#i really love writing haunt and being haunt and

[paverage-blog]

As someone who is relatively new to fanfics, I have to say I don’t really understand some of these interactive processes. To me, a fic is like a home cooked meal. I may taste something and decide it’s not for me or I may go back for thirds — but my ability to consume or enjoy it at all is due to the person who created it. As I would never sit down and eat a meal someone cooked without saying thanks (and gushing about what I loved most), I can’t really fathom reading and just walking away without saying thanks. In all but a very few instances I hit the kudos button because it cost me $0.00. Even if I didn’t think it was the greatest thing I’ve ever read, I’m at least saying “thanks, you did the damn thing and kudos to you for putting it out there.”

It seems like a level of rudeness I can’t fathom to not say how much I enjoyed a story if I did (to the point that I’ve been mulling over a fic I read last night all and it’s bothered me I didn’t leave a comment and only a kudo - I will be fixing that when I log in tonight because even if the fic is “old” or other people already said it, the author deserves to know the story haunted me all day and that I enjoyed it.) You’re privileged enough to enjoy someone’s art (which sometimes is a huge investment of their time and efforts) for free. It feels like the least I can do is acknowledge (again, for free!) that I enjoyed it or that I want to show the author support to keep writing.

As a writer, I admit that I spend a lot of time squinting at hits vs. kudos and trying to extrapolate if people enjoyed. I assume that if my work has hits but not kudos that someone read (or attempted it) and decided they didn’t like it/it wasn’t for them and that it was so bad they didn’t want to even give me a thumbs up for making an effort. I assume this, because I assume other people consume fic like I do. Reading OP’s story really makes me scratch my head… like people may pull up a chair to my table where I’ve spent weeks “cooking up” something, enjoy it, and walk off without even saying thanks…and then go tell other people how great it was? No disrespect to people who don’t kudo/comment on everything they enjoy, but I guess I’m just stunned people wouldn’t even bother to click a button to say thanks if they thought it was a worthwhile effort.

Idk, I gotta go log in and tell someone how much I enjoyed something I read yesterday and keep being an outlier, I guess, lol.

A writer friend told me something that broke my heart a little bit today; they're going to quit publishing their fanfic.

My instant thought was that they had been trolled or attacked or that something terrible had happened in their life because this person is so passionate about their writing. It wasn't any of that. Engagement with their works has been going down, as it has for many of us. Comments are like gold dust a lot of the time, and just looking through the historical comment counts on old fics on ao3 demonstrates this trend very clearly. It was not simply the comments dropping off which caused them to decide to stop posting, however.

My friend came across a discord server for their fandom (I should point out here that their fandom interest and mine diverged a couple of years ago, we stay in touch but don't currently read each other's posts because I'm not into their fandom and they would rather gouge their eyes out with a wooden spoon than read anything Star Wars) and specifically to share fic in that fandom. They joined, because we all love a good fic rec, only to discover that their latest multichapter fic, which has almost no comments and very few kudos, is being hotly discussed in this server as one of the best stories ever. Not one of these people has bothered to say this to them on the fic. When they asked, none of participants could see the point in telling the author of the fic they apparently loved so much that they love it.

This discovery has absolutely destroyed my friend's love of sharing fic. They share because they love seeing other people's enjoyment, and fic writers do that through comments and kudos/reblogs/likes because we don't get paid. There is no literary critic writing a blog post/article about how amazing the story is for us to copy and keep/frame. There is no money from royalties. All we have are the words of the people reading our works.

Those people on that server could have taken five minutes of the time they spent gushing about how amazing my friend's story was to other people and used it to tell the one person guaranteed to want to hear that praise how much they loved it. They could have taken a moment to express their opinion to the person who spent hours upon hours plotting, writing, editing, and posting those chapters. Instead, they deprived my friend of thing that keeps them sharing their writing, and in the process have killed their love of it. My friend now feels used and unmotivated.

I won't be sharing a link to their fic, they said I could share their experience but not their identity. I know they plan to post one final chapter. I know they intend to express their hurt at being excluded from the praise for the thing they created, and I know they intend to announce that as a consequence they will not be posting for a long while, if at all.

So please, I beg you, don't hide your love of a story from the writer. It's just about the only thing we have.

[ofbatsandballads]

please take this. I made myself cry writing it and I have nothing to say except that putting ya’aburnee and darling by halsey on my jason playlist was a brutal choice. also look up flower language if you want additional feelings.

There’s so many things you want for Jason Todd.

You want him to get a good night’s sleep for once. You let him close his pretty seafoam eyes and lay his head in the crook of your neck as you scratch gently at his scalp. It always calms him down, grounds him in the here and now. Your arms around him, your fingers carding through his hair, the rise and fall of your chest that’s synced with his–it all reminds him that he’s safe, that he’s home. You want that feeling to follow him into his dreams, to let him find true rest. So when his body goes tense and his breathing gets labored, you hold him closer and hum gently into his ear until whatever haunts him in his sleep is chased away by the comfort you bring.

You want to make sure he’s protected. You wish you could deflect every hit, blade, and bullet away from his body. You wish he would see his body as something worth protecting. He would stop if you asked, would settle into a normal life as best as he could. You would never ask because to do so would be to deny the part of him you love most: his heart that beats to help others. So you protect him in the ways that you can. You stitch cuts and treat burns, you mend his jackets and help clean his guns. More than anything, you guard his peace of mind like it’s the most valuable thing in the world. You’re never cruel to him, never scream vicious words or toss him out into the cold night. You call Bruce and thank him for the first edition Jane Austen novels that arrived on your doorstep on August 16th when Jason just…can’t. You let him grip your hand brutally tight under the table when you go to the manor for Thanksgiving for the first time. And when it gets really bad? When he feels the burning of green waters that breathed life into him that he didn’t want, when hideous laughter echoes in a place it’s never been? You do something no one has ever done for him. You wait. You stay. You stay by his side until he can breathe again, until dawn breaks and he can see the light again. And always, always you, haloed in it like an angel he doesn’t think he deserves. He does.

You want him to have a good cup of hot chocolate. He told you about it once when he came home after a long winter patrol. Half delirious from exhaustion, he reminisced about how Bruce would make them both a cup of hot chocolate after particularly rough or successful patrols in December. How this specific hot chocolate had no equal—even Alfred couldn’t replicate the richness and warmth. You noticed the fondness in his voice, the longing so intense that it still makes your heart ache for him. So you do some light stalking and hunt down Tim Drake, demand that he give you the information you want or else you’ll disclose how he really lost his spleen to Bruce (why he was dense enough to tell Jason, you’ll never know). And that is how Bruce Wayne, billionaire philanthropist single father and the Batman, receives an email with the subject line “URGENT: Recipe Request” that reads as follows:

To whom it may concern,

I have been made aware that you have a remarkably compelling hot chocolate recipe that is hitherto unparalleled by cafes, franchises, and butlers alike. I am emailing you to inquire about my being sent this recipe post-haste. This is less a request than a demand. I will do my best to ensure that you, at some point in time not specified (it will take great effort on my part), are able to witness the consumption of the hot chocolate by the individual that will be receiving the product of the recipe.

