, her palms suddenly clammy again. “uh...sure,” she says, trying to sound disinterested. “i mean, that's just how it is, right? have to keep the gene pool going or whatever,”

now it’s your turn to snort. “i'm not talking about marriage and babies, lucy. i mean..." you trail off. “practice.”

“practice?” she echoes, her voice an octave too high, the words catching in her throat.

“for when we do get married someday,” you clarify, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. there's a pause before you quickly add: “not to each other, obviously,”

lucy feels like her brain is short-circuiting all over again. you can't just say things like that and expect her to function like a normal person. “right….gee, of course not to each other!” she parrots.

you sit up fully now, visibly excited. “but think about it! vault life does mean limited options, right? most people are already making out with their cousins to 'prepare for marriage!” you pull a face, the very idea making you wrinkle your nose in distaste.. “at least this way, we're...helping each other out. as friends!” “as friends,” lucy repeats, as if saying it out loud will make it true. “you…you’re serious?” her voice wavers, and it’s humiliating. god, why couldn’t she just sound normal?

“why not?” you shrug. “it's not like it has to mean anything!”

she wants to tell you it already does. that it's meant something to her for as long as she can remember. that it could never not, when it’s with you.

but instead, she stammers, “i- i don't think-“

“oh, come on!” you tease, your grin widening. “what? are you scared?”

that does it. lucy always had a stubborn streak, and you’ve learned exactly how to poke it.

“i'm not scared,” she insists, sitting up straighter.

“then prove it!”

lucy freezes. the air between you charged with something she doesn’t quite know how to name. every ounce of logic in her brain is screaming bad idea, but it’s drowned out by the overwhelming desire to close the space between you. just this once. ust for the sake of practice.

“this is...for practice,” she says finally, the words shaky, as if she’s reminding herself more than you.

“exactly.” your voice is soft now, steady. reassuring.

she hesitates for a heartbeat longer, her eyes searching yours for any sign that this is some cruel joke, a trap, a mistake. but all she sees is you: familiar and warm and impossibly close. before she can talk herself out of it, lucy leans in.

the kiss is tentative at first, her lips brushing yours with a softness that surprises even her. it’s careful, until you don’t pull away. when you lean into her instead, it deepens. the warmth of your mouth sends a jolt through her entire body, a shiver that starts at the base of her spine and works its way up.

her hands hover uncertainly in the air before finding your shoulders and holding on for dear life. lucy senses you smiling against her lips, and feeling the curve of your mouth against her own sends her poor heart stumbling in her chest. stumbling, then falling. falling deeper than it ever has before.

your lips taste like the chapstick she applied on them earlier, reasoning that they’d been looking a little too dry when -in reality- all she wanted was an excuse to get to see you from up close.

now, that same gloss smears against lucy’s own, leaving the faint taste of cherry in her mouth. she wants to taste of cherry everywhere, overcome with an unexplainable urge to drown in the flavor altogether: a sweet trail drawn slowly along the zipper of her vault jumpsuit. perhaps even lower, after, so that when you’ll come back up to lucy’s mouth, you’ll taste of her instead of cherries and she’ll get a taste of that, too.

when you are the one to pull back first, heat rushes to her cheeks. you're both breathing a little harder, the space between you buzzing with something electric.

“well,” you begin, your tongue darting out to wet those lips. lucy finds herself watching, mesmerized. “that wasn't so bad, was it?”

her heart is pounding so loudly she's sure you can hear it from where you’re sitting. “uh...no. not bad!”

you grin, leaning back on your hands like nothing monumental just happened.

“we're definitely ready for marriage now,” you conclude, teasing.

later that night, after she’s made sure that the doors to her room are locked, lucy slumps down into the comfort of her bed.

her pillow is still crumpled where you sat earlier.

when lucy presses it between her legs, her face in the bedsheets to stifle her sighs, she smells cherries.

the door to lucy’s quarters hisses shut behind you.

lucy stumbles backward, her lips already pressed to yours, her hands fumbling against the curve of your waist to steady herself. the room feels smaller than usual, the bed barely a few feet away.

“just…practice…” she murmurs between kisses, her voice breathless and a little shaky.

“exactly,” you whisper back, your lips brushing hers again before moving to her jaw.

lucy hums in agreement, though the way her hands tighten on your waist as your lips find her neck suggests she’s not really thinking about marriage prep, potential husbands, or the repopulation anymore.

after that first kiss, something shifted between you. something neither of you could explain but could not resist either. what once was supposed to be casual, a vault-sanctioned form of bonding, a way to keep things ‘normal’ in an environment that was anything but had turned into something way more the moment your lips touched hers that night in her quarters. ‘normal’ went out the window then.

it’s become a familiar pattern over the last few weeks: a fleeting glance across the cafeteria, a brush of hands in the halls, a whispered promise to meet later when no one’s around.

not that you ever talked about it. with all the rules in vault 33, the unspoken one between you both was the most important of all: keep it light, keep it safe. you never pushed further than kisses, never ventured beyond the safety of your blue and yellow vault suits. anything else would be too much, too real.

still, it didn’t matter how many rules you set for yourselves; staying away wasn’t an option. not anymore.

lucy’s back hits the edge of the bed, and she lets out a quiet laugh, her cheeks flushed. “we’re getting really good at this,” she teases.

you grin, leaning down to press another kiss to her lips. “we’re dedicated to the craft,”

her laugh softens into a sigh as you pull back slightly and she can’t chase your mouth with hers, your foreheads touching.

“this isn’t weird, right?” she asks suddenly, her voice quieter now.

you tilt your head, brushing your nose against hers and drawing another chuckle from her. “weird?”

“yeah.” lucy swallows. “i mean, we’re best friends. and we’re…”

“practicing,” you finish for her.

“right,” she nods quickly. “practicing!”

you don’t say what you’re both thinking: that this doesn’t feel like what it was supposed to be. that it never did, to begin with.

instead, you kiss her again, slow and deliberate, letting the moment stretch. lucy’s hands finally settle on your waist, pulling you closer as her nerves melt away.

all these weeks of making out under the disguise of practicing for a hypothetical marriage neither of you had ever shown any interest in had been good already. great, even. better than anything else you’ve ever known. which truthfully isn’t that much, but it still counts for something that you’re more than willing for lucy to be your first.

the only inconvenience to your little escapades would come later, after sneaking out of her room: the shameful feeling of your arousal, a stubborn reminder that you could not truly be casual about any of this.

still, leaving lucy’s quarters with your wetness pooling between your legs uncomfortably would always be worth having the little of her that you'd been granted.

perhaps one day, it would actually feel like enough. until then, you'll continue with the familiar pattern you've both fallen into. you'll let her touch you through the way too restrictive fabric and say a little prayer that, one of these days, she will go straight for the zipper instead.

[loverboysturn]

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ popular!chris and the football team take a visit to the diner when cinderella!reader is on shift !

find all popular!chris and cinderella!reader writings here and everything else here!

note: you might want to read this first before reading the below so some things make more sense :) my au’s are always open for this au! come yap or ask me questions about them!

you normally hated working the late shift.

but for a friday night, it was quiet. the diner was empty, a few regulars sat in their usual seats and some families scattered about but all in all, your shift had been peaceful so far. the constant hum of the kitchen, the clatter of pots and pans, and the sizzling sounds of the chefs at work was comforting to you, you wipe down the counter in front of you for the third time since you started work tonight, pretending to not notice how time was dragging on. it was boring but you were grateful for the calmness of it all, especially after the last week.

the world outside the diner seemed to be moving slowly too, the streets outside empty apart from the occasional cars driving by, it was one of those rare nights where it was quiet enough that you could find the time to think, your mind always going back to the same thing, same person.

but, the peace didn’t last long.

the door swings open, and the group swarm in, instantly filling the diner with their energy. their voices louder than usual, bouncing off the walls as they joked and laughed. the football team walking in first, followed not long after by a cluster of cheerleaders, all of them still hyped up from practice.

you barely have any time to adjust to the sudden change in the atmosphere before they were all over the place. completely taking over the booths at the back of the diner, making themselves known to everyone else already in here. their noise filling every corner of the diner, and the chatter between them growing with every passing second. the peace and quiet you had only just been enjoying was suddenly replaced with noise, and lots of it.

your colleague pops her head from behind the counter quietly calling your name. “honey, can you take the booths in the back for me? i’ll take the tables after, i just need to wrap up what i’m doing”

you didn’t need to look over to know to known which booths she was talking about.

you hesitate for a second, trying to scramble up an excuse as to why you can’t, feeling a familiar knot of dread tighten in your stomach.

“but, i—i” you stutter, brain working overdrive to find an excuse.

“please?” she asks again, giving you a small smile.

you sigh, accepting your fate. “yeah, of course.” you really, really didn’t want to serve them. the teasing, the jokes—it was always the same when they were around, and you weren’t in the mood for it all tonight, but you couldn’t say no to her.

taking a deep breath, you straightened out your apron and forced yourself to look unbothered by them all, the last thing you needed was for them to start making more of a scene, but you knew the moment you walked over, they’d find something to laugh at.

as you make your way to the table, your eyes immediately land on chris sturniolo, and for a second, your stomach flips. the memory of bumping into him in the hallway earlier this week flashes in your mind—your books flying out of your arms, the way your cheeks went a deep red after falling to the floor, rejecting his offer to help you up, you quickly look away, trying to shake the feeling of being in his line of vision for the first time since, even though he hadn’t so much as even looked at you once.

