#when i feel helpless I have to do SOMETHING

[quantomeno]

I typically prefer the past tense. I consider it as a 'neutral' tense: the reader is unperturbed by it and it makes sense since most of the time you're retelling an event. But the last book I read was written in present tense and I had this distinct 'there's something off here' feeling until I realised it was the tense.

Also there's a bit in The Great Gatsby where Fitzgerald switches from past to present:

At least once a fortnight a corps of caterers came down with several hundred feet of canvas and enough colored lights to make a Christmas tree of Gatsby's enormous garden. On buffet tables, garnished with glistening hors-d'oeuvre, spiced baked hams crowded against salads of harlequin designs and pastry pigs and turkeys bewitched to a dark gold. ... By seven o'clock the orchestra has arrived .... The last swimmers have come in from the beach now and are dressing upstairs; the cars from New York are parked five deep in the drive ... The bar is in full swing and floating rounds of cocktails permeate the garden outside until the air is alive with chatter and laughter and casual innuendo and introductions forgotten on the spot and enthusiastic meetings between women who never knew each other's names.

As you can see, it goes from absolute past (came, crowded) to present perfect (has arrived, have come) to present (is, permeate). It evokes a sense of energy: "the air is alive" and it feels alive because it is in the now.

The past tense is the natural tense because that's how we talk about our personal stories. But you'll notice sometimes you'll use the present tense when recounting: "So I'm walking down the street when I bump into Marie and she keeps me there talking for half an hour, and I'm standing there with my shopping bags digging into my hands and she just yaps away."

The present tense tends to make the reader feel more involved in the situation, it makes the story feel more immediate and more real because it's not relegated to the past. A perfect example would be Se una notte d'inverno un viaggiatore (If on a Winter's Night a Traveller) by Italo Calvino, which not only uses the present tense but the second person ('you') to make the reader a character in the story.

There are also times where the present tense is used in recounting history. I've seen it done. I think it has a similar enlivening effect as it does in fiction.

Personally, I think the present tense is strongest when you use it sparingly. Too much of it can grow tiring. Partly by virtue of being a less commonly used tense it has a more exciting edge.

One last thing though, and as a final reason for the present, is that it makes the reader think the story is playing out now and thus what will happen next is still variable. In the case of the past tense, it's implied that the full story is over and the reader feels the narrator knows how it will end. In the case of the present, it feels more like no one knows what's going on.

Also the past tense is comforting. It is the tense of old tales and sitting by the fireplace, the tense of legends and rumour. It igves things a sense of fixity and truth. Brideshead Revisited, for example, needs to be written in the past tense because it is all about a reminiscence of the halcyon days of youth. Dracula should be written in the past tense since it is a collection of supposedly real diary entries and so it needs to look like things were being recorded properly and fully. The present tense can feel rushed, fleeting, but the past is always there and gives you time to set things down.

As a bonus: the future tense is an odd tense because it implies a degree of certainty, but can also have the feeling things could change still. It is incredibly disorienting and weird and should be only used if you really think it helps the idea you're trying to convey. Don't do things for shock value or o be cool. Like, a future tense horror/thriller story about an impending disaster to evoke a sense of helplessness in the reader might be interesting. Also consider context, because if the story is set in the past, future tense would be really off-putting (that might be the goal, or perhaps it's because a character in the past is predicting the future, there are times I'd say it's justified).

(also obviously I mean this as 'the whole book or a significant section is written in this tense, you can of course have bits where there's a bit of future tense, like that present tense passage in Gatsby. I just mean reading a whole novel in the future would be annoying)

I am thinking about fan fiction writers, but anyone who writes any kind of fiction can answer. (As far as I’m aware, non-fiction is usually written in the past tense - but if I’m wrong do let me know!)

If you like, explain why in the tags!

When I was young I gathered that all serious works of fiction were written in the past tense (past tense third person to be precise) so that is what i did when I started writing. However my mind was blown by the power and immediacy of Margaret Atwood writing in the present tense so I started to experiment with it myself, and now i strongly favour it. I get the impression that past is still the most commonly used, but I’m prepared to be surprised!

Please share!

[missarchive]

ok ok ok!! what about spencer getting head from reader for the first time, and it's her first time doing it, so she's nervous and he teaches her and he has to try sooo hard not to cum immediately because he is just GONE for the innocence with which she does it/tries things out 🤭 you choose what season spence!!

Decided to do one more for tonight!! (I’m feeling generous)

thank you for the request!! im always writing munch!spencer but it's nice to write things the other way round for once

cw; +18 minors dni, inexperienced!reader, tiny bit of dom!spencer if you squint, oral (m. receiving), cum swallowing

When you first kneel before him, his breath catches in his throat, and he’s certain he might lose himself right then and there. The sight of you—so eager, so nervous—renders him utterly helpless. Your hands reach for his belt with a mixture of determination and trepidation, your cheeks flushed a rosy hue that makes you look impossibly innocent yet utterly intoxicating. His jaw slackens as he watches you, his heart pounding against his ribs like a war drum.

Your wide eyes flicker up to meet his, glinting with excitement and a touch of uncertainty. He’s been dreaming of this moment for what feels like forever, and now that it’s unfolding, every muscle in his body tenses, locked in an unbearable anticipation.

Your fingers fumble with his belt, the clumsy motions endearing rather than frustrating. He doesn’t mind the delay; in fact, it only heightens his awareness of you—of how genuine, how completely you this moment is. He knows this is your first time. Not just with him, but ever. You’d told him, shyly, how you’d researched, how you’d prepared for this, even asking friends for advice. Still, the vulnerability of trying it now, with him, makes his chest tighten.

His hands find their way to your hair, almost of their own volition. The silky strands slip through his fingers like water, grounding him. You haven’t protested, haven’t pulled back, and the faint smile on your lips reassures him that you’re okay with this—more than okay. You glance up at him again, brow furrowed slightly in concentration, and the sight makes his heart stutter.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly, his voice rough with emotion. He needs you to be comfortable, to know that he’ll stop the moment you ask.

You pause, your hands stilling, and you smile at him, a gentle curve of your lips that speaks volumes. “I’m okay,” you whisper.

Finally, you manage to undo his pants, your small hand brushing against his erection as you pull down the zipper. He groans at the brief contact, the sound guttural and raw. When your fingers wrap hesitantly around him, his breath hitches, and he can’t stop the way his hips shift forward, seeking more of your touch.

“God,” he murmurs, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. Your touch is tentative, exploratory, and it sends jolts of pleasure straight to his core.

You look up at him, startled by the intensity of his reaction. “Is that... okay?” you ask, your voice laced with innocence and curiosity.

“It’s more than okay,” he rasps, his hands moving to your shoulders, needing something to hold onto, to anchor himself. “You’re perfect.”

Encouraged, you start to stroke him, your hand sliding up and down his shaft in slow, deliberate movements. He watches you, his gaze locked on the way your small hand moves over him. The sight alone is almost too much.

When your tongue darts out to wet your lips, he groans deeply, his head falling back for a moment as he imagines that mouth on him. The vividness of the fantasy sends a fresh wave of arousal coursing through him.

“Baby,” he says, his voice strained, “I’m not going to last much longer like this.”

Your eyes widen slightly, disbelief flickering across your features. He chuckles softly despite himself, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he confesses, his voice heavy with sincerity.

“I just... I’ve never done this before,” you admit shyly, your cheeks flushing deeper. “I don’t want to mess it up.”

“Baby, you’re not doing anything wrong,” he assures you, his hands moving to cradle your face. The warmth of your skin beneath his palms soothes and excites him all at once. “Can I show you?”

You nod, your expression curious, and he takes a steadying breath, his restraint hanging by a thread. Gently, he guides your hand away, needing a moment to compose himself before he completely unravels.

“Like this?” you ask, your voice so soft it’s almost a whisper. The innocent question makes his chest tighten with affection and desire.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible. “Just like that. Only with your mouth.”

His hand moves to the back of your head, not to push or force but to guide. He’s desperate for this but careful, wanting you to feel safe, to enjoy it as much as he knows he will.

“Tell me if I’m going too fast,” he urges, his voice gentle but firm.

“Okay,” you reply, nodding.

When your lips part and touch the tip of his cock, he shudders violently, a sharp gasp tearing from his throat. The wet heat of your mouth surrounds him, and it’s so much better than he ever imagined.

“Fuck,” he whispers, his head falling back as you take him deeper, your tongue flicking against him experimentally. His hands clutch the sheets, desperate for something to hold as his hips jerk involuntarily.

You pull back slightly, looking up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. “Was that okay?”

“More than okay,” he groans, his voice thick with need. “You’re incredible.”

Bolstered by his praise, you take him in again, this time with more confidence. Your mouth moves over him slowly, tentatively, and the sensation is almost overwhelming.

“God,” he groans, his voice ragged. “I’m going to come.”

His hand returns to your hair, fingers threading through it as he fights the urge to thrust deeper into your mouth. He doesn’t want to push too far, to take too much.

When he finally lets go, the release is overwhelming, a rush of pleasure so intense it leaves him trembling. You stay with him through it, warm spurts of cum painting the back of your throat.

As you pull back, you wipe your mouth with a shy smile, and he reaches for you, pulling you into his arms. He presses a soft kiss to your cheek, his heart still racing as he holds you close.

“Was it... good?” you ask, your voice small and uncertain.

“It was amazing,” he says, his voice hoarse with emotion. “You were amazing.”

Your giggle lights up the room, and his chest swells with affection. “I thought I did it wrong at first,” you admit, laughing softly.

“You were perfect,” he assures you, kissing you again. “Better than I ever imagined.”

[thursdayinspace]

Okay, this is pure filth. It's been a long day and I needed to write something. Which seems to be becoming a pattern. It's fun though. Anyway, I wrote this thing a little while ago (Mulder on the phone with the boss while Scully... has some fun with him), and thought it might be fun to write it the other way around too.

He sighs and casts another look at the alarm clock on the nightstand. It’s been four minutes and she’s still talking, still on the phone with Skinner, and his patience is slowly running out. She’s stretched out on the bed before him and he kneels by her feet where he’s been waiting ever since she answered that damned phone and he had to stop what he was doing. What on earth can they still be talking about that’s so important?

He lets his gaze sweep up and down her body, and something hot and hungry boils low in his gut as he takes her in. She’s lying here naked, thighs parted, her hair already sex-messy and her skin flushed, and she’s still talking to Skinner. She’s wet and turned on and ready to be fucked, and it’s Skinner who’s holding her attention. God, he’s not particularly proud of the primal possessiveness that rushes through him, but he can’t help it. Mine, he thinks. Skinner can’t have her. He knows she doesn’t want Skinner. And yet Skinner is still the one talking to her while she’s lying here looking like this.

“Yes, sir,” she’s saying, sounding calm and collected, “Yes, that’s good.”

And he can’t take it anymore. He pushes her thighs further apart and lowers himself down, just catching the surprised expression on her face before he holds her open with eager fingers and thrusts his tongue into her. He hears her gasp and dives in deeper, slides his arms under her thighs to hold her open and finds her clit with his mouth. It’s still swollen and sensitive from earlier, before they were interrupted, and he sucks on it hard as her free hand grips onto his hair.

“Of course,” she says. “I agree.”

Her voice sounds too casual, too normal, and he flicks her with his tongue in the way he knows drives her mad, pleased when her hips buck off the mattress and he feels the muscles in her thighs clenching.

