#a piece they'll treasure forever.

[dvbabybracelet]

Make a Statement: The Power of Personalised Necklaces with Names

There's something undeniably special about a piece of jewellery that carries a personal touch. A name necklace transcends mere adornment; it becomes a symbol of individuality, a constant reminder of who you are or someone you love.

Sterling Silver Name Necklaces: Timeless Elegance

At the heart of this trend lies the sterling silver name necklace. Sterling silver offers a perfect balance of affordability and elegance. It's a precious metal that endures everyday wear, ensuring your personalised necklace becomes a treasured companion for years to come.

The Allure of Personalised Jewellery

The beauty of a personalised necklace lies in its ability to tell a story. Whether it's your name, a loved one's initial, a significant date, or even a meaningful word, a personalised chain transforms a simple necklace into a powerful statement piece.

The World of Personalised Necklaces

The world of personalised necklaces is as vast as your imagination. You can choose from a variety of fonts, chain styles, and pendant shapes to create a piece that reflects your unique personality.

More Than Just a Name Necklace

Personalised necklaces extend far beyond just names. You can personalise them with inspirational quotes, birthstones, symbols – the possibilities are endless!

The Perfect Personalised Gift

Looking for a gift that's both meaningful and unique? A personalised necklace is a surefire winner. It's a gift that shows you put thought and care into your selection, a piece they'll treasure forever.

Invest in a piece that speaks to you. Explore the world of personalised necklaces and discover the perfect way to express yourself or celebrate someone special.

[beanghostprincess]

hi its me back again with another op dream. this time i was trying to convince pudding why she shouldnt marry sanji and one of the reasons (aka the only one i remember) was that he has no money and it got me thinking, the straw hats are pirates, but they dont rlly plunder like regular pirates, and obviously nami has money, but do the rest of the straw hats have money?? do they have cash???

I think Nami is probably the one dealing with the money. We've always seen her being the one handing out the money to the Strawhats if needed. We've seen they're capable of stealing money but they're, uh, just not very good at it? I'm sure they're not filthy rich but if you have in mind the places they've been to, they didn't really need to spend THAT much. I think they have their fair amount of savings (that Nami controls) and I'm sure they just keep valuable stuff they find + steal from people who deserve it (idk, marines, annoying pirates, enemies in general, etc). But it's not really an important point of the story so Oda doesn't really mention it much. They're not regular pirates and would never hurt innocent people so I think they just try to find valuable stuff and money in other places. Also, y'know, people have paid for their stuff for the most part of their journey because Luffy befriends literally everyone they meet. So their money usually goes to food and stuff they really, really need and it's in very specific points of the story. Just think about how little time passes between each arc. Not that they really need much, tbh.

[aimedis]

redacted audio headcanons: jealousy | damn squad edition

gavin being an incubus and using other people's attraction to him as fuel feels like it would be quite hypocritical of him to be jealous. and he really doesn't get jealous often, he trusts freelancer just as much as they trust him and actually finds it quite amusing when their classmates try and "shoot their shot" because while his lover is attractive, they're his. yes, gavin occasionally finds himself randomly getting irritated whenever freelancer spends a little too much time away from him and with whatever group they've been assigned to do a project with. or when he's watching them laugh a little too hard with some random unimportant guy he doesn't even know. he'll usually wait for freelancer to notice him being whiny, to which they shush him with a little kiss and that usually fixes him for long enough. but over everything, gavin doesn't get jealous over people. no, no, no, he gets jealous over the stuffed animals freelancer keeps in their corner of the bed. the collection of cute little cotton stuffed creatures they seem to treasure almost as much as him. and he can't believe his eyes every morning he watches them kiss each and every one of their foreheads after they get placed back on the freshly made bed. freelancer's friends are one thing but these things are so much worse. and god forbid they want to cuddle with one of them at bed time. every time gavin watches them interact with the wretched pieces of fabric he sulks. freelancer saw the face he was making and asked him jokingly if he was jealous. the realization in their head clicked when they saw that he only sulked harder. freelancer laughed at him for a solid five minutes before reassuring him that he was, of course, way more important to them than their stuffed animals. gavin perked up after that but refused to believe it until they spent the remainder of the afternoon cuddling with him on the couch. gavin still glares into the stuffies' beady little eyes every time he sees them and freelancer only has to kiss his cheek to get him to stop. freelancer, unsurprisingly, doesn't get jealous when people flirt with gavin. they knew what they were getting into when dating a literal incubus and they would never try to take away a facet of gavin's personality. it's apart of who he is and they love all of him. it's also a favourite hobby of theirs to encourage gavin's antics. that being said, people have tried to flirt with their boyfriend in more of a "i’m better than your partner" way and that's what has them riled up. especially since the people who have the balls to do so also have the balls to ignore the fact that gavin's partner is literally right there. the most they'll do in front of the person is just grab onto gavin's arm and stare at the person with the nastiest look they can muster. but when they have gavin to themselves? they spend at least twenty minutes rambling about the audacity of people and how they would dare do that right in front of their face like that. they could, and would, go on forever if gavin didn't interrupt them by kissing them and gently caressing their cheek, telling them to relax and that he's theirs. freelancer still spends the following three hours pouting into gavin's chest before they're back to normal. gavin is also more than willing to block whoever makes freelancer uncomfortable because he actually has no need or desire for other relationships outside of the freelancer and the damn crew.

damien gets jealous quite often actually. it just takes a really bold person + a really really oblivious huxley for him to actually show it. part of it has to do with a small nagging voice in the back of his head that says he's not good enough for someone as kind and beautiful as huxley. but then again, he has full trust in his relationship and his boyfriend, it's just other people he doesn't trust. huxley barely understands damien's (or even gavin's) very obvious attempts at flirting with him sometimes, so imagine how much more oblivious he is to a stranger or coworker trying to make a move on him. huxley is not naive, but he just doesn't see things he's not interested in looking for. so damien has had a front row seat numerous times to huxley thinking someone was just really nice when they were trying to get into his pants. half of the time, it's hilarious to watch huxley tilt his head to the side in confusion at the blatant innuendo, the other half of the time? damien is seething. and he's not subtle in the slightest. but he doesn't blow up, he's too grown for that. he just takes the opportunity to sigh way too loudly to express his discomfort. that shifts huxley's attention immediately from whoever's in front of him over to damien real fast. then damien gets to enjoy the power trip that comes from having his boyfriend fuss over him while huxley potential "suitor" stands there entirely in shock before walking off in irritation. he also does this if he's not around when huxley gets flirted with or if he's just spending a lot of time with someone else. he sighs once then relishes in being fawned over for ten minutes. damien takes pride in his ability to have huxley's attention at the drop of a hat, it's the only time he lets himself be doted on. huxley picked up on damien's little habit after more than a few times and has used the information to tease him relentlessly. he smirks when damien starts acting antsy on purpose but he still follows through his overdramatic doting just to see the little grin on damien's face. just to make him happy. huxley, despite being so clueless when it comes to people flirting with him, is hyper aware of when it's happening to damien. he narrows his eyes whenever someone so much as touches damien for a second too long. it isn't something huxley finds himself getting angry over, necessarily, he just gets mildly annoyed whenever he knows someone is trying to get with damien. annoyed that people have the gall to flirt with his boyfriend when huxley could hypothetically throw them over his shoulder if he wanted to. the longer the two have been together, the more comfortable both of them have gotten with being possessive. comfortable enough to not feel guilty about being jealous. and despite how semi-often huxley finds himself being jealous when damien talks to someone for too long or just talking to someone who obviously wants him, huxley doesn't voice it at all. but damien knows he's jealous because he knows huxley. he notices how quiet his boyfriend gets when brings up that one coworker or the slight twitch in his eyebrow or the tense laugh he lets out. he knows that's how huxley acts when he's irritated but doesn't want to tell anyone. but damien puts the pieces together and he finds it quite amusing ("what, you jealous?"). and after that they go back and forth while huxley refuses to admit that he's jealous until he makes a silly little comment like, "that's totally not cool, bro, i already know that you're mine even though other people are far too cocky to understand that. like they’d ever be good enough for you-" and damien smirks like he's won. after that, damien (jokingly) condescendingly reassures huxley that he would never leave him for his coworker and that no one could ever compare to his big, fat- and huxley tells him his coworker can have him. as a joke, of course. he makes sure damien knows that.

lasko probably gets jealous the easiest out of the group. if someone looks at dear the wrong way (or even the right way), he's jealous. they talk to someone for too long around him, he's jealous. even with the d.a.m.n squad, he gets jealous. after dear gets a little more comfortable around everyone, he argues with freelancer about "stealing his partner" all the time and everyone makes fun of him. dear thinks it's the funniest thing ever. especially when lasko goes on a rant, saying it's not about trust, it's just the fact that sometimes he kind of just doesn't want them paying attention to anyone other than him for too long. he doesn't say it like that, that's embarrassing, but it's basically what he means. lasko felt bad about it the first few times, thinking he was turning into a psycho obsessive boyfriend but dear reassured him it's totally fine that he feels that way since they know he would never act out because of it. lasko is always incredibly transparent about being jealous, whining into dear's shoulder about them being so popular while they laugh at him. dear still reassures him that they love him more than anyone but they let him complain because they think he's cute. but lasko fully trusts them and just allows himself to be a little whiny because he trusts himself to not be an asshole boyfriend. it's mostly comedic relief at this point. dear literally doesn't get jealous. i don't even think they know what the word means. lasko could blatantly flirt with someone in front of them and they wouldn't even care. and he has. lasko and the crew play-flirt with each other all the time and dear finds it endearing rather than off-putting. they don't think it's a problem that lasko gets jealous when they don't, they just physically can't be themselves. if lasko gets flirted with, they focus on how hilarious he sounds stuttering through his "i'm taken" explanation. dear got jealous one (1) time early on in the relationship when lasko was super busy with a new teacher assistant but they literally said to themselves "?? he's literally mine" and moved on.

i think the d.a.m.n. crew are all super sexy and get hit on a lot kthxbye

[vaguely-concerned]

every so often, varric will write a black fox story. not anything fancy or for publication or anything, just for fun and because he knows hawke has a soft spot for them. ("an intrepid hero getting into and out of all kinds of trouble and the merry band of misfits following inseparably in his wake? can't imagine why".) some of them are experimental, some of them are straightforward retellings; they're generally pretty short and quick to do, so he allows himself to play around with form and genre and language more than he does in his professional work. stretching over the span of almost twenty years as they do, they contain some of his favourite pieces of his own writing, and some of the most '...was I huffing lyrium fumes or drunk or both for this one, hawke? what the actual hell is this' pieces. hawke keeps every single one of them. varric speculates that this is either because they're just that sentimental, or possibly that it's for future blackmailing purposes. he usually has one ready for their birthday. they have so much blackmail material on him anyway by this point, he figures, what's one more piece of ammunition going to do one way or the other.

varric finishes one of these black fox tales a couple of nights before he brings rook with him to minrathous — the last one. it's about the very last black fox story, the one where the black fox and his friends all disappear together into the depths of arlathan forest, where those in the know say you can find them to this very day, if you know where to look, or if you ever find yourself in trouble and in need of a helping hand. they'll turn up to aid a traveller in need, and disappear back between the shaded trees again once the day is saved, squabbling all the way, seeking treasures and unlikely quests yet unfound and unimagined.

they say on some days, you can hear them as laughter and friendly bickering on the wind from a couple of clearings over. it's not the end, it's just other adventures, some other place. that's the thing about stories. they're funny that way.

(once he wrote a book for his mother on her deathbed and read it to her through the comfortless and drawn-out hours of the troubled nights, and he burned the book the day she died and never spoke of it again.)

after he finishes the manuscript, he sits with it for a long time in the quiet and the candlelight before he wraps it up properly and sends it off back home to kirkwall. he attaches a note -- a story, to the best of all my stories, the one I'd tell forever if I could. take care of each other while I'm gone. first one to arrive saves seats at the bar, right? happy birthday, and send all my lack of love to the merchant's guild, as always. —Varric

he sends that to hawke. just in case. and then he gets up and he goes to find rook — it's time to get going.

[ashtxeman]

A small analysis of the Black Friday line and the townie's individual wants

some hc stuff dabbled in here (mostly for james shopper), but the majority is based on canon!

Sherman Young: A classic case of being spoiled, he's greedy, if he wants something he'll get it no matter what. He's got the power of a hot rich Mother on his side so, there was no way he wasn't going to be there. If he lacks something, he feels incomplete and he'll probably wine about it too. Wiggly to him is like the final piece in his collection, the crowning jewel of all toys. As long as he doesn't have him he's not going to be happy.

James Shopper/The Corrupt Man: He's a clone of Charles Coven, and struggles heavily with seperating himself from his creator. He sees Wiggly as a way to be somebody new. Also explains his attachment to Linda's cheque, good treasure and great coin y'know. Wiggly is an opportunity to have a hobby or interest outside of what he's inherited from Charles.. and his want for Wiggly is also excentuated by the very greed he got from Charles.

Linda Monroe: Wilbur said most of this himself, she's desperate for adoration and thinks she'll find it if she gives her bratty children what they want.. or what she assumes they would want. We know they would never have actually mentioned Wiggly or shown interest, but Linda as a very shallow minded individual when it comes to these things would take a look at Wiggly, think of him as the latest 'trend', and set off to get the dolls for her boys. But her children don't really matter in the grand scheme of things, she's getting the Wiggly for herself as a source of adoration. She gives it to people who want it, and in return to she gets that love she craves so deeply.

