#let people make art without your input

[da-xiao-jie]

so this is gonna be a little something that’s been stirring around in my mind for a bit, especially since i’ve recently been lurking around a fandom i left a few years ago and it’s gotten me to think some more about things and specifically about stories.

when creating media, the first and foremost priority ought to be creating a cohesive story. with things like the star wars sequel trilogy, the frozen movies, and every other exhausted franchise that gets three too many sequels, i think that the drive to make an enjoyable story for oneself has long ceased to be a factor in a lot of storytelling.

in the book market, publishers look for what’s hot and then proceed to follow the trend instead of publishing genuinely good stories. moviemakers start a trilogy without any idea of where it’s going and switch directors twice in the space of three movies because they don’t have direction and base their creative choices on the response. frozen 2 had so many issues because the d-biz knew it could make money but neglected to actually present the world with a story that made sense given what was set up in the previous movie. and now a third movie is in the works because it’s such a money-maker.

i think we need to do better. the most consistent advice i’ve heard when it comes to writing is to write the stories you yourself want to hear. when there’s a story you want to see made and you proceed to make it to the best of your ability, people will connect to it. Not everyone will like it, but because it’s a story from beginning to end, it’ll be, at the very least, understandable. i think fans want too much say and i think media creators listen too much to the vocal fans.

this isn’t anything new, i know. but i do think that both sides are a little responsible for the regurgitation of poorly told stories and unnecessary retellings. consumers want their expectations met and creators need an audience and so they cater. so many of the books i enjoy these days are independently published because indie authors publish the stories that they want to write and most of those stories are either not trendy or weird in their premise. and you know what? they’re amazing. a lot of these authors write their hearts out, improving their craft while building up loyal fanbases who’ll buy just about anything they write because they’ve learned to trust that the author will write something with all they’ve got. a favorite author of mine recently set up a kickstarter where her goal was like $5k and by the time the kickstarter was finished, there was like 6 times that much.

please. write your story. put it out there. people will find it and love it. stop caring about every little thing. stop pandering to the whims of everyone else. write what you want. make your movie or your tv show the way you want to and trust that there’s someone else out there who likes the type of stories you like. because with nearly 8 billion people on this planet, that’s not a far-fetched assumption.

[yoon-kooks]

seven tattoos later | jjk

🐰pairing: fuckboy!jungkook x tattooartist!reader

🐰genre: fluff, smut

🐰summary: if the hottest fuck boy in town made it a point to visit your little tattoo studio every week, how many tattoos would it take to make you fall in love with him?

🐰word count: 3.3k

🐰warnings: unprotected sex, slight exhibitionism, sex on the couch, doggy, hes big and rough, lip tattoos, hickeys, lil bit of drinking, hes so annoying in this im so sorry

As you close up for the night, you look out the window and count at least four couples out for a dog walk. It’s past eight, but still warm and bright out. It’s like the sun never stops shining. Summer sucks like that.

Maybe you’d appreciate the sun a little more if you had a puppy to walk or at least a handsome guy friend to drag you outside so you aren’t just rotting away in your empty tattoo studio on a Friday night. Everyone’s apparently on vacation or getting married in Hawaii or something, so work’s been exceptionally slow this week. Fuck summer.

It’s lonely.

You might even miss Jeon Jungkook, the last person you ever expected to get along with. The first time he walked into your studio, he didn’t waste any time in hitting on you and making it painfully obvious. You were convinced he only walked in and got a tattoo that day because he thought you’d be an easy lay. 

That was around two months ago.

“What do you think would look good on me?” he’d asked while scrolling through your portfolio. You knew exactly what he was doing. He wanted you to take in his good looks, imagine the carved out physique beneath that leather jacket. That’s what guys like him do. And he was far from the first male client to ask you that. He wasn't special.

“I don’t know, maybe like a bunny or a duckling?” You just said the first things that came to mind—your two favorite animals. You didn’t give a flying fuck about what design would actually look good on someone you’d just met. Your icy heart definitely doesn’t warm up to people that quickly no matter how hot they are.

“Bunnies are cute,” he said without hesitation. You swear he was staring right at the dainty bunny tattoo on your collarbone. Then he tapped the top of his left hand, the one without all the other tattoos. “I’ll take one right here.” 

At the time, you didn’t think he was serious. (He was serious.)

“So, for touch-ups and stuff, it’d probably be good if I had your number, yeah?” he asked, leaning against the counter and admiring the final product on his hand. Him and his cocky ass smile. It’s annoying how hot he is. Unfair, too.

After inputting your number into his phone, you needed to make one thing very clear: “Send me a dick pic and I’ll tattoo all of your exes’ names on your forehead.”

“I promise no dick pics,” he chuckled. He must’ve taken your threat as a cute little joke. “But I would like to take you out sometime.”

For a moment, you just stared at his handsome face. Everything about him was bright and shiny. His pretty eyes, the art wrapped around his arm, that confident smile. The sun had nothing on him.

But the thing is, you knew better than to trust guys like him. They’re always saying shit they don’t mean. And you were tired of being let down by those empty words.

What would make Jeon Jungkook any different from the fuck boys who’ve burned you in the past?

You didn’t know enough about him to answer that question, but you also weren’t willing to get to know him.

It was for the best.

So after you politely declined the invitation, the boy nodded, waved farewell, and jogged out the door. At least he was decent enough to accept his fate and move right along. (He wasn’t.)

Just when you thought you’d gotten rid of him, he spun around. “See you next week for the touch-up, Y/N.”

He was still smiling like an idiot. You didn’t understand why.

“You’re not gonna need a touch-up in a week,” you shouted back as he dashed off. Fast little fucker. You doubt he heard you, but it didn’t really matter. With all those other tattoos, he already knew how touch-ups worked.

Besides, what were the odds of him showing his pretty face again after rejection? Every other client you turned down never came back. Not even for a touch-up.

You didn’t believe for a second Jeon Jungkook would be back.

A week later, he proved you wrong and waltzed right back in like you never rejected his ass. Of course he did. The week after that, he had three of your designs etched into his hand. And he just kept coming back for more, week after week.

Somewhere along the way, you learned he’s a wedding photographer, an artist like you. He’s shown you his photos a few times even after you specifically said you hate weddings. The photos were gorgeous, though. As much as weddings make you want to gag, the sweet moments he captured had the reverse effect. Somehow, you were envious of what those couples had.

You’ve also overcome the impossible task of learning to tolerate his dumb humor. It’s probably because his laugh and smile are so contagious. He won’t stop running his mouth until he sees you smile either, especially when you’re having a bad day. Your cheeks hurt whenever he’s with you.

Fast forward two months and he now has a total of seven of your tattoos. It feels weird not seeing him this week, not breathing in his woodsy cologne, not leaving your mark on his perfect skin. But you suppose that’s just what happens when the guy who’s been annoying the shit out of you suddenly goes to Hawaii. The withdrawal symptoms are kicking in. 

Your world is a whole lot quieter. It’s peaceful for once. And yet, you miss that chaotic idiot. 

Fuck summer. Fuck people who get married in Hawaii.

Your phone buzzes just as you finish cleaning up. Hopefully it’s someone who wants to book an appointment. (It’s not.)

When you read “jungcock,” you roll your eyes with the faintest smile—the perfect example of your clashing feelings for the boy.

jungcock🥴 [8:24PM] “Got time for me tonight?🫦”

Y/N🐰 [8:24PM] “arent you supposed to be in hawaii rn?”

Y/N🐰 [8:24PM] “and dont use that emoji ever again”

jungcock🥴 [8:25PM] “I’d never choose Hawaii over you😌”

jungcock🥴 [8:25PM] “(They called off the wedding)”

jungcock🥴 [8:25PM] “🫦”

[8:25PM] [jungcock🥴 is now blocked]

[8:31PM] [You’ve unblocked jungcock🥴]

jungcock🥴 [8:31PM] “Is that a yes?”

Y/N🐰 [8:31PM] “i hate you a lot”

jungcock🥴 [8:32PM] “Hear me out”

jungcock🥴 [8:32PM] “What if😳👉👈 I brought snacks?”

Y/N🐰 [8:34PM] “fine”

You groan and shove your phone back into your pocket. Sometimes you wonder how you let this dork finesse his way into your life. Where did you go wrong?

Jungkook arrives at your studio ten minutes later with your favorite peace offerings—soju and pancakes. Ah yes, this is how he finessed his way to the top.

“Ooh snacks,” you hum as if you didn’t believe in his ability to pick something up on the way over. “What kind of pancakes did you get?”

“Your favorite, obviously,” he nods, handing you the warm box and a fork. There’s something about the way he crosses his arms, as though he’s just waiting to catch your reaction when you open it. Why does he look so fucking proud of himself?

“I never told you my favorite pancakes.” You raise a brow. The only thing you told him was your favorite pancake place. But they have like a million different options, ranging from classic (blueberry and chocolate chip) to fancy (tiramisu and that edible gold stuff). There’s no way he can magically guess your favorite pancake.

“Just open it.” He gives you his idea of a “playful shove” on the shoulders, which would’ve knocked you over with the pancakes if he hadn’t grabbed a hold of your wrist. He was definitely that annoying kid on the playground who chased around all the girls he had a crush on.

You mumble on about him being too rough as you open the box. To your surprise, it’s strawberries and whipped cream drenched in red syrup on top of a fat stack of pancakes—aka your favorite pancakes.

You look up from the mountain of strawberries and tilt your head at the boy like a confused puppy.

“I asked the waitress with the purple hair what you normally order,” he explains.

“Okay, but she doesn’t know me by name. How’d you describe me to her?”

He takes a few steps closer until you get a whiff of that woodsy cologne you missed so much. You feel the tips of his fingers trace along your collarbone. He’s not so rough anymore. In fact, the warm caress just barely grazes your skin, as if to tease your body. You’ve always lowkey looked forward to that tiny bit of warmth while working on his tattoos. Maybe he’s always been aware.

“I called you a cutie with a bunny tattoo.” His nose scrunches when he smiles this time, giving your skin one last poke. “She knew it was you when I showed her the one on my hand.”

Of course Jeon Jungkook walked into your favorite pancake place pretending to be your boyfriend. Of course he did something as embarrassing as showing off what appears to be matching tattoos. All for the sake of bringing you your favorite pancakes on an otherwise shitty summer night.

“Now she’ll think we have matching tattoos,” you say softly, shoving his chest. “How am I supposed to show my face in there ever again?”

“Hey, I don’t have a problem with the whole matching tattoos thing.” He puts his hands up to protect his chest from your wrath in case you’re feeling feisty. “I’ll just pick it up for you again.”

You’re not feeling feisty, so you give the boy a thumbs-up and bring him over to the couch in the back corner of the studio where you usually eat or take naps.

At long last, you stab a piece of pancake and strawberry and coat it in whipped cream before shoving it into your mouth. It’s delicious. “Is it mean if I say I’m glad the Hawaii wedding was canceled?”

“Because you’d be lonely without me here?” he teases.

“No, it’s because you bought me free pancakes, you simp,” you grin, handing off the fork to the simp so he too can get a taste of heaven. He passes you the soju in return even though you’re already feeling a little giggly.

“It’s not free,” he denies. “I’m supposed to be here for another tattoo, remember?”

After a tiny sip, you set the green bottle aside and grab Jungkook’s hand with both of yours. It looks so silly with all your tattoos surrounding the cute little bunny in the middle. He’s silly for letting you do that to him.

“I don’t think there’s any more room on your hand for another one,” you giggle. “Where am I gonna tattoo you next?”

You wonder how many tattoos he has under his clothes. Maybe he’s already got them all over the place. Then, eventually, his body will run out of space and you won’t be able to tattoo him anymore. That would suck. You kinda like his company.

“What about a lip tattoo?” you chirp, tapping on his lower lip with your index finger. When he doesn’t swat you away, you tug down on his lip ring to check for a hidden tattoo there. Nothing. “I have one.”

“You do?” His eyes immediately fall on your red strawberry lips. You pull down your lower one for him to see tiny black letters that read “bad girl.”

“My ex did it. I was supposed to tattoo ‘bad boy’ on his lip, but he chickened out,” you shrug. “Isn’t that crazy?”

“Wait, I thought you can’t stand matching tattoos?” He’s such a good listener. Boyfriend material.

“I didn’t have anything against them up until that point,” you hum as you play with his wavy hair. The perm is cute on him. “But that’s basically when my perspective changed.”

That’s when you lost faith in men. When you grew to hate the idea of marriage. When you started rejecting every guy who approached you, even if he was half as hot as Jeon Jungkook.

“Well fuck your ex,” he frowns. Yeah, fuck him. No, wait. Your ex isn’t the one you want to fuck right now. “You’ve convinced me. The next tattoo I’m getting is a lip tattoo.”

“Got any design ideas for what you want there?” You climb into his lap, cup his chin with one hand, and play with his lip piercings some more. You’ve never been this up close and personal with Jungkook, but you like it. You can already feel his cock hardening beneath you through your leggings.

“Your lips,” he says without hesitation. Cheesy, but you’ll take any excuse right now to close the gap between you and him.

Just like that, something clicks in your body, and your lips just find their way to his. You’re not sure how much of it is alcohol and how much is your actual feelings for the boy, but it doesn’t really matter. Not when the kiss tastes like strawberry pancakes. It’s perfect.

You throw your arms over his shoulders as he kisses back. He’s already got his hands slipped up the back of your little tank top. 

Your hips start to roll against him.

“Should we close the blinds?” he asks against your lips. “Unless you like an audience.”

You glance at the window. The sun is finally going down, but of course people are still walking their dogs. Maybe they didn’t get the memo that it’s officially fucking hours, not dog walking hours.

Normally, you’d be all for closing the blinds and turning out the lights, but your ass is nice and comfy in his lap and you’d rather not change that. Plus the back of the couch should hide 90% of what’s going on.

You shed your tank top off and toss it onto the coffee table next to the unfinished pancakes. His big eyes flick to your lacy black bralette. 

“Let them watch.” You press your lips into his neck and suck away like a vampire. The hickeys you’re about to leave him with will have to make do as temporary tattoos for now. You’re not gonna have time to tattoo him tonight.

“You sure you want people to see you so desperate and needy like this?” he asks as you wiggle out of your leggings. His hands immediately find your ass and give it a good squeeze.

“I’m not needy,” you whine, your naughty hand feeling how large his cock is through his joggers.

“I think you’re pretty needy, Y/N.” Two fingers slip past your thong and spread the wet lust between your legs. He has the biggest smirk on his face as your body squirms to his touch. You do everything in your power to hold back a gasp. “Do you want me to fuck you that badly?”

Yes, but you’re not going to admit it. Ever.

“No way,” you answer with confidence. He helps you out of his lap and you let him prop you up on your hands and knees so he can get a good look at your ass. “This is just my way of thanking you for the pancakes since we both know you aren’t getting that lip tattoo tonight.”

“The lip tattoo can wait.” You feel your thong drop to the couch where it belongs. Two very strong hands hold you at the waist. “You’re my number one priority tonight.”

As he fills you with his cock, you’re already melting to the heat between your legs. Your weak little arms lose all their strength. You reach for your fluffy white cloud pillow to muffle your moans and let him do all the work from behind.

The tight hold he has on you is a mix of possessiveness and all the sexual tension built up over the past two months. You wonder how many times he thought about bending you over and fucking you silly in the midst of getting a cute little frog tattoo. You’ve seen the way his lustful eyes look at you during his appointments. You’re not that oblivious.

“Nice ass tattoo, by the way.” He pinches the bit of skin with two pink butterflies. You’d always regretted that one because not everyone shares the same appreciation for it, but that tiny love pinch made it all worth it. “You and your cute little tattoos.”

He slides in and out, pounding your deepest spot, and drawing a pathetic whimper from your throat every few seconds. Doesn’t help that he has a finger or two rubbing away at your swollen little clit. That’s when you realize you’ve been missing out on amazing sex for far too long. Seven whole tattoos. That’s how long it took before you gave in.

He’s already rougher now than the playful shove that nearly knocked you over earlier. Good.

This is exactly what you need after such a boring work week.

“What would you be doing now if I were taking wedding pictures in Hawaii?” His voice is getting breathier. He’s working hard out there.

“Gagging at all the romantic shit you’d be sending me.” Even if he weren’t physically there with you, you know he’d still find a way to be annoying. He’d let you know he’s still thinking of you.

“Don’t worry, I won’t make you gag tonight.” You don’t have to turn around to know he’s got that dumb smirk on his face. “Maybe another time. If you’re into that.”

Your response is a soft moan into the pillow. The thought of his cock shoved down your throat isn’t as repulsive as you would’ve thought two months ago. Giving head isn’t usually your thing, but you’re open to trying it with him. You’re glad he can’t see you lick your lips.

He doesn’t slow down either, instead picking up the pace and going harder. Your fingers dig into the pillow, your whole body dripping in pleasure. It feels too good.

“Mm, Jungkook,” you pant like a poor puppy with your ass up in the air. Your little clit can’t take much more of his fingers. You’re so close.

