#Speedran everything going to shit

[eyes0fthev0id]

Forsakenstuck: lore pt.2

this is about 007n7, or as he’s known in this au as Zevens and what happened to his eyes

So to start let me give some context about zeven. He’s still very much a hacker in this au, though now he’s also a powerful psionic. Well, he was. He wasn’t like the captors we see in HS but he was a force to be reckoned with. When he was put in forsaken the specter had to nerf him because Zevens was pretty strong and the rounds would be no fun. He could just, fling the killer away. So they let him keep some of gui.

Zeven did still have the ability to use psionics but using them would hurt him significantly + it was just harder for him to even do anything useful with them. He could like zap the killer but it would do like 1 damage.

Now onto the story…

::3

So basically it was a really bad round, but somehow Elliot and Zevens are the two last trolls. Elliot it very low and is gonna die if he gets hit once more time. Zevens can’t really do anything to help him. He could body block but the killer is definitely gonna try and kill Elliot no matter what. Also it doesn’t really matter who the killer is here, anyone but Coolio (c00lkidd). So uh, lets say its Johnny boy. Im not calling him that- im just gonna say john doe 4 now

John doe just killed off the last stunner they had leaving the two defense. Zevens feels terrible, feels useless. In his head he’s thinking that Elliot already doesn’t like him, he’ll probably dislike him more if Zevens just lets him die. He cant stand it, he’s changed, he can do good! He can prove it!

As John doe run towards Elliot Zevens gets a risky idea. He’s gonna use his psionics to fling John away. Thats easier said than done. Because of the shit ass nerf the act of throwing a troll feels like throwing a mountain. But thats not gonna stop Zevens.

He uses all his strength, and lifts john doe up. His eyes are starting to burn but he doesn’t care. He needs to protect his teammate!!1!11! With everything he has he throws john away in a burst of energy. John guy goes crashing into a wall halfway across the entire map, knocking him out for a while.

Elliot is like “woah…you saved me…” before freaking out when Zevens starts screaming in pain. Starts bleeding from his eyes or something. Think of how Sollux looked when he was moving the meteor.

The round ends before john can lock back in, Elliot and Zevens spawn back in the lobby but his eyes are still burning and he feels like he got him by a truck. Thankfully he’s not bleeding from them as the specter kinda speedran the healing process for him (thankfully). So those cracks along his face are scars and all. He’s now officially blind from this point on.

Now Zevens metaphorically blew his internal fuse, and should have gotten voidrot and probably would have died from it shortly after, but the spectre has different plans for him. They keep him alive but make him blind aswell as always slightly tired, cold, and weak as punishment. Well, more tired, cold, and weak than usual. He broke the rules of what he’s supposed to do. You break the game you face the consequences.

This punishment kinda backfires on the spectra though. Because he can’t rely on vision anymore he starts to use his other senses + his memory more. Basically he starts to pick up on killers coming before the others. He memorizes where they can spawn in each map. He starts to pick up on how many hits a troll can take before they die. All that stuff. The spectra accidentally helps Zevens into his roll as a seer of doom. Oops.

(Dont listen the last gif, instead go to the designated forsakenstuck ask blog)

[inoreuct]

zosan with abba's super trouper.

is this essentially a pop star au? yes. bear with me anyway.

so the entire vinsmoke family are pop stars and they're perfect in the public eye but actually toxic as HELL, and sanji's sick and tired of it— so he breaks away from them and joins another agency, and zoro's assigned as his bodyguard.

they fight SO MUCH at first. i'm talking screaming and yelling and throwing things across the room (mostly sanji) and being stubborn and straight-up refusing to talk after a certain point (also mostly sanji) and then apologising with food and gifts and not words (mostly, well, both of them). they're like flint and steel; putting them together is just asking for trouble, but the years pass, and somehow through the endless bickering they end up best friends. who would've thought? their sharp edges have softened just enough and they're both too old and too tired and too busy to have cold wars anymore. they know more about each other than perhaps anyone else, and they care.

(they're also both in love and refuse to admit it. idiots.)

and then sanji goes on tour, and zoro has to leave for a training refresher course thing, and sanji's MISERABLE. luffy's with him as a bodyguard instead and it's fine, he's great, sanji loves him— just not the way he loves zoro. he feels fucking homesick in a way he never has because he's never really had a proper home and he knows, he knows it's because zoro isn't here with him. sanji turns around to tell him something and is met with empty air. he keeps trying to order double portions of food and booze before he catches himself and maybe he's being dramatic, but it feels like he's missing a fucking limb.

nami, his manager, has to yell at him to stop moping because all he's doing is eating chocolate and binging french soap operas in his hotel room and huddling up in the big leather jacket that zoro left behind. he just wants to get back to his tiny apartment and curl up on his shitty couch to eat pizza and watch Mean Girls for the hundredth time as zoro complains and gets invested in the drama all over again anyway.

he's nearly dead on his feet as finishes yet another exhausting show, trying to take comfort in the fact that it's his second last; his shoes are kicked off to the corner, his makeup barely removed, and just when he's about to turn in for the night his phone rings and when he sees the caller ID he SCRAMBLES to pick up.

"hey," zoro says, low and rumbly and so achingly familiar that sanji doesn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"you have no idea how good it is to hear your voice," he breathes, and he means it. he means it more than he even knew he did and it hits him all at once as soon as the words leave his mouth. he misses his best friend, no matter everything else that zoro is to him.

zoro's chuckle is a balm to his soul. "i'm coming to see you tomorrow."

sanji sits bolt upright from where he'd been laid back against the pillows, eyes going wide. "are you serious?" he can't help the hope and excitement that unspools in his gut, the warm rush in his blood as zoro laughs.

"yeah. i'm done with the course. speedran the fucking thing and scored so well they had no choice but to let me go. couldn't miss the last chance i had to see you on tour, could i?" sanji can hear his grin through the phone. "i'm flying in tomorrow morning."

"i'll come pick you up from the airport."

"like hell you will," zoro retorts immediately. "you have a press conference at ten."

shit, he'd forgotten about that. "how'd you know, huh?" sanji counters, faux-petty and reclining back against his plush bedding. god, if there was one good thing about being on tour, it was the fancy hotels.

"been talking to nami," comes the reply, amused and teasing, and sanji groans. "what's this i hear about you acting like a widowed husband?"

"you fucking wish, you moron," he snaps, curling up on his side and hugging a pillow to his chest. the bed is awfully big and awfully cold.

zoro sighs, and there's the sound of something zipping up briskly. "missed you too, curls. look, listen— i gotta get to the airport. see you tomorrow night?"

"...yeah," sanji says, because there's so much he wants to tell zoro and no idea how. he doesn't know where he'd start. he doesn't even know what he wants to say. "yeah, i'll see you. you'll be in the crowd, right?"

"mhm," zoro confirms, accompanied by what sounds like the chirp of an electronic lock. "you just sit tight, curly. i'm coming home."

they exchange a few more words before the line cuts off, but sanji's mind is stuck on three specific words and the possible space for three more after. i'm coming home. but he isn't home right now; he's in a foreign country, in a bed that isn't his, and zoro's flying to him. this isn't home to either of them. unless... and that silence afterwards, like zoro had wanted to say something that would have fit right in. something that would have been a natural end to that string of syllables.

sanji takes a deep breath and does his best to push all thoughts of i love you, spoken or not, to the back of his mind.

still, he can't help but let it all boost him up like a buoy bobbing merrily on the sea. one call from zoro, one short conversation, and he's fucking effervescent; he wakes up smiling and breezes through the press conference with effortless charm. he's bouncing on the toes of his heeled boots even before he steps onto the stage, thrilled by the thought of zoro being in the audience. thousands of eyes on him, thousands of people screaming his name, and he only cares about one. he takes a deep breath as the lights change and the platform he's on begins to rise, fingers tightening around his mic. it's his last night here. he's doing it all for zoro.

it turns out to be the best performance of his life, if he does say so himself. he powers through the entire two hours with ease and hits every note perfectly. he enjoys himself for the first time in a long time, soaks up the glitter and glamour and blinding lights, lets the atmosphere wrap him up and tousle his hair, and he wonders just how it's possible that one person's presence could change so much.

(he doesn't need to wonder. he already knows.)

when he says his final goodbyes for the night he's breathless, heart pounding, anticipatory. the hands patting at his back in congratulation backstage are superficial compared to who he knows is here, and he spares nami a few seconds for a rare squeeze, pausing for a few more when she whispers i'm proud of you in his ear.

and then sanji sees him, and nothing, nothing else fucking matters.

he sprints forward and they crash together and something slams into place inside of him. zoro sweeps him off his feet, squeezing him tight enough that he laughs, bright and merry and real as they spin around and around and he's so dizzy when he's set back down, light-headed and his heart full. he doesn't care where he is, he's home.

zoro takes his weight as easily as anything, tucking sanji to his chest. "god, fuck, you were amazing up there," he says breathlessly, the words pressed into sanji's bejewelled hair. "you were incredible."

the words rumble through his chest and sanji clings tighter, holding zoro desperately around the waist and taking in deep lungfuls of laundry detergent and the fancy pine-and-sandalwood body wash he'd given zoro for christmas. "you're here."

"'course i am," zoro replies, matter-of-fact. "said i'd be here, so i'm here."

his earrings press against sanji's cheek. "can we go get pizza?" he asks meekly.

zoro's answering laugh pours into the horrible aching pit that's been gnawing away at him, fills it up with liquid sunlight as he answers, "we can do whatever the hell you want."

they get pizza. sanji lets zoro pull him around town swearing at the Google Maps on his phone before he finally takes pity and steers them towards the little pizzeria he'd found when he'd snuck out with luffy on their first night here. the tongue-lashing from nami had been worth it, but even so the experience back then had been dull. muted, at best.

now it's like he's seeing the whole world through a whole different lens; the fluorescent sign in the window beams charmingly as the bell above the door chimes, and sanji doesn't even care about the raised eyebrow zoro gives him when he wiggles into the booth seat with undisguised glee. between them they put away a large four-cheese pizza and a frankly massive slice of apple pie à la mode, and sanji's feeling pleasantly stuffed as he finishes up his vanilla milkshake and successfully fends zoro off from stealing sips when he isn't looking. he has plenty of experience with that, after all.

the walk back is filled with comfortable silence. sanji doesn't need anything else— zoro here with him is more than he could ask for. scary dog privilege aside, the man next to him is sanji's best friend, and he loves zoro more than he can, or will, ever say.

zoro drops him off at his room and hugs him goodnight. sanji strips down, blasts the shower as hot as it can go, and scrubs the gel out of his hair along with any of the remaining dregs of emptiness he resolutely tells himself are not there right down the drain.

it can't stop him from thinking, though. of zoro. of compression shirts and cargo pants and worn black boots. of the nights zoro had taught him self-defense and the time sanji nearly broken his jaw with a roundhouse kick neither of them had known he was capable of; the other had grinned up with him with blood all over his teeth, proud and raring to go, barking again! and sanji had glowed. his mind swims with it all even as he towels off and slips into his silk pyjamas— memories of late-night talks with wine and beer, sometimes tea, quips all around, beds shared back-to-back under unspoken agreements when neither of them wanted to sleep alone.

three knocks sound on his door.

sanji hates the way he rushes to the peephole and yanks it open as soon as he confirms who it is. zoro stands there, one hand on the back of his neck, looking bored yet unsettled in his baggy tee with his damp hair sticking up everywhere. "jetlag?" sanji asks, raising an eyebrow as zoro grunts.