Becky Barnes: On a surface level Becky is there to get dolls for the children, but in actuality she more likely wants the doll because she feels empty and alone. After the incident with Stanley she probably helps those feelings by interacting with the children and helping them, but once the doll is introduced she's drawn to it as a permanent source of happiness. A cure. Children come and go, but Wiggly is forever.

Tom Houston: Tom thinks he's here for his son, in a similar way to Becky where he feels empty and alone since the loss of Jane but finds those feelings easier to bare when Tim is happy. But deep down, he's here for himself. He knows that eventually Tim is going to grow sick of him, he's convinced himself that Tim blames him for what happened and they're inevitably going to grow apart. He'll be left more alone than ever before. If he gets a Wiggly, he can impress Tim and make him happy, make him want to stay. Or maybe, if he gets one, Tim won't even matter anymore.. Because just like it is with Becky, children come and go, but Wiggly is forever.

Curt's Shopper/Mildy Peeved Mega: He mentions that he 'lost his job when the plant closed' and he's clearly low on funds given how he complains about Wiggly's price fluctuating, so it's pretty obvious he's here for a Wiggly because he thinks it can help him forget his employment and financial troubles. Being unemployed must suck, especially in Hatchetfield where the threat of homelessness means a whole lot more. He's desperate for a crutch to help him forget. And who knows, if he has a Wiggly maybe people will think his cool and they'll hire him.

The Homeless Man: Joey's actually said a lot about this on commentary and such. The Homeless Man really wasn't there for a Wiggly at all.. he just saw everybody crowding and thought it looked warm, so joined in. Simply a case of him not wanting to freeze to death out in the cold. Though, when he does finally get his hands on a Wiggly and finds himself in the cult, it's easy to assume why. If anybody has holes that need to be fixed, it's him. His lovers dead, everyone hates him, and he's been haunted by a massive goat. Of course he'll think a cuddly little doll could help him!

Barry Swift/Man in a Hurry: Barry has one surface level character trait, and it's that he can never slow down. If you look to his dialogue in Daddy where he mentions trouble with his past relationships because of his tendency to hurry, you see just how much it ruins his life and even get the sense that he hates hurrying, but somehow has no choice but to do it anyway. A man who can never stop and enjoy life? Always gotta be on the move, looking for the next thing? The moment something like Wiggly comes into the picture, he's going to want it. Perhaps he thinks it'll finally motivate him to slow down and let him enjoy something.. or maybe he's just greedy and wants it so he can laugh in people's faces and say he's got one.

Gary Goldstein: Gary loves everybody in town, and really just wants to be appreciated and maybe even admired. Nobody credits him where he's due and some of his best clients treat him like shit (Sherman abusing his services for petty things, and Linda doing the same with the added threat of her husband if their affair is discovered). He's here for a Wiggly just because he knows it's the latest trend and if he gets in on it, people might like him more and he'll finally feel appreciated. He will do anything to be liked. Even join a cult and kick a man to death.

[seongsangssbitch]

SELFISH WALTZ | Seongjoong

Sypnosis- When Seonghwa's curiosity leads him to explore fanfiction after San mentions it, he stumbles upon stories about Hongjoong loving him with breathtaking warmth. The fictional devotion both comforts and pains him, as Seonghwa realizes such tender love could only exist in fiction, never in their reality.

WARNING- ↱THIS STORY WILL INCLUDE↲ ╰┈➤Idol Au ╰┈➤Best friends to lovers ╰┈➤Angst ╰┈➤No smut ╰┈➤Neurodivergent Seonghwa(not explicitly mentioned) ╰┈➤Denial of feelings ╰┈➤Mutual pining  ╰┈➤Unrequited love ╰┈➤Happy ending ╰┈➤Miscommunication

Pairing:Idol! Seonghwa x Idol! Hongjoong

Word count- 15.6K

@asherthehimbo hi baby, read this *winks*

"The scariest thing about distance is you don't know whether they'll miss you or forget you." — Nicholas Sparks, The Notebook

Hongjoong had been Seonghwa's best friend since their trainee days, a bond forged even before they debuted. Perhaps it was their close age gap that drew them together, or maybe it was something unspoken and inexplicable. Seonghwa could never pinpoint it exactly. He only knew that Hongjoong was special to him, a constant in his life, someone who had nestled himself deeply into his heart.

In the early days of their debut, Seonghwa thought Hongjoong felt the same. It was easy to believe. The way Hongjoong treated him—gently, preciously—felt like proof of something unique between them. But the illusion didn't last long. Hongjoong was like that with everyone. He wasn't just Seonghwa's; his kindness and affection weren't reserved for one person.

Seonghwa saw it when Hongjoong wiped Yeosang's face lovingly during practice, coaxing a rare smile out of the quiet boy. He saw it when Hongjoong curled up beside Wooyoung at night, their shared giggles audible even through thin dorm walls. It was there when he shyly kissed San and Mingi's cheeks as a playful show of affection, or when he cooked Jongho's favorite meals on the rare days their maknae felt low. Hongjoong even stayed up all night watching movies with Yunho, laughing loudly at inside jokes Seonghwa wasn't part of.

It didn't take long for Seonghwa to realize that he wasn't special. He wasn't the only one to receive Hongjoong's love, and he never had been. The realization came early, but it didn't soften the blow. The damage was already done, carved deep into his younger self's heart. He'd been so delusional then, letting himself believe he could hold a unique place in Hongjoong's life.

And now here he was—older, more seasoned, and no less pathetic. He was hopelessly, achingly in love with Kim Hongjoong, his leader, his best friend, and the person he could never have.

Their friendship, if it could even be called that, had always been peculiar. A tangled mess of boundaries blurred and feelings left unsaid. If Seonghwa thought about it too much, he realized it wasn't friendship at all—at least, not on his side. Hongjoong was someone Seonghwa loved with a depth that frightened him. He'd said it before, too. Not just once, not twice, but countless times. He'd told Hongjoong he loved him, usually in moments when the younger wasn't paying close attention, letting the words pass as something lighthearted. But Seonghwa always meant it.

Hongjoong was someone Seonghwa knew he would have in his life forever, no matter the distance that might separate them someday. Even if they grew old far apart, Seonghwa would still treasure every memory of him. Yet, he often wondered if Hongjoong thought about their connection with the same intensity. Did he feel the weight of it, the way it consumed Seonghwa? Or was Seonghwa just the foolish, desperate one, clutching tightly to something fragile and undefined?

That thought was the cruelest of all.

"Seonghwa-hyung," San's voice carried into the quiet room, breaking through the rhythmic sound of clicking Lego pieces. Seonghwa didn't need to look up to know who it was. The mischievous lilt in San's tone was unmistakable.

He glanced up anyway, his hands pausing mid-assembly as he carefully added another piece to the rose bouquet he was building. Beside him, a Ddeongbyeolie and a Jjongrami plushie sat like silent companions, their soft forms leaning against the corner of his desk. The bouquet was almost done, a delicate gesture of affection he planned to give to Hongjoong—though, of course, he hadn't yet decided if he'd actually follow through.

"Hey, Sannie," Seonghwa greeted, arching a brow. "What's up?"

San bounded into the room with his usual energy, his bright grin lighting up the dim space. Before Seonghwa could react, San leaned in close and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

Seonghwa froze, startled.

"You're acting weird," he said, narrowing his eyes at the younger man, though the corners of his mouth twitched with the beginnings of a smile.

San burst into laughter, hopping onto the edge of Seonghwa's bed like he didn't have a care in the world.

"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not," he teased, his giggles trailing off into something more conspiratorial.

"Alright, what's going on?" Seonghwa asked, turning back to his Lego bouquet but keeping a wary eye on San.

"So," San began, dragging the word out dramatically,

"today on live, I was messing around with Atinys—you know, just the usual stuff—and I stumbled upon something juicy."

"Juicy?" Seonghwa echoed, frowning slightly.

"Do I even want to know?"

San wiggled his eyebrows in response.

"Oh, you definitely want to know." He leaned forward, lowering his voice like he was sharing a top-secret piece of intel. "It's a guilty pleasure they've been trying so hard to hide from me. But of course, they failed. Miserably."

Seonghwa tilted his head, both amused and intrigued despite himself. "And? What is it?"

San smirked, clearly enjoying the suspense. "Member x member fanfictions," he declared, watching Seonghwa's reaction like a hawk.

Seonghwa blinked, processing the words. "Fanfiction?"

"Yup," San said, popping the 'p' with a grin. "You wouldn't believe how red they got in the comments when I started teasing them about it. It was hilarious!"

Seonghwa let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. "Of course, they write fanfiction. Atinys are creative like that."

"Oh, but hyung," San said, leaning in closer, his grin widening into something almost predatory. His eyes sparkled with a mix of amusement and mischief, the kind that usually spelled trouble. "You should see some of the pairings. They're... let's just say, very interesting."

Seonghwa groaned, already regretting his decision to entertain the conversation. He carefully set down the Lego piece he was holding, bracing himself for what was coming next. "San, I'm not sure I want to know what you found," he said, though his curiosity was already gnawing at him.

San's smirk widened, and he leaned back dramatically, clasping his hands together like he was about to deliver some groundbreaking revelation. "Oh, but hyung, you do want to know. Trust me."

"San..." Seonghwa warned, his tone half-exasperated, half-resigned.

San ignored the warning entirely, his voice dropping to a teasing lilt as he delivered the blow. "You and Hongjoong-hyung."

Seonghwa froze, the words hitting him like a bolt of lightning. His face flushed crimson almost instantly, the heat creeping all the way up to his ears. "W-what?" he stammered, his composure unraveling as he turned to San, wide-eyed.

"You and Hongjoong-hyung," San repeated with a wicked grin, clearly enjoying Seonghwa's reaction. "Turns out you two are, like, the ship. The most common one, actually. I saw it everywhere—Twitter, Tumblr, even TikTok. And get this—" San leaned forward again, lowering his voice for dramatic effect. "You guys made it to the top 100 ships on AO3. Isn't that crazy?"

Seonghwa's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. He could feel the blush deepening, his heart racing at the mere thought. "T-top 100?" he finally managed to croak out, his voice embarrassingly weak.

San nodded enthusiastically, clearly relishing every second of Seonghwa's discomfort. "Yup! Atinys love you two. They've written, like, thousands of fics about you guys. Some are really soft and romantic, others are..." San trailed off, biting his lip to suppress a laugh. "Well, let's just say they're creative, anal sex, mpreg everything."

Seonghwa buried his face in his hands, groaning loudly. "I shouldn't have asked. Why did I ask?"

San's laughter echoed through the room, light and teasing. "Relax, hyung! It's not a bad thing. It just means people love you two together. Think of it as a compliment!"

"A compliment?" Seonghwa peeked out from behind his hands, his voice muffled but incredulous. "How is that supposed to make me feel better?"

San shrugged, still grinning. "I don't know, maybe it'll make things less awkward next time you're around Hongjoong-hyung. Or... more awkward. Who knows?" He hopped off the bed, his laughter trailing behind him as he made his way to the door.

"Goodnight, hyung! Sweet dreams!" San sang out before disappearing into the hallway.

Seonghwa groaned again, slumping back in his chair. Sweet dreams? Not likely. He was pretty sure tonight's sleep would be haunted by thoughts of fanfiction and the image of him and Hongjoong being, of all things, a ship.

He tried to ignore the thumping in his chest, the way his heart seemed to beat just a little faster at the mention of Hongjoong and him being a "ship." Turning his attention back to the Lego rose bouquet in front of him, he picked up a piece and tried to focus, but his hands hesitated. His mind refused to quiet.

Top 100 ships?

The thought lingered like a stubborn tune stuck in his head. Did Atiny really see something between them? Was there something Seonghwa had been missing?

Chemistry...?

He shook his head as if trying to physically dislodge the idea. It was ridiculous—Hongjoong was just being Hongjoong. Affectionate, warm, and attentive. Not just to him but to all of them. Yet the idea continued to gnaw at him. What if they were right? What if we do look cute together?

The question sent a flutter of warmth and anxiety through him, and he groaned softly, leaning back in his chair. "This is ridiculous," he muttered to himself.

But it wasn't ridiculous enough to stop him from setting the unfinished bouquet aside and moving to his bed. Curiosity—it was just curiosity, he told himself, grabbing his iPad from the nightstand. That's all it was. He unlocked the screen and hesitated for a moment, his finger hovering over the search bar.

Am I really doing this?

The answer came in the form of a deep breath as he opened both AO3 and Wattpad, their familiar interfaces glowing back at him. He typed the words almost mechanically, as if by distancing himself from the action, he could pretend it wasn't a deliberate choice.

"Seongjoong ateez."

The search results loaded, and his screen filled with rows of stories, summaries, and tags. His eyes widened at the sheer number of them. Thousands of fics, each with titles ranging from soft and romantic to downright scandalous. Some were short, others were multi-chaptered epics, but they all had one thing in common—him and Hongjoong.

Seonghwa's hands trembled slightly as they hovered over the screen, his pulse quickening with every passing second. Rows upon rows of stories stared back at him, teasing, taunting. He scrolled through the list aimlessly, the sheer volume of fan-created worlds overwhelming.