“Thought you couldn’t stand me,” he teases as you tighten around him. He’s so annoying! During sex, too. “And now you’re about to cum for me?”

“Fuck you,” you gasp as the wave of pleasure passes through you. His fingers and cock help you ride out the high. He’s lucky he’s a sweet guy with a strong sex game. Otherwise you wouldn’t have fallen for his annoying ass.

As soon as he pulls out, he flips you onto your back, staring down at you with his cock in hand. A few extra pumps along his length is all he needs to get his release and drizzle your belly with his creamy glaze.

He climbs over you to give you a soft peck on the lips. You’ve been with a lot of fuck boys before, but you can’t remember any of them kissing you once the sex was done and over with.

This boy is different.

He lets you lie there, basking in the afterglow as he searches the studio for a clean towel. When he finally gets ahold of one, he offers a hand to help you sit up and gets you cleaned up.

“All jokes aside, I’m happy you were here tonight,” you say in a tiny voice. “Fuck Hawaii weddings.”

He chuckles in his usual adorkable way. “You should come to a wedding with me sometime—when I’m not working, of course. Maybe you won’t hate them as much as you think.”

You lean in for another kiss. There’s still a hint of pancake on his tongue, but it's even sweeter. “Sure.”

The corners of his lips curve upward in satisfaction. The annoying little shit is about to jump out. You can feel it. (The annoying little shit does not jump out.)

“Now finish your pancakes,” he smiles. For once, it’s not him looking all smug and shit. And it’s really endearing.

Somehow, he just keeps proving you wrong. In a good way.

You look at your favorite pancakes on the table and wave them off. “Nah, I’m good.” Once more, you scoot your ass onto him and press a finger to his lip. “I think I like the taste of you better.”

[alyssa-the-witch]

Misconceptions I've had about Hestia

Whenever working with a new deity, I've learned that the myth doesn't always match the (wo)man. But a lack of mythos adds a whole new layer that I encountered when working with Hestia for the first time. I realized that, because there's not much about her, the little information out there has a high likelihood of not being true. And the few myths about her are maybe 3 sentences? So I decided to share some things that I've learned for input. There's also some general advice, as Hestia is the first goddess I've fully worked with. Coming up one year now, yayyyy!

As always, agree to disagree and please don't start fights!

🔥☕🏡🐖------🔥☕🏡🐖------🔥☕🏡🐖------🔥☕🏡🐖

1~ Hestia is passive

Ha! Not really! Many people believe that because Hestia is a home goddess and stays on Mt. Olympus, she's passive and unassertive. But from what I've learned, that could be farther from the truth. Despite Poseidon and Apollo's advances, she stayed true to what she wanted. She picked her job, chose what she wanted to do, and she's stuck to it. That's part of why she took her vow to Zeus, so she would have no man to deter her from the life she chose. That, I think, is crucial to hear these days, especially with the rise of trad wives and feminism. She is the prime example that it should be your choice and not anyone else's. Yes, she is calm and peaceful compared to her siblings, but she's also powerful in her quiet nature. There's a power in that.

2~ To devote yourself to Hestia, you have to be completely modest and veil all the time.

This was a hard one for me going into it. I thought that to devote myself, I had to stay true to all her virtues. And I tried to dress how I thought she would want me to. However, I realized that I felt so unhappy and nothing like myself. I was already fairly modest by nature, but I still felt like I wasn't modest enough. I prayed that night, did a little meditation, and I realized something. I don't have to be exactly like her to worship her. I can just be myself. Hestia, as a hospitable and kind goddess, she will take you and love you as you come. Recently, I've gotten myself real veils, but for a while I've just used a red hair tie while doing housework. And again, it wasn't all the time, just while while cleaning or cooking. And that's okay, she won't hate you for it!

3~ She'll be mad if you don't do your house chores on time or if you mess up cooking

This has got to be my anxiety showing, because looking back, there's no way that she would be like this. Cooking and baking are imperfect arts. Things tend to go wrong. And when they do, you just have a second, pick yourself up by your bootstraps, and keep going. If you mess up, Hestia is there for you: she lets you take those moments and guides you to get up and keep going, keep persevering, and finish that casserole. When it comes to chores, those are a lot harder, especially for neurodivergent people (like myself). Sometimes it can feel like that hardest thing in the world. But Hestia knows that, and she doesn't mind. As long as it gets done. Even if the laundry load is so big it feels like a mountain, she'll help you climb it. She knows, and she's there for you.

4~ By family, she means blood family.

Also no. Family is a very different thing than it was in Greek times. Now, family is what you make it, not who you're related to, and if your family is a danger to you, you have every right to not call them family. Hestia, along with being protector of hearth and home, she is the protector of those without a hearth to go to, those who don't have a stable home. She knows that family isn't linear, and I believe she wants everyone to have a stable family, no matter what it looks like. What is a home but the bricks you make it out of?, what is a fireplace but the kindling you put in it?

🔥☕🏡🐖------🔥☕🏡🐖------🔥☕🏡🐖------🔥☕🏡🐖

So yeah, that's my top four. Feel free to reblog with anything that you've learned, either from Hestia or any other deity you work with and give your input on my thoughts! Blessed be, everyone!

[kissmetwicekissmedeadly]

MO'S FANFIC BEAUTYFYING MASTERCLASS!👩‍🏫

So it seems like you guys like how I do my banners and layouts on @xxsycamore ! I wanted to share a few tips about making similar ones, along with some of my observations on their importance! Be warned, some of the screenshots I'll use to illustrate my point will be of my smut fics! This post is intended for the ikemen series community. While the tips could be found useful for other fandoms as well, it's important to note that it's only this fandom that I've taken into account and because of that my observations could be unreliable if you chose to follow my advice outside of the fandom!

The importance

First of all, a good layout is a subjective term. Second, a "good" layout is not guaranteed to boost your fic's popularity. Not all of us are able to put the time and effort into fancy banners and dividers, but the good news is, you don't really need them! You should always strive to do only as much as you can without straining yourself. Here you can see a minimal effort fic layout vs one that took 30~ minutes to put together, both posted around the same time, both having a similar reception when it comes to notes! Keep in mind that a layout is just one of the many factors to take into account for your fic's popularity status, and you shouldn't obsess with it either way.

2. The minimum: Banner + Title

Not everyone checks out every single post on their dash while they scroll! I follow around 1100 people and while not all of them are active, it's easy to miss a post that could as well have been the best thing I'd see that day. Your brain recognizes what a typical fanfiction post looks like - a rectangular picture with a title above/underneath, followed by text. As long as you scroll past a post with a similar construction and you're interested, you might want to scroll back and check it out.

3. Banners

The information that you get from a banner is typically about the character(s) featured in the fic. Using the example above, you'll see that a simple cropped picture of the character gets the job done! (an in-game sprite at that, not a fancy card photo)

If you decide to use a card, you can browse google for a good one of your character(s). I try to select a card that depicts something similar to what's happening in my fic, either the action or the "vibes" (daytime or nighttime, outside or indoors, canon or modern, etc.), but sometimes it's better to choose the one that will look good instead of the one that's more fitting.

Finding cards of good quality is also challenging, and I'd advise you to avoid blurry/low-quality banners even if those would be best fitting.

Stick to the rectangular horizontal format if possible. I like square banners sometimes, but it's better when you can see the whole layout at once!

4. Editing the banners & photo coloring

If you decide you want to go out all, you'll need a photo editing app or a program. I use one called Snow which is mainly for selfies but gets the job done. It has many filters to choose from, but inputting text there could be a hassle sometimes. Another one I use is Pixlr. Yeah, I couldn't let it go ever since the days it was just a website...it's been about 10 years but I still rely on it (now as an app) for some stuff, like cropping down images with very big height to width ratio (like thin strips for dividers). In very rare instances I use my (paid) art program, Clip Studio Paint. I know that many people use Canva for their banners but I can't get used to it, I guess it's not my thing, haha. That's why you should see what works for you. I prefer a certain amount of limitation, like having filters to choose from, simply because I don't want to think too much about it and to be able to spend too much time on it (I'm a perfectionist)...

Maybe you just want to give your picture some nice coloring, nothing too much, just a slight change of tone that it's noticeable but not in a screaming way. There are still some things to avoid, mainly old-looking filters. I'm talking about the ones that were mainstream on Instagram during the last decade, the pinkish sepia one for instance. Ones that have too high exposure value and make the bright parts practically glow are not a good look either, same for the too dark ones. Making the character unrecognizable is also not good, and some filters can do that, especially in the case where they have fair hair and the filter makes it appear as another color. Again, those examples are bad only in my own opinion and could look good in certain circumstances or if it's a desired look!

Here's the collage for the banner used for my fic Nine Nights (MDNI) before the filter (first picture), a variation I did but scrapped (second pic) and the one I went with in the end (third pic). While the bottom pic is in contrast with what I said about making characters unrecognizable, here I rely on the fact that it's enough that it's obvious this will feature all of the Crown members just by looking at the bunch of them. I liked how the colors pop up, almost as if each one gets assigned a theme color (interestingly I didn't pick the cards for that purpose), and it's just a pretty coloring in my opinion as a whole. I achieved this by tweaking the RGB values from the "Curves" tool in Snow.

Another cool thing to do with your banner is adding transparent elements in it, like how I did with this one (see it from the link below, it's not depicted here on the pics). The thing is, this could be very energy-consuming, you'll need an app/program that can do that as not all of them work with transparent images, and in the end, it could be just barely noticeable. But it can be fun from time to time.

5. Titles

A title is the other main element of your fic's layout and it should stand out. If you hate coming up with titles (understandable...) you can just put a "(character) x reader fluff", for instance. If you look at the example in point 1, I simply used the character's name in place of a title! It doesn't have to be a stressful aspect of putting your fic out there. As a side note, you can try centering your title simply by putting some spaces at the front, but leaving it aligned to the right could be a stylistic choice.

6. Colored text

This one is very optional but good if you want to fancy it up. Tumblr already gives you a bunch of colors to pick from and you can make use of them if they fit the style of your fic, but they're very limited. Luckily we can use just any color we want. (This only works on the fonts tumblr supports! The ones you can choose from when you highlight a text) Unfortunately, the way to do this will make you work with the HTML editor which you can access at the top right corner of your post editing screen (from desktop, click the settings, scroll down to Post editor) and things might seem pretty scary if this is your first time looking there. It's not too hard! You need to use a site that takes your desired piece of text, lets you select colors, and then gives you a code that once pasted in the HTML editor will make it colored when switching back to the Rich text editor. Here's the one I use because it also allows me to blend colors. At the bottom right of the page, I put the text in the first box, select the colors, and upon clicking Run it gives me the code in the bottom box. I use colored text for my title, and sometimes for my information tags.

7. Information tags

This is how I refer to the part of your layout dedicated to showing the pairings, genre, content warnings and wordcount of your fic. This is all optional even to add in the first place. I personally don't bother too much with beautifying that part, but a good tip is using some kind of symbol to separate these pieces of information if they're all in the same paragraph (I use big dots), or to place in front of them if they're in different rows (like bullet points). This gives a lot of creative freedom for text art, you should explore it if that's your thing!

8. Fonts & font size

You can experiment with Tumblr's fonts, or you can look for more fonts online - here's a handy site. It's good to find one that is legible enough. 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞. Again, be warned, those fonts that are outside of tumblr's post editor cannot be colored (as far as I'm aware of)

You can spell your title in all caps if you deem that's a good look for your fic.

Play around with bolds and italics instead of making everything a different font.

The "Biggest" font option here on the editor is not the best one to use as it's simply too big. Big title fonts should be avoided if your title doesn't fit in a single row.

Having different font sizes for different things in your layout can be eye-catching! Besides the obvious upscaling of the title, you can also upscale your information tags. Using small text is also nice and prevents your post from getting too long, but this should only be done for the part of the fic that is not the fic itself. Small text could be harsh on the eyes if it's in big quantities.

9. Dividers

Dividers are another crucial part of a fancy layout! They divide different parts of your layout, like the information tags and the fic's body. There are tons of styles to choose from. Some people like to use dividers that spell out something, like a "minors DNI" warning, a "support your creatives" reminder, the name of the character featured in the fic... You can make your own set of dividers for repeated use. I like to use very thin lines which I color differently according to the fic's theme colors. I also find dividers online, mostly here on tumblr, as there are tons of them if you look them up. It's important to use dividers which are marked free to use, or to otherwise credit their creators.

10. Additional tips

Use gifs. Everything that moves is eye-catching. But don't go overboard with it - one or two moving objects on your layout is plenty. They shouldn't be put too close to the fic's body too, as people might find it distracting. Avoid flashing and glitching gifs, or if you use those and you deem it necessary, tag the post with an epilepsy warning. You can make your banners into gifs by putting a moving filter on them, making it into a video, and turning the video into a gif (the site I use for this is called ezgif and it has plenty of other options for working with gifs and videos), and you can also make or find gif dividers.

Banner themes are nice, but they don't always look good. I'm talking about making a series of banners (like for a bunch of fics made for the same creative challenge) look the same, with the same coloring and filters. I used to make all my banners purple to follow my blog's tumblr theme but I realized not everyone looks good in purple...

Try adding a synopsis for your fic! I know, this is worse than coming up with a title, but we love flipping the book over to look at the synopsis before jumping into it. Keep it very short and try beautifying it with symbols or fancy quotation marks.

Use the "intended" font from the tumblr post editor to make your information tags or synopsis stand out and shrink the overall length of the post!

Put the body of your fic under a "read more" (the last option when you hit a new row in the post editor). This is very important, especially if you're writing smut - you wouldn't want to make people scroll through all of that if they're not in the mood for it. Putting your whole fic on the dash doesn't make it more likely for people to stop and read it, or at least that's just how I see it.

Use emojis! Emojis stand out!

Take inspiration from other people. Get out of your bubble and look at how other fandoms do it, but obviously don't steal.

11. Final thoughts

Making this post felt weird to me! I was motivated by my mutuals complimenting my layouts but also because some of them said "they can't do that" and I wanted to show them it's easy. I also wanted to show them it's not that important and that they shouldn't stress over it at all! At the end of the day it's your fic that matters, not how pretty you can make it work. But instead of simplifying it, I ended up with this massive post of 11 parts, and now it looks scarily big. It's not, okay! I went too much into detail at times, and I want to stress once again that it's all optional anyway. I, personally, don't follow all of this advice. I don't go through the 10 steps of constructing my layout every time I'm about to post a fic. I typically post my fics just before going to bed, and 99% of the time I need it to happen ASAP because it's that late in the night. It's a way to beat my perfectionism, really, and I find it to work for me. I also already have these steps tested and memorized so it all happens quickly and mechanically for me. Making the layout is extremely fun for me and this is my sole driving force for putting in the effort. At the same time, I remind myself not to go overboard because it's stupid to focus on it more than on the fic itself. I love ao3 because everything looks equal on there, but I also love tumblr because I can unleash my creativity in one additional way.

In the process of making this post, I started to wonder if it seems like I'm making this out to be way more important and difficult than it really is, and I want to assure you that this is not my intention at all!

My only hope is that this proves to be helpful for whoever feels like they can use some of the information above. If it leads to just 1 additional note to those criminally underrated fics I see, then I'd be beyond happy!

Have fun posting your fics :)

[vaelzz]

It feels so odd to be treated with kindness and respect. I think people do themselves a disservice by keeping dismissive, toxic or downright negative friends, family or romantic interests in their lives. On the other hand I know how isolating it can be to cut it all out and just be left with your own thoughts in an endless echo chamber debating that you might actually be the toxic/negative, that you might be overly sensitive or perhaps selfish/narcissistic for feeling hurt over people downplaying or wilfully ignoring something you've achieved…

In worst cases downright insulted and degraded which I personally have always understood as people projecting their own insecurities and envy which helps ignore it sure but even still when it is persistent it slowly wears you down over time and serves as a way to validate your own internal negative thinking about yourself. I'd think I'd only care about what I truly think but then I'd simply let myself be exposed to negativity until it's literally hardwired into my very being and being told positive things is met with a lot of internal resistance because I truly don't believe it. The worst part is that I feel guilty for not truly appreciating kindness or affection which makes me anxious because I am unable to reciprocate and I understand it's not supposed to be like a transaction but when someone is genuinely nice to me I just melt into a puddle of confusion. This is all internal though because on the outside it's easiest to just say "Thanks!" and move on because exposing the issues I see can be seen as attention seeking or just simply draining to people which will be met with frustration and resistance from them.

But again it just feels so bizarre to have someone be genuinely appreciative. The screenshot attached to this post is an old artwork of mine reposted to the story of a new very special individual who has entered my life and it really puts into perspective the stark differences in every simple interaction. It feels so crazy to me that I'd invest so much time and energy into people that would refuse to input even the bare minimum and would even go as far to exert their own expectations followed by incessant downplay at every opportunity.