Best regards,

Someone who loves your son.

Bruce sends the recipe the second he receives the email. He has to sneak his phone under the conference table at the Wayne Enterprises board meeting to do it, but he still manages to reply in two minutes and forty-seven seconds. And you make good on your promise. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Jason shine as brightly as he does that Christmas, lit up by the lights on the twelve foot tree as he sips his hot chocolate from the same red mug that’s been sitting in the kitchen cabinet since he last drank from it. The matching black mug is clasped in the hands of the hot chocolate connoisseur himself, who smiles softly like the magic of the season has returned to his life for the first time in ages.

You want him to heal. It’s a big ask; you know that. But you’ve never been one for giving up hope, and if anyone can manage to achieve the impossible, it’s Jason. So you tell him it’s a great idea when he jokes about getting a therapist. You wait for him in the car the first time he goes and you let him open up to you in his own time when he comes out of the appointment body tight as a bowstring and eyes bloodshot. You watch quietly and celebrate the little victories you see him win. He can call his father first now; he doesn’t do it often, but he can. He can talk to his younger brother without hating his hands and the blood that’s been spilled on them, without going out on patrol and intentionally letting all the worst hits make contact. He can go out to lunch with his older brother and his youngest, can laugh with them over that ridiculous thing Bruce did at a gala once to make them all laugh. He can bear his birthday a little bit better now, can accept the cake you bake and actually make a wish when he blows out the candles. But you’ll never know about the moment that you start to get what you want. Jason goes to visit his own grave on the anniversary of his death and finds a bouquet of red carnations, baby’s breath, and honeysuckle with a note in your handwriting that reads “Someone told me once that you were magic, that that was the best thing about you. I think it’s far more important that you were loved. I don’t know what you could’ve been. I don’t wonder about it like those that loved you did because all I know is who you became. He’s wonderful. He’s still magic. I think you’d be proud of him. I’ll do my best to take care of him for you.” He sits there for an hour in tears. Then he takes one bud of each flower and the note, goes home and presses them into the pages of his favorite book. He holds you in his arms in bed that night and feels, for the first time in a long time, a sense of peace down to his very bones.

You want—above all else—Jason Todd to feel loved. You want him to feel so cherished and wanted that he cannot possibly look at himself without realizing that he is something precious, something beloved. So you tell him that you love him and you accept his warm embrace as his way of saying it back. You make him chocolate chip cookies and sneak one into the pocket of his tactical pants when he goes on patrol (they’re soft, they don’t get crunched when he’s thrown from a roof). You read his favorite books to understand what he’s saying when he goes off on tangents about class and social hierarchy and how they governed life in the 19th century. You trace his scars and kiss away his tears when he can’t believe that he could be transformed from a being marred by brutality into a man revered with gentleness. You will love him until the day you both die. You will love him in death, until whatever atoms made up you and him come together again. You will love him until everything that ever is or ever was ceases to be in a supernova of light. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll love him in whatever is born after.

[tevaselmundogiraalreves]

BUDDIE FIC RECS PART 2

Okay heres more fics cause ive been reading so so much lately, i cannot and will not be stopped. Heres the first list. I will most prob keep on making lists cause i honestly cannot stop reading. Once again, in no particular order:

Songbird by @colonoscopys - Goes first cause i just finished reading this one. FREAK EDDIE IS MY PASION. I said it already but at one point eddie eats bucks hair. Its awesome! FreakxFreak DumbxDumb

a bleeding sun on a silver screen by @hoediaz EVERYONE ALREADY READ THIS ONE RIGHT? IF NOT WTF ARE YOU EVEN DOING GO! ACTORS AU YOU WILL NE FAMOUS FOREVER.

chess inside my chest by @buick118 - HELLOOOO THIS ONE FIXED SOMETHING INSIDE MY CHEST "heart clipped in the backseat with his headphones already secured over his ears." I NEED AN EXPLANATION FOR THIS WRITING ❤️‍🩹

Two, Three Times in a Row by leslie_knope i honestly have no words for how much i love this fic, i reread it all the time, like ive reread it so much its embarrasing. Some of the best smut ive read.

wanna do a bad thing twice by @coldbam BUCK IS SUCH A FREAK GOD HE IS SUCH A FREAK

(You know what actually there are 2 more fics were buck is the freakiest hes ever been so ill put them right below ⬇️)

slow motion, double vision in rose blush by @saryasy Eddie Diaz. His friend. His Eddie. Has kissed a man. Which is strange because Buck is sure as hell he'd remember kissing Eddie.

Me at Buck: FREAAAAAAAAK

Also special mention to that flashback WOW!

i can tell just what you want (you don't want to be alone) by @tallsinspace Buck loses it every single time this is so awesome, it was so FUN reading INFIDELEDDIE this hiatus 🫶🏽

songs and poems and promises by @lesbianrobin buck summer of disatisfaction turns around thanks to eddie god they are so in love! Also special mention to chim well and maddie lets fucking goooooo

we keep this love in a photograph by @burnthatbridge its just so so freaking beautiful. Buck chooses eddies pics for his dating app after he comes out...

the tortured poets department by @colonoscopys once again the kind of fic that you wanna reread again and again.

"The first time Buck touched him, Eddie blew an ambulance up."

still sitting in a corner i haunt by @cal-daisies-and-briars i just love this one so much, should reread it, trust me its worth it.

we're not in love (but the sex is good) by elless. Idk i loved this one. Buddie are not even friends they just want the benefits as soon as they meet. The transition from that to them actually getting to know each other so naturally and start caring about each other is so beautiful.

in the passenger seat by @livingincolorsagain Evan Buckley was put on God’s green earth to drive Eddie Diaz around.

Just BEAUTIFUL.

tying you to me by @hoediaz ONCE AGAIN PERFECT TYPE OF WRITING. Buddie meet each other after 5x11. SO ORIGINAL GOD.

the soft animal of your body by @hattalove . This is a coda to another fic but can be read on its own. Just beautiful beautiful love making. I think i commented that i felt like they were making love with the words they were saying to each other just sitting on the kitchen table talking.

we could follow the sparks, i’ll drive by @markofalover bucks kink should be people calling him mr. diaz and thinking hes eddies husband.

Wait for me there by @kitkatpancakestack Childhood friends reunite after 8 years. I just really really loved this one. Those flashbacks to the past are so beautiful.

wanna be your endgame by literalmetaphor gotta be honest dont see this happening in canon at all cause the second eddie confesses buck would go down on his knees lets be honest. BUT this was so great! I loved it.

Pivot Tables by rainbowninja167 Does it show that i love reading buddie being so freaky and so kinky. Ill just say this: educational sex. Buck brings on the clipboard. Obsessed with this one.