"you could say that."

he steps aside in a silent invitation, and zoro looks around as he goes in. sanji topples onto the bed with a sigh of relief and crawls under the blankets, patting the space beside him as he switches on the television. "mean girls?"

"god, i fucking hate you," zoro groans, but he settles in anyways, and sanji grins triumphantly.

it's still not his apartment or his shitty couch— but zoro's here, so it's the next best thing.

they make it through the movie without incident. zoro parrots the dialogue and cheers when regina gets hit by the bus like he does without fail every time. sanji knees him in the thigh for it with a scowl like he always does and it starts a fierce kicking battle under the sheets that results in zoro dangling half off the mattress and sanji laughing so hard he can't breathe.

when they've mostly calmed down, sanji sighs out one final chuckle and sinks back into the pillows. "think you can fall asleep now?" he murmurs, turning to look at where zoro has his head propped in one hand.

"maybe," the other allows, and sanji swallows before he smiles.

"goodnight, marimo."

"goodnight."

the flick of the light switch feels like finality. in regards to what, sanji doesn't know, but now that they're in the darkness and zoro begins to get comfortable behind him he cannot deny that he wants.

he wants those arms around him. wants to sleep even better than he does when they're back to back, wants to fit within the circle of zoro's embrace like he belongs there. wants to belong there. wants zoro as his best friend and everything more. it manifests as a tight ache in the centre of his chest, a knot around his heart that he knows he cannot untangle by himself. sanji curls up into a ball and hugs a pillow to his chest, biting his lip— because zoro is right next to him instead of thousands of miles away, and he's still untouchable all the same.

he's on the cusp of restless sleep when he feels zoro shift, and he prays that the hitch in his breath is unnoticeable. he forces the rise and fall of his chest to stay even as the blankets are smoothed securely around his shoulders, a callused palm brushing his hair away from his face; a soft kiss is pressed to his forehead, a hand cupping his face tenderly and trailing away with the brush of a thumb over his cheekbone. "sweet dreams, curls," zoro whispers, before light cracks in from the hallway as his room door opens and shuts.

the electronic lock beeps, and sanji's eyes fly open. the white ceiling swims as he stares at it, unseeing, and the sheets on the right side of the bed are still warm. there's an indent where zoro's body was and sanji gasps as he drags himself into it, huddling down and pulling the covers over his head until all he can smell is zoro.

his heart stutters, mind racing, fingers tightening in the plush duvet. he's confused, so confused. hopeful. a little mad, if he's being honest, and his next breath trembles out of his lungs. mostly still confused, though, because what the fuck did that mean?

he'll find out, he swears. he will. he'll storm his way to zoro's room and break the damn door down if he has to. but for now, if he hides for a little while until he stops feeling like he's about to cry—

well, that's a secret for his hotel room to keep.

[startagainaprologue]

yknow, i was curious about something in yalls isat ageswap au. how…. soon after siffrin losing all their memories/country/language…. is this taking place. i’m sorry but the image of siffrin forgetting everything and then immediately coming to vaugarde right before it freezes is like. haunting but in a deeply hilariously ironic way

(also— did loop’s wish go slightly differently? like, wishing for help/an adult/someone to take the responsibility from them/??? which explains why bonnie’s the one looping the second time around? also, damn, loop must have… interesting thoughts on going through sasasap shit and then siffrin just… not)

UH not suure on the.exact time frame but.the island disappearing -> king doing the country freezing time gap is !!! a lot smaller for obvious reasons (if ..it followed the same timeframe im not even sure if siffrin wouldve been born by then). but PRETTY MUCH.. gets to spend a bit of time in vaugarde and then uh oh. the king speedran that shit

also!!! uhh.. i BELIEVE its preetty? much the same wish as canon. just ended up affecting bonnie instead,making them make a specific wish that ends up with them in the loops instead. idk the universe just said ok i think an adult needs to help here.there is only one adult.damn.

[preciouslittle-bhaalbabe]

I like how you said you'll be lax about Esmes playthrough and yet you somehow speedran half of act 1 in 5 hours lmao

I have no idea how I did it either. I literally blacked out into hyperfocus and then suddenly Esmes fucking Astarion and Halsins telling us to go into the Underdark. I need Esme to be in act III. I've been trying to get her there for months now and I'm at the point where I don't give a shit about anything else. I'm skipping cutscenes and speeding through everything that isn't Esme getting to the city.

[gwaaaaar]

MazM Metamorphosis thoughts

mazm look away im gonna be saying some shit.

SO. I haven't finished the game yet unlike hns which i speedran in 3 days oops. But im getting through it when i do remember.

For starters let's do some positives. I know I'll be getting... pretty negative soon, so I'll at least be nice at first.

Good art! This is one of the first MazM games which maha and crack haven't worked on. I MISS THEM!!! But the new artist, martin isn't half bad at all! I think their art is super charming. They have good shapes and expressions. Something really cool MazM did with the art style was having the metamorphosis episodes translate the irl characters into a sketchier art style to illustrate the fact that its a story. Its really creative and brings some uniqueness to it. The cg cards are in a goregous messy sketchy style thatnreally shows the turmoil in Kafkas heart I love it so much. So not lacking in that department.

Nowwww I don't know how much I can judge historical fiction/rpf. I always function under a basis of as long as its respectful (especially considering it's Kafka... poor dude went through a lot) that it's fine. So far I think its quite alright. The portrayal of emotional abuse is really chilling. Honestly scared the shit outta me... good writing. Ill come back later to this once I'm done.

Nowwwww for my negatives...

You can tell mazm lost half their employees . Adyu (the animator) left the team in janurary. They did all the chibi sprites and live 2d rigging in previous games so all the characters movements are bc of them. If they don't have an animator they can't do the chibi world things they did in previous games. People complained abt mazm games lack of gameplay before but this takes it to a new level. They made do with what they had in a visual novel format but I just don't think it's as engaging as what they had before. Especially considering the fact that we don't have diverging options. Lessa Checkmate is in a similar format but I recall they mentioned it had multiple endings and alternate forms of gameplay involving chess iirc. Which is a fair compromise. But here it just feels a bit empty without extra gameplay. Like. It's ridiculous seeing the Kafka sprite just lie in bed or have a desk in front of him thats like a wide piece of wood. Theyre not animated properly like the Hyde and Seek live 2d. Which is a damn shame! Martin did such a wonderful job on the art and it should have been brought to life by good animations.

I understand MazMs going through reforms and shit rn, but we had it good with jnh/poto/pechka that was PEAK. HNS/pechka was actually on top and while Thy Creature lacked in plot, everything else is really incredibly like the lore and worldbuilding and the characters. If MazM works on dracula, id rather it be a thy creature than a metamorphosis.

[wolfawaycamp]

What is the one thing that Jacob would never, not ever, in a million years, put his dick in?

Crack answers appreciated. Serious answers not expected.

🌦️here you go… as a commemoration of the reveal ™ I speedran writing this it feels., so my bad if it reflects in the quality🙏

After hearing Jacob wax poetic about the Dune popcorn bucket among many, many other things, Nick was ready to gag. They’d had a few drinks and Jacob had gone a little crazy again. “Dude, I think it would be easier to hear what you wouldn’t put your dick in.”

Jacob went quiet and got a very pensive look on his face.

“I was kidding.”

Jacob didn’t stop visibly thinking. It was taking him concerningly long. Eventually, he announced: “I wouldn’t put it in a beartrap! Or a blender!”

“...I sure hope not. You can’t just name things that would like… physically… harm you.”

Jacob was silent again. Nick reluctantly took a bite of his apple, trying not to think about the manner in which Jacob would probably find a way to violate it. The show they were watching went unnoticed in the background, laugh track melding into white noise. Jacob finally said, “You go!”

“Um, a lot of things? I’m not like you.”

“Dude, come on, just give me some ideas,” Jacob said, batting his eyelashes theatrically— a mannerism he had somehow picked up from Emma.

Mind still kind of lingering on the fruit thing, Nick responded, “Uh, I dunno, a durian? It would smell really bad.”

Jacob shrugged. “It’s not that bad. You could just plug your nose.”

“But why!” Nick said, shuddering. “Ugh, a McDonald’s apple pie? Too sticky.”

He watched his friend consider it for barely a moment. “You could just use a condom if that’s the problem, man.”

Nick threw his hands in the air because Jacob was really trying to justify literally everything. He had to change tactics. “Fine, Emma. I’d never hear the last of it from you.”

Jacob looked like he had a sudden epiphany. “Kaitlyn!”

Kaitlyn? Jacob’s limit was a woman he got along with well and not a metal water bottle? “Wait, really? Didn’t you— um— say she was hot?”

“That’s not why,” Jacob said and turned his attention to the show, which was weird because it was something they had pretty much chosen to ignore and Jacob had been elaborating on random shit for a while.

Nick hated that he was now the one encouraging Jacob’s shit, but he still asked, “Uh, why not, then?”

Jacob grabbed Nick by the shoulder, looking him intensely in the eyes. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

Nick gaped at him. Since when was this a thing? “What? Why would that—”

Jacob put his finger over Nick’s lips and shushed him. Nick froze awkwardly until Jacob finally backed up, which took too long. Jacob changed the topic with a: “More beer?”

“Okay, but you still need to explain— is she that bad?” Nick couldn’t help but be morbidly curious. Surely Jacob was trying to intrigue him, because why else would he be acting like this?

After Jacob was thoroughly wasted, and Nick was too, Jacob finally explained, in a garbled mess of word salad, what he meant by that. Nick hadn’t wanted to know Kaitlyn’s detailed sexual preferences which heavily featured strap-ons but it was unlikely that either of them would really remember this part of the conversation in the morning, anyways.

If Kaitlyn found out they were talking about this, Jacob would probably be unable to stick his dick in anything ever again because it would be gone.

[neospokenworld]

FALL ANIME 2024 FINAL THOUGHTS

Happy Holidays everyone! here I am once again with my final thoughts of the anime from the fall season I watched, and this time we have a total of... 2 anime total that I finished this season lol, not gonna make a section with the ones I dropped since both of them I only saw one episode so without further ado, let's start!

UZUMAKI

This one is extremely lucky it was only 4 episodes long tbh, that was the only reason I finished it lol.

Now don't get me wrong, episode 1 still holds as probably one of the best examples of horror in anime out there with how creepy and unnerving it was, sadly everything went to absolute shit on the 2nd episode and never recovered. The animation quality dropped A LOT in that episode and with that the horror factor was pretty much gone for at least half of the episode (the 2nd half was kinda good tbh) and the 3rd episode was, while with a kinda decent 1st half with the hospital, the rest of it was just so incredibly rushed that I ended up finishing that one in confusion 'cause nothing makes sense, and also frustration because that was the culmination for me that the show wouldn't be as good as it's first episode and that was just... Disappointing to see tbh.

Episode 4 however, wasn't as bad as the other two episodes, it had a better pacing and decent animation, the horror was completely gone but it had a kind of nice suspense towards the end. I'm not gonna blame any animator and whatnot since from what I heard it's production was kinda fucked after episode one, but it's still sad to see how the anime started with such a banger first episode and then just speedran it's way into mediocrity, only to be remembered as yet another failed attempt of adapting Junji Ito's work.

First episode was extremely good tho, just don't watch the rest of the series and go read the manga instead.

DANDADAN

And now for the polar opposite

Without a doubt, my favorite anime this year. I'm not gonna say that I was waiting for a very long time to finally watch this because I only read the manga like 2 months before the anime released, but those 2 months had such an intense hype that the show delivered to Per. Fec. Tion.