The artwork is from 2015 and it's taken on a cheap borrowed school camera at The Den Of Nargun and then further edited and painted over on my old craptop and only a mouse (R.I.P pre-tablet days) so screen was barely calibrated or accurate but it was inspired by The Hallow in Terraria which is one of my favourite games. I remember showing it to a close friend of mine this after gifting them a Canon film camera that had a good lens. (it was old and compatible with their new Canon and I used Sony so why not) But they literally said it looked like vomit which beyond irked me because whilst it's not perfect it was a prominent creation in my life when I was just 17 in highschool without many resources. I also won an acquisitive art award for it alongside another piece called An Ever Flowing Stream of Eternity, acquisitive meaning the local gallery acquired it and I was given $500 alongside some other art supply gifts which I don't like to brag about but surely it must have some merit or value for that? Certainly not vomit right?????

I guess to top it off I was only sharing it because having gifted them a camera I was recommending locations to go except they literally went 2 days later without telling me after I said I wanted to return there and retake some pictures now I am older with a better camera. Definitely some strong gaslighting there when trying to confront it but that's whatever but what really irked me was them just shoving all their photographs in my face and essentially demanding praise and getting upset if it's anything less than positive. I'd never really share much of my art or things I made because people wouldn't really care which I figured is fair enough because everyone has different tastes and there is zero expectation for someone to like or appreciate anything you do but after so many years of that you just feel so empty. Because this is just one instance but there are countless instances with plenty of other people too which is incredibly demotivating because why bother doing or sharing anything that someone is just going to devalue? Might as well focus my attention elsewhere??? Except I'd still always have that inherent drive to create and achieve things so ultimately it just led to cyclic toxic cycles of internalized perfectionism.

But now being met with something as simple and trivial as a story repost followed by being spammed likes because I felt sad about this artwork being called "vomit" and an overall general lack of appreciation after discussing some concepts around Tall Poppy Syndrome it just… idk it sort of warms my heart and honestly I was melting a bit and I felt so guilty that this person was showing kindness and appreciation towards me because I felt so underserving? The crazy thing is that it's so simple and basic yet feels so foreign to me to have someone take the time and basic thought to undertake the gesture. For the record the share and likes are meaningless, it's all just superficial social media bullshit but the simple gesture and thought is what touches me deeply yet it feels like such a basic and trivial thing so it really makes me think back to when I'd let negative people remain in my life and convince myself I'm selfish for ever having the passing thought that I'd like the same respect and energy given to be returned mutually.

[gwyn-nesta-emerie]

People want to talk about how NSFW art of Gwynriel isn't okay because of Gwyn's past trauma?

Well.... those same people saying this stuff about Gwyn are hypocrites when they themselves place Elain in NSFW artwork of her being tied up & in revealing to no clothing after what she herself has been through in her past.

Let's take a look at Elain's past trauma of being turned fae shall we?

Fear like I had never known entered my heart as the men dragged my sisters, gagged and bound, before the King of Hybern.

But there they were—in their nightgowns, the silk and lace dirty, torn. Elain was quietly sobbing, the gag soaked with her tears.

Elain was shaking, sobbing, as she was hauled forward. Toward the Cauldron.

Lucien staggered a step forward as Elain was gripped between two guards and hoisted up. She began kicking then, weeping while her feet slammed into the sides of the Cauldron as if she’d push off it, as if she’d knock it down—

Elain’s foot hit the water, and she screamed—screamed in terror that hit me so deep I began sobbing. “Please,” I said to none of them. Nesta was still fighting, still roaring through her gag. Elain, who Nesta would have killed and whored and stolen for. Elain, who had been gentle and sweet. Elain, who was to marry a lord’s son who hated faeries … The guards shoved my sister into the Cauldron in a single movement.

And Elain, as if she’d been thrown by a wave, washed onto the stones facedown. Her legs were so pale—so delicate. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen them bare. The queens pushed forward. Alive, she had to be alive, had to have wanted to live— Elain sucked in a breath, her fine-boned back rising, her wet nightgown nearly sheer. And as she rose from the ground onto her elbows, the gag in place, as she twisted to look at me—

Elain was still shivering on the wet stones, her nightgown shoved up to her thighs, her small breasts fully visible beneath the soaked fabric. Guards snickered.

Elain remained shuddering on the ground, Lucien’s coat draped around her.

After everything that happened to her.... Do you really think she'd be okay with being gagged, bound, and in sheer clothing/nightgowns? Or is it only okay to showcase her like that because it's with Azriel and you ship them together? 🤔

If you want to claim it's not okay for Gwynriels to make NSFW art of Gwyn being bound by Azriel's shadows or participating in sexual activities after what happened to her.... you better hold the same standard for Elain and not place her in NSFW art of sheer nightgowns & being bound and/or gagged with Azriel after what happened to her. Otherwise just shut your mouths and let people create the art they want without your needless input.

& DON'T ATTACK ARTISTS/COMMISSIONERS WHO CREATE THE ARTWORK!!

Thanks for coming to my Ted talk.

[the-hydroxian-artblog]

I love your animatronic toy OC guys so much, they have so much personality to them and their colours are really good (especially umbra)

Thank you! The funny thing about Umbra's design was that while I was developing it about two years ago and had some colors in mind, I described in text what I already came up with to an image generator for fun (shitty unconvincing old kind, vs now where it looks like shit but in a somewhat more convincing way) and it produced something so silly that I made her design better than what I would've settled with out of spite.

More details of my process and anti-AI ranting below the cut, so the examples given won't show up on search results. Google Images is getting polluted too much with slop to begin with.

Let's begin.

In 2022 I was drafting up Umbra's design with mostly concrete details. At this time image generators were newer and much less convincing, and I was a bit less aware of just how unethical they were, so I fed one a text description of what I had drafted for her design out of curiosity. Something along the lines of, "doll of an anthropomorphic owl librarian in glasses, blazer/suit jacket, skirt, corset, high heels, sitting on a bookshelf" and probably a few more terms. Really specific, lengthy prompt.

I try to be open-minded and give new things a shot, but the results were Not Great. Ideally, I'd want to not share the AI pictures at all on-principle, but I feel like it's useful, transparent, and necessary to show them. Both as a means of not hiding anything, but also just to appreciate where the design is at in spite of it.

Outside of this particular collage of Weird Owls, no other pictures on this blog are AI-generated. AI Image Generation is harmful, and I am against its usage.

But hey, two of the generated pictures look close, right? The top left is the closest, and bottom right is second.

That's because they started out worse, and I had to actually erase chunks of them and have the generator fill in the blanks to get anything remotely close to what I wanted. Misshapen limbs, unrecognizable anatomy, fever-dream clothing details, etc. They didn't even have a corset or proper legs until I slapped the generator in the face enough times to make it produce them. I was just using it to photobash, which was such an annoying process, I just went "this is dumb" and stopped. They're literally posed like that because I kept erasing and regnerating their limbs until they looked vaguely in-character. It literally only looks passable thanks to STRANGLING it with human input.

Before I used the image generator, I already drafted her to be night-themed with yellow eyes and something like purple, dark blue, or sky-blue as her main color; the generator making one owl yellow-eyed and purple was a happy coincidence, and the only thing the generative AI "came up with" that I didn't already have in mind or included in the prompt was the light blue shirt, which I did adapt into her cyan shirt and stockings/socks as well. That was a good call. You get One Point, Mr. AI.

...Which still meant that at its absolute best, it was a largely redundant step in the creative process if its contribution was worse than what a randomized palette generator or character creator could come up with.

That's already putting the ethics of it aside, like carbon emissions, data pollution, using artists' and photographers' work without credit or permission, the incentive to plagiarize, flooding sites like deviantart with slop, Willy Wonka Shit, etc etc etc. When people say "you can use AI as a tool though", this ordeal was enough to convince me that it's more trouble than its worth, even in its most ethical usage. I feel gross for having even tried. I wish I knew what sources went into the creation of those Weird Owls. It'd be better for research if the right people could be credited.

Nothing else on this blog is AI-generated or ever will be. The art below is purely my own (2022 vs a few weeks ago)):

Actually drawing Umbra and solidifying her design was far more rewarding than having an image generator vaguely approximate my own ideas. I wanted her to look really special, so I used a black cape and pants, gold highlights and buttons, and blue undertones to make something more distinct. Also, neck floof. Very important. I wanted the head in particular to look distinct and original, going with bold black streaks to really help her look distinguished.

I also have certain inevitable Hydroisms for Fancy characters like her; most apparent in these designs for Chasey and Kaita from even longer ago, which were more of an influence than anything else. (Old art of mine from like 2021, Kaita ref looks wonky but Chasey still holds up nicely):

Most of Umbra's other design elements were already commonly used with established ocs like Kaita, like her shape language, corset, skirt, heels, etc. It was my previous work with Chasey that inspired the use of gold buttons and highlights.

Umbra is also now a bluer shade of purple partly to distance the current design from that ordeal. All things considered, I'll probably make her more indigo next time. I already wanted her to have a wide color range from the get-go (Featured below is, again, purely my art from 2022:)

I may use a different colored shirt and stockings in the future. I like to think she has many different shirts and clothes based on the different stages of the night sky, from dusk to dawn, and the painting I made in the top right there was an exploration of her range in different lighting.

All in all, it's frustrating. I'm proud of her design, but explaining all of this is annoying, because it's technically all relevant to showing how her colors were picked and how the design was made. I still technically have AI to """Thank""", in the way you thank a bad experience for encouraging you to make things better out of spite.

[theknightmarket]

Had the biggest of big brain ideas.

Murdock gets a hint of your search history (in whatever way, have fun) and it's a whole bunch of sus murderous things or very specific google searches about the human body (eg "how long can a human last without oxygen?")

Murdock gets a little excited, thinking you're at most, a killer like him and at the very least morbidly curious about these things which may lead to a gateway.

Turns out you just write a lot in your free time. Shenanigans ensue.

"It works."

In which Murdock makes an expensive assumption. TW: murder, blood Pages: 19 - Words: 7500

[Requests: OPEN]

Murdock wasn’t good with technology. He had been aware of that since the first time he turned on a phone and managed to get himself permanently locked out before he could input a single password. It wasn’t his style; it was as simple as that. He’d seen plenty of killers who used the internet to their advantage, but that was easy. Boring. Any yahoo with access to Yahoo could go that route.

But Murdock saw murder as an art, not just some pastime he could pick up and put down as he pleased. It required dedication, and he was devoted to it like a worshipper to their deity. So, no, he wasn’t good with technology, nor did he want to be.

The good thing was, you didn’t need to be good with technology to watch over someone’s shoulder, now did you? If you did, he would never have met you, the person who was sat at the table opposite him in the café, with your front facing the wall but your laptop facing him. You had dimmed the screen to the point that words were barely decipherable from the rest of the darkness, but Murdock’s business forced his attentiveness to skyrocket, so the only way that you were keeping things secret was to shut it down completely.

Not that you had a reason to. He hadn’t even been meaning to catch sight of your screen in the first place. It wasn’t his intention to intrude on your privacy – not that you could ask for much in such a public space – but nobody could blame him for getting distracted. His target wasn’t going anywhere until his shift was up, and that meant he had four hours to kill before he had to…

Well, jokes weren’t funny when they needed to be explained.

So, Murdock took to his favorite hobby: people-watching. Normally, it wasn’t that interesting, but that was the point. He needed something that would let him pay attention to his target without letting him know he was paying attention. He needed something passive. He needed something that wouldn’t distract him.

This was the first time that it had failed him. It took only a minute, as his eyes swam over from the teenager bussing tables, to the elderly couple sitting outside the café, to the businessman arguing on the phone, for his focus to land on you. It was purely accidental that you caught his attention. You looked just like everyone else, sitting at a table with some device out next to the cup of coffee. You weren’t even moving, no, you were just reading whatever document written in eleven-point Garamond that you had pulled up, and he almost ignored you completely.

It was in his peripheral that he saw you switch over to the search engine and type in a question. Something simple. Something quick. Something that piqued his interest more than his target glancing unsurely in his direction.

‘How long does a human body take to decompose’. The answer you found – after a few minutes of avoiding AI generated responses and the unrelated ads – was liquification at one month, but that wasn’t what kept him watching. Instead, it was the fact that you copied any of the relevant information into another document, separate from your first one, and then erased the question.

That in and of itself had him blinking slowly in hidden curiosity, but then you typed in another question. ‘How much blood can a human lose before they pass out’. The answer was thirty to forty percent, which you noted down underneath the decomposition timeline. You typed in yet another question. ‘What are the immediate effects of blunt force trauma’. Answered with internal or external hemorrhaging, copied into the document, exchanged for another question. ‘What are the hardest causes of death to identify’. Answer: sudden natural death, copied, replaced.

It was as though his body were frozen in a state of shock. He held his breath, halfway through inhaling, and stilled his coffee cup at chest height. What were the chances? He was genuinely asking himself, trying to think of the last time he had met someone like you, someone like him. Were you like him? Or was he just missing the mark and making assumptions that put him at risk? Was he stupid to believe you were a…

Murdock’s body rebooted. You were back on your original document again, typing between two paragraphs, and he was free from the spell he had been placed under. He could move his limps again, and he brought his coffee to his lips in a movement as smooth as he could make it, so as to avoid earning anymore suspicion from his target.

Behind the scenes, his thoughts were racing, like horses startled by the starter pistol. This alone was unnatural; he was normally calculated, slow-paced, he took his time in such delicate matters, but this was different. He knew it was practically impossible for there to be two killers in a room, let alone one. This was in public, too, and there was no chance for you to be the real deal and not have been caught yet. Researching methods of disposal in public would get you caught as fast as if you were to hand over a body to the police yourself. But you weren’t sitting in a jail cell, you were in front of a laptop in a café, because you weren’t dumb, because you weren’t a killer. He was just being unnecessarily hopeful.

Murdock took a sip of his coffee.

On the other hand, maybe you were smart. The smartest person he had ever seen before, and this ‘mistake’ was just you hiding in plain sight. People rarely took things at face value anymore. They were too used to being lied to, and you used that to your advantage. Maybe – and he was forced to remind himself that it was a huge maybe – you really were like him, you were just good at making it look like you weren’t.

And, for that, he applauded you. Internally. The barista was watching him like a hawk, after all, and he didn’t want to be chased away before he could find a way to talk to you. If he was going to get to the bottom of who you were, the easiest route would be through you directly, but he couldn’t waltz right up to you and ask if you were a murderer. He needed time.

But time he did not have. You were bound to finish your cup before he could figure you out.

Over your shoulder, he continued to watch you work. Your hands flew across the keyboard faster than he could track, and that combined with the size of your font meant that what you were working on was lost on him. Maybe it was a research paper. Maybe it was a note for the police to find on your next victim. The lines were blurring between the possibilities, and he had no way of getting closer to the truth, not even when you returned to the search engine and entered another question.

‘What is the best place to cut to avoid blood loss’ were the words that showed up, but the answer was not as easily found as the ones from before. The results were clogged with help centers, lines to call if you were at risk, and therapists that espoused positive thinking to fight against the concerning thoughts you obviously weren’t having – if the tapping of your fingers on the table was anything to go by.

After a few seconds of scrolling and getting nothing but mental health help, you rephrased the question. No change. You retyped it with quotations marks and parenthesis, but the search engine was being uncooperative. With a final key smash into the search bar that bled exasperation, you dropped your head into your hands and appeared to try your hardest to mold the heels into your eyes.

Murdock was good at reading people, but he didn’t have to have as much experience as he did to know you were getting frustrated, and you getting frustrated meant that he was running out of time.

How was he supposed to get your attention? Or, more specifically, how was he supposed to get your attention without also getting the attention of the barista? He looked as wired as a junkie; moving beyond his current position would be a risk beyond what he was willing to take. Still, he was nothing if not resourceful.

He glanced around the table he had sat himself at. There were still mugs and plates and all manner of other castoffs from the people before, the busboy was busy with the messes outside, and his target was too nervous to walk within three feet of him, which left him with free reign of the things they left behind. It wasn’t much, but the sudoku sheet and pencil was good enough for him. It was something normal. 

In a practiced, jittery, socially awkward hand, Murdock scrawled down the number of his burner phone and a little message underneath it. He hesitated for a second, and then added a smiley face. It would make him come across less creepy, given the content of that message out of context.

One look up was all he could spare, but, luckily, it was all he needed. You were still there, but you were flicking through your open documents and aiming for the ‘save’ button on each of them. A second late and he would miss his opportunity, so, in a fleeting moment of impulsiveness that shocked himself, he gripped his almost-empty coffee cup, slid out of his seat, and slipped the sudoku sheet behind your laptop on his way to the trash can.

He only noticed his heart beating wildly in his chest like a prisoner been told he’d be executed in the morning when he got back to his seat. He hadn’t known he was going to do it in that second until he was doing it. He was only aware of the fact that you were in the process of leaving. He didn’t consider going after you, he didn’t consider following you down the block, he didn’t consider figuring out where you lived and leaving it in in your postbox even though he was definitely capable of it. It was almost as though he wouldn’t get another chance, like a schoolboy seeing someone he liked the look of and not knowing how to approach them.

In that quick succession of movements – a timeframe he was more accustomed to when chopping someone in the back – Murdock wasn’t a serial killer hoping that a stranger was a friend. No, it was nothing so simple. Instead, he was anachronistically and uncomfortably normal. 

