#misuse of semicolons

[dull-c]

merry christmas, happy hols, and happy new year @itskotka !! surprise i'm your @cksecretsanta23 hehe! hope you enjoy this little robby story I wrote ya.

-

Ghosts of Christmases Past

In the memory he’s still a kid, ankle deep in polystyrene. Tiny bean bag beans cling to the Christmas tree, to his sweater sleeves, and a giddiness pinches his chest.

Robby’s not sure why he’s thinking of it now; his legs propped up on the arm of a sofa, a girl’s - he thinks she said her name was Carly - hand light on his arm. Someone at this house party must have been talking about the holidays, he thinks. Or maybe it was the rainbow-colored flashing fairy lights winding their way across the ceiling above him. Either way, the images keep resurfacing, floating through his mind. It’s a nice memory, or it seems like it anyway, but he can’t quite place the when and where - can’t tell who was around - if anyone was at all.

It occurs to him as he’s lying there, high as a kite, maybe a little buzzed too; bones vibrating with mishmash of shouting voices over pounding music, that it probably feels nice because of that missing context. His other childhood Christmas memories, even the ones that felt cozy and warm, usually went hand in clenched hand with recollections of his mom glancing repeatedly at her watch, at her phone. Tight line of her mouth, worrying deeper as the day went on. She’d stopped promising him time from his dad, knew better by then, but he’d been able to tell anyway when she was expecting him, and he didn’t show. Her disappointment and frustration bled through him like red wine into cheap tablecloth.

Someone walking by knocks against his feet hard, jerking Robby back into the present. The hand on his arm moves, pats his chest soothingly like he’s a startled dog, and it’s just overfamiliar; maternal enough to make him sit up and out of its grasp, head running cartwheels as he does. Robby stills for a moment, breathes deep and long, til he’s pretty sure he’s not going to headbutt the carpet when he tries to get up.

He calls his mom first, as he’s weaving his way through the drunken, dancing, handsy bodies in the hallway, but gets her voicemail. So, he tries the longer shot.

“Who’s playing that garbage music?” his dad asks, when he picks up. “Where are you?”

“Kenny’s place,” Robby lies, after a slightly-too-long moment of dead air. He slips out the front door and pulls his phone away from his ear to check the time. It’s still pretty early, still possibly within visiting your karate friend’s house hours.

There’s an even longer pause on his dad’s end, like he’s not buying it for a second, and is trying to decide whether to push it.

“Oh yeah? Miguel with you?”

Carmen says something in the background, and Robby can’t quite make out the words, but he’s sure they both already know where Miguel is, and he really didn’t drink or smoke enough to fall into that trap.

“No, just Kenny and a couple guys from class. Listen, I’m just calling because I need to ask you a question.”

“Okay.” He still sounds skeptical. “What’s up?”

“You know those tiny little balls that people stuff into bean bags?”

“Yeah right, the beans. Look kind of edible but they’re not.”

“Those, yeah.” Robby sits on a chair by the porch, rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck, no idea how to ask the thing he wanted to ask, now that he’s about to ask it. “I have this memory of like, uh, you know, - maybe it’s a dream, I don’t know. I’m standing in a bunch of them? And there’s this little Christmas tree and I’m like - were you? I don’t– Do you, uh, remember anything?”

“Run that by me again?” His dad’s voice sounds far away, pitchy through the phone. “You’re not making much sense. You’re standing where?”

It’s cooler outside than in, but Robby’s face is starting to crowd with heat. Why did he think it was a good idea to call about this again? Why is he fixating on one stupid happy ancient memory he’s not sure even happened? It’s summer for fuckssake.

“No, forget it, you probably weren’t even–” He blows out a deep breath. “I gotta go.”

“You good, Rob?” His dad’s voice has lost the distrust, it’s just concern now. “Is this about Tory?” There’s a beat, and then rustling on the other end of the call. “Tell me where you are, I can send someone to–”

Robby cuts him off. There’s a weird heaviness behind his eyes and a twinge in his throat. He thinks he might need to throw up or something.

“I’m good, Dad. It doesn’t matter. Enjoy the rest of your weekend away, okay? Tell Carmen I said hi.”

“Robby–”

He hangs up, and violently shoves his phone into the back of his jeans.

When Robby slips back inside, someone has moved into his dip in the couch and he can’t see Possibly Carly or her arm anywhere, so he downs another beer and heads out to the backyard. It’s marginally less hazy and loud and smells a little better. He settles into a cheap plastic lawn chair next to some rich kids talking increasingly loudly about their vacation to Greece and closes his eyes for a moment.

He opens them again maybe seconds, minutes, hours later. The rich, loud kids are gone, and someone is saying his name repeatedly. He looks up, disoriented; finds himself being stood over by the girl who featured in most of his juvie nightmares, looking paradoxically like something out of a teen romcom, in her cute, oversized sweater and big boots and scrunched curls. The pool light is framing her from behind, making her look kind of glowy.

Angel of the morning. Evening. Friday night, or whatever.

“Sam?” He lowers his voice to an almost-whisper. “Wait, are you real?”

Robby’s sure this must be another trip into his memories, another glimpse of something stored away from a time when things were good; easy, when they could still sense each other’s movement, wet boards under their feet, sun beating down in their sticky, sweaty bodies shifting together in complete sync.

Sam slugs him in the arm. “That feel real?”

“Ow, jesus.”

“Nope, just me.” Sam holds out her hands, and beckons impatiently. “Come on Fear and Loathing, time to go.”

Robby takes her hands, but when she tries to pull him up he holds his weight, leans back a bit.

“How’d you know where I was?”

“Karate spy network.”

Robby blinks at her.

“Your dad called my dad,” Sam elaborates, letting go of his hands. “And then my dad called me.” She fishes around in her pocket and pulls out her phone. “And I’d made you activate the Find My app, after the last time you went on the run.” She waves her phone at him. “Fool me once, Robert Swayze.”

Sam takes his hands and tries hauling him to feet again, but Robby doesn’t resist this time and realizes too late that she’s expecting him to. She pulls hard, overbalances, and seemingly in slow motion, tips backwards. She pulls Robby down trying to stop herself, and he falls heavily on top of her with an oof; hips to hips, chest to chest, just narrowly avoiding smacking his forehead into her nose.

“Shit, sorry,” Robby says, rolling off her immediately, feeling humiliated now for maybe the third or fourth time tonight. “You okay?”

“I think,” she wheezes, visibly winded, “that was second base.”

Robby bites back a laugh and helps Sam sit up, brushes some foliage out of her hair while she catches her breath. When they’ve regained some balance, they pull each other to their feet again.

“Come on,” Sam shouts, as they make their way back through the house, over the noise and maze of teenage bodies. “We can grab a burger on the way to mine.”

He lets himself be pulled through it.

“Your house?”

“You’re not going back to your flat on your own.” Sam turns and looks at him over her shoulder, smirks. “Don’t ask my dad if he’s real though, or he’s gonna lose it.”

Mr. Larusso is waiting up for them, in his towel robe and slippers, bent over a book at the table. His expression relaxes a little when he sees them, and Robby’s not sure if that’s relief or if he’s purposely hiding a more unpleasant reaction, but he’s not yelling or kicking anyone’s doors in, so he’s just going to try and roll with it.

“Hi Robby, Sam.”

“Hey Mr. Larusso.” He swallows, and it feels loud. “Sorry to - I know it’s late-”

“It’s not that late,” Sam interrupts, waving her hand dismissively. “Don’t let Dad’s pajamas confuse you, he’s been in them since seven-thirty.”

“It was eight, at least,” Mr. Larusso mutters, sounding genuinely put out by the thirty-minute discrepancy. He gives Robby's shoulder a quick, friendly squeeze as he slips by him. “Sit down, I’ll make you a coffee.”

Sam hands Robby a glass full of water and nudges him toward the sofa, as Mr. Larusso disappears into the kitchen. The TV is playing some old Frasier reruns and maybe it’s the weed –he’s pretty sure it’s the weed– but it feels like he’s walked back into a memory of something he can barely remember. Something warm; gentle; missed tugs at his chest as Sam flops down next to him on the familiar sofa and tucks her head against shoulder, easy as breathing.

Sounds of the coffee machine groaning into life drift in from the next room, and then Mr. Larusso’s voice.

“Hey Johnny, just letting you know–” Mr. Larusso stops, heaves a sigh so long-suffering Robby’s sure he can feel his exhale half a room away. “What do you mean ‘who is this’? The caller ID is right on your-” Another long, exasperated sigh. “Of course you are. Yeah, he’s here.” His voice is a little warmer, softer now. “He’s a little glassy-eyed but seems fine. Yeah, yeah, I’ll put him on.”

Mr. Larusso hands Robby his phone, it’s hot against his ear.

“Dad?”

“Hey champ, everything alright over there?”

His dad’s voice sounds clearer than before, but there’s still an edge of concern.

“Yeah,” Robby answers. “Sam tracked me down on her stalker app, I’m good.”

He hears Sam tsk, but she stays leaning against him.

“Good,” his dad says. “Good. Listen, that thing you were asking me about earlier.”

Robby flinches.

“Yeah, that was weird, sorry.”

“No, I was thinking about it after you called, and I remembered what you were talking about.”

Mr. Larusso places a mug of coffee into his free hand. Robby starts to nod his silent thanks, but he’s already gone again, like a terrifying, coffee-bearing sprite. He sits up a little straighter.

“Oh yeah?”

There’s a rusting noise on the phone, like his dad’s moving around.

“It was when you were four - or five maybe. I can’t remember exactly, but you were just old enough to start calling me a deadbeat to my face.”

Robby’s grip tightens on the mug a fraction.

“I-”

“No, it's fine I was,” His dad clarifies, clearing his throat. “That’s not the point. It was December and I asked you what you wanted for Christmas, and I guess you’d been watching a bunch of TV specials or something and you said, all serious and shit, like it was a challenge, that you wanted a White Christmas.”

Robby laughs.

“Oh man, I wanted snow in the San Fernando Valley?”

“Exactly! As rare as hen’s tits!”

“Teeth,”

“What?”

“Never mind, sorry, go on.”

“Okay, right,” his dad continues, and Robby pretty much knows by now where the story is going, but he lets him tell it anyway. He wants to hear him tell it. “So, you weren’t going to get real snow, but I don’t like to back down from a clear challenge either - no matter how puny the challenger is. I went to Walmart, got as many of those packets of bean bag beans as I could carry, and filled up your living room with that shit.”

“You brought the snow to the valley.” Robby grins, takes a sip of coffee.

“Shan wasn’t super happy about the cleanup, but man.” There’s laughter in his voice. “You loved it.”

And Robby did, he remembers now, the spaces in his memory filling as his dad talks.

Remembers their tiny flat, polystyrene snow in every direction. His breathless giggling as his dad threw fistfuls of it at him. Looking up at his mom, who was smiling back at him; worries all smoothed away.

He remembers jumping up and down on their ratty sofa while snow rained down over him, and the dizzy happiness pinching his ribs. How, swept up in his joy, he threw his arms out wide and leapt into the blizzard; sure in that moment that someone would catch him.