It literally felt like reading the manga once again for the first time, animation was extremely on point; the coloring which was the main thing that worried me the most was spectacular (The fight vs Shrimp and the Serpos felt kinda weird in trailers but it was amazing in the show); the voice action was a masterpiece in the 3 languages I saw clips of; the soundtrack was amazing too... Honestly it managed to make me tear up in EP4 with how good it was being, it was like all my worries that I could have at that moment regarding the adaptation vanished as soon as I saw the scene with the 'William Hell Overture' song started playing (there were almost entirely gone at that point tbh)

I know everyone has talked about episode 7 to death but lemme just say that it might be my favorite episode out of any anime this year, just when I thought that nothing could beat the final episodes of the Tokyo Blade arc in Oshi no Ko this one just went in without any breaks to depression town lol (I cried so hard watching it...) easily my favorite episode of the show alongside episode which btw, I would say it captures the escence of Dandadan perfectly with the action, humor and everything, only thing missing was a sad backstory to make it summarize the entire series in one episode lol

Only issue? they took the 'My balls are gone' panel lol, but that's just extreme nitpicking from me, the entire anime was a banger from start to finish and I can't wait to see how they adapt the cursed house arc in 7 months (from what was seen it's gonna be goated too)

and that was the year!! ended up watching quite a bit in the middle of the year and fell down near the end but still a lot of good anime altogether, gonna put my top 10 favorite (not best, favorite) anime that aired this year down below, hope y'all enjoyed reading this!

Dandadan

Girls Band Cry

Mahou Shoujo ni Akogarete

Oshi no Ko S2

Sousou no Frieren

Vtuber Legend

The Apothecary Diaries

Shy S2

Shuumatsu Train Doko e Iku?

Shikanoko Nokonoko Koshitantan

[maedaeme]

ironing out quinne & companions

neve: complicated. took to her immediately and started to develop feelings (tm) until he saw the aftermath of choosing Treviso and knew things were not going to be the same. still the companion he's closest to outside of the obvious, but it takes time and there's always kind of a wall they both put up, even when it's considered resolved.

harding: fine as friends, bad coworkers. disagrees with his way of doing things most of the time and either never mentions it or snaps in the heat of the moment. he does not handle it well. trust builds there after a bit but it takes a really, really long time.

lucanis: they are both holding the basic needs of the entire lighthouse together by a thread. occasionally bicker over which groceries the lighthouse needs more and/or how many vegetables actually need to be involved in a meal. quinne likes him. a lot. he likes spite too, eventually.

bellara: finally someone who actually explains when he goes 'what the hell is that' for the 20th time today, even if he rarely fully understands what she means. she excitedly tries to get him to embrace magic and then awkwardly apologizes once it clicks that he just... doesn't like it. they're both significantly closer after endgame but that's another post.

taash: they're cool but the intense pressure he puts on himself to Pretend He Understands Everything Gender and Parents when he has so much personal baggage prevents them from getting very close. takes everything bad that happens to them REALLY personally and is really good at hiding it until he isn't.

emmerich: awkward at first for a thousand reasons. much less awkward after a dozen battles and a handful of conversations about mortality. mentally goes 'emmerich is not going to like this' right before solving a problem with punching.

davrin: the only person quinne would flat out tell 'shit's bad and i don't think I'm making the right choice' even before romance got involved. they kind of speedran the trust process due to both being wardens trying really hard to do their jobs and fell facefirst into 'oh wait I really like killing time with you' and it was both very simple and very complicated from there

[closetsof-backlogged-dreams]

what are ur feelings on the execution of the magic reveal??

ok so i have manymanyMANY feelings on in which ill try to wrap up as cleanly as possible so lets just get into it

the way they like speedran the magic reveal??

to paint you a picture: i was super impatient when i first started the series lmao, and so i had watched maybe 4-5 episodes of the first season when i googled "when does arthur find out about merlin's magic"💀💀 i ended up getting the wrong answer because im stupid as shit so i was just surprised as everyone else when it ACTUALLY happened, but thats besides the point.

the point? this was a SUPER important plot point. everyone was waiting on the edge of their seat, every single episode, for merlin to finally pop arthur's bubble and reveal his magic. but five seasons passed, and we didn't get it until the last episode?? are you kidding me?? and because we only got it on the last episode, where arthur was dying, arthur was robbed of any true explanations or declarations or apologies like he—we—deserved. instead, arthur's reaction to it was brief and just not enough. he was disbelieving, then shocked, then angry, then sad, then accepting, all within what, like a day and a half? forty minutes of screen time? im sorry, after spending around 46 hours watching this series and waiting for the magic reveal, that just doesn't cut it.

2. we have to admit, the magic reveal in the last episode felt so NATURAL

sometimes i really struggle to hate the magic reveal, because no one can deny how perfectly everything fell into place. he got trapped in the cave, his father spoke to him, he escaped the cave and transformed himself into that old guy, he single-handedly wiped out the Saxons, arthur was struck, merlin found him and carried him away from the battlefield, merlin turns back into merlin, and then the fucking "I defeated the Saxons. The dragon, and yet— and yet I knew it was Mordred that I must stop." / "The person who defeated them was the sorcerer." / "It was me." / "Don't be ridiculous, Merlin. This is stupid. Wh—why would you say that?" / "I'm—I'm a sorcerer. I have magic. And I use it for you, Arthur. Only for you." (Your welcome for that, day after Christmas<3)

like, you CANNOT TELL ME that doesn't flow perfectly!! that everything that happened in that episode didn't flow perfectly!! the magic reveal was always going to be impossibly difficult to get right, but they got it right in the finale!! that is one thing i will always give the writers—I may have not liked the circumstances of the magic reveal, but the magic reveal itself was beautifully executed.

3. too little, too late

i read an article recently that really pointed this out, and while i disagree with most of what they said in the article, i agree with one thing: the ending was so, so unsatisfying. the magic reveal was so, so unsatisfying. what was the point of him even revealing his magic? the magic reveal was great, sure, but nothing actually came out of it. oh, for the next 24-48 hours of life, arthur can accept him!! but that's it.

there's the implication that gwen will legalize magic after the series, but merlin and gwen don't even get a final scene together! all in all, the magic reveal just wasn't enough. we ended so much more time for arthur to sort out his feelings, for there to be good days and bad days, to watch them relearn trust and love again. we deserved that kind of ending. we deserved the magic reveal to be in, imo, The Death Song of Uther Pendragon, or s5e3. give them an entire season to get through everything. you can still kill arthur!! but let them have that animosity. if anything, have them start out those last two battles on bad terms. let the travel to the lake be them relearning trust and love. let that be the emotional baggage they have to unpack in the finale.

just overall, do anything except what you actually did lmao.

alright!! i think those are the main three points? i think that wrapped everything up pretty nicely, so ty sm for the ask!! these are always the highlight of my month lol.

[mekatrio]

briefly pausing my kagepro ramblings to say that it was rly fucking insane how passionate i was about miles morales for like 2-ish months like i fucking speedran that shit... read 200 maybe even 300 of his issues, and now i almost feel next to nothing for spiderman. like dont get me wrong i love my boy forever but like my love for him was so strong that it made me capable of bearing the wasteland that is modern american superhero comics for him. like only god knows how much i deeply, deeply detest modern american superhero comics. like that shit is the death of all narratives served with a generous helping of racism and sexism and american nationalism like..... this is so mean but i honestly believe that its one of the worst forms of medias out there omg. like thats how much i loved miles morales that i was able to put up with that for 2-ish months. and like thats how much i enjoyed ATSV and wanted to deeply understand it that i put myself thru all that HAH

and im still gonna play insomniac's miles morales at some point tho cuz pirating it was a total pain in the ass so im not letting that effort go to waste. but basically what i want to say is that im never finishing that stupidly insanely long prowler essay i had planned like i connected all the dots and everything...... but i simply no longer have the passion for american superheros anymore. its like a candle burnt out. but bc i put so much effort in planning it i want to put some of the messy messy draft of it on my blog at the very least:

[valleygirlmukuroikusaba]

im scrutinizing my own au for a second bc i think i just wanna ramble abt this .

like ik the og idea of v3 being broken and speedran by simply having rantaro not die with the everything is justttt a game whatever

was like very much a cool idea on paper but the more i think abt it. the belief systems are in the way of anyone’s actual improvement . cooperation doesn’t actually solve it right?

bc putting in the work to improve isn’t. exactly what ppl need esp when the system relies on the dehumanization of ppl who do impressive things that ended up depressed as fuck right

like ppl still pursue whatever they like ok but ryoma, kirumi, miu and himiko need to be accommodated.

being a workaholic isn’t healthy.

being so used to a prison setting to the point of only wishing to provide relief to other people and not yourself is also unhealthy.

himiko already puts in so much work and yet she ends up being hostile to kokichi

bc like ik kokichi was being annoying as shit but also himiko still has miles to go

and himiko still cares abt respect and wants to keep her pedestal mentality of being a magical mage who is pretending of being a magician which is something that is more of a compulsion than a message

she could be using her art and influence to send a message but she doesn’t she just wants to provide relief

when everyone else is capable of sending a message via their art.

himiko’s thing is just straight up entertainment. there is no purpose. it’s what inspired himiko to get over her depression sure.

but like it’s as effective as miu and kirumi’s coping mechanism but instead it’s a large scale tool bc of her influence to keep everyone entertained and distracted from the fact that uh everyone in a shitty system.

system bad my point is this

but everyone fucking relies on the system .

this isn’t a real fucking competition it’s a . do anything the system will punish u for and ur toast bc like.

what the shit. and shuichi is taking full advantage of it regardless if he is aware of systemic bullshit go boom.

shuichi also relies on a system to assess what’s going on and propagates it towards everyone else who’s willing to agree with him

the logic shuichi uses to suggest to other ppl that the truth shuichi wants to find is more important than literally anything else.

ok that’s unfair to literally everyone why the hell does he get away with coming up with the reinforced belief of tsumugi framed kaede when there’s actually 0 proof of that

when kaede just straight up also believed in the narrative she killed rantaro and then surrendered bc she really just took it at face value.

stop making up narratives abt randos u know little to nothing abt to justify using a system to play unfair games booooo

kaede could have gotten so close to getting even the bravery to challenge the system but .

kaede still has her way of rejecting ppl or facing discomfort like how she doesn’t quite understand angie. or empathize with korekiyo .

kaede faces overcoming fear. discomfort or strangeness isn’t something kaede quite gets.

kokichi is more familiar with handling discomfort but he can’t overcome his fear of earnestness

(tsumugi has a fear of rejection/tenko is insecure but that’s beside the point)

they both try to make moves on people not challenging a fucking system

they still both take the system for granted bc if that wasn’t the case then they wouldn’t be stuck to their positions.

leadership is a systemic position of power that means kokichi is obligated to feel responsible. kokichi just will put a new system on top of the old system

that doesn’t. change anything ofc he is more kinder abt it but these ppl aren’t here to play games they want to remain static and the system keeps them in place pushing them out of line will actually probably make things worse

tsumugi might be vaguely familiar with what the issues caused by a system are. but unsure if she pins the blame on people or is acutely aware it’s systemic bs that’s fucking her over

fear of rejection is very much a. systemic use of approval of standards or whatever tsumugi’s idea sucked ass but if she takes the system for granted then she’ll obviously pin the blame on like idk. shitty co-workers LMAOO

ig tsumugi is aware of that much and she conforms anyways bc she is aware she will get rejected bc she doesn’t match the standards but that’s also what kind of defines her position in a system.

she’s gotten this far and she obviously doesn’t want to give it up. so uhm probably not here to challenge the system .

and simply rantaro telling everyone to help him find a way to leave won’t destroy the fucking system it’s engrained into their fucking brains.