"What am I even doing?" he whispered under his breath, his voice barely audible in the quiet of his room.

He should stop. It felt invasive, like he was prying into something deeply personal, yet entirely detached from the reality he lived in. But his curiosity burned brighter than his guilt, refusing to let him put the device down.

His eyes landed on two titles that caught his attention:  "Forbidden Colors" by larryloverq on Wattpad and "Between the Lines" on AO3. The summaries were enticing enough to make his heart flutter, though a pang of trepidation lingered in his chest. He hesitated before selecting the Wattpad story first, curiosity urging him forward.

The screen loaded, revealing the first chapter. As Seonghwa began reading, he found himself skimming more than anything, skipping between the chapters to get to the moments that felt the most significant.

It didn't take long before his breath hitched. In this world, Hongjoong was hopelessly, achingly in love with him—so much so that he sought out a one-night stand with someone who looked exactly like Seonghwa.

The revelation sent a jolt through him.

His chest tightened as he read the words, eyes scanning the page in disbelief. The idea was absurd, ridiculous even, but the way the author wrote it made it feel so heartbreakingly real. Hongjoong's imagined desperation, his longing to have Seonghwa even in such a fragmented, indirect way, clawed at Seonghwa's heart.

He didn't know whether to feel flattered or devastated.

Hongjoong, as the story painted him, was so deeply in love that every glance, every touch, every word was infused with an intensity that bordered on worship. And yet, the weight of that love was unbearable, so consuming that even the fictional Hongjoong resorted to fleeting replacements for something he couldn't have.

Seonghwa leaned back against the headboard, his lips parted in silent disbelief.

It's just fiction, he told himself, his fingers tightening around the iPad. This isn't real. None of it is real.

But the ache in his chest refused to subside.

Was it so impossible to imagine? Was there really no part of Hongjoong's affections that were uniquely his? The Seonghwa in the story wasn't him, not really, but the longing described in those paragraphs made him wonder. Did Hongjoong ever see him like that? Could he ever?

The thought was equal parts heart-fluttering and heartbreaking.

Shaking his head, he tried to pull himself out of the spiral. "Get a grip," he muttered, though his voice lacked conviction. He turned off Wattpad and switched to AO3, his curiosity far from sated.

This was supposed to be harmless, a little indulgence to pass the time. But as the pages blurred before him, Seonghwa began to realize he might have stepped into something far more personal than he was ready to admit.

The writing was exceptional, far beyond what Seonghwa had anticipated. It wasn't just fanfiction—it felt like literature. The words flowed with a grace and precision that reminded him of great authors like Jane Austen, weaving intricate emotions and subtle nuances into every sentence. At moments, the prose carried the suspense of a Dan Brown novel, pulling him into its grasp and refusing to let go.

His fans were so creative, so heartbreakingly talented, that he couldn't help but admire them. The way they crafted these imagined versions of himself and Hongjoong, so vivid and alive, left him in awe.

And yet, their talent was what made it so gut-wrenching.

Every description, every stolen glance, every unspoken confession was written with such painstaking detail that it felt real. Too real. Seonghwa could almost hear Hongjoong's imagined voice in his head, could almost see the way his fictional counterpart looked at him—like he was the only person who mattered.

It shattered him.

With every passing word, the lines between fiction and reality blurred, pulling him into a world where Hongjoong's love was something warm, unwavering, and unhidden. It was the kind of love that lingered in the spaces between words, in the cracks of silence, in the way a gaze could speak volumes without uttering a sound.

But it wasn't real.

It couldn't be real.

Seonghwa's chest tightened as the ache grew. The version of Hongjoong on the screen—the one who adored him so openly, so selflessly—was a creation, a fantasy born from someone else's imagination. It wasn't the Hongjoong he saw every day, the one who treated him as a cherished friend but nothing more.

And yet, the writing had a cruel way of making him wish otherwise.

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to breathe. His hands clenched around the iPad, the device feeling heavier with the weight of emotions he didn't know how to name. He admired his fans, truly, but in this moment, their talent felt like a double-edged sword.

Because their words had made him believe, even if just for a moment, that this kind of love was possible. And when reality came crashing back down, it left him in pieces.

He didn't even notice the fat tears spilling from his eyes, rolling down the smooth surface of his freshly moisturized skin, and landing with soft splashes on his tablet. The words on the screen blurred as the wetness smeared across the glass, but he didn't wipe them away. His mind was too heavy, his heart too full, and the ache in his chest too raw to allow for anything else.

He didn't notice how snotty his nose had gotten, how his sniffles were growing louder in the quiet of his room. The air felt thick, like it was closing in on him, but he barely registered it. All he could feel was the relentless ache, the sharp pull in his chest that left him struggling to breathe.

It hurt—more than he wanted to admit.

Because no matter how much he prayed to the universe, no matter how many times he wished on stars or whispered his quiet longings into the void of the night, one truth remained unshakably real.

Hongjoong wasn't his.

The realization hit him like a wave, pulling him under its suffocating weight. He clutched the tablet tighter, his knuckles turning white as if holding onto it could somehow anchor him to something solid, something real.

The Hongjoong in the stories was perfect—soft yet strong, unwaveringly devoted, and unafraid to wear his love for Seonghwa on his sleeve. That Hongjoong loved him without reservation, without hesitation.

But the real Hongjoong?

Seonghwa squeezed his eyes shut, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks. The real Hongjoong was warm and kind, yes, but his love was scattered. It belonged to everyone around him, shared so freely and openly that Seonghwa sometimes wondered if there was even a part of it that was just for him.

And yet, no matter how much he tried to tell himself it didn't matter, he couldn't stop wishing.

His chest heaved as another sob threatened to escape. He bit his lip, desperate to keep the sound from spilling out into the empty room. It felt pathetic—crying over something that was never his to begin with.

But the pain didn't care about reason or logic. It consumed him, wrapping around his heart and squeezing until all he could feel was the void where his longing for Hongjoong would forever remain unanswered.

Hongjoong sat hunched over his desk in the dim glow of his studio, the only light coming from the scattered monitors and the warm golden hue of the lamp on his table. His pen scratched against the notebook as he worked through another line of lyrics, the rhythm playing faintly in the background. Suddenly, he sneezed loudly, jolting his hand and smudging the ink.

"Who in heaven's dove is thinking about me right now?" he muttered, rubbing his nose and laughing softly to himself.

He shook his head, returning his focus to the page in front of him. It wasn't just any song he was working on. It was for Seonghwa.

His best friend's birthday was coming up soon, and Hongjoong wanted to make it special. Not just a gift, but something meaningful. A song, maybe one they could perform together. Seonghwa had always been passionate about the idea of a unit song, especially if it was something rock-inspired, like Evanescence or Måneskin. Hongjoong could almost hear the excitement in his voice when they'd talked about it before, the way his eyes had lit up with that familiar earnestness that always made Hongjoong want to give him the world.

As he tapped the pen against his notebook, his thoughts drifted. San had teased him about this earlier—about how especially he treated Seonghwa.

"You're so obvious, hyung," San had said with a grin that bordered on smug. "If Atinys knew how much of your time and energy is devoted to Seonghwa hyung, they'd riot."

Hongjoong had laughed it off at the time, brushing it aside like it was nothing. But deep down, he knew San wasn't entirely wrong.

Seonghwa was his muse more often than not. His calm in the chaos, his inspiration when the world felt overwhelming. Hongjoong wouldn't deny that Seonghwa had a way of grounding him, of being the steady presence he leaned on when things got tough. It wasn't just that Seonghwa was his best friend; he was his confidant, his right hand, the person who instinctively knew what Hongjoong needed before he even had to say it.

"Seonghwa deserves the best," Hongjoong whispered under his breath as he scribbled down another lyric. The words didn't flow as easily as he wanted, but he kept going, pushing through the mental block. He wanted this song to be perfect—not just because it was for Seonghwa, but because Seonghwa was perfect.

He didn't allow himself to dwell too long on the deeper implications of those thoughts. It wasn't the first time his mind had wandered down that path, but he'd always stopped himself before he could go too far.

Instead, he focused on the task at hand, pouring every ounce of his feelings into the music. If there was one thing Hongjoong couldn't bear to think about, it was life without Seonghwa.

That would be hell. A nightmare he refused to entertain.

A soft knock at the door pulled Hongjoong out of his creative haze. He blinked, momentarily disoriented, before looking up to see Maddox standing in the doorway, arms crossed and an exasperated expression plastered on his face.

"Eden Hyung wants the studio for the night," Maddox said, his tone of annoyance .

"Can you stop terrorizing this poor room and go sleep for once? You've been holed up in here for, what, seventeen hours? Go home to your wife and kids, oh god."

Hongjoong stared at him for a moment, caught between guilt and amusement. Maddox wasn't wrong—he had lost track of time somewhere in the middle of tweaking the chorus. But the part about a wife and kids? That made him stifle a laugh.

"Wife and kids, huh?" Hongjoong repeated, his lips quirking up in a grin.

"You know exactly who I'm talking about," Maddox shot back, rolling his eyes. "Seonghwa and the others, obviously. And don't act like you haven't heard people calling Seonghwa your wife before. It's basically common knowledge at this point."

Hongjoong tried—and failed—to hold back a giggle. People had been making that joke for years, and every time it came up, it never failed to fluster him. Not that he minded, really. If Seonghwa was the one they paired him with, he couldn't exactly complain.

"He'd probably kill me if he heard you say that," Hongjoong said, shaking his head.

"Please, he'd just roll his eyes and start cleaning up after you like the doting husband he is," Maddox retorted with a teasing smirk. "Now pack up and go home. You look like you're about to collapse, and I don't want to be the one explaining to Seonghwa why you're passed out on the floor."

Hongjoong sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He glanced at the scattered papers and notebooks covering the desk, the half-finished lyrics staring back at him. He didn't want to stop—not when he was so close to getting it right.

But the thought of Seonghwa nagging at him for overworking again made him smile. His members, especially Seonghwa, always took care of him in ways he didn't even realize he needed. And if he were honest with himself, he liked the idea of going back to their shared space, hearing Seonghwa's quiet voice as he told him off for staying up too late.

"Alright, alright," Hongjoong said, standing up and stretching with a groan. "Tell Eden hyung he can have the studio. But if he touches my notebooks, I'm coming back for him."

"Deal," Maddox said with a grin, stepping aside to let Hongjoong gather his things.

As Hongjoong grabbed his bag and made his way out, he couldn't shake the warm feeling spreading through his chest. Maybe the world teased him about Seonghwa being his "wife," but deep down, he knew there was no one else he'd rather come home to—whether they called it that or not.

If there was one word Hongjoong would use to describe Seonghwa, it would be the dove from Bernini's Fontana dei Quattro Fiumi. From a distance, it might seem like nothing more than an annoying pigeon—stationary, unremarkable, and always lingering in the same spot. But the moment you step closer, you realize there's so much more to it. Up close, the dove isn't just a simple bird; it's a meticulously sculpted bronze figure, eternally fixed in its place on the fountain. The intricate detailing, the sense of calm it exudes despite its apparent stillness—it all becomes apparent when you look beyond the surface.

Seonghwa was like that. At first glance, he might have seemed quiet, almost distant, and certainly not someone who would leave a lasting impression. But once you paid closer attention, you saw the depth in his actions, the subtleties in the way he cared for those around him, the way his presence had an unspoken but undeniable pull. His stillness, much like the dove, wasn't a sign of emptiness—it was a reflection of something far more profound, a peace that radiated even in the most chaotic moments.

Hongjoong found himself captivated by that quiet grace, even if it meant silently admiring him from afar, like the distant onlookers who never quite realized the beauty of the dove until they took a closer look.

Hongjoong didn't even realize how he had gotten home. His feet seemed to know the way, guiding him toward the familiar entrance of the apartment he shared with San and Seonghwa. The comforting scent of home enveloped him as he pushed the door open, stepping into the quiet warmth of their space. He let out a small sigh of relief—it was late, but being here, surrounded by the people he cared about, always had a way of grounding him.

They each had their own rooms, of course, but Hongjoong had always loved sharing a space with Seonghwa. There was something about it—something so inherently peaceful. It felt natural. As he walked through the apartment, he made his way to the kitchen first, his hand instinctively reaching for a glass. He drank deeply, the cool water refreshing him after the long day of working in the studio.

He then wandered to his own room, where he shed his clothes, slipping into the comfort of his pajamas. Despite the exhaustion weighing on him, there was something about being here, in this apartment, that always made him feel at ease. But his night wasn't quite complete yet. Without thinking, his feet carried him toward Seonghwa's room, a soft, almost reverent smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he approached the door.

He hesitated for just a moment, hand resting on the doorknob. The air felt heavier in this space—Seonghwa's presence was unmistakable even when the room was empty. Then, with a gentle push, he cracked the door open, careful not to disturb the quiet. Inside, the soft glow of a nightlight illuminated the room just enough to reveal the familiar comfort of Seonghwa's world: the neat arrangement of books on the nightstand, the soft hum of the air conditioning, the faint scent of lavender that always lingered around him.

Hongjoong stood there for a moment, just watching the peaceful stillness of it all, his heart easing at the sight of his best friend's space. He didn't need to say anything, didn't need to do anything. Just being there, in this familiar place, felt like home.