He dug into his pocket to check if his burner phone was still there before walking straight out of the café’s front door. He needed to clear his head. The barista – his target, because he wasn’t a schoolboy, he was a professional murderer – would be there when he got back.

From that man’s point of view, he wouldn’t have seen anything but a patron kindly cleaning up behind him before leaving. From your point of view…

You couldn’t focus. Of course, you hadn’t been able to focus for the last hour, so that was a moot point, but this was a new kind of ‘couldn’t focus’. Questions swirled in your head, a gathering storm that overshadowed everything else that you should have been paying attention to. It was so difficult, though, when your thoughts kept drifting back to the little slip of paper that you’d shoved in your pocket. Your laptop held securely under your arm, you waved to the barista and started the journey back to your apartment.

The note itself wasn’t a puzzle – metaphorically speaking, given that it was a sudoku sheet – because everything was there, written in an approximation of calligraphy, the words and the numbers seared into your memory. ‘Upper and lower arm’ and a seven-digit line. It was a phone number undoubtably, but what were you supposed to do with it? Text a thank-you? Call them? And how did they know your question in the first place?

Either it was the weirdest pick-up line you had ever received, or you had accidentally caught the attention of a serial killer.

You laughed at yourself under your breath as you crossed the road. It was no secret that you had an overactive imagination, and, while you tried to keep it contained within your work, it was prone to leakage sometimes. It crept into your reality and made you believe the most fantastic stories just because it was more interesting than real life. 

While the characters you wrote about investigated missing families and sliced and diced college kids who strayed too close to the house in the woods, you spent your time flitting between the store and your apartment. Going to the café was a rare treat for you having reached fifty thousand words. It was a safe life, yes, but boring.

The note in your pocket seemed to burn through the fabric.

It didn’t have to be. It wasn’t a call to adventure, but a date might have been the break from the monotony you were hoping for. You were no romance writer, you traded in blood stains over lipstick stains, and yet the possibility of someone new was more exciting than words on a screen had been lately. It helped that they seemed to be into the same things as you – maybe they had the same hobbies, maybe, and you were forced to remind himself that it was a huge maybe, he was like you.

You stopped by an alleyway and went a step inside. As you leaned back against one of the brick walls, you fished the paper out of your pocket.

On one hand, you didn’t even know what the person looked like. They had been sitting behind you the entire time, and you only caught sight of their back when you noticed what they left behind. A long, dark coat and a flash of a red something was unhelpful, so you were back to square one in that regard. It was a similar situation for conversation. Not a word had been exchanged between you, and your assumptions of their interests weren’t the most stable things to base an interaction off of.

But then, on the other hand, you were already holding your phone in your other hand and typing the number into your contacts, and there was no real harm in testing it out. Besides, who needed a name when you had ‘maybe a murderer’ for caller ID?

Without giving yourself time to think about it, you texted them a quick thank-you for the information. You didn’t wait to see if it delivered or not, and, instead, pocketed your phone again and continued on your way. If something came from it, then something came from it, and if it didn’t, then it didn’t.

Neither you nor Murdock expected it to go as far as it did; after your first message, he responded with a simple ‘you’re welcome’, and that was that. It took another week for you to talk again, itself being a small moment among the stress of a normal week. You’d asked him another anatomical question, something about how best to fit a human body in a cooler after the internet had given you less than stellar results. Hell, it was only once you’d talked it through with him that you learned that he was indeed a he and that his name was Murdock. You kept his contact the same though.

For a laugh.

That helpful conversation was left alone for another few days, you went about your separate lives as you had before you met, and you thought about him as an acquaintance to ask about the most niche interests. 

If someone were to ask you when your relationship changed from those monotonous, distant conversations to something real, you wouldn’t be able to tell them. It just… happened. Something shifted in your conversations, and you stopped going to him just for an easy answer or to save time, and you started going to him because it was him. You liked talking to him more than you liked getting your little problem solved, whatever it was. Broken bones and spilt blood were put on the backburner, to the point that they would become rare in the sea of conversations you had about the merits of keeping throw pillows on the bed or your third attempt at building a ship in a bottle.

The only obstacle between the two of you getting closer was the physical distance because, for some reason, your schedules never seemed to sync up. It was as though fate was perpetually dragging you around in a dance that just skimmed Murdock. You lost count of how many times you missed each other by minutes at a time.

You guessed that was why you were so excited when you finally managed to arrange a date – in the place you had first encountered one another, no less. The café wasn’t far from your apartment, but it wasn’t often you found the time nor the energy to leave the comfort of your home. A lot of your writing featured you hunched over with odd angles and twisted limbs, which was not a sight safe for the public, so you tended towards staying at your desk instead of an open space.

Despite having recently chided fate for its unreliability, you had to grant it some leeway when it let you meet Murdock.

The thump of you flopping back against your mattress knocked you out of your dramatic thoughts. You weren’t a romance writer, but your brain was beginning to look like one, and your chewing of your lip wasn’t doing you any favors.

But could you help it? You were excited, more excited than you had been in a good while, and your proof was hanging right in front of you. Two outfits, both with their positives and negatives. One was flashy, one was comfy. Were you looking to draw attention today – were you supposed to be looking to draw attention? You weren’t good at this. Picking out the right shirt to go with the right pants was not your forté, and you hadn’t spared a thought to color palettes since high school.

Your mind was fogged up with choices and your veins were alive with adrenaline and your mouth was coated with the taste of iron.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you shot up straight, paused, and groaned.

Great, you’d chewed your lip so much that it was bleeding. Just what you needed.

You swiped your finger across your mouth to get rid of what was there already and shuffled to the bathroom for a cloth.

However, you weren’t the only one with blood on your hands; while you were busy trying to find the midpoint between pajamas and a suit, Murdock was ruining is outfit. He wasn’t an idiot, he’d planned a margin of error between getting from the warehouse to the café, but getting an entire new set of clothes was going to really bite into his time reserve. Still, he would do whatever he could to not be late for your date, not only because he didn’t want to come off as uncaring. He also didn’t want you to think he was bad at his job.

Wrenching the axe out of the woman’s neck, listening to the gentle stream of blood grow into a gush, he couldn’t help but think about you. He remembered your questions and the variety of ideas you tested him with. The weight of his weapon seemed almost tacky in comparison to what you teased. All your creative ways of ending a life made him wonder if he should have been doing more.

But he had constructed a recognizable method, and he was proud of what he had achieved in the media. Those sloppy back-alley stabbings were never mentioned in tandem with his name, and he thought that was worth it. You were inventive, but he was reliable. Maybe you could work together on something if this date went well.

Murdock caught the glint of his watch from the flickering lights of the warehouse. If he wanted to be on time, he had to get going. Luckily, the woman had already stopped squirming, and leaving the body there wasn’t a problem.

He pushed back the sleeve of his jacket to see the real issue. The inside was coated with specks of blood, creating a sticky seal between the fabric and his skin. He couldn’t let you see this – you’d think he was careless, and that just wouldn’t do – so he stepped around the corpse and went off in search of the closest bathroom. No doubt the warehouse ones were going to be grimy, but he had to take what he could get.

The café was relatively empty when you arrived. There were only two or three people in there, including the barista and each doing their own thing around the room. For the fun of it, you sat down in the seat from weeks ago and shot Murdock a text for his whereabouts.

You weren’t as nervous as you thought you should have been. This was the first time you were going to meet in person, by all means, you should have been worried! Somehow, though, your heart was beating in its normal rhythm, your breath was steady, and you were enjoying looking around the room while you waited.

A few minutes passed like that, and, while you stayed calm, your confusion was certainly growing. Had he forgotten? He hadn’t replied to your message, so it was possible that he had gotten busy. You knew about the erratic nature of his schedule, it was the very reason you had been looking forward to this date, but he seemed like he had the decency to tell you if anything came up.

“Hi there.”

The whisper almost made you jump out of your skin, and you struggled to contain the yelp of surprise even after you turned around to see the man you had been waiting for. It didn’t matter that you had expected him, he apparently had an uncanny ability to sneak up on people.

You lightly batted your hand against his arm. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“I’m sorry.” He said this despite him obviously not being sorry, considering the low, breathy chuckle he let out as he slipped into the chair opposite you.

“And I was going to offer to pay for your coffee.”

“Did I scare you that much?”

You shot him a blank look, to which he started up his laughter.

As far as dates went, this was going pretty well; you started by ordering your drinks – you noticed it wasn’t the same barista as last time, but shifts changed all the time – and, while you tried to return to your last conversation, you couldn’t help but point out how bad a choice black coffee was. It was less of a complaint, and more of a public service.

“It’s not that bad,” he said after taking a sip from the cup.

“So you admit that it’s at least a little bad?”

“It’s better than your sugar-loaded concoction.”

“One sugar packet does not make it ‘sugar-loaded’.”

Despite his glasses covering his eyes, you were able to feel the disapproval quite clearly, enough to match yours, before it faded, and he slid his cup towards your side of the table.

“How about we trade?”

You took a second to think about it; it wasn’t as though you’d never tried black coffee, but it was back when you were thirteen and hadn’t understood the possibility of sweeteners.

Semi-reluctantly and fully suspiciously, you exchanged his cup for yours and brought it close to your lips. You left enough space to joke, “You aren’t trying to get my DNA, are you?”

“Why would I want your DNA?”

“To frame me for one of your murders.”

Had the cup not blocked your view of Murdock as you poured hot coffee down your throat, you might have recognized the flash of panic that spread over his face like lightning in the middle of a storm. His grip tightened around the cup, knuckles becoming more defined while he fought back a frown.

“Do you really think so low of me?”

Placing the cup back down on the table, you shot him a grin that made him relax again. It was a joke, you had been joking, just joking.

“I’m smiling,” you said as you pushed it closer to him, “but that was horrible.”

Oh, right, the coffee. He had almost forgotten what he was doing, but he fixed his mistake by taking a sip. The first taste was the coffee, go figure, but behind it was the faint undertone of what he had expected. The sugar was weaker than what he’d thought it would be, but, nevertheless, it was there, and it was not for him.

“You’re one to talk,” was his response.

“Still, you have to be some kind of murderer, or else why do you know so much about anatomy?”

Were you testing him? Seeing how far he would go in public? You were being bold in joking about your shared work, were you trying to figure out how careful he was? Protecting yourself was a smart move, but he wasn’t going to take the bait so easily.

And you weren’t the only one with jokes.

“I’m a mortuary technician.”

It was a simple answer, one you deemed worthy of a surprised look.

“Really? Why’s that?”

“I feel most at home standing above a dead body?”

That got a laugh out of you, a genuine laugh that made his playful smirk turn more appreciative. For the first time since before he could remember, he thought he preferred that sound from you more than the fearful shriek.

How… normal.

When you faded off into a few stray chuckles, a thought occurred to you that prompted you to point at him dramatically and faux-offended.

“You never answered my text.”

The tilt of his head had you pulling out your phone and showing him the last conversation that you had. The message stood out starkly against your background, even with the dimmed screen, and you tapped it with an accusatory look.

“Well, would you look at that,” he muttered, leaning back in his chair.

“Yeah, delivered.”

“No, no, I mean—” he pointed at his contact name, “—that.”

You flipped your phone around to look where he was referring to and immediately felt a blush crawl from your neck to your cheeks. ‘Maybe a murderer’ was not the most affectionate thing to have him labelled as, and for him to see it on your first date was mortifying.

“Oh, yeah, that.” As quickly as you could, you turned it off and shoved it back in your pocket, praying that it or yourself would somehow disappear so that you didn’t have to deal with the embarrassing consequences.

“Maybe a murderer? I thought we’d already clarified what I am.”

“And I thought you were a mortuary technician?”

“So people can’t have hobbies?”

You glanced out the window as you absentmindedly swirled your coffee. “I can’t, at least. I mean, I turned my hobby into my full-time job.”

“What was that saying? Find a job you love, and you’ll never have to work a day in your life.”

“Oh, I’ve worked some days.”

Murdock leaned closer on the table, perching his head on the back of his hand, like a cat watching a fish from an unreachable perch. “So you don’t love it?”

“Of course, I do! It’s just… keeping track of everything gets so tiring after a while, you know?”

“Based on the questions you’ve sent me, I think simplifying your methods would make it easier.”

“I could, but then it wouldn’t be nearly as fun.”

“I, for one, can vouch for the excitement of reliable techniques. Sometimes, knowing how to do something and do it right is the best part. Refining your skills.”

“Do you think people would care as much if I just did the same thing over and over again?” 

From your experience, reusing old material, especially in the same book, made for a lousy read. Unless he meant rewriting the same piece – which itself would bore you out of your mind – you certainly didn’t want to put someone through that.

There was a dip of Murdock’s head, a lowering of his tone, a glint of the sun against his glasses as he said, “I wouldn’t mind seeing some of your work.”

You tried to disguise the surprise from the sudden beating of your heart with a sip of your coffee. It was nearly all gone, which meant so too were your moments of reprieve. Fortunately, he looked genuine, as though he actually wanted to see some of your in-progress chapters.

“Even the stuff that isn’t finished?”

You were brazen, weren’t you? More than he’d ever imagined was possible. “Did you leave a body out so that you could come here?” Just the thought of you taking such a risk just to see him made his breath speed up in a way that was more familiar to him in chasing down a victim.

You shrugged. “They’ll be there when I get back. They’re just words on a page, after all.” You opened your mouth as if to continue that thought, but you soon closed it and furrowed your eyebrows. “How’d you know it was a body?”

There was no accusation in your voice, but the confusion was a feeling you and Murdock shared. Just words on a page? What did you mean by that? Was there some popular metaphor amongst murderers he was unaware of or… 

Wait.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Oh, no.

“What’s under your sleeve. Are- are you bleeding?”

Oh, no.

In a flurry, he tugged his sleeve down over his wrist, as though pulling it far enough meant you would forget you had ever seen it. Telling you it wasn’t his blood wasn’t an option. Telling you it was the blood of a woman whom he had killed – no matter the reason – was not an option.

“Oh, I’m okay,” he rushed to say, his words spilling out of his mouth faster than he could think of them. He needed an excuse, any excuse that wouldn’t make you sprint out of the café as though he’d just told you he was a murderer, which was possible considering he was a murderer and you were distinctly not. “Just caught my wrist on a scalpel at the mortuary, and I guess I didn’t bandage it correctly.”

That was cheap. If you wanted to, it would have been so easy for you to question him about the holes in his story. He didn’t even know if technicians used scalpels, and there was no sign of actual injury anywhere near his wrist. It was shoddy, and this situation was dangerous, and he had gotten so comfortable in presumably talking to another killer that he hadn’t tried to cover anything up. 

Damn it.

Murdock had made a mistake. A stupid mistake that was sure to haunt him for the rest of the days. Hell, he’d made two mistakes, the first being to have ever assumed that you were like him without then making absolute sure that he was right – he was meant to be good at this, but that was the most idiotic he had been in his life – but the second mistake was even worse. 

Because he’d gone and caught feelings for you. Ones he didn’t think he’d be letting go of for a long time; you were terribly kind, and you were awfully genuine, and, worst of all, you weren’t a killer like him.

You were a writer.

While Murdock was internally having a heart attack over the mess he’d made of this relationship from the very beginning, you nodded sympathetically. Wounds on the wrist always made you squirm, whether it was a knife or a paper cut, so you just sat back in your chair.

“If you want to, I’ll ask the barista if they have a first aid kit while you go wash it off.”

He had been staring straight at you when you said that, and the sunglasses blocked his eyes, which meant you didn’t see the way he startled like a rabbit.

You…

You believed him.

Slowly, he nodded, then pushed himself out of his seat, searching for the sign for the bathroom. In sync, you went to talk to the employee, but Murdock stayed standing for a moment.

You hadn’t pointed out any of the problems with his story, you just took him at his word and moved on, trying to help him with a lie. But it couldn’t have been that easy. Something would come up eventually and he’d have to face the music that he had orchestrated himself. He’d lose your laugh and the ill-fated connection you had made. He just knew it. It was only a matter of time.

And yet, surprisingly, everything continued on just as smoothly as before. In some ways, it became even better – being a murderer came with constant fear of getting caught, but also dating a murderer came with twice that amount, especially when it was concern for someone you loved. And, if one of you were caught, there was an uncomfortable choice to be made. 

But none of that mattered! Not anymore. He could enjoy talking over scenarios with you without getting a heart attack whenever you got home late. Sure, anytime you went out into the public together, he spent a few extra minutes looking over his shoulder, but you weren’t doing anything illegal, and Murdock took care not to leave anything behind at crime scenes. A little more awareness was a price he was willing to pay to spend time with you.

Some of his favorite moments were spent in your apartment, and this was one of the best; the blinds were up, the door was locked, and you were leaned against him on the couch, television showing a nature documentary that he was only half paying attention to. Had it been in the depths of winter, snow floating about outside, it could have been the closing image of a hallmark movie. Though, despite it being a cool May evening, it was good enough for the both of you.