“here she is, diner girl” one of the football team says as he sees you, loud enough for them all to hear. you recognise him as the guy who was rude to you you the other day when you bumped into chris. “don’t forget your service with a smile today.”

you bite your lip, forcing a smile as you click your pen and pull out your notepad to take their order.

it was hard to not feel the weight of all their eyes on you, you had enough going on at the minute, you’d been juggling assignments at school, your stepmother signing you up for shift after shift, and on top of it all, there were the late night texts you shared with someone you still didn’t know the identity of but for you it was easier that way, completely anonymous. there were no expectations, no judgement. just words on a screen, but they were words that were starting to mean a lot to you.

“what can i get you guys today?” you ask, trying to keep your tone professional. you wasn’t in the mood for the teasing from them tonight, but you’d try to just ignore it.

“milkshakes” one of the cheerleaders looks up at you with a fake smile, “the usual, don’t fuck it up.”

as she finishes speaking, another cheerleader giggles at her friends’ rudeness, a sharp, laugh that rings in your ears after, you recognise her as the head cheerleader—always the loudest, the first to join in with the diner girl jokes. your eyes briefly look over to where she has her arm casually draped over chris’s, trying to gain his attention, but he wasn’t paying any interest in her, not even looking up from his phone, clearly more interested in what was on the screen than the girl bedside him.

they were the stereotypical on-and-off couple—chris, the school’s golden boy and captain of the football team and her, the head cheerleader and the girl all her friends wanted to be. everyone knew their drama, how they’d broken up and gotten back together more times than you could count on both hands. the last you’d heard, they’d broken up for good just before the summer break started but you’d never paid much attention to it, the gossip of the popular crowd had never really interested you—it was always the same boring stories.

“got it” you say, your voice flat as you force a smile. you turn on your heel, rolling your eyes when they could no longer see you, the feeling of frustration brewing in your chest at the way they treated anyone not in their group but you’d gotten good at pretending they didn’t bother you at work, even when they did. you knew they’d leave a terrible tip anyway, that’s if they even left one at all.

you make sure the milkshakes come out exactly as they ordered to prevent any more rude comments from them—a few vanilla, a few chocolate and some strawberry flavoured. you place them carefully on the table, trying your best to avoid eye contact with anyone but as you set the last one in front of chris, he looks up at you, eyes locking with yours.

“you know, diner girl” one of his teammates interrupts the eye contact, a smirk forming on his lips. “i think we shouldn’t have to pay for these tonight, they’re on the house, right? you know.. ‘cause of your little accident running into chris this week.”

the whole table erupts into laughter, a few other comments muttered and fake giggles, a cheerleader chimes in “yeah, maybe you should stay out the way next time and you’d earn your tips.”

you still don’t let your frustrations show, just nodding at them. “enjoy your drinks guys.” you sigh, quickly walking away before any more comments can be thrown your way.

an hour or so later, the group finish their drinks and you notice them all start to make their way to the exit, their noise and laughter still echoing all around the diner. you stand behind the counter, cleaning a coffee mug, hoping they’ll just hurry up and leave.

“thanks for the free milkshakes, diner girl” one of the football team shouts. “you’ll have to bump into our golden boy more often.”

you don’t respond, just waiting for them all to finally leave, bringing the diner back to the quiet you were enjoying earlier.

you turn to grab a rag from under the counter, already bracing yourself for their mess that you’ll now have to clean, but as you’re about to head over, you feel someone standing on the other side of the counter infront of you.

you glance up, half expecting it to be one of the football team or a cheerleader, waiting to throw one last comment at you before they leave for good, but when you look up and your eyes land on chris, you’re taken aback. he’s standing there, his posture is calm, but you can sense the tension in his shoulders and for a second, you freeze, waiting for him to make some kind of snide remark.

but he doesn’t.

“i just wanted to say” he begins, voice softer than you expected. “i’m sorry for how they all treated you tonight. i didn’t like that they spoke to you like that” he looks down, eyes on the counter infront of him. “the thing in the hallway the other day with me and you, that was completely my fault. i wasn’t looking where i was going.”

you blink in surprise, a look of confusion taking over your face. you wasn’t expecting this, you open your mouth to say something, but the words are stuck in your throat.

“i—“ you start, unsure of how to respond. “it’s fine, i—I’m kinda used to it now.”

he shakes his head, finally looking up at you now. “no,” his voice firm, “you shouldn’t have to be used to it, that’s not fair on you but i’m sorry if my stupid clumsiness made it all worse tonight.”

when you saw him stood there just now, you expected the same attitude you receive off his friends, the same dismissive tone in his voice but instead, he’s apologising for them and you can’t quite figure out why.

“honestly, chris” you say, forcing a smile. “it’s fine, you don’t have to apologise.”

his gaze lingers on you, then without warning, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled bill, sliding it over to you. “here,” he says, “for the milkshakes.”

“thank you,” you murmur, voice softer with him now, you take the money, fingers brushing against his making the awkward tension in the air between you become thick enough that you feel yourself becoming flustered.

chris gives you a half-smile, a rare one that feels a lot more genuine than the usual one you see him throw about at football games and in the hallways. “it’s nothing,” he says, his tone softening. “and, uh…you really know how to make a great strawberry milkshake, guess i owe you one now for that too.”

you blink, completely caught off guard but before you can say anything else, chris turns and heads for the door, slipping out with his friends, door swinging shut behind him. you watch him go, still feeling confused by him being nice to you but you can’t shake the feeling that maybe he is still like the rest of them, charming when he wants something, but just as rude as his friends when it doesn’t matter to him.

you push your thoughts aside, just wanting to forget about the whole scene and pretend your shift tonight didn’t happen, you focus on the task waiting for you, heading over to the now messy booth where they’d been sitting that needed cleaning.

as you wipe the table, your mind drifts to your mystery guy and you can’t help but wonder what he’s doing right now. is he thinking about you too? you glance at the clock, a sense of relief running through you when you see there’s only an hour left of your shift.

sixty more minutes, and you’ll be able to talk to him again, the only thing that had been on your mind all night, the only thing that makes the chaos of your life all fade into the background.

little did you know, the guy who was keeping you up at night and consuming your thoughts, was standing just a few feet from you earlier, complimenting you on your strawberry milkshakes and you had no idea.

[flwrkid14]

Love, in All its Impossible Forms

Tim Drake loves with everything he has. He always has. And maybe that’s his fatal flaw—he doesn’t know how to hold back. He throws himself into it the way he throws himself into everything else: completely, recklessly, without a second thought for his own safety.

But love, for Tim, is never simple. It comes in forms that twist and tangle, leaving scars even as it gives him something to hold onto. And if you ask him, he could probably tell you exactly what kinds of love he’s experienced.

There’s love that is doomed.

Steph was chaos, energy, and unrelenting determination wrapped in a bright smile. She was Tim’s equal and his opposite all at once, and when he loved her, he did so fiercely, wholeheartedly. She didn’t just step into his world—she tore through it, unapologetic and unstoppable, showing Tim a version of himself that didn’t have to be so calculated, so controlled.

But their lives were chaos, a whirlwind of masks and missions, and when the dust settled, there was never enough left of them to make it last. Tim loves her in a way that feels like holding sand; no matter how tightly he grips, she keeps slipping through his fingers. And maybe that’s why he held on so hard—because he knew she’d never stay. Steph was never meant to be tamed, and Tim loved her too much to try.

Even when it ends, there’s no anger, no resentment. They don’t blame each other for the way things fall apart. They don’t have to. They always knew, deep down, that no matter how much they wanted to hold on, it was never meant to last. It wasn’t about a lack of love—it was about the world they lived in, the lives they led, and the way they could never quite fit together the way they needed to.

Steph was the love that burned brightly but couldn’t last, no matter how much either of them wanted it to. She was the fire he couldn’t hold onto, the storm he couldn’t contain, and the one who left her mark on him in ways he’d never forget. They were love, doomed from the start.

Then there's love that dooms them.

Kon wasn't just Tim's best friend—he was everything. A partner in every sense of the word. Loving Kon felt like second nature, so easy and so effortless that Tim didn't realize how deeply it ran until it was too late. Until Kon was gone.

When Kon died, it destroyed Tim. Grief didn't come in waves-it came in obsessions.

Tim couldn't let go, so he didn't. He turned to stolen data and secret labs, creating clone after clone in a desperate attempt to fill the void Kon left behind

It wasn't about moving on. It wasn't about closure. It was about holding on to the only person who ever made Tim feel like he could breathe, even when it was killing him to do so.

When Kon returned, whole and alive, it should have been everything Tim had dreamed of. But the shadows of what Tim had done lingered between them. The lengths he went to, the obsession that fueled him—it left cracks in the foundation of what they once were. Kon loved Tim, he always would, but part of him wondered if he'd ever been loved for who he was, or for what Tim couldn't let himself lose.

And Tim, for all his brilliance, couldn't figure out how to bridge the gap he'd created. He oved Kon with everything he had, but love born out of desperation carried its own weight, and he wasn't sure how to lay it down.

So they stayed in the gray space between what they were and what they could have been, bound by love so fierce it hurt, but too fractured to fully mend. They were doomed by their love.