these ppl are overworked and having a fun time with a fun competition isn’t gonna work in v3 in a like. they believe working is the standard . working in the disguise of fun doesn’t help.

they’ll just provide what their niche contributes. they are contributing to a system for the privilege of their position or material possessions like korekiyo’s hoarding problem idk

they need to challenge their beliefs and figure out what the hell a system is and acknowledge that the situation is ass and they’re being affected by shitty working conditions and process like. everything

. and that they should all put their energy into idk making a big SOS message . not start a speedrun bc idk if anyone has that kind of energy esp not in v3

yeah disbelieving the narrative is something i can do as someone who has opinions on v3 but worldbuilding wise uhmmmm everyone is so fucked.

unfair competition that no one wants to play isn’t funnnn

and this is why TeSIIIS is gonna be 100% not focused on canon anymore bc it doesn’t hold up really. everyone’s too busy in v3.

busy bc of the belief that being busy is what they should do and defining themselves off of that. which sucks ASS not a real competition.

leave competition to games not systems . competition should be FUN i want ppl to fight for realsies but like in a we totally wanted to win for fun way and not.

fighting for values or control or respect or whatever. it’s overrated . tho i love the worldbuilding still and i like how badly designed it is so ill still work on my au just wanted to do a lore overhaul

and idk TeSIIIS deserves its own universe with its own lore and i want it to specifically just be abt shitty game design with gamers in mind bc i don’t want to twist what v3 is actually abt . ok yeah

[top10bigchungus]

found (and by found i mean was painfully reminded of bc of school (i regret a lot)) some older (over a year hitting 2 years in september) drawings i made for school (dont mind how bad it looks)

so i might redisign (their outfits probs i quite like their base designs) them but for now you get the deep deep lore of their creation because its lowkey funny

so since i was going to a new school for creative shit, we had like a summer project to do for some reason, and we had the whole summer to do it

my ass was like no so i didnt do shit the entire summer, which leads us to the last week before school

i finally look at what we had to do and it was to make a peice of concept art. of what? who fucking knows of anything, and i didnt know what to do cuz it was so vague, so i say fuck it and decided to do a group of fruit girls, except that idea died at the fourth girl who was gonna be blueberries but i just said nah and made her a wolf for some reason

so i leave everything to the last 2 days before school, tomato girl (first one) was done on the first day (2 days before school) and originally i was gonna like sit down andmake unique outfits n shit but i got to the end of the day and was like no shit. day 2 (day before school) i drew the rest which is why the quality decreased. i speedran that shit so fast

anyways so now its school and we have to present these to the class. my ass was going autismo anxiety mode and begged to not show it off, so i had to showcase it privately to the teacher, goes well enough, he asks me to send it to him, so i did

this man then sends my shittier work to be displayed around the school, which i didnt know until a good few months later, without my permission, with my name completely fucking squandered (i got that slavic name they made it normal white name ToT (like i hate my name and id rather be called p much anything else but if ur gonna use my name at least do me the common decency of spelling it correctly)) and to this day my shit tier work is still used in the showreel for the course for open days like. my brother in christ.

anyways moral of the story is i still dont like the fact that i cant even be asked whether i want my own works to be used in shit by the teachers and its lead me to essentially hide myself on the showcase days (im not even planning to go to mine this year theyre getting a straight no and im not bargaining )

sorry t=for the long rant story its both funny and deeply pisses me off

[luv-beam]

IM BAAAACK!!! i was gonna save this as my bedtime story, but then i realized i can't stay up tonight 😭 but all the better for me bc i get to read this little masterpiece early 😌:

• when you don't just have a feeling that today isn't going to go well, but it's DESTINED not to go well... good lord time to panic! also the description of the dress is so pretty rah like the quiet dignity and refinement over opulence, rhe soft rustling of the skirts,, u can really feel the vibe of the family thru this and also the tension w the fact that yn feels everything BUT perfect

• WHISPERING THAT A LADY'S VIRTUE LIES IN RESTRAINT OHHHHHH U CANT DO THIS TO ME NOT WHEN YN LITERALLY IS LIKE RESTRAINING HERSELF FROM HER OWN DESIRES THIS WHOLE FIC U CANT

• fun fact but corsets were never meant to be suffocatingly tight; its kind of just a modern stereotype, but im not mentioning this to diss ur writing or anything !!! 😭😭 i think the tightness of the corset and yns lack of room to breathe is a really important symbol that lends to how she's really feeling. like the physical connecting to the emotional

• okay another comment abt ur imagery bc ur descriptions of the palace are utterly breathtaking 🤧 like White Room Syndrome is scared of u, tara

• i know whats gonna happen, but like the tension and suspense u create is enough to have anyone on the edge of their seats!! like u dont need future sight to be anxious abt what's gonna happen. like will yn get out of this scot-free or will something horrible happen?

• "you are a xu, do not falter" ugh all the pressure and expectations yn is burdening herself w just continue to distress and weigh her down further...

• GIVE THIS GIRL A HUG 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

• i hate that i like,,, get their mother's argument. like im on yn and hao's side fs but also... idk i think she just had sm going on and like mental struggles can be just as harmful as physical ones. im glad hao is so compassionate, and that her mother does have some sympathy for her daughter

• (but i know what comes next 😭😭😭😭😭)

• "a splendid display of athleticism" PLS IM GONNA SNORT SKFNDKFNFNF seokmin does have a knack for brightening the room :'))) even i was trying to mope w our mc, but then that line made me break lol

• HOPE CAN BE A SLIPPERY CREATURE YES WE KNOW .

• TARA U WANT ME TO CRY DONT U (´Д⊂ヽ NOT IN THE WAY U LONG FOR?? THE CHASM BTWN UR FEELINGS AND HIS INDIFFERENCE???? EEEUUUGHHHH!!!

• i hate how supportive seok is being, like hope truly is a slippery creature. i feel like me and the mc both r getting strung along goddamn......

• love the details of the lady's tea and the garden party — great worldbuilding details to get me even more immersed

• AWWWH THE NEW DRESS, HER MAMA'S ADORATION FOR HER UGH 😭😭😭 i hate knowing the future. besides that, love the imagery of the dress like i can piece it together in my mind as if im sketching it out!! its so pretty :')) def befitting of a princess

• such a "slipping thru my fingers" moment 🤧🤧 like it's so starkly different from the time yn was getting ready for the debut presentation where she was just worried and freaking out; now she and her mom are /laughing/ and tho there r expectations, this will undoubtedly ease a couple of those worries

• oh the the anticipation is killing me — and then the ball is positively dismal >~<

• I WAS WAITING FOR SEOK TO FINALLY COME BY AND OFFER A DANCE LIKE UR YNS BESTIE COME HERE AND GIVE HER A HAND BY ASKING FOR HER HAND WINK WINK

• the mamas leading an army line is so funny lol and who said women cant fight??

• BRUH i just speedran five different emotions like HOLY SHIT I LOVE SEOK > holy shit. does he love yn back? > holy shit this hurts > holy... shit... > oh fck. like the immediate realization that snaps into place when u out two and two together. i wanna say she's jumping to conclusions based on seok's initial surprise, but im also cynical like yn is being in this moment and yeah... idk

• OPEN HONEST DEVASTATING. TAKE A KNIFE THROUGH MY HEART ALREADY THE WAY THOSE THREE WORDS PUNCTURE MY CHEST

• the "how foolish of me" not only meant for the fact that she thought he'd gone into this w pure intentions, but also foolish of herself for believeing he actually wanted to dance w her, that she actually had a chance w him... oh i want to yeet myself off a cliff

• omg the argument btwn yn and hao... tensions were high, im afraid... like idk if chucking a shoe at his face was supposed to be funny but i feel yns fury and the angry tears like i know there were better ways to go abt this, but i am all for female rage!!!

• "the bitterness in ur chest is a wellspring of anguish" OHHHHHH 😭😭😭😭😭 oh 😭 like it's catching up to her now. also, just the fact that hope is so slippery and caused her to make her entire reputation crumble is just... someone give this girl a hug, she was not built for this

• YOU'VE TAKEN SOMETHING PRECIOUS FROM ME???? some might say its her dignity, her reputation, her agency,,,, but we all know what it really was... or who...... i love snarling female rage dialogue

• do u know the taylor swift "right where u left me"? yeah thats this whole next section 😭💔 baby just becomes a ghost who haunts the place she was abandoned and wronged

• THAT LAST LINE IS LIKE THE EXECUTIONER'S PULL ON THE PULLEY TO LET THE GUILLOTINE BLADE FLY. LIKE OH THE POWER OF A SINGLE LINE LIKE THAT

despite knowing what was gonna happen, it still hit so hard, or rather, EVEN HARDER this time 😭😭😭 like my mouth is pulled into a permanent frown skcnekfnjf IM SO SAD FOR HER LIKE I DONT MIND BEING A SPINSTER MYSELF, BUT THE EXPECTATIONS THAT COME W HER SOCIAL STATION WONT ALLOW HER TO BE 😭😭😭 she will forecer be haunted by her choises and foolishness and im so sad for her 😭😭😭 tara, u are a cruel (yet talented...) mistress 😭

i... will be back tmrw... 🥲👍

The Somerset Affair | Chapter 2: When the Music Stops

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 2 took forever // as always, ENORMOUS thanks to indi @wongyuseokie for this GORGEOUSSSS banner // and to my lovely betas shu @welcometomyoasis lou @tusswrites haneul @chanranghaeys this could not have happened without you // 3rd chapter will be up faster than this one i swear!!!

summary: when the music stops and everything goes wrong, will seokmin always be there to defend you?

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

The morning of your debut should have been perfect. Every detail had been painstakingly planned over months, from the delicate lace of your gown to the pearls in your hair. But as you sit in front of your vanity, eyes bloodshot and heavy with fatigue, you know deep in your bones that this day is not destined to go smoothly.

You had stayed up the entire night, restless, thinking about Seokmin. Every word he had said, every smile, every fleeting touch that had seemed so innocent before now felt charged with meaning, occupying your thoughts and stealing away any hope of restful sleep. The result was staring back at you in the mirror: bloodshot eyes, dark circles beneath them, and lips that trembled as your maid worked tirelessly to dress you. It’s a pity – no amount of powders or rouge can hide the exhaustion and heartbreak written plainly across your face.

The soft rustling of your white debutante gown fills the room, each movement whispering of elegance and careful tradition. The gown is a masterful creation, carefully chosen by your mother months ago to reflect the quiet dignity of your family’s name. Its bodice is fitted, meticulously embroidered with the finest ivory threads that weave delicate patterns of lilies and vines across the fabric, adding dimension without overpowering.

Around the neckline, a border of tiny pearls catches the morning light, giving the gown a subtle shimmer that, like everything else about it, speaks of refinement over opulence. The gown’s sleeves, long and sheer, are trimmed in lace as fine as a spider’s web, designed to lay gently against your skin rather than cling, as if even the gown itself recognizes the demands of decorum.

The skirts cascade from the waist in a perfect fall of lace and satin, layers upon layers of gossamer fabric that float with your every step. Each layer, though fragile to the touch, is artfully arranged to maintain the gown’s perfect shape, a testament to the skill of its makers and the patience it took to assemble. At the hem, more intricate lacework peeks out, creating a subtle scalloped edge that brushes softly against the floor, finishing the gown with a grace that echoes the restraint of your mother’s discerning eye.

You cannot deny that the gown itself is a marvel, designed to highlight and enhance rather than dominate. It is beautiful, in the way a rose is beautiful—with an elegance that feels both timeless and delicate, whispering that a lady’s virtue lies in restraint, in never asking to be noticed and yet never failing to command attention.