You laid your head on Murdock’s shoulder with a sigh, your hands stilled at the keyboard of your laptop across your thighs. He knew that sigh, so he drew the arm that had been strewn over your shoulder back to card a hand through your hair.

“What’re you stuck on?” he asked in a low tone that reverberated through your skin. You almost forgot what troubled you, but the screen in front of you brought it back to the forefront of your mind.

“I don’t know if this works.”

“How so?”

Instead of trying to describe the situation or awkwardly reading it aloud, you just shifted the laptop so that he could see it. Even though it was dim, you didn’t need to burst the comfortable atmosphere with a flashbang – it was a neat skill Murdock had, to be able to read in any environment, but he never explained where he learned it. You’d asked him once, but the only response you got was a wink and a smile.

It was only a short paragraph that had you stumped. When you first started, you would have called it good enough and moved on, but ever since you met Murdock, you had taken special care to make it as accurate as possible. He always got excited when describing certain scenarios to you, always took the time to be precise with what would happen, always made your writing better. It felt like an insult to him to be mediocre at his favorite subject.

He signaled that he was done with a hum.

“I’m tempted to say they wouldn’t pass out before getting to the other hand but…” he trailed off into another hum. “It would depend on their pain tolerance, wouldn’t it?”

“That’s the thing. I’d like them to pass out in this chapter, but later on, they have to have a pain tolerance high enough to run on a broken leg. I don’t really want to get rid of either one of them, though.”

Murdock’s hand in your hair paused, and, unable to see his face, you assumed that he was thinking of ways around it. You had no clue what else you could use that would give you the same effect, so you were already resigning yourself to cutting this part of the scene when he shifted behind you. You took the hint and readjusted yourself against the couch, but you shot him a confused look.

Because his glasses stopped you from seeing his eyes, you were only able to go off of the smirk that spread across his lips. On anyone else, it might have been concerning, but you knew Murdock, and you trusted him through and through. You simply tilted your head in a silent question.

“Sorry, love, I just remembered an extra shift I’m supposed to be at in half an hour. Influx of bodies this week.”

Well, that was disappointing. While you were hoping he had come up with some solution to your struggle, this was also one of the few nights that your schedules aligned. Problems with your calendars hadn’t disappeared after your first date, which meant what little free time you had was spent together, even if you weren’t doing anything specific. You supposed it couldn’t be helped, though – work was work, and Murdock took his job very seriously.

Sometimes you almost wished he didn’t, especially given the recent string of murders around the city. You didn’t like him walking off into the darkness alone. You knew he was able to protect himself, but… you couldn’t help but worry.

That worry apparently showed on your face, if Murdock leaning down to your level was anything to go by.

“Hey,” he whispered, “I’ll come straight back as soon as I’m done with the last body. I’ll be okay.”

“I know, I know, it’s just- y’know, I’ve seen the news and it’s not very assuring.”

He tugged off his glasses with one hand and used the other to caress your cheek. The touch was soft and comforting, but seeing his eyes was the thing that made your shoulders relax and edges of your mouth perk up in a small smile. It wasn’t often that he took them off, outside or inside, but it always made you feel better, as though you understood him the second your eyes met. They were the windows to the soul, after all.

“You don’t need to worry, love. No murderer is going to get me in alleyway. I’ll always come back to you, no matter what.”

To you, that was a pledge for protection against that maniac with an axe. To Murdock, that was a pledge for protection against the police who stuck their heads where they didn’t belong and got them chopped off for it.

But he wouldn’t tell you that. You didn’t need to know; it would only make you worry more, and that was the last thing he wanted.

Slowly, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against yours. His thumb continued to stroke up and down your cheek, but his hand that held his glasses maneuvered so that he could comfortably cradle the back of your head. On your part, it took you a second to melt into his hold, but melt you did, and you found yourself pushing off the couch to get closer. This was nice. This was safe. Not the safe that you had months ago, the kind that was unbearably boring and made everything else monotonous, as though you were frozen in a block of ice. This was the safe that warmed the ice ever-so-gently until you were pulled out into a protective embrace. The pressure of Murdock against you, no matter the point of contact, was a reminder of that. Your doubtless safety.

When he pulled away, you couldn’t stop the little sound that escaped you, disappointed for a reason different than before, but Murdock only responded with a smug chuckle.

“Later,” he muttered as he replaced the glasses over his eyes, “but I have to get to work.”

He made as if to brush a hand through your hair again, but he smoothly switched directions and grabbed your laptop from where it had slipped during your little moment.

You huffed an indignant, “Hey,” but it was no use.

“This is coming with me.”

“And why’s that?”

“I might be able to figure out your problem while I’m out. It’ll give me something to think about while I wait.”

You rolled your eyes but put up no other resistance. You certainly weren’t going to get anywhere with it, and a break from a screen sounded good about now.

“Fine,” you said as you reached for the TV remote, “just don’t go looking through my files.”

His grin stretched wider. “No promises.”

That look. It was stupid, cliché even, but it made your heart flutter every time it was directed towards you. It showed up in soft moments, in your playful banter, in your affectionately-termed lectures when you wanted to know how long someone could go without oxygen. You’d never taken a picture of it because you never felt the need to; there was always the confidence that you would see it again and capturing it beneath a glass cover was a lot like admitting your time was limited. That was something you didn’t want to risk.

With the flutter replaced by a heaviness, you waved goodbye to Murdock as he waltzed out of your apartment door, your laptop under his arm and keys in his hand. Late night shifts meant that you would go to sleep alone but wake up held securely in a hug that you never felt begin. You guessed that you were a heavy sleeper, or he was just careful not to disturb you when climbing under the sheets.

Though, that theory was put under strain when you stirred to the sound of your bedroom door opening and closing early in the morning, blearily opened your eyes at a rustling, and twisted around to look at who had entered the room.

The moon draped Murdock’s red and black clothes in a milky sheen of light. While he peeled off layer and layer of fabric, you tried to make out the shapes of color that painted his body. They almost looked like splatters – the product of darkness – with their odd angles and droplets against his skin – the aftereffects of sleep – and the way they smeared as he drew his shirt over them – the fantasies you were so prone to indulging in.

You whispered into the shadows where he stood, “Welcome back.”

He laughed to himself under his breath before padding over to join you. You opened the bed for him and held the sheet up until he was safely nestled at your side, arm thrown over your shoulders to guide you closer.

“It works, love.”

“Hmm?”

“The hand thing. They can pass out at the fourth finger and still hobble their way down a hallway with a broken leg. I think it just takes them realizing what situation they’re in for the adrenaline to work its magic.”

“Huh—” you shifted so that you were looking him in the eyes, “—how’d you find that out?”

In the darkness of the room, silhouetted barely by the moonlight but altogether protected from the outside world, he smiled at you and pressed a kiss against your lips. It only lasted a second, two at most, but you couldn’t deny the faint taste of something unusual. Iron?

He drew back before you could figure it out and whispered, “A body came in with the kind of damages you wrote about. Did some tests and it turned out they were put in pretty much the same situation.”

Your eyebrows furrowed and the corners of your mouth turned down. What were the chances?

“Should we be worried?” you asked, mind running wild with questions. Was it just a coincidence that it was the same scenario? Was it just a coincidence that it happened the same time you wrote about it? Was it a coincidence, was it a coincidence?

Murdock broke you out of those thoughts with his words resonating through you. “What did I say before?”

“I know, but…” You couldn’t finish, but you didn’t need to for him to understand. Just saying the words aloud made a certain feeling stir in your gut. Maybe it was simple fear, maybe it was a small glimmer of guilt – either way, it distracted you enough that Murdock had to bring you in impossibly closer for you to snap out of it.

“Love, he won’t hurt me and he’s not going to hurt you.” 

His breath fanned over your hair as you slotted your chin over his shoulders.

“I’ll make sure of it.”

[Thank you for this request! I don't know why I have so much Murdock content considering he shows up for fifteen seconds in a completely missable and frankly irrelevant chunk of Space, but, y'know, I love him, so it's fine. Also, I totally used some of this so vent about how hard it is to search for that blood loss question. Again, thank you for requesting <3!]

[deepdreamnights]

The Age Old Debate: Fire Good, or Fire Bad?

This was originally going to be part of this thread, but the points were distinct enough and my thoughts rambly enough that I split it into two posts.

From the recent PalWorld thread:

We gotta handle that last tag in two parts.

Part 1 "the devs admitted to using AI art to make the pals"

First off, that isn't true near as I can tell. I can't find anything of the PalWorld Devs admitting they used AI for PalWorld designs. Palworld had demo footage with Pals in it 2 years ago on June 6 with their announcement trailer, which means they would have had to have started dev much earlier than that.

This is what AI art from June of 2022 looked like:

On the left, Hieronymus Bosch's Pokemon, on the right, Charmander on Gumby.

I did a much deeper breakdown of the "used AI" accusation here. It does not hold water.

Now, I could change my mind on this point if there were linked evidence to the creators of Palworld saying this. But there isn't.

Because the accusation is repeated in a tag, there's no way to include supporting information, or even to easily directly ask the accuser for it. Many people are going to see it, internalize it, and then repeat it uncritically, and that's how rumors and witchhunts start.

Because I've seen a lot of accusations about PalWorld stealing fakemon, and I'm yet to see a smoking gun. There's barely smoke.

Gonna hit the second point in that tag, but while we're on the theme of spreading misinfo:

Part 2 of the Tag: Using AI to Brainstorm is "Bad"

This is also an assertion that would require support, and I believe it to be wholly incorrect.

Plagiarism happens at publication. Not at inception, not inspiration, not even at the production level. The only measure of whether something is or is not "stolen art" is whether what comes out at the end replicates, with insufficient transformation, an existing, fixed expression. Art theft is about what comes out, not about what goes in.

For more about how this works with AI art, I suggest checking out the Electronic Frontier Foundation's statement on the issue. They're the ones looking out for your online civil rights, and I agree with their position on this.

The argument that AI art is theft because it is trained on public-facing material on the internet just doesn't fly. Those are all fixed published works subject to inspiration, study, and transformative recreation under fair use. The utilization of mechanical apparatus does not change that principle.

And fair use that requires permission isn't fair use. That's a license.

Moreover, altering the process to put infringement at inspiration/input or allowing the copyrighting of styles would be the end of art as we know it.

There's no coincidence that the main legal push against AI art on copyright grounds is backed by Adobe and Disney. Adobe is already using AI art as a pretext to lobby congress to let them copyright styles, and Disney owns enough material on its own to produce a dataset that would let them do all the AI they'd ever need to, entirely with material they "own." And they're DOING THAT.

The genie is out of the bottle, they (Disney, Adobe, Warner Bros, Universal) have it, and it can't be taken away from them. They just don't want anyone else using AI to compete with them.

Palworld didn't use AI to conceive of its critters. If it had, they'd have probably been less derivative.

(three random AI fakemon I prompted up as examples of just that)

Both traditional and AI-assisted art can plagerize or be original, its entirely based upon how the techniques are used.

Moreover, you can infringe entirely accidentally without realizing, but you can also fail at copying enough that it becomes a new protected work.

We're well into moral panic territory with AI in general, and there's more than a touch of it around Palworld, largely because people aren't suspicious enough of information that confirms their worldview.

I used the quoted set of tags as the prompt for the top of the post, all the AI images in this post are unmodified and were not extensively guided, and thus do not meet the minimal expression threshold and should be considered in the public domain.

[lividstar]

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎THE CITY OF LOVE

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎ Chapter Four: A Pleasant Twist

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ < previous | next >

masterpost

៚ wc: 5k (total: ???)

៚ fluff, angst, fashion designer!hongjoong x model!reader (ft. personal assistant!seonghwa & photographer!wooyoung), strangers to lovers, soulmates au if you squint, do french people actually say bonjour irl?

៚ playlist !

៚ What started as a plan for a quiet walk in the park quickly turned eventful when you bumped into Madame Dupont, who was heading out for groceries. Choosing to assist her instead, two occurrences you didn’t see coming saw the light of the day: A. Running into Seonghwa, and B. Receiving an offer from Madame Dupont to help with your upcoming casting.

a/n: did you guys see san’s fit for the dolce & gabbana fashion show... it had me weak he straight up looked like he came from a dystopian hunger games type beat magical fantasy gods and goddesses 100k wc fic like that’s choi san from district ATE

tags: @beabatiny

The atmosphere in Hongjoong’s office was a mix of modern chic and creative chaos. The walls, adorned with framed sketches and mood boards, exuded an air of inspiration and meticulous planning. The sleek glass desk was cluttered with fabric swatches, design drafts, and a laptop perpetually open to design software. Large windows let in natural light, illuminating the room and casting a soft glow on the polished wooden floors. Shelves lined with fashion magazines featuring either his designs or Hongjoong himself, awards in varying categories, and an array of art supplies hinted at the relentless creativity that filled the space.

Hongjoong sat behind his desk, his brows furrowed in concentration as he reviewed the latest designs. Seonghwa stood across from him, tablet in hand, listing off upcoming tasks.

“We’re still months away from the fashion week, but it feels dangerously close,” Seonghwa noted, swiping through the digital calendar. “You’re still without your sketchbook, so we need backup designs just in case.”

Hongjoong sighed, running a hand through his hair. He’s been making use of Seonghwa’s digital tablet to work on new designs, but it just doesn’t hit the same as sketching on the rough surface of a paper. Well, Seonghwa has been trying to convince him he only feels that way because drawing digitally is an entirely foreign experience to him, but he swears it’s more than that. You wouldn’t get it, is what he’d usually say. “I know. I’m working on new designs, but it’s hard to compensate for everything I had in that sketchbook. There’s so much detail and inspiration in those lost pages.”

“Well… maybe we should schedule extra brainstorming sessions with the team. It might help to get more input," Seonghwa suggested, his tone pragmatic. There’s only so much a single personal assistant could do, especially regarding important matters they’re short of time on, after all.

Hongjoong leaned back in his chair, tapping a pen against his desk thoughtfully. “Seems like a good plan. We can set up a few sessions next week. Also, I want to review the progress of our new recruits. We need fresh faces ready for the casting call.”

“Oh, speaking of recruits, have you thought about expanding our outreach programs?” Seonghwa continued, making notes on his tablet. “More workshops and seminars could attract new talent to the agency. It’s also a good way to give back to the community.”

“Yes, definitely. And I also want to collaborate with more local designers,” Hongjoong agreed, his voice gaining a note of enthusiasm. There were still a lot of things to sort out, but at least they’re no longer heading forward empty-handed, right? “It’s important to foster community connections and bring in diverse perspectives. We could host a local designer showcase leading up to the fashion week.”

Seonghwa nodded. “That sounds perfect. We should also consider revamping our social media strategy. More behind-the-scenes content, live Q&A sessions, stuff that really engages our audience. 90% of people spend more than half the average day on their phone, anyway, so it would be a good idea to improve our marketing strategies online.”

“Right,” Hongjoong replied, leaning forward and straightening his posture. “I’ve noticed our engagement has been a bit stagnant. Let’s brainstorm some fresh content ideas and maybe even a mini-documentary series about our design process.”

As they were continuing to talk endlessly about gaps they needed to fill in order to ensure the brand’s utmost and consistent success, a thought suddenly resurfaced in Seonghwa’s mind. “Oh, I forgot to tell you yesterday, but she said yes.”

Hongjoong looked puzzled, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Since when did you have a significant other?”

Seonghwa rolled his eyes dramatically, not being able to distinguish whether A. Hongjoong was just trying to push his buttons, or B. His brain development had reversed throughout the night and thus, is now being outright dumb. Knowing him, it was probably the latter. “No, you stupid goon. I’m referring to the girl from Rue de la Paix.”

“Oh, alright. Wait—she said yes?” Hongjoong's eyes widened in surprise.

At that exact moment, Wooyoung entered the room with a dramatic flair. “Whoa, who said yes? Didn’t know you had it in you, Seonghwa,” Wooyoung teased. Just then, an empty folder came flying his way, nearly hitting him right at his face if it weren’t for his reflexes. “Hey, what was that for?”

“That’s for accomplishing the mission of being even more stupid than Hongjoong,” Seonghwa deadpanned, shrugging. “What are you doing here anyway, Wooyoung? I thought you had no activities scheduled for today.”

Wooyoung grinned and flopped onto the couch, stretching out comfortably. “Yeah, but Hongjoong’s office couch is comfortable and I’m experiencing back pain. Needed a place to relax.”

“And who told you you could just do that?”

“...My free will?”

Seonghwa glanced at Hongjoong, who didn’t even need to hear the words come out of his mouth. “No surprises at all. He does this all the time.”

Suddenly, Hongjoong always putting in his best efforts when it comes to avoiding Wooyoung during his work hours was now starting to make sense to Seonghwa. “No wonder you’re so sick of him,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“I can hear both of you very well, you know?” Wooyoung quipped, scrolling through his phone without looking up. “Actually, nevermind. Knowing you two, you’re probably doing that on purpose.”