I Broke What You Gave Me, But You Kept Giving More by rcdwings. memory loss buck cant remember his husband. Listen im not always a fun of memory loss fics but i loved this one i loved the twist.

there's a word for it, I'm sure by @ithilien-writes i have to reread this one asap cause i loved it so so much they are just so in love with each other but cant admit it so they just start having sex about it. And god they love esch other.

i could give you fifty reasons by @marviless buck FLIRTS with eddie cause he just want ti help. God this one was so much fun. I remember laughing out loud. I gotta reread.

beating the horse by @doitbuckley Eddie is moving to Texas. Buck finally figures out what he wants. Perfect read to the end of 8a.

In the Back Seat, Windows Up by @semperama SEX IN THE BACKSIT OF THE TRUCK LETSFUCKINGGOOOOOO

Play Me For Keeps by @semperama this one made me feel so MANY things in less than 1k words I WAS WONDERSTRUCK HONESTLY SMILING FROM EAR TO EAR

would you lie with me and just forget the world by @colonoscopys reread this one recently GODDDDD if you havent just go read it right now!!! Childhood friends to lovers for the win always.

your beauty (not just a mask) by @aashiqeddiediaz these next two fics GOD well i have a thing for mirrors and sex in front of mirrors apparently so... this i top tier for me. This one is the shorter one in front of the bathroom mirror 100/10 no notes.

my mirror (staring back at me) by @aashiqeddiediaz this one is longer. Mirror in the bedroom......... Eddie notices bucks insecurities and well he does smth about it ❤️‍🔥 such a fave of mine. It has everything!!!

Dreaming of a White Christmas by rosebuddiekin . Oh boy!!!... just gonna leave the blurb here cause no words could ever be enough: "Buck accepts a challenge to be edged in his and Eddie's own version of the 12 Days of Christmas and loses his mind a little more with each one." (Btw if someone knows the author please lmk. They put a link to their tumblr on ao3 but it doesnt work for me.)

[woenti]

Bluelock boys who look at you with your new boyfriend, reminiscing at the time when that boy was him. watching you laugh from afar at a table seated with his friends, their laughter being blocked out by his longing gaze in you, watching as he wiped the chocolate off your face as you giggled, laughing at some joke he made, he remembered when that used to be him. when he got to wipe food off your face and make you laugh in a way no one ever did. Bluelock boys, as your ex, when they see you in public alone, decide to chase after you yelling your name until you finally turn around, met with his familiar face. You smiled, to his surprise. "H-how are you?" he uttered, looking down, too scared to look you in the eyes, not after what he did to you. Locking eyes with you would mean looking into the same eyes that watered up because of him, tears that raced down your face, looking at him with utter betrayal. "I'm good, really good actually. You?" you replied. "I'm good too, and listen, I really want to apologise for what I did. I realised I never really apologised, so—" "Don't." You cut him off, the smile fading off your face. "Look at me, will you?" you asked, your voice stern, scaring him. Gosh, he fucked up. He shouldn't have brought that up. He fucked it up again. He lifted his gaze hesitantly, being met with your serious look. "You don't have to apologise; I got over it long ago. In my mind, you're forgiven. You've changed; I see that—or, at least, I hope you did, so don't worry about it." You smiled again, losing the stern tone and replacing it with a softer one. "Here." He quickly took notice of the tall boy who walked up behind you, handing you the hot drink as you thanked him, and that's when he finally looked at your left hand, noticing the big diamond ring. "Uh, I'm sorry. I'll just go," he said frantically, quickly walking away, now owning his place. The ex that broke your heart and betrayed you in the worst way possible. Not the guy who got to go on one knee, confessing his ever-dying love to you, handing you the most lavish, expensive ring that you've always dreamt of, getting to plan the most beautiful wedding with you, where he'd get to write his vows, take pictures that would hang in your cosy home filled with love as your children would run around laughing, chasing after one another. His place would always be the worthless guy that your friends would bring up as a haunting memory one day, an old haunting memory, soon to be forgotten. You glanced at him as he walked away, and for a moment, when he looked back, he could swear he saw that old glint in your eyes, the look of love you always gave him when you were together, but this time, it must be for your new lover.

CHAT THIS IS SO ASS BYT UR SEEING THE VISION RIGGHT???

[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.

Tagging: @kibs-and-bits@moondustmemories@shinwonderful@ivehypnosis@gwend0lyne@thestoryofana13@mellowamour@blissedjoon@begentlewithme-please @xabsolutelynothingx @reiofsuns2001 @mngyulvrs @mooniewrld @archivistworld @lexyraeworld @ateez-atiny380 @walkinganxiety01 @lovecleastrange @uriguyeok @nenojaems @carefully325 @meowmeowminnie @ts19009 @flickhurstyles

[brandthefish]

Ok I need to word vomit about show Lucy Carlyle as opposed to book Lucy Carlyle. Specifically her wardrobe. Here's a masterpost about the character descriptions in the books, but here's the long and short of it. In the books, Lucy has 3 described outfits:

1. skirt, leggings, padded parka (44) 2. pink and yellow nightie (145) 3. coat, roll-neck sweater, short dark skirt, leggings (169)

Granted, this appears to be just the first book so things may change with her wardrobe later in the series. (Personally I consider her wardrobe in the books to be a symptom of 'adult man writes teenage girl protaganist' syndrome) But in the show there are some notable changes I noticed that I 𝓪𝓭𝓸𝓻𝓮.

Firstly: Her pants. First, pants! She's actually wearing pants to jobs instead of leggings. Considering how much physical activity is required, it never made sense to me that she wore leggings and a skirt to hauntings. The fabric of leggins is too thin so they wouldn't be very warm. Second, a skirt? Lucy is a very practical character, it makes no sense that she would wear something that could get caught on something or grabbed.

But in the show?

Tactical pants.

The fabric is visibly thick and stiff, a lot like paramedic uniforms. (I'm most familiar with those so there might be better examples) Look at the thick waist, good for possibly having multiple belts or just the way the rapier hangs. I don't see any belt loops but that could be for quick belt release just in case. And the double zip-closed pockets are amazing for keeping gear secure and easily accessible, even if Lucy doesn't seem to be using them. She's probably wearing specifically tactical agent pants. God I love her pants so much, I need a pair.

Second: The jacket. In the books a padded parka or her coat are all very practical choices. But I understand costume designers want their main female character in more appealing-looking clothing or multiple outfits in important scenes for marketing purposes. And I LOVE the bomber jacket.

Firstly, it looks like insulated leather and the blue bits are wool. This is perfect because that gives her a fashionable but practical and warm jacket. The jacket being warm is important because of how often there are temperature drops on jobs, so she needs something to keep her warm. The leather makes it more durable so things thrown by visitors have less of a chance of hitting her. Wool is water repellent and leather is waterproof which in my brain means that ectoplasm wouldn't seep into the fibers and would mean it would have a harder time getting to her skin. Normally I don't like a cropped jacket BUT with how her rapier and other gear sits on her body, a cropped jacket makes all her stuff more easily accessible.