Hongjoong stepped closer to the bed, his gaze drawn to the soft light still emanating from the lamp. His eyes caught a small, unfinished Lego rose resting on the blanket, a sight that made his brow furrow in confusion. Seonghwa never left his Lego sets unfinished—he was always meticulous, always made sure to finish each one with precision. The incomplete rose felt out of place, and a strange sense of unease began to stir in Hongjoong's chest.

He shook the thoughts aside, deciding it was nothing. Perhaps Seonghwa had simply gotten tired or distracted. But as he climbed into the bed, he was immediately enveloped in the warmth of Seonghwa's blanket, a warmth that felt more intense than usual. It wasn't just comforting—it was almost too warm, too heavy. His frown deepened, and he instinctively reached for Seonghwa, inching closer to check on him.

When his hand brushed against Seonghwa's arm, he felt the heat radiating from his skin. His heart skipped a beat as he carefully ran his fingers over Seonghwa's forehead, feeling the unmistakable signs of a fever. His skin was warm and clammy to the touch, his body trembling slightly beneath the covers.

Hongjoong's frown deepened as he noticed the subtle signs of distress on Seonghwa's face. Tears clung to his eyelashes, faint but visible in the dim light, and the corners of his eyes were red and irritated. His nose was snotty, the faint remnants of a cold or illness he hadn't mentioned before. Seonghwa's breathing was shallow, a little ragged as he lay there, oblivious to Hongjoong's presence.

A rush of panic surged through Hongjoong, the sudden realization hitting him like a wave. Seonghwa was running a fever. He quickly checked his pulse, relieved to find it steady but faster than usual. Yet, the sight of his best friend lying so vulnerable, unguarded and weak, made his heart ache.

"Seonghwa..." Hongjoong whispered, his voice barely audible. He carefully pulled the blanket back, scooting closer to Seonghwa's side. His hands, usually steady and confident, trembled slightly as he brushed a strand of hair away from Seonghwa's face, his heart heavy with worry.

"Hyung, you should've told me," Hongjoong murmured, his voice laced with a mix of concern and frustration. But he didn't want to wake him just yet. Seonghwa looked peaceful despite the fever, a vulnerability that Hongjoong rarely saw in him. He wanted to protect him from this, to take away the ache in Seonghwa's body.

Hongjoong quietly slipped out of Seonghwa's bed, careful not to disturb the warmth of his sleeping figure. He felt the weight of concern settle in his chest as he walked toward San's room. He knocked softly on the door, his knuckles making a faint sound against the wood. A groan came from inside, followed by the sound of shifting blankets.

San's face appeared in the doorway moments later, his messy hair falling into his eyes, and his pyjamas hanging loose on his frame. One hand was holding a phone, clearly still in the middle of a call, his screen displaying Wooyoung's amused face. His expression flickered with irritation, but his eyes softened when he saw Hongjoong standing there, looking more serious than usual.

"It better be worth it to interrupt my video call with Wooyoung," San muttered, rubbing his eyes as he stood up, stretching his arms in an exaggerated motion.

Hongjoong rolled his eyes, a faint smirk curling the corner of his lips. "Well, you could have just roomed with Wooyoung if you were so eager to be around him," he retorted, his voice light but laced with an undertone of frustration.

San shrugged nonchalantly, the phone still clutched in one hand, though he had stopped looking at it. He leaned against the doorframe with a playful, lazy grin. "I love Seonghwa hyung more," he said simply, his tone filled with affection, the words almost like a warm confession.

Hongjoong paused for a moment, blinking at San in surprise. It wasn't that he didn't know how close the two were—he'd seen it countless times before, the easy camaraderie between them, the quiet moments of connection. But hearing San say it so openly, so casually, made a small pang twist in his chest.

His gaze softened, but he quickly masked it with a slight cough.

"Well, you'll love him a lot more if you help me out," Hongjoong said, straightening himself up, trying to shake off the uncomfortable feeling that had surfaced.

"Seonghwa got a fever. He's really sick."

San's playful expression faded immediately, replaced by a look of genuine concern. His eyes widened as he quickly pushed the door open wider, stepping aside to let Hongjoong in. "What? Why didn't you wake me up earlier?" he asked, his voice suddenly more serious as he followed Hongjoong back toward Seonghwa's room.

Hongjoong let out a breath, his own worry increasing as he returned to the room. "I didn't want to bother you—he was already asleep. I just... didn't know what to do," he admitted, his voice soft but laden with the weight of his care for Seonghwa.

San didn't answer right away. His eyes scanned the room, lingering on Seonghwa's figure, still nestled under the warmth of his blankets. The soft glow of the bedside lamp flickered over Seonghwa's tired face, his brow furrowed in a feverish sleep. San's expression shifted, his playful demeanor now replaced with quiet resolve.

"I'm going to grab some medicine and water," San said, his voice low and steady. "Stay with him. Don't let him wake up alone."

Hongjoong nodded, feeling a wave of relief wash over him at San's immediate response. There was no question in San's voice, no hesitation. He knew exactly what to do. As San rushed out, Hongjoong moved closer to Seonghwa, his fingers brushing over the sick man's forehead, the heat radiating from him making Hongjoong's chest tighten with worry.

When San returned, his arms were loaded with medicines and a glass of water. But Hongjoong's brow furrowed as he noticed the absence of food.

"Did he eat dinner?" Hongjoong asked, his voice carrying an edge of concern. His eyes were locked on the medicine San was about to administer, and something about the situation didn't sit right. "You know you can't give him medicine without food in his stomach."

San paused for a moment, looking down at the collection of pills in his hand, then back at Hongjoong with a thoughtful frown. "Shit, I didn't think of that." His eyes darted around the room as if looking for a solution. Then, his gaze landed on the empty countertop in the corner of the room.

"I'll make him some ramen," San said, a plan forming in his mind.

"You wake him up and keep him busy. Don't let him doze off while he's half awake. He's stubborn, and if he gets too comfortable, he'll sleep through everything."

Hongjoong gave a quick nod, already heading back to Seonghwa's bedside. He leaned down, gently brushing Seonghwa's damp bangs from his forehead, his own fingers trembling slightly from the closeness. "Seonghwa," he whispered softly, the warmth of his breath mixing with Seonghwa's heated skin. "Hey, Hwa, wake up for me. You need to eat something before you take your medicine."

Seonghwa stirred slightly, a low groan escaping his lips as his eyes fluttered open. His expression was blurry, his gaze hazy from the fever. Hongjoong's heart clenched at the sight of him so vulnerable.

"You need to eat," Hongjoong repeated, his voice softer now, coaxing. "San's making you ramen. Just stay awake for a little while, okay?"

Seonghwa blinked slowly, his eyes heavy as if fighting the pull of sleep. His lips parted slightly, but the words came out as little more than a faint murmur. "Ramen?" he asked, his gaze unfocused, his voice barely audible. His eyes fluttered closed again, drifting back into the haze of feverish slumber.

Hongjoong's hand instinctively reached out, gently cupping Seonghwa's warm cheek, guiding his face back toward him. He leaned in, his voice soft but firm. "Yes, ramen. You're not getting this medicine without something in your stomach," Hongjoong said, the tenderness in his tone betraying the concern swirling in his chest. "So, you're going to stay awake until San brings it."

Seonghwa mumbled something that resembled a hum of agreement, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he snuggled deeper into the blankets. "Yumm," he murmured before his body relaxed again, drifting back into a doze.

Hongjoong let out a quiet breath, relieved that Seonghwa had responded at least a little. But just as he started to sit back, ready to let Seonghwa rest, the feverish figure stirred again, his brow furrowing slightly as his eyes snapped open.

"Wait—why am I being given medicine?" Seonghwa's voice cracked with panic, his eyes wide with sudden clarity. His hand shot out from the blankets, fumbling in a rush to grab something from the nightstand. But before Hongjoong could say anything, Seonghwa's fingers closed around his tablet, quickly trying to hide it from view, though it was already closed. His breath quickened slightly, anxiety creeping into his voice.

"And Hongjoong, how are you here? What's going on?"

Hongjoong's heart skipped at the sudden shift in Seonghwa's demeanor, the once-dazed feverish haze giving way to a panicked awareness. Seonghwa looked—lost, even—and the sight of him trying to hide the tablet only made Hongjoong's concern deepen.

"Hey, it's okay," Hongjoong said softly, his voice a comforting balm as he moved closer, his hand reaching for Seonghwa's in a gentle but steady grip. "You're sick, hyung. You're running a fever, so San and I are just making sure you're okay. You're not in trouble."

Seonghwa blinked at him, still looking a little confused, his eyes darting to the tablet in his hand, then back to Hongjoong. "But... the tablet?" His voice was quieter now, a flicker of embarrassment creeping in. "I wasn't... I wasn't doing anything bad, was I?"

Hongjoong could sense the unease in Seonghwa's voice, the way his hands tightened around the device. It was clear Seonghwa didn't want anyone to know what he had been doing, his face flushed with a mixture of confusion and guilt. Hongjoong's heart ached seeing him like this—, self-conscious, and unwell.

"Hey, Hwaie," Hongjoong said softly, shifting closer to Seonghwa's bedside. His hand gently cupped Seonghwa's cheek, his thumb brushing over the feverish skin. "What's the matter with you?"

The room was quiet except for the soft rustle of blankets and the faint hum of the night, but the moment the words left Hongjoong's lips, Seonghwa's entire body seemed to stiffen. For a second, the younger man thought Seonghwa might pull away, but instead, his lips trembled. His eyes, clouded with the heaviness of his fever, filled with something else—a deep, unspoken sorrow.

Before Hongjoong could even register the shift, Seonghwa's breath hitched, and the tears he'd been holding back broke free. The sob that escaped him was raw, desperate, and caught Hongjoong completely off-guard.

Seonghwa's chest rose and fell erratically, each breath shaking as he tried to hold it together, but the floodgates had opened. His lips parted, a few silent gasps escaping before he finally spoke, his voice quivering with a mix of frustration and helplessness.

"Nothing is the matter with me..." he whispered, as though trying to convince both Hongjoong and himself, but the cracks in his voice betrayed him. The attempt to mask his vulnerability only made it more obvious, and Hongjoong's heart ached at the sight of him—so strong, yet in this moment, completely undone.

Hongjoong didn't know what to do at first. His fingers gently wiped away the tears that trailed down Seonghwa's flushed cheeks, his thumb caressing the soft skin as he met his eyes, searching for something—anything—that could help him understand.

"Seonghwa," Hongjoong murmured, his voice low and steady, like a gentle anchor in the storm. He leaned in closer, keeping his tone soft yet firm, wanting to make sure Seonghwa knew he was there, truly there, for whatever came next. "You don't have to lie to me. It's okay to let it out."

Seonghwa's gaze dropped immediately, the weight of Hongjoong's words pressing down on him, and he turned his face away slightly, trying to hide from the vulnerability that seemed to rise like a tide within him. His body trembled with the effort of keeping it all together, and he let out a shaky breath, his chest tight. He wanted to speak, to explain everything that was suffocating him, but the words seemed to get tangled in his throat.

He stared at the blankets, avoiding Hongjoong's gaze, but still, he didn't pull away from the comforting touch on his cheek.

There was a long silence before Seonghwa finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, cracking with uncertainty.

"Can you please not sleep with me today? Let Sannie care for me, please... you look tired."

The words hit Hongjoong harder than he expected, and his breath caught for a moment. He frowned, a flicker of confusion passing across his face. "I'm not tired, Hwa," he replied gently, reaching out, his thumb still brushing against Seonghwa's flushed cheek. "I want to be here for you, to help. You don't have to push me away."

But before Hongjoong could say more, Seonghwa interrupted, his voice more insistent now, as if it had become something urgent, something beyond his control. "Please... I don't want you here."

Seonghwa's words hung in the air, and for a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath. Hongjoong blinked, taken aback by the sharpness in Seonghwa's voice. It wasn't harsh, but it was final, like a wall had suddenly risen between them. His heart twisted, the rawness in Seonghwa's plea cutting deeper than he could have anticipated.

Seonghwa turned further into the blankets, his body curling in on itself, as if trying to make himself smaller, as if the weight of his own emotions was too much to bear under Hongjoong's gaze. Hongjoong stayed quiet for a moment, letting the silence stretch between them.

His chest tightened, and a knot formed in his throat, but Hongjoong understood—he understood that sometimes, even the people we trust the most need space, need to be allowed to go through things alone.

Taking a deep breath, Hongjoong let his hand fall from Seonghwa's face, his fingers lingering for just a second longer before pulling away. "Alright," he said softly, his voice steady, though there was a small ache that lingered beneath the surface. "I'll let you rest, Hwa. But I'm right here, okay? Whenever you're ready, I'll be here."

He stood up slowly, his heart heavy with the unspoken words between them. He glanced back at Seonghwa one last time, watching the older man's form curled into the warmth of the blankets, his back to him now.

Hongjoong stood still in the hallway for a moment, his hand still on the door handle, as the weight of Seonghwa's words sank deep into him. He couldn't shake the feeling of helplessness, like there was something more he should have done, something he could have said to make Seonghwa feel safe, feel okay. The soft thud of his heart echoed in his chest as his mind swirled with the question that had no answer:

What could I have possibly done to make Seonghwa so...... afraid of me?