With a moan, he runs his tongue through her folds, greedy and insatiable, drowning in the taste and smell of her. This is for him, all for him. Skinner can be in her ear, but he’s the one who has his face buried in her cunt, making her breath coming faster as she starts to tremble.

“I—” Her voice is starting to sound a little strained and he feels his cock throbbing at the sound. “I think that… would be a good idea, yes.”

She’s not listening anymore, he can tell. He’s buzzing with the thrill of it: another man talking to her, but she can focus only on him, he’s the one driving her wild, giving her pleasure like nobody else is allowed to. Her wetness is all over his face, her body completely at his mercy. He brings one hand between her legs and thrusts three fingers into her, crooking them upwards to find that spot inside that draws a suppressed whimper out of her.

“Yeah,” she says, carefully controlled. “I’m okay, just, uh. What were you saying?”

He knows how she likes to be touched. He knows how to tease her with his tongue while his fingers are fucking her in a relentless rhythm. He knows, he knows every inch and corner of her, he knows how to make her forget her own name. God, he wants to be inside her. He wants to ram his aching cock into her tight heat and fuck her until the bed collapses under them, until she comes so hard she screams, and he wants Skinner on the phone for the whole thing, showing him that he can’t have her. Nobody else can have her. She belongs to him, only to him, and he’ll prove it. He’ll show her who owns her.

She’s shaking with the effort to hold still and he knows she’s trying to hold back. Good. He has her where he wants her, right on the edge. Right at the point where she becomes helpless against her need, where he’s in perfect control of her pleasure. He could make her come right now and she knows it, and her nails are scratching his scalp and her body goes tight. She’s not pulling him off or pushing him away.

He lifts his head long enough to look up and see her eyes squeezed closed as she’s biting her lip, keeping herself from making any sounds, and if she has no intention of stopping, then neither does he.

It takes seconds after that, mere seconds of his lips and tongue and fingers working her over, until her body arches off the bed and her breath comes in stuttering gasps, and she’s coming, coming, coming.

The temptation to touch himself is almost overwhelming, but he has other plans.

As her body slumps back against the bed he finally pulls away, raises himself up to take a proper look at her. She has the phone pressed into the mattress by her side and her chest is heaving, a dazed expression on her face, and she looks… she looks like a woman who just had an orgasm. Beautiful.

Holding her gaze, he slowly reaches for the phone. It slips easily from her grasp, and he lifts it to his ear, hearing Skinner’s voice still on the other end: “Agent Scully? Agent Scully, are you there?”

He hangs up, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Agent Scully,” he says in a chastising tone. “That was very unprofessional.”

For a second, she tries to glare at him, but then starts laughing instead, covering her face with her hands. “Holy shit, Mulder,” she says.

“What did he want?”

She drops her hands and shakes her head. “I don’t remember.”

“Well.” He holds up the phone again, giving her a challenging look. “You should call him back to find out.”

“I probably should,” she agrees. “What do I say if he asks me why I hung up on him?”

“You’ll come up with something,” he says, then lowers himself on top of her, between her spread legs.

“What are you—” she starts before her eyes widen with realization. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m very serious.”

“Mulder, this is—”

“Stop me, then,” he says, nudging her opening with the tip of his cock, waiting there for her decision.

She keeps her eyes locked with his as she wraps her legs around his waist, and then takes the phone from his hand, only breaking eye contact to dial their boss’s number. She brings the phone to her ear, and as he hears Skinner answering on the other end, she digs her heels into his ass and lets out a long exhale as he enters her in one long, smooth motion.

“Yeah, it’s me again,” she says. “I’m sorry, sir, the call got disconnected. Old phone, I think I need to replace it.”

Mulder lowers his head and smiles against the soft skin of her neck as he snaps his hips forward hard. She’s his. One hundred percent. And she owns him too, heart, body and soul, and he wouldn’t want it any other way.

[libellule-ao3]

Distorted Mirrors

OS written and shared for @tamayula-hl 😊

OS | Rating: T | Sebastian x MC (Sakurako) | approx. 1900 words.

A/N: Upon reading her HC [Link] about the relationship between Sebastian and Sakurako, I was immediately struck by the circumstances of Sebastian’s first marriage proposal. This passage encompassed everything I love to explore: angst, the complexity of toxic relationships, tortured characters, and Sebastian’s duality. The section written from his POV was the first piece I drafted about this pairing, but I needed more time to better understand Sakurako before daring to explore her perspective, which is nevertheless essential to this fanfiction. This OS is, above all, a tribute to the depth @tamayula-hl brings to her characters & their dynamics.

As always, I hope it resonates with you, despite any potential missteps or errors on my part (ESL writer). 🤞

Summary:

As Sebastian desperately tries to keep Sakurako by his side, even resorting to manipulating her feelings and forcing her into an impossible choice, she questions their future, torn between her love for him and the realisation of their relationship’s toxicity.

Sebastian

Something was wrong.

He could feel it in the way Sakurako’s gaze fled his, in the distance that grew between them or in the silences that stretched like shadows at dusk, filled with unspoken words.

Their love seemed to fade little by little, to become a kind of mirage, and this thought took his breath away, leaving him suspended on the edge of emptiness. Since the catacombs, since Solomon’s death and losing Anne, who refused to forgive him, everything that had once been solid in his life was now in ruins.

Even Ominis had grown somewhat distant, tired of his excesses.

Sakurako, for her part, had picked up the pieces of what was left of him, reassembling them into something fragile but real. She had become the glue that held the shattered fragments of his being together, and he couldn’t lose her. Not after everything they’d been through.

The panic that surged inside him at this threat was cold and implacable, a terror that only grew with each moment he saw her slipping further away. He knew their bond was imperfect, born of helplessness and despair, nourished by loneliness and grief. And yet it was impossible to let go. She was his reason for living, the only thread holding him back from the precipice.

Ominis had said it was an addiction, a desperate need, but in his eyes, it was love. His only love. Should this embrace prove more toxic than a constrictor snake’s, then so be it!And so an idea came to him.

A desperate plan, dictated by his visceral fear: seal their fate in front of everyone in the Great Hall. A public scene that would leave no room for escape, trapping Sakurako under the weight of hundreds of stares. She hated being the centre of attention and would never have the strength to say "no" in such a situation. That was precisely why he had chosen this moment, this place. It was cruel, perhaps, but he couldn’t lose her — not after everything they had endured.

When the day came, Sebastian felt the little suede case in his pocket, a weight reminding him at every moment of the importance of what he was about to do. The Great Hall was noisy, full of life, laughter and cross-talk, but to him it all seemed strangely distant, as if he were observing the scene through a pane of glass. His eyes finally found Sakurako entering the Great Hall with Poppy Sweeting, who was no doubt telling her some new anecdote about magical creatures. She looked so far away, out of reach, and this distance rekindled his fear like a bright flame.

He made his way towards her, ignoring the intrigued looks, the silent disapproval of Ominis and the whispers as he passed. When he stopped in front of her, he dropped to his knees and all the hubbub in the room died down; the conversations suspended in palpable anticipation. Poppy slipped discreetly away, leaving Sakurako facing him, exposed to all eyes. He saw her swallow, her gaze shifting from him to the jewellery box he was taking out, then to the dozens of curious faces around them.

“Sakurako,” he said, his voice sounding louder than he’d intended.He gave her the most charming smile in his repertoire as he opened the box to reveal a beautiful engagement ring.

“I know I’m not perfect, that I’ve made mistakes, but I love you more than anything, and I can’t imagine my life without you. So let me ask you–”

His hands trembled with emotion. His eyes sought hers, begging for an answer, but all he saw was surprise, hesitation, a thinly veiled fear...

She wanted to flee... It was as plain as the nose on her face.

Sebastian chose to ignore this. He couldn’t back down now.

“–Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”

The question wasn’t really a question. It was a plea. A disguised injunction. A trap set with which she could only escape by daring to face the silent judgement of all those witnesses.

She smiled, but it was a vulnerable smile, more fragile than a fairy wing, ready to break at any moment. Yet he clung to it like a castaway to a plank.A soft, barely audible “Yes” came from her, requiring him to strain his ear to catch it.

Relief flooded through him, accompanied by a thunder of applause, cheers and festive whistles, eliminating everything in its path, chasing away all shadows and doubts to make way for an overwhelming sense of victory. He slipped the ring onto her finger and rose to kiss her, ignoring the trembling of her lips, the restraint of her tongue and the rigidity of her body against his.

It didn’t matter.

Sakurako was his, and she would never leave.

A little voice inside him, which sounded strangely like Ominis’s, reminded him a heart captured through cunning is not truly won. But Sebastian refused to listen.

As long as Sakurako remained by his side, he would do anything to convince himself that everything would be all right.

Sakurako

Sakurako knew something was wrong.

It wasn’t something she could name straight away, but it persisted, heavy and insistent, in the burning heat of Sebastian’s gaze.

She could see it in the way his eyes locked onto her, as if he had been memorising every detail, like a man etching in his mind a shoreline doomed to disappear beneath the waves.

She could hear it in the silence after his laugh had died down.

She perceived it from his smiles that flickered too quickly, an unease settling in their wake.Sebastian had always been intense. That intensity had been part of what had drawn her to him in the first place – the fierce, burning love that had threatened to consume him completely. The relentless need to protect those he loved, even if it meant ignoring their boundaries – or trampling everything in his path.

But lately, that flame had been extinguished, its light replaced by a dark, oppressive pressure. It was something she couldn’t explain, but she could feel it, suffocating in the silence.

Sakurako loved him. She didn’t doubt it, just as she didn’t doubt the ache that gripped her chest – a weight that felt as much as freedom as captivity.

She loved him with a strength that left no room for anything else. And yet, sometimes, a cruel thought made its way into her heart:

Did Sebastian really love her, or just his idea of her?

Was she just a figure of attachment shaped by the absences of Anne, Solomon, and all that he had lost?

Their love was anything but light.

The witch sometimes compared it to a vine that wrapped itself around the two of them, holding them up even though it threatened to strangle them. Together, they held on, but at what price?

Sakurako lived with the quiet certainty that one day Sebastian would see the truth. He would look at her and realise that his love was born out of nothing but grief. A desperate attempt to fill the void.

And when that day would come, she feared his gaze might burn her just as intensely, but this time with resentment. Then in her worst nightmares, his voice echoed with dreaded words:

“It’s all your fault.”

Words she feared all the more because they were true. If she hadn’t helped Sebastian, none of this would have happened.

As she began to imagine her life after Hogwarts, a decision took shape, a choice so devastating it tore at her heart: she had to leave him.

It was not a resolution taken lightly. On the contrary, it was a carefully considered necessity.

Love should never feel like a prison. Nor be tainted by insecurity.

So Sakurako wrote him a letter. It was less complicated this way. Face to face, she would waver, as she always did when he was close to her. In this message, she expressed her love for him, reminded him of their wounds, and their need for time to heal, to rebuild... one without the other.

She waited until the following Saturday to give it to him, a day devoid of classes when it would be easier to avoid any confrontation while waiting for him to digest the news. But Sebastian, it seemed, had his own plans.

A few days later, as she entered the Great Hall with Poppy for dinner, the atmosphere changed. The steady hum of conversation faded, replaced by murmurs and a tangible sense of anticipation. That’s when she saw him approaching in long strides. Each of his steps struck the stone, the sharp cluck of his shoes asserting his unyielding presence in the crowded room. His face showed determination, and his aura dominated the space. Her heart compressed in her chest as she guessed what he was about to do before he even reached her.

“Sebastian, no! Not here... Please… Not like this…” she screamed in her mind.