A few smaller details but I love how she has a thick, durable leather belt that would actually be good for holding all her gear. I also really like how she's wearing a knit sweater. Again, she needs to be warm on jobs and it was smart to layer underneath so you can still see the amazing jacket.

I love how the costume designers for the show actually took Lucy's personality into account when making her wardrobe. She has a short temper, she's no-nonsense. So they made her the most practically dressed for her job. It's incredible.

[demigodsanswer]

I know it's kind of an stretch since they're royals and have their babysitter, but maybe Percy and Annabeth being interrupted during their alone time because their child keeps demanding their attention?

This for the modern royals au btw

Might write this as an actual fic later, but if I write it now, I'll stay up all night. but I could not get this idea out of my head. It's just royal Percy and Annabeth discovering what parenting must be like for people who aren't born into birthright monarchies

Percy and Annabeth are way more hands-on parents than most people in their position, but because of this, they have a tendency to underestimate how much they do rely on their nannies for. When Sofia is about five and Ingrid (Gigi) is about three, they take a family vacation to New York for about a week to visit grandma. It's the kids' first time in New York (they've met Sally of course, she's just traveled to them). Percy and Annabeth decide they want to go just the four of them, because they love New York and want special time alone with their girls. They're also trying now for the third baby, so they know it's going to be the last vacation for a while.

They have a house in New York that Annabeth's family uses whenever they're in the city, but the little girls have never been there before. During the day, it's tons of fun, they like to explore it (when they aren't out and about), but the first night there, Gigi gets scared and runs to her parents.

Percy and Annabeth were just getting started on baby three, so to speak, when they hear Gigi. Gigi ends up spending the night in their room. No luck that night.

The next night, Gigi doesn't interrupt, just prevents anything entirely by asking to stay with them. They say "okay, but just one more night."

Well, the next night, Sofie learns that Gigi has been doing this, and asks to stay too. Now they have both girls in bed (and I don't know if you've ever slept next to a young child, but it's chaos. This is not a restful night of sleep).

The next night, Percy and Annabeth suggest the girls just have a sleepover together. The girls love this plan. They build a fort over the bed they're going to sleep it, and it's great. Percy and Annabeth are getting it on. And then Gigi wets the bed, which she hasn't done since she finished potty training, so it's a completely new phenomenon no one is expecting. Gigi is upset, Sofie is upset she's been peed on, and Percy and Annabeth have two messy girls, two messy sets of clothes, and a messy bed. And these are two people who haven't done a load of laundry in minimum six years. So Percy takes care of the wash (he's more used to the practice, as he actually did his own laundry when he lived in New York and through college), while Annabeth gets them in the bath. Very little sleep is had that night.

Percy and Annabeth have literally never been more tired. This is the first time they're really feeling the weight of parenthood as regular people must. But thankfully, Sally an Paul are taking the girls to the Museum of Natural History the next day, so Annabeth and Percy have the day to themselves. Originally they had planned to visit old haunts, maybe get a cocktail together. They spend the first half of the day asleep, and the second in sexual positions they haven't found themselves in in six years. They are in a revitalized, amazing mood by the time they meet Sally and the girls for dinner.

The last night in New York, they just decide to have a big family sleep over, forgoing any attempts at baby making in favor of movies, popcorn, and snuggles with the kids they do have.

Also all the nannies are getting raises when they get back.

[cer-rata]

Cerata's 2024 End of Year Artist shoutouts! (part 1)

Okay so this year was the first time I'd really participated in fandom in over a decade, but I'm truly glad I did because I met a ton of great people, and even got to work on projects with some of them. So I wanted to put all of the cool visual art that I've received last year, whether it be art trade, commission, part of an event, or...fanart? Because that happened somehow?

Anyway, there are a number of other people that I worked with last year, but a bunch of that art started near the end of the year, and as such is not finished yet, hence why this post will be two parts, one now, and the second when everyone else finishes up.

No particular order, all of these artists are great, and lovely people, so do go check out the rest of their work and tell them how cool they are, yeah? Also, some are currently open for commissions, so keep an eye out for that.

(Also, this is my first time trying to do ID text, so bear with me if they're a little rough, despite being a writer, I hate words?)

So first we have @fiyaharts with a lovely illustration of a number of the my favorite Krypton and Krypton-adjacent children. Shadi is lovely to work with and fast to the point where it spooked me a little bit, go off girl.

Next we have two pieces from my favorite Evil Woman Apologist, @vivictory-draws, one of a divorced Barbara and Kara being totally normal about it, and the other of my child and blorbo that haunts my waking hours, Conrad. Love N to death, which is why I haunt her with threats of commissioning Joker/Desaad Yaoi.

...Maybe for the next list, who knows...

So next we have the art created for the last @womenincomicsminibang (which is going to be returning with a reverse bang in a few months, keep an eye out on that.)

The lovely and evocative cover was done by the talented @breakingthespacetimewall, and the scenes of Cassie trying and failing to get her life together were done by the wonderful @soop-jpg

Working with them was a pleasure and honor, and their dedication and kindness really helped me through finishing that fic, and I remain incredibly grateful for that.

The first person I worked with this last year, and the one who really helped solidify the core of a lot of my projects, @nicodrawings drew a glorious cover for my mania-induced first longfic, and also a character reference for the aformentioned disordered young man who haunts my waking hours. She's a professional through-and-through, with wonderful instincts and great communication. She's also working on a fan-comic project of her own that I think is wonderful and am excited to see continue.

I lucked out and was paired with the super chill, super talented @byeara on my first fan project ever, and they hooked me up with this super fun and detailed cover for the fic I wrote for that one kon-centric minibang. I loved working with them, and would love to do so again, logistics willing.

This jerk @vnekey made me cry by drawing really sweet, totally unexpected fanart for that mania-fic I wrote. I'm still a little speechless really, I'd never gotten fanart of any sort for any reason before, and to receive something so lovely as the first thing really touched me deeply, and honestly kept me writing through some rough patches.

...Fight me!

My first ever art trade! Kind of! @spider-jaysart is super sweet and supportive and made my...second biblically (is there a Source bible? Are there religious Coluans?) cursed son and his hapless, frankly narratively cursed best buddy look so precious that they ALSO made me cry, can we stop that actually--

Speaking of my cursed son and his narratively cursed Kryptonian, @spicy-apple-pie created this really pretty piece that's...a number of weird deep cuts smushed together into something really specific, but neat if you have the context, which nobody does :3

She was so wonderful and patient and I really enjoyed seeing her run with her inspiration, the Kryptonian mural is super neat and not something I would have ever come up with on my own.

@mediaraiz Is really stylistically flexible, and their "Blob" style really scratched that itch I had for something cute and playful, and they were so game in taking on a larger project, and then went above and beyond in making my lanterns looks truly special.