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the ache in his chest lingered, gnawing at him. The uncertainty gnawed at his insides—had he done something wrong? Was it the way he'd been too persistent, too overbearing, or had something else caused Seonghwa to pull away like that? Hongjoong couldn't help but feel as if a piece of their bond had cracked, and he didn't know how to fix it.

As he walked down the hallway, his thoughts heavy and clouded, the faint sound of footsteps behind him broke his trance. He turned, and San was standing there, his brow furrowed as he glanced between Hongjoong and the door to Seonghwa's room.

San raised an eyebrow, his eyes narrowing as he observed Hongjoong's expression. He could have sworn there was a faint shimmer in Hongjoong's eyes, something like unshed tears—something vulnerable that didn't usually reside in the man who always seemed so in control. But instead of pressing him, San chose to focus on the more pressing matter at hand.

Seonghwa was his priority right now.

With a quiet exhale, San stepped past Hongjoong, entering Seonghwa's room without waiting for a reply. He had come prepared, bringing the warm ramen, medicine, and water, knowing the older man would need all of it. He carefully set everything down on the bedside table, making sure the warm steam from the ramen filled the room, its comforting scent mingling with the air.

San glanced over at Seonghwa, who was still curled up in the blankets, his expression a mixture of exhaustion and discomfort. The sight of Seonghwa so small, so vulnerable, made San's heart ache. He had known Seonghwa for so long, and to see him like this... it was a stark reminder of how fragile they all were, how even the strongest among them needed someone to lean on.

"hyung, hey," San said gently, crouching down beside the bed, his voice soft but insistent. He didn't want to wake him too harshly, but he needed to make sure Seonghwa ate. "I brought you some ramen, and the meds. You need to take them so you can feel better, okay?"

Seonghwa stirred slightly, his eyes flickering open just enough to see San's face before his gaze dropped, as if trying to hide how weak he felt in that moment. There was a faint wince of discomfort as he shifted, the weight of the situation still heavy in his mind.

"...Ramen?" Seonghwa murmured, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper.

"Yeah," San said with a small, reassuring smile. "Ramen. It'll help. You've gotta eat something, Hwa."

Seonghwa seemed to consider it for a moment, but he was still too lost in his thoughts to truly focus on the food. His eyes were glazed, distant, as if his mind was elsewhere—somewhere darker, somewhere he didn't want to be. San noticed it, but he didn't press. He simply moved the ramen closer and took the water, offering it gently to Seonghwa.

San carefully raised the chopsticks, a small portion of ramen balanced delicately between them. He blew on it to cool it slightly before offering it to Seonghwa, who still looked fragile, caught somewhere between exhaustion and the storm of emotions swirling within him. Seonghwa hesitated for a moment, his tired eyes flickering between the food and San's concerned face.

"Did something happen?" San asked softly, his voice low and gentle, trying to reach Seonghwa without pushing too hard. There was something in the way Seonghwa had been acting all day—something that didn't sit right with him.

Seonghwa blinked at San, and for a moment, it seemed like he would try to brush it off. But then, as the warm bite of ramen touched his lips, something inside him seemed to snap. The comfort of the food, the warmth of San's presence, the quiet care—it all overwhelmed him. Seonghwa's face crumpled, and before he could stop himself, tears spilled down his cheeks in a torrent. His sobs came in jagged gasps, raw and unrestrained, as if the dam had finally broken and there was nothing left to hold back.

San froze for a moment, stunned by the intensity of Seonghwa's reaction. He quickly placed the ramen bowl aside, his concern shifting to the older man in an instant. Seonghwa's crying only grew louder, more desperate, as he pressed his hands to his face in an attempt to stop the tears, but it was no use. His snot was dripping, his cheeks flushed, and the sobs wracked his body. He looked utterly heartbroken.

San's eyes softened, a mixture of empathy and helplessness welling up inside him. The scene before him was so far from what Seonghwa usually was—strong, composed, the person everyone turned to for support. To see him so utterly broken felt like a punch to the gut. But even in this vulnerable state, San couldn't help but try to lighten the atmosphere, if only to give Seonghwa a moment of reprieve.

"Don't make the ramen more salty," San said with a teasing grin, despite the tightening in his chest. He reached over and gently patted Seonghwa on the back, though he had to fight not to grimace at the sight of the snot and tears, now mixed with a little bit of saliva dripping down the older man's chin. It was messy, raw, and very human.

For a moment, there was silence, save for Seonghwa's shaky breath and the quiet sniffling. Then, in a completely unexpected moment, Seonghwa pulled back from his hands, his face red and blotchy, but the tears hadn't stopped yet. He let out a small, broken laugh, catching his breath as he wiped at his nose.

San gave a soft chuckle, reaching for the napkins on the bedside table to hand Seonghwa. "You've got a bit of a nose situation there, hyung," he said, his voice low but still carrying a hint of humor.

Seonghwa took the napkin, pressing it to his nose, his laugh breaking into another round of sniffles. He quickly wiped his face, trying to regain some semblance of composure, but his gaze stayed low, too embarrassed to look at San for a moment.

"I'm sorry," Seonghwa whispered, his voice still shaky. "I didn't mean to... cry like this."

San shook his head, a kind smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You don't need to apologize for being human, Hwa," he said, his tone firm but affectionate. "You're allowed to feel. Just let it out. We'll get through it together."

Seonghwa didn't respond right away. He simply sat there, his body trembling, his head low as he let himself feel the weight of the emotions that had clearly been building inside him. Eventually, after the storm of tears had subsided a little, he looked up at San, his eyes a little clearer but still clouded with sadness.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice softer now, but the sincerity was there, woven into the way he held San's gaze.

San, still perched on the edge of the bed, gave Seonghwa a long, understanding look, his expression softened with concern. He wasn't entirely sure how to approach this—he had been used to Seonghwa being the strong, composed one, the rock for everyone around him. To see him so broken, so vulnerable, made San's heart ache. But it also opened a door, and it was clear Seonghwa wasn't going to close it just yet.

"Now tell me what happened," San asked gently, his voice laced with both curiosity and a hint of empathy. He needed to understand, to know what had shaken Seonghwa so deeply, to know how to help him pull through this.

Seonghwa let out a small, almost resigned breath, his fingers tracing absent patterns along the blanket as he avoided San's gaze for a moment. The room fell into an odd quiet, only the soft sounds of Seonghwa's breathing breaking it, as though he were carefully selecting his words.

"I guess... I just realized I'm utterly in love with Kim Hongjoong," Seonghwa said with a quiet shrug, the words coming out in a mix of finality and hesitation, as though admitting them aloud was a challenge of its own. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, the weight of the confession pressing down on him, his shoulders sagging slightly under the revelation.

San blinked, his mind catching up with the unexpected turn of Seonghwa's confession. He had known there was something between the two of them, some kind of bond, but to hear Seonghwa put it into those words left him momentarily stunned. Hongjoong? The same Hongjoong who was often distant, playful, and wrapped up in his own chaotic life? The same Hongjoong who had always seemed to exist in his own world, barely paying attention to Seonghwa in any deep emotional way?

"Oh," San said, his voice a little quieter now, a slight chuckle escaping his lips. He had expected at least one of them to eventually fall in love—it was almost inevitable, the way they were always together, the way they understood each other without even needing to speak.

But Seonghwa? San hadn't anticipated that. He'd always thought it was Hongjoong who would be the first to fall, the one to acknowledge his feelings, but apparently, he was wrong.

Seonghwa caught the pause, the tone of San's response, and for a second, his eyes narrowed in slight embarrassment. But San didn't seem to be mocking him—if anything, it was more like he was digesting the truth, trying to comprehend it.

"I wasn't expecting that from you either," San continued, settling down beside Seonghwa, trying to lighten the air a little. "You've always been the one to keep things under wraps, Hwa. You never really showed anyone your heart like this before."

Seonghwa let out a small laugh, though it was tinged with bitterness. "I've kept a lot hidden. A lot of things I never said because... because I couldn't. It's complicated, you know? He's not the easiest person to figure out, and I... I don't even know how to handle it."

He let out a long, shaky breath, his fingers still grasping the edge of the blanket. "I just... I can't seem to get him out of my head. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try to distract myself, he's always there. And I'm terrified, San. What if he doesn't feel the same? What if this... all of this just ruins everything?"

"I'm going to give you a really stupid piece of advice—one that Wooyoung would probably smack me for—but what do you think of ignoring Hongjoong-hyung for a little while?" San said, leaning back casually. "See if he misses your existence like a starved man. As they say, disfance is the best way to understand your feelings."

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow, San's suggestion sinking in as he processed it. It wasn't something he'd expected to hear, and while it sounded ridiculous, it carried a strange sort of logic. A small chuckle escaped his lips, though it didn't quite reach his eyes, still clouded with uncertainty.

"Wait, hold on," Seonghwa said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Are you actually suggesting I play hard to get? Is that what you're telling me right now?"

San shrugged nonchalantly, his lips quirking into a smirk. "Not hard to get, per se. Just... give him some room to notice what he's been taking for granted. Distance has a way of making people realize what they truly feel. Hongjoong is so wrapped up in his own world that he probably hasn't even stopped to consider how much you mean to him."

Seonghwa gave San a skeptical look. "And you think that'll work? That he'll actually notice?" His heart wavered between hope and the fear of setting himself up for disappointment.

San's smirk softened into something more genuine, his gaze steady. "I'm not saying it's a magic trick, but yeah, I think he will. Hongjoong's pansexual, Seonghwa. He's not going to care about labels or appearances—if you're the one he's meant to be with, he'll figure it out. You've been there for him in ways no one else has. He's not oblivious to that."

Seonghwa felt a lump form in his throat, emotions he'd tried so hard to bury threatening to surface. For so long, he had convinced himself that Hongjoong could never reciprocate his feelings. Hearing San's words, though, sparked a small flicker of hope—a fragile ember he didn't dare fan too quickly.

"So, you really think space will help?" Seonghwa asked, his voice quieter now, tinged with cautious curiosity.

San shrugged, the playful grin returning. "Maybe. But it's not about playing games. It's about you, too. You've been so caught up in taking care of him, always being there, that maybe it's time to take a step back and focus on yourself. If he feels the same, he'll notice your absence. If not, at least you'll have clarity."

Seonghwa considered that, the tension in his chest loosening slightly. "And what if he doesn't miss me? What if it backfires?"

San rolled his eyes dramatically. "God, Hwa, you're such a pessimist. Fine, here's the worst-case scenario: he doesn't miss you. You'll survive, and you'll know where you stand. But honestly? Hongjoong's not an idiot. He'll notice—eventually. Just don't expect him to figure it out overnight. You know how he is—thick-headed as hell when it comes to emotions."

That earned a genuine laugh from Seonghwa, the sound breaking through his lingering doubt. "Yeah, you're right about that. He can be completely oblivious sometimes."

San leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. "Then give it a shot. What's the harm? And, hey, worst case, you'll have a little peace and quiet for a change."

Seonghwa was about to thank San for his advice when a thought popped into his head—a thought so absurd it made him cringe internally. Before he could stop himself, the words spilled out:

"What if he tries to hook up with someone who looks like me because he realizes he can't have me?"

San froze, blinking at Seonghwa as if he'd just grown a second head. "What the actual hell, Seonghwa?" he managed, his voice a mix of shock and disbelief. "What are you even talking about?"

Seonghwa's cheeks flushed red as he shrugged, his grin sheepish. "I mean, it's not impossible, right? What if he just... substitutes me with someone else who looks like me?"

San stared at him, dumbfounded, before bursting into laughter. "You've got to be kidding me. Did you seriously just come up with that scenario? What are you doing, reading fanfictions about yourself or something?"

Seonghwa winced, averting his gaze. "I mean... kind of. And, uh, I might've seen a story like that once."

San nearly fell off his seat, clutching his stomach as he laughed even harder. "Oh my god, you actually read them! I knew it! This explains so much."

"Shut up!" Seonghwa snapped, his face turning an even deeper shade of red. "You're the one who put these ridiculous ideas in my head!"

San wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, his laughter subsiding into a wide grin. "Okay, okay, I'll stop. But seriously, Hwa, fanfiction is fiction. Hongjoong isn't going to go chasing after some look-alike. He's not that kind of guy, and you're not some cliché character in a melodrama. Give him some credit—and give yourself some, too."

Seonghwa sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know... sometimes it's hard not to overthink everything. I just... I feel like I'm too complicated for him. Like, what if I'm too much?"

San's expression softened, the teasing gone. "You're not too much, Seonghwa. You're just enough. If Hongjoong's the right person for you, he'll see that. And if he doesn't? Well, that's his loss, not yours."

For the first time in days, Seonghwa felt a small weight lift off his shoulders. "Thanks, San," he said quietly, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

San grinned, giving him a playful nudge. "Anytime. Now stop reading fanfiction about yourself, okay? It's messing with your head."

Seonghwa chuckled, the tension in his chest easing just a little. Maybe San was right—maybe it was time to trust himself and see where things would lead.

The next few days passed in a haze of tissues, medicine, and restless naps for Seonghwa. With no schedules to keep him busy, he focused all his energy on recovering from the fever that had stubbornly taken hold. His birthday was next week, and there was no way he was going to let a fever ruin his one day of the year. If anything, he wanted to show up looking radiant, the picture of health, because Seonghwa refused to settle for anything less than perfection—especially on his day.