[xinesthetic]

Saw someone mention Beast!Atsushi's collar on my timeline and got devasted by how pain is such an intricate part of his character and it has such a violently beautiful spin to it in the BEAST universe.

55 minutes explains it better than I can, but pain is consistantly so very important to the little tiger guy; pain is what makes him connect to others and understand them in ways other people might not (looking at you, Lucy Montgomery), it does shape him because that's all he knew, it is also something that makes him know he's alive and Wants to Live (Hi Shibusawa that is your doing), but--

-- but oh my god is BEAST fucking devastating in this regard. He doesn't just hate pain, he actively fears it, yet is constantly tormented by the aforementioned collar. Pain is quite literally all he knows most of the time, it's his ability limitator that quite literally keeps him from losing himself, and he's scared of the very safe net he has (if you can call it that).

Elise also tells him at the end of the book that he doesn't want to die, he just doesn't want to live, and that is potentially the saddest line I've seen Asagiri write because man. What the fuck.

[samskaterguy]

Leo and Yuichi trying to instigate a first kiss but they both keep chickening out last second.

It actually happens in the heat of a moment, maybe after a fight they all made out okay. Emotions are running high and they just smile at each other, both completely out of breath but they run to each other, hug and then they kiss.

They pull away and look at each other, and then it hits them.

"..Did we just do that?"

"..We did."

"Do you want to again?"

"Very much yes please."

[nerdosoide]

"You okay Makoto?, you seem kinda out of it" -Junko asked

"Yesterday was a foggy day" - he began, eyes glassy and avoiding her gaze - " I sat on a bench on the side of the road when suddendly an oil truck crashed down, somehow, not catching on fire.

I rushed to help the driver and just as we just got out of the umbral pool of oil spill, bright velvet lightning struck mere centimeters away from my face and lit the oil on fire.

The flames were gigantic but somehow it did nothing to illuminate what was beyond the fog. Me and the driver both sat entranced; isolated from the world beyond the thick, white smudge curtain of mist."

He finally turned to face her with a look of awe

"It was both beautiful and terrifying..."

"And here I thought the 'talking like an aspiring poet' thing was a one and done deal" -she sighed before her nose scrunched in mild annoyance - "I gotta admit though, I'm a little jealous"

"Oh" - he perked up -"but not as much as you, honey!" -he smiled brightly

"I meant of the driver; but thanks, sweetheart"

[otter-byte]

Wonderful headcanon op! Unfortunately you have failed to justify a single part of it using the original text, and it betrays a lack of understanding of the texts foundational themes. The penalty for this is death,, because of woke.

[planetkiimchi-rbs]

i have a lot of favourite lines, so here are just some of them:

that’s enough for you to think to yourself, that one. i want to be friends with that one.

my cute little yn :((

and, and, and — because of course, joshua is popular.

the anaphora !!! oh my gosh. poetic, really, the way you conveyed the cacophony of voices crashing over each other during lunch

and then it’s glued back together by clumsy fingers the next day,

i will never not love this phrase

but it feels like he’s plucked the sentence straight out your mind, where it had been nothing more than a half-formed sentiment you’d pushed into the corner.

this line 🫠🫠🫠

if it were a movie, it would be raining when he knocks on your door — but it’s still warm, there’s still faint sunlight behind him, and he’s panting slightly on your doorstep, eyes wide with something you don’t have the time to read before he’s rushing out words, garbled with speed.

this line specifically ^^ is so breathless, just like how i imagine joshua would have been. wow.

“haha,” he whispers, leaning closer, “i win.”

what a beautiful concluding sentiment to the story. the shua that chased yn, that loved them (maybe even if he didn't know it), the one that was always there for yn.

joshua hong breaks your heart three and a half times before you can even reach nineteen, and yet you can’t stop loving him with the pieces that remain.

i. the first time ; when you meet

the story of you and joshua starts at the beginning, which sounds pretty redundant, but it’s the beginning in more may than one. the beginning of friendship — the beginning of freshman year — the beginning of something bigger than two fourteen year olds can imagine.

it starts, as you say, at the onset of freshman year. you’re nervous — extra nervous because these kids went to the same middle school, and you’re the stranger, the outsider, the transfer student who nobody knows yet. it’s obvious in the way they talk to each other; gossipping about unfamiliar names, inside jokes only they understand.

and so homeroom begins with ice breakers, and it turns out that you and someone named joshua hong have the same favourite colour and you both like horror movies, and that’s enough for you to think to yourself, that one. i want to be friends with that one.

for a moment, it seems like that sentiment is mirrored. when lunch is called, and you’re stuck in the corner of the canteen, eating lunch alone, joshua hong appears to your side, holding his tray. he smiles at you first, and when he speaks, he speaks softly; you like him instantly, especially when he gets your name right first try, and talks to you about the horror movies you like.

unfortunately, your conversation lasts about five minutes; it’s interrupted by joshua’s actual friends, waving from another table, yelling for him to come join their arm wrestling competition, and someone wants his chocolate milk, and, and, and — because of course, joshua is popular.

he’s also incredibly polite, for a fourteen year old boy, looking between you and his table, eyes torn, mouth twisting. but you make the decision for him; you stuff the last of your food in your mouth — it tastes like cardboard — and you gesture for him to leave, saying, through a dry mouthful, “i’m done anyway, go ahead!”

he leaves then, sending an apologetic smile you pretend not to see. you won’t be pitied, not even by popular guys with nice smiles. but when you walk out the cafeteria, as alone as you were when you walked into it, your silly, young little heart does break a little.

and then it’s glued back together by clumsy fingers the next day. joshua’s in the cafeteria before you, and this time, he waves you over to his table, patting the seat next to him. he introduces you to his friends, who are nice and sweet and funny, and you do like them, you just like joshua that extra little bit more.

ii. the second time ; when you fall, suddenly, completely, absolutely.

by the time junior year rolls around, you and joshua are joined at the hip.

you do everything together. you’re at his house more than your own; his mom calls you the second child she never had; your mom calls him by his nickname; you know his deepest darkest secret, and he knows yours; he’s your favourite person in the world, and as teenagers are apt to do, you’d never willingly tell him such a thing.

“you’re disgusting,” you tell him, whenever he belches, unashamed, on your couch after a horror movie marathon. “you’re the worst!” when he tickles you within an inch of your life, rolling onto the floor with you in a mad tangle of limbs and giggling. “i hate you,” with a smile on your face, when he teases you about a crush or pinches your nose a little too hard.

“you love me,” is always his response — easy, carefree, and the l-word rolls off his tongue so confidently, sometimes you wonder how he does it. but you do love him. as a friend, of course, and nothing more, despite what other people say. at school, people think you’re together — people pull you aside in the locker room, giggling like they’re in on your secret (“so, you like like him, right?”) and nobody believes you guys when you deny it.

“it’s not like that,” you find yourself saying over and over, until it feels like the words are tattooed on your tongue. “he’s just josh, you know?” and he is. he’s just your joshua. nothing more, nothing less, he’s just your person — your best friend.

you manage to convince yourself as well, with those repetitive words, until one day, you find out you can’t.

it’s a sunday, and so of course, he’s singing sunday morning as the two of you stroll down to the park, hands stuffed in your respective pockets. it’s late september, but the dregs of summer are lingering longer this year, and the two of you are drinking them up before autumn rolls around, and strips the greenery bare.

“your obsession with that song needs to be studied,” you say, and it comes easily because you haven’t realised yet.

“your brain needs to be studied,” is his quick retort, as you guys make it to your usual spot.

it’s nothing special, this spot — to an outsider, at least. it’s a crumbling wall to the side of the park, that overlooks a pond (an ugly, swampy looking pond, but a pond nonetheless).

to you and joshua, the deteriorating wall is your Place, with a capital p, because that’s how important it’s become to the two of you. it’s simply. a little bit ugly, but who cares, when you have your whole life stretching in front of you, a wall to sit on, and a best friend to argue over the red gummies with?

“there are five red gummies,” he pronounces, peering inside the pack. “i call dibs on the third!”

“what?” your voice raises automatically. “absolutely not. you had the third one last time.”

“last time there were six!”

“that’s so not fair!” you poke his rib, scowling. “we’ll split it. for justice.”

joshua sighs, long and reluctant, but nods, setting the packet between you — but moments later, when you’ve spiralled down a tangent of cursing out your physics teacher, he swipes down on the third, stuffing it in his mouth with a triumphant, guiltless grin before you can even say stop.

“you’re evil,” you say, slow and shocked, narrowing your eyes at him. “you’re actually fucking evil!”

“sorry,” he says, without the slightest hint of remorse.

“i hate you.” and again, you’re smiling — and so is he, throwing his head back to laugh (because the thought of you hating him is so ridiculous that he has to laugh), and his darn eyes catch the afternoon sunlight at just the right angle, twin pools of honey brown, and you’re drowning in them; and his laughter sounds like music, and his hair’s blowing back in the breeze, and the lines of his face are lighting up golden; and oh, fuck, you’ve forgotten how to breathe.

“you love me,” he says, normally, casually, his ordinary response, but it feels like he’s plucked the sentence straight out your mind, where it had been nothing more than a half-formed sentiment you’d pushed into the corner.

cheeseballs, you think to yourself, breathless, stomach sinking, eyes wide. i think he’s right.

i think i love him, your fifteen year old self thinks, and then your fifteen year old self’s heart breaks.

it’s more painful than the first time. much more.

iii. the third time ; when he leaves (because you push him out the door)

the third time is not like the others. you can’t pinpoint a specific moment; it happens gradually. less of a shattering — more of a slow crushing, like joshua is pressing down on the centre of your chest, slow, heavy, and completely unaware of how blood is spurting from the cracks of your heart.

because he doesn’t know — of course he doesn’t know. and he can’t know now, now that the two of you, as a unit, have become past tense.

you can barely call himself your friend anymore, and it’s entirely your fault.

not even a month after that fateful day in junior year, joshua had gotten himself a girlfriend. and she wasn’t mean and you couldn’t hate her even if you wanted to, she was the sweetest person alive, and had no problem with you; but still, that step did mean other things, like backing off joshua a little. there was another priority in his life now.

they only lasted three months, but it felt significant. it felt like a sign — he’s not yours, he can never be yours, and so even after emily benson and joshua broke up, you kept your distance. then he joined the football team, with seungcheol and mingyu and those guys, and you joined the photography club with wonwoo and seokmin and those guys, and there was suddenly this divide. a line drawn; you were the artist.

because joshua did try, and he definitely tried more than you. he’d invite you over to his house for movie marathons, and you’d decline. he’d wave at you from across the football pitch, and you’d pretend not to see.

you only see his mom in the supermarket now. she still hugs you, calls you her other child. you don’t know what to say to her.

it is, technically, your own fault. self-preservation instincts; because being around joshua hurt like a bitch after that sunday. there was an ache in your heart you’d somehow not noticed for two years, but now that you’d noticed it once, it was there always, a permanent throbbing pain in your chest.

you think of it as losing your heart; you’d given it to joshua without even realising, and he hasn’t realised either. and so the hot, slippery organ is left in his hands, and you don’t know how to get it back.

senior year comes, and it’s clear to everyone that there is no longer a you and joshua. sometimes you get questions about it; “did you guys fight?”, “what even happened? was it emily?”, “did he cheat on you?”, and you answer them all wearily with a smiling front.

just drifted apart, i guess, you always say, paired with a nonchalant shrug, like it doesn’t kill you a little every time you see him.

you wonder what he says, when they ask him. if they even ask him at all.

iii.v half broken, half mended

joshua shows up at your house.

it’s the night before graduation, and if it were a movie, it would be raining when he knocks on your door — but it’s still warm, there’s still faint sunlight behind him, and he’s panting slightly on your doorstep, eyes wide with something you don’t have the time to read before he’s rushing out words, garbled with speed.

you’ve just woken from a nap, and you don’t understand a word he’s saying; you hear a whole lot of “we” and “friends” and before he can get any further, you raise a hand to stop him.