“Nice theory. Whatever,” Seonghwa dismissed, turning back to Hongjoong. “Anyway, what I meant by her saying yes is that she agreed to attend the casting. She didn’t say it directly, but she called me in the middle of the night to ask for further details. Plus, she replied to my message about wishing her luck and hoping she wouldn’t back out. So, I think it’s safe to assume she’s going to attend.”

Hongjoong’s expression softened with a mix of relief and curiosity. “That’s great news. I’m really curious to see what she brings to the table.”

“Who’ll bring what to the table?” Wooyoung interjected, finally looking up from his phone with genuine interest. “You both seem pretty invested in this person.”

Seonghwa leaned against the desk, crossing his arms. “A girl from Rue de la Paix that I scouted pretty recently. I believe she has great potential.”

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. If you’re both that excited, she must be something special,” he mused to himself before looking back down on his phone screen.

Hongjoong hummed in agreement before turning his attention back to the topic at hand. He adjusted the sleeves of his tailored blazer and leaned forward, glancing at the tablet Seonghwa held. “So, about the upcoming projects, I think we should focus more on integrating sustainable fabrics,” Hongjoong said, his tone serious and thoughtful. “It’s not just a trend; it’s a necessity for the future of fashion.”

Seonghwa nodded, tapping notes into his tablet. “Got it. We should reach out to more suppliers who specialize in eco-friendly materials. I’ll set up meetings with potential partners next week.”

Hongjoong’s eyes sparkled with inspiration. The endless days of working he always had to go through were indeed tiring, but the creative process throughout it all and everything that came out of it were always worth the progressively lessening hours of sleep on his behalf. “And for the designs, I want to blend traditional craftsmanship with modern aesthetics. Something that tells a story of heritage while being innovative.”

“That’s a great direction,” Seonghwa agreed, looking up from his notes. “We could also highlight these stories in our marketing campaigns. You know, show our audience the journey behind each piece.”

Before Hongjoong could respond, Wooyoung let out a dramatic groan from the couch, rolling his eyes. “Man, hearing you two talk about work stuff when I’m supposed to be taking a break from all that is so annoying.”

Hongjoong shot him a bemused look. “Well, maybe if you wanted to take a break from your ‘work stuff,’ you should’ve considered staying home instead of lounging in a work office where work-related matters are supposed to be discussed.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes again, sitting up slightly. “Come on, can’t we set things aside and talk about casual stuff for once? It’s been a while since I last got to be in the same space as both of you, and you’re settling on talking about work?”

For a moment, both Seonghwa and Hongjoong processed his words. Then, Seonghwa was the first to chuckle, shaking his head. “Well, that’s a rather unique way to say that you miss hanging out with us.”

Hongjoong’s eyebrows raised in surprise. "Wait, huh? That’s what he meant?”

Wooyoung shrugged, leaning back against the couch. “Well, you can’t blame me when the past few months have been nothing but busy schedules, busy schedules, and even more busy schedules for us. I chose to work under you two because I know we promised we’d stay together after college, but even being in the same workspace isn’t helping us have more time to spend together.”

Hongjoong sighed, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “What’s up with you and being so sentimental?” Quite hypocritical, as he’s been having the same thoughts as Wooyoung lately as well. The only difference between them is that Wooyoung is comfortable with expressing it, but Hongjoong? Well, not really.

Seonghwa looked at Hongjoong and gave a knowing smile. “Don’t lie, Hongjoong. You know you feel the same way as Wooyoung does.”

Hongjoong exhaled, his shoulders relaxing. Seonghwa could always see right through him regardless of if he wanted him to or not, and sometimes, he doesn’t know if he should appreciate it or be terrified. “Alright, fine. I do miss hanging out like we used to. Things have just been so hectic, especially with all the activities scheduled for the following weeks and months.”

Seonghwa nodded, turning to Wooyoung. “Well, seems like you’re right, then. Since you want to talk about ‘casual stuff,’ why not initiate the conversation for us?”

Wooyoung’s eyes brightened. He knew Hongjoong and Seonghwa find him annoying sometimes—well, more often than that, actually—but he never really took it seriously, because he was aware that deep down, they both have a soft spot for him. Unfortunately, for the two older men, Wooyoung has a knack for using that fact to his advantage. “Alright, let’s see... How about we take a stroll around the city later tonight? Just to take our minds off all the stress.”

Seonghwa nodded, his expression thoughtful. “That sounds like a good idea. I actually recommended Hongjoong do the exact same thing all by himself a few days ago, but I figure tagging along with him wouldn’t be so bad.”

Wooyoung beamed. “See, I knew you’d catch my drift.”

Hongjoong was a bit dismissive at first, reminding Seonghwa, “You do know the only person out of the three of us who doesn’t have anything to do today is Wooyoung, right?”

Wooyoung shrugged nonchalantly. “So? I could keep lounging in here until your work hours end.”

Seonghwa chuckled, knowing Wooyoung all too well. He wasn’t one to get bored easily, no, not at all, but in a place such as, like what Hongjoong said, a work office wherein work-related matters are supposed to be discussed, it wouldn’t take longer than a second to tire his energy out. “Are you sure you won’t get bored?"

“No, totally not,” Wooyoung insisted. “I’ve even already experienced staying the night in this office without Hongjoong here, and I didn’t get bored at all. It was, like, super cool. You know those cool rich businessmen in movies who spend the night looking outside the window of their office walls on a chair with a bottle of an alcoholic beverage in hand?”

Hongjoong’s eyes widened in surprise. “I’m sorry, you did what?”

Wooyoung’s, however, darted nervously around the office. “Oh. I mean—”

You sat in your small, dimly lit apartment, staring at the blank walls and feeling the embrace of loneliness attach itself to you. The evening stretched ahead with no plans, no friends to meet, and no familiar faces to call. Seonghwa had been kind, but you barely knew him, and calling him a friend felt a little too early. Financial prudence also demanded caution; with the casting still a few days away and no guarantee of immediate income, you couldn’t afford to be reckless with how much you spend.

Maybe a walk outside could be nice?

You sighed and looked at the closet doors, debating whether it was worth the effort. The allure of fresh air and a change of scenery tugged at you, while the fear of venturing out into an unfamiliar city at night held you back. You thought about the headache from yesterday—how intense and strange it had been. It wasn’t a normal headache, and it lingered in your mind. Perhaps a stroll through the nearby park would help clear your thoughts.

With your decision now entirely made, you rose from your bed and headed to your closet. You chose a soft beige knit sweater, its cozy warmth comforting against the evening chill. Pairing it with a long, black skirt that reached down to your ankles and shoes of the same color as your sweater, you completed the outfit with a light scarf draped casually around your neck. You began fixing your appearance up, and once you were satisfied, you grabbed your bag and left the apartment.

As you reached the ground floor, you spotted Madame Dupont at the entrance, preparing to leave. “Madame Dupont?” you called out, quickening your pace to catch up with her.

She turned, her eyes lighting up when she saw you. “Ah, bonsoir! How are you, dear?” she asked, her voice warm and welcoming.

“I’m well, thank you,” you replied, offering her a smile. “Where are you off to?” Your eyes darted to the streets outside.

“I’m just heading to the grocery store,” she said, adjusting the strap of her handbag. “What about you? Where are you going?”

“I was thinking of taking a walk,” you said, glancing towards the door once more. “But if you don't mind, I could accompany you instead.”

Madame Dupont’s face brightened even more. “Oh, that would be lovely! Are you sure you don’t mind?”

A walk to the park may have been your initial plan, but you still weren’t entirely sure the calm atmosphere of the evening would suffice to outweigh both the thoughts inside your head and your worries about possible dangers. “Not at all,” you assured her. “I’d be happy to help.”

The two of you then began to walk together to the bus stop, engaging in light conversation. “How was your day?” you asked as you waited for the bus to arrive.

Madame Dupont smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “It was quite eventful, actually. This morning, I had to chase Monsieur Frank’s cat out of my garden again. That rascal has a knack for digging up my flowers!”

You laughed softly, imagining the scene. Monsieur Frank’s féline, Pompidou, was indeed a little ball full of mischief. You’ve had your own set of encounters with him, such as waking up to hearing light scratches by your door—which once happened in the middle of the night and nearly made you consider moving back to Arcadia Bay, having him come out of nowhere and pounce on your shoes when you’re walking out the door, and more. You don’t know why his owner decided to name him Pompidou, but you figured it suits his personality very well. “That sounds like quite the adventure. He’s adorable, but has always been quite of a pain to deal with. Did you manage to catch him?”

“Eventually,” she chuckled. “But not before he managed to scatter soil all over my freshly planted tulips. And then, later in the afternoon, I had a lovely visit from my granddaughter. She’s starting university soon, you know. Full of excitement and nerves, that one.”

You smiled, listening intently. Oh, what would you give to experience starting university for the first time again—with nothing but excitement and nerves, just like Madame Dupont’s granddaughter and nothing like yourself. “Really? That’s wonderful. What’s she going to study?”

“Art history,” Madame Dupont replied, pride evident in her voice. “She’s always had a passion for it. Ever since she was a little girl, she’d spend hours drawing and painting. I’m glad she’s pursuing something she loves.”

The bus arrived, and you both boarded, continuing your conversation during the short ride. Madame Dupont shared stories about her granddaughter’s childhood, her love for art, and her hopes for the future. You listened intently, feeling a warm sense of connection growing between you.

When you arrived at the grocery store, you offered to push the cart, an offer Madame Dupont gratefully accepted. Throughout your journey of navigating through the aisles, you reached for items on the higher shelves that she couldn’t reach, earning appreciative smiles and heartfelt thanks from her.

As you placed a jar of jam into the cart, Madame Dupont continued her stories. “You know, dear, I remember when my granddaughter was just four, she painted the most beautiful landscape. We framed it and it still hangs in our living room. Whenever I look at it, it reminds me of her spirit and creativity.”

“That sounds lovely,” you said, smiling at the thought. You wonder if you had moments in your childhood that were similar to hers. But then again, how would you know? “It must be wonderful to have such a talented family member.”

“I can only imagine that is exactly how your family thinks of you,” Madame Dupont mused, turning to you with a heartfelt smile. Confused, all you could do was let out an awkward chuckle. “What do you mean, Madame Dupont?” you asked, unsure what she was implying.

“You’ve only been here for quite a short while, but let me tell you, dear, it’s easy for me to be able to tell you have a genuine soul. You’ve been nothing but kind to me, and I really appreciate it—having one of my tenants accompany me to the grocery store isn’t exactly a common occurrence.” She chuckled, placing her hand on top of yours that remained sat on the cart and rubbed her thumb on the back of it shortly before letting go.

“It’s nothing, Madame Dupont,” you attempted to counter, but she wouldn’t relent. She shook her head in response, finding it amusing how you seem to be struggling to allow yourself to accept her kind words. “Well, whatever you say,” was all she settled with before turning her attention back to her grocery shopping list.

While you and Madame Dupont continued to shop together, she suddenly stopped and turned to you. “Would you mind waiting here for a moment, dear? I need to use the bathroom.”

“Of course, take your time,” you replied with a reassuring smile.

“Thank you,” she said, patting your arm gently before heading towards the restroom. You positioned the grocery cart in a corner to avoid blocking the aisle, then leaned against it and pulled out your phone. Scrolling through social media, you let yourself get absorbed in the digital world. Minutes passed, the hum of the store fading into the background, when you heard a voice that seemed oddly familiar coming from the other end of the aisle.

Curiosity piqued, you turned off your phone and tucked it back into your bag. Leaning forward, you peeked around the corner to see Seonghwa, reaching for an item on the shelf.

“Seonghwa?” you called out, stepping into the aisle.

His head snapped in your direction, and upon recognizing you, he broke into a warm smile. “Hey! What a surprise to see you again so soon,” he said, his voice laced with genuine delight as he pushed his cart towards you. “What are you doing here?”

You smiled, gesturing to the half-full cart beside you. “Just accompanying my landlord with purchasing her groceries.”

“Oh, do you live around here?” Seonghwa tilted his head, half his hair softly falling down to the side he turned to.

“No, my apartment is a quick bus ride from here,” you explained. “What about you, though? What are you doing here?” you asked, this time gesturing to his cart.

“Oh, me?” He pointed to himself, smiling. “My friends and I were planning to spend a few hours at the park, and we figured we could stop by here for a moment to grab some snacks we could eat.”

“What a coincidence. I was thinking of going to the park, too,” you mused, sharing your initial plans for the night.

Seonghwa’s face then lit up. “Really? Why don’t you come and tag along with us? They both work at the agency that’s hosting the casting you’ll be attending, too. It would be nice if you could get to know them beforehand.”

You hesitated, glancing back towards the restroom where Madame Dupont had disappeared. “That sounds lovely, but I promised my landlord I’d help her with the shopping. Maybe another time?”

He nodded, understanding and not pressing the matter. “Sure, another time it is then. So, speaking of, how’s everything going with the casting preparations?”

“It’s been…” quite a challenge, was what you wanted to say. After all, there was some truth to it. Yet still, you didn’t want to show any signs of wavering. “It’s been going well. I’ll definitely be there.”

“Great! I really think you could be our turning point,” he said enthusiastically, his eyes earnest and full of hope.

You laughed, trying to lighten the mood and ease the pressure. “No pressure, right? Or else I might not show up.”

He grinned, playing along. “Okay, okay, no pressure.”

Just then, a voice called out his name from another part of the store. Seonghwa groaned, rubbing his temple with a resigned smile. “That’s my cue. This is why we can’t go anywhere together without causing a scene.”

You chuckled, amused by his predicament. “Having friends like that must be fun.” You wouldn’t know anything about it for sure, but the thought seemed nice. Maybe in the future, you’d also get to experience having your name be shouted in a public grocery store by a close friend of yours. Or, who knows? You could be the one shouting.

“Fun, yes. Embarrassing, absolutely,” he said, rolling his eyes but with a fond smile. “I’d better go. See you at the casting?”

“Definitely. See you,” you said, waving as he walked away. Almost immediately after Seonghwa left, Madame Dupont returned, looking refreshed. “Who was that young man you were talking to?” she asked, seemingly intrigued.

“Oh, just… an acquaintance,” you replied, still feeling quite hesitant over considering Seonghwa as a friend. Hopefully, one day, you’ll feel more comfortable referring to him with such a term. “I’ll tell you all about it later.”

Madame Dupont nodded, smiling warmly. “Alright, dear. Let’s continue, shall we?”

The two of you resumed your shopping, chatting and laughing as you navigated the aisles. You reached for items on the higher shelves, and Madame Dupont shared more stories about her family. Her anecdotes were heartwarming, filled with fond memories and lively descriptions. As you listened, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of warmth and belonging. These simple moments, like helping her shop and hearing her stories, were making you feel more at home in this new city.

Seonghwa pushed his grocery cart around the store, his eyes scanning the aisles as he searched for Hongjoong and Wooyoung. He maneuvered through various sections, weaving past other shoppers and glancing down every row. Finally, after a few minutes of searching, he spotted them and couldn’t help but pause, taken aback by the sight.

Wooyoung was perched inside an empty shopping cart, looking quite pleased with himself, while Hongjoong pushed it with a resigned, tired expression on his face.

“Should’ve known you were only referring to yourself when you said you wanted ‘us’ to have fun,” Hongjoong deadpanned, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he sighed heavily.

Wooyoung scoffed, playfully swatting at Hongjoong’s hand that gripped the handle of the cart. “Pushing a shopping cart can be fun too! You just don’t know how to do it right. Now push faster!”

Seonghwa couldn’t help but chuckle, his amusement evident as he approached them. “Should I be surprised?”

“Yes!” Wooyoung replied instantly, grinning.

“No,” Hongjoong said at the same time, his tone flat.

“What took you so long, anyway? You said you were just going to grab a few snacks before we head to the counter,” Hongjoong asked, his movements with the cart becoming more mindless as he pushed and pulled it back and forth.

“That I was, but I came across her,” Seonghwa said with a shrug. He figured there was no need to specify who he was talking about, as Hongjoong’s eyes widened in recognition.

“The girl from Rue de la Paix?” Hongjoong inquired, just to make sure.

From his seat in the cart, Wooyoung interjected. “For how much longer are you gonna refer to her as the girl from Rue de la Paix? Aren’t you planning on, like, getting her name or something, at least?”

“Not when Seonghwa keeps forgetting to do that,” Hongjoong answered, gesturing toward Seonghwa, who now sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck.

“I overheard you saying you got a call from her recently. You have her number, right? You could just ask for her name through a text message. Not unless you want to keep referring to her using such a long nickname,” Wooyoung suggested, shrugging.

Seonghwa nodded, considering the idea. “Yeah, I’ll think about that.”

Hongjoong shifted the conversation back. “So, what was she doing here?”

“She was helping her landlord with grocery shopping,” was what Seonghwa responded.

“Does she live around here?” Hongjoong asked, his curiosity piqued and his hands no longer pushing the cart he held back and forth.

“No, she said her apartment is a quick bus ride from here,” Seonghwa explained. “She was just being helpful.”

Wooyoung, still in the cart, dramatically sighed. “Ah, the noble deeds of the common folk.”