But the words wouldn’t come out. They were stuck in her throat, and she felt trapped by a hundred stares. Slowly, he knelt down in front of her and took a small box out of his pocket.

“Sakurako,” he began, “I know I’m not perfect, that I’ve made mistakes, but I love you more than anything else in the world, and I can’t imagine my life without you. So, let me ask you–”

The Earth turned upside down. Her heart was pounding in her chest and her hands were clammy and trembling. Her instincts were screaming at her to say no, to stop before it was too late. But she was frozen, trapped by the unbearable weight of all those stares.All those expectant faces, those smiles filled with envy, preventing her from catching her breath.

To refuse here and now was to condemn Sebastian to public humiliation. He knew that.

An affront she didn’t have the strength to inflict on him. He knew that, too.

Her panicked gaze swept around the Great Hall, like a condemned prisoner looking for a miracle. But wherever her eyes landed, she was met only with envious faces or faces eager to hear her acceptance, adorned with a naïve smile that knew nothing of the storm inside her. Every whisper, every glance seemed to tighten the invisible chains that imprisoned her. Silent witnesses to her surrender, unaware that every second they were forging the bars of a cage she had never chosen.

He looked at her, his features taut with a fragile balance of hope and despair. The cold possessiveness in his brown eyes was a shadow she couldn’t ignore.

Saying “no” would break him. Saying “yes” meant surrendering to a gilded cage.

Her lips almost parted of their own accord, betraying a “yes” she desperately wanted to stifle. Three little letters that left a taste of ash in her mouth. Glowing, he stood up, slipping the ring onto her finger with a trembling, practically feverish hand.When he kissed her, the warmth of his lips contrasted cruelly with the coldness of the stone in her stomach. She remained motionless, unable to respond to his passion, while in the back of her mind, church bells announced, not their union, but his triumph.

Her conscience whispered that she had just made a terrible mistake. And her heart clung to the hope that perhaps, in time, they could learn to love each other as they deserved.

But Sakurako knew it wouldn’t be easy. With Sebastian, nothing ever was.

Masterlist

[miss-tc-nova]

A Lonely Fear - Malleus Draconia x Reader

I am SO sorry this took so long! I actually really fell in love with this idea, but struggled with getting from A to B as usual. Also, as you can see, this accidentally turned into one of my mediumer ones. Oops. Oh well. It's not perfect, but I hope you enjoy!

Premise: The prefect rejects Malleus's offer at living longer but realizes it was a mistake

Words: 1,759

~~~~~

               “Do you not want that?”

               “N-No!”

               Leaning against the stone wall, I rest a hand to my chest, heart thrumming beneath my fingers. Sure, I’d run all the way from Ramshackle to the college castle, but that’s only part of the reason for my rapid pulse.

               Malleus Draconia, an extraordinary mage and noble royal fae, has very little grasp on just how imposing his world is to mortals like me. This realm of magic alone is intimidating—leaving me near helpless to the whims of my classmates—but to even fathom the reality of the fae is like a bottomless pit of unknown.

               Yet that is exactly what he offered me.

               The future king of Briar Valley offered to extend my time among the living, proudly displaying the gem he’d acquired. He was so pleased with his discovery, but I just couldn’t share that sentiment. For my own weakness, I declined. Then bolted.

               Now here I stand, trying ot rein in the adrenaline, all the while, that look of disappointment amasses a guilt in the pit of my stomach. There’s nothing to do about it now, however, as the piercing bell signals the beginning of the next class.

~~~~~

               Hues of orange and violet have only just begun to blossom across the sky. Even now, as I trudge towards the Hall of Mirrors, I can’t help thinking of that somber expression. It interrupts my every though like a plague, gnawing at my heart for the hurt I’ve caused. I should’ve explained myself, but at the very least, I owe Malleus an apology for my poor reaction.

               Stepping through the doors of the Diasomnia dorm, I see neither hide nor hair of the dragon but someone else spots me. The petit junior waves me closer as the sophomore pours his tea, moving on to the freshman’s.

               “If it isn’t the Ramshackle prefect,” Lilia greets. “Care to join us for a cup of tea? Chamomile is good for clearing one’s mind after a stressful day.”

               “Uh, maybe next time. Have you guys seen Malleus?”

               Ruby eyes find the ceiling in thought. “Not since this morning. But you know full well that he’s the wandering type.”

               “My liege said he had an important task to tend to today.” Sebek’s expression turns crestfallen. “But he declined to let me aid him.”

               “He looked pretty excited when he left,” Silver adds, taking his seat.

               Well that doesn’t help me at all.

               Even worse, Lilia remains ever observant, catching my disappointment. “Is something the matter? Did you two get into a little spat?” That cheeky grin attempts to lighten the mood. “Seven help that boy if so.”

               My head shakes. “No, I…”

               The three stare at me, mostly patiently waiting for me to continue. I suppose if anyone could help me through this, it would be them.

               I take the fourth seat at the table.

               “He came to Ramshackle during break to ask…” I hesitate, not even sure how exactly put it into words. “To ask an odd question and I kind of just…ran away.”

               Sebek leans forward. “You ran away while my liege spoke to you?!”

               Fingers fidget against one another. “I should’ve handled it better and I’m afraid I hurt his feelings, so I was just hoping to find him and maybe explain myself.” Shoulders droop with a sigh. “But I’m not even sure how to do that. Not that it matters if I can’t even find him. Honestly, I wouldn’t blame him if he doesn’t wanna see me.”

               Silver tilts his head. “You said he asked you an odd question. What do you mean by odd?”

               I take a second to mull over my words. “He showed me some sort of crystal and said he wanted to extend my lifespan…”

               Suddenly, Lilia snorts into his drink, spilling tea everywhere and descending into a coughing fit.

               Silver’s jaw drops as he sits straight. “He offered that to you?!”

               “HOW DARE YOU!” Sebek roars, standing so quickly he topples his chair.

               Sebek goes ignored for another usual outburst, but Silver and Lilia’s reactions do not bring any sort of comfort.

               “I figured it was uncommon, but is it that unusual?” I ask, hoping for a response denying the question.

               They way Silver looks at me causes my every muscle to tense—like I’ve been condemned.

               “It’s illegal.”

               Surely, he’s joking. There’s no way Malleus would do something unlawful, let alone for me.

               Right?

               This time, ignoring Sebek is no option as he snags my jacket, tearing me from my seat and rattling me as he shouts. “YOU DARE THINK YOURSELF DESERVING OF MAKING MY LIEGE A CRIMINAL?!”

               “Huh?!”

               “Sebek, that’s enough.” Dragging a sleeve across his mouth, Lilia, too, stands.

               Eyes wide with absolute rage, he continues his rampage. “YOU THINK A MERE HUMAN LIKE YOU IS WORTH ASKING THE GREAT MALLEUS DRACONIA TO BREAK FAE LAW?!”

               “Sebek!”

               Silver starts for the younger man, but Lilia beats him to it. Hand on my shoulder, he easily separates us with a shove that sends Sebek staggering.

               “I said enough.” Though Lilia’s voice remains steady and low, a firm note freezes the air.

               Direct target of the command, Sebek shrinks back. At the waist he bends. “M-My apologies, sir.”

               I, too, recoil as Lilia turns on me, yet for me the fae holds only empathy.

               “First of all, giving extended life to another became illegal when Briar Valley was at war. By placing the death penalty on both the giver and the receiver, the senate hoped to dissuade any who might betray the crown and support the humans.” Though he speaks of illegalities and war, the junior is actually quite soft in speaking to me. “Second, the spell required an exceptionally large supply of magic and the aid of a particular crystal thought to no longer exist. But you saw it, didn’t you.”

               My voice nearly fails, words eeking out in a quite whisper. “B-But I don’t want that. I…I can’t.”

               Lilia’s brows furrow with pity. “I understand that but…Malleus is one of the last dragons left.”

               “Lilia…” Silver’s call is ignored.

               Shoulders raised, I back away. “I-I-I can’t do it. I just can’t. Maybe it’s weakness but I can’t take the thought of living longer. Living on while everyone I care about passes on—I can’t stand it. It’s freaking me out. I don’t want to suffer that kind of existence.”

               Taking my hands, Lilia squeezes firmly while his eyes beg for my understanding.

               “But he has to.”

               Feeling as though the curtain has been swept open, I understand now. And it hits harder than all the fear infesting my bones.

               Pulling away from Lilia, I head for the door despite Silver calling out to me. With barely any idea where I’m going, my feet carry me through the Diasomnia dorm and straight out the Hall of Mirrors. My eyes search frantically, finding nothing but the rush to Ramshackle continues.

               A breath of relief passes my lips as I finally spot the figure strolling the steps towards the rundown dorm.

               The man turns just as I approach, barely even budging as I slam straight into him. My guilt grips at his back, shame hiding in his chest.

               “I’m so sorry!”

               My name falls from his lips in concern.

               “I didn’t want to live longer than everyone! I’m afraid of being alone and watching all my friends disappear! I don’t want to lose them!” A shiver wracks my spine, a sting burning in my eyes. “I didn’t realize that’s exactly what you were doing! I’m sorry!”

               There’s hesitation, almost bafflement at my outburst. That surprise soon softens and a palm presses to my back in consolation.

               “It’s alright,” he says, his voice laced with disappointment. “You don’t—”

               “No! It’s not alright!” I’m such a child, crying as I look up at him. “Nobody deserves that! Nobody deserves to be alone!”

               Malleus’s eyes widen, but I can feel the tension creeping over him in the way he holds me. It shows even more in his cautious words.

               “You don’t have to do this for my sake. I promise I’ll be alright if you don’t.”

               My head shakes. It’s not fair. I have a choice—I can back out of this right now and live as a naïve human—but Malleus never had that choice. No matter what he does, he’s meant to bear witness to time and all the tragedies it brings all on his own. His offer was his own attempt at salvation and, like a fool, I didn’t see it. But I do now and, as much as the idea terrifies me, I refuse to let him suffer on his own.

               One hand releases its grip on his jacket to smear the tears across my face. “I don’t want you to be alone. I want to be there…if you want me to be.”

               For a moment, Malleus simply stares and I consider that perhaps he’s changed his mind. Then his grip tightens and his head bows, leaning against my own.

               “Thank you,” he mutters, clinging barely to his composure.

               I manage a meager laugh. “I already want to spend all my time with you—surely a ‘few’ more years won’t hurt.”

               “And I shall make every one worthwhile.”

        ��      “If we’re to be fugitives, I certainly hope so.”

               Face filled with apprehension, Malleus leans back. “You knew it would be forbidden yet you still came to accept my offer?”

               I let my gaze lower to trace the stripes of his tie. “I guess I just accepted that, one way or another, we’d be in this together.”

               He appears briefly dumbfounded. Then, even with a stray tear or two rolling down his face, Malleus begins to laugh.

               “You never cease to amaze, Child of Man. And for that, I love you.”

               There’s a stutter in my chest as I process what he just said. He too seems to catch what must’ve simply slipped, but not before I lunge again, throwing my arms around his neck in a vice grip that seems all too ineffective against the fae. Even my full weight fazes him less than the embrace itself as he keeps my feet from the ground. For me though, this new vantage point gives me the perfect elevation to press my lips to his.

               Tension snares his every muscle, but quickly melts to accept my gesture as though I grant the greatest blessing of all.

               Letting the kiss break, I rest my forehead against his, unable to keep the elation at bay.