“what — what are you talking about, shua?” you question genuinely, rubbing your sleepy eyes as though this is some sort of twisted dream.

joshua lets out a breath on your doorstep; he looks harried, panicked, like if he doesn’t say everything he needs to, he’s going to explode. but he holds back, inhaling, exhaling, suddenly short of breath at the sight of you, up close after what feels like forever.

“where did you go?” he says finally, and you can hear fifteen year old shua in there, a crack in his voice, emotion leaking into it.

you know what he means, you know exactly what he means, and you don’t have an answer for him. “i didn’t go anywhere,” you reply, voice small. you don’t look at him, because both of you know it’s a lie.

“you did,” he repeats needlessly. “it felt like you left me.”

you don’t have anything to say, and so you stay silent. there are birds chirping, you realise absently, somewhere behind him.

“was there a reason?” his words are growing quicker now, spilling out of him like they’re overflowing; and maybe they are, maybe he’s kept them locked up just as long as you have. “there must have been a reason — you need to tell me, i deserve to know. don’t i?”

his voice is tinged with a sort of raw desperation that pulls at your heart, because no matter how hard you try to convince yourself otherwise, he’s still your shua, he’s still your person, and you can never hate him.

he deserves to know, and you’re too cowardly to tell him.

joshua waits. (he’s always been the more patient out of you two.) “you won’t tell me,” he realises finally, stepping back just once. “god. fuck. i don’t even know why i came.”

he turns, and you blurt three words that halt him in his tracks. you see the way he freezes on the spot, and so you repeat them again, just so he can be sure.

“i love you,” you say, softly, but he hears you. he hears you and turns around, and his pretty doe eyes are round with confusion.

you don’t realise you’re crying until he wipes away the few that have spilled oit the corners of your eyes; he does it delicately, with hands that tremble a little. they’re unfamiliar in their familiarity, those hands, and the feel of them makes you close your eyes.

both of you are breathing shakily. like you’re on the cusp of something new; something bigger.

“how long?” he asks quietly, hands trailing down to cup your cheeks.

you don’t open your eyes when you speak your next words, pouring from your mouth into the space between you. “since we were fifteen.”

joshua’s quiet for a moment, and when you open your eyes, there’s a ghost of a smile playing on his lips, and the ghost of tears filling his eyes. “haha,” he whispers, leaning closer, “i win.” his lips brush against yours, so light and feathery it could barely be called a kiss.

he pulls back, forehead against yours, and smiles, properly this time. “since fourteen,” he says, and it feels like your heart is mended and broken at the same time.

an / typed this out in an hour of feverish inspiration. idk. 💪

taglist: @n4mj00nvq @eoieopda @som1ig @glowunderthemoon @wondering-out-loud @graybaeismytae @hannyoontify @sahazzy @dokyeomin @icyminghao @smilehui @nicholasluvbot @lvlystars @immabecreepin @hanniehaee @kokoiinuts @astrozuya

[skid-the-mighty-poet]

[jesperweidemann]

Master the Comma

The comma, a seemingly simple punctuation mark, holds significant power in shaping the clarity and flow of written language. Its correct usage can transform a piece of writing from confusing to coherent, making it an essential tool for any writer. Understanding the various roles of the comma and how to apply them effectively is crucial for enhancing readability and ensuring your message is conveyed with precision.

The Role of the Comma in Lists

One of the primary functions of the comma is to separate items in a list. When you enumerate three or more items, commas help to distinguish each element clearly. For instance, consider the sentence: “For breakfast, I had eggs, toast, and orange juice.” Here, the commas separate the items, making the list easy to read. The comma before the conjunction “and” is known as the Oxford comma. While its use is optional, it often helps to prevent ambiguity. For example, “I dedicate this book to my parents, Oprah Winfrey, and God” is clearer than “I dedicate this book to my parents, Oprah Winfrey and God,” which could imply that Oprah Winfrey and God are the parents.

Setting Off Introductory Elements

Commas are also used to set off introductory elements in a sentence. These elements can be words, phrases, or clauses that precede the main clause. For example, “After the meeting, we went out for lunch.” The comma after “After the meeting” signals a pause, helping the reader to understand that the introductory phrase is separate from the main action of the sentence. This use of the comma enhances readability by clarifying the sentence structure.

Joining Independent Clauses

When two independent clauses are joined by a coordinating conjunction (such as for, and, nor, but, or, yet, so), a comma is placed before the conjunction. For instance, “I wanted to go for a walk, but it started raining.” This rule helps to avoid run-on sentences and maintains the flow of ideas. Without the comma, the sentence might feel rushed or jumbled, making it harder for the reader to follow the writer’s train of thought.

Nonessential Information

Commas are also used to set off nonessential information—details that add extra context but are not crucial to the meaning of the sentence. For example, “My brother, who lives in New York, is visiting us next week.” The clause “who lives in New York” provides additional information about the brother but is not essential to the main point of the sentence. Removing it still leaves a complete thought: “My brother is visiting us next week.”

Avoiding Common Mistakes

Despite their importance, commas are often misused. One common mistake is the comma splice, which occurs when two independent clauses are joined by a comma without a coordinating conjunction. For example, “I love reading, it’s my favorite hobby.” This can be corrected by adding a conjunction or changing the comma to a semicolon: “I love reading, and it’s my favorite hobby” or “I love reading; it’s my favorite hobby.”

Another frequent error is the overuse of commas, which can disrupt the flow of writing. For instance, “The cake, was delicious” includes an unnecessary comma that interrupts the sentence. Conversely, omitting necessary commas can lead to confusion. Consider the difference between “Let’s eat Grandma” and “Let’s eat, Grandma.” The first suggests cannibalism, while the second is an invitation to dine.

Advanced Comma Usage

Beyond the basics, commas can be used in more sophisticated ways to enhance writing. When two or more adjectives equally modify a noun, commas are used to separate them. For example, “She wore a bright, colorful dress.” If the adjectives are not equal, no comma is needed: “She wore a bright summer dress.”

Transitional phrases such as “however,” “therefore,” and “for example” should also be set off with commas. For instance, “I wanted to join the team; however, I was too late.” This helps to clarify the relationship between ideas. Additionally, when addressing someone directly, commas are used to set off their name or title, as in “Thank you, Dr. Smith, for your assistance.”

Conclusion

Mastering the comma is essential for effective writing. By understanding the basic rules and avoiding common mistakes, you can use commas to enhance the clarity and flow of your writing. Whether you are listing items, joining clauses, or setting off nonessential information, the comma is a powerful tool that, when used wisely, can significantly improve readability. Remember, the key to mastering the comma is practice and attention to detail. With time and effort, you can become proficient in using this versatile punctuation mark to enhance your writing.

[tiktaaliker]

do you have any idea how hard it is to be someone whos like even vaguely interested in english grammar/vocab/punctuation. do you have any idea how hard i have to restrain myself any time someone mixes up to and too or conjugates a word incorrectly or misuses a semicolon or phrases something in a contradictary/redundant way. like to me its all really neat but i cant say shit without coming across as a pendantic "ummm akshully" dweeb and it makes me foam at the fucking mouth every single time. im so normal

[sunnylandsworldwithwords]

No shame! here’s proper punctuation with a simple format and the dictionary definitions because i used to be that writer who was where some of you are now. 💖

1. Full stop

A full stop is the punctuation name for a mark that is used to show the end of a sentence, as shown in this punctuation example:

'Lucy went clothes shopping. She bought a lovely new skirt.'

Full stops are used to indicate that it is the end of a sentence, usually communicating a complete point or thought. It highlights a new sentence is about to begin.

2. Commas

Commas is the punctuation name for a mark that aregreat for breaking down sentences, combining two clauses or showing us when to pause.

'Despite the fact I hate maths, I quite like learning about fractions.'

This shows how commas can add emphasis and tell the reader when to pause. Sometimes, commas can be misplaced. This is called a comma splice, where two independent clauses are connected by a comma, when they should really be separated with a full stop or semi colon or connected with a connective.

3. Question marks

Question marks simply indicate that the speaker is asking a question. They're used at the end of question (or interrogative) sentences.

'Do you still want to keep your teddy bear?'

4. Exclamation marks

Exclamation marks is the punctuation name for a mark that can change the meaning and tone of a sentence. They still end a sentence, but they can add emotion - whether that's excitement, anger or nervousness!

'Look, it's a cat!'

'I'm so nervous about my SATs exams!'

'I can't believe you just said that!'

All three of these sentences convey very different emotions using an exclamation mark, so it can be confusing. Yet imagine if they used a full stop instead - these emotions would be much harder to read and understand.

A sentence which needs an exclamation mark is called an exclamatory sentence.

5. Colons

A colon is the punctuation name for a mark that is used to connect two clauses.

'Never go out in the sun without sunscreen: you#ll damage your skin.'

They're also great for introducing a list of three or more things.

'I'm visiting four cities this summer: Rome, Florence, Paris, and Seville.'

6. Semicolons

Semicolons get a bad reputation for being difficult, but in truth, they're super handy!

You can use a semicolon to join 2 main (or independent clauses) which have equal importance. For example,

'Katie was hungry; she hadn't eaten all day.'

Semicolons show a closer relationship between the clauses than a full stop would show.

7. Apostrophes

Apostrophe is a punctuation mark that can be quite confusing for many children, but it's really important that children learn how to use it properly.

Apostrophes are used to identify something that belongs to someone or to show a letter or multiple letters are missing from a word. Yet as simple as this sounds, many children and adults often misplace or forget apostrophes, even putting them somewhere they shouldn't be altogether. The following sentence shows how to use an apostrophe for contractions, where letters are missing from "were not", "of the clock" and "cannot".

"We weren't meant to leave before 4 O'clock, so we can't go yet."

Apostrophes can also be used to show the possessive form of a singular noun.

"The student's job was to make sure no one touched the pet rabbit's breakfast."

With plural nouns where the word already has an 's' at the end, an apostrophe just gets added at the end.

"The girls' toy truck had broken."

If the word is plural and doesn't have an 's' at the end, again one can be added.

"The women's business meeting had been delayed."

One of the most common misuses of apostrophes is putting them in words which are just plural and don't show possession or contraction. For example, words such as pencils, ghosts, houses, or guests never need an apostrophe.

8. Dash

A dash is the punctuation name for a mark that used to separate words into statements. There are two common types of dashes: en dash and em dash which vary in length. The en dash is twice as long as a hyphen and is most commonly used to signify a range between two words or numbers, for example the date range:

1990-2014.