Hongjoong rolled his eyes, flicking the back of Wooyoung’s head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous but lovable,” Wooyoung retorted, grinning widely. “Come on, admit it. You missed having me around.”

Hongjoong groaned. “No, I didn’t,” yes, he did.

Seonghwa chuckled, joining in. “Alright, enough of this. Let’s finish up and get going. Wooyoung, get out of the cart before we get kicked out of here.”

Wooyoung pouted but complied, hopping out of the cart with exaggerated movements. “Fine, but only because I’m hungry.”

After what felt like nearly half an hour of waiting by the side of the streets, a bus finally came into view, and thankfully, nearly all of its seats were vacant. You took the bag of groceries from Madame Dupont’s grasp, motioning for her to get in first. Once you both settled on one of the seats by the middle, you let out a sigh of relief as you leaned your head on the window. Today didn’t go exactly as you planned, but the point of unwinding and getting a breath of fresh air was accomplished anyway, wasn’t it?

“So, about the young man from the grocery store,” Madame Dupont started, making you sit up straight and turn your head to her. “How do you two know each other?”

You then purse your lips in excitement over finally getting to tell Madame Dupont about the casting. “Remember when I asked you for directions to Rue de la Paix for my job search?” you asked, waiting for a nod of confirmation first. Once you received it, you continued speaking. “That’s where I met him. His name is Seonghwa, and he works under an agency of fashion and modeling.”

“That sounds interesting,” Madame Dupont mused, almost to herself. “How did you two meet each other?”

“I wouldn’t say meet,” you said sheepishly, remembering how Seonghwa was quite literally running in full speed towards you. “But he’s seen me before, and said he wanted to approach me back then but couldn’t. The reason he wanted to approach me was, well…”

“Well?” Madame Dupont tilted her head, intrigued. “Don’t leave me hanging, dear,” she joked, making you laugh.

“I may or may not have been casted to become a model.”

There were a few seconds of silence between both of you, and you figured it’s safe to assume Madame Dupont wasn’t speaking because she was trying to process your words. Suddenly, you’re caught by surprise when a wide smile spreads across her face as she gently grabs a hand of yours using both of hers and shakes it in excitement.

“That’s wonderful, dear! Especially since you’ve been doing nothing but search for jobs the moment you stepped foot here,” she beamed, and for a moment, you nearly believed she was more excited for the opportunity than you were. “I’m a hundred percent certain you’ll do very well and get accepted.”

“I wish I could say the same thing, Madame.” You chuckled. “I’m still really nervous, and the casting’s happening on Friday this week.”

“Friday?” Her eyes widened in surprise, and all you could do was nod. “Well, that is very close, indeed. Have you been going through preparations?”

“I have,” you said, smiling. “It still doesn’t feel real to me, though.” You didn’t want to blame yourself for feeling like this, as for a person who’s always been accustomed to staying behind the shadows, suddenly stepping into a career where the main point is to let yourself be seen is indeed a terrifying experience.

“That’s normal. It’s a huge shift, after all,” her voice took on a soft tone, attempting to ease your nerves. “Do you have anything to wear for the casting yet?”

“Oh, about that…” you trailed off, your mind going back in time to recall the photos you took of the designs from the sketchbook. “There’s a few designs I want to base my attire on, but I haven’t gone off on a kickstart about it yet. Preparations have been mostly about my confidence and less about my appearance.”

Madame Dupont smiled, leaning back in her seat. “Is that so? Well why didn’t you tell me sooner? I could help you with that, dear,” she offered.

You felt a bit hesitant. “I’d appreciate that, Madame Dupont. But I don’t wanna take up too much of your time and bother you.”

She waved your concerns off. “Oh, dear, you’ll never be a bother to me. You helped me out today, and I think it’s only right for me to return the favor.”

“Alright, but, how?” You tilted your head, confused about where she was heading to.

Madame Dupont let out a hum, eyes darting all around the bus as she pondered over what to say before fully turning her gaze back to you. “Do you know why I never get bored even when I rarely go outside unless it’s necessary?”

You shook your head. “No, why?”

“Sewing, knitting, and crocheting are some of the things that keep me company,” she explained. Seeing your puzzled expression, she added, “And I’m bringing that up because I was thinking I can return the favor by sewing your outfit for you.”

You hesitated. “Oh, but... I don’t want to turn your hobby into an obligation.” Sure, it seemed like it would be of a huge amount of help to you, but was it really right to accept it?

Seeing your hesitance, she insisted, “I would love to help you. Besides, it’s no trouble at all.” Just as you were about to politely decline, the bus stopped in front of your apartment, and Madame Dupont used it as an opportunity to wave off any further protests. “You have no other choice but to accept my help,” she said firmly.

Eventually, you gave up, letting her have her way. “Alright, Madame Dupont.” You took the groceries and let her get off the bus first, following soon after. As you both walked towards the apartment, you turned to her, “Would you like me to help with unpacking your groceries?”

“No, dear, you’ve done enough for me today,” she said kindly. “You should go get some rest—but not before you send me the image of the attire you want to use as inspiration.”

Nodding, you promised to send the photos once you got back to your apartment. “Thank you so much, Madame Dupont.”

“Don’t mention it, dear,” she replied with a warm smile. “I’m looking forward to seeing what we’ll come up with.”

Back in your apartment, you lay down on your bed, the events of the day replaying in your mind. You took out your phone and scrolled back and forth through the pictures of the designs from the sketchbook, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu. Each design had its own charm, but one particular outfit kept catching your eye. It was the off-shoulder dress with delicate lace detailing that had given you a headache the first time you saw it, but now that you were more... used to the sight of it, it seemed perfect. After some deliberation, you decided that this was the one. You sent the image to Madame Dupont’s contact number with a short message.

This is the one I’d like to use as inspiration. Thank you so much for your help!

As you put your phone down, you muttered to yourself, “Now that that’s out of the way, I should probably go clean up before I head to bed.” You stood up, stretching your arms above your head, and made your way to the bathroom. The warm water from the shower helped to wash away the fatigue of the day, and as you stood under the stream, you felt a sense of relief and anticipation for what was to come.

Meanwhile, at the park, Seonghwa, Hongjoong, and Wooyoung were seated in one of the grassy areas, enjoying the peaceful evening. The sun had returned to its peaceful slumber long ago, and the park was illuminated by soft, ambient lights, creating a serene atmosphere. “So, any updates on your missing sketchbook?” Wooyoung asked, before popping a chocolate chip cookie into his mouth.

Hongjoong’s expression darkened, and he let out a frustrated sigh. “No, and I don’t want to talk about it,” he grumbled. “The universe might as well tell me to quit my career at this point.”

Seonghwa shook his head, refusing to encourage Hongjoong’s behavior. “Oh, come on, don’t be such a pessimist. We’ll find it eventually.”

Hongjoong turned to Seonghwa, his frustration evident. “Seonghwa, take a moment to reflect on the circumstances we’re currently under. How can I not be pessimistic? My entire collection for the autumn fashion week is in that sketchbook, along with years of work.”

Seonghwa nodded, understanding Hongjoong’s point but still trying to lift his spirits. “I get what you’re feeling, but moping around won’t do anything. We need to stay proactive.”

Wooyoung, who had been listening quietly, finally spoke up. “Why’s the sketchbook so important to you anyway? I mean, yeah, that’s a stupid question since it, like you said, has all the designs you’ve made since college and the sketches for the autumn fashion week, but I can’t help but feel like that’s not the only reason. What’s the real deal?”

Hongjoong’s eyes flickered with an emotion he quickly masked. “You’re thinking way too deeply into it,” he deflected, looking away.

Wooyoung shrugged, sensing Hongjoong’s reluctance to delve deeper. “Well, whatever.”

🪞 — lividstar.

[lover-of-mine]

no it wasn't just that he didn't say much he did not promote the interview like at all, he still hasn't even posted anything about it. Hell Lou tagged him in a post and he never did anything. That was to me the most clear confirmation he does not like Buck and Tommy. As an actor it's part of your job to promote appearances and he completely refused. The only thing he posted that day was a Buckley Diaz family still, like that was loud and clear where he stood and what they think he's magically changed when he knows Tommy is not gonna last lol. Weirdos I swear.

Yeah, he did not promote the interview and he also didn't say much in the interview itself. For 704 he shared that BEAUTIFUL shot of him and Ryan in the sunset and a bunch of bi Buck art but no bt and he's been completely ignoring the relationship aspect of Buck being bi. And you're right, promotion is part of the job, it's very telling that when he is promoting he talks about Buck being bi without talking about Tommy and making sure people understand Buck's identity or just brings up buddie. We know the show takes the actors input into consideration, just look at the way Jen made madney happen. Oliver has made his stance very clear. I doubt a few weeks of getting harassed on the internet is gonna make him flip. Buddie is years on the making and if it happens it can also give Oliver himself CRAZY exposure. Why would he let that go for a half baked romance that doesn't hold a candle for what he could have with buddie? This is a business and buddie would be a one of a kind romance. Why would anyone involved in this give that up?

[marshmallowprotection]

Do you have any jihyun first date headcanons :3

It might seem cliche but I think Jihyun would love to take you to an art museum for your first date. Yeah, does it sound like something an artist would do? Sure, but this is important to him. He's learning that he can reclaim his love of painting and nobody can take that passion away from him. He doesn't need to be insecure or afraid of whatever he creates. Art is subjective, and if people don't like what you create, that just means they have a different taste in art. It doesn't mean the art you create is bad.

He's learning to be his authentic self, and that's important to his growth as a person.

He spent his youth burning with passion over the idea that he could be just as thoughtful as the greats throughout history, and while it's good to have grandiose dreams, it's important not to hold yourself to a standard that makes you pull yourself apart. You've helped him see that. So, what better way to show you his true self than to show you who he is deep down?

Oh, how his lights burn with passion when he explains the process an artist went through to create their piece. He's a walking art historian without the degree because of his childhood, running in and out of a gallery space, listening to people appreciate and critique artwork. He knows more than he lets on, and the more you poke and prod, God, I can't express to you enough how alive he becomes when he speaks... it's amazing to see the once sullen, withdrawn man begin to speak in confidence.

If you weren't in love with him before, God, you're falling in love now because this is Jihyun Kim. A man who loves art without the fear of being told that he's wrong for loving the creative spirit we possess as humans. He doesn't talk over you like he might've done if you'd met as teenagers and he asked you on a date. He pauses to see if you've got questions or if you want to add your input, because this is what helps him thrive.

After you enjoy an afternoon appreciating the arts, you share a meal together in a cozy restaurant, likely one that has live music because he misses it. He hasn't allowed himself to enjoy music a long time... for obvious reasons, but being with you, once again, helps him feel like it's okay to learn how to love things again, even if he's been very afraid to start over. It's okay to try again and again and again. You've got a long life ahead of you, and it's not impossible to start all over again.

Don't worry, when you leave dinner, you spend the rest of the night, talking, talking about everything and anything you can think of, and he can't take his eyes off of you.

[runawaymun]

Have you ever just stared at an idea and couldn't write it? You want to buy it's so you tailored that no one will read it, in fact your scared that people who ship the rare pair might be disappointed with it.

If so how do you deal with it because I am struggling. I lost a lot of my creative drive because I feel like no one wants to hear my stories. Has that ever happened to you?

Sorry to come in and like have a big sad in you inbox but I love your work and I always wonder if other people with such amazing work feel this way too.

Ah, nonnie, you sent this in a little while ago and I was laid flat, so I'm so sorry that it has taken me this long to reply!

But yes, this has happened to me! I think it's very natural. The only way you can get past it is by saying fuck it tbh. Write what you want to write; write what makes you happy!

I thought Stars was going to be way too hyperspecific to me. I hadn't really seen anything like it, and platonic OC & Canon Character fics as a whole rarely see any popularity, but I wrote it with my whole chest and surprisingly it resonated with a lot of people. That happened with Brimbrond (there were like, I think three people who shipped it at the time I started writing Partake), and now with my Zhongli x Baizhu fics, Genshin is such a large fandom and it is such a rarepair. Zhongli is attached to one of the most popular fics in the fandom and Baizhu is simply rarely ever written about. But I love them. And I feel that way about Dehya and Baizhu, too, and plan on writing stuff for them and making art.

Truly the only way to get past this is to write what you love. You don't even have to post it. Write what you want to read. It helps if you can find even one other person who ships the ship and likes your work, and the two of you can scream about it together. I know it really sucks when it feels like no one's reading your work. I've had flop fics myself, and it happens especially with art since people just don't reblog as much as they used to. It can be really discouraging. But you have to do it for you.

If it's really bothering you, then maybe take a step back and just don't post anything. You don't have to post it at all. Write it without posting. Let it be Bad, even. Put your whole chest into it, write whatever tropes you want, skip around. If you're bored then don't write it. If you aren't having fun, don't write it. Skip all the uninteresting parts and just write the shippy nonsense you want to read.

I guess what I keep wanting to say and keep repeating ad nauseam is that you really, really cannot be writing for others. Again, believe me, I know it's disheartening when something flops and you feel like no one wants to read your work, but that's where you have to decide that you're going to write for you.

And if you're burnt out and absolutely nothing is fun, then take a step back and just read. Like, fanfic sure, but I mean a physical book. It'll exfoliate your brain. Read for fun. If you aren't enjoying the book then don't be afraid to DNF it. Play a good story-based video game if that's your thing. Watch a show or a movie and really pay attention to it. When I'm lacking inspiration and everything Feels Bad sometimes I just need to get some input. As it was described to me years ago: your writing brain is like a well. You have to pour good stuff into it. Nothing is written in a vacuum, and if you're struggling to make anything come out it may be because your well is empty, and you just need to top it up a bit.

Anyway, yeah. Enjoy some good fiction. Kill the critic inside your head. Write for you. I am pretty much terrified 100% of the time when I am writing and posting that it won't be good, it'll flop, no one will like it, etc. etc. But you absolutely cannot let that paralyze you into not creating. Don't let the critic in your head win. Tell yourself it doesn't have to be good. Repeat that over and over. It's okay if it's bad. It's okay if it's bad. No one even has to see it.

Plus, when it comes to rough drafts --- accept that it is going to be bad. You are just shoveling sand into a box to build castles with later.

If you want to post, please try to remember that it is a gift to the community. It is a privilege that we get to read other people's work. For FREE. For FUN. And make friends doing it! You do not owe anyone anything. At risk of sounding like a broken record: please, please, please write for you and no one else. If you choose to share it that is up to you, and the rest of us say fucking thank you. The inner critic never goes away. That fear never goes away. I'm so serious. But it's fake. It's so fake. It doesn't matter. Imagine it in a silly, stupid little voice (mine sounds like a whiny kylo ren or sometimes like Donald Trump, and then it's easy to dispel). Tell it to shut up. If it's like 'this is awful' then say 'that's okay. I'm having fun', and if it's like 'no one will read it,' then say 'that's okay, i'm writing it for me,' and then write what you want to write, because you like it and want to read it. Fuck it you ball.

[cameronspecial]

Thorn In My Side, Rose In My Hand (Part 11)

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Reference to a Panic Attack and Spoilers for The Cruel Prince.

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 3.0K

Summary: Halloween, the best holiday of the year is meant to be spent with the people you love.

A/N: Definitely not me adding in the KitKat part because I just went on a road trip in the US and my Canadian self was disappointed with the KitKat.

Masterlist

Friday night, Y/N finally has her first book club meeting. Rafe sits beside her with one hand on her thigh and the other holding his book. “I like how confident Jude’s character is. She is so badass,” Rafe inputs into the conversation. When the other members of the club found out Rafe is a part of it, it is safe to say they were shocked at the revelation and didn’t expect him to actually read the book. But ever since Rafe and Y/N started reading together every night, he has actually gotten through a few books. If they weren’t sleeping in bed together, they’d FaceTime each other and just bathe in the knowledge that the other was a shout away. For the book for the club, they would often take turns reading to each other. “Yass, she is an absolute queen. Like becoming a spy was so awesome,” Kate adds. The conversation continues until the hour is up and everyone has gone home. Y/N is getting herself a snack when she feels Rafe drop his chin onto her shoulder. He gives her a gentle kiss, “I think we should dress as Jude and Cardan for Halloween. You can put your hair up in horns and wear a dress. I can put on one of those flowy shirts that are like a pirate shirt. You’d love it.”

“That’s a great idea, we can go into town now to see what we can get. Ooh, but we should look at fan art first,” Y/N rattles, completely abandoning her snack to go check her phone. Rafe smiles as he sees the excitement on her face. She shows him multiple different pictures and he gives her his thoughts about it. Before he knows it, they are going into town to see what they could find. 

———

Halloween is Y/N’s favourite holiday. The idea of being able to pretend to be whoever one wants is appealing to her. This Halloween is especially exciting for her because Rafe actually wants to do a couples costume with her. Rafe is throwing a Halloween bash in honour of the holiday and she knows he is going all out just for her. He had her help him pick out a multitude of decorations, drinks and candies. She is trying to follow the video to make the horns with her hair for the costume, but she quickly grows frustrated with the task. “Ugh,” she lets out very loudly. This summons Rafe into the bathroom from the adjoining bedroom, “What’s wrong, my rose?” “This video is literally the hardest thing I have ever done,” she complains to her boyfriend. Rafe gives her a wicked smile and approaches her, “Here let me try.” 