Meanwhile, Hongjoong spiraled deeper into what could only be described as an unhinged creative breakdown. Seonghwa's absence—or rather, his deliberate cold shoulder—gnawed at him in ways he couldn't articulate. He'd tried brushing it off at first, chalking it up to Seonghwa being tired or busy, but days had passed, and the radio silence felt deliberate. It wasn't like Seonghwa to ignore him, not him. Hongjoong felt a burning frustration every time his messages were left on read or unanswered.

His only solace was his studio, though even that wasn't much of a safe space anymore. His gift for Seonghwa—a song he had painstakingly crafted to capture everything he couldn't put into words—started to take a darker turn. It was supposed to be hopeful, maybe even romantic in a way that would make Seonghwa smile (and maybe, just maybe, realize how much Hongjoong actually cared).

Instead, the melody became drenched in melancholy. The lyrics grew raw, unfiltered, dripping with the kind of pain that made Hongjoong's chest ache. Each line felt like a confession, and every chord hit like a wound reopening. By the time Eden came by to check on his progress, the song was so heart-wrenching that even Eden—Eden of all people, the human embodiment of stoic disinterest—was visibly moved. Rumor had it, the man might've even shed a tear.

Was it the song? Or maybe it was Eden thinking about his own loveless marriage, the wife he hardly saw because he spent all his time holed up in this very studio. Either way, it wasn't important. Eden wasn't the focus here, and no one had time to dive into his tragic backstory.

The real issue was Hongjoong, who was steadily unraveling as the days stretched on. The longer Seonghwa avoided him, the more his thoughts spiraled, turning self-doubt into self-sabotage. Every note he added to the song felt like it wasn't enough—too raw, too vulnerable, not vulnerable enough. He was drowning in a sea of second guesses, and all of it came back to one question: Why was Seonghwa ignoring him?

Hongjoong hated this feeling, this lack of control. He hated how much space Seonghwa took up in his head, how much of his energy was devoted to trying to understand what he had done wrong. Because surely, surely, he had done something. Why else would Seonghwa be pulling away?

And so, with every passing day, Hongjoong poured himself further into the song, chasing an impossible perfection that he hoped might bridge the growing gap between them. Or, at the very least, distract him from the gnawing emptiness Seonghwa's absence had left behind.

The song finished earlier than expected, it was named,

"my best friend"(tottally not inspired by Selfish waltz)

"My Best Friend" (Verse 1) I watched you fade into the background, Your footsteps growing faint, unheard. You're standing there, so close, so distant,(why you acting like that) Your silence screaming louder than words.(Why is it so aggressive) (Pre-Chorus) Do I miss you, or the ghost you've left behind? Your laughter feels like shards I can't unwind. If this is friendship, why does it ache like sin? I'm losing battles I don't know how to win. (Chorus) Oh, my best friend, why do you disappear? A shadow in my heart, but you're not near. I'm calling out, but my voice won't reach, A love I can't name, a bond out of reach. Oh, my best friend, do you feel it too? Or am I just selfish for needing you? (Verse 2) I hold your name like a secret prayer, Afraid the world will take it away. You're my anchor and my tidal wave, Pulling me closer, pushing me astray. (Pre-Chorus) Do I love you, or the safety you provide? The calm in your storm, the fire in your stride. If this is friendship, why does it burn like flame? A yearning I can't tame, a feeling with no name. (Chorus) Oh, my best friend, why do you disappear? A shadow in my heart, but you're not near. I'm calling out, but my voice won't reach, A love I can't name, a bond out of reach. Oh, my best friend, do you feel it too? Or am I just selfish for needing you? (Bridge) They say love is clarity, but you're a haze, A mirror reflecting all my darkest days. I see you, but you're slipping through my hands, Like grains of time I can't understand. (Final Chorus) Oh, my best friend, why do you disappear? A shadow in my heart, but you're not near. I'm screaming now, but it's lost in the air, This friendship's a burden I can't bear. Oh, my best friend, I wish I knew, Is this love, or am I just selfish for needing you? (Outro) The song ends, but the ache remains, A melody tangled in love and pain. Blinded by selfishness As if we never loved eachother Even though we know we'll regret it Yeah,we know

Maddox stared at the lyrics sheet, his mouth agape as if he had just witnessed a revelation of biblical proportions. The words scrawled on the page were raw, bleeding emotion, and as he read them over again, he couldn't help but feel the weight of every syllable. Suddenly, the rumors of Eden crying in the studio didn't seem so far-fetched anymore.

"Kim Hongjoong..." Maddox began, his voice filled with both astonishment and disbelief. He looked up at the younger man, pointing an accusatory finger at the lyrics. "Did you lose your best friend or a century-old lover? Oh my God, you're in love with him!"

Hongjoong nearly choked on the sip of water he'd just taken, coughing as he turned to Maddox with a horrified expression.

"I'm not! Ew, hyung, he's my best friend," he retorted, his tone sharp but laced with a defensive edge. He shot Maddox a pointed side-eye, as if daring him to push the matter further.

Maddox, however, wasn't about to let it go. He leaned forward, gripping the lyrics sheet dramatically as he gestured to the words with wild enthusiasm.

"Best friend? BEST FRIEND? Hongjoong, listen to yourself! These lyrics don't scream best friend, they scream I pine for him so much I might implode if he doesn't look at me in the next five minutes!" He threw the paper back onto the desk for emphasis, shaking his head in disbelief.

Hongjoong rolled his eyes, brushing Maddox off with a wave of his hand. "You're reading way too much into this. I wrote this song because he's been ignoring me lately, okay? I was frustrated. That's all there is to it."

Maddox raised an eyebrow, his expression unimpressed. "Frustrated? Joong, this isn't frustration. This is Shakespearean tragedy-level longing. This is 'I watch the stars and hope he thinks of me' level nonsense. If you're trying to tell me you don't have feelings for him, then you're either lying to me or lying to yourself."

Hongjoong's lips tightened into a thin line as he turned back to his desk, busying himself with tidying up the scattered papers. "You're overthinking it," he muttered, refusing to meet Maddox's eyes.

"Overthinking it?" Maddox let out a dry laugh, crossing his arms. "Do you even hear yourself? This is Selfish Waltz all over again, but worse because now you don't even realize you're the one waltzing alone."

Hongjoong froze for a moment, his hands halting mid-motion. Maddox watched as his shoulders stiffened, a subtle but telling reaction. The words had hit a nerve, but Hongjoong wasn't ready to admit it yet.

"Hyung," Hongjoong finally said, his voice low and measured. "I know what I'm feeling. And what I feel for Seonghwa is friendship. Nothing more."

Maddox let out an exasperated sigh, throwing his hands up in surrender. "Fine, deny it all you want. But don't come crying to me when you realize you've been writing love songs to your 'best friend' this whole time."

Hongjoong scoffed, grabbing the lyrics sheet and crumpling it in his hand. "It's not a love song," he muttered, though his voice wavered slightly.

Maddox watched him with a knowing smile, his head tilting as he leaned back in his chair. "If you say so, Joong. But for someone who claims to only see him as a friend, you sure write like he's your everything."

Hongjoong didn't respond. His gaze remained fixed on the crumpled paper in his hand, as though it held the answer to all the questions swirling in his mind. The words from Maddox echoed in his ears, but he was too tangled in his own thoughts to process them properly. His fingers absently twisted the paper, crumpling it tighter, as if trying to squeeze the meaning out of it.

This song—he had written it in a fit of frustration, hadn't he? At first, it was about Seonghwa, yes, but now, seeing it through Maddox's eyes, it felt... different. It felt like something more, something deeper. The lyrics seemed to resonate with a kind of longing, a yearning that didn't quite match the simplicity of friendship.

Hongjoong's mind wandered back to Selfish Waltz, the song that had been inspired by a toxic relationship, a love that was both consuming and suffocating. He had written it out of a place of pain, a place where he couldn't give anymore, where everything felt strained and twisted. Maybe that was why this new song felt like a natural progression—like it was drawing from the same well of emotion, only this time, the toxicity wasn't just a result of a bad relationship. It was something he had created, unknowingly, between himself and Seonghwa.

Could it be that he was caught in a cycle of yearning for something he couldn't admit? Hongjoong exhaled sharply, his mind whirling with the possibility. Was it really all that different from Selfish Waltz? A relationship marked by confusion, by an unspoken desire that he was too afraid to confront? Maybe this song, with all its aching lines, was just another way of pushing those feelings down, of dressing them up in metaphor and melody so that they didn't have to be addressed.

But the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. He had been writing this song for Seonghwa, the one person who always stood by him, who always understood him in a way no one else could. And yet, the more Hongjoong tried to convince himself that his feelings for Seonghwa were just friendship, the more the lyrics contradicted him. The words bled through the lines—his own voice crackling with emotion that he didn't know how to express.

"Maybe I am in love with him," Hongjoong whispered to himself, the thought hanging heavy in the air. He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the knot forming in his chest. No. That wasn't possible. He couldn't be in love with Seonghwa. Could he?

With a frustrated sigh, he smoothed the crumpled paper back out and stared at the lyrics again. Each line was like a mirror, reflecting something he wasn't ready to see. And yet, it was staring him in the face, impossible to ignore.

"Come on, if I'm in love with him, that wouldn't possibly mean he reciprocates it..." Hongjoong muttered to himself, his voice barely above a whisper as his thoughts scrambled, trying to make sense of the storm raging in his mind. His eyes scanned the crumpled lyrics sheet in his hand again, but his brain had already shifted, reeling back to all the quiet moments shared between him and Seonghwa—the ones that, at the time, had seemed perfectly innocent.

His mind drifted to one instance in particular:

---

"Love you, Joongie."

The soft words echoed in his memory, followed by the warmth of Seonghwa's gentle kiss on his forehead. Hongjoong had been pretending to sleep, but that didn't stop his heart from skipping a beat. Seonghwa had always been affectionate, always offering those small gestures of care that Hongjoong had come to rely on. But this moment, this particular moment, felt different—like something unspoken hung in the air between them. Hongjoong had barely been able to keep his eyes closed as Seonghwa whispered those words, wondering if Seonghwa truly understood the weight of them, or if he was just being his usual, affectionate self.

---

Another memory hit him, one from not long ago:

"I don't think you should date yet..."

The unease in Seonghwa's voice had caught Hongjoong off guard, his fingers pausing on the love letter he'd just received from one of their sexy labelmates. It was an invitation, an offer he couldn't easily dismiss, but Seonghwa's expression—sad, almost pained—had stopped him from responding right away. The letter felt like a distant thought now. How could he even entertain the idea of dating anyone when Seonghwa, his best friend, was looking at him like that? As if his heart ached for Hongjoong to stay close, to stay grounded. Seonghwa never asked for anything outright, but Hongjoong couldn't shake the feeling that there was something deeper in his words, something he hadn't yet dared to voice.

---

Then there was the time Seonghwa had practically burst into the room, beaming with excitement.

"Look, I got Ddeongbyeoli and Jjoongrami married!"

Seonghwa's infectious enthusiasm was hard to resist as he presented Hongjoong with their representative animals, each dressed in miniature wedding attire—one in a white bride dress, the other in a sharp tuxedo. Hongjoong couldn't help but laugh, his heart lightening at Seonghwa's innocent joy. But underneath the surface of Seonghwa's playful demeanor, Hongjoong saw something else—a longing in his eyes, an almost wistful look, as if he was imagining something beyond just the cute animals. Hongjoong had brushed it off as Seonghwa simply being Seonghwa, but the thought lingered.

---

Each of these moments played over in his mind like fragments of a dream, moments of closeness that felt ordinary, yet they were beginning to feel charged with something more. Hongjoong swallowed hard, turning away from the lyrics on the paper. He couldn't help but wonder: Had Seonghwa felt something more in those moments, too?

But then, Hongjoong quickly dismissed the thought. No. It couldn't be. Seonghwa was his best friend, his constant. The idea of anything more felt impossible. They were too close, too familiar. How could Seonghwa ever see him the way he was beginning to see him?

Hongjoong leaned back in his chair, letting out a shaky breath. There were too many

"what ifs" swirling in his head, and no clear answers. Maybe he was just overthinking things. Maybe it was just a song. Maybe he should stop searching for meaning where there was none.

Hongjoong sat at his piano, the room around him bathed in the dim light of the late afternoon. He had been here for hours, the melody from the song swirling in his mind, but the more he played, the less comfort it brought him. His fingers hovered over the keys, but they refused to move, a mixture of fatigue and indecision stifling him.

He closed his eyes, the lyrics replaying in his mind with a haunting clarity: "I'm afraid to lose you, but I'm already losing myself." The words rang through him, a perfect reflection of what he was feeling, yet they offered no answers, no resolution. Each time the line came around, it felt like it was unraveling him bit by bit.

Hongjoong let out a long, slow breath, running a hand through his messy hair. How had he gotten here? How had something so simple—writing a song—spiraled into such a tangled mess of feelings? The music had felt like an outlet at first, a way to express something he couldn't put into words. But now, it only served to deepen the confusion that had taken root in his chest.

His gaze fell to the crumpled piece of paper resting on the music stand. The lyrics were scrawled across it in messy handwriting, an intimate reflection of his state of mind, of the emotions he hadn't yet fully accepted. "I never meant to fall, but here I am, falling for you."