Finally, there’s love that dooms anybody else.

Danny is chaos, but not the kind that breaks Tim—it’s the kind that grounds him. Danny exists between worlds, between life and death, and yet he’s more alive than anyone Tim has ever met. He doesn’t fit neatly into any box, doesn’t follow any rules, and yet there’s something about him that feels inevitable, like gravity or the pull of the tide.

Danny doesn’t ask for Tim’s sacrifices. He doesn’t need to be saved, doesn’t want Tim to burn himself out in the name of love. Instead, Danny challenges Tim to slow down, to stop trying so hard to hold the world together and just be. With Danny, Tim learns how to live in the moment, how to breathe without feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders.

It isn’t an easy love, but it isn’t supposed to be. It’s a love that demands courage, the kind that doesn’t come from donning a cape or taking a hit for someone else. It’s the courage to be vulnerable, to stop hiding behind plans and strategies, and let someone see every cracked, raw piece of himself. Danny is relentless in breaking down Tim’s walls, not to fix him but to show him that he’s worthy of being whole.

Together, they are something untouchable. Their love is an anchor and a storm, a lighthouse and the waves crashing against the shore. It’s a love so big, so consuming, that it leaves no room for anything else.

And that’s where the doom lies.

They are the kind of love that consumes the world around them, leaving it scorched and battered in their wake. Not because they want to hurt anyone, but because their connection is so fierce, so all-encompassing, that nothing else can survive in its shadow. They are the eye of the hurricane, calm and steady, while everything outside is chaos.

It’s the kind of love that makes people ache to touch it, to understand it, even as it destroys them. The kind of love that people will write stories about and linger in though, long after the last page has turned. Love, that will echo through time in whispers and legends. But no one will ever truly understand it, because no one else could ever bear the weight of it.

Danny is the love that makes Tim believe he might deserve to be happy after all. Together, they are the love that dooms anybody else—unapologetic, overwhelming, and utterly unforgettable.

[queerweirdness]

After being friends for long enough, Steve and Robin had managed to almost completely merge into one person. They shared a bed, a cover, a shower, two closets, and as of late, one gender.

Robin had never been the girliest girl in the world, so she didn't really question having the urge to dress more masculine. Steve however, had been the king of Hawkins high. He did sports, he acted tough, he got in fights, all the normal macho man things. After hanging around robin long enough, he realized that she wears her jeans so baggy and he wears his so tight that they could just share clothes. Her shirts always looked a little short on him, but he knew he was a bit of a slut.

She liked to say that he infected her with his ‘white boy ways’. He taught her how to shotgun beer, how to scale a tree then a roof so she could sneak into Nancy's. They both knew she could just walk in, Karen and Ted liked her enough to let her sleep over, but she liked the thrill of sneaking around, as well as randomly showing up and surprising Nancy. She started walking around his house in a sports bra, the closest to shirtless she felt comfortable walking around. She starts wearing backwards baseball caps. They stand on top of the quarry and throw rocks in together. Any time one makes a big splash they say “hell yeah” in unison. The first time they went to a party together he made her play beer pong and almost cried because of how proud he was when she won.

She in turn infected him with white girl ways. She gave him crop tops, she styled his hair more feminine, she converted him to using strawberry lip gloss instead of chapstick, and made him jump and dance to Madonna with her. What he didn't expect though was that he grew to like looking feminine. He let his hair grow out a little, cut the hems off some of his shirts so they were a bit cropped, wore short shorts in the summer, and eventually let robin paint his toenails since he always wore close toed shoes. It was a personal enjoyment, only for the two of them. 

One day he made a leap and asked her to do his makeup. They weren't going anywhere that day, just sitting around the house making fun of each other while her parents were on some anniversary vacation. He had let Nancy do his makeup once when they were together and secretly loved how it made him look. She of course agreed, practically dashing up the stairs and dragging him by the wrist. She sat him on the bed and wheeled over her makeup cart. She didn't do her makeup that often, just wore eyeliner most days, but she still had a fuckton of makeup for some reason. 

She made him lay back on the pillows while she straddled him. It wasn't that odd for them. They were always touching in some way, and always in each other's lap when they were able to be. He let her climb on top of him, a little nervous about getting his makeup done for some reason. He knew it was just some powder and lipstick, but it still gave his hands a slight shake. They talked casually as they did it, Robin explaining what everything was and what it was for. 

“Babe I love you and you know I don't mind you sitting on my lap but can you please scoot up a little? You're squishing my dick every time you lean in.” Robin immediately sat up and gave him the bitchiest look as she moved forward to balance her weight more on his hip bones.

“Please don't talk about your dick while I'm straddling you,” she laughed.

“Well next time don't sit directly on my dick,” he shot back. The way she repositioned herself was much better though. 

“Okay, time for the serious talk.”

“Oh shit. What's going on?”

“I’m having a bit of a crisis. I don’t really know what I'm feeling. I know I'm a guy. I've always known that. But sometimes.. I don't know, it's almost like I feel like a girl some days. And I know that sounds dumb. How can I only be a guy some days? That doesn’t make sense. But sometimes I get in my crop tops and tight jeans and I feel like a girl. And I love it. But I don't know what that means. Please help me.”

“I think I know what you mean. I feel like a boy sometimes. I feel so good walking around practically shirtless and acting like a guy with you. I thought I was the only one who felt that way. Some days it even feels like I'm neither. I’m just in some kind of middle space. I don’t know what it means either. But I'm glad to know I'm not alone in that feeling.”

“Do you ever not like your name? Sometimes on my, like, girl days I hate being called Steve. I like being around you and Eddie on those days because he calls me princess and sweetheart and all that shit. You call me Stevie or babe and I like it more than Steve. I also like being called all of that on my boy days too.”

“I'm okay with Robin most days but sometimes on my boy days I like Robbie more. Are you Steve or Stevie today?”

“Stevie, I think. I feel like a girl. Can you also use she on me? I think I might like that.”

“Yeah babe. I can call you she. I’m also a girl today. C’mon. Your makeup is done. Let's go look.”

They walk to the bathroom together and Stevie can feel herself sweating. She’s excited to see it but also terrified. When she finally sees herself in the mirror, she can’t stop smiling. Her cheeks and eyelids are dusted with a pretty pink color, and her lips are all glossy. Her eyelashes look ten times longer. She thinks it’s because of the mascara Robin put on her. She turns and scoops Robin into a bear hug, feeling tears well up in her eyes. 

“Stevie, if you cry off that makeup I will skin you in your sleep. C’mon I want to get a picture. She follows Robin back to the bedroom and sits on the bed while she waits for her to find her camera. Robin finds it after digging in her closet for a moment.

“Say cheese” Stevie is already smiling so hard she thinks her face might crack open. Once the picture prints, robin grabs a sharpie and writes ‘Stevie’s first makeup as a girl’ along with the date. She sticks it in her drawer along with all their other pictures.

[luv-beam]

SURPRISEEE!!! i finished some things early and realized i had a lot of time tonight, so here i am!!! really, just a treat for me heh:

• dropping us immediately into everything-has-gone-to-shit oh ur praying on our downfall TT like the distance is palpable... and hao 😭 oh sweet, protective big brother hao 😭

• THE TULIPS??!?@!( STRETCHING TOWARD THE SKY??? my chest hurts .. the way yn looks at the garden now. like ik how it feels when something/someplace u once considered ur safe haven or safety net becomes corrupt,, twists the heart

• YOU WOULD NOT COME HERE AGAIN 😭😭😭😭😭😭 UGLY CRYING its the way "at least not alone" comes right after and i wonder if seokmin feels the same bc he also walked by, but only w minghao (granted, this isnt his house but...) and bc u write that they were BOTH affected (im not delulu am i...)

• vapid fop... what if i chuckled hahah

• also HELLO YOON JEONGHAN (u couldn't resist, could u, tara ;))) "a balm to the bruised parts" oh. im honestly living for jeonghans character and that in some other life, he and yn might actually make the perfect match (also mama xu doing mama matchmaker things w said thinly veiled glee is everything)

• its interesting that seok and hannie have kind of switched tropes? idk if that makes sense, but jeonghan as the warm, comforting presence and seokmin as the teasing, haunting ex-relation. its interesting seeing them both in these contexts and i like the subtle way u point to seokmin still having feelings for her or, yk, CARING ABT HER

• oh so nooow u try to play nice ..... jkjk im sorry i have assumed yns soul at this moment LMFAOOO (we're at the return of hao)

• i have sm pettiness in my bones that i emoathize w yn too well in this section LOL like yn was holding back, she could have snubbed him even more thoroughly imo !!! the dettached politeness and careful dismissal of his attempts at conversing w her makes me cackle lol (sorry dk) loved the dialogue/interactions!!!