Meanwhile,the em dash can be used in place of a comma, parenthesis, or colon to enhance readability or emphasize the conclusion of a sentence. For example:

She gave him her answer—No!

8. Hyphen

This list of punctuation marks isn't exhaustive, but it does contain the most commonly used punctuation marks with names. For example:

Sarah had a part-time job that she worked on a Saturday

9. Parentheses

A parenthesis is a word, phrase, or sentence that is inserted into writing as extra information using brackets, commas or dashes. For example:

'James (who was terrified of heights) was going to ride the biggest rollercoaster in the theme park

When a whole sentence is written inside a parenthesis then the full stop will be included inside the parenthesis, for example - Please read this story. (You'll be amazed.). However, if the majority of a sentence is written outside the parentheses, then the full stop should also be used on the outside, for example, You are late (aren't you?).

10. Brackets

Brackets is the punctuation name for a mark that is a curved symbol that looks like () and they are used to separate non-essential or additional information from a sentence. For example:

She finally answered (after taking five minutes to think) that she didn’t understand the question.

11. Quotation marks

Quotation marks is the punctuation name for a mark that is the primary type of punctuation used in quotes. These are inverted commas that are used as either single (‘ ’) or double (“ ”) sets. They are used either to mark the beginning and end of a title or quoted passage. For example:

Walking across the beach Mary said, "the weather is very sunny today".

12. Ellipsis

An ellipsis(plural ellipses) is a punctuation mark made up of 3 dots. Ellipses are commonly used to indicate the omission of words, lines or paragraphs from a quoted passage. For example:

'Today...we are proud to announce our new product.'

Dictionary version [better version In my opinion]

What is a typographical symbol?

The term typographical symbol, or any other number of phrases, refers to a character or symbol that isn’t considered to be a punctuation mark but may still be used in writing for various purposes. Typographical symbols are generally avoided in formal writing under most circumstances. However, you may see typographic symbols used quite a bit in informal writing.

Typographical symbol examples

The following examples show some ways that a writer might use typographical symbols. Keep in mind that some of these sentences may not be considered appropriate in formal writing.

The frustrated actor said she was tired of her co-star’s “annoying bull****.”

For questions, email us at anascabana@bananacabanas.fake!

The band had five #1 singles on the American music charts during the 1990s.

My internet provider is AT&T.

Period (.)

A period is used to end a declarative sentence. A period indicates that a sentence is finished.

Today is Friday.

Unique to them, periods are also often used in abbreviations.

Prof. Dumbledore once again awarded a ludicrous amount of points to Gryffindor.

Question mark (?)

The question mark is used to end a question, also known as an interrogative sentence.

Do you feel lucky?

Exclamation point (!)

The exclamation point is used at the end of exclamations and interjections.

Our house is haunted!

Wow!

Comma, colon, and semicolon

Commas, colons, and semicolons can all be used to connect sentences together.

Comma (,)

The comma is often the punctuation mark that gives writers the most problems. It has many different uses and often requires good knowledge of grammar to avoid making mistakes when using it. Some common uses of the comma include:

Joining clauses: Mario loves Peach, and she loves him.

Nonrestrictive elements: My favorite team, the Fighting Mongooses, won the championship this year.

Lists: The flag was red, white, and blue.

Coordinate adjectives: The cute, happy puppy licked my hand.

Try out this quiz on the Oxford comma!

Colon (:)

The colon is typically used to introduce additional information.

The detective had three suspects: the salesman, the gardener, and the lawyer.

Like commas, colons can also connect clauses together.

We forgot to ask the most important question: who was buying lunch?

Colons have a few other uses, too.

The meeting starts at 8:15 p.m.

The priest started reading from Mark 3:6.

Semicolon (;)

Like the comma and the colon, the semicolon is used to connect sentences together. The semicolon typically indicates that the second sentence is closely related to the one before it.

I can’t eat peanuts; I am highly allergic to them.

Lucy loves to eat all kinds of sweets;lollipops are her favorite.

Hyphen and dashes (en dash and em dash)

All three of these punctuation marks are often referred to as “dashes.” However, they are all used for entirely different reasons.

Hyphen (-)

The hyphen is used to form compound words.

I went to lunch with my father-in-law.

She was playing with a jack-in-the-box.

He was accused of having pro-Britishsympathies.

En dash (–)

The en dash is used to express ranges or is sometimes used in more complex compound words.

The homework exercises are on pages 20–27.

The songwriter had worked on many Tony Award–winning productions.

Em dash (—)

The em dash is used to indicate a pause or interrupted speech.

The thief was someone nobody expected—me!

“Those kids will—” was all he managed to say before he was hit by a water balloon.

Test your knowledge on the different dashes here.

Parentheses, brackets, and braces

These pairs of punctuation marks look similar, but they all have different uses. In general, the parentheses are much more commonly used than the others.

Parentheses ()

Typically, parentheses are used to add additional information.

I thought (for a very long time) if I should actually give an honest answer.

Tomorrow is Christmas (my favorite holiday)!

Parentheses have a variety of other uses, too.

Pollution increased significantly. (See Chart 14B)

He was at an Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) meeting.

Richard I of England (1157–1199) had the heart of a lion.

Square brackets []

Typically, square brackets are used to clarify or add information to quotations.

According to an eyewitness, the chimpanzees “climbed on the roof and juggled [bananas].”

The judge said that “the defense attorney [Mr. Wright] had made it clear that the case was far from closed.”

Curly brackets {}

Curly brackets, also known as braces, are rarely used punctuation marks that are used to group a set.

I was impressed by the many different colors {red, green, yellow, blue, purple, black, white} they selected for the flag’s design.

Angle brackets <>

Angle brackets have no usage in formal writing and are rarely ever used even in informal writing. These characters have more uses in other fields, such as math or computing.

Quotation marks and apostrophe

You’ll find these punctuation marks hanging out at the top of a line of text.

Quotation marks (“”)

The most common use of quotation marks is to contain quotations.

She said, “Don’t let the dog out of the house.”

Bob Ross liked to put “happy little trees” in many of his paintings.

Apostrophe (‘)

The apostrophe is most often used to form possessives and contractions.

The house’s back door is open.

My cousin’s birthday is next week.

It isn’t ready yet.

We should’ve stayed outside.

Slash and ellipses

These are two punctuation marks you may not see too often, but they are still useful.

Slash (/)

The slash has several different uses. Here are some examples:

Relationships: The existence of boxer briefs somehow hasn’t ended the boxers/briefs debate.

Alternatives: They accept cash and/or credit.

Fractions: After an hour, 2/3 of the audience had already left.

Ellipses (…)

In formal writing, ellipses are used to indicate that words were removed from a quote.

The mayor said, “The damages will be …paid for by the city … as soon as possible.”

In informal writing, ellipses are often used to indicate pauses or speech that trails off.

He nervously stammered and said, “Look, I … You see … I wasn’t … Forget it, okay.”

I don’t do not own any information listed above. This can all be found on google/chrome/safari

Divider credits go to @cafekitsune

[faiiryskiies]

the fact that i genuinely don't know how to use a semicolon plagues me constantly. because like, i could be right, but if i'm wrong i just look like i'm pretending to be smart when in reality i'm misusing puncuation. h e l p m e

[inventors-fair]

The Sound of Silence: Lyric Commentary

I'm quite happy with the response that this contest generated this week, and I'm thoroughly impressed with the variety of music that I got to see everyone choose! From classic rap to soundtracks, indie to musicals, it really goes to show that there are so many ways to connect with lyrics across the board. I've been trying to do more mechanical-oriented contests as of late after a slew of flavorful ones. Contests like this seem to tread a medium ground.

My favorite overall aspect of this week is how those variations in music either influenced or completely changed one's approach to the song. Many cards had themes that were directly connected to the world of Magic and intentionally shifted the context of the lyrics, but for others, I feel that the lyrics helped drive the card's creation. I liked seeing the ways in which people allowed their love of music to make new cards!

My overall mechanical critique is a reminder about space and punctuation. Magic cards are limited by the amount of characters you can fit into a title, and there's only so much room for flavor text as well. In the real world of card processes, there would be someone who would ask for flavor text on cards that needed them, but seeing as we're acting in mechanical, creative, AND visual space, it's something to be cognizant of. Additionally, I saw a lot of semicolon misuse this week. Semicolons are for separating two like ideas that could be connected but lead into each other naturally; they can't replace the function of commas or emdashes.

But my song's almost been sung, SO: here are the entries and commentary! If you see a card with JUDGE PICK next to it, that means it was either a) in the running and there just wasn't space, or b) there was a specific cool thing about it that I wanted to highlight for the crowd. One, two, three, four—

@an-anarchist-shapeshifter — End the Feud "Time will Change You" by The Crane Wives

I feel a sense of disconnect between the notion of equal pacifism and the mechanical implications. Perhaps the king and the elves are each representative of the green and white here, but then there's the fact that everyone's graveyards are exiled and only you get the benefit. Of course, there's no way that giving your opponents the counters would be reasonable. In that instance, perhaps one compromise would've been to not necessarily display the truce, but also a force for the future. After all, wouldn't you be swinging in pretty hard after this?

Still, the ability to really beef up a board through lots of graveyard shenanigans is just what a GW deck could use against a more control-oriented matchup. Personally I'd phrase it "where X is the number of cards exiled from your graveyard this way" instead of "owned," because it's more intuitive to me. Yeah, it's the same thing, but regardless. And it's a good swing in still! I think the bottom line is that I wanted for there to be a more direct connection between the trajectory of these two kingdoms and how the player would use this to then claim some manner of victory. The intended mood matches the lyrics but could've used a different mechanical angle if you wanted to stick with the notion of peace. A lifegain spell might've been reasonable as well.

~

@arixordragc — Disdainful Dragon "Judgement" by Caamora)

I'm quite familiar with the card Disdainful Stroke. I'm also familiar with the cost and its effects. I'm baffled as to why the choice to name a card ostensibly after a specific spell would lead to an inverted effect here. Why mana value 4 or less? Yeah, maybe someone would be disdainful of those underneath them as the lyric suggests, but most of the Disdainful Strokes that we've seen have flavorfully been about dismissing the greater displays of power from those above you. The choice to invert that feels incongruous to me.

The card's perfectly fine, I suppose, even if the flavor text is kinda squished in there. It's a good draft mythic and could see sideboard play. Really, though, the whole concept of the card feels like it should've been built around the spell in question and the fact that it isn't frustrates me somewhat. I want to hear about the decision for that later if you're around and about to tell it.

~

@bergdg — One More Light "One More Light" by Linkin Park

Yeah, it's a great little one-drop. Combat tricks like this are fun for limited and good for constructed in the right situations. I like the stipulation for the counter. Did you ever consider having an effect that would do something else if the permanent wasn't a creature? I suppose that the bonus is fine enough for white. The flavorful portion of this card is pretty strongly in white's wheelhouse, and that's something that really solidifies it in this unique position.

What is the value of a single entity to the colors? I suppose Blue would have each individual categorized, Black would have each individual counting themselves first, Red would fight for each individual's brightness to shine, and Green recognizes that each light has a purpose. But it's white's capacity to care from one light to another first that matters. The ellipses in the flavor text is grammatically awkward to me, and really should've been removed, but the sentiment's what matters here. Ultimately a great connection that speaks to the color pie, I say. Maybe not the most staggering effect, but eh, combat tricks are always worth it to someone.