Finally (for now), @riverdeansart drew a sweet little scene of two horrifyingly stressed totally fine spacebros chilling and chatting about how everything is completely okay!

I was super vague about this one and Dean did a great job getting the vibes right anyway, and with haste.

...So yeah, that's if for now! I'll circle back in a bit when I'm forced to let more artists out of my basement everything else is done!

[tunastime]

12? 👀

wrow hi guys! sorry it took me so long to get back to these again, I had some more free time open up between doing d&d campaign things and submitting applications! let's see what we have

MWAH. another FPC classic LOL. surprised this did not make my top 5 tbh. this song was half the reason I built a d&d character the way I did, but also worked pretty well for my new mcrp character Haunt! they're a hero of the wilds origin knight who is mostly a sentient suit of armor. at least. that's what they say if pressed >:3 featuring also a character of a friend of mine!! haunt and xylem get pretty close in the events proceeding the server, so take a little bit of exposition about them and haunt's past! (851 words)

“Have you ever been scared?”

Haunt smears sealing wax onto the recently fixed drape of chainmail over their knee. It jingles tunelessly against their leg, metal against metal greave as they pause for a moment, gloved hands stained, slightly glossy in the sun. 

“Of course, I’m scared constantly,” they hum flatly. From in front of them, a few feet away, Xylem snorts. He tips his head back in that signature way that implies, more than anything else, that the sardonic response Haunt’s just threw at him as a knee-jerk reaction isn’t really the answer he was looking for. He frowns a little at them, the soft features of his face pinching in a way Haunt has learned to read. It’s a serious question. Haunt didn’t lie—their answer was as serious as the question. Something else, though, hangs slightly with the rest of his question, like a scale balancing.

Terrified? Scared to death? Scared of death? Haunt, have you ever been really, really scared?

Haunt takes in a breath. Sometimes they forget they need to be doing that.

“One time,” they start, hands returning to the familiar chainmail. “At least one time.”

They don’t need to look up to know that Xylem is pinning them with a look that ushers them to go on.

Like stepping into a dream, the pure-white sand of the colosseum spread out before them, below them, as they looked out of their room and into the empty pit below, like a mouth, the rows of empty seats like teeth, like a beast. The colosseum was a beast Haunt alone had learned to tame—or, not tame, per se, but cohabitate with, cosign wins and losses alongside. The seats would be full today, and every voice would ring out their gifted name—the man with no face, no name, nothing to lose.

Haunt. The Ghost of the Colosseum Floor.

Their boots made dull prints in the sand as they stepped into a blinding array of lights, fading to slats inside their helmet as they shut the visor, obscuring the colorful arrangement. The world dulled only slightly as they made their way toward the center of the ring. It was a usual pattern, for a usual fight, for a usual day, and Haunt felt something familiar, and confident, and proud weasel up in their chest as bits of cloth and petals scattered at their feet, as their name reverberated through the crowd in waves. They turned slowly in the sand, the weight of the world resting at the crest of their shoulders, stretching and twisting as they pulled their sword, Requiem, free of its scabbard. The sound of metal rang out across the empty field. They dragged their gauntlet-clad palm over the blade’s fine edge, and the enchantments across the silver-black metal shimmered in time with their own armor—two, pointed, dog like ears curving back from their temples and the sharp, imposing visor over chestplate, pauldrons, deep red cape. A knight, glittering in the sun, soaking praise.

If Haunt had not caught the flicker of movement, they would have been swallowed alive in that moment. 

They turned. Their eyes widened as if it would do anything to help understand the shape that scrambled toward them, snarling and angry and teeth as large as their forearm, twice as wide. The breath they tried to take caught hard in their throat as they scrambled forward, boots hitting packed sand and dust as they pushed themselves. The creature made no move to stop. Its feet raised clouds of dust as Haunt gasped for breath, trying for useless cover in an empty field. Their heart beat frantic against the base of their throat. What a horrible, painful respawn this would be. Blood on the colosseum floor. First kill, and it was them. 

But not today.

They slammed their heel into the ground. The jolt nearly cracked their ankle as they whipped around on their own axis, Requiem still heavy in their hand. In one, jerking, shaking motion, they swung the blade back behind their head, and straight up. The beast slammed into them full force.

As their blade caught buckling resistance, it parted flesh, and blood, and bone, as they were shoved backwards, nearly crashing to the ground, knee buckling as it hit the earth. Haunt skidded several feet as their blade caught the creature’s pelvis and refused to give further. It sunk against the blade with no movement, its guts spooling like yarn. Gore splattered their armor as they yanked free of the massive shape and hit the ground, scrambling back, seeing stars.

Haunt wasn’t sure if they could vomit, but maybe in that moment, whatever crawled up their throat was almost bile. They tried to blink back the vignette of their vision as they stood, shoving Requiem into the nearly-solid earth below them to stand. As they did, they removed the blade, drew their hand across the side to pull gore from its surface. Flicked off the blood. The crowd roared. They spun the sword in their palm, blood still dripping from their helm.

The prickle against the back of their neck told them this wasn’t over.

Not yet.

[moons-among-distant-stars]

you know what’d be sad?

if once when chloe’s older, she dreams of rachel as she was in life, not cold and scared and alone. and for once she is in her own body, as it now, older, bearing new scars and some more weight on her bones, hair a faded green. and she sees how young rachel is. how terribly child-like her face looks. it glows like the sun but it looks much too young. and she just sits there for a while, chloe and rachel, on a train to nowhere, nothing wrong. and when she wakes she is crying, and max is there, and chloe says to her “she was so young, max we were so young” and max knows, chloe doesn’t have to explain anything, she holds her close, lets her cry. and later in the morning, when the feeling passed and she’s drinking coffee and looking out the window. chloe price sees a deer outside, a doe. not a faun stumbling along but a doe, calm and happy in the morning sun. “hi rach” chloe says and the doe looks up at all, stars in her eyes. They stand there for a moment, just chloe and the doe. in the morning sun, going nowhere. but after a while the doe turns and bounds off into the forest. and chloe price lets her go

[tetzoro]

the day the earth stood still is the day i felt your presence leave it, and then every day after that.

[cerealmonster15]

YAAAY

➥ One of your favorite lines (or paragraphs) you wrote in 2024:

I'm giving you two and theyre both idia quotes:

The offer was on the table, and it was up to Idia what happened next. The following five seconds stretched across what felt like eons to them both as Idia focused all his energy on trying not to literally pass out on the bench and take Cater down with him, or get overwhelmed by the possibility that if he DID kiss Cater, Cater might immediately throw up all over him and run away screaming. Really, it wasn’t that he didn’t WANT to kiss Cater, but what if he died? What if they both died!?