• "weaving an intoxicating tapestry of distraction" oooooo welcome back tapestry metaphor 😌 i love imagining all of this like one massive tapestry being weaved in of those big ass looms that u think of from ancient greece

• speaking of intoxicating, the way u described jeonghan previously reminded me of champagne teehee

• the fact that every time seokyn make eye contact w one another the world seems to pause makes me ILL. like u cannot make me think of that slow motion, light fading-esque scene every time like my heart cannot take it

• i feel sick 😭😭😭😭 like damn that hurts... like u hate to see them doing so much better than u and u capture that bittersweet heartache/break so well :')))

• like sure seok's reputation might have been scuffed a little when she ran away, but all of that negative social consequence is given to yn, not seokmin. and the domino effect of all her "mistakes" and all this isolation is so... accurate? truly, her isolation and helplessness/defeat can be felt thru the screen

• i can kind of imagine the scene where yns escaped back home and is just sitting in the dark,, like the muffled sounds of partygoers and then the door closes and it's so quiet... man im so sad for her

• "ah i see my sister's charming everyone tonight" PLS I LOVE U HAO 😭😭😭 he's such a sweet older brother bye skfndjfj the way he's so protective im so

• i am kind of curious if yn has realized/forgiven seokmin in some way? like ik she's bitter and also heartbroken cuz she felt stupid for believing he could love her back, but at this point, she seems to have forgiven hao in some capacity for trying to help her "save her prospects" last chapter. so would it be safe to say that she's forgiven seok for going along w it too? or ig,, its a little more complicated than that huh

• damn someone who can make even jeonghan nervous/uncertain? crazy lol

• all this time passing MAKES. ME. SO. SAD. FOR. HER. 😭😭😭

• i agree w yn, the tulips bring an unwelcoke reminder of seokmin 😌 sorry seokmin

• the gaping hole and taut tension during the brief scene of spring age 22 is so JSNFKDJFJ RAAAAAAAAH ik im on yns side but like i need to strap this girl to an armchair so they can talk shit out 😭 i love longing so much but i also wanna tear my hair out

• i looove that u describe each and every ball/society event in its own way, like they have their own unique personalities!! :'))) like this one as a kaleidoscope... so beautiful, its a pleasure to my mind. on a similar note, the way u described sohee's dress and appearance was MWAH!! like i can picture exactly what she looks like, she's such a vibrant and living character in my mind. though the irony is not lost on me how her appearance/dress is described in such similar detail as when yn was a debutante 💔 like she's now been cast aside and it no longer matters how well she dresses; no one expects her to steal the spotlight

• oh but this one hurts 😭 ^ like it was established in chapter one that she must exhibit restraint and hope often slips through ones fingers like water, and it's heartbreaking and utterly depressing that she kind of lives thru these younger girls' experiences bc she never got her happily ever after. ur not only sidelined, but ur forced to watch someone live the life u were supposed to have (its so cruel 😭)

• "i suspect that there's still magic left in ur own waltz" OH I HAAAATE UUUUUUU YOON JEONGHAN WHY DID U HAVE TO END UP SO GOOD 😭 why r u making me like him tara 😭😭😭😭 not the second male lead 😭 now i want him and yn to end up together

• a reminder of what ive lost... the ache... ugh its so good...

• ONCE AGAIN. the imagery is perfection. like ur painting of the gardens at night in my mind is SUBLIME

• SHE WAS MINE FIRST OH JEONGHAN (´Д⊂ヽ OHHHHH I SO WANT U RN ive always sensed this kindred heartache btwn us, bestie. also just both of them coveting a hand that isnt theirs... goddamn, it's always the pining and forbidden that gets me

• but also totally digging the offer for a loveless marriage. like they can totally just make the best of it :')) its clear that they get along, and who knows.. it could turn into some semblance of love :')) i like to think that he's a little desperate himself while trying to convince yn to take up his offer. although a man won't get as much blow back for being unmarried, he's still a viscount. mutual desperation, mutual heartache... just drawing connections heh

• A GARDEN PARTY IN THE QUEEN'S GARDEN AND YET ANOTHER BEAUTIFUL PANEL TO ADD TO OUR GROWING TAPESTRY WEEEE

• "punctuated by the delicate notes" oo i just had to say that i love that word choice, it scratches an itch in my brain

• oh. thats quite the uh scandalous position their seokie... also just the way that time seemed to slow down again, but this time, yns trying so desperately to put on a strong face that seems so ready to slip off at a moment's notice. like i can feel her trying to pull herself up by her bootstraps and not fall apart

• never mind my question was just answered 😭😭😭 yn baby pls i know ur terribly depressed but U NEED TO HEAR HIM OUT . PLEASE.

• I LOOOOVE THE ENDING, LIKE I LOVE THAT WE'VE ENDED UP HERE OF ALL PLACES LIKE OOOOOOO PETTINESS HAHAHAHAH

if u couldn't discern it, i loved this chapter so much!!!! :'))) like the superstar was definitely the tension and the push and pull of emotions as yn experiences her young life flash before eyes skcnkdnf i love that you've ghrown a wrench into the plot of seokyn via one very handsome and persuasive and lovelorn yoon jeonghan 🫂🫂 i cant WAIT to read seok's reaction, and EVERYONE'S reactions for that matter LMFAO i am so enjoying this series so far tara, tysm for ur hard work !!! 💖

The Somerset Affair Chapter 3: Promises Bathed in Moonlight

pairing: lsk x fem!reader genre: Bridgerton AU, friends to (?????) to eventual lovers, brother’s best friend, SLOWWWW BURNNN chapter wc: 8.8k warnings: alcohol consumption, societal expectations, crying, mentions of a panic attack (not being able to breathe), eventual smut, more to be added a/n: sorry sorry i know ch 3 took forever too lol // as always, ENORMOUS thanks to indi @wongyuseokie for this GORGEOUSSSS banner // and to my lovely betas shu @welcometomyoasis lou @tusswrites haneul @chanranghaeys

summary: maybe you really are well and truly alone.

comment to be tagged when chapters are posted, or join the fic taglist here! series masterlist

The First Year: Summer Age 19

The first season after that fateful night was like a hazy dream. When you returned to the social scene, the whispers followed: why had Lord Lee disappeared from your side, so abruptly and publicly, leaving you to stand alone in the wake of his departure?

You endured it with a forced smile, accepting dances from any man who offered. Seokmin, when you saw him, was always nearby yet achingly out of reach, just beyond the edge of the crowd, his gaze never straying to you. Minghao, perhaps sensing the fraught silence between you, would draw you into conversation whenever he could, his manner protective, his eyes wary.

The estate gardens were nothing short of stunning in the late spring. Bursts of red and yellow tulips stretched toward the sky, their vibrant hues softened only by the ivy draping from the nearby trellis. The whole scene was picturesque, brimming with life and warmth. Yet, to you, it held only shadows, echoes of laughter from a time that now felt far away.

You’d meant to pass by quickly, perhaps even avoid the gardens altogether, but the pull was magnetic, the memories nestled there too insistent to ignore. This had been your sanctuary, your haven of whispered secrets and boundless dreams. You had spent countless summer afternoons here with Seokmin, lying on the grass, watching clouds drift lazily by as he teased you with nonsense riddles and ridiculous tales. He’d always made you laugh—those moments had seemed to stretch endlessly, filled with the certainty that nothing would ever change.

But change it had.

Now, as you stood among the tulips, their bright faces tilted toward the sun, you felt as if you were the only one left in shadow. Each flower seemed to mock you, as if asking why you had come back when he was no longer here to share it with you. You could almost hear his laughter in the rustling leaves, a phantom sound that made your heart ache.

You allowed yourself one indulgent moment of memory, one small surrender to the warmth of the past. In that instant, you could almost feel his presence beside you, could almost hear him sigh as he lay back against the grass and urged you to do the same. Tulip, he’d called you once, likening you to the flowers here—delicate, bright, full of life. His voice drifted through your mind like a warm breeze, and you closed your eyes, feeling the bittersweet pang of loss settle deeper into your chest.

Then, a sudden sound cut through the quiet, and you froze. It was the low murmur of a familiar voice—Seokmin��s voice—wafting toward you from the entrance of the garden. You barely made out the words, some easy greeting exchanged with Minghao as the two approached. The cadence of his voice was softer now, more mature perhaps, but unmistakably his. In an instant, the fragile calm you’d managed to summon evaporated, replaced by a panicked urgency to flee.

You turned on your heel, lifting your skirts as you hurried toward a narrow, shaded path, heart pounding as if you were a trespasser in your own sanctuary. You slipped behind the thick ivy-covered trellis, your fingers clutching the delicate lace of your gloves as you pressed your back against the rough wood. There, hidden from sight, you held your breath, willing your heart to quiet, afraid he might hear it even from a distance.

He paused at the garden’s entrance, his voice carrying lightly on the breeze, mingling with the chirping of birds and the gentle rustle of leaves. It was a voice you had known too well, one that had once woven a thousand dreams in these very gardens. But now, standing there alone and concealed, all you could feel was the sharp edge of those dreams turned to dust.

You dared not look, dared not even breathe until his voice faded and the crunch of gravel beneath his feet grew distant. Only then did you step out from your hiding place, the scene around you as unchanged and pristine as ever. But it felt different, achingly empty. He was gone, and so, you realized, was something inside you.

Your shoulders slumped as you turned away from the gardens, swallowing against the emotion lodged in your throat. You would not come here again—at least, not alone.

That first year passed slowly, the memory of him shadowing you at every event, every garden, every dance, leaving you both haunted and empty.

The Second Year: Autumn Age 20

As autumn arrived, the weight of that lost season faded slightly, turning to something colder, something sharper. You found yourself no longer seeking him out at every ball. Instead, you steeled yourself, donning an unapproachable mask that suited you better with each passing day. Your brother had chosen to spend the season traveling, claiming that the sea salt of Grecian air was calling him. The absence of his protection meant that you had to sail the rough shores of that season alone – Minghao’s letters were frequent and welcomed, always ready to provide words of assurance from thousands of miles away. 