~

@bread-into-toast — Weight of the Worldsoul "Good Luck Babe!" by Chappell Roan

I'm always struck by the effort of the art here. The new enchantment frames really make this pop for sure, and with this kind of really wild effect, it's a feast for the senses. That said, mechanics matter more here, so I'll stop that particular praise to tell you that I wish there was a more coherent way to phrase this effect. Coherent? More succinct is what I mean. I grok it, of course, and there are plenty of effects that do this sort of thing, but it's a heck of a mouthful.

Being able to shut off someone's cards like this is often much better than just removing them, though, even if it gets them mana. Sacrificing a creature is still totally doable if it's just got Pacifism on it, and instant-speed Aura removal is a lot worse when it's on a Planeswalker you control. Could "Enchant creature, planeswalker or land" roll off the tongue easier? Is there a tried-and-true 'you must do this' order to these things? At this point I usually go with intuition. As far as the Worldsoul and whatever goes, I like the interpretation of the lyrics to this kind of overwhelming effect. Like, damn, yeah, being interconnected to all of life and nature really can be a burden. I don't believe that Chappell Roan was talking about that exactly but who knows, maybe she's a planeswalker in disguise. I suppose in the end you've got a lot of funky words on a funky card, but it's a heck of an interesting card for what it's worth. 

~

@cthulhusaurusrex — Lead Pipe Languages "Ballskin" by MF DOOM

What a fantastic reference choice of lyric-to-card-presentation you've got here. I think that anyone looking at this art would certainly understand the homage, although the name is somewhat... Well, not to tie things up, but it's kind of blunt all things considered. Maybe I would expect there to be more bludgeoning in the connection; as someone who's a fan of the esoteric, it's a wee bit too esoteric to pass the test of player comprehension.

The mechanics are certainly reminiscent of the Silverquill power, and it was a fair enough choice to have the power of language and the rap references align here. The fact that you can turn Auras into enchantment creatures is a bit of an oversight considering how they would immediately die. And since when do the Silverquill care about enchantments or enchantment creatures? Yes, I know that it would be more to the point of having this card work in a specific constructed shell, but unless this is intended to present a completely new leap here, I don't see the exact connection. Maybe if there are more Silverquill cards in the future they'll be able to delve into this space. Other than that, the 'why' of this card is still lost on me.

~

@dimestoretajic — Graveyard Smash (JUDGE PICK) "Monster Mash" by Bobby Pickett

It's a perfectly reasonable card that smashes with flash, if your casting is ramped to amp up the crash of nasty ghasts to cash their massive axes and gash the aghast. Plus, exiling someone else's graveyard so that they can't get their own creature reanimated is pretty awesome too. I didn't expect for someone to go with a song that's a little...sillier? I should've expected that more, honestly, it's kinda silly myself that I didn't. Maybe I was thinking of more personal songs for people, more poetic. But hey, maybe there's sentimentality for you, I ain't one to judge. Except in the position whereupon I'm the judge.

And I'm judging that flavor text just a little bit, just because it feels a little obvious for what you're going for. It's not bad, of course, and I like how there's a little bit of that implied silliness with a hooligan horde of graverobbers coming in to dig up a bunch of graves as fast as they can before bouncing. Maybe I would've liked some more of the result of the looting, like how after they'd heard about the security, there wasn't a still shovel for weeks, or how the sounds of tilled earth and cracked granite kept everyone up, or maybe how it even startled the ghosts—yadda yadda yadda. Reanimating from an eff-yours-got-mine is awesome, and I love the name because of how absurd the portrayal is! There's a poetic extra mile that really could've pushed it, but take the thumbs-up for what it is.

~

@feyd-rautha-apologist — Ignite the Drive (JUDGE PICK) "Extras (Elphelt's Theme)" by Molly Daisy & Daisuke Ishiwatari

I'm guilty for not knowing anything about Guilty Gear. Frankly, I don't play that many video games in the first place. What I do know is that goblins also don't listen to safety regulations and also, Vehicles don't have enough of this effect—honestly, there isn't any effect quite like this, not as simple, and I enjoy it a lot. Whatever limited environment that this could go in, it knows what it's asking for. Good topdeck when you need that last creature and don't have what you need to power your vehicles.

There's this energy that the song brings and this Magic-themed matching energy that feels aligned even without that direct connection between the nice young lady in the thumbnail and the motorhead in the art description. Maybe the exclamation points in the flavor text are a little much, but aside from that, this was a competitive week and I still want to commend this card for its strength of mood and overall kick-assery. 

~

@frognarch — Ruler's Acquisition "C.R.E.A.M." by Wu-Tang Clan

It's a damn cool image, that's for sure. Something tells me that "cash" as a concept isn't the most in-line with most Magic universes, and that's really the most difficult part of this card to contend with flavorfully; the fact that it's the flavor text that you chose is, well... I might just not be the right audience for sunglasses-wearing skulls. What this card sets out to do, I imagine, is to display a more contemporary take that's connected to the music, as opposed to finding a niche in a specific/established plane. And that's fine if that's what you're setting out to do! For most contest criteria, I'm just a little more straightedge with it.

The mechanics are what I really want to tinker with here, because goodness gracious there's some powerful stuff moving around. I will say that there's a small issue in power balance for constructed for sure. Swinging in and getting your Treasures with any kind of earlier treasure support means that you can, at instant speed, snatch up your opponents blockers and effectively ensure that they don't play the game. If this was a rare that sacrificed itself to gain control of another creature, I'd be a lot more down for that. Repeatedly and permanently gaining control of other players' stuff is a feelbad for just about any format. If that's still what you're after, then you might want to secure more hoops to jump through, because the threshold of five Treasures in the right shell is a lot easier to get to than you might think.

~

@horsecrash — Wanderlust (JUDGE PICK) "Metal Detector" by They Might Be Giants

So far, Glowcap Lantern is the closest that any other card's come to this effect, and it's kinda strange that that's the case. It's a damn powerful effect, but having to hit on contact doesn't make it any more powerful than, say, Sticky Fingers or whatever. Less so without evasion, honestly. And that's good! Balanced commons are indeed good, no matter what the folks on the internet might say. They don't say otherwise, I don't know why I said that. Auras in limited are pretty undervalued, and in the end I think that having this in a shell with flying evasion would be the best bet. Whether or not I'd play it is kinda up in the air.

What I do like about this card that's commendable enough for a JP is the natural manner in which the flavor text as a fragment defines the aura, and also turns around the song to something that feels distinctly Magic-related. Yep, it's exactly that, that's how we're defining "wanderlust" for green, and I think it clicks in very well. Usually I'm not as down for fragments, but you make it make sense here because its parts of speech are enhancing what's being demonstrated through gameplay. This card should be notable for anyone reading this as an example of how grammar can work for you when you're writing your own original flavor text. Also, hell yeah TMBG.

~

@izzet-always-r-versus-u — Trust Deceived "You're Gonna Go Far, Kid" by The Offspring

[image description: a scene through Kellan's POV - on the ground in the midst of the crossfire in Tarnation, vision going dark at the edges, hand outstretched, watching Oko walk away from him.]

Something something two nickels. Anyway, it's a pretty rough pseudo-counterspell, and I like the way that your art direction places us. It's been a while since I've read the OTJ story. With that snippet of the lyrics in the title, I guess I understand it, but it's a little underwhelming for a choice. Maybe that's the hard part about having lyrics for a title—you don't get all the nuance that a longer sentence might bring. But I'm also not opposed to it, and if I'm generous, seeing this card in an OTJ pack would make me pretty happy to play blue. Blue was really damn powerful in OTJ. Makes me nostalgic, really.

The first line is the only one that needs a mechanical change, I think. Were you going for more of a Deflecting Swat kind of deal? Honestly I don't know why that one is a "may," but whatever. In that case, you might want to actually word it like Sideswipe. Yes, from CHK. Because OTJ had cards with multiple targets, the ability to change any number of them would've been awesome. Against a full-spree Metamorphic Blast or Rustler Rampage? Hell yeah. That said, I'm glad that this card doesn't have Spree, and that was a fair choice. Maybe stunning a creature as a last resort is a feelsbad at rare, but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do, and options are what really makes a rare card rare. The fact that just about all these things were found on OTJ spells actually makes me less inclined to think that that's the environment where you imagined this, but tell me what your thought process was—I'm curious!

~

@levelzeo — Let Me See Your Bones "Skeleton Appreciation Day" by Will Wood and the Tapeworms

Weirdly enough, for reasons that I don't have a specific example for, this card doesn't work within the layers. I've attached the link below as to why, but the TL;DR is that modifying creature types happens in layer 4 and P/T stuff happens in layer 7. If you want to change a creature's type, it can't be contingent on its colors, abilities, or P/T as a static effect. Intuitive? No. Rulesworthy? Yes. This is one of the first cards in a while where I've actually had to investigate this! You learn something new every day. And it's a shame, because I really like how this card plays out.

Getting everything to be a X/1 Skeleton and having them party hard with each other is really cool for making the board a bunch of boney boys, and the length of the title is awesome with flavor text that takes from the song as well. Like, this is a skeleton love letter and I think that all the elements technically come together very well! It's a shame that there's not really an easy way to go about the effect that you're looking for without some weird wording and/or targeting and stuff. Small note: you're using MSE, correct? Using "Chop Bottom" in the Style tab will make it so that your FT doesn't get covered by a stamp.

~

@melancholia-ennui — Moment of Doubt "The Getting By II" by The Killers

Once more the semicolon of separation comes in to rattle my bones. Argh! Small potatoes, though, for a card that's got some heavy emotions that come with it. I think that there's something to be said for how you've gone about this concept from a flavorful perspective, some kind of lost faith. The Theros Gods in particular being contingent upon belief is an interesting one, because there's that feeling of outsider doubt that makes cards like this that much more profound in-universe, to say nothing of the profundity outside of it. I wonder if the FT could've been just as fine with "When I look up, all I see is sky" attributed to one of the figures. It says enough without the rhyme to make it feel lyrical, no?

I don't think we need to delve into the mechanics as much as the flavor's getting to me, honestly, but I'll do my damndest anyway. After all, it's a fun take on the white boardwipes that we've been seeing these days with the draw stuff, and I think I'm a fan of how it reflects belief as something that can still accrue meaning despite the doubt being more powerful than said belief. Still, it should read: "Each player who controls an Avatar, God, Demigod, and/or legendary enchantment" because otherwise one could argue that someone who controls both somehow wouldn't draw a card. Semantics! Yes, that's a dumb take. Yes, someone would actually argue that if they found themselves in that situation. Yes, boardwipes are awesome in limited. And yes, I do particularly like the inclusion of Avatar in there, actually. It's a nice touch.

~

@mildewpyre — Dreamless Dorm/Ticking Clock "Burn My Dread" by Yumi Kawamura

I am...more or less confused by what this card seeks to accomplish. Your opponent has basically no chance to react to Dreamless Dorm when you cast it, right? So why is it worded as a trigger like that? Playing a creatureless control deck that ensures you maximize that value is a bit uninteractive in limited, and with a majority of Magic back-and-forth being tied to creatures these days, having a burn spell that can deal a ridiculous amount of damage for that little mana isn't what I'd call a fun card. And then you have the card that changes life totals being one that follows after that, for seven mana? I'm not sure what the process was for how this card was intended to work.