^ Blue Raspberry Mango

“...Some one, more like it…” Idia snickered.  And then gasped, a look of horror replacing his expression instantly. “Wait- SERIOUSLY? You- AZUL?!” “Shut up!" Jamil hissed, dropping down beside Idia to cover his mouth. “Don’t be so loud!” “Ugh, EW…” Idia grimaced once Jamil pulled away. “I didn’t expect you of all people to have such shit-tier taste in guys.”

^ Double Sided Pining Coin

I didn't realize those were both 2024 lol what a wild and long year. i love writing idia even though i've only done it a few times lol he's soooo much fun to just go ham with.

➥ A fun fact/easter egg/trivia fact for a fic you worked on in 2024:

i cant think of anything surprisingly lol usually i have a lot to say!! but i guess a fun fact about my ao3 stats is that 2 of my top 5 longest fics are ones i wrote in 2024 [3 if you include the fact that the top one is my multichap fic and i wrote a chunk of it in 2024] and theyre both 5k idi/kei and jami/azu fics lol. something about writing those pairs together makes me bonkers. i love how silly they are on their own and even moreso putting them together. theyre fun ships and i looove the board game club's funny hater friendship, and i also like playing with the concepts of the rest of them being friends/interacting in some degree lol

➦ The title or working title of a fic you're currently working on/planning for 2025:

working title "leocay situationship divorce drama" lol. idk if ill write it into a whole thing, i kinda just wrote down a scene that was haunting me and i have an overall vision for the vibe, ive had this vague idea in my head for a few years now but skdfjklsd i'm kind of shy about it so maybe itll just stay in the drafts. or maybe The Madness will overtake me on a whim and itll find it's way on ao3, we'll see lol.

➦ A scene or fic idea that you want to write/try writing for but intimidates you: (very optional but let's put those stretch goals out!)

^ that one over there LOL ummm also. i have considered many a time writing some of my caterella plotlines, some of which include my twst ocs. but im too shy LOL.....

more reasonably, i do have a trey/cater wip that ive begun but it's a long process because it's one i'm taking my time with, a fic that explores cater and trey [and riddle!!!] as characters and their relationships with each other, like snapshots of scenes from when trey and cater first meet at orientation throughout their years at nrc. i was gonna try and get it out before heartslabyul's section of book 7 began but it's just too slow a process, and now we may or may not get more backstory lore of the beloved trio that i could integrate... if it doesnt destroy me in the process JKLFDSKGHGJ i love my heartslabyuls sooo much so i want to write it with care..... but i get SCARED when i'm going beyond just silly goofy time [tho it will also be silly goofy time. i know who i am]

✦ A link to your ao3 or other posting platform so people can see what you've been up to and what you're going to be up to: :3

My ao3 is here! i also tag "#cereal writes" for cross posting, and sometimes here i post out of context wip lines or babble about my trials and tribulations of writing but i dont really tag those so u kinda just gotta catch me in the act teehee

2024 FUCK YEAH I DID IT + 2025 FUCK YEAH IM PLANNING ON DOING IT (fic) writers edition

➥ One of your favorite lines (or paragraphs) you wrote in 2024:

➥ A fun fact/easter egg/trivia fact for a fic you worked on in 2024:

➦ The title or working title of a fic you're currently working on/planning for 2025:

➦ A scene or fic idea that you want to write/try writing for but intimidates you: (very optional but let's put those stretch goals out!)

✦ A link to your ao3 or other posting platform so people can see what you've been up to and what you're going to be up to: :3

Tagging~ let's see. @ladybundle @basuralindo @deezneezz

anyone else is free to do it too, I have not had coffee yet so my brain is bleary.

[chasedeys]

I need your thoughts bc i’m trying to write a story & obviously we ‘know’ how joemarr’s relationship is but do you think joe and ja’marr (separately or together lol) are closer to tee or justin?? AND how do you think their relationship is with both guys. because for me sometimes it’s like joe is tee’s big brother but idk… help. please.

hello!!! (so very sorry this took. so very long. but it's here! and i rambled way too much but at the same time nothing of substance on this sort of 😭)

in a completely non pushy very excited way what fic are you writing hehe any mention of a joemarr fic in progress and i perk up like a lemur. no pressure though keep it all to yourself I'm just nosy lol

and i feel like you are completely free to decide who's closer to who based on your own fic's direction?? like me personally it depends 😭 cannot be definitive for the life of me. i myself have totally sometimes Cartoonify friendships just for the Sake of the Bit you know? but like not too much or it just gets disrespectful and annoying and i try to stay true to their character or whatever really i don't actually know these people lol

the Vibes that i sense and also some i've made up completely in my head are kind of like this:

over the years, i feel like joemarr have grown wayyyy closer to tee and have grown apart from justin. and that's to be given really considering they're now teammates with tee and justin is in a whole other team making whole other moves than them! and that's okay! they aren't made to be forever linked together, they're their own people, making their own marks in the league! but they're always going to have that 2018-19-20 lsu insanity with them and i am always going to mention that in my fics! and nobody's going to forget that college run i fear 2019 lsu is kind of legendary lmao these three are always going to be asked about each other and their pasts linked to each other no matter what and that's honestly really beautiful if you think abt it.

ja'marr and tee -> god these two. i think ja'marr is just. so obsessed with tee. just. incredibly fond of tee. unwilling to let him go. incapable of being chill about him (like he is about anybody who has somehow hit certain standards that only he knows). and i went on a spiel here where i suggest you read bc it's weirdly more well written than what i wrote here 😭. basically, i think he looks up so much to tee because tee is someone who he gets to let his guard down and be just a team player with. does that make sense. it really honestly boils back down to comparing it to justin and that sounds bad but i don't know how to explain it better?? that sounds kind of wrong tbh arhgrhgrh. it's like with tee he doesn't have to keep clawing for his spot or compete as much or whatever. like tee is clearly such an amazing wr, clearly a wr1 caliber player like ja'marr, yet he doesn't fight with ja'marr over his looks or plays or spot like justin does with him, which has to be like a breath of fresh air for ja'marr and he's said it himself all 'tee is the most unselfish player'. like that means something to him. ja'marr cares so much for tee's opinions, tee constantly singing ja'marr praises and ja'marr being so sooo silent whenever tee goes on a rant abt him like he doesn't know what to say he just hugs tee with one arm and says appreciate you so quietly (HE DOES THIS A LOT WHEN HE GETS COMPLIMENTED BTW. DO YOU NOTICE THIS. and there's so many fucking clips of them just wrapped around each other after a tuddy just!!! so cute.), and ja'marr known outrageous mother hen ja'marr chase making (speculationnnn) tee change agents and taking him to his massage therapist (in his fucking houseeee i went on a rant here god this is still so crazy to me) and nagging at tee in his mic'ed up moments so many times that feel good play good thing like. he tries to big brother tee so much when tee's the one big brothering him you know 😭 it's so funny god their dynamic is so fucking funny to me. (ja'marr tries so hard to be mature and captain-like whatever and he is good at it you know but 😭 with tee and joe and like all the bengals vets like mike h and sam and even with yoshi whos the same age as him yk it's so very clear he's the baby lmao.) he's trying so hard to take care of tee, keep him safe and well and healthy and with him, doesn't want him to leave. OH AND they went to this showroom thing where they shopped for stuff and ja'marr went with tee (!!!!!!!) and asked tee's opinion for a belt or something and tee was all dude just choose whatever you want it's soooo cute god they're so cute to me (there was also that fucking loverboy beanie im obsessed with that ja'marr didn't even glance at im so pissed. im so fucking pissed what do i have to do to get him to wear a cat beanie this shit is serious to me) like ja'marr wants to know what tee thinks!! he values his opinions!!!! even for fucking clothes!!!! god. and he knows he plays better with tee with him on that field okay, he says that with tee he doesn't get double teamed as much, and he while he's proven that he plays just as well without tee, that piece of comfort having another wr1 with him (his best friend!!!) has got to be something he wants to keep for eternity (ahahaha, verbatim ofc).