But now, as he stared at those words, they felt like a betrayal. He wasn't sure if he was falling anymore—he felt like he was sinking. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like his feelings for Seonghwa were suffocating him, wrapping around his chest like an invisible vice. He hadn't meant for it to happen, not like this, but now that it had, he was afraid it was too late to turn back.

Seonghwa had always been his best friend. That was all. At least, that's what Hongjoong had convinced himself for so long. But lately, thinking about the moments they shared—those small, seemingly insignificant moments—felt different. When Seonghwa would brush past him, or laugh at something Hongjoong said, or even when their hands would accidentally touch, Hongjoong could feel the tension building, like an unspoken truth hovering between them. He had tried to ignore it, to push it down, but it was becoming impossible.

He leaned back in his chair, eyes shut tightly as his head swirled with the weight of his thoughts. "Is this really love?" he asked himself for what felt like the thousandth time. The question hung in the air, unanswered, as his mind spiraled deeper into the abyss.

What if it wasn't love at all? What if he was just scared?Scared of losing Seonghwa, even if they never crossed that line. But even more terrifying than that thought was the possibility that Seonghwa might never feel the same. What if Hongjoong had been reading too much into everything? What if he was just imagining things?

A tear slipped down Hongjoong's cheek, unnoticed, as he continued to play. He was exhausted. Emotionally drained. He had no idea what he was supposed to do with all of this. His heart ached, not from the song itself, but from the uncertainty. He could feel himself unraveling, but there was no one to help him find his way back.

"Why does it feel like this is all I have left?" he wondered out loud, his voice barely above a whisper. The question was a reflection of the weight that had been slowly crushing him for days now. He had always prided himself on being in control, but right now, he felt like he was drowning in his own emotions, unable to breathe or escape.

For a moment, the song stopped playing. He was still, just sitting in the dim room, surrounded by the music that no longer made sense. The silence felt heavier than anything else, amplifying the isolation he felt inside. He didn't know how to move forward. He didn't know what to do next.

And the worst part? He was too afraid to find out.

The days had passed in a blur for Hongjoong, but now, as he sat on his bed, staring at the calendar, reality hit him with full force. Seonghwa's birthday was only a few hours away, and the weight of his emotions had been building up for so long. The guilt, the confusion, the overwhelming ache in his chest—it all felt suffocating.

He hadn't been himself lately. The space between him and Seonghwa had grown, even if only slightly, and Hongjoong could feel it. He had been pulling away, distancing himself without meaning to, and now, with his heart finally coming to a painfully clear conclusion, it hurt. It hurt so much. He could barely look at Seonghwa without feeling the knot tighten in his throat, his stomach twisting in discomfort.

The calendar mocked him as his finger hovered over Seonghwa's birthday. Three hours. That was all he had left. Three hours to figure out how to tell Seonghwa what had been brewing inside him for so long. He had spent so many sleepless nights trying to bury his feelings, trying to ignore the fact that every smile Seonghwa gave him, every word of comfort, had been like a whisper to his heart—something deeper than friendship, something undeniable.

The quiet affection he had always felt for his best friend was something more—something he had been too afraid to admit to himself.

It was as if the fog had finally lifted, and Hongjoong could see everything so vividly. He loved Seonghwa. It wasn't just admiration or care—it was love. The kind that twisted his stomach when Seonghwa was near and left a hole in his chest when he wasn't. It was the kind of love that had always been there, hidden beneath layers of fear and uncertainty.

Hongjoong let out a breath, his hand instinctively going to his chest, as if trying to calm the rapid beating of his heart. The song he had written only a few days ago, the one that had started as a way to sort through his feelings, now felt like an open confession. He hadn't realized it then, but the words he had written were a cry from his heart.

The guilt he had been feeling, the distance he had put between them, all seemed so pointless now. What was the point of pretending? What was the point of hiding from Seonghwa, when the truth was right there in front of him? Hongjoong was in love with Seonghwa, and he couldn't keep it to himself any longer.

Hongjoong stood up, the weight of his decision finally settling over him. He couldn't keep running from it. He had to be honest, not just with Seonghwa, but with himself. He was terrified, yes, but he couldn't wait any longer. The time was now.

The truth was simple, really. He was in love with Seonghwa, and there was no turning back.

Seonghwa sat in front of the mirror, his fingers absentmindedly brushing through his damp hair as he adjusted the loose, comfortable trousers and shirt he had thrown on after his warm bath. The soft steam from the water still clung to his skin, and for a moment, he let himself relax into the solitude of the moment. It was his birthday. He should've been excited, but there was a heaviness in his chest that kept him from feeling the usual joy that came with the occasion.

For the past five years, it had been a tradition. Every birthday at midnight, Hongjoong would sneak into his room, no matter how late or tired he was. They would either settle into a cozy corner to play Animal Crossing, laughing over the ridiculous things they'd done in-game, or they'd build Lego sets together, meticulously piecing together each tiny block as if the process itself was more important than the result. Some years, they simply collapsed on the couch, binge-watching movies until they both fell asleep, still wrapped up in the warmth of each other's company.

But this year... this year was different. Hongjoong hadn't come to his room at midnight. There was no playful knock on the door, no warm presence on the other side, no familiar teasing that made Seonghwa's heart flutter despite himself. The bed felt emptier.

Seonghwa ran his fingers over the edge of the mirror, looking at his own reflection—his tired eyes, the faint trace of sadness lingering there. He had tried to brush it off, tried to ignore the growing distance between them, but today it felt like everything had changed.

He knew Hongjoong had been going through something lately, but Seonghwa hadn't been able to figure it out. The usual closeness they shared had been slipping through his fingers, and he couldn't help but feel like he was losing him in ways that words couldn't explain.

With a heavy sigh, Seonghwa finished tying the waistband of his trousers and stood up, looking down at the comfortable, unassuming outfit he'd chosen. His birthday had always been a quiet, understated celebration anyway. But now, it felt like an empty routine—like everything had changed, and yet nothing had.

He glanced at the clock on the wall. Just a few more minutes until midnight. He couldn't help but feel a pang of hope, maybe foolishly, that Hongjoong would show up after all. That they could still share that familiar tradition, that sense of closeness that always seemed to make everything feel right.

But the weight in his chest told him otherwise. This year, things were different. He could feel it. And he wasn't sure how much longer he could pretend it didn't hurt.

Seonghwa sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his reflection, his fingers nervously toying with his shirt. He thought back to San's advice a few days ago: "Give him space. Make him miss you." At the time, he'd believed it might help him and Hongjoong, but now, as he sat alone on his birthday, the weight of those words felt like a mistake.

What if by pulling back, he'd only pushed Hongjoong away? What if Hongjoong had decided his time wasn't worth it anymore? The thought gnawed at Seonghwa, making his chest tighten.

He regretted listening to San now. The distance between them felt unbearable, and as the clock ticked closer to midnight, Seonghwa feared it might already be too late for them.

12:01 AM.

Seonghwa sat in the dim light of his room, his gaze fixed on the Lego rose bouquet set that lay untouched on his table. He bit his lip, a sigh escaping his chest as he stared at the gift, now a painful reminder of everything he had yet to say. He had planned to give it to Hongjoong last week, just before he had realized how deeply in love with him he truly was.

The thought made his chest tighten, a mix of frustration and regret filling him. He had let his emotions overwhelm him, and now, the distance between them felt impossible to bridge. The gift—meant to be a symbol of his feelings—now felt like a cruel joke. Every time he looked at it, it mocked him.

Curse San and his fanfiction knowledge.

The door suddenly swung open with a loud creak, and Hongjoong stepped inside, his hair a chaotic mess, his shirt stained with dirt as if he had rushed through the day without a care. In his hands, he held a bouquet of flowers, the vibrant colors contrasting sharply with the exhaustion in his eyes, and a box of chocolates—Seonghwa's favorite—in the other.

For a moment, Seonghwa just stared, his heart skipping a beat at the sight of Hongjoong, standing in the doorway, slightly out of breath, but with a look of determination in his eyes. He was messy, disheveled, yet somehow more handsome than ever.

Hongjoong straightened up, his shoulders stiffening with a rare awkwardness. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, as if unsure of what to do next.

"Happy Birthday, my little star," Hongjoong said softly, the nickname they had shared for years slipping from his lips with a warmth that Seonghwa hadn't expected. His voice, despite the awkwardness, carried the affection they both had learned to take for granted.

Hongjoong dropped to his knees, his head bowed in a moment of vulnerability that left Seonghwa staring in surprise. The sudden shift in his demeanor caught him off guard, and he could barely comprehend what was happening.

"Seonghwa," Hongjoong's voice cracked slightly, a mix of frustration and longing evident in his words. "You told me last week not to take care of you during your fever, and I agreed. Even though it hurt like hell, knowing you were sick and I couldn't hold you, couldn't kiss your cheeks—god, it felt like torture. But then you started ignoring me, all week long. And it hurt, really fucking bad." He paused, struggling to gather his thoughts, the weight of his emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

"I don't know what I did wrong, Seonghwa. I just don't get it. I want to redeem myself, to fix this, but it's hard when my life is so dry, so fucking monotonous without you. It's like... it's like Demeter's harvest when Persephone was stolen away by Hades. A drought, a painful, endless drought. I don't know what I would do without you, genuinely. You're everything to me."

Hongjoong's hands trembled as he spoke, and for a moment, the words seemed to pour out of him like a confession he had been holding onto for too long. "Ever since we debuted, you've been my best friend, my muse, my everything. We've fought side by side, pushed each other to the limit, even targeted each other. But I've taken it all for granted, never properly thanking you."

Hongjoong's eyes lifted to meet Seonghwa's gaze, his voice softening with sincerity. "Thank you for being by my side all these years. Thank you for being my constant, for being the person I can always lean on in this crazy, chaotic world. Even when the storm rages, when the winds howl and the rain pours, I know we'll stand together. You and me, Seonghwa. It will always be us." (tried to sneak in some lyrics but okay)

"Hongjoong, what—" Seonghwa started to speak, his voice filled with confusion, but Hongjoong cut him off, his words coming out in a rush, raw and unfiltered.

"I'm in love with you, Park Seonghwa," Hongjoong confessed, his voice low but steady, carrying a weight that had been building for far too long. "Romantically, sexually, and every other word that ends with -lly. I've been lying to myself, pretending I don't feel this way when every part of me has been aching for you. I've been so scared to admit it, even to myself, but there's no denying it anymore."

His gaze never wavered from Seonghwa's face, the intensity of his emotions clear in his eyes. "You're not just my best friend. You're everything. Every damn thing. And I don't want to live a single day without you, not like this, not pretending anymore. I love you, Seonghwa. I'm in love with you."

For a moment, Seonghwa stood frozen, his heart racing in disbelief. The kind of love confession he had only ever read about in Wattpad stories—where the fictional Hongjoong pours his heart out in a raw, vulnerable moment—was now unfolding right in front of him. The Hongjoong in those stories, the one who would confess in poetic, intense words, was standing here in front of him, speaking them to... him?

It was surreal, almost impossible to comprehend. He'd always thought those kinds of confessions were reserved for fictional characters, but now the real Hongjoong was doing it for him. The same Hongjoong who had been by his side through everything, who had shared the laughter, the tears, the struggles. And now he was confessing his love in the most real and raw way possible.

Seonghwa's chest tightened, and a flood of emotions hit him all at once—surprise, joy, confusion, and the overwhelming sense that he might burst from how much his heart was swelling. Holy fuck, it felt too good to be real. Was this really happening? Was he really the one Hongjoong was in love with? It was like something out of a dream, only he didn't want to wake up from it.

Hongjoong paused, his heart sinking as he saw the panic in Seonghwa's eyes. "It's okay if you don't love me back—" he began, his voice faltering slightly, unsure of how to handle the uncertainty in the air.

Before he could finish, Seonghwa practically scrambled to cut him off, his words rushing out in a desperate, hurried confession. "NO—NO, I LOVE YOU TOO!" Seonghwa blurted out, his face flushed with embarrassment and relief all at once.

The raw honesty in his voice made Hongjoong's heart race. He couldn't quite believe it, not yet. Seonghwa, the one person he had poured his feelings into so recklessly, felt the same way? The thought made Hongjoong's stomach flutter and his chest tighten with a mix of joy and disbelief.

Seonghwa's face was now flushed, hands trembling slightly, as if the confession was as much a revelation to him as it was to Hongjoong.

Seonghwa's entire body was practically vibrating with excitement, his heart pounding so hard in his chest that he felt like it might burst. He couldn't believe it—Hongjoong, the man who had been everything to him, had just confessed his love. It was overwhelming in the best way possible, and he was practically shaking with joy, trying to process it all.

Hongjoong, with a glint of playful teasing in his eyes, grinned at Seonghwa, knowing exactly what was about to happen. "You know, you can jump," he said, his voice full of affection and a touch of mischief.

Seonghwa gasped, his eyes widening in surprise. Of course, Hongjoong knew. He always knew. Whenever Seonghwa was overwhelmed with emotion, whether it was joy, excitement, or sheer happiness, his instinct was to jump around. It was an uncontrollable habit, a reflexive action that he'd always had, something he never quite grew out of.