               “I love you too.”

~~~~~

Nova’s Twisted Wonderland Masterlist

[danmeichael]

Can u talk about why JC is your fave

jiang cheng was not my favorite character for a long time. specifically, i actively disliked him when i first watched the donghua.

a turning point, funny enough, was actually the scene in the donghua where he chokes wwx. which i think says a lot about me... much like that scene says a lot about jc.

that was a scene that really humanized jc for me and showcased really clearly what he was in that moment. a lost child, a helpless child desperately vying for any amount of control through violence and lashing out at those around him because of it.

i like when characters do that -- when they hurt the people around them in moments of weakness without really meaning it.

you know when a character asks a loved one to run an errand for them, and something terrible happens while they're running that errand? maybe their loved one gets into a car accident and dies, for example. and instead of blaming the conditions on the road that caused that, the other driver in the accident, the hospital for not saving them, they think "if only i hadn't asked them to go out?"

it's because it's smaller. it's easier to conceptualize that blame, it's easier to grasp guilt or to place fault on a single, knowable entity.

reality isn't like that. there is no one singular point of fault. it's not their fault, not really. but a single point of failure is easier to conceptualize, to cope with, more satisfying in the moment than "sometimes things just happen"

jiang cheng doesn't hate wei wuxian, he isn't really mad at wei wuxian for saving lan wangji. or rather, he won't be when he's calm or in hindsight.

but he needs something manageable to be angry at. he needs something smaller, some neat, easy solution this all stems from that he could say "this wouldn't have happened, if--"

he doesn't really blame wwx. but in addition to... everything, wwx is also the one stopping him in that moment from doing the thing he could do to, his monkey brain thinks, exert control and make it hurt less.

this is wwx's fault. this is wwx's fault, because he saved lan wangji, because he wouldn't let him go back to try to save his parents, because he wouldn't let him try to get revenge. but it's not, really. and deep down, he knows that. he knows the wens would have come for them eventually whether wwx saved lwj or not. he knows he could not have saved his parents. he knows that he would have died trying to get revenge and left jyl and wwx alone. he knows there's nothing he, or wei wuxian could have done.

but being out of control while you're in pain is scary. so he lashes out. because he can control being mad. because he can hurt wei wuxian. because he needs something, anything in that moment to feel like he isn't spinning out and about to crash.

i think that violent ugliness in response to his own suffering is compelling.

that sort of added onto the endless "what if" pursuit common of fandom, after finishing the novel and finding that jc and wwx were still estranged. logically, that was the best possible ending. them suddenly getting along at the end of the book for a happy ending wouldn't have made sense for either of their characters. them making up in a way i found satisfying would have taken another 2 english volumes and circumstances i can't even imagine, and mxtx might not have even written it in a way that i found satisfying even under the theoretical that she did devote an entire additional novel to making it happen.

but that ambiguous, unwritten, theoretical making up that exists in my minds eye haunts me.

even after all that, i still didn't *like* jc. he was compelling, i appreciated him as a mechanism in the narrative, but he wasn't my blorbo. i didn't *like* him in the way i *like* other favorite characters.

no, no. the real catalyst is that nobody who dislikes jiang cheng dislikes him for the right reasons and it pissed me off so bad that i became protective over him.

there's plenty of good reasons to hate jiang cheng but you're just MAKING UP ONES that DO NOT EXIST and IGNORING ALL OF HIS INTERESTING CHARACTER WRITING.

what do you MEAN he doesn't love his brother?! what do you MEAN he only warmed to jyl's marriage because he came to see her as a political pawn and didn't actually love her either?! what do you MEAN he should have just been GRATEFUL that wwx surgically placed his entire fucking martyr complex into jc's body while ACTIVELY LYING TO HIM ABOUT IT?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE'S A MISOGYNIST? WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE'S *COLORIST*????? AM I FUCKING LOSING IT????????? DID I READ A DIFFERENT FUCKING BOOK??????????????

being so pissed off by incorrect analysis of his character made me think about him as a character, his nuances, his relationships with his family and his position of power.

there's no specific trait or scene or thing about him that makes him my favorite. he's just a good shape. he clicks into my brain in a good way.

[luv-beam]

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

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

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

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

• vapid fop... what if i chuckled hahah

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Somerset Affair Chapter 3: Promises Bathed in Moonlight

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

summary: maybe you really are well and truly alone.

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

The First Year: Summer Age 19

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

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

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

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

But change it had.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Second Year: Autumn Age 20

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

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

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

Almost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Third Year: Winter Age 21

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Fourth Year: Spring Age 22

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Age 22

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let us… have an arrangement of sorts.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

[worldbeyondtheworld]

I went down a rabbit hole how Quiet's power as a concept and a god could manifest in other ways, also considering the aspects of death he carries.

- You know how terrified Quiet is of the Nightmare that his heart would stop with Paranoid intervening? I imagine that he could stop other people's hearts because it'd just go still between beats.

- This also means he can stop bleeding and make it so it doesn't have negative effects on the injured person.

- Not to mention that if he put his mind to it, he could be that terrifying as to scare people that badly. He'd be that crushing feeling of the void people imagine when it comes to loss - what comes after death for you, what after you lose your community, etc.

- Or it's that feeling of helplessness, that you cannot stop what is coming. You can do nothing. He represents that Nothing.

- What if he could stop time? Or arrest things in movement? Imagine that he stops a river from flowing. Does it become as hard as ice? Or can the water still be affected by outside forces?

- He touches things and they're just... gone. Somebody stabs him outside the Construct. The entire sword blade goes into his body.

It does nothing- but when the hilt is pulled out, every point of the sword that was inside his body is gone. It looks like a clean cut on the edge of what remains of the blade. And this applies to living things as well.

- A black hole, either him or something he creates. No matter how much flows into it, it'll never fill up. What has been absorbed might not exist anymore, or it does, or he has absorbed it or not. All of these might apply at the same time. Sometimes none of them apply.

- He unravels, both himself and other things. It feels like a power that overlaps with the Princess. He's both Nothing and Everything in the sense that his body can become objects, as well as that he doesn't need a physical body to affect the world, and that he can create out of nothing (his self) Something. And he is still Change, even though to a much smaller degree than the Shifting Mound.

- He can also unravel his environment into oblivion. Create a hole in existence, which can have overlap to the idea of a black hole. This applies to other concepts as well. Destroy the concept of gravity and watch everything fall up into space. Destroy memories.

[jazeswhbhaven]

What truths would kings reveal to mc while being drunk?

Assuming the kings could even get drunk....I have quick thoughts about this:

Satan: "I may miss him, but he's nothing like you.."

Mammon: "If you wanted to throw me away because I lost value, I'd change myself so you'd cherish me again."

Beelzebub: "I wish I could remember what you mean to me, it's annoying that my heart keeps hurting when I'm away from you."

Leviathan: "I don't want to kill you, but you scare me. I don't like what I feel when I'm around you. Not even that man could do this to me..."

Lucifer: "I wish my brothers could be with me right now. I want them to be devils...so we can be a family again."

Belphegor: "Wanna know sumthin' funny? I jack it Agares' room when he ain't there. His bed is soft 'an clean..." (Also another one for him: "Beleth is more like a wife than he is a noble, naggin' me and such. He fucks like one too.")

Asmodeus: "Sometimes, I just wanna fuck hard and slow....forever so you never leave....so I can forget everything..."

What do I mean for each:

S: He's referring to Solomon. He does still miss MC's ancestral grandpa, a lot in fact. He just knows it's pointless to dwell on it and ignores those feelings because it takes focus off of MC.

M: He's still dealing with the trauma of his childhood, he feels he needs to be accepted by MC and feel wanted and if he fails then he has to keep trying.

B: His memory laspes are his worst enemy and aides to his lingering loneliness. He doesn't like feeling sad, if he can remember how to be sad in the first place.

L: MC stirring up feelings inside of him gives him anxiety. He doesn't like showing weakness, but MC makes him want to be vulnerable. He's never wanted to be so helpless and be protected. He's always had to be the strong one.

Lu: He doesn't regret his choice, but he regrets tolerating his brother's actions and the will of God for so long. He wishes he had done something different, and he wants them around. It genuinely hurts him that they aren't there.

B: He's honestly goofy and says whatever he feels like when drunk. That's why nothing he admits is to be taken seriously and he laughs a lot during while slurring his words.

A: He just admitted to MC that sex for him is like a coping tool most times, because he's still hung up on Solomon's rejection...and the passing of his wife.

[class1akids]

Do you think the Todoroki love each other? Whenever I think about them and their relationship with each other, I can’t find a proper word to describe them. I definitely think they care about one another, but there’s a weird feeling of disconnection and awkwardness that always makes me think. It can be felt in a lot of their scenes together, during the epilogue and especially between Shoto and Reí.

One of my favorite fanfics writes this about teenage Shouto: "He doesn’t know love. Certainly it never existed between his parents, and it struggles to exist anywhere in his household" and that I've always thought that it's such a great way to put it.

I feel like the "original sin" of the Todoroki family is the quirk marriage. Not that an arranged marriage can't work itself out, but I think in Enji's and Rei's case it goes further because they are creating children as tools and even when they are told the risks and damage, they don't stop.

And because the whole marriage is built on negative emotions - jealousy-fueled ambition (Enji) and fear/ helplessness (Rei) - and on looking at kids as tools for a purpose, the parents can't model unconditional love, because it doesn't exist between them. And they can't love the children unconditionally either - because Enji can't see them outside the framework of his own ambition and Rei is stuck in a situation where the children's interests are conflicting. Touya's well-being would require no more children, so Natsou and Shouto wouldn't even exist. And caring for and trying to protect Shouto means abandoning the other three.

I think Rei's inability to care for her children properly and to protect them leads to her mental breakdown. She cares, but she struggles to model love.

And for the kids growing up in this toxic environment, understanding love can be difficult because they have no framework for it. They never witnessed it, they never felt it directed at them.

Touya felt Enji's conditional attention as love, and it cause distortion inside him that led to his mixed-up hate-love emotions and continued need for that attention well into adulthood.

Fuyumi I think tried to follow Rei's example of caring for physical needs of her brothers, but she's also trying to keep the peace with Endeavor, so she never tackles their real emotional needs.

Natsuo ends up distancing himself fully from the family and devoting himself to the first girlfriend he has.

And Shouto - who is Enji's most cherished possession - love looks like being caged in a dojo and forced to train until he pukes and a tea kettle thrown at his face for having his father's eye. I think especially in Shouto's case, love is something he doesn't really experience until high school and it really makes it understandable why he feels so deeply about Class A and why he basks in his friendships like a small child.

So yeah, the family "cares" about each other, because they intellectually know that families care. But I don't think it's undepinned by love necessarily, but much more by emotions such as regret, duty and yearning for normalcy.

Realistically, a decade of no-contact between Shouto and Rei for most of Shouto's formative years explains well the emotional chasm between them. They may remember loving the person the other used to be, but that's a decade-ago version of that person and they need to get to know each other again. Not to mention, the way Rei damaged Shouto (both physically and psychologically) is not something that goes away easily and I think will forever be a tension point in their relationship.