joe and tee -> joe dotes over tee lmao you can't deny that man is besotted (ja'marr is too actually 😭 they both are it's completely understandable but at the same time you just have to close your eyes and wince bc that's embarrassing. please chill the fuck out you do not need to laugh that loud over a single sentence from tee. but again: completely understandable because tee is tee. like that batman hard knocks ep. tee said one fucking sentence and joemarr just. rolled over showed their belly panting it's embarrassingggg) he's soooooooo starry eyed over him, so shamelessly coddling (?) that game hug nuzzle the first time, the broncos game where it looked like he bit his neck, this pre season's training camp (?) laughing sooo freely with tee, every sentence out of him these past few weeks on tee staying in cincy 'tee is a NEED', etc etc like i know you said he's acting like tee's big brother which i agree with completely 100% but it's also like he can be such a little brother with tee!! it's like he can let go and not be a responsible person with tee idk does that make sense. joe totally acting like tees older brother but the thing is tee is doing it right back he's just chiller about it like he doesn't have to think too hard on it unlike joe who thinks he has to be this guy 24/7. it's like joe is unused to having such a down-to-earth sane (still hilariously unhinged but sane you know) guy who makes good choices when he's been stuck with guys like ja'marr and justin who are kind of. well. so he can let up and have tee take care of him for a change! well this isn't like this 100% of the time obviously but you get where i'm going with this right (god I'm so sorry this is a mess) also tee's like. really fucking funny and sweet and joyous to be around is there really any surprise that joemarr are smitten with him lmao. i think joe tweeted something abt playing with tee for a long time when they got drafted together?? kill me. no really kill me.

who do you think brought up that tee should just change agents to ja'marr's lmaooo do you think tee brought up his agent being so fucking argumentative that ja'marr tells him to tell him to fuck off and just switch to his. and then they all go dead silent about this including ja'marr because it was one of those things that he said without thinking. like literal light bulbs going off above their heads at the same time before they start scheming shit calling lawyers and ja'marr's agents at like 2 a.m trying to figure shit out 'playing chess'. or did ja'marr and tee discover this first like 'oh??? we can?? do it probably??' and call joe frantically like can we do it and joe hangs up on them without saying anything and the got so fucking offended only for joe to turn up in their place (either one idk) one minute later probably breaking the speed of light and boom. ja'marr has his claws on tee and he's not letting go ever.

joe and justin -> while yes i said that joemarr grew apart from justin i feel like joe is like the type of person to just. be shameless in reconnecting with people he's grown apart from. while ja'marr is. very petty. lmao. i think joe is just very shameless when he reaches out to people. he, like ja'marr, is insanely loyal and values friendship to a concerning degree. he keeps contact with practically any person he grows attached to and texts them regularly and by that i mean that even if he gets ghosted or there's a ridiculously long period of dead silence between them he still texts first like 'hey bro long time no talk u in town do you wanna watch the new spongebob movie tomorrow' and bulldozes through the awkwardness like he doesn't even see it. which works with justin!! who i think kind of sucks at keeping in touch with people (like ja'marr, see below sooo sorry this is so shittily structured) and he hangs out with a lot of people during the offseason no? (its sooooo fascinating to me how he's sooo introverted and technically a hermit but he's also suchhhhh an outgoing little busybody you know and constantly reaches out to people first? like to gronk????? who does that.) including justin who has the same agent! having the same agent works wonders in keeping the connection no doubt too lmao. the paris fashion week thing etc. i think i've said it before but joe falls in love with every teammate he's ever gotten close to and that very much includes justin jefferson who helped him achieve his Insane Ambition of getting the natty so he's not letting him go even the slightest bit really. also qb-wr connection is practically something otherworldly really so really something to keep in mind when writing quarterbacks with former teammates they've thrown to lol. especially joe, who's kind of crazy 😭. i mean look at all his wristbands and sweatshirts and moving to lsu and hanging on to the playoffs by the skin of his teeth and all that jazz. he does Not let go easily. truly an interesting man to write.

ja'marr and justin -> those type of near aged siblings who fight over the weirdest shit and get stupidly competitive over everything and disgustingly annoyingly overly smug over a win that they get into stupid fights one minute only to slam open the other's bedroom door the next hour saying excitedly 'bitch i got free coupons for ice cream' and the other immediately goes 'DAMN RIGHT let me drive' completely forgetting that they were fighting and then the cycle repeats all over again. you can see just how disgustingly close they were together during lsu and that's not really something that just goes away even through time you know? but i do believe they've both grown individually as people and maybe they wouldn't get along as well now as they do then because again, they've been pitted against each other over and over and over and fucking over oh my god but the love they have for each other is clear as they really when you take in account all they've been through together. and i've said up above how their entire thing has been drenched with Competition and that's different with ja'marr's thing with tee and that's not to say that he doesn't enjoy the competition with justin he clearly loves it lmao he wouldn't be such a good player in the league if he hates it lol. more said down below because again, very shittily structured :)

justin and tee -> they should date idk (i think i had a fic idea for them somewhere in my writing tag ehehe)

on the lsu trio specifically lol didn't know how to insert it up above so:

i think justin and ja’marr are both the type to be shit at replying to texts 😔 like sure they'd text you and stuff but. they ignore so many texts whether intentionally or not. they've both said they don't talk with each other etc etc haHAhaaHHAa pain. if i may Speculate: they both probably tried texting on the regular but suck sooooooo bad at it it just peters off (is that the right fucking word oh my god why is the english language so fucking difficult that is literally a NAME) pathetically like ja'marr texted tuesday 8 p.m and justin replies on saturday 11.59 pm to which ja'marr replies to that at wednesday 1.25 a.m do you get me. and they can't standddd this type of shit 😭 kind of low attention span kind of deal and also losing interest on the text convo and having so much shit going on irl that they just don't really text anymore??