But the corset. Oh, the corset. It felt as though it were designed to squeeze the very life from you.

“Breathe in, my lady,” your maid instructs, her voice strained from the effort of pulling at the stiff fabric. She pulls at the stays until your ribs protest in pain.

“I can’t breathe in anymore,” you bite out, trying and failing to draw in a proper breath. The corset feels like it’s made of iron, constricting your lungs until your vision begins to blur. “It’s too tight. I— I can’t—”

But your lady’s maid is relentless, ignoring your protests as she cinches you even tighter. She ties the final knot with a satisfied sigh. “There. That should hold.”

Hold? It felt more like it was keeping you prisoner, you think grimly, but before you can voice any more complaints, your mother sweeps into the room, her graceful presence filling the space with a quiet authority. Dressed in an elegant gown of soft gray silk, she pauses to take in your appearance, her sharp eyes noting every detail.

Your mother’s eyes scan your dress approvingly, but when her gaze lands on your face, her expression falters. “Dearest, you look... unwell.”

Your heart sinks. “I didn’t sleep much last night,” you confess, eyes cast downward, though you don’t dare mention why. The last thing you need is your mother knowing Seokmin has occupied your thoughts in such a way.

Your mother sighs softly and moves to stand beside you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “This day is important, darling. I had hoped you would be well-rested, but...” She trails off, her tone not unkind, but laced with concern. “There is no time now to dwell on it. The Queen waits for no one.”

You nod, feeling a rush of guilt, knowing how much effort has gone into preparing you for this moment. But the weight of the corset and your sleepless night are conspiring to make you feel utterly overwhelmed. Your mother notices, of course. She always does.

“Try not to worry too much,” she says, her voice softening, though it still holds that undercurrent of expectation. “You must keep your chin high, shoulders back. No one need know what little sleep you had. You are beautiful, my dear, no matter the circumstances.”

Her words, though comforting, do little to ease the anxiety building in your chest. But there’s no time left. Your lady’s maid places the final pearl pins in your hair, and your mother gives you a reassuring squeeze before she gestures toward the door. “It’s time.”

Your nerves flutter violently as you’re escorted downstairs and into the awaiting carriage. The ride to the palace feels both endless and far too short. Every bump in the road jostles your already-tight corset, pressing against your ribs and leaving you breathless. The palace is as magnificent as you had heard—no, it’s more. The palace itself is a marvel of architecture, an opulent structure that seems more the work of fantasy than reality. Vaulted ceilings soar impossibly high, held aloft by marble columns adorned with delicate carvings of ivy and mythical creatures that seem to come to life in the flickering candlelight. Every archway is flanked by gilded moldings, winding and curling like golden vines, each detail rendered with the precision of a master sculptor.

Each corner, each angle of the palace seems to lead to something grander than the last, as if it were designed to swallow you whole in beauty. And perhaps it is, you think, as you press a hand over your fluttering heart. For despite the elegance, there is an undeniable sense of intimidation in the sheer scale of it all—a reminder of how small you are in the face of such a place, and of the scrutiny that awaits within these towering, timeworn walls.

You can feel the architecture itself imposing upon you, weighing down like the firm hand of tradition. For a fleeting moment, you imagine yourself wandering through the palace alone, exploring every column and arch, free of the hundreds of eyes upon you. But here, now, with the gaze of history and expectation pressing down, you straighten your shoulders, drawing in a steadying breath, and follow your Mama into the Great Hall. 

The hall is grander than anything you had even dared to imagine. The polished marble floors shine like glass, capturing reflections in delicate ripples that turn the passing gowns of debutantes into pools of lace and silk. Chandeliers hang from above, so immense and dazzling that they appear to drip crystal stars. They illuminate the room with a glow that is almost celestial, casting every inch of the hall in a warmth befitting the Queen herself.

To your right and left, mirrors taller than any man stretch to the ceiling, framed in gold leaf as intricate as lacework. The mirrors hold your gaze as you pass, capturing the girls beside you as they float forward with their mothers, each one a shimmering, blushing vision in white. You see yourself in these mirrors too, and although the gown fits you perfectly, somehow you feel like you’re wearing another’s skin. For a moment, you imagine your reflection whispering back, “Are you really here?”

The walls are covered in the richest velvet, deep greens and ruby reds that somehow make the hall feel even grander, as if you’ve stepped into the very heart of royalty itself. Enormous portraits of past queens and kings line the hall, each gaze strong and serene, as if they’re assessing every girl who dares to walk beneath their painted eyes. Somewhere in your chest, a knot forms and tightens. It’s strange, the feeling of being surrounded by so much opulence, as if the walls are watching, waiting for something that only they understand.

And perhaps that’s why your breath is so unsteady, why your heartbeat seems to echo through the hall in time with your footsteps. The palace, beautiful as it is, leaves you feeling like a creature of some lesser world, an intruder who has somehow wandered into a realm that does not belong to you. It’s not so much a place as a spectacle, a stunning, overbearing reminder of all that you must live up to, of all the scrutiny you’ll face from these grand walls, these glittering chandeliers, and yes, the very Queen herself. Every step feels like you are walking deeper into a lion’s den, where your every move will be scrutinized, your worth as a young lady judged by the sharpest eyes in the kingdom.

You move with the other debutantes, each girl dressed in white, adorned with jewels and delicate veils, the picture of youth and grace. The line seems to stretch forever as you wait your turn to be announced. The air is thick with anticipation, the rustle of satin and silk as the ladies murmur quietly to one another, some excited, others as nervous as you feel. Your own dress, despite its beauty, feels like a trap. The corset restricts your every breath, and the weight of expectation presses on your shoulders like a leaden cloak.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you scan the room, your nerves growing worse by the second. And then, in the far corner, you spot them. Minghao stands with an air of composure, his eyes quietly observing the room, his presence as regal as ever. Your brother watches the proceedings with a detached elegance, his eyes flickering over the debutantes without much interest. His gaze flicks to you, and for a moment, you feel a strange sense of calm knowing your brother is watching.

But next to him, is Seokmin.

He stands taller than most, his posture rigid but his face warm, though tinged with concern. While your brother is a portrait of his birthright and title, Seokmin is different. His gaze is sharper, more intent, and when his eyes find yours, the familiar comfort of his presence makes your heart stutter. You try to remind yourself to breathe, but the memory of his touch, his words, from the night prior clings to you like a shadow.

Seokmin’s expression softens when he sees you, and for a moment, the whole room seems to fall away. His lips quirk in a small, reassuring smile, and though you try to return it, your own face feels tight, your nerves too frayed to muster anything convincing.

As if sensing your unease, Seokmin’s eyes narrow with concern. Does he notice how your corset presses too tightly into your ribs? Or how your eyes are puffy from lack of sleep? The warmth in his gaze is mixed with a flicker of something unreadable, something almost protective. You are painfully aware of his gaze, and the thought of him watching you stumble through this day feels like too much to bear.

The line of debutantes inches forward, each young lady presented with grace and poise, or at least, the appearance of it. Your nerves churn violently in your stomach as your name is finally called. Your mother tightens her grip, ever so slightly, and it’s a silent reminder – You are a Xu. Do not falter. 

“Miss Y/N Xu, sister of the Duke of Somerset,” the herald crows, and every eye in the room fixes on you. “Presented by her mother, the Right Honorable Dowager Duchess of Somerset.”

Your legs feel like jelly as you take your first step forward, your skirts swishing around you. The weight of the gown, the tightness of your corset, and the heavy stares from all corners of the room press down on you. You try to steady your breathing, but the corset refuses to allow for even that small comfort.

Just as you take a step, disaster strikes.

Your heel catches on the hem of your gown.

You stumble forward, arms flailing slightly to catch yourself, but the weight of your skirts and the tightness of your corset make it impossible to recover gracefully. A collective gasp echoes through the room, and you feel your cheeks flush with mortification.

The whispers are instant, rippling through the crowd like wildfire. You can feel the stares—sharp, judgmental, unforgiving. Your mother’s grip tightens, and though she says nothing, you can feel her disapproval radiating through her hold. She doesn’t need to scold you—not in public. But the sting of her disappointment is enough to make you want to shrink into the floor.

Still, you manage to regain your footing, if only barely. You take a shaky breath and continue forward, your knees trembling with each step. But it gets worse. With every move, the corset seems to tighten further, squeezing the breath from your lungs until black spots dance in the corners of your vision.

Just as you’re about to curtsy before the Queen, your knees buckle.

A choking cough rips from your throat, loud and desperate, echoing through the grand hall. You’re bent over at the waist, gasping for breath, your corset pressing tighter with every moment. You cough again, and again, unable to stop, your eyes watering as you struggle to compose yourself.

The Queen, perched on her throne in all her regal glory, watches with a raised eyebrow, her disapproval palpable. Her expression is one of distaste, as if you are a spectacle—an amusing disaster.

Your mother murmurs beside you, “Steady yourself,” and her grip tightens with fury and disappointment in equal measure. It’s too late. Your corset has robbed you of the ability to breathe, and the weight of the entire room’s gaze crushes you. Your vision swims again, and for one horrifying moment, you think you might faint right there in front of the Queen.

Finally, you manage to straighten yourself, gasping for air, your face flushed and tear-streaked. You risk a glance toward the far side of the room, where Minghao and Seokmin still stand.

Minghao’s face is impassive, though his eyes are dark with what could only be disappointment. Seokmin, on the other hand, looks as though he might bolt across the room to help you. His hands clench at his sides, his jaw tight as his eyes flick between you and the Queen.

The Queen’s cold, cutting voice slices through the silence. “Miss Xu,” she says slowly, her tone dripping with disapproval. “It seems you are... unwell.”

Your heart sinks into your stomach. You manage a wobbly curtsy, your knees nearly giving out beneath you again as you lower yourself.

“Perhaps Miss Y/N should reconsider her readiness for society,” the Queen continues icily. “A young lady of such delicate constitution may not be suited for the rigors of court.”

Her words land like a blow. You rise slowly, trying to keep your chin held high, though your hands tremble and your vision remains blurry from the humiliation. All you want is for this moment to end. To disappear.

As you retreat, the whispers rise in volume, filling the grand hall with gossip and speculation. You can feel the weight of every gaze on you, every judgment passed in an instant. But it is Seokmin’s gaze that you search for in the crowd. His eyes meet yours, and though they are filled with concern, they are also gentle, understanding. A small comfort in the midst of your disaster.

Your mother, ever composed, whispers to you as she leads you from the room, her voice calm but firm. “We will speak of this later, darling. But for now, we must leave with grace.”

You nod weakly, still too breathless and embarrassed to respond. And as you step out of the grand hall, the day that was supposed to mark your entrance into society feels like anything but. All you can think about is how miserably everything went wrong—and how, even in the midst of it all, Seokmin’s gaze had found yours, steady and unwavering.

The silence presses on as the carriage trundles through the city streets, each wheel hitting the cobbles with a sound like a hammer to your heart. You’re trapped, here in this carriage, with no escape from your mother’s disappointment or the day’s memories—the whispered laughter, the blunder before the Queen, and the sheer, unbearable heat of your mortification.

Minghao’s hand rests over yours for only a heartbeat, but it’s enough to keep you from crumbling entirely. Though he releases your hand quickly to avoid Mama’s watchful eye, the gesture is enough to ground you, pulling you back to this place instead of letting you spiral into all the things you could have, should have done differently.

At last, your mother clears her throat, a carefully composed sound that cuts through the quiet like a knife.