[avelera]

I expanded on this a bit on Twitter but I kinda wanted to talk about it here where people actually read my meta lol

I want to clarify that I think (Arcane) Jayce would eventually rise to the occasion. He always does.

I just think that Jayce has the most uniquely vulnerable situation if he theoretically went to Noxus, even when compared to every single other Arcane character. Yes, I'm including Heimerdinger and Cait. And here's why:

We've already seen Jayce get manipulated by not one but two Noxians, Mel and Ambessa. And Mel was nice about it! Jayce does eventually figure out Mel's manipulation of him but that's only after months of soul searching with literally nothing else to do (and then he APOLOGIZES to her, after eventually realizing too that Mel wasn't entirely to blame, just to be clear, but he ended the relationship over it IMO).

But Jayce is a unique example of the one character we've seen fall for Noxian manipulation more than once, with different Noxians. And, I would argue, there's nothing else in his arc to indicate he's gotten smarter about it, even at the end, other than figuring out Mel and only in relation to Hextech.

I don't think he's necessarily any better armed against Noxian manipulation after his arc, or manipulation in general. Another Noxian using slightly different tactics to get what they want from him would probably still work.

Jayce also has a unique combination of:

1) A relatively privileged background that makes him more trusting of others (unlike the Zaunite characters) and just being a nice guy in general, which lends to this.

2) An amount of self-confidence that he doesn't necessarily see manipulation coming because he generally tends to see himself as the primary mover of events in his own life which makes him a prime target for a master manipulator (like Ambessa when she masterfully pushed him into a sense of helplessness and rage that ended in his raid on the Shimmer factory). Not saying Jayce never feels helpless, he just has a background and personality that tends to see himself as able to regain control if he loses it and to see himself as a primary mover of his own destiny even when he's being puppetted

3) but most important: he has something Noxians would want and have wanted and would continue to want since we saw Swain's raven go for the gem in his hammer: Hextech. If Jayce went to Noxus, he'd be a target of EVERYONE THERE because of Hextech, either for weapons or for Hexgates. Or, if not Hextech, then the mind that created Hextech is still a worthy prize for anyone trying to get ahead there.

And funny enough, I think every other character in Arcane has more defenses than Jayce, even Cait, even Heimerdinger.

Heimerdinger may be naive but he's also 300+ years old and he's been around the block. I think Heimer's first response to being a target of manipulation in Noxus would be to get the fuck out of Noxus, I mean I can't imagine a country less suited to his whole deal, but he'd know to get out of there and he'd know to be on guard.

Cait post-S2 would be well equipped to recognize Ambessa's tactics in others, but even pre-S2, she's a detective used to reading people. Her instincts are stunted by the grief over her mother's death but she's clearly putting together that she can't trust Ambessa from the start. Cait despite also having a privileged upbringing like Jayce from the start has more tools at her disposal when it comes to understanding and analyzing people to have at least some prayer in Noxus, unlike Jayce the Engineer.

Then when you get to literally any Zaunite character, I think you get a healthy dose of suspicion towards outsiders to make them better able to defend themselves against Noxian manipulation or use.

Not saying it still couldn't happen, but a Viktor or a Vi would definitely be skeptical from the outset towards anyone trying flattery on them and would be immediately resistant to anyone using them for weapons or as fighters.

Jinx is too chaotic and slippery to be used, I'd argue, but she also in general just doesn't work well with others outside of long, long term relationships of trust (and even then). Really, anyone on the list of Zaunite character (Silco, Sevika, Ekko, etc.) just has that healthy dose of skepticism that I think at least puts them in a good position to be aware that everyone in Noxus is potentially looking for a way to use them.

But not Jayce. Oh, I don't think he's stupid, I definitely do not think he's stupid. But I think he could fall for, say, a two-man con, good cop/bad cop, once more obvious manipulator and a second person pretending to protect him from that person thus winning his trust, even in S2.

Now, I do want to add that one caveat to this, as I said, I think Jayce would rise to the occasion. He'd eventually figure out that he's being used and if it's for Hextech weapons, or weapons of any kind, he'd probably catch on sooner.

I think Jayce would probably, in an action story, turn around and drop-kick anyone trying to use him by countering them with his own flashy weapons and skills before long (say hello to this neat trebuchet he just built out of garbage and say goodnight, motherfucker).

I also think that his general demeanor would lull a manipulator into a false sense of security, until he boldly outplays them with him classic "Moving in very direct straight lines and fuck anyone who gets in the way" manner of dealing with intractable problems.

I actually think a "Jayce in Noxus" arc would be delicious, since we've already seen him played on his home turf, I'd like to see his incremental progress forward in figuring out how to be a more savvy player in the belly of the beast.

Alas, I can't imagine we'll be seeing him in an actual Noxus show but if you also are dying for "Jayce in Noxus" now, I'd highly recommend the "Break, repair" series by Lapsi, where the second installment involves just that.

My first impression of Noxus in Fortiche's style:

Oh, this country would have eaten Jayce Talis alive, huh?

[ablogofloveandtrash]

Why was Diana so Reluctant to Open Up and Tell the Truth?

Returning from a previous post I had sent on this blog, I had theorized that Diana may have potentially gone through some experience in the past that has prevented her from being able to properly open up. I was rewatching the trial from chapter 1 and from what I could find on rewatch, is that Diana seemed to be particularly concerned about how others around her would react. And from three different lines of dialogue that I could find, is that Diana seems to be afraid of not being heard out or invalidated. Considering her bio states that she was in the popular crowds before the events of the game, it seems like Diana's fear came from the draw backs of being in the popular crowd. And in being part of the crowd, she would become much of the subject of conversation. She got so much attention on her, which may have caused her to become alienated or isolated in an emotional manner. In the screenshots I have provided, Diana has mentioned things like how others could twist her words around. Suggesting that she may have attempted to dispel or disprove untrue rumours about her. Which resulted in the aftermath not going her way and ultimately nothing was solved. The first screenshot details this aspect of her.

And because Diana must have failed to stop these rumours, this may explain why she often blames herself for not doing the 'right' thing or perceives herself as powerless. Because, Diana was caught up in an unfair situation. The rumours may have gotten so out of hand that Diana may have been cornered and forced herself to remain quiet. Complicit that these misconstrued words were true. She has likely accepted that at the time she couldn't change what others thought about her, and as much as Diana didn't like these rumours, she must have chosen to stop saying anything.

And this may have resulted in potential self isolation or some emotional blockage. As a means to avoid getting hurt by the people she cared about. For her own reasons, Diana seems to feel like telling the truth things would 'just get worse' in the following screen shot, the next sentence may allude to the case. But it does seem to be telling of what she feels about her self worth. She doesn't seem like her input is anything good. And that she would be better off staying quiet. Because she may have blamed herself for the rumours that occurred or worsened, because of her attempts to intervene.

It is possible that Diana could tell Damon about this particular issue in the story in Daily Life or from the Free Time Events, since Damon still needed to persuade Diana to explain her case. With some empathy, Damon may have used the right words to help Diana feel at ease to tell the truth. Assuring that he would listen and hear her out. Which may have not been something, Diana herself couldn't have had before the free time events or the trial. It's a stark contrast compared to the second free time event. Where he made his accusation of her being suspicious and making Diana uncomfortable with opening up. Though between the free time events and in the story, no one really truly knows why Diana is so afraid to open up, and be fully honest with others around her. In relation to a character like Damon, he is someone who is used to biting his tongue when others don't trust him or have something that would antagonize him. He doesn't open up to anyone because he percieves his vulnerabilities as an exploit. Yet in a similar vein, Diana too, cannot be vulnerable around others, out of fear that she would not be listened to. Potentially invalidated, unwanted or even abandoned. Possibly out of these fears she can't bring it in herself to lose her 'friends' again, and validates her helplessness by the end of the trial. The way Diana and Damon seem to handle their experiences past and present couldn't be anymore different from one another, yet they share an underlying similarity that sets up an interesting character dynamic. Damon acts more empathetic in response to her emotional distress. And in response to Damon's empathy, Diana was able to properly open up and have her voice heard in the court room. From this interaction it maybe possible that while tension between Diana and Damon will persist, ie: "I will follow in Wolfgang's Footsteps" (this maybe the source of Damon's anger in the end, not Diana's speech, exactly as many cut him out to be), it may fall on them growing closer that may allow them to become the better versions of each other. By helping each other out and setting their differences aside, for a greater common goal.

[sikyulioness]

HELLO! Can you make a fic where Jinwoo finally meets fem reader that she's the first player before him, they both met once where jinwoo used to be weak but then she saved his life by using an green crystal that healed before shushing him as a secret then pinched his nose lol (she was still a player that time). After that they never see each other again or so they both thought. Pretty much fem reader had changed after leveling up like Jinwoo.

✨Here you go hope you like it✨

My Secret Savior

------- ------

---

The streets of Seoul had changed drastically over the years. Skyscrapers now gleamed under the sun, a reminder of humanity’s ability to rebuild and move forward. And yet, for Sung Jinwoo, one thing remained the same: the past. The memories of his days as the weakest Hunter, before he became the towering figure he was now, never seemed to fade.

It was a time he thought he had left behind—the memory of his weakness, the Dungeon, and the pain that followed. But one memory, one fleeting moment, stood out from the rest. It was something he couldn't quite shake off. The woman with the green crystal. Her face was vague, but her actions were etched into his mind as if they happened yesterday.

---

It was a bitterly cold day when it happened. Jinwoo had been trudging along the side streets, weak and desperate. After surviving the Double Dungeon, he was left with barely any strength, his body battered and drained. He stumbled into an alleyway, feeling the weight of his failure pressing down on him. But before he could fall to his knees, a soft voice cut through the air, gentle yet commanding.

“Hey, are you okay?”

He looked up, barely able to focus, and saw her—a woman, seemingly unbothered by the dangers of the world. She was holding a strange green crystal, its glow bright and soothing in the darkness.

“I… I don’t know,” Jinwoo muttered, his voice trembling. He had never felt so helpless in his life.

She crouched beside him, her fingers brushing against his forehead. He flinched at her touch, but there was something about her calm presence that made him feel safe, even in his weakened state.

“I can help,” she said, her eyes kind but firm. “But you have to keep it a secret. No one can know about this.”

Before Jinwoo could respond, she pressed the crystal against his chest. The warmth spread quickly, easing the ache in his body, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he felt a sense of relief. The exhaustion that had weighed him down began to lift.

“Shush,” she whispered, her finger pressed to his lips. “It’s a secret, okay? Don’t go telling anyone.”

He nodded, unable to say anything as the green light continued to heal him. Her voice was soft, comforting, like a lullaby he didn’t want to forget.

And then, just as she finished healing him, she leaned in, her hand lightly pinching his nose, her lips curling into a playful smile. "You're lucky I found you," she said, her tone lighthearted. "Take care of yourself, alright?"

Jinwoo, still reeling from the shock of what had just happened, nodded again, his heart racing. But when he opened his mouth to thank her, she was already gone—vanished into the city as if she had never been there at all.

---

Years passed, and Jinwoo grew stronger, becoming a Hunter that even the strongest feared. But no matter how much he leveled up, no matter how much he changed, he couldn't forget the woman with the green crystal. Who was she? What was she doing that night? Why did she help him?

And then, one fateful day, their paths crossed again.

It was at a high-stakes raid, a dungeon so dangerous that even the most experienced Hunters hesitated to step foot inside. Jinwoo stood at the front, his aura commanding respect, his eyes scanning the surroundings with the precision of someone who had seen it all. He could sense the tension in the air—the dungeon was about to collapse, and there was no time for hesitation.