If I'm being generous, I'd say that playing Dreamless Dorm and then swinging in incentivizes your opponents to block with a little more fatalism in mind before maximizing the damage that your own creatures would do to you. That's also if you're running creatures in the first place, which if you're doing limited, you'd have to do in order to get anywhere. But that's pure conjecture and that's nothing to be said for how Ticking Clock really doesn't mesh with the Dorm in the first place. What's with the name-to-gameplay connection, too? And why did you include flavor text on an Aftermath card? I'll assume this is supposed to be rare, too, but I'll be honest: this card feels like the idea for a Persona-themed card came took over the actual card design. Theming is important but it can't come at the cost of a cohesive card structure.

~

@nine-effing-hells — Throw Off the Shackles "Defying Gravity" by Stephen Schwartz

I read one of the books in the series many years ago, but I've never been too into Wicked like a lot of people I know. Never really delved into theatre as much as I should've. Still, when you have a green-skinned ostracized character being unjustly maligned, might as well roll with it, right? I guess that the only thing I have against this card is the fact that I don't sense any sort of "game" that one might associate with the Azorius? Like, is that how a Golgari character would see the relationship? I have a hard time buying that just because it's a specific kind of back-and-forth where the powerful figure(s) need to take themselves less seriously in order for a game to be recognized. IMO the Azorius take themselves way too seriously for this FT to be the best application.

Still, the effect is something that we haven't seen too much of re:Aura destruction, and looking at all the Auras that Ravnica has to offer from the Azorius, I like what the gameplay and AD could do with one another! Getting that sense of tethering severance feels both strong for Black on both fronts, and the indestructible is another cool aspect that I like about the combat tricks Black has to offer. Determination is a quality that we've been seeing more of in Black. Bringing that out to this card is actually quite impressive considering how well the execution flows.

~

@piccadilly-blue — Baron Von Marlon "Too Much Brandy" by The Streets

Honestly, I didn't listen to too many of the songs that people had sent in, either because I didn't have the time, and/or the genre didn't appeal to me, and/or I had already heard the artists and could get the vibe from that. You, on the other hand, piqued my interest, and—well, I'm not sold, but I'm far from turned off, and more staggered than anything. Staggering suits this character well, now that we're on the topic, and the mood is by far the strongest thing about this card. I don't mean the mood of the AD, but the whole mood. This character is pretty damn awesome. I don't think it would be a safe idea to go out partying with them, but, y'know, I'd follow them on Rakblr.

I feel that I'm kinda missing the context for where you imagine the gameplay to fit in here. Rakdos gameplay is something that's rather hard to pin down, although having a guy sobering up to eventually pummel you in the face is pretty reasonable. Not that he's the strongest, though, and without that history of -1/-1 counters, I'm left wondering where you're expecting this archetype to go, if anywhere. But is that really the concern of this card? Maybe you're going strictly for mood, and that succeeded immensely. I just wish I didn't have to stop that mood and question it against where the card itself is taking me. Feels like I'm ruining the vibe, y'know?

~

@real-aspen-hours — Ghouls Gambit "Drink with the Living Dead" by Ghoultown

[Art: a zombie dressed in tattered cowboy attire is sitting at a table, across from a living person. Both have shot their thunder pistols at each other, knocking cards and shot glasses off the table. The human reels back from the shot, while the zombie only gives a skeletal grin as the attack pierces him, to no effect.]

Was this supposed to be "Ghoul's" or "Ghouls'" with a possessive? Either way, sorry about not having the full spree there, but I haven't found the place to add the [+] for the upper-right on Spree cards. Ah well. It's certainly a functional Spree card, and it's a shame that Unfortunate Accident is also a card here to take that second mode and make it feel slightly more derivative. But deathtouch/indestructible is a perfectly fine way of making combat that much stronger, so yeah, for five mana you can control some interaction. That's worth it for me as a black instant! Not breaking ground necessarily, but it's got what it needs.

Simple cards are then reliant on the strength of their flavor in order to get the point across. Where we land here is the midpoint of having the flavor text not exactly enhancing but not exactly repeating what's being presented via the art. Maybe as a warning or an attribution it could've gone somewhere. Poetically, the warning that's in the song preempts the result (the "would") and as such there might still be an element of surprise. Not so much here, though. I think the quote "Try to match me shot for shot" might have been a better application of the song, honestly, to match both the humor and immediacy. Not a bad connection considering OTJ overall, but I was hoping for slightly more substance.

~

@sparkyyoungupstart — Fable to Fighter "One Week" by Barenaked Ladies

In no other Magic timeline could this lyric be applicable. And I actually think it's pretty great here! Do they have movies on Kamigawa yet? I mean, they have cameras and chips, but I don't know for sure about films. I think it's cute enough for me to suspend my disbelief. I'm still a big fan of Kamigawa when I can ignore the turntables and headphones and allow for neon mechanics to be their own form of magical joy. Does that bring me out of this immersion? No, although it's still really clear that the lyrics were what shaped the card and that there was a bit of a forced meshing here. Not a bad meshing, mind! Just a pretty clear point of contact.

As for the ability, historic permanents turning alive also feels pretty cool from a manifestation standpoint. That said, Vengeant Earth is where you want the wording to be: "Target historic permanent you control becomes a 4/4 Samurai creature with first strike in addition to its other types until end of turn." Sometimes you can ignore the "base" stuff, y'know? All depends on precedent. It's a fairly strong effect, I'd say, good for a combat trick, good for combat math. The actual gameplay might not be doing anything particularly crazy, but I loved playing with Historic in limited, and that ticks off a box for me. Having a lot forced into the box of these lyrics is still a bit tongue-in-cheek. Again, I'm smiling as I'm writing this. Take that however ya want.

~

@tanknspank — Two-Toned Echoes "Who Brings Shadow" by Masayoshi Soken

I'm slowly learning that the intersection of Final Fantasy enthusiasts and Magic players is a lot stronger than I first realized. As someone with absolutely no connection to the game I'm a little struck by the whole presentation, so that's a good start. Squishing that name into the adventure, on the other hand, is a little forced, and you and I both know that I don't have to tell you twice. Two-Toned Echoes, eh? Look, I'm gonna level with you: it's a weird name for a card. Explicitly referring to Magic's color system in-game has been done before, but there's a reason that it's fallen out of favor, and I think there could've been a little more separation before jumping into this name as a first choice. But, you had to abide by the lyrics, and as far as prismatic things go, I'm willing to envision an adventure-y sensation wherein some figure is leaping over their past and future selves in a rainbow-colored array of joy.

Tumbling Through Time is a fine card by itself as well. Look, overall I think that this card is really good and grokable. What am I hesitant about, then? Something's prodding me, and it may just be the arrangement of lyric and adventure, which IIRC you pointed out in the submission process. "Lost in the Flood" could've been fine—I just checked it, heh—but no, that wasn't what you wanted from this card. Maybe that's just what happened with a few cards from this contest: it's just so apparent when the desire to get the lyrics is evident on the cards, and it's no longer blended together. What does that matter in the end, I suppose? Love trumps immersion. I'm still gonna critique it a bit but only 'cause that's my job.

~

@wildcardgamez — The Fire "We Didn't Start the Fire" by Billy Joel

Just so it's out there in front of this, I did note that the title (or part of the title) of the song shouldn't be what the name/flavor took from. Kinda not in the spirit of the lyric contest. But regardless, here we are, and we've got The Fire here. It's living up to its name, I suppose? It's basically "You can cast two spells, but watch out" which really means "Your opponents should only cast one spell each turn." It's an easily contained fire, that's for sure. I don't think it's living up to the legendary stature of its title or its flavor because of that. Maybe it's a sideboard card against combo decks and big spell decks, but I'd hope there would be bounce removal or whatever for it.

I think that you aimed a little too high here for an effect that's far too abstract for what's reasonable. It feels less like you were designing with the lyric in mind and more that you took the song and tried to apply it to the Magic world in an 'epic' way. And that's admirable, but IMO the contest was looking for less macroscopic approaches. Who's the speaker? Is this the effect or a story about the effect? Is there a plane in question? Mystique can bring intrigue, but in this case it's obscuring the larger idea that the card is asking for.

~

@xenobladexfan — Gunborg, Starnheim Gatekeeper (JUDGE PICK) "Wir fliegen" by Cyua & Hiroyuki Sawano

I'm trying so hard to picture the epic art that your illustration is going for, and yes, I can absolutely see the valkyrie with their weapons guarding a withered world tree. I'm also a veteran of the Kingdom of Loathing and that's taking over so much of my visual memory right now. But, this isn't about the art, innit? It's about a pretty darn good angel-to-non-angel ratio and having these cards slam in the air. Having even one or two angels makes all the ground attacks and deaths that much better, and I'd like to think that they're talking to another angel in the FT—to the player, even, as a guardian. I like that a lot!

I didn't think "Untap them" should be its own sentence but I guess we have The Fifth Doctor as kinda-precedent. I dunno, seems a little wonky but not that wonky at all. Really, there's not much to actively dislike about this card at all. The name's a lot longer than it needs to be, and "Gunborg" sounds fairly unserious for a serious card, but those a little nitpicks to be fixed in post. You took the lyrics and you fulfilled the prompt in a way that coincided with Magic's multiverse in a pleasant and almost poignant manner. So kudos to you!

~

@yourrightfulking — Stray from the Path "Ghost Light" by TheFatRat & Everglow

Let's start with the mechanics here, which are what I like the best. This card should for sure be an uncommon, because a two-mana exile spell, even multicolored, is still quite powerful. Being able to rescue one of your own untapped creatures and/or bounce it is fun too. Really, besides a complexity spike that also justifies this card as uncommon, I think that there's a lot to be intrigued by here! I'm a huge fan of the various UW tempo/control shells, so I'll admit that I'm a little more biased towards these effects personally.

As for how the lyrics/flavor interact, though, I think that I could've used a little bit of context here. Maybe there's a voice that's taking wandering kids or survivors and schwooping them away, where attackers are punished but bystanders aren't? I don't think I have enough information with what you're presenting here to get a clear understanding of what your card is supposed to depict. Conjecture is fine, of course, but I want more than conjecture when it comes to these sorts of things, because I can't really judge my own presumptions. Upping the rarity and giving a little more definition to the showcase could've turned me onto this card as much as I was wanting, all things considered.

~

And that's that. Phew. Thank you all once more for your cards <3 This was a popular week! @abelzumi

[grahamfolgersdeliciousnotebooks]

Happy Jmart-iversary!!! Have some S1 annoyances-to-lovers (or, well, annoyances-to-mutual pining) Jmart to celebrate their day!

Martin usually has more shame than this.

Despite what certain Archivists might think, he isn’t oblivious. He knows Jon doesn’t like him, and while Jon seems to think that Martin has made it his mission in life to bother him whenever possible, Martin usually does his best to avoid Jon as much as civility and his job will allow.

But the thing is, Martin is lonely.