Your second season was to be markedly different—by your design and no one else’s. The naive enthusiasm of your first season had faded, replaced by a wariness that had hardened around you like a shell. Suitors still called upon you, though they were fewer and far between, and the gentlemen of impeccable standing, those your mother deemed suitable, grew distant with each passing event. They would approach with polite intentions, murmuring some pleasantry or another, only to bow and make haste to another part of the room where more receptive young ladies waited. 

Yet, for all the polite avoidance and empty conversation, there was Lord Yoon Jeonghan, the Viscount of Hastings. He was different—not at all the cold and detached nobleman that society often produced, nor the vapid fop more concerned with his cufflinks than his conversation. He was witty, charming even, and his remarks would often spark a laugh that you could scarcely suppress. A flicker of intrigue would alight in his eyes every time you spoke, as if you were unraveling a particularly delightful mystery, and for those brief moments, he made you almost forget.

Almost.

You felt his gaze often, lingering in the spaces between words, and sometimes, if you were honest with yourself, it was almost enough to ease the ache that had taken root in your chest. There was a certain warmth to his presence, a lightheartedness that let you slip free from the burdensome weight of the past. Your mother, ever vigilant, noticed his interest immediately. She seized upon his attentions with thinly veiled glee, her gaze often flickering between the two of you at gatherings, assessing, calculating. She would arrange you beside him at dinners, leave you in his company at the slightest opportunity, her encouragement subtle yet unmistakable.

Jeonghan would lean in close, his words laced with humor, often turning some mundane observation into something absurdly funny. And for a fleeting second, the laughter would come easily, a balm to the bruised and hidden parts of yourself. You allowed yourself to think, Maybe this could work.

But the quiet, hollow ache lingered, a constant reminder of the ghost you could not quite shake. And that ghost was Seokmin.

Seokmin, who watched from across the room, his gaze burning, perceptive as ever. He was polite, distant even, but his presence was always there, like the flicker of candlelight that neither dimmed nor died. You could feel it most keenly when you danced with other men, swirling across the floor to the strains of violins and cellos. Once, as you stepped onto the ballroom floor with Jeonghan, you felt Seokmin’s gaze settle on you from across the room. The intensity of it was enough to make your skin prickle, and suddenly you were painfully aware of every step, every turn.

The first misstep was subtle—a slight stumble over the Viscount’s foot. But as you met Seokmin’s eyes, his brow lifted ever so slightly, a smirk hovering just on the edge of his mouth. That subtle, amused expression set your pulse racing in a way you would never confess. And in your distracted state, you stumbled again, this time nearly losing your balance. Jeonghan chuckled, mistaking your lapse for some charming display of nervousness, too oblivious to realize the true reason for your faltering steps.

Seokmin’s gaze, however, saw straight through you. His smirk was knowing, almost taunting, as though he could see past every mask, every effort you’d put into your newfound resolve. It was maddening—the way he could still get under your skin, the way he seemed to enjoy watching you unravel, even if only for a second. The lingering effects of that look stayed with you long after the music ended, clinging to you like perfume.

And so, you spent the season caught between two worlds. Lord Yoon, with his charm and his lightheartedness, who could ease the bitterness that lay thick upon your heart if only for a while. And Seokmin, a relentless presence, haunting you from across every ballroom and garden, his gaze a tether you could never quite sever. It was a delicate dance, one you performed night after night, hoping, in vain, that one day you would not feel his eyes on you at all.

The afternoon sun angled low over the estate, bathing the drawing room in a cool October light that poured through the high windows, softening the sharp edges of the day. Minghao had just returned from his travels and had brought back a novel he thought you would enjoy—Jane Eyre, by a Miss Brontë. The air was thick with the quiet thrill of this gift, the promise of evenings spent lost in its pages, and you had just begun to express your excitement when Minghao, with his usual calm, announced that Seokmin had accompanied him.

You schooled your face to remain pleasant, though your pulse quickened at the mention of his name. And indeed, there he stood by the door, his posture polite yet tense, hands clasped behind his back, and eyes dark with some unreadable emotion. He offered a slight bow, his gaze fixed on you even as you looked firmly at your brother.

"Did you know," Minghao began, oblivious to the tension in the room as he handed you the book, "that the author published it under a man’s name? Some say it’s because she thought her work would be dismissed otherwise."

You managed a small smile, allowing yourself the momentary reprieve of this topic. “Thank you, Minghao,” you replied, fingers grazing the embossed cover. “I’ll cherish it. It sounds wonderful.”

Across the room, Seokmin shifted, clearing his throat. "Do you find time to read often these days?" His voice was tentative, a hint of hope or maybe familiarity clinging to the question, as if reaching for a bridge long burned.

Your reply was smooth and immediate, though you kept your gaze firmly on Minghao, as if Seokmin had merely been a ghost in the room. "I make time, yes. It’s quite necessary, given the, ah… limited options for conversation."

A faint hint of color rose to Seokmin’s cheeks, but he quickly smothered whatever response he had been about to make. Minghao glanced between you, his eyes narrowing slightly as he pieced together the simmering tension, the edges of a puzzle he hadn’t been around to see formed.

There was a brief pause, heavy as stones, before Seokmin tried again. "Do you still ride out to the southern fields? I remember…" He hesitated, his words trailing off before he finished. “The views from the hilltops there were always lovely in the fall.”

It was a simple question, a nod to a pastime you had once enjoyed, but the memories it evoked—the two of you racing across the meadows, laughing breathlessly under the open sky, sharing quiet moments on that hilltop he spoke of—all felt too sharp, too close. You tightened your grip on the book, the rough binding grounding you in the present.

"Occasionally," you murmured, as if speaking to no one in particular. Your tone was clipped, devoid of warmth, and you let the silence stretch, long enough for the weight of his words to fade. After a beat, you forced yourself to stand, smoothing the fabric of your dress as you prepared to excuse yourself. “Please, if you’ll excuse me.”

Seokmin’s face barely shifted, yet the flicker of disappointment that crossed his features was unmistakable. "Wait, please—" he began, his hand reaching out as if to stop you. “I… wanted to know if you might—”

You looked over at Minghao, not giving Seokmin the satisfaction of meeting his gaze. “Thank you for the book, brother,” you said softly. “I’ll look forward to discussing it with you when I’ve read it.” And with that, you turned, leaving the drawing room before Seokmin could finish his thought.

You could feel his eyes on your back, a silent, unyielding weight as you retreated, but you pushed down the churning emotions in your chest.

Later, your mother found you in the library, a faintly exasperated look in her eye. "What has possessed you to act so sharply towards Lord Lee? He is a friend of your brother’s, and a gentleman. I hardly think it was necessary to snub him quite so… thoroughly."

"I simply wasn’t inclined to entertain him," you replied, not lifting your gaze from the book you had barely managed to focus on since leaving the drawing room. “It was not my intention to be rude, Mother.”

She pursed her lips, eyes narrowing. “He asked after you very kindly. And if you cannot manage the simple courtesy of conversation, well…” Her sigh was laden with disappointment, tinged with the faintest trace of resignation. “It does make things rather difficult for you, don’t you think?”

You didn’t respond, clamping your lips shut and focusing on the words of Jane Eyre as if they might hold an escape. What could you say? That politeness was a currency you could not afford to spend on him? That every pleasantry only made the knife in your back twist a little deeper?

There was nothing to be done, and so you said nothing at all. The book lay heavy in your lap, unread, as your mother’s gaze lingered a moment longer, her silence more cutting than words.

The Third Year: Winter Age 21

The winter air nipped at every inch of bare skin as you stepped out of the carriage and into the towering, grand hall where that night’s ball was being held. Snow blanketed the world outside, a thick layer that muffled everything it touched, leaving only the crunch of footsteps and the soft murmur of the wind. The frost bit through your gloves, but it was nothing compared to the cold lodged deep within your chest. You drew yourself up and stepped into the hall, a practiced smile on your face as you greeted the hosts and exchanged pleasantries.

Inside, the ball was already in full swing. Laughter and music filled the air, weaving an intoxicating tapestry of distraction. You navigated through clusters of guests with practiced ease, inclining your head and making idle conversation that barely skimmed the surface. You had come to know the routines well, slipping into this role as though it were armor: a mask of charm, a shield of grace. It kept you safe, even as it kept others at arm’s length.

But then, just as you were making your way toward a friend by the window, you spotted him—Seokmin, across the room. He was surrounded by a small group of gentlemen, his laughter carrying over the din as he shared some amusing story. His cheeks were flushed from the warmth, eyes crinkling at the corners in that way you’d once adored. For a moment, a whisper of memory drifted to you unbidden—those nights by the garden, his laughter mingling with the soft hum of summer crickets, a harmony you’d taken for granted. The sight of him now, seemingly unaffected by the hollow ache that had lodged itself so firmly within you, twisted something in your chest.

As though he could feel your gaze, his eyes turned toward you, catching you unprepared. His laughter faded, and for a moment, the room seemed to still. There was something in his gaze—a flicker of recognition, regret, perhaps. Or something more resigned, an acceptance of the chasm that had grown between you. He made no move toward you; there was only a slight nod, a silent acknowledgement of… something. You couldn’t name it, and you didn’t want to try.