As the team prepared to enter, a shadow moved in the corner of his vision. A familiar figure stepped forward, her silhouette sharp and unwavering. She wore a hood, her face obscured, but Jinwoo could tell. It was her.

His heart skipped a beat as recognition hit him like a wave. The woman. The green crystal. The playful pinch. Everything about her felt like a memory he couldn’t erase.

She took her place at the front, her presence commanding as much attention as his. But instead of the frail, almost ethereal figure he remembered, she was now a force to be reckoned with. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, locked onto his.

“Are you lost?” she asked, her voice no longer soft, but strong, imbued with the confidence of someone who had lived through countless battles.

Jinwoo's mouth went dry. "You," he whispered, not quite believing what he was seeing. "You’re... the one who saved me."

She tilted her head, as if considering him for the first time. "I thought you'd recognize me sooner. But I suppose you’ve changed a lot too, Sung Jinwoo."

He was stunned. Her tone, though familiar, carried an edge of mystery, and he realized how much she had changed in all these years. The woman he once knew had become something far more dangerous, just like him.

"I... never expected to see you again," Jinwoo said, his voice filled with a mix of disbelief and awe. "You—how did you—"

"I leveled up," she interrupted, her lips curling into a knowing smile. "Just like you. I’ve been watching you, Jinwoo. You’re not the only one who’s changed."

For a moment, they stood there, the weight of their past hanging in the air between them. Jinwoo wanted to ask so many questions—about the green crystal, about who she was, about what had happened in the years they were apart—but he couldn’t. There was something about her presence that made him hesitant, like he wasn’t sure whether he could truly handle the answers.

"I’ve been waiting for the right moment," she said, breaking the silence. "And now, it looks like that moment has come."

Jinwoo’s heart raced. "What do you mean?"

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she gave him a soft look, one that felt strangely warm despite the harshness of their surroundings. "I’m here to help you. But this time, it’s not just about you. It’s about both of us. We have a lot to learn from each other."

Jinwoo’s thoughts were a whirlwind. The woman he had once thought of as a fleeting memory was now here, standing before him, offering him something far more valuable than answers—partnership, understanding, and maybe even more.

Without thinking, he reached out, his hand brushing hers, and she smiled, a soft, genuine smile that made his heart flutter. He realized, in that moment, that everything had changed. And somehow, it had led him back to her.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he said quietly.

She nodded, her expression softening. “Me too.”

And for the first time, Jinwoo felt like he was no longer alone. The woman with the green crystal—his savior, his mystery—was no longer a fleeting memory. She was right there beside him, ready to face whatever came next.

---

End.

[ohtobeleah]

Vee, I genuinely want you to fly to Australia so we can go get coffee and talk about all the Middle of Nowhere lore. I need you to understand this is *chefs kiss*

Below are some of my favourite moments.

So, no. Continuing forward is the only slim chance you have of making it to safety and out of your captors’ clutches. 

^^^ Describing this situation as bone-chilling is an understatement. The idea that going backwards means certain death, while moving forward may lead to safety but also death, is incredibly complex.

As you reach for the knife, wincing as another bolt of pain shoots through your shoulder, a voice calls out from the dark maze of trees, “If you thought my dart skills were impressive, darlin’, just wait ‘til you get a taste of what I can do with a blade.”

^^^ The visuals surrounding this moment will stay with me forever. Something about this moment changed my brain chemistry. I think its the way that even when running for your life, danger wasn't far off.

“You know,” the voice calls out to you from your left and you swiftly turn towards the sound. “I was so sure Rooster would find you first. I haven’t seen him this set on winning a hunt since we found a girl outside of Boston who looked like his ex-girlfriend. Oof, the things he did to her that night. Even I got a little nauseous. So I can only imagine the look on his face when he walks up and sees me on top of you, slowly carving you up or having more fun like we did back at the bar.” 

^^^ Although a serial MURDERER….Jake ate with this.

“But it’s never happened before. No one’s ever made it to safety so I don’t know what he would actually do if you make it back to town before he catches you. Technically, he’s supposed to let you go but I wouldn’t be surprised if he snuck into your apartment a few days from now and slit your throat while you slept.”

^^^ Jake is giving us a glimpse into just how deprived and crazy Rooster really is.

Stepping forward so you are as close as possible while still just out of his reach, you murmur, “What you’re feeling right now, that fear and helplessness? That dread of knowing what’s about to happen yet knowing there’s nothing you can do to stop it? That’s what all those women felt while they hung there while you got your rocks off. And I gotta say, I questioned whether or not I’d really be able to kill you. But now that it’s happening, I’ve never seen a more satisfying sight.”

^^^ YAAASSSS QUEEN FUCK HIM UP!

The Middle of Nowhere (Part 4)

Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, dark!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, dark!Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Reader (no relationships) Summary: As the hunt begins, you try to make it back to town before one of your captors can carry out their murderous plan. But it isn't long until one of them finds you... Word Count: 6037 TW: NOT ALL TWS MAY BE MENTIONED SO READ AT YOUR OWN RISK! Language, Hunted for Sport, Knives, Blood, Reader has hair long enough to grab, Reader's POV Notes: I am EXTREMELY proud and excited about this series and hope you enjoy! Huge thanks to @green-socks for the beta read and to @green-socks, @mayhem24-7forever, and @blue-aconite for all the constant love, and encouragement in my DMs 💕

Series Masterlist

The freshly fallen snow stretches for miles in all directions. Your head is still pounding where Rooster drove his elbow into it but at least your vision has mostly returned to normal. Now that you have left the clearing with its electric lanterns, your eyes begin to adjust to the natural lighting around you. Luckily—or maybe not so luckily—the moon is nearly full and reflecting off the snow around you, allowing you to avoid crashing into the trees directly in front of you. That doesn’t stop branches from snagging on your jacket or underbrush from scratching at your bare legs and feet and you still can’t see more than a few feet in front of you, but you are trying to find any positives in your current situation.

Who are you kidding—there’s nothing positive about your current situation.

You’ve been drugged, assaulted, stripped down, and are being forced to flee from a pair of psycho killers who plan on murdering you in ways you can’t possibly even fathom. All while you’re barefoot and wearing a jacket that stands out so starkly against the snow that it might as well be a neon sign saying “come and get me”. 

But on top of all that, the worst part is that there’s no way to cover your tracks as you go. The snow is several inches deep and with every step you take, you sink into the soft powder leaving a clear imprint behind that either of the men chasing you can easily follow. You could try to take the time to cover your tracks, but that’s much easier said than done, and even in the best-case scenario, it would still be noticeable something had disturbed the snow. Besides, it would just stall your escape, allowing them to get closer, and it would further numb your already frozen hands as you dug through the snow.

So, no. Continuing forward is the only slim chance you have of making it to safety and out of your captors’ clutches. 

The only slight advantage you may have over them is that neither man seemed too familiar or comfortable in the snowy terrain. You, on the other hand, have lived in this area your entire life. Hell, you’ve been coming out to these woods for as long as you can remember. That has to count for something, right? Maybe under normal conditions it would, but between the lingering effect of the drugs they used on you, the throbbing in your head from Rooster’s blow, the burning pain in your hands and feet, and the cold making it difficult to even breathe, you aren’t able to navigate as easily as normal. So once again, whatever upper hand you might have come up with is snatched away from you.

Even knowing it is a useless endeavor, you still refuse to give up without some sort of a fight. So, with your hands jammed deep within your jacket’s pockets and your hood pulled as tightly around your face as possible, you continue to run forward in a straight line as you try to think up some way to fight back.

You aren’t sure how far you’ve gotten or how long you’ve been running, but you freeze as you hear something from the direction you had run from. The voice echoes around the barren woods and you manage to make out the last few words. “—run. Hangman’s coming.”

Shit. It seems as though your head start is over and the hunt has officially begun.

The fact you are still close enough to the clearing to be able to hear Hangman’s whoop of excitement sends a shiver through you—one not caused by the cold. While you’d much rather deal with Hangman than Rooster every time, escape or evasion from both men is still your ultimate goal. If only you had a weapon or some sort of protection against the two heavily armed men. But they must have emptied your jacket pockets before handing it over and your tank top and boy shorts barely provide any protection from the cold, let alone anything that could be used against your pursuers. For now, your only chance is to keep running and hope, by some miracle, you can evade them. 

As you run, time seems to stand still. You feel as if you are on a treadmill, running as fast as you can yet remaining in one place. You have no idea how long it has been since you took off from the clearing, but everything looks the same. The same towering trees and bushes reaching out from the darkness towards you, the moonlight only seemingly illuminating a few dozen feet in front of you at one time. The same unmarked snow stinging your feet as you sink into it with every step, a troublesome numbness spreading from your little toes across to the others. The same silence enveloping you, the only sound breaking it is the sound of your panting and chattering teeth. 

But then…another sound breaks the silence.

There is a soft whoosh from behind you seconds before something drives itself into your left shoulder. You collapse into the snow with a cry of pain, twisting around to see a long, thin knife jutting from your shoulder blade. Luckily, your coat managed to deflect most of the damage, but you can still feel hot blood oozing down your back, leaving a warm trail in its wake.

As you reach for the knife, wincing as another bolt of pain shoots through your shoulder, a voice calls out from the dark maze of trees, “If you thought my dart skills were impressive, darlin’, just wait ‘til you get a taste of what I can do with a blade.”

You hear another whoosh and you just have time to roll sideways as another knife lodges in the snow, exactly where your knee had been seconds ago. The move had saved you from being incapacitated, but the quick jostling causes the knife still in your shoulder to sway violently back and forth and you are forced to bite your lip to keep from wailing. The taste of copper fills your mouth, but you would rather bite through your tongue than give Hangman the satisfaction of hearing you scream. 

You take a deep breath before yanking the knife out of your shoulder with a stifled moan. 

Flexing your hand, you’re relieved to see the knife didn’t seem to cause any nerve or mobility damage. You didn’t need another thing to add to your growing list of disadvantages. 

Grabbing the second knife as you heave yourself to your feet, you spin around brandishing both knives in front of you. Hangman is close enough to nail you with a knife, but he is still far enough away to remain cloaked in darkness. This means the next attack could come from any direction, and, if you’re not careful, it could be deadly.

“You know,” the voice calls out to you from your left and you swiftly turn towards the sound. “I was so sure Rooster would find you first. I haven’t seen him this set on winning a hunt since we found a girl outside of Boston who looked like his ex-girlfriend. Oof, the things he did to her that night. Even I got a little nauseous. So I can only imagine the look on his face when he walks up and sees me on top of you, slowly carving you up or having more fun like we did back at the bar.” 

You shutter as you recall the feeling of his tongue in your mouth back before you knew what a psycho he was. His voice continues to taunt you from the darkness. “Or, better yet, I want to watch his face as he stumbles on your corpse hanging from one of these trees. Remind him exactly why they call me Hangman.”

“You sick fuck,” you cry, still brandishing your knives in the direction of his voice. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because we enjoy it.” His voice now comes from your right and you nearly trip over your frozen feet as you face it. “Because we can. Because there’s nothing better in this world than snatching someone like you and dropping them into a place like this where they don’t stand a chance. It’s the natural order of things that humans have either forgotten or hidden away because we’ve been told it’s wrong. But what is more right than a predator hunting its prey?”