“Well,” she says, her voice clipped and precise, “that was… quite the spectacle.” Her tone is a blend of disappointment and a tight, forced restraint. “I had hoped, naturally, for a… more dignified presentation.”

You swallow, feeling the flush of embarrassment burn anew. “I—” you start, but the words catch, failing under the weight of everything you wish to explain and the knowledge that no explanation will undo what’s done.

She adjusts her gloves with a sharp, precise tug, a calculated movement that somehow manages to convey her frustration without a single word. “I trust,” she begins slowly, every syllable measured, “that you understand the gravity of today’s events.”

You swallow, focusing on the intricate embroidery of your gown, tracing the delicate threads to distract yourself from the pressing sting of her words.

“Mother, I—” you stammer, but she holds up a gloved hand, silencing you before the words even form.

“We spent months preparing for this moment,” she continues, her voice tight with restrained emotion. “Months, to ensure you would have the debut any young lady of our family should. Your dress, your bearing, every detail was attended to so you would represent us with grace, with decorum. And yet, today…” She trails off, her eyes gliding over you with a look that could curdle milk.

“It wasn’t her fault,” Minghao interjects quietly, and though his tone is gentle, there’s a faint edge to his words, as though even he cannot quite hold back his defense. He shoots a quick, sidelong glance at you, a small, reluctant smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The Queen’s hall was suffocating, and the entire affair was clearly designed to unnerve anyone in attendance.”

Your mother’s expression softens just a fraction as she regards her son, but she’s hardly swayed. “The Queen’s hall has been the site of countless debuts. If anything, the occasion called for composure, not… fainting spells.”

You clench your fists, the fabric of your dress twisting between your fingers, and look resolutely at the floor. As painful as it is to hear, you know your mother is not entirely wrong. Today was supposed to be your moment of triumph, the day you stepped forward as a young woman ready for society, carrying your family’s reputation with poise and dignity.

But instead, you remember the heat that had pressed in from all sides, the feeling of your corset cutting into your ribs, how your hands had trembled with each step. It was supposed to have been an easy task, to walk forward, cursty, and meet the Queen’s gaze with calm respect. And yet, you had felt every gaze upon you like a burn, each stumble echoing through the endless hall. And then, Seokmin’s eyes finding yours, calm and steady…

The memory stirs something warm within you, a faint flicker of relief that somehow dampens the embarrassment. The Queen’s gaze may have been unyielding, your mother’s disappointment all-consuming, but for that one moment, you had felt tethered, no longer alone.

Outside, the sun dips lower, casting long shadows across the city as the carriage continues its steady roll homeward. The silence stretches again, and the weight of it settles around you like an invisible veil. Minghao catches your eye, and though he says nothing, the look he gives you speaks volumes—a quiet reassurance, a reminder that this one day does not define you, that he still believes in you despite every misstep.

Your mother finally sighs, a faint softening in her shoulders. “We’ll regroup,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “There will be more opportunities, of course, but we’ll need to be mindful, thoughtful. A second chance may not be as kind.” She glances at you, and though her expression remains stern, there’s a glimmer of something almost like understanding.

The carriage ride stretches on in silence once more, each of you lost in thoughts. You glance out the window, watching the city roll by, lanterns casting fleeting golden glows against the carriage walls. It feels surreal, how a day so longed for turned into a series of mishaps, one after another. But as the carriage rounds a corner, you catch a memory from earlier: Seokmin’s eyes, grounding you, unwavering, somehow knowing how terrifying each step felt, how every misstep seemed amplified beneath the weight of so many watching.

As the carriage wheels finally begin to slow, approaching the gates of your family estate, you feel a shift within yourself. Today may have been a disaster, and yet, Seokmin’s gaze and Minghao’s quiet support linger, like small anchors in the storm of the day.

The drawing room is a sanctuary of elegance, its ornate moldings and rich fabrics designed to impress. Tall windows frame the view of the manicured gardens outside, sunlight pouring through in golden streams that dance across the polished wooden floor. Yet, despite the beauty surrounding you, it feels more like a gilded cage today. The delicate scent of lavender from the nearby vase does little to soothe the turmoil within.

You sit hunched over a needlepoint project, your fingers fumbling with the bright threads that feel foreign against your skin. The canvas before you, a swirl of colors and patterns, seems to mock your inability to focus. Your mind wanders far beyond the needlework, replaying the events of your disastrous debut like a never-ending nightmare. Each time you think of it, a fresh wave of humiliation washes over you, sharp and unyielding, like a thorn that refuses to dislodge itself from your heart.

“Goodness, how is one expected to focus with this nonsense?” you mutter under your breath, the needle slipping from your fingers yet again and leaving a careless knot in the thread. You curse softly, frustration bubbling to the surface.

Your mother sits comfortably in her armchair, her brow slightly furrowed as she loses herself in the pages of a novel, the rustle of paper punctuating the silence. Minghao lounges on the settee across from you, flipping through a collection of sketches, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement at his artistic efforts. Every so often, his gaze flickers towards you, a mixture of concern and curiosity etched into his features, but he respects your silence, understanding that you are still recovering from the scarring events of your debut into polite society.

Just then, the door swings open, and Seokmin steps into the room, his presence a burst of light that seems to chase away the shadows clinging to your thoughts. It has been years since the butler last announced his arrival—his visits are far too frequent now, and you can’t help but feel a mix of warmth and apprehension at his entrance. His usually buoyant demeanor is tempered by a trace of concern as he takes in the scene before him, the way your shoulders droop as if weighed down by invisible chains.

“Good morning!” he declares, his voice bright yet careful, testing the waters of your melancholy. “I do hope I’m not intruding.”

“Not at all,” your mother replies, glancing up from her book, her eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. “In fact, you may be just what our dear girl needs.”

You offer a small, half-hearted smile, the corners of your lips barely lifting. “And what would that be? A distraction or a dose of reality?”

Seokmin approaches, his smile as warm as the sunlight flooding the room. “A bit of both, if you’ll allow me.” He perches himself on the arm of your chair, leaning in just enough to draw your focus from the needlepoint chaos. “That was quite the debut you had, dear friend. How are you holding up?”

“Barely,” you sigh, tossing the errant needlepoint aside as if it were the source of all your woes. “I feel as if I’ve stumbled through a door marked ‘exit’ into an abyss of mortification.”

His eyes widen with sympathy, and in that moment, your heart flutters, torn between admiration and the painful reality that he may never feel the same. Seokmin has a way of making the world feel lighter, yet your feelings for him are a weight that often threatens to pull you under.

“Ah, yes,” he nods sagely, as if you have just shared the most profound wisdom. “The abyss of polite society can be quite unforgiving. I believe it’s marked with ‘no entrance’ signs, but alas, they are easily overlooked.”

Minghao chuckles softly, his attention now fully diverted from his sketches. “You do have a gift for exaggeration, Seokmin.”

“It’s a talent,” Seokmin replies, feigning an air of grandeur, his hand pressing dramatically to his heart. “But truly, do not let the Queen’s judgment define you. You are far too radiant for that.”

You snort, the sound escaping before you can suppress it. “Radiant? Is that what you call it when one trips over their own gown and nearly faints in front of our sovereign?”

“Why, yes! A splendid display of athleticism!” he shoots back, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’ve inadvertently entertained a room full of people—something they are certain to remember for ages.”

“But not in the way I had hoped,” you reply, frustration seeping into your voice as the memory of the evening flashes before your eyes, a storm of embarrassment churning within you.

“Ah, but hope can be a slippery creature,” he counters, tilting his head to meet your gaze. “What matters is how you choose to move forward. I have heard of many a lady whose debut was marred by similar accidents—yet they rise from the ashes like phoenixes, dazzling everyone with their resilience.”

“Is that your way of saying I should make a grand return to society?” You raise an eyebrow, your heart flickering with the suggestion. “Perhaps adorned in feathers and sequins to distract from my previous mistake?”

“I’d be the first to support such a feat,” he replies earnestly, the sincerity in his voice a soothing balm for your frayed nerves. But beneath your amusement lies an aching truth: his encouragement only highlights the chasm between your feelings and his indifference. He will never look at you the way you long for.

“Yes, Lord Lee, what a wonderful idea!” your mother exclaims, her book long forgotten. “The Fitzwilliam Ball is to be held in the coming weeks—what a splendid way for our darling girl to re-enter society!”

Your face falls. A ball? So soon? The very thought sends a tremor of panic racing through you. “Mama, I—”

“Yes, Mother, a splendid idea indeed,” Minghao muses, a teasing glint in his eye. When you turn your glare to him, he sticks his tongue out meanly, and Seokmin suppresses a chuckle.

You take a deep breath, fighting against the swell of anxiety rising in your chest. “I’m not certain I’m ready for another ball, not after—” you start, but the words die on your lips as Seokmin’s gaze locks onto yours. His expression is gentle yet determined, a silent encouragement that stirs something deep within you.

“Ready or not, life moves on,” he says softly, leaning closer as if sharing a secret. “You have to take the reins, even if the prospect is daunting.”

You want to believe him, to embrace his unwavering optimism, but doubt gnaws at you. Can you truly face another crowd, the whispers, the judgment? Your heart flutters erratically, caught in a tempest of affection and despair. Seokmin’s eyes shine with an earnestness that quickens your pulse, yet it only reminds you of the gulf that lies between your feelings and his casual indifference.

“Life indeed moves on,” you echo, your voice barely above a whisper, more to yourself than to anyone else. “But what if I stumble again? What if I make an even greater fool of myself?”

Seokmin’s smile falters for just a moment, replaced by a flicker of understanding that cuts through the air like a knife. “We all stumble, but that’s how we learn to rise,” he replies, his tone steady yet soft. “And besides, I’ll be there. I promise I’ll help you navigate any disaster.”

His words wrap around you like a lifeline, a flicker of hope igniting your heart. But as the warmth of his promise settles in, a cold weight begins to press upon you. You look into his eyes, searching for something more, but find only the steadfast gaze of a friend—someone who would catch you if you fell, but only as a friend.

“Right,” you murmur, the pain of acceptance settling in your chest like a stone, heavy and unyielding, a reminder of the distance between you.

The late evening light filters softly through the sheer curtains of your room, casting a warm glow that barely reaches the pile of books haphazardly stacked beside your bed. These books, filled with tales of love and adventure, have provided a much-needed refuge from the reality of your recent debut. For days now, you’ve chosen to cocoon yourself in their comforting embrace, avoiding the whispers and curious glances of society that followed you after your disastrous introduction.

You had resolutely refused to attend any of the society events your mother deemed essential—the lady’s tea, with its orchestrated conversations and veiled judgments, or the garden party, where laughter seemed to echo around you while you felt only isolation. The thought of facing the same debutantes, the same mamas, their glances lingering a moment too long on you, made your stomach churn. Instead, you preferred the solace of your room, the pages of your books offering both distraction and comfort as you lost yourself in worlds far removed from the judgmental eyes of the ton.

But tonight, your mother is insistent. At last, the Fitzwilliam Ball is upon you, and you have no escape from your mother’s gentle chiding. “Darling,” she calls gently, her voice a melody that pulls you from the pages of your latest escape. The delicate scent of lavender wafts through the air as she steps into the room, her presence commanding yet warm. It is an unusual moment—your lady’s maid typically oversees your dressing, managing the layers of fabric and the intricate details of your ensemble. But today, it is your mother who steps into that role, a significant act that carries with it the weight of her affection and a chance to bridge the gap that your previous missteps had created.

“It’s time to get ready, my dear,” she says, her tone gentle but firm, as she approaches your wardrobe. As she opens the doors, the sight of your gown hanging inside takes your breath away.