It was his easy return to conversation that undid you. The way he turned back to his companions, laughing once more, as if nothing had changed, as if the years you’d spent trying to bury the echoes of that ball could be erased so simply. The laughter that once filled you with warmth now rang hollow in your ears, a reminder of all that was lost and all that could never be reclaimed.

The walls of the ballroom began to feel oppressive, the cloying warmth of bodies and perfume suffocating. You pressed a gloved hand to your temple, feigning discomfort as you turned to your nearest acquaintance. “I’m afraid I’m not feeling well,” you murmured, a faint tremor in your voice that you hoped was undetectable.

“Oh, my dear, are you all right? You do look rather pale,” she said with concern, her eyes scanning your face. “Perhaps some fresh air?”

“Yes,” you managed, barely holding together the thin fabric of your composure. “Yes, that may be best.”

With a polite smile and promises to catch up at the next event, you drifted toward the doorway, slipping through the crowd as unobtrusively as you could. The cold air in the entry hall was a shock, but you welcomed it, letting it bite into your cheeks and ground you.

Soon enough, you found yourself in your room, finally alone. The silent darkness enveloped you, and for the first time that night, you let yourself drop the mask. You sank into the nearest armchair, clutching the armrests as if they could anchor you. Outside, snowflakes drifted lazily past the window, catching the moonlight like shards of glass. There was no warmth, no comfort in the scene, only the lingering shadows of a memory that refused to fade.

You had no energy to reach for a book, nor did you bother lighting the fireplace. Instead, you sat, letting the silence swell around you, filling the empty spaces that had been left in Seokmin’s wake. Your gaze lingered on the frost etching delicate patterns across the glass, and for a moment, you wondered if he was still at the ball, still laughing, still untouched by the winter that had settled so deep within you.

It felt almost foolish to mourn something you had lost so long ago, but as the hours slipped by, you couldn’t bring yourself to shake the feeling.

The bitterness reached new heights that year. Your relationship with Minghao, however, began to shift. He sensed your resolve, noticed the way you shrank from any mention of Seokmin, and quietly took up the role of your champion. He became your shield at social gatherings, a polite, steadfast presence whenever your mother hinted at your dwindling prospects or a suitor left you standing alone. Your mother’s eyes, ever watchful, lingered upon you with a barely hidden concern, her gaze darting to the eligible gentlemen nearby and then to you with that familiar, expectant look.

“You know,” she began in a low voice, “if you were only a touch more… approachable, it might encourage the young men here to consider you more seriously.”

You forced a small smile, the words heavy and stale from years of repetition. “I’ll do my best, Mama.”

But before she could respond, a familiar voice joined the conversation.

“Ah, I see my sister is charming everyone tonight,” Minghao remarked smoothly as he appeared beside you, offering a short bow to your mother. “May I borrow her for a moment?”

Your mother’s gaze softened—she had never worried over Minghao as she did with you, and his title afforded him some measure of leniency that you could never claim. She nodded, though her expression remained faintly expectant as she watched you both step away.

Minghao led you toward the edge of the ballroom, his arm steady around yours as you wove through the crowd. Once there, he turned to you with a look that spoke of both amusement and concern.

“You looked ready to flee,” he observed, a trace of a smile in his eyes. “Would you like a few minutes’ reprieve?”

You sighed, grateful for his intervention. “I was beginning to feel like a prized cow at market,” you replied, tone dry. “Thank you for sparing me.”

He chuckled softly, but his expression grew more serious as he studied you. “I noticed Mother watching you rather closely. And I know her remarks can be… persistent.”

“Persistent is a kind way of putting it,” you replied, your voice just above a whisper. “She insists that my chances dwindle each season, that—” You cut yourself off, pressing your lips together to hold back the frustration that threatened to spill over.

Minghao’s gaze softened, and he sighed, reaching out to adjust the lace of your cuff in a gentle, brotherly gesture. “You’ve nothing to prove to her or to anyone else here,” he said quietly. “If you feel uncomfortable, I’ll be here to see you through the night.”

Despite the stifling heat of the ballroom, his presence felt like a breath of fresh air—a lifeline against the unrelenting pressure of society and its expectations.

“And if any gentleman dares to turn his back on you tonight,” he added, his voice adopting a playful lilt, “I shall personally see to it that he regrets it.”

The corners of your mouth lifted into a small, appreciative smile. Minghao’s protectiveness was a comfort you rarely admitted to needing, but tonight, you couldn’t help feeling grateful that he saw past your composed exterior to the worry lingering beneath.

The music shifted to a slower waltz, and he extended his hand with a knowing smile. “Shall we dance, sister? A waltz is far more agreeable than enduring Mother’s lectures, I assure you.”

You accepted his hand, letting him lead you to the center of the room. As you twirled together, the swirling silks and laughter around you faded into the background, leaving only the familiar warmth of his presence.

After a moment, he leaned in, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “And for what it’s worth,” he murmured, “you have no need of any of these foppish gentlemen. They should consider themselves lucky if they could win even a passing glance from you.”

The sincerity in his words soothed you, and for a brief moment, the ballroom was no longer a daunting place, nor its occupants a source of anxiety. Minghao’s quiet strength steadied you, his steadfast support as dependable as the rhythm of the waltz beneath your feet.

Yet, even with Minghao’s silent support, Seokmin’s laughter ringing through the ballroom haunted you, echoing a reminder of what you once had and what you had lost.

Across the room, your gaze flickered to a familiar figure, the Lord Viscount Yoon, the lightness of his presence breaking through your somber thoughts. He had been different—his clever banter had a way of making even the most mundane topics feel lively and engaging. When he spoke, it was as if he was inviting you into an exclusive circle of shared secrets and laughter, making you momentarily forget the weight of expectations pressing down on you. 

Even now, he stood amidst a group of gentlemen, engaging in light banter that sent ripples of laughter through the crowd. A flicker of intrigue would alight in his eyes every time he caught your gaze, but he looked away just as quickly, as if your newfound prickly attitude was enough to scare him away. 

Over time, your disinterest had made him less willing to approach you. Though he had shown interest the previous year, the glow in his eyes now held a tinge of uncertainty, as if he had begun to doubt whether your heart remained open to him. Your mother, ever vigilant, noticed his hesitance, her gaze flickering between the two of you at gatherings, assessing, calculating.

“Perhaps if I were a bit more approachable,” you murmured to Minghao, who nodded thoughtfully, his gaze drifting toward Jeonghan.

“Sometimes, it takes more than just approachability,” he replied quietly. “He is a good man, but the more you withdraw, the more he may think he should step back.”

You let the thought linger in your mind, but it was soon drowned out by the sight of Seokmin across the room, leaning in to laugh politely with another woman, a vision of laughter and ease that made your heart twist painfully. The vibrant atmosphere of the ball blurred around you, filled with the laughter of others while your own heart sank, caught between the past and the possibility of a future—one you feared might never be yours again.

The Fourth Year: Spring Age 22

Spring came late that year, but the blossoms in the garden were the most vibrant you had ever seen. Tulips, bright and full of life, lined the path outside your drawing room window. Their sight brought an unwelcome reminder of Seokmin, as if they were mocking the pain that had dulled over the years but never truly healed.

One fateful morning, Seokmin arrived at the estate again, waiting for Minghao in the drawing room. You entered the room unaware of his presence, intending to retrieve a letter you had left on the table. The shock of finding him there, standing alone, was enough to root you to the spot.

He looked at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of regret and longing. “How have you been?” he asked, breaking the silence, his tone formal but softened by something more vulnerable.

“I try to stay busy,” you replied, refusing to meet his gaze, your own fixed on the tulips outside the window, as if they alone could fortify your resolve. The way they leaned toward the glass, reaching out, seemed a cruel reminder of what you could never reach. You clung to your indifference, fearing that one look at him would undo you.

“Ah,” he replied, his voice barely a murmur. “I see.”

The silence was unbearable, stretching long and wide between you, filled with all the words you had left unsaid. For the first time, you could sense his unease, as though he, too, felt the weight of everything that had come between you. You imagined he might say more, but instead, he fell silent, unwilling or unable to breach the chasm.

When Minghao finally entered the room, his gaze shifted from Seokmin to you, sensing the tension immediately. He offered a warm, lighthearted greeting that brought some relief, yet you felt exposed, as though Seokmin could still see every last flicker of pain beneath your carefully controlled exterior. Minghao’s easy conversation filled the room, and you seized on it as a lifeline, grateful that the moment had passed.

But as you left the drawing room, something inside you felt irrevocably changed. The wound you thought had healed now ached anew, as raw and fresh as ever.

Age 22

The season has turned again, and as you step into the grand ballroom, you are met with a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds that fill the air with an electric energy. The chandelier overhead sparkles like a constellation of stars, its crystal droplets refracting the warm glow of candlelight that dances across the room. The polished wooden floors gleam underfoot, reflecting the vivid hues of the gowns that swirl around you like petals caught in a gentle breeze.