Panting slightly, causing large puffs of your breath to bloom in front of your face, you call out, “This is where you made your mistake, dickhead. I’m not your timid ‘little fox’ who you threw into an unfamiliar arena. Around here, we’re raised in these woods. Taught to hunt almost before we can walk. So if you think I’m gonna just lay down without a fight, you’re about to be sorely disappointed.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you’ve got me all wrong.” You whirl around, knives raised, to face the sound of his voice behind you. “I don’t want you to give up or give in. I’m ready for a fight. That’s what makes this fun.” 

With that last word, another knife shoots out at you from the darkness. You have just enough time to dive backwards before it passes over you, inches from your face. But before you can scamper back to your feet, Hangman is charging out of the woods towards you. As he reaches you, knife raised, you thrust your feet up, driving them into his stomach. Using his forward momentum, you flip him over your head and he ends up on his back gasping in the snow. The knife he had been holding in his hand disappears into the snow somewhere to the left but far enough away he can’t reach it.

As Hangman continues to struggle to catch his breath behind you, you scamper to your feet. Grinning as you approach your would-be attacker, you chuckle, “And my ex said those self-defense classes were a load of bull.” With your hands resting on your knees as you peer down at him, you ask Hangman in a cloying voice, “How’s those solar plexus feeling? Little winded there, buddy?”

He glares up at you with murder burning in his eyes but even as he struggles to sit up, he’s helpless until he has a moment to collect himself. That thought only makes your grin grow wider. 

Stepping over his waist, you sit down—hard—on his stomach, causing him to let out another oof as the air is knocked out of him once again. Pressing the knives he had previously thrown at you against either side of his neck, you drop the smile as you growl, “Now listen, you fucker. I’m not like you. I haven’t enjoyed a second of any of this and I’m not the kind of person who likes hurting others—even pieces of shit psycho murderers like you. So, I’m going to walk away from here and you’re not going to follow me. In fact, you’re going to go find your psychotic friend and you’re both going to get back in your truck and drive the fuck out of my life forever. And for that small gesture of human decency, I won’t turn you in to the cops when I reach town. We all just go about our lives like this never happened and you never come after me again. Do we have a deal?”

“What if I say no?” he pants, the murderous glint in his eyes suddenly taking on a more mischievous gleam to it. “You said it yourself, you’re no killer. So what’s your plan if I decide I’ll take my chances against you? You really think you can plunge those things into me? Watch the life fade from my eyes as my blood soaks onto your hands? That’s a stain you’ll never be able to wash out. Me? I’d bathe in blood every day if I got the chance. But can you live with that stain on your hands for the rest of your life?”

“Considering it meant I lived through this nightmare you put me through, I think I’d be fine. But should we test that theory?” You press the tips of the blades deeper into his neck and you feel him flinch beneath you. The movement is slight and he maintains a blank expression, but that little, involuntary motion is enough to boost your confidence in your plan. Seems you are making your point. “Besides, I said I don’t like hurting people, not that I wouldn’t. Believe me, if it comes down to either you or me, I’ll choose me every time. But I’d rather not kill anyone if I have another option. So, what do you say? You let me walk away or you get skewered with your own knives? Your choice.”

Hangman glares at you for a long time and you can almost see his mind at work trying to figure out another way out of this. But when you drive the knives in deeper, blood trickling down his neck into the white snow, he snarls, “Alright! I’ll let you go. But I can’t make any promises about Rooster. Once he starts a hunt, there’s no stopping him until he’s tasted blood.”

You consider this for a moment then nod. “Fine. But he said the rules are that if I make it to town, I’m free. Right? So that means he’ll have to stop then.”

Hangman hesitates. “Yeah, those are the rules. But…”

“But what?”

“But it’s never happened before. No one’s ever made it to safety so I don’t know what he would actually do if you make it back to town before he catches you. Technically, he’s supposed to let you go but I wouldn’t be surprised if he snuck into your apartment a few days from now and slit your throat while you slept.”

Pressing the knives further into his skin, you growl, “How the fuck do you know I live in an apartment?”

“Your driver’s license was in your wallet,” he grunts, squirming under the pressure of the blades. “It’s one of the first things we look at. The anonymity of a random victim is more fun, but we have to make sure your disappearance wasn’t going to be noticed before we could leave town. So, we did a little research while you were still unconscious.”

Which means they probably know everything about you. Your real name, your address, your social media which means your friends and family. Even if you escape, there’s nothing stopping them from biding their time then returning to finish the job. However, none of that matters if you can’t survive the night.

You know this is a horrible idea. There is nothing to stop Hangman from coming after you the moment you remove the knives from his neck beside his word. And considering he’s a lying, psychotic serial killer, there’s very little doubt he’ll do just that the moment you let your guard down. But what else can you do? You think what you said to Hangman is true and you could kill him if it came down to it, but there is still a lingering doubt in the back of your mind. 

You had been hunting many times with your dad growing up and had killed your share of smaller animals before. But killing a squirrel and killing a person were two very different things. If you try yet fail and Hangman sees you can’t go through with it, then you lose any leverage you currently have which means there’s nothing left to stop him from overpowering and killing you. 

Then, there’s Rooster. Even if Hangman does hold up his side of your deal, you know deep down Rooster won’t. He was practically coming in his pants at the thought of all the unthinkable things he was going to do to you if he got his hands on you—and that was before you seemingly broke his nose. After that, there’s no way he’ll agree to let you go as long as you are still in the woods. And while you may have gotten lucky with Hangman and gotten the upper hand, you doubt you’d be able to recreate that feat with Rooster. Not when all he can think about is mutilating and murdering you. But maybe it would slow him down if he finds his friend and Hangman explains what happened. Maybe it would give you just enough time to reach town before he got his hands on you. Then there would be nothing stopping you from going back on your part of the deal and heading straight to the police station so these two could be stopped before they could finish their hunt.

Yet that unlikely plan hinged on Hangman truly agreeing to let you go which put you right back to the issue of not being able to trust him not to kill you.

Suddenly, you remember the noose he showed you back at camp he kept tied around his belt. Dropping one of your knives, you reach down and begin blindly reaching for the rope with one hand as the other still holds the knife to Hangman’s throat.

He chuckles as your hand brushes against something that is definitely not the rope. “Whoah there, sweetheart. If that’s what you wanted, I’d have given it to you back at the bar. All you had to do was ask.”

“Shut up, you perverted bastard,” you mutter as you continue to fumble around his belt. Your fingers finally brush against something thin and coarse and, instinctually, you glance down to confirm you located your target.

It is a dire mistake.

Instantly, Hangman thrusts up and slams his head into yours. The knife you had pressed against his throat cuts a thin line across his skin, drawing blood, but isn’t deep enough to slow him down. His forehead drives into yours and the world goes black for a second as your head snaps backward, the knife flying from your grasp. You feel yourself fall back into the snow as Hangman climbs to his feet. By the time your vision begins to return to normal—though your head is once again throbbing in pain—he is standing over you in a similar gloating stance as to how you leered down at his prone body moments before, blood streaming down the side of his neck.

As a malicious grin slowly spreads across his face, Hangman holds up the rope. “Was this what you were looking for? Well, sweetheart, if you want it so badly, who am I to say no.”

Winding back his arm, he throws the noose end of the rope high into the air where it arches perfectly before soaring over a limb of a nearby tree and dropping back down just within his reach. It is the kind of throw only a trained athlete could pull off and, especially given his physique, it wouldn’t surprise you if you learned Hangman had played some form of pro sports at some point in his life. He also has the ego for it.

You try to crawl away from him across the frozen ground, but the world still hasn’t completely cleared and you slip and crash back into the snow. As you prop yourself up on your forearms once more, you feel yourself yanked to your feet as a hand grabs a fistful of your hair. A ripping, burning feeling tears at your scalp as you struggle in Hangman’s grasp, but it’s too strong. Tears sting your eyes in the frosty air as he begins dragging you on your stomach over to the limb where the noose swings ominously. 

It’s over. You had your chance to put down your attacker and you pussied out. Now he is going to kill you and there’s nothing else you can do to stop him. You wonder if anyone will ever find your body or if everyone will always just wonder where you disappeared. Maybe one day there will be an episode of 20/20 or a True Crime documentary on the bartender who just vanished one night after her shift and the theories of what might have happened to her. That makes you wonder how many of those shows or stories you’ve seen over the years were actually caused by these two and their group of psychopathic killers. 

Hangman releases his hold on your hair when he reaches his noose causing you to faceplant into the snow. You want to just lay there and just let the cold embrace of the snowbank take you, but of course, Hangman isn’t that generous. His foot drives into your side, kicking up slightly so it flips you over onto your back. Groaning, you clutch at your aching ribs but he isn’t giving you a moment of relief. He learned from his previous mistake. 

Grabbing the noose, he pulls it over until he is standing over you with it swinging in his hand. Grinning, he tugs on the knots as he stares down at you. “You know, I planned on drawing this out and making it really satisfying for me. But seeing how you weren’t a fan of my knives—or maybe enjoyed them a little too much—” he gestures to his neck where blood is still freely flowing from the slash you put there “—I think it’s time to move on to the grand finale, don’t you think? It’s my favorite part after all.”

On your back looking up at him, you try to scuttle away as he leans down to slip the noose over your neck. He lunges at you but you pull your legs away just in time to avoid his grasp. As you continue to crawl away, you notice the other side of the rope that is dangling from the limb is slowly unfurling and all the slack is getting pulled up into the tree as Hangman drags the noose along with him. In a moment, it’ll all slip up out of his reach or even all the way off the limb. The smallest smile flashes across your face at the realization.

Hangman must have noticed because his brow furrows for a moment before he looks over his shoulder. In doing so, he unconsciously pulls on the noose as his body turns and the rope jumps another few inches into the air. 

Hangman’s eyes grow wide as he mutters, “No, no, no, no.” 

Releasing the noose end, Hangman leaps up just as the other end of the rope goes soaring past. He just manages to snag the end of the rope between two fingers before it is out of reach. Then he crashes back to the ground.

Seeing your chance, you snatch the noose as it begins to rise up into the tree and, bounding forward, tackle Hangman just as he is sitting back up. He flails underneath you and one of his fists collides with your jaw, snapping your head back. You can taste blood as it begins pooling in your mouth, but you ignore it and the pain. Instead, you weave between Hangman’s continued flailing limbs and, just as he raises up to snarl at you, you slip the noose over his head. The action surprises him enough that he pauses for a few seconds as he processes what just happened.

But that’s all the time you need.

Grabbing the other end of the rope, you heave with every ounce of energy you have left. Hangman is a muscular guy, but somehow your efforts manage to tighten the noose around his neck, causing his eyes to widen in surprise. As he claws at the rope, you heave again, practically dragging yourself across the snow to get the needed leverage. The rope moves a little further and Hangman is lifted off the ground. It’s not much, but it’s enough that you can see he is struggling to breathe. Not wanting to make the mistake of underestimating him again, you give the rope one final pull. Given the energy you expended on the first few pulls, it was a much weaker effort, but it does the job. Hangman’s full body weight is now suspended by the rope.

Spitting out a mouthful of blood into the pure snow, you tie off your end of the rope on a nearby limb. After ensuring it won’t give him any slack, you take a few steps closer to where Hangman is thrashing on his rope. Grinning at the sight of his face growing redder and redder, you lock eyes with him and sneer, “Turns out, I’m really enjoying this grand finale after all. It’s my favorite part too.”

His lips move as he tries to snarl something back at you, but the rope around his neck is making it difficult for him to manage much more than some grunts and rasps. As his breathing begins to grow more frantic and strained, you see a shadow of fear pass over his face as his fate begins to become clearer to him. It is a sight that warms your entire body despite the frigid environment around you. 