Worse than that, he’s 1 AM Lonely.

Martin has become something of an expert in loneliness, over the years, and he can confidently assert that 1 AM loneliness is the absolute worst. 7 AM loneliness is rough. 8 PM loneliness can be dire. But 1 AM loneliness is utterly, entirely hopeless. If he felt this way while the sun was still up, he might be able to find an excuse to call Tim and Sasha that wasn’t just, “I wanted to hear your voice.” If nothing else, he could walk to a library, or a coffee shop, and remember that there were other people in the world. But at 1 AM, he has nothing to do but sit with the yawning, aching emptiness in his chest, and feel like he is the last person left on the face of the earth.

Except for Jonathan Sims. 

He’d always sort of suspected that Jon had a deeply unhealthy work schedule, but he was still surprised at how often he wandered out of Document Storage after midnight, expecting to have the Archives to himself, only to run into Jon in the breakroom. He’s always more irritable at night – which Martin wouldn’t have thought possible, a month ago – but an irritable Jon is better than nothing, which is how Martin has found himself standing outside Jon’s office in his pajamas, socked feet barely keeping out the chill of the scuffed linoleum floor.

There’s still time to change his mind. He could still turn around, go back to the cot in Document Storage, and sit in his insomnia with some semblance of dignity intact.

He knocks. 

There’s no response, but Martin’s used to that, so he lets himself in. When the door opens, Jon lifts his head from his work to stare daggers at him.

“Yes?” he snaps. “What do you want?”

“Just– J-Just checking in. Do you need anything?”

“No,” Jon says with a finality that borders on rudeness.

“Right.” Martin can take a hint, so he starts backing out of the door. “I’ll, uh… I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Jon purses his lips like he wants to say, See to it that you do, but is aware that that would be rude even for him, and says nothing. Martin winces as he pulls the door shut behind him.

Well. He did achieve what he was setting out to. He no longer feels like he’s completely alone in the world – there’s at least one asshole here with him.

Somehow, that thought comforts him enough that he is finally able to sleep.

*

The next few days, Martin manages to sleep a bit better. The Archives are remarkably empty on the weekend – not even Jon is working Saturdays, this week – so he has to contend with 3 PM loneliness (and 4 PM loneliness, and 5 PM loneliness…) but by 1 AM he is sound asleep. When the work week starts again on Monday, Martin is feeling almost well-rested.

Jon, it seems, isn’t.

He hasn’t stayed late at the office for the past few days, but whatever he was doing away from work, Martin feels confident that it wasn’t sleeping. He’s in an even worse mood than usual, and chews Martin out for a full 5 minutes about a simple formatting error that Martin has seen Tim and Sasha make before. 

(Tim used to work in publishing, he thinks but does not point out, he built his career on finding formatting problems, so if even he screws this up occasionally, I’m pretty sure it’s not a huge deal. But of course, when Tim makes a mistake, he gets a note on his report asking him to revise it, not a 10-minute lecture in which it’s implied that he doesn’t take seriously the historic institution for which he works, and that he may as well be spitting on the grave of Jonah Magnus with each misused semicolon.)

Which makes it all the more embarrassing when 1 AM rolls around and Martin once again hesitates outside the door to Jon’s office. He’s got tea this time, which is a pretty feeble excuse to barge in at 1 in the morning, but it’s a better one than he had last time. He has to shift both mugs to one hand to get the door open.

“Tea?” he asks in lieu of a hello. “I was making some for myself and figured you might want some.” (It’s a bald-faced lie, but Jon doesn’t need to know that.) When Jon doesn’t respond, Martin trips over himself to fill the silence. “It’s, uh. I-It’s herbal. I hope that’s alright. Thought caffeine was probably a bad idea, this time of night.”

“Hm,” is all Jon says in response, but he still takes a sip.

Martin settles into the seat opposite the desk. Jon eyes him suspiciously, but once again says nothing. He turns his attention back to his laptop, and they drink their tea in silence. 

It’s almost pleasant, somehow. The tea is delicious, in Martin’s completely unbiased opinion, and Jon relaxes enough to become a reassuring presence. He doesn’t speak, but he’s a living, breathing human in the same room as Martin, and that’s all Martin needs right now. Jon sighs and coughs and taps his foot, and whenever he notices a mistake in whatever it is he’s reading, he gives an irritable click of his tongue and starts typing furiously. At one point he even laughs. It’s not much – a quiet little bark of a laugh, barely any louder than his sighs – but it still comes as a surprise.

“What?” Martin asks, and Jon startles as though he forgot Martin was there.

Jon looks vaguely mortified to have done something so human and unprofessional as to laugh, but he explains, “Tim’s report on the Ramao case. His methods for obtaining Ramao’s marriage license were… very Tim.”

“Ah.” Martin has a few guesses at what that could mean. “B&E, bribery, or flirting?”

“Flirting,” Jon confirms. “Honestly, I’d prefer a good B&E. At least then I wouldn’t have to explain to Elias why dinner for two at Frescobaldi counts as a business expense.”

“Always happy to do my part,” Martin grins, but his smile droops as he adds, “Though my last break-in didn’t quite go to plan.”

Jon’s face grows serious as well. “Right. How, uh, h-how are you… adjusting?”

“Fine,” Martin says, and it’s not the biggest lie he’s told in his life, but it’s close.

“Right,” Jon says again. He doesn’t ask any follow-up questions, and Martin can’t help but be relieved to let the subject drop, even if the rest of the conversation drops with it. They go back to drinking their tea in silence, and soon enough it’s time for Martin to collect their empty mugs and slink back out of the office.

This time, at least, Jon says good-bye.

“Good night, Martin.”

Martin’s lips twitch upward, just a hair. “Good night, Jon.”

He sets the mugs in the sink and heads back to Document Storage, and he’s asleep within minutes.

*

Tuesday night he manages to fall asleep at a shockingly reasonable hour. Which is wonderful, right up until it isn’t.

He wakes up in a cold sweat from a nightmare that is already fading from his memory. His dad was in it, which is rare. He tries to recall what his face had looked like, but it’s gone. Maybe he hadn’t even had a face – dreams are like that sometimes – but he can still feel it at the edges of his memory, slipping away with each passing second.

He does his best to remember what the dream had been about. He was back in the apartment he used to share with his mother, the tiny, dingy place that forever smelled like mildew and cigarettes even though neither of them smoked, and his father was there. Then he left, again, and his mother was furious. She didn’t need to say that she blamed Martin, he could read it in her face, but she told him anyway. And then the apartment was a hospital room, and there were nurses yelling at him, too – how could he upset his mother at a time like this? Didn’t he know how ill she was? And then the hospital was his new apartment, and the mildew smell wasn’t mildew at all but worms, worms and rot, and he hadn’t spoken to anyone in weeks. He hadn’t spoken to anyone in weeks, and no one had thought to check on him, and the only one in the world who cared whether he lived or died was the woman trying to break down his door and fill him with worms.

So not the best dream he’s ever had.

He checks his phone. 12:22. Great. Too late to talk to anyone, too early to just get out of bed and start the day.

He stares out at the dark room. Document Storage has no windows, and with the hallway light off, there isn’t even any light spilling in under the doorway, so his eyes have nothing to catch on. He can do nothing but sit in the dark as the afterimage of his bright phone screen gets swallowed up by the gloom.

It’s not as though the dream was real. He’s safe for now; the worms can’t get to him here. And he’s not alone in the world. He’s not. His coworkers didn’t just abandon him to die – he’s seen the texts, he knows they had every reason to think he was safe.

Still, if Tim had been out for two full weeks with a stomach bug, Martin would have been on his doorstep with soup and ginger chews and an offer to drive him to the doctor any time he needed. He would have checked up on him. So would Sasha. So would Jon, probably – as much as he likes to present himself as aloof and coldly professional, Martin knows he cares about Tim and Sasha a whole lot more than he lets on. There’s only one person in the Archives who could disappear without being missed.

It isn’t that his friends don’t care about him. He knows they do. But he also knows, with bone-deep certainty, that they don’t care about him as much as he cares about them, and that’s a very lonely feeling.

Martin pushes himself out of bed. He doesn’t know what to do, exactly, but he’s had enough nightmares in his life to know that getting out of bed and away from the room he woke up in is a good place to start.

There’s a light on in Jon’s office. This time, Martin can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed when he steps inside.

Jon is sitting behind his desk, like always, scribbling furiously in the margins of some document Martin doesn’t recognize. He doesn’t even glance up when Martin enters the room this time.

“Yes?”

“Do you–” Martin’s voice is hoarse and rough – he hadn’t thought to get anything to drink when woke up, and now his throat is painfully dry – but he clears his throat and pushes through. “Do you need anything?”

“No.”

“Right.”

Martin takes a seat in the chair beside the desk. He doesn’t try to make conversation. He doubts Jon wants to hear it, and he isn’t feeling up for it, anyway. He just sits and listens to the scratching of Jon’s pen.

He’d be more than happy to sit in silence all night, but Jon keeps pausing his work to shoot suspicious glances Martin’s way, and Martin knows he ought to say something, so he clears his throat again and asks, “Are you sure you don’t need anything?”

“Quite sure, thank you.”

He sounds more than a little irritated. Martin should definitely take that as a sign to leave, but he isn’t ready to go back to sitting in the dark in Document Storage just yet.

“I could make tea?” he offers. “It’s no trouble, really.”

“I don’t need tea,” Jon snaps. “And I don’t need help, and I certainly don’t need a nosy coworker barging into my office every five minutes to try and guilt me into leaving work.”

“What?”

“I know what you’re doing,” Jon insists. “And it’s none of your business how late I work–”

“I don’t care how late you work! I mean, I think you could stand to get some sleep once in a while, but that’s not–”

“Then why are you always hovering around any time I work late?”

Martin is too tired to think better of it before he snaps, “Because I’m lonely, Jon! Because it’s one in the bloody morning and I can’t sleep and everyone else I know is already in bed. Believe me, if there was a single other person I could be talking to right now, I wouldn’t be here.”

“Oh.”

That’s all Jon says. Martin isn’t sure what he’s going to say if he stays in this room any longer, so he stands up.

“I’m going to make tea. Do you want any?”

Jon nods.

When Martin comes back with two perfectly-brewed cups of camomile-and-vanilla, Jon has set aside his pen and his notes and is fidgeting at his desk. Anxiety and shame flicker across his face when he accepts the mug that Martin offers him.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I wasn’t thinking. I thought you just wanted me out of the Archives.”

“Yeah, well. Not everything’s about you.”

And Jon laughs at that – the same soft, barking laugh he’d given to Tim’s report – and Martin feels a strange sort of affection flood through him at the sound. Pretty inconvenient, given that he was just getting used to being irritated with Jon.

“I suppose I deserve that.” Jon smiles, and it’s somehow worse than the laugh. There are a few more minutes of silence before he speaks up again. “Have you, um. Have you ever tried lavender?”

“What?”

“Whenever I tell people I have insomnia, they always recommend lavender – lavender essential oil, lavender tea, lavender eye masks…”

“Have you tried it? Does it help?”

“Not in the least,” Jon says. “Not for me. But maybe it would help you.”

“Maybe,” Martin agrees, more out of politeness than any real hope. “Never hurts to try.”