After five seasons on the market, the whispers of society have cast you in the role of a spinster. No longer the young debutante brimming with promise, you now find yourself almost a chaperone to the eager, wide-eyed debutantes navigating their first seasons. Your newest charge, Sohee, is a whirlwind of youthful exuberance, her bright pink dress adorned with intricate floral appliqués that seem to bloom against her pale skin. The bodice sparkles with tiny beads, catching the light as she twirls, her laughter ringing like bells. You can see the nervous energy in her movements, the way her hands flutter as she points out various gentlemen across the ballroom.

“Oh, look at Lord Lee—what a fine dancer!” she exclaims, her voice bubbling with excitement as she gazes at Seokmin. His deep navy jacket contrasts sharply with the pristine white of his shirt, and the cravat around his neck is tied with an effortless elegance that only enhances his charm. The way he carries himself, relaxed and confident, seems to draw the attention of everyone around him.

You try to mask the bitterness rising within you as you observe him. Seokmin entertains Sohee’s infatuated chatter with polite smiles, his eyes sparkling with amusement. For a fleeting moment, you are grateful that she has captured his attention, but then the weight of your own feelings crashes over you like a cold wave. The ache in your chest deepens as memories flood your mind—long summers spent chasing fireflies, laughter echoing through the fields as he playfully pursued you with a worm on a stick, or the way he would reward your sharp tongue with that unguarded, carefree laughter.

As if drawn by some invisible thread, Seokmin’s gaze suddenly shifts, catching yours from across the room. Your heart leaps into your throat, a jolt of surprise and embarrassment coursing through you. Mortified that he has noticed your lingering stare, you quickly avert your eyes, but the warmth of your cheeks betrays you. You want to disappear into the vibrant crowd, to escape the intensity of your emotions that seem to swell with every passing second. Yet, even as you force yourself to engage with Sohee’s exuberant chatter, you can feel the weight of Seokmin’s gaze resting on you, a silent reminder of everything you’ve lost and the connection you once shared.

It is a cruel twist of fate, standing on the sidelines while young girls like Sohee chase the dreams you once held so dear. You find yourself in this role, a guide for the naive and hopeful, all the while wishing that you could feel that same thrill of possibility. The grand ballroom, alive with laughter and music, feels both enchanting and suffocating, each dance a reminder of the joys that have slipped through your fingers.

As the music swells and couples begin to sway across the polished floor, you catch glimpses of Sohee and Seokmin amidst the swirling gowns and dapper jackets. They move with an innocent delight that contrasts starkly with the weight of your unspoken feelings. Sohee beams up at him, her laughter bright and infectious, and for a moment, the sight softens the edges of your heartache.

Just then, you feel a presence beside you, and when you turn, you find Viscount Yoon Jeonghan standing there, a knowing smile dancing on his lips. His appearance is as striking as ever; his tailored coat hugs his frame perfectly, and the delicate embroidery along the cuffs catches the light, giving him an almost ethereal glow. His hair falls elegantly around his face, framing those sharp features that always seem to hold a hint of mischief.

“They make quite a pair, do they not?” he murmurs, his voice smooth and warm as he gestures subtly toward the young couple. His eyes sparkle with a mix of humor and curiosity, and for a moment, you’re reminded of the lighthearted conversations you once shared, the way he could lift your spirits without even trying.

You glance back at Sohee and Seokmin, your heart twisting at the sight of them. “It seems so,” you reply, your tone nonchalant, though the bitterness seeps through. “She is quite taken with him.”

Jeonghan’s gaze lingers on the two, but then shifts back to you, an amused glimmer in his eyes. “And yet, I believe it’s Seokmin’s charm that keeps her so enchanted. He has a way of making everyone feel special, does he not?” His words are light, but there’s an underlying sincerity that pulls you in.

“Especially the younger ones,” you add, your voice tinged with a hint of sarcasm. You cross your arms, an instinctive barrier against the swell of emotions threatening to break free. Jeonghan tilts his head, studying you with an intensity that makes you self-conscious.

“Ah, but don’t let that dampen your spirits,” he says, a teasing lilt to his voice. “I suspect that there’s still magic left in your own waltz.”

You scoff softly, trying to hide the warmth spreading across your cheeks. “I’ve had my dance, my Lord. It’s only right that I help guide the next generation.”

He nods, as if he understands more than you’ve revealed. “But it doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy a little bit of the spotlight yourself, does it?” His gaze holds yours for a moment longer, an invitation hanging in the air between you.

Taking a deep breath, you accept his invitation with a gentle nod. Jeonghan extends his hand, and with a sense of determination, you place yours in his. The moment you step onto the dance floor, a familiar spark ignites between you. As you move, you find the rhythm of the waltz is an intoxicating escape from the weight of the evening.

His touch is confident yet gentle, guiding you with an ease that sends warmth through your veins. You laugh softly at his playful quips, the way he effortlessly spins you and twirls you beneath the glimmering chandelier. The surrounding laughter and chatter fade into a soft background hum as the two of you lose yourselves in the moment.

But just as you begin to forget the lingering ache in your heart, a commotion draws your attention away. You glance over to find Sohee in an animated conversation with Seokmin, her eyes wide with excitement. She appears to be swooning—her cheeks flushed a lovely shade of pink as she clutches her fan, fluttering it in the air as if to cool herself.

And then it happens. As the waltz concludes and the music reaches its crescendo, Seokmin leans down to retrieve Sohee's fan, which had slipped from her grasp in her flurry of emotion. The way he effortlessly picks it up and hands it back to her is undeniably charming. She gazes up at him with unrestrained adoration, and in that moment, it’s as if the entire ballroom falls silent, the air thick with their connection.

Your heart sinks, the joyous moment turning into a bitter reminder of your own unfulfilled longing. You feel the weight of your own feelings crashing down, suffocating the lightness of the dance you just shared with Jeonghan. The innocence of Sohee’s crush, her delight at Seokmin’s attention, stabs at something deep within you, twisting the knife of your heartache just a little deeper.

“Lord Lee is such a gentleman,” Sohee breathes, her eyes sparkling with admiration. You try to smile, but the corners of your mouth feel heavy, the happiness you should feel for her overshadowed by the ache in your chest.

“Quite the pair, indeed,” Jeonghan murmurs beside you, his tone shifting slightly. You glance up at him, but the amusement in his eyes has dimmed, replaced with a knowing sympathy that only intensifies your discomfort.

“I should—” you start, desperate to escape the scene unfolding before you, but Jeonghan catches your gaze, his expression serious yet gentle.

“Are you alright?” he asks quietly, concern lacing his voice.

You swallow hard, nodding even though you can feel the tears threatening to brim. “Yes, of course. It’s just… a reminder of what I’ve lost.”

Jeonghan’s eyes soften, understanding radiating from him. “Then let’s step outside for a moment, shall we? A breath of fresh air might do you good.”

You nod again, grateful for his presence, and together you slip away from the dancing couples, leaving behind the laughter and music, hoping the cool night air will ease the weight on your heart. As you step outside, the crisp night air envelops you like a silken shawl, drawing you away from the swirling gaiety of the ballroom. The coolness is a welcome reprieve from the warmth of bodies and laughter, and you relish the soft caress of the breeze against your skin, bringing with it a gentle rustling of leaves that whispers secrets from the garden. The scent of blooming jasmine and sweet honeysuckle mingles in the air, heady and intoxicating, wrapping around you like a lover’s embrace.

You move to the stone balcony, where the moon hangs low in the sky, its silvery glow spilling over the manicured gardens below, illuminating the delicate petals of the flowers that sway gently in the evening light. The grass is cool beneath your feet, a delightful contrast to the warmth of your silk gown, and you can feel the slight dampness of dew beginning to settle on the earth, a reminder of the approaching night.

Fidgeting with the lace hem of your gown, you feel the fabric whisper against your ankles, the soft silk cool to the touch. Your heart races as you catch sight of Jeonghan stepping out to join you, his tall frame silhouetted against the glow of the moonlight. He regards you with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

“You love him,” he states matter-of-factly, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I beg your pardon?” You turn to him, surprise etched across your features. Your fingers tighten around the delicate lace, twisting it nervously as if it could shield you from his piercing gaze.

“It is nothing to shy away from,” he continues, his tone surprisingly earnest. “I have observed the two of you for years, engaging in this delightful dance around each other. You love him. That is a fact. Do not shy away from it—love is a beautiful thing, even if it is tinged with loss.”

You force a laugh, the sound almost bitter. “You sound as though you speak from experience.”

“And if I am?” Jeonghan counters, his brow arching slightly, inviting you to delve deeper into the conversation.

“Why, then,” you reply, your heart racing with a mixture of intrigue and dread, “it cannot be that only my secrets are shared tonight.”

“Lady Choi,” he says, the shift in his tone unmistakable, as though he is unearthing a long-buried truth.

“The general’s wife?” you ask, the name escaping your lips with an air of disbelief.

His eyes darken, and for a moment, the lightness of the evening is overshadowed by the weight of his admission. “She was mine first,” he admits, his voice heavy with unspoken emotion. “But her father—he was a cruel man—wished to marry her off before I ever had the chance to court her properly, as adults.”

You draw a sharp breath, the air suddenly feeling thick and heavy around you. “Lord Yoon, it is a sin to desire another man’s wife,” you say softly, your fingers trembling slightly as they continue to play with the delicate fabric of your gown.

“And it is a sin to pine after what cannot be yours,” he replies, a note of melancholy creeping into his voice. “It seems we are both trapped in a most unfortunate dilemma, Miss Xu.”