Stepping forward so you are as close as possible while still just out of his reach, you murmur, “What you’re feeling right now, that fear and helplessness? That dread of knowing what’s about to happen yet knowing there’s nothing you can do to stop it? That’s what all those women felt while they hung there while you got your rocks off. And I gotta say, I questioned whether or not I’d really be able to kill you. But now that it’s happening, I’ve never seen a more satisfying sight.”

Almost all the fight has gone out of Hangman as he weakly wheezes and meekly pulls at the rope. His eyes have become bloody as the blood vessels burst from all his straining and his face is so red it's almost purple. 

No longer afraid of the man who had beat, stabbed, and almost murdered you, you step closer until your face is nearly touching his chest. Looking up at his face swaying above you, you put all the fury, all the pain, all the fear you’ve felt over the past few hours into your words as you hiss, “I hope in whatever Hell I’m sending you to that you’re forced to relive this moment for all eternity.”

If Hangman heard or understood you, he makes no sign of it. Instead, it seems as if all his remaining energy is focused on getting out his last word or words. Even as you watch the last sparks of life flickering out, his lips continue to move as if trying to say something even as his chest begins to spasm due to lack of air. 

And, just as you think he’s done, he manages to force out a single breathy word that is only decipherable because you are practically pressed against him. 

“Bra-Bradley…”

Then his hands drop from his neck as his entire body goes slack and the woods fall silent. 

You stand looking up at him for a long time, holding your breath in anticipation of one last jump scare or resurgence. But this isn’t a movie. The evil is gone and Hangman’s not coming back for more. 

As the realization that it’s really over finally washes over you, you stumble back and collapse to the ground. All the fear and adrenaline that had kept you going since that first knife struck you in the shoulder, suddenly vanishes. 

For the first time, you feel the full impact of the injuries you’ve sustained. Your shoulder cries out from all the strain you’ve put on it, all with a stab wound still bleeding down your back. You just now notice how your tank top clings to your skin from all the blood and sweat that has soaked into it. Your jaw throbs from where Hangman’s fist collided with it, and you can tell it’ll be swollen and bruised in an hour or so. At least you have plenty of snow to press against it. Your scalp still stings from where Hangman pulled you across the ground by your hair and you really hope he didn’t make a bald spot somewhere. But it’s your ribs that hurt the most. It’s doubtful they are broken, probably just bruised, yet each breath sends a fresh stabbing pain into your side. It’ll cause the most issues as you continue on.

That thought almost makes you cry. Taking on Hangman had been difficult enough and you had barely escaped with your life. However, Rooster is still somewhere in these woods actively looking for you. Any head start you had is gone after all the time you took tussling with Hangman. And you have a feeling if Rooster was out for your blood before this, when he discovers you killed his friend, he’s going to want to carve you up with a rusty knife piece by tiny little piece. 

But maybe…

The only reason you were able to get the advantage against Hangman was because he underestimated you. He was too distracted by his own fun and games to really pay attention to what you were doing. Now, while you seriously doubt Rooster will make that same mistake—not after you headbutted him in the clearing—maybe he has a different distraction that will work on him. Namely, his rage and blood lust.

If you can get him so angry and ramp up his need to kill you so high, then maybe, just maybe, he will get sloppy and you’ll have a chance to take him down too. Maybe you can make him see red so strongly, that he won’t be able to see you going in for the kill.

Glancing back at Hangman’s limp body, you wonder if there’s a way to use it in this new plan. Maybe carve something into his skin with one of his knives? Like a message to Rooster saying you have Hangman’s weapons and he’s next? Very Die Hard of you.

It wouldn’t be that difficult to do. After all, Hangman isn’t that far in the air. In fact, the toes of his boots softly kiss the snow beneath him as he continues to sway.

His boots!

Ignoring the way your muscles scream at you as you move, you scramble to your knees and crawl over to Hangman’s dangling body. Your fingers are so numb and swollen from the cold that untying the tight laces is nearly impossible but you refuse to give up. By the time you can slide the second boot off his rapidly chilling body, your nails are cracked and your fingers are bleeding, ruby droplets coating the snow around you.

You hesitate for a moment, wondering if it’s too morbid to also take his socks. However, the boots are several sizes too big and your feet are so frozen that you need to take whatever extra padding you can get. So you slip off his thick, woolen socks. You do draw the line at taking his pants though. As much as you would love some covering for your bare legs, you knew the fit would be way off and just slow you down as you tried to plan the rest of your escape. So, you resign yourself to your new socks and boots.

As you pull them on, the heat radiating from within the soft wool and worn leather feels like Heaven wrapped around your frostbitten feet. However, you can’t help but shudder at the knowledge this is the last warmth Hangman will ever give off. It’s almost like you can feel his hands wrapped around your ankles and trailing up your shins. 

You try your best to push those thoughts aside. After all, you only did what you had to do to survive. If the roles had been reversed and Hangman had won the hunt, he would currently be doing fuck knows what manner of twisted, ungodly things to your body. 

Just the thought of what he might have done reignites the fury and fight in your chest that had blazed when you watched Hangman get a taste of his own medicine. 

Turning back to his now shoeless body, you begin to doubt your original idea of carving a message into him. For one, you really don’t want to do it. Killing him was one thing but mutilating his body is a whole other ball game. Plus, you have terrible penmanship using a pen or pencil. There’s no telling if your message would even be legible when using a knife as a writing tool and then you just wasted time for no reason. Then there is the fact you are in a massive wood at night in the dark. Even if Rooster is tracking you, there’s no guarantee he’ll come across Hangman’s body, especially with his dark denim jacket and jeans helping him blend into the night. 

But that gives you another idea. 

Stripping off your burnt-orange jacket, you shiver as the cold air hits your bare arms. Trying your best to ignore it, you grab Hangman’s jacket, wrestle it off of him, and put it on yourself. Though denim on the outside, the interior is sherpa-lined and it is as warm, if not more, than the jacket you just traded him for. 

Feeling something in the pockets, you are overjoyed to discover his phone in one and the keys to the truck in the other. Checking the phone first, you see it’s locked. However, the key is a facial recognition scan. You know it’s a long shot, but, standing on your toes, you line Hangman’s face up to the screen and nearly squeal when you see it unlock. Your joy deflates somewhat when you see there’s no service but you remember Hangman mentioning the terrible service in these woods when he got that call from his missing hunter friends back in the clearing. Hopefully, as you walk, you’ll find a spot with at least one bar so you can call for help. Going into the settings, you disable the lock function so you won’t need Hangman’s face next time you try to access the phone.

Turning back to what you had planned, you do your best to fit your jacket onto his body. It’s too small but you manage to get it pulled up almost to his shoulders, enough that it’ll stay on. Then, taking a few deep breaths, you slowly pull on the end of the rope. It’s hard going without the adrenaline rush to aid in your efforts, but eventually, you manage to raise Hangman until his head almost brushes the limb the rope is thrown over. Hopefully, between the height and the flash of color, Rooster will be able to spot him if he is anywhere in the area. 

However, that means you need to leave this area as soon as possible.

Now that you have Hangman’s phone and truck keys, your best bet is to try to head back to the clearing. If you can make it there before Rooster catches you, you should be able to steal their truck and head for town. Or at least get somewhere where you can use the phone. 

And if for some reason that plan doesn’t work, at least the clearing will make a good place to make your final stand against Rooster.

Collecting all of the knives that you can find that had scattered around during your fight, you tuck them into the inside of your new jacket. Then, taking one last look at Hangman’s limp body hanging high overhead, you turn and head back in the direction you came from.

They wanted you to be a fox, fine, you’ll be a fox. A fox will do whatever it takes to free themselves from a trap and survive, even if that means gnawing off their own foot. So while it might take doing unspeakable things that will haunt you for the rest of your life in order to survive, it’s a price you’re willing to pay to be the one who walks out of these woods at the end of the night.

One down. One to go.

Thank you all for reading, reblogging, and commenting! There are two more parts coming soon in this series (Part 5 in Bradley's POV and Part 6 in Reader's POV). But I also have more planned for this universe beyond that so stay tuned for updates!

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@sorchathered

[xxundeadfanboixx]

Not canon, but I had a health episode (sugar drop or whatever it is idk but it's icky and I hate it) and I am gonna make myself feel better by writing up some Dust Mite and Ghost comfort. Don't expect excellent writing, I'm still in recovery so my brain isn't all there and thinking is just giving me a migraine.

Ghost finds Dust Mite in an air vent. The air vents had been the first places he looked when he had begun his search, and it had only taken him so long to find them due to just how many air vents there were in the large military base. He'd lost count of how many he peeked into. Only stopping his search when he finally found what he was searching for.

His flashlight shines through the grates, and lines of light stretch across the curled up form of the janitor. As curled up as they could be within such a small space. Their head faced downwards, craned at an angle that couldn't be comfortable to hold, so that their forehead was resting against the cool metal plate beneath them. The cold did little to soothe them of their ailment.

"Pest?" It is only due to the fact that both are subconsciously aware that Dust Mite is in no state to notice, that softness finds its way into Ghost's tone.

The janitor tilts their head towards the entrance to the vent. Wanting to cry when the smallest movement brought a freshness to the vertigo that they were feeling. Their brain felt as if it was being rolled around in their skull, and they felt something heavy at the back of their throat.

"Dust Mite." Ghost tries again. Gently rapping his knuckles against the grate, and immediately stopping at the weak groan of pain that ripped itself from Dust Mite's throat.

"Ghost?"

"Aye, it's me, pest." Ghost fiddles with the screws to the grate, twisting them loose with clumsy too big fingers.

"Don't...I don't feel good." Dust Mite whimpers out. Blinking back tears that only worsen the migraine that is scratching at the back of their eyes.

"...I know, pet."

The grate comes free, and Ghost is quick to pull Dust Mite out from their hiding place. Being uncharacteristically careful as he pulls the janitor free, quietly apologizing and shushing them when they whimper. Ghost cradles them in his arms, moving their arms to wrap around his neck when they made no move to do it themselves. It must be worse than he thought.

"My room or yours?" Ghost asks even though he already knows the answer. He wasn't gonna let Dust Mite be anywhere but under his watch and care. But he can't help the comfort he feels when he hears the quiet "Yours." in response.

~•~

"Your hands still feel tingly?" Ghost asks as he holds an open jello fruit cup in one hand and a cold water bottle in the other. Staring down at the person curled up and nestled under his scratchy military issued blanket. He wished he had something better to offer.

Dust Mite makes a small noise of 'yes' at the back of their throat. Not moving from where they have laid for the past hour. Ghost grunts, and sits down on the edge of the bed.

"I'll feed ya then. I've got you some water too." This wasn't their first time doing this. And it probably won't be their last. "But I need ya to sit up." Ghost says more softly, already knowing what he is asking of the other. And as expected, the janitor whines and curls into themself a bit more. The thought of having to do anything except sleep far too unappealing to the sickly janitor.

Ghost sighs, carefully setting the snack and water bottle down on his lap so that neither would spill, before reaching over and situating Dust Mite himself. It felt like sitting up a doll.

Ghost picks up the jello cup first, picking up the shitty plastic spork, and angles his body to face them. "Open." Dust Mite's mouth falls open and Ghost carefully spoons some jello into their mouth. "Hoping the sugar will help." Ghost explains to the uncharacteristically wordless janitor.

He hated these moments. Hated how helpless he felt, how he was unable to do anything to help besides for the little that he does. Ghost wishes he could just make the janitor feel better, that he could just hold them in his arms and make it all better. But he can't. So instead he'll continue to moderate and care for Dust Mite until they're feeling better. And he'll be there to do it all over again when this eventually happens again.

[camellcat]

"cordelia could you please drive me home?" "of course" OF COURSE she replies to buffy, softly, without hesitation. even if she goes right back to harping on about the world ending, of course she'll help buffy. head in my fucking hands