The dress, an ethereal creation of lavender silk, shimmers like moonlight trapped in fabric. The bodice is adorned with intricate embroidery that depicts delicate vines and blossoms, each stitch telling a story of artistry and care. The sleeves are fitted, with lace cascading down to create a soft ruffle at the wrist, and the skirt flows in layers, each tier of lace and silk billowing like clouds as it moves. It is a gown befitting a princess, meticulously designed to showcase your family’s esteemed standing while allowing a hint of youthful exuberance to shine through.

“This gown is truly magnificent,” you murmur, your fingers tracing the embroidered flowers as your mother gently lifts it from the wardrobe. “I can’t believe you chose it yourself.”

“Of course, I did. It’s time for your grand re-entrance to society, after all,” she replies, a smile dancing on her lips as she helps you into the gown. The fabric wraps around you like a dream, soft and luxurious, but as your mother laces the bodice, the realization of how tightly it pulls leaves you breathless. Each tug of the laces feels like a reminder of the expectations that have come to define you, but your mother’s presence softens the edges of that pressure.

Yet, it is not discomfort that fills the room. Instead, the sounds of your mother’s laughter and intelligence wrap themselves around you. Your mother’s hands are gentle as she fastens each lace, her fingers brushing against your skin in a manner that reassures you. The stern disappointment of your debut, where you felt like a shadow beneath the weight of expectations, seems to dissipate, replaced by her usual grace and kindness. As she works, her voice drifts like a melody, recounting stories from her own youth, her laughter echoing softly against the mirror as if the memories bring light to the room.

With every loop of ribbon and every gentle tug, she weaves a tapestry of love and support, a tangible reminder that tonight is not merely a duty but a celebration of who you are. As she arranges your hair into an elegant updo, delicately weaving in pearl pins that glimmer like stars, you catch a glimpse of the woman she has always been beneath the layers of propriety. The warmth of her presence washes over you, igniting a flicker of hope that perhaps tonight will mark a new beginning.

“Are you ready?” she asks, stepping back to admire her handiwork, a satisfied gleam in her eyes.

“I suppose as ready as I’ll ever be,” you reply, taking a moment to admire your reflection. The gown transforms you into a vision of beauty, yet beneath the surface, you feel a tempest of uncertainty swirling within you.

“Now, let’s see what your brother thinks.” Your mother gestures toward the door, and as you descend the staircase, your heart quickens with every step.

At the foot of the stairs, Minghao waits patiently, the embodiment of duty and familial pride. His presence, regal and calm, adds to the moment’s gravity. Dressed in a tailored coat that accentuates his stature, he stands as the dutiful son and duke, ready to escort both you and your mother to the ball. The contrast between his composed demeanor and your own fluttering heart is stark, yet comforting. As you make your way down the stairs, your mother’s gentle squeeze of your hand gives you a modicum of strength, each step drawing you closer to the world outside that awaits your return.

“Sister,” Mighao greets, mirth dancing in his eyes. “I suppose if tonight is your big night, this gown does not offend the eyes.”

“Minghao!” Your mother’s rebuke is instant, a gentle reprimand that lightens the atmosphere with her authority.

“For goodness’ sake, brother,” you admonish, donning a façade of false bravado to hide the anxiety swirling within. “It seems as if you would simply keel over before you ever paid me a proper compliment!” You attempt to feign indignation, but the corners of your mouth betray you with the hint of a smile.

As you reach the bottom step, he extends his arm, a silent invitation to escort both you and your mother to the ball. It’s a gesture of duty, but there’s an undertone of affection that brings warmth to your heart. He may be the dutiful son and duke, poised and impeccably dressed in his tailored attire, but in this moment, he is simply your brother—standing beside you as a steadfast protector against the uncertainties of the evening ahead.

Your mother glances at both of you, her eyes sparkling with pride and a hint of nostalgia. “Shall we?” she prompts, her voice carrying a note of excitement that sends a flutter through your stomach.

With a deep breath, you take Minghao’s arm, feeling the reassuring strength of his presence as he leads you both toward the waiting carriage. The air outside is brisk, filled with the scent of blooming jasmine and the distant hum of music preparing to fill the grand halls. Each step you take resonates with the rhythm of your heartbeat, a mix of trepidation and hope.

As you settle into the plush interior of the carriage, the door closes with a soft click, sealing you away from the familiar confines of home and ushering you into a world of possibility. The grandeur of the evening awaits, and as the carriage rolls forward, the cobblestones beneath you echo with the anticipation of what’s to come.

You can’t shake the feeling that this night holds the promise of something new—perhaps redemption, or at the very least, the opportunity to reclaim your place among the society that had once felt so cruel. As the carriage sways gently with each turn, you steal a glance at your mother and brother, their expressions a blend of excitement and encouragement. In this moment, surrounded by their unwavering support, you begin to believe that maybe, just maybe, tonight could be different.

Fate is certainly a cruel mistress—despite your greatest hopes, the ball is positively dismal.

The ballroom is every bit as grand as you’d imagined—no, grander. Chandeliers dripping with golden light cascade overhead, casting a warm, ethereal glow over the polished marble floor. The air is thick with the intoxicating scent of roses and jasmine, mingling with the lively music of the orchestra, where violins soar and the occasional trill of laughter punctuates the harmony. Silks and satins swirl in every direction as the season’s debutantes twirl with their suitors, their gowns a riot of color that makes you feel like a ghost in comparison.

But none of it feels as magical as you once thought it would. Instead, you stand to the side, clutching the silk of your gown, its intricate lace and delicate pearls feeling like a weight rather than a luxury. Your mother had ensured that every stitch was perfect, every detail immaculate, to help erase the memory of your disastrous debut. Yet, it hasn’t worked. The whispers haven’t stopped. Even here, amidst the splendor, you can feel the gazes sliding over you, only to dart away, as if your very presence is a reminder of your failure.

The other debutantes are radiant, their smiles bright as they are swept onto the dance floor by handsome, eligible gentlemen. But you... you might as well be invisible.

Your heart sinks as you watch them, a heavy weight settling in your chest. This is meant to be a night of joy and celebration, yet you feel like a fragile glass ornament left behind, forgotten in the bustle of a festive occasion. The laughter and music create a vibrant tapestry of life around you, but inside, you’re drowning in a sea of insecurity and self-doubt.

Just when despair threatens to envelop you entirely, a presence beside you breaks through the haze. Seokmin, as effortlessly charming as ever, sidles up, his dark eyes twinkling with mischief. “Quite the spectacle, isn’t it?” he remarks, his voice low so only you can hear. “I’m certain some of these mamas could lead an army with the way they maneuver their daughters.”

You blink at him, surprised by his lightheartedness. Despite the heat of embarrassment burning your cheeks, a smile pulls at your lips, momentarily pushing aside the shadows clouding your heart.

Before you can respond, he holds his hand out to you, a silent invitation, and for a moment, you hesitate. Seokmin, who could have any lady in the room, is asking you to dance? Your heart stutters, a wild flutter of hope mingling with anxiety, and you glance around, acutely aware of the whispers beginning to stir again. People are noticing the exchange, their eyes narrowing in speculation. But Seokmin stands before you, his hand outstretched, waiting with an easy confidence that momentarily disarms you.

With a deep breath, you place your gloved hand in his, and he leads you to the center of the ballroom as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The moment your feet hit the floor, however, the murmurs begin in earnest, slicing through the enchantment that had briefly settled around you.

“Isn’t that the girl?” someone whispers, just loud enough for you to hear. “The one who fainted?”

“I’d heard,” another voice chimes in, “that no one would ask her to dance. Poor dear, but what did she expect after such a performance?”

You keep your eyes firmly fixed on Seokmin, but each word is like a needle, sharp and painful, pricking at your composure. The worst of it comes when you catch sight of one of the mamas, her face set in a smirk as she whispers to her daughter—the same daughter you had once taken pianoforte lessons with. The girl lets out a small, mean-spirited laugh, and your stomach twists, the laughter echoing like a death toll.

The memory of your debut hangs over you like a dark cloud, heavy and suffocating. Your embarrassment simmers, threatening to boil over. The murmurs become unbearable, and instinctively, you move to pull away from Seokmin, ready to flee. But before you can, his grip tightens, firm but gentle.

“Leaving so soon?” he teases, his voice low and playful, a lifeline in the midst of the storm. “Didn’t your mama teach you it’s bad manners to leave in the middle of a dance?”

You try to focus on his words, on the feel of his hand in yours, but it’s no use. You feel like every eye is on you, dissecting your every movement, judging, whispering, laughing. Seokmin is a shield, but he can’t block all the venom aimed at you.

“I can’t—” you begin, your voice thick with emotion, but Seokmin cuts you off.

He reaches up, loosening a perfectly pinned curl from your hair, letting it fall gently by your cheek. His eyes are soft, almost tender, and in that moment, you feel something flutter to life in your chest. “Eyes on me, Tulip,” he murmurs, and the way he says it—so calm, so sure—makes your heart skip a beat.

For the briefest moment, you think he might love you. That despite the gossip, despite the humiliation, Seokmin sees you—the girl beneath the debutante, the one who has admired him from afar for so long. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you see Minghao. He stands by the edge of the ballroom, watching. And then—he nods. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but Seokmin notices, and he nods back.

Your blood runs cold.

You blink up at Seokmin, the warmth in your chest turning to ice. “Did you do this because Minghao asked you to?” The words slip out before you can stop them, low and desperate, laced with betrayal.

Seokmin’s brow furrows. “Do what?”

“This. The dance.” You glance around at the swirling crowd, the eyes that have never left you. “The attention. Did you ask me because he wanted you to? To salvage my prospects?”

His confusion is genuine, but the truth is written in his face—open, honest, and devastating. He hesitates, and it’s all you need to know.

“Damn you,” you whisper, voice shaking with fury and hurt. His eyes widen, shocked by the venom in your voice, the curse slipping from your lips like something foreign. “Damn you, Lee Seokmin.”

“Y/N—” he starts, his voice softening, trying to explain, to defend himself. But you don’t give him the chance.

“I thought,” you continue, the words tumbling out in a rush, “I thought you asked me because you wanted to, not because you were told to. I thought you held me in higher regard than this.” You laugh bitterly, a sound that catches in your throat. “How foolish of me.”

The onlookers are whispering more now, their curiosity piqued by the tension in the air, the way your voice trembles with barely contained emotion. But you don’t care. You’re done caring.

With a mocking curtsy, you drop your hands from his and step back. “My lord,” you say, dripping with sarcasm, “I do apologize for any inconvenience to your social standing.”

Seokmin’s eyes widen, panic flashing in them as he realizes the gravity of your words, the weight of what you’re about to do. “Y/N, wait—”

But you don’t wait. You turn on your heel and stalk toward the ballroom’s exit, your skirts swirling around you in a flurry of lilac silk and lace, your heart pounding painfully in your chest. The gasps and murmurs of the guests fade into the background as you flee, your vision blurred with unshed tears.

Behind you, Seokmin’s voice calls out, desperate, pleading. “Y/N, please—stay—”

But you don’t look back. You run.

The chill of the night air bites at your skin as you emerge from the grand ballroom, the sounds of the festivities quickly swallowed by the night. Minghao is hot on your heels, and you hear the familiar click of his shoes echoing against the cobblestone streets. As you enter the carriage, your fury erupts like a dam breaking.

“How dare you meddle in my life?” you exclaim, the words bursting forth with a fervor that sends a shiver down your spine. The tears spill over, mingling with the delicate fabric, each droplet a testament to your exasperation. “I wish to be left alone!”