You hesitate, the truth of his words resonating within you like the toll of a distant bell. You find yourself gazing at the garden below, the moonlight casting long shadows across the path. “I… suppose.”

His expression softens, the tension between you easing slightly as he steps closer, the distance shrinking as if the night conspires to bring you together. “I have an idea, if you are amenable to it,” he proposes, his voice low and conspiratorial.

You raise an eyebrow, curiosity piquing despite the tumult of your thoughts. “I suppose I have no choice but to hear it.”

“Let us… have an arrangement of sorts.”

Your mind races, the absurdity of the suggestion both ludicrous and strangely enticing. “An… arrangement?” you repeat, incredulous, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“A loveless marriage is better than none at all,” he declares, his eyes glinting with a mixture of seriousness and mischief.

You laugh, unable to contain yourself. “You jest. Have you indulged in more champagne than you can manage?”

“I assure you, I am as clear-headed as the sky on a summer’s day,” he insists, maintaining eye contact with a steady gaze that makes your heart flutter. “We are friends, are we not?”

“Friends? My lord, we have danced a few times, to my mother’s delight,” you reply, a teasing lilt in your voice, though your heart feels heavier with the weight of his words.

He feigns a look of mock hurt, placing a hand theatrically over his heart. “You wound me! We have enjoyed such spirited conversations! I do consider you a friend. And a marriage with a friend—a viscount at that—is nothing to scoff at. Have you given no thought to your future? What happens when your dear brother finds a wife and you are no longer his primary concern?”

The reality of his words settles over you, sending a shiver down your spine. You search the moonlit path, pondering the path that lies ahead. “Just… think about it,” he presses, his voice earnest, the night seemingly holding its breath.

The silence stretches between you, the world around you fading as you consider the proposal. You raise your gaze to his, a flurry of emotions swirling in your heart.

But as the moment hangs in the air, he steps back, creating a chasm of space between you once more. The hope in his eyes flickers like the stars above, illuminating the path of unspoken possibilities.

With a lingering glance, Jeonghan turns to leave, the quiet night reclaiming its stillness. Alone now, you stand beneath the watchful gaze of the moon, a companion that seems to mock your predicament, its light dancing across your skin like a playful breeze. The weight of the evening settles around you, the possibilities of what could have been lingering like a sweet perfume in the air. The garden around you, fragrant and alive, seems to echo your turmoil, the gentle rustle of leaves and the soft chirping of crickets a reminder that you are not as alone as you feel—but still, the loneliness wraps around you like a heavy cloak, suffocating and inescapable.

The Queen’s Garden is even more stunning at twilight, an exquisite tapestry of flora bathed in the soft, golden light of the setting sun. Lanterns hang from the branches of ancient trees, casting a warm glow that mingles with the fading daylight, creating a magical ambiance that enchants every guest present. Lush greenery and blooming flowers adorn the paths, their fragrant scents—jasmine, roses, and honeysuckle—drifting through the air like a sweet serenade.

As you weave your way through the throngs of elegantly dressed nobles, the cool evening breeze brushes against your skin, a refreshing contrast to the warmth radiating from the lively crowd. The sounds of laughter and spirited conversation wrap around you, punctuated by the delicate notes of a string quartet nestled among the trees, their melodies intertwining with the soft rustle of leaves overhead.

Amidst the gaiety, you scan the faces around you, searching for Sohee. Her absence hangs like a whisper, pulling at your awareness.

Just then, your gaze lands on Lord Yoon Jeonghan, standing across the garden. His tall frame commands attention, and as you meet his eyes, he offers you a teasing wink, a smirk dancing on his lips. He raises his glass in a casual salute, a playful reminder of the “arrangement” he proposed only weeks prior.

But as you turn to continue your search, you hear a soft rustle behind the curtains of the powder room. A frown creases your brow, and with a sense of trepidation, you pull the curtains aside.

What you find steals the breath from your lungs: Sohee, her dress slightly askew, caught in an intimate embrace with Seokmin, hidden from view. Time seems to freeze as you process the scene before you, the vibrant colors of the garden fading into a blur.

They don’t notice your entrance, the warmth of their laughter drifting toward you, blissfully unaware of the precariousness of their moment. A wave of urgency washes over you; you step back, the laughter and music of the ball dimming behind you, overwhelmed by the tension in the air.

The cool mask of indifference you wear feels like a fragile façade, barely holding up against the storm of emotions roiling within you. Every heartbeat thunders in your ears, a rhythmic reminder of the tension crackling in the air. You force yourself to breathe slowly, deliberately, the sweet scent of blooming flowers mingling with the sharp tang of night air filling your lungs.

You clear your throat, breaking the stillness that envelops the hidden corner where Sohee and Seokmin stand. Your posture is straight, your chin lifted, but your palms feel clammy against the lace of your gown.

“Sohee,” you say, your voice steady and cool, as though dipped in ice, “you should return to your Mama. If anyone else had seen you like this, it would ruin you.” The words hang in the air, each syllable heavy with consequence. You hold her gaze, your eyes fierce, willing her to understand the gravity of the situation.

Sohee’s eyes widen, vulnerability flickering across her face like candlelight. The flush staining her cheeks deepens as she processes your words, a mixture of mortification and gratitude washing over her. She nods, biting her lip, and you watch as she slips past you, shoulders squared despite the embarrassment, grateful for your discretion.

Once she disappears back into the sea of guests, the atmosphere shifts. It’s just you and Seokmin now, the weight of the moment pressing down like a thick fog, the sounds of the ballroom fading into a dull roar. For the first time in years, you stand alone with him, the years of silence and distance palpable between you.

You turn to leave, the flutter of your gown trailing behind you, but his voice stops you, soft and tentative, cutting through the tension like a knife. “Please, don’t go.”

You whirl around, disbelief etched across your features. “Why on earth? What are you doing here?” Your heart pounds, and your fists clench at your sides, the intensity of the moment clawing at your composure.

He takes a step closer, the distance between you shrinking, but the space feels charged with electricity. The use of that name—“tulip”—falls from his lips like a spark igniting a fire inside you. Anger bubbles to the surface, your fingers curling into fists. “You have no right to call me that anymore.”

His expression shifts, desperation creeping into his tone as he opens his palms, a gesture of vulnerability. “It’s been four years, and you still won’t give me the chance to explain myself.”

Your chest tightens at the memories, sharp and unyielding, a storm of emotions swirling within you. “So was it because Minghao told you to?”

His gaze darkens, the flicker of regret visible in his eyes. “Yes, but you need to—”

“Good evening, Seokmin.” The words slip from your mouth like ice, cold and final. You turn to leave, your back straight but your heart racing, and he reaches for you, fingers brushing against your arm like a whisper.

You jerk away, anger and hurt surging through you, the fabric of your dress catching in the air as you turn. “Please, stay,” he begs, his voice thick with emotion, almost desperate. “Stay and let me explain—”

You shake your head slowly, each word heavy with the weight of unspoken history. “You lost the right to that four years ago.” Your voice softens, but the resolve behind it remains, a quiet storm ready to break. In a flurry of lace and silk, you turn on your heel, the sound of your footsteps muffled by the thick grass as you leave him standing there, a distant silhouette against the vibrant backdrop of the garden.

The night air feels cooler as you weave through the crowd, your heart pounding in your chest like a war drum. You seek solace in the bustling ballroom, where laughter and music swirl around you, a cacophony that drowns out the echo of your heartache. The warmth of the candles flickers against your skin, the soft glow momentarily comforting amidst the chaos.

The crowd shifts around you, a blur of color and laughter, but everything feels muted—distant—as you navigate back toward the main hall. Your heart still pounds, each beat a reminder of the encounter that lingers, bitter as smoke. And then, across the room, a familiar pair of eyes finds yours: Jeonghan. His gaze is intent, assessing, and as he raises his glass to you with an amused smirk, his words from weeks before echo in your mind: “It is a sin to pine after what cannot be yours.”

The decision is instant, unbidden, like the snap of a thread pulled too tight. Steeling yourself, you weave through the crowd toward him, your mind clearing with each step. Jeonghan turns slightly as you approach, his attention shifting from the men he’d been conversing with. You stop just a breath away, feeling the weight of the moment settle around you, even as laughter and chatter fill the air.

“My lord,” you say, voice steady as a blade.

He raises an eyebrow, a faint smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Yes, Miss Xu?” His eyes gleam in the low light, the gold of the candle flames reflecting in them. “I must say, you look rather lovely in this garden.”

“Yes.” The word is simple, yet it feels like a vow, a quiet certainty.

His smile falters for just a second, replaced by a glimmer of surprise in his eyes before he quickly recovers. He leans in slightly, his voice softened but no less intent.

“Yes?”

“Yes,” you reply, your voice calm but resolute. “I shall marry you.”

Jeonghan’s expression settles into something unreadable, a flicker of surprise replaced by the slightest tilt of a smile. He inclines his head, the elegant motion drawing him closer, as though sealing the moment between you.

“A wise decision, Miss Xu,” he murmurs, his gaze never leaving yours. The sounds of the garden around you blur into silence, the perfume of roses and night-blooming jasmine heavy on the air, and though the world presses on with its merriment, this quiet promise, made in the hush of the queen’s garden, feels irrevocable.

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