Jon nods. He looks for a moment like he’s debating with himself whether to say anything else, then he clears his throat with an awkward little grimace and says, “If– i-if you ever need to talk… I can’t promise I’ll be very good conversation, but I can promise I won’t yell at you next time.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

*

Martin’s insomnia doesn’t get any better. Breathing exercises don’t help, and neither does the white noise app he downloads. A box of lavender tea mysteriously appears in the break room, and it doesn’t make him tired, but it does leave him with a warm, fuzzy feeling that can’t be entirely explained by having drunk a hot beverage.

Jon starts staying late more often. Some nights, just knowing that he’s there is comforting enough to stave off the worst of Martin’s loneliness, but some nights he finds himself once again sitting in the chair in Jon’s office while Jon sits across from him with his nose buried in a statement. Jon never asks for an explanation anymore, just nods at Martin when he comes in and then gets back to work.

They don’t talk much on nights like this, but they do talk. Mostly it’s just chatter – how was your day? Did you see what Tim was wearing today? How long until they fix the aircon in this building? – but some nights the conversation opens up to the kind of vulnerability that only 2 AM can bring.

“I wish I was as close with Tim and Sasha as you are.”

It’s not a complete non sequitur – they were just talking about their coworkers – but Martin can still feel the tone shift between them.

Jon just blinks. “What do you mean? I’m certain they like you more than they like me – The three are always going out to lunch–”

“And we always invite you!” Martin reminds him, “You just never come! And anyway, you three go way back, you all know each other so well… They don’t even know me well enough to know if it’s me texting them or some evil worm woman.” He’s gotten to know Jon well enough over the past few weeks to know that, supportive or not, Jon’s never very quick with words of comfort, so he goes on. “I can’t complain – I mean, they’re nice! They’re really nice! It’s just… it’s not fun, feeling like the odd one out.”

Jon flashes him a grimace that Martin thinks is supposed to be commiserative but mostly just looks awkward. “For what it’s worth,” he says, “I also wish I was closer with Tim and Sasha. Things haven’t been the same since we transferred from Research. And it doesn’t help that they both know Sasha should have been promoted over me.”

Martin wants to reassure him, tell him that Elias must have promoted him for a reason, but he’s the last person who can argue that Elias always hires the most qualified person for the job.

“Anyway,” Jon says, “I know for a fact they like you. Have you just told them how you feel?”

“Have you?”

Jon smiles. “Alright, fair enough.”

The conversation moves on to lighter topics from there, and Martin almost forgets about it. But the next time 1 AM loneliness hits, it’s a relief to know that he isn’t the only one in the Archives who’s lonely.

*

Jon stays late every night the next week. 

Martin knows Jon doesn’t want anyone chiding him, but he worries. He looks more and more worn out by the day, and Martin’s pretty sure he’s getting less work done for all the time he’s spending in the Archives.

When Martin wakes up from another nightmare (just a Prentiss nightmare this time, not a Prentiss-and-his-mother double feature) he doesn’t have to question if Jon’s around. When he checks his phone and sees that it’s well past 2 AM, some small, optimistic part of him thinks Jon might have gone home by now, but he isn’t at all surprised when he sees light spilling in from under the door in Jon’s office.

Jon doesn’t look up when Martin enters the room. 

He looks rough. His head is resting in his hands, shoulders slumped, fingers wearily massaging his temples. When he hears the door click closed behind Martin, he finally looks up, and Martin can see that the dark circles under his eyes have gotten worse.

“Go home, Jon,” he says, and Jon shakes his head.

“I’m fine.”

“You need sleep.”

“I doubt I could get any sleep tonight regardless,” Jon says. “Insomnia, remember?”

“Well, try,” Martin says, patience waning. “Go home.”

“I can’t.” Jon’s voice is small and hoarse, and he sounds more vulnerable than he ever has in all their late-night chats.

“What do you mean, you can’t?”

 “You were alone for two weeks, Martin,” he says, voice hushed as though he’s confessing something. “I can’t leave you alone like that again.”

Oh. Martin puts some pieces together. His boss has been running himself ragged, staying at work past 2 in the morning most days, because he’s convinced Martin can’t handle being alone at night. He thinks that Martin is a child in need of a security blanket, and has decided that the best course of action is to simply never leave work. It is, unfortunately, very sweet, but it’s also utterly humiliating.

“I can handle being alone!” he sputters, mortified beyond belief. “Believe me, I’ve had plenty of practice. I don’t need you to always be around. I-I know I said I get lonely sometimes, but, God, I’m not that pathetic.”

Jon frowns. “I don’t think you’re pathetic,” he whispers. “Believe me, Martin, that’s the last thing I think. I know I haven’t always been… fair to you. Or kind. Or even civil. If I had been fair to you, you wouldn’t be living in this basement.” He drops his gaze and addresses his next words to his hands. “It’s my fault you have to stay here,” he murmurs. “The very least I can do is ensure that you don’t have to stay here alone.”

Martin doesn’t know what to say to that. His brain cycles through several options and discards them all as insufficient. In the end, he decides to forgo words altogether. He stands up, reaches over, and pulls Jon out of his seat and into a hug.

Jon startles, and for a moment Martin thinks he’s made a horrible miscalculation, but then wraps his scrawny arms around his middle and squeezes tight.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“I forgive you,” Martin says. “Now go home.”

*

That Friday, the four of them go out for drinks after work. It’s Martin’s idea, and he insists that they invite Jon. Tim and Sasha tell him it’s a lost cause – Jon’s never agreed to get lunch with them, he certainly won’t agree to drinks – but lo and behold, Jon agrees.

It’s awkward. Martin hasn’t left the Archives much since Prentiss, and he’s on high alert for worms, but he can’t deny that having his coworkers with him is a comfort. Sat around a sticky high-top table in a pub that smells like stale beer and fresh sweat, the conversation simply flows. Every now and then, the other three will laugh at some inside joke from their research days, but Jon always makes a point of bringing Martin up to speed.

Afterwards, Jon walks him back to the Archives. Martin is floating in a warm, hazy middle ground between ‘tipsy’ and ‘drunk,’ and Jon seems to be feeling much the same.

“I could stay, if you’d like,” Jon says.

“I’ll be fine,” Martin says.

When he makes it to the cot in Document Storage, he’s asleep the moment his head hits the pillow.

*

It would be nice, Martin thinks, if getting closer to people were the straightforward antidote to loneliness – if making friends were enough to stop him feeling so utterly friendless. But loneliness is never a simple thing, and some nights he still finds himself lying awake at night feeling like the last man on earth.

He checks the time. 1 AM. Naturally.

For the second time in a week, Jon doesn’t look up to see Martin when he enters the room. This time, he’s slumped over the desk, dead asleep.

He looks smaller, somehow, when he’s sleeping. His face is slack, the perpetual furrow in his brow is gone, and his hair is falling across his face in a way that leaves Martin itching to reach over and tuck it behind his ear. He looks cute, if Martin’s being entirely honest, but Jon’s only started being mostly-nice to Martin in the past two weeks or so, so Martin isn’t ready to be that honest with himself quite yet.

He reaches out a hand and gently shakes Jon’s shoulder.

“Jon.”

Jon stirs but doesn’t wake, so Martin shakes harder. 

“Jon,” he repeats. No luck.

He sighs. He’s still wide awake, and he doubts that’s going to change any time soon. At least one of them should get some use out of the cot.

It’s surprisingly easy to pick Jon up. Jon stirs slightly as Martin scoops him into his arms, and for one terrifying second he thinks he’s going to wake up in Martin’s arms, but he doesn’t. Opening the doors to first the office and then Document Storage is more than a little tricky with his hands full, but he manages.

He sets Jon down on the bed as gently as he can, but Jon finally rouses as Martin tucks a blanket over his shoulders.

“Martin?” he mumbles, voice still thick with sleep.

“Go back to sleep, Jon.”

It doesn’t seem like Jon needs any encouragement. His eyes are already slipping closed again, but he manages to ask, “Will you be alright on your own?”

“Yeah,” Martin says, “I’ll be alright.” 

And he means it.

(View this story on AO3)

[captorations]

just saw someone criticize tlt for having too many epithets and. that is. the worst take i have seen in a long time. tell me you have fanfic brain poisoning without telling me you have fanfic brain poisoning.

look, i'm firmly on the side of being careful with epithets. it's actually a pet peeve of mine. seeing people repeatedly referred to by their hair colors or race or other physical descriptors is the fastest way to get me to close a book or hit the back button on a fic, far more so than grammatical errors or the like. that's not because of the epithets, but because of how they're being misused.

it is possible to use epithets just for variety, but that should be kept to an absolute minimum. a far more valid use of epithets is to draw attention to traits which are currently relevant. if one character is being manhandled by another, referring to the former as the smaller one, or the latter as the larger one, or even vice versa depending on context, is an excellent form of imagery. but that's a relatively pedestrian use. effective and useful, but not necessarily powerful; not phrases you can build stories around.

but you can build stories around epithets, because the best possible use of epithets in fiction is to tell you what the pov character is thinking, or not thinking, without saying it directly. it's one of the most powerful methods of showing rather than telling.

the first time gideon calls harrow "her necromancer" in tlt is crucial. it's blink-and-you-miss-it, but it marks the first time gideon sees harrow as hers. which is both negative, in that it's possessive, and positive, in that it means she actually fucking cares! which before then, and for a good long while after, she couldn't consciously admit to herself, much less harrow!

for the record, gideon first calls harrow her necromancer after having spent days wrestling with herself over whether she should care about harrow being apparently missing, wavering back and forth before giving in and searching for her, and eventually finding her unconscious because harrow is a moron who kept working until she passed out in a haunted basement. gideon calls harrow her necromancer as she is carrying her, having confirmed that she is unharmed but dehydrated and having just seen her briefly struggle back to consciousness for the express purpose of bitching at someone.

every time it is used thereafter, it carries the weight of every time it has been said previously. the necromancer-cavalier dynamic in the world of tlt is fascinating, both on a conceptual level and in every example we are given. hell, it's the closest thing their society has to gender roles, but that's another essay, and a very pretentious one i have no intention of writing.

tlt is a master class in using epithets correctly. again, if you're just so fucking sick of epithets being misused in fanwork, i get it. i'm right there with you. but epithets are not inherently bad, no more than alliteration is, or goddamn semicolons.

on the other hand, if the person meant the silly nicknames gideon keeps giving harrow, then i'm even more baffled. at that point you just have no taste or sense of humor. but as a rule i prefer to turn venting into lectures that are potentially helpful to others; it's not like i've tagged the person who i saw do this, i'm not here to start a fight.

anyway. to summarize. epithets used randomly to replace calling people by their names: generally bad. epithets used to create imagery or remind the reader of details relevant to the situation: good, useful. epithets used to show changes in perspective and show rather than tell: fucking excellent.

[itsalongwaytotipperary]

me looking at my run on sentence: maybe if I just misuse the semicolon; everything will be alright;

[ahotknife]

y'all know how like in tennis they can fine you for "racket abuse" if you misuse your racket. they're gonna do that to me but for Semicolon Abuse. they're gonna write me up for intentional or excessive misuse of the semicolon. i'll pay the fine