Minghao, ever the picture of serene composure, raises an eyebrow, though his calm demeanor only serves to ignite your temper further. “I’m only trying to help you, dear sister,” he replies, his voice as soothing as a summer breeze.

“Help? Is that what you call this? You think I’m some delicate flower that requires your constant tending?” Your heart beats faster, each pulse an echo of your indignation. “You are not my keeper, Minghao!”

He opens his mouth, surely to deliver some well-meaning retort, but you are not in the mood for restraint. “You think I can’t manage my own affairs? That I need you to dictate who I should associate with? Let me remind you, I am not a child!”

In a fit of fury, you throw one of your shoes toward him, the delicate slipper soaring through the air; Minghao ducks just in time, the shoe landing with a soft thud against the carriage wall.

“Is this truly your idea of a civilized discussion?” he remarks, feigning offense. “Throwing footwear instead of engaging in rational discourse? My, how you’ve mastered the art of temper tantrums!”

“Better to throw a shoe than to be lectured like a schoolgirl!” you counter, your voice rising to match his. “You presume to know what is best for me, but you are merely reflecting your own apprehensions! You have no concept of my struggles!”

Minghao’s brow furrows, and for a fleeting moment, his expression softens, as if he might relent. But then he leans forward, his voice low and fervent. “And you believe that sulking in the corner will resolve anything? You are only isolating yourself further!”

“Perhaps I wish to be alone!” you declare, your voice ringing with defiance, the words spilling out like water from a broken dam. “Perhaps I grow weary of this charade, that everything is perfect when it is most decidedly not!”

A tense silence envelops the carriage, the air thick with unspoken words. You both breathe heavily, the conflict hanging between you like a fine silk thread ready to snap. The rest of the ride is steeped in a heavy silence, each passing moment thickening the air with unspoken words and unresolved feelings. You lean against the plush seat of the carriage, your gaze fixed on the world outside. The blurred lights of the city flicker past, dimming into the encroaching darkness, and with each glimmer that fades from view, a piece of your heart seems to shatter.

Inside, your thoughts spiral. Betrayal gnaws at you like a ravenous beast, devouring any remnants of confidence you had managed to muster before the ball. Seokmin was supposed to be your ally in this fight, your so-called “loyal servant”; a beacon of warmth amidst hushed whispers. Yet now, as the reality settles in, you realize he is merely Minghao's friend, not yours. 

How could you have been so naïve? Your mind races back to moments you once cherished: the laughter shared over private nicknames, the comfort of his presence when you felt small and insignificant. He had danced with you, yes, but it had been an act of duty, an obligation to your brother, not a genuine desire to hold you close. You had hoped, foolishly, that he might look beyond your failed debut, that he might understand the person beneath the gown and lace. Yet here you are, reduced to a mere pawn in a game you didn’t even want to play.

A sob catches in your throat, but you swallow it down. Instead, you grip the edges of your gown tightly, feeling the intricate lace and delicate pearls dig into your palms, until you are sure you will have bruises in the morning.

How could Seokmin have allowed himself to be used this way? Did he not care enough to stand by you when it mattered most? He had seen you, yes, but only through the lens of loyalty to Minghao, not as the woman you wished to be, not as the friend you had thought he saw.

By the time the carriage arrives at your home, the bitterness in your chest is a wellspring of anguish. The vibrant ball is now a distant memory, a dream turned nightmare, and all you can do is silently mourn the friendship you thought would endure. You glance at Minghao, his face set in a mask of determination, oblivious to the storm of emotion swirling inside you.

As you step out of the carriage, he follows closely behind, his footsteps heavy with regret. “Y/N,” he begins, his voice low and earnest, “I thought I was doing what was best for you. I thought—”

You cut him off, spinning to face him, your expression fierce with hurt. “It’s too late, brother,” you declare, the words like shards of glass spilling from your lips. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me. You’ve ruined everything.”

His eyes widen, a mixture of shock and remorse flooding his features. “I never meant to hurt you—”

“It doesn’t matter what you meant!” you snap, frustration and pain intertwining in a chaotic dance. “You acted without thinking. You’ve taken something precious from me.”

Minghao opens his mouth to argue, to defend himself, but the words die on his lips. The truth hangs in the air, heavy and palpable, as the reality of your fractured trust settles between you.

For the rest of the season, you do your best to blend into the walls at every ball, and you succeed. You become a shadow flitting between vibrant gowns and boisterous laughter. Each event becomes a blur of swirling colors and muffled sounds. You move quietly, navigating the sea of opulence with a heavy heart, wearing a mask of indifference that hides the turmoil brewing just beneath the surface.

You linger in corners, your fingers tracing the intricate patterns of wallpaper as if seeking solace in their delicate designs. The bright chandeliers above cast their warm glow on the happy couples swirling in perfect harmony, while you remain firmly anchored in your solitude, an invisible wall erected around your heart. You watch as others twirl and laugh, and your heart aches for Seokmin’s easy companionship, the lively conversations and playful banter that now feel like a distant memory.

With each passing ball, the weight of your isolation grows heavier. Minghao’s well-intentioned apologies echo in your mind, but their impact fades against the reality of your existence. You’ve become an expert at deflecting curious gazes, practicing the art of blending in so well that the laughter and music seem to wash over you like water off a duck’s back.

But it is Seokmin’s absence that echoes loudest in your heart. He might have always been your brother’s best friend, but you had hoped he would be something more—something real. As the music swells, the realization settles heavily on your shoulders: you are utterly, irrevocably alone.

Seokmin doesn’t ask you to dance again for the rest of the season. 

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

[5-pp-man]

ok i finished the anime

i rlly liked it as an addition to the franchise / alternate take on the story. it highlights some characters who never really got to do much (mostly just the exes who all originally got beaten to death) and gives them a lot more character and new dynamics to explore. they're a lot of fun! I'm happy they got to live and move on with their lives in this version, like what Scott's exes did in the og. also, one of my least fave things about the original -everyone is mean to knives- has just been completely written out? She was included in the group in the og, but it sort seemed that she kept inviting herself since nobody even liked her being there. I like how she and Stephen were friends again in this version :) and im happy she got to join the band. But in terms of character. idk she just feels really different here, since most of her story centered around Scott and he was absent for a long time, she sorta speedran the whole getting over him thing. The natural progression just wasn't there, when in the og story she said it took her a whole year, almost the duration of the whole comic. Also I really liked Envy and Kim's stories in the comic but they were barely in this :( Kim and Ramona's dynamic was one of my faves but they barely interacted here...

It just seems that Scott's whole memory suppression thing and nega-scott were gone. like completely. and it wasn't even acknowledged? which is sad because that was the thing that really got to me in the original. and ill say it. i think the whole thing with future Scott was kinda dumb. it just casually threw aside everything Scott did to become a better person, and Ramona and Scott's promise to hold onto one another. it just acted like that never happened. did he not accept nega-scott so that he wouldn't repeat his past mistakes again? where's his growth? why'd he do all that shit? idk I just find it kind of far fetched that he'd freak like that and make this whole master plan and go insane training for 10 years. it feels. out of character. I do think it was sweet of Ramona to counter his plan so he'd learn of their story anyways. Also, pet peeve, but I feel like they made Ramona a little... too cool? Like in the comic that's certainly how she came across in the beginning, but the whole point was that that was how Scott saw her. Cool and mysterious. And then he didn't bother learning more about her. That's where that whole joke about her age being a mystery came from, because Scott never asked her, but in the anime they just keep repeating it as if she doesn't want people to know how old she is...? But what I liked about Ramona in the comic was how it slowly became apparent that she was just like Scott. She ran away from everything, she wasn't put together at all. She'd rather let Scott deal with all her "evil" exes because she was still busy running from them all. In this one they showed that part but she was just sort of... missing the vibe here because they seemed too busy trying to make her perfectly capable of resolving all of it by herself. When in the og she KEPT RUNNING because she was scared of committing until the very end. And this is a v small thing but Ramona kept changing her hair colour without changing her haircut. i know that probably done to make animation easier but eh.

BUT. I really like how they played Scott Pilgrim (the song that Scott Pilgrim was based on) way at the end :) kind of bummed it wasn't for the whole end credits though

do i think it "fixes" the original story? fuck no. but was it fun? yeah, sure.

[colgatebluemintygel]

giggling and kicking my legs THIS CHAPTER. THIS CHAPTER!!!! SIRIUS REALISING!!!!! EVERYTHING!!!!!!!!

MWAH <333 EVERYTHING!!!!! (well almost everything!!!! he has one big realisation to go!!!!)

[rosemary-is-in-pesterquest]

not to be a davekat defender like that or anything, but I want to put on my analysis brain for them a moment here (not arguing with anything you've ever said btw, just trying to talk out what my take is)

I actually think davekat was only just starting to show peeks of what would've worked about them when homestuck ended, but the comic was over before they got anywhere as a couple. they weren't even sure if they should tell their friends about the relationship yet, it was too new, and I don't think they were ready to officially make a more serious move than vaguely "I care about you" vibes. I think it partially could've been because they know the whole relationship could be a "you were my only option" situation, and even if they think the feelings are real, that might lead to some skepticism from other people... and even themselves. they've been trapped in a void, so how can they be sure of anything yet?

I think that was the concern that Karkat was trying to mention when he and Dave were talking, even in just friendship terms. like, it's reasonable to worry how dynamics might shift when coming out of a three year isolation, especially when those years are still while they're relatively young and formative. and Karkat is a self deprecating worrier... he neurosised his way out of having a shot with Terezi because of this quality, and he knows it, and that's part of why he's so hard on himself, in a cycle of bad thoughts and actions. part of why Dave is kind of good for Karkat is that Dave will shut that shit down and remind Karkat not to over complicate things and make everything hard on himself.

I do agree that davekat needed more proving if it was going to be written as working... but it's also a little unfair to compare them to rosemary because of that. rosemary is a commitment juggernaut, those two are so rock solid certain. meanwhile davekat is still in the "coaxing a deer closer while not making sudden movements so you won't scare it away" part of them trying to establish that they have feelings about each other. and Rose speedran that part by getting drunk and making out with Kanaya anyway. davekat at the end of the comic is like how Rose and Kanaya would've been after getting to the meteor if Rose had no alcohol. adn actually, even worse, because Dave and Karkat barely talked during the game, and thought they didn't like each other.

when they first meet, Rose and Kanaya need each other like a warm bath after a long day. but when Dave and Karkat first meet, they need each other like bitter medicine. like if rosemary is prickly girls coaxing each other into being soft for just one person, then davekat is two boys who can't figure out what is wrong with themselves, but definitely know what's wrong with the other guy, and can help each other if they can get past each other's defensiveness. their biggest problem is, they start out using the problems they noticed about each other to attack eachother, which just triggers more defensiveness. it takes a long time for them to try and fix their own shit. and they also take forever to realize the other guy isn't so bad, and they might have to fess up to maybe being a dick initially.

that dynamic is basically so much longer of a process, it takes way more time to get to a point of admitting love from that, than what rosemary has all along. and it also makes the relationship more doubtable in situations like the meteor thing, like how do you figure it isn't stockholms syndrome, even if there is genuinely love there? and to me, that's why all the mushy lovey dovey davekat in post canon sucks ass. they never got to that point! the writers forgot to write their whole entire actual relationship! this is just banging two action figures together to make them kiss, there's nothing else to it!

I think davekat could work, but not with writers like these. put that back in the oven, its not done. seriously, when will they actually write davekat? they still didn't do any writing for the actual relationship.

THIS WAS SO GOOD YES. YESF NOW THIS IS DAVEKAT FUCK YES