joe is like the opposite of this he replies to texts late max 2 days tops but he’s just shit at text talk. absolutely 0 flair to his words. desperately needs to learn tone indicators but people he texts have grown completely used to this and either accepts they will never understand him or, like ja’marr and justin and tee, somehow understands him 98% and bulldozes through his awkward texting and also shits on him liberally. but even if people reply to him late he'd just continue with the convo completely dead serious abt it uncaring how long you text and never the one to end convos and that's weirdly how he keeps such close contact with people he hasn't seen in years??

that's not to say that justin and ja'marr don't vibe with each other anymore lol it's kind of difficult to let go of what two years of practically living in each other's pockets being the Best at what they do. it's just they've also grown so much apart and bloom into way different people than who they knew each other to be. the random ass rarri truck comment is still so confusing to me though like. are you two okay. what was that. did your agents tell you to do something. could you two please interact irl again so i can obsessively analyze whatever the fuck you got going on actually. maybe make out on camera too idk.

also they have such the shittiest friendship humor that only people in their circle would get you know 😭 constantly shitting on each other (ja'marr does it in front of cameras while justin knows pr talk and actually exercises it well. hence the amount of people shitting on ja'marr for saying shit they themselves have said and joke about their friends. pisses me off.) and outrageously competitive people who are undeniably the best at what they do getting compared to each other constantly and their history of ja'marr technically having beaten justin during college and coming into the league with justin breaking several type of records while ja'marr breaks a whole different set of records etc etc just 😭 do you get me. i am so Sensitive about these two pls nobody touch me about them im sorry..........

joe and justin having the same agents and then tee and ja'marr having the same agents is kind of crazy tbh. tee and justin should date just for this quartet to go straight into Messy.

disclaimer this is all pure Speculation and just me making shit up tbh using my Noticer Glasses that gets cloudy from my own delusions so take this with a grain of salt!

ALSO during college i think it's like. justin was really close to joe bc they're the same year (?) right seniors or whatever closer in age and they're clearly best friends. but justin and ja'marr were like twin flames, same position, and they're kind of insane abt each other during college lmao that one clip post natty win of justin leaning back to ja'marr is like burned into my head. and ja'marr was sooo unsure abt joe at first and joe was kind of way too intense without saying a single thing to ja'marr but just staring at him while justin was like the bridge between these two!! that's like a whole other thing about joemarr and justin that's sooo fun to write about truly i love Speculating lsu days crushes and justin being a little shit about them. (lsu ask i swear i'll finish answering you one day auguauguhsuhg)

[volivolition]

wiggles my fingers at you ouuuu… you want to tell me about solace so bad…

HKJGG wiggles my fingers back lovingly!!! i really do, i fuckin LOVE solace :3 hey did you know i really like making fake skill descriptions?

SOLACE

Follow the north star. Find light in even the darkest places. Cool for: Optimists, Recovering lost souls, Sweet summer children

Solace is the skill you tucked away long ago, at the bottom of Pandora's box. The little one that tells you: despite it all, there is still hope. It needs a lot of nurturing -- and it's far from being the most helpful for police work -- but taking care of it is basically self-care. It enables you to find the glow in yourself that you often ascribe to gold lungs or brilliant halos in others. It encourages you to wake up and watch the sunrise, to play board games with someone you love, to forgive yourself and let yourself be a gentler kind of animal. Constantly looking forward to a brighter future, it also helps shield your morale from damage.

At high levels, Solace gives you a heightened sense of childlike optimism - which isn't always the sense to lead with in this precariously harsh world. Always looking for the bright side will blindside you with naivety. At low levels, however, you may just extinguish whatever keeps your soul alight. You've already lost her once. You may not survive the desolation if you let her disappear again.

[sysig]

Delusions (Patreon)

"Could I have your hand, sir?" Max didn't move, which Dexter was, sadly, getting used to.

"Sir?" Max jerked, then turned and stared at him, lost and blank. "Your hand, please."

Max's hand lifted shakily, and he laid it gently in Dexter's upturned palm. Dexter gave a quick and quiet "thank you," then turned it over in his own hand, observing him closely.

Too closely - his knuckles were rough and his fingernails were dull and cracked in places. His once-soft, not-a-day-in-his-life-subjected-to-hard-labour hands were now, already, toughened and split and scarred in places, especially the heel of his palm. He turned it over again, this time to stop looking so intensely. He had only wanted to give it a cursory glance to begin with.

"Do you know what I see, sir?" he asked as conversationally as he could manage, running his fingers along Max's abused flesh. He seemed to be at least half paying attention, his eye gazing down between them, and he'd occasionally twitch, encouragingly Dexter thought. He seemed to want to curl around him, then stopped and shook, his hand squeezing into a fist. Dexter coaxed him back out, encouraged him to hold himself lightly.

"What do you see?" He was almost startled by Max actually continuing their conversation, that happened so rarely now, shaking and quiet as it was. He took a deep breath, was he really going to do this?

"I see a hand, with five fingers." Max remained quiet, though his brow curled, and a guarded look came into his eye, though he still wasn't looking at Dexter. He felt a pang of guilt, but he had to try. "What do you see?"

Max's eye unfocused and began to water. He looked up, but not enough to reach Dexter's gaze in return, instead staring through his chest, and he felt just as hollow and empty as he must look to him.

"Do you take me for a fool, DAX?" Quiet and as close to angry as he'd heard since they'd been here.

No, not angry.

Betrayed.

He swallowed down the stinging lump at the back of his throat. He had to put on a brave face, had to keep his composure if he wanted Max to get better. That was the only thing he wanted, more than anything.

"Of course not, sir. Genuinely, what do you see?"

Max pulled his hand away and turned his body, his bandaged side facing Dexter. Shutting him out, pointedly. Dexter's empty hand curled into a fist, he was no better.

"Please, don't..." Max took a shallow, shuddering breath, and several beats before he spoke again, even quieter. "Don't ridicule me." Dexter could hear his breath catch, and he wanted nothing more than for this all to just stop.

"Sir, I didn't-"

"I've had enough of that." He shook his head stiffly, the action strange and wrong, like he had forgotten how. He stilled, his head turned even further away. "More than enough."

[asterdeer]

tear the pitch apart

not really please be nice-ish but i'm submitting a pitch to a literary festival pitch war and i need to be the most specialest goodest writer so the pitch war runners will say nice things about me in front of 50 people and maybe decide to agent me. haha what

A farm boy follows a thief on an interplanetary petty crime spree in search of a mythical deep-space monster. The Monster At the Bottom Of the Universe is a sweeping space opera about the myths we tell to keep ourselves alive — and what happens when those myths come true.

it has to be 280 characters or less (i'm presuming including spaces a la twitter) and this feels so shallow and uninteresting to me but i don't have ROOM for more and i'm trying to follow their pitch construction formula. would you read this book, is the second line too cheesy, is it too vague (I CAN'T HELP IT), should i temporarily change the 41-character book name so i have a little bit more room to pitch the damn book rather than its title, do i need to start from scratch