He begins to work on her hair and she watches, shocked that he is able to do it without even having to watch the video. He can see her questioning gaze through the mirror, “I’ve been practicing how to do it with my sisters’ help. It took a lot of hair-pulling and arguing, but we were eventually able to nail it.” She feels a rush of heat spread across her neck at the effort Rafe is going through to make their first Halloween together perfect. She never asked him to do any of this, but he went out of his way to make the environment comfortable for her. “Thank you,” she whispers once he is done with her hair, turning to give a kiss on his exposed collarbone in the pirate shirt. He has yet to put on the crown or feather cape they had custom-made based on the fanart they saw. “You’re welcome. Could you help me put on a little eyeliner, please? It seems like something Cardan would do,” Rafe replies, reaching into her makeup bag to bring out the eyeliner. 

She gives a small nod of her head and pats the counter for him to sit on top of. He does as instructed and they both laugh as they realize it made him too tall. Y/N motions over to the toilet for him to sit on. Once he is seated, she brings his head into her hand and starts to apply the eyeliner. He starts to squirm in her hand, making it harder for her to do what she needs to. “Cameron, stop moving,” she chastises, holding onto his head harder. He shakes his head a little, “I can’t. It tickles. 

“Well if you don’t, then it will be all smudged.” 

“Ughh, okay.”

“Rafe Jacob Cameron! Stay still. I’ll give you a kiss if you do.”

“Okay, fine.”

She finishes doing his eyeliner and goes to apply her own lipstick. Rafe is quick to press a kiss onto her lips, smudging her lipstick and imprinting some of it onto his lips. She giggles at the messy lipstick on her boyfriend's lips. She moves from between his legs and goes to get a wet cloth to wipe his lips. “Now, let me get you your crown,” she says, walking over to where it sits in his dress and placing it on his head. Rafe smiles up at her and relishes in the kiss she places on his forehead, “This kinda reminds me of the coronation scene from the book.” 

“Yeah, it kinda does feel like that with you being shorter than me right now. We should’ve gotten Mason to be Oak. Then we can recreate the whole scene.”

“Maybe, but I like this being just an us thing to do.”

“True. I just worry he feels left out sometimes.”

“It’s okay, we can include him when we do family costumes with our kids.”

“When we have kids? You seem to have our future figured out for us, don’t you?”

“I absolutely do. I was thinking you’d probably want to move out to England after you finish at Oxford, which I would definitely follow you to once I finish school. We would have four kids because I know you like the even number and you like the idea of kids always having a playmate. Of course, Sparky would move with us. And the house would definitely need a bay window for you.”

“That’s quite the plan you have. You’d really move to England for me?”

“I’d move to the end of the world for you. You are my forever.”

“You are my forever too.”

But a small part of Y/N can’t help but feel guilty about the idea of making Rafe move. Ever since she overheard Ward talking about the distance, she can’t stop worrying about their future. She knows he always planned to take over his dad’s company after he finished school and she didn’t want to be the reason why he didn’t realize that dream. She knows it’s what he wants to do to make his dad proud. She doesn’t even know what Rafe would do in England with her. It would also mean that they would have four years of being apart before they could be together again and she isn’t sure how she could handle that. Not wanting to think any deeper about it, she snaps out of her spiral and leads him downstairs to get ready for the party. 

————

Lacey and Mason arrive earlier to help set up for the party; the former with booze in hand and the latter with candy. Lacey is dressed as a chef, true to her future career choice and Mason as a handyman. “So what are you guys supposed to be? Pirate prince with pointy ears and a hot badass knife girl,” Lacey asks with a questioning brow, setting the box of beer cans on the counter. Y/N shakes her head at her best friend’s teasing, “Nooo, I’m Jude Duarte and Cameron is Cardan Greenbriar from The Cruel Prince. Silly.” “Ahh, so it’s a couples costume. Cute,” Mason adds, organizing the candy he brought.

————

The party is in full swing now. Music blaring, people screaming, bodies moving and Y/N is getting nervous. She is lost in a sea of people, getting pushed from every side. At a certain point, she couldn’t keep up with the crowd and tripped onto the ground. She curls into a ball to protect her head and heart. She begins to cry and feels as though her chest is tightening. Lacey had seen what had happened to her best friend and immediately shoves her way through the crowd to help. “Come on, it’s okay. I’ve got you,” Lacey picks her up and brings her to Rafe’s room. Lacey sits Y/N on the bed, “Tell me five things you can see, four you can touch, three you can hear, two you can smell and one you can taste.” “The… The…” Y/N is so frazzled she can’t concentrate on the relaxing technique Lacey suggests. 

Rafe finds the girls in his room after searching everywhere for his rose. He starts piecing the pieces together as to what happened when he sees the pair and rushes to her side. “I’m sorry we got separated, I’m here now. Let’s do some butterfly taps and take some deep breaths in and out for me, my rose,” he advises with his hands rubbing the sides of her hips. He helps her place her hands in a cross on her chest. She copies Rafe’s breathing and begins to tap her collarbones, alternating between the left and right. The other two immediately notice her breathing start to slow down and her shoulders aren’t as tensed. He places a kiss on her forehead now that her breathing is finally steady, “There we go. You’ve got this.” He continues to whisper hushed encouragement to her.

Lacey can’t help but feel jealous at the sight in front of her. She used to be able to help Y/N calm down from a panic attack. Definitely not as fast though. However, she can’t help but feel happy that her best friend has found someone who understands how she works so much. She takes this as her opportunity to slip out of the room and go back to check on the partiers for Rafe, making a mental note to check on Y/N later.

 Oppositely, Rafe is feeling more confident in himself. He thought back to what his father said about knowing sooner rather than later that he couldn’t reassure her. This proves Ward is wrong. Rafe was able to assess the situation without being told what happened and help Y/N through it. He remembered what Y/N said about her panic attacks and jumped into action. He figures the party and getting lost in the crowd are probably the reason for her panic attack. “Wanna ditch the party and see if the pharmacy is already serving discounted chocolate and candies? We can head to the beach and eat it there while watching the waves,” he offers as soon as her breathing has steadied and she moves her hands into his. 

“But what about your party? You and Mason have to stop shutting down your parties before even ten just for me. You’ll both start having a bad reputation.”

“I couldn’t care less about what people think as long as the people I love are safe and healthy. But I was thinking of just letting Mason watch over everything.” 

“I would love to go get candy, but maybe we can go later. I think it would be more fun to go trick or treating. I mean we are in costume.”

Rafe chuckles at her childishness, “Really?! I mean, I don’t object to the idea, but you really think people will give us candy?” 

“Yeah! Not to brag, but everyone on this island loves me.” 

“That’s very true. Come on, let’s go get some clean pillowcases.”

Rafe secures two pillowcases for the pair and sends a quick text to Mason to keep an eye on things for him. Mason replies back quickly saying that he will and asks if Y/N wanted him to come check on her. Rafe answers by telling him she has now calmed down and wishes to go trick or treating. Y/N is excited about going out, but she isn’t sure how to feel entirely about it. She definitely noticed how Rafe would shut down his parties early and forgo going to other parties ever since they started dating. The girl would insist on him going without her or offer to go for an hour or two; however, he would always resist her pleas. She doesn’t want to change his personality, even though he says it is okay. At this moment though, Y/N could not be more glad that he is seriously okay with the idea of going out to get some candy. 

————

The houses on the Kook side of the Island often give out the best candy and it often becomes a competition between the houses. Halloween is the one time a year in which the Kooks do not care if the Pogues are on their property and most Pogues would dare to approach the rich side. Kooks welcome as many people to their houses to prove they offer the best treat with the number of guests coming at their door. Y/N remembers the excitement that would pass around in elementary school as the students would brag about the candies their parents bought. She and Rafe run up the driveway of a house while holding hands giggling like schoolchildren. They arrive at their first house of the night. After going through the trick-or-treating ritual, Y/N reaches into their bag to see what they got as they walk back to the road. Her eyes shine at the red wrapper in her hands. “What is it?” Rafe questions the girl. 

“It’s a Canadian KitKat! Yes, I love these.”

“What’s so special about a Canadian KitKat? We have these in America.”

“The Canadian one isn’t as sweet and it doesn’t leave that weird aftertaste. The chocolate taste much better. I had some when we went up to Canada for my mom’s book tour last summer. Here, try some.”

She quickly opens the package, breaks off a piece of the chocolate and shoves it into his mouth. Rafe’s eyes widen in surprise and he eats the chocolate bar, “Hmm, this is good. Why don’t ours taste like this?” 

“In Canada, KitKat is owned by Nestle and here, it’s owned by Hershey’s.” 

“I see. Well, next time I go to America, I’m going to pack a suitcase full of these for you.”

She looks at him with a huge smile on her face. The pair go to a few more houses and the next house on the street is quite dark. As they approach the house, a little girl dressed as Barbie is walking beside them. Rafe gives her a small smile and a wave. They make their way to the front door to see a duo of teens standing in front of a candy bowl with a please take one sign on a table. The teenage boys laugh as they take the whole bowl of candy without leaving one, even though they saw the little girl. The boys run past the trio without a care in the world. Little Barbie looks at the candy bowl with sad eyes and before Y/N can even do anything, Rafe is handing over his candy bag to her. Her eyes light up and she yells a thank you, running back to her mother at the end of the driveway. The mother waves her hand in thanks to Rafe’s sweet gesture. 

Y/N looks at her boyfriend in awe, “That was so sweet. But now you have no candy. How about we stop by the pharmacy for discount candy and head to the beach?” Rafe nods at the offer and leads her back to where he parked his car. 

————

She is examining the box of candy in front of her when he pops up behind her, wearing Jason’s mask from Friday the 13th. She jumps, startled at his sudden appearance in the strange mask. She gives him a light hit on his bicep and a frown. “Cameron, You scared me! Don’t do that,” Y/N reprimands her partner. Rafe laughs and wraps his arms around her shoulders, “I’m sorry, my rose. I was only playing. I love you.” He kisses her cheeks in hopes to soothe her anger. She shakes her head at him. “Ugh, I guess I love you too. Come on, let’s head to the beach.” 

They head down to the beach with the bag of candy in hand and a blanket wrapped around both of their shoulders. The duo sets themselves a few feet away from the water. The sound of the waves hitting the sand is the only noise that can be heard on the beach. Y/N rests her head on his shoulder and begins to eat the candy they acquired, Rafe looks down at the girl with a grin on his face. She looks more serene than she did at the party and he loves the way she is watching the waves in wonder. 

His life plan was always to go to UNC, graduate, come back home, and work for his father. It was engraved in his mind in his very first memory of his father. It had been their plan and Rafe never questioned it because he thought it was the best path to pleasing his father. He may have known Y/N for more than one-third of his life, but the plan never changed just from knowing her since he never thought he had a chance with her and he just suppressed his feeling for her. But, now, she is his girlfriend and they have a future together. This makes him question everything he thought he wanted for his future. Now, all that mattered to him is her being in the picture and if that meant going off to England with her then he is going to make damn sure he is by her side every step of the way. 

Taglist: @itsalexwin @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @gillybear17 @terraeluce @f4ll-for-you @ineedtosusoutmyreadinglist

[onwhatcaptain]

Amok Time Fans and K/S Fic Readers - I Would Love Your Input!

Putting the poll up top, and additional context below. Earlier this year, I wrote and published my Amok Time K/S novel 'I Shall Do Neither' on AO3. It's been nominated for a Philon Award, and I'm incredibly proud of the endless work that went into making this!

Earlier this week, I realized that people who may have wanted to read the fic were not aware of its existence when some gorgeous Amok Time art was making the rounds, and a number of people expressed that they wished to read a story that explored these events just like my novel did. When my novel first debuted, I left the tags of my work intentionally vague to preserve the plot and surprise for the reader. So my question is, should I tag the work to make those spoiler plot points clearer? Spoilers below the cut for more context.

If you have read this work already, your thoughts on how your reading or perception of the work might have changed would be very valuable to me. Thank you! Below the cut are the major plot elements and spoilers for I Shall Do Neither I am considering adding in tags, including how the work ends.

This fic specifically covers how the events of Amok Time came to be. In this work, McCoy has no way to intervene during the fight. Spock has killed Jim, and is unable to live with his own actions. McCoy is left to go on without either of his friends, and the second and third seasons of Star Trek are explored to their devastating conclusions, without either Kirk or Spock. However-- this is also a time travel story, and at his lowest moment, McCoy is granted the privilege of changing history by the enigmatic Guardian of Forever. McCoy races against time to unravel the mystery of Vulcan's darkest secret on his own and make sense of the hidden feelings that existed between his two closest friends, all while facing his own mortality. We learn just how and why McCoy brought the neural paralyzer that saves his friends' lives, and the work has a happy ending that resolves every little inconsistency, every single plot hole in Amok Time. In essence, it's Amok Time meets Romeo and Juliet meets It's a Wonderful Life. I would likely add tags that referenced a number of these major spoilers.

[kaycode1999]

Haii!! I was wondering if I could get a transformers matchup? Decepticon or autobot, either is fine.

I am genderfluid (they/them) and bisexual. I have short curly black hair with brown/hazel (idk I've been told I have both?) eyes. I'm pale, 5'3 and on the more chubby side. I wear glasses because I'm blind and can't see shit.

I have dyslexia and probably autism but I haven't got tested so Idk. Math has always been very hard for me to understand it in do great in subjects like history.

I am very introverted and tend to avoid social interactions, and I tend to be very judgemental and once I don't like you, I don't like you and will probably never like you. I can be spiteful but id never be outwardly rude of shit talk someone because I tend to freeze up during confrontation but I don't let anyone walk on me, i stand my ground and pick my battles wisely. Im very quiet and have been told I am a great listener and would make a good therapist. While in school I would go weeks without saying a single word but then when I got home it was like I couldn't shut up. Speaking in a public setting is genuinely terrifying to me and it feels like my mouth and glued shut whenever I try to. I am very connected to the environment and its creatures, and feel like I'm able to trust and get along with other animals better then I am people. My one big goal in life is to start a farm/animal rescue. Some of my favorite animals are alligators and crocodiles, and I could probably spill facts about them for hours if someone let me. I tend to be very protective of my things and schedule and get upset when people disrupt or move things. I have a spot for everything and if something isn't in it's spot or gets rearranged somewhere else I get anxious. I collect a lot of things and grow attached to them quickly. I am immensely independent because I am afraid of asking for help. I know exactly what i want and what i need, and I'll manage to do anything to get it. Humor and laughter is a key part of me and what i seek in life. But also trust and loyalty, those are all qualities i possess and seek in others. I tend to overthink sometimes and get paranoid about people leaving me.

My hobbies include art, I like to draw silly little doodles of things. video games, two or my favorite games are doom and silent hill 2. And I enjoyed caring for and spending time with my pets, which I have a lot of. 4 dog, 3 cats, 4 betta fish, 8 chickens, a wild turtle that lives in my backyard, and a bearded dragon. Im planning on getting a Jacksons chameleon and some goats when I have the space.

I match you with

D-16/Megatron ( TF One)

He definitely thinks your glasses make you look adorable

He is kind of in the middle of introverted and extroverted. He’s extroverted around people he’s comfortable with but not so much with strangers

That’s to say he understands being introverted and totally gets avoiding certain social interactions

He also enjoys history, specifically relating to the primes *megatronus*

He also is on the judgemental side

As we saw, once he turns on someone (Ex. Sentinel and Orion/Optimus). He does not go back

He appreciates that you don’t let anyone walk all over you

You’re assertive and calculating and that is why he is initially drawn to you

I think he understands and appreciates your quiet nature

He comes to rely on you to listen to what he’s feeling or thinking. You’re also his confidant so he will discuss things with you and truly values your input

He is very sensitive to your public speaking anxiety. He will do everything he can to keep from causing you anxiety, and he will make sure you know it’s ok if you can’t speak in public. No pressure, and he will personally terminate anyone who would try to force that on you

He definitely agrees about liking the environment and its creatures better than other people

Especially in the aftermath of the movie he would much rather have a farm and animals away from other people than to be around others specifically the bots in Iacon

You can go on about whatever, you’re there to listen to him and he’s there to listen to you

Also, he will definitely get/have made any alligator and crocodile memorabilia for you because he knows you’ll enjoy it

I think he understands about the being protective of your schedule and things. He is too, possibly to a lesser extent but he understands it is serious and does his best to not affect any of that

He respects your independence and the fact that you know what you want

He also shares that he will do whatever to get what he wants

Especially after becoming Megatron, he’s not so laughing or humorous anymore- but if you make jokes around him you’ll see the slightest smirk make its way onto his face. And if he hears you laugh he will always end up smiling

You both need someone who is trustworthy and loyal

Especially after losing the only friend he ever had he also understands the paranoia about losing someone you care about very well.

You are as close as can be and inseparable because of this