But at that moment, despite his overwhelming excitement, Seonghwa hesitated. He wanted to jump, to express his joy, but a tiny voice in the back of his mind made him hesitate. Would Hongjoong think it was weird? Even though Hongjoong had seen him do it countless times before, it still felt different now—like everything had shifted. Would it be too much? Would it make the moment less real, less intimate?

But before Seonghwa could stop himself, the excitement won out, and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He couldn't contain it anymore. And just like that, he jumped—higher and higher—laughing in pure joy. He didn't care anymore. He was finally in a place where it was okay to be himself, to let go of all his worries.

Hongjoong joined in. He reached out and grabbed Seonghwa's hand, their fingers interlocking in a perfect fit, as they both jumped around together. The sound of their laughter filled the room, a contagious, unrestrained joy that they shared without reservation.

Seonghwa's heart swelled as Hongjoong mirrored his excitement, jumping just as eagerly, their smiles bright and wide. It was like they were the only two people in the world at that moment, a world full of possibility, of love that neither had realized they were holding onto for so long.

As they jumped, Seonghwa couldn't help but feel a sense of completeness. This—being with Hongjoong, laughing, being free—was everything he had always wanted. They were no longer two individuals who danced around their feelings; they were two souls finally in sync, embracing the love they had both quietly nurtured for so long.

Eventually, their laughter softened, and they slowed, but neither of them let go of the other's hand. They stood there, breathless and smiling, the world outside still and forgotten. In that moment, everything felt right.

Giddy with excitement, Hongjoong's heart raced as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against Seonghwa's face. The intensity of the moment hung between them like an unspoken promise. His eyes searched Seonghwa's, a mixture of hope and vulnerability in his gaze.

"Can I kiss you?" Hongjoong asked, his voice soft but filled with longing, as if the simple words carried the weight of everything he had been feeling.

Seonghwa's eyes sparkled with something mischievous, yet tender. He bit his lip, teasing Hongjoong, knowing full well what he was doing. His hand gently cupped Hongjoong's face, brushing against his cheek as he leaned in just a little closer.

"First," Seonghwa said, a playful smile tugging at his lips, "ask me to be your boyfriend."

Hongjoong froze, blinking in surprise, but the warmth in his chest spread quickly. A soft laugh escaped his lips as he stepped back just enough to look at Seonghwa properly, his smile widening, filled with everything he had been holding back.

"Will you be my boyfriend?" Hongjoong asked, his voice filled with earnestness and affection. There was no hesitation now, no fear. Just pure, unfiltered love.

Seonghwa's heart skipped a beat, his smile softening. He didn't need to say anything more—his answer was in the way his hand gently pulled Hongjoong back toward him, their foreheads resting against each other.

"I'd love to," Seonghwa whispered,

Hongjoong let out a quiet laugh, his eyes fluttering shut as he leaned in, closing the gap between them. This time, their kiss deepened, slow and careful, as if they were both savoring the newfound sweetness of this moment. Seonghwa's lips were warm, soft, and everything Hongjoong had imagined. The kiss was a dance of familiarity and newfound affection, their lips moving together in perfect sync, as if they had done this a million times before.

A shiver ran down Hongjoong's spine when Seonghwa's fingers gently threaded through his hair, pulling him in even closer. It was as though the rest of the world had disappeared, leaving only the two of them, wrapped up in the warmth of each other.

When they finally pulled away, their foreheads touched again, and both of them were breathless, their smiles wide and hearts full. Hongjoong chuckled softly, brushing his thumb over Seonghwa's cheek, still not quite able to believe this was real.

"I guess we're official now," Hongjoong whispered, his voice still shaky from the torrent of emotions that had just poured out of him. His eyes searched Seonghwa's face, half-expecting a dream to shatter around him at any moment.

Seonghwa's lips curved into a smile, soft and radiant, the kind of smile that lit up his entire face. His eyes shimmered, catching the glow of the dim lights. "Yeah," he whispered back, his voice warm and tender, "officially perfect."

And for a brief, surreal moment, Seonghwa could only marvel at how this was real. He glanced at Hongjoong, the man who had been his anchor, his muse, his everything, and couldn't believe how things had unfolded. Just a week ago, he had cried himself into a fever, convinced that real Hongjoong could never love him the way fictional Hongjoong loved fictional Seonghwa. He could almost laugh at his own melodrama now.

How foolish he had been. How utterly wrong.

This—this confession, this moment, this trembling, joyous reality—was so much better than any story he had read on Wattpad or AO3. It wasn't filled with over-the-top dramatics or perfectly scripted lines. It was raw, unscripted, and messy in the most beautiful way. It was Hongjoong, stammering through his feelings but meaning every word. It was Seonghwa, feeling so much he thought his heart might burst.

Hongjoong's hand reached up, brushing against Seonghwa's cheek, his touch light and reverent. "I love you," he said softly, the words tumbling out again like they couldn't be said enough.

"I love you too," Seonghwa replied, his voice steady this time, but filled with an overwhelming sincerity.

They stood there, wrapped in the quiet of the moment, the world outside forgotten. For the first time in what felt like forever, everything felt exactly as it should be. 

Officially perfect. 

Officially Seongjoong.

THE END

[feiandart]

« "Even though I complain sometimes," his heart said, "it's because I'm the heart of a person, and people's hearts are that way. People are afraid to pursue their most important dreams, because they feel that they don't deserve them, or that they'll be unable to achieve them. We, their hearts, become fearful just thinking of loved ones who go away forever, or of moments that could have been good but weren't, or of treasures that might have been found but were forever hidden in the sands. Because, when these things happen, we suffer terribly." » He felt Aziraphale stiffen, hold his breath and tighten his grip on his shoulder and side, as Anthony was his only foothold in a storm of thought. The artist paused again to give him time to digest the story, even though he was aware that the Lord already knew it by heart. There are times, however, when things sound different when you listen to them from the outside: Anthony discovered this every time he lay on the sofa in the library and let himself be lulled by Aziraphale's voice for hours. When the Lord relaxed again, the artist resumed reading and did not stop again until the conclusion of the novel.

[miyoriia]

Change is scary. There are so many people who won't accept change even if it's something so small. More won't accept something big. Your heart tells you it's what you need, and it's what's right. Change is scary if everyone who surrounds you tells you not to.

I promise it'll be okay.

No matter what it is, and no matter what form you take. I promise that there will always be people out there who will love and support you for anything that you are.

I promise it'll be okay.

There will be people who will love and embrace you for whatever form you take forever and always. You just need to take the first step, and it's always the scariest, I know. The people who will support you have all been through the same as you. They'll understand and treasure every piece of you even if you're scared to take the step forward.

I promise it'll be okay. The people you need are out there, waiting to find you.

We have an obligation to change and grow for the better. Inability to change is equal to death.

[rogersideup]

Here's my nice to be kneaded headcanon: Reader always brings him treats so Steve feels bad he's not returning something. Since he's now helping out some days a week, he starts doodling little things on post it notes and leaves it in the bakery for her to find. The first few times it's employees that find them and everyone's confused who it's from, till reader puts them all together and it's the spots she took Steve when she showed him the town. She saves them all and it looking forward to what's next on Steve's list to draw.

Nice to be Kneaded:

More fun stuff!

*Had to change up the request a bit as to not interfere with a future plotline that’s already been written.

Hidden Treasure

Can be read as a one shot, or in conjunction with Nice to be Kneaded.

Series masterlist More Fun Stuff masterlist

Nomad Steve x Baker Reader

word count: 1,664

"Hey, look at this really cool thing we found!" One of your employees, Sabrina, told you enthusiastically while quickly approaching you at your spot on the desk.

You ripped your eyes away from the product order invoice on the desktop screen to take interest in her excitement.

"What is it?" You asked, as she handed it to you.

In your hand, she placed a yellow sticky note that was drawn on with a ball point pen. An immediate smile tugged at your lips when you recognized it. It was one of the espresso machines in the lobby.

On the sticky note was a drawing of the machine itself, sitting on the counter accompanying a fresh latte. The detail was sickeningly impressive considering it was on a 3 x 3 yellow square, and drawn on with a 75¢ ball point pen.

"I was doing a quick run to wipe down all the tables after morning rush and found that stuck to the small table by the espresso bar!" Sabrina enthused. "Isn't it incredible?!"

"It's amazing" You agreed with a smile.

"I wonder who did it." She pondered as you handed it back to her.

"Maybe a customer during morning rush" You shrugged, smile still invasive. "Have you guys found any more of them or was it just this one?"

"Nope, this is the first and only one." Sabrina noted. "Maybe they'll come back and leave more."

"Well whoever it is deserves a coffee and a cookie if we catch them." You noted.

"This work of art must be cherished forever" She noted, grabbing the roll of tape and tearing off a piece. She taped the sticky note masterpiece to the wall right next to the computer. "This is the new, official, Nice to be Kneaded art museum."

That post-it stayed on the wall for two days before Steve came back into the bakery to help out with the bulk supply delivery. That's when he caught a glimpse of his drawing taped to the wall, and knew he needed to leave more for you and your employees to find around the bakery.

Day by day, week by week, the scrap paper and pen art museum on the back office wall became quite an impressive display. So much so that you eventually became ignorant to the new additions on the daily because they started to blend in with the rest. But every once in a while, you'd catch your team talking about the most recent little pieces of art so you'd go to inspect the entirety of the collection.

One particularly quiet night in the bakery, you had texted Steven to see if he wanted to hang out with you. It wasn't usually a night he'd come by, but you missed his little antics and his stupidly handsome face.

Without question, he was walking through the door of the bakery 20 minutes later. His golden hair was still slightly soggy from the shower he was taking when you grabbed his attention, and he was dressed casually and comfortably as he always was.

"Hey there, honey!" You smiled big, happy to see your best friend.

"Hello, hello!" He greeted you with a smile just as big as yours, and gave you a big hug.

One thing about Steven was that he was of the same mentality of a Great Dane, he was a lot bigger and stronger than he was aware of, yet he thought he was a lap dog. Even his gentlest of hugs engulfed your entire body, and squeezed you comfortably tight.

"Thanks for coming! It was getting real quiet and lonely in here without you."

"You know I'd never miss a chance to spend time with you." He playfully exclaimed. “Need help with anything?”

“Nothing other than curing my boredom” You shrugged.

His eyes looked over to the wall of sticky notes he had drawn on, completely unbeknownst to you and your entire staff. “What’s all of this?” He questioned, interested to hear your take on the drawings.

“Oh, that’s our art museum” You smiled. “Some unknown person has been leaving these drawings around the store for us to find.”

“Oh really?” Steve cocked his head to the side, fighting a smile.

“Yeah, it’s really fun. We all love it so much” You smiled. “It’s like finding hidden treasure, then when we find them we add them to the wall.”

“Do you have a favorite one?” He asked.

He watched your eyes scan them all over, before your pointed to one of the post-it’s. “That one, but they’re all amazing. I’m going to save them forever.”

His eyes followed your finger to the drawing he did last week of the outside of the bakery, and he could agree that it was one of his favorites too.

You could see the inside of the bakery through the windows on the front, and shining through the reflective glass was the big neon sign that read ‘Nice to be Kneaded’. There were many days where pulling into the parking lot of your cozy bakery filled him with immense comfort, and that drawing made him feel just the same way.

“I like this one” Steve pointed to the drawing he did two days ago of the back of a kid up on his tippy toes, peaking into the case full to the brim with treats.

“Awwwww that one is so cute!” You cooed.

Conversation strayed but Steve’s mind stayed fixed on the little drawings. Much like every other aspect of his life, he didn’t want to lie or keep secrets from you, but he did want to make it fun.

So, he started making it increasingly more obvious that it was him every day he spent in the bakery just to clue you in.

If you were baking cookies, he would draw the cookies.

You cleaned the glass of the bake case? Surprise. The next drawing would be of the case full of pastry with little sparkling shimmers on the glass to show it was completely finger print free.

Oh and that cake you were decorating right in front of his face? Yeah. That was tonight’s drawing.

He got every last detail, down to the different piping tips you used for the princess style, the tiny pearled beads you carefully placed at every joint and peak, and the writing on top in your beautiful handwriting that he honestly struggled to recreate.

Steve really thought this would be the one that pushed it over the edge and helped you put the pieces together, but when he walked in the next day, you said nothing about it.

Even when you looked at it and taped it up in its respective spot, you still didn’t solve the little riddles he was leaving you.

Well, that was true until about an hour later when you walked over to the computer to confirm order details on the cake you were about to start. Making sure you got all the flavors, colors, and theming right was very important to you.

He watched your eyes go from the computer screen, to the drawing you just attached to the wall, back to the computer, back to the drawing.

“Oh my gosh…” You caught his attention. “I just realized this is the cake I made yesterday!” You said happily.

“Wait… don’t you think that’s a little odd?” Steve asked, trying to push you along further into the clue.

“Why would it be?” You questioned.

“Well, if you decorated that cake last night when only you were here, then put it in the fridge for pick up early in the morning, how would the artist have even seen the cake?” Steve continued.

“Wait, you’re so right. That customer picked up at opening.” You agreed. “Oh gosh, and the day before that was a picture of the bake case, I just cleaned it the night before…”

“See, now that’s really odd.” He egged you on.

“Who the hell could this be?” You thought out loud. “Do I have a stalker.”

“Well let’s think rationally about this mystery guy. Can you think of anyone who would’ve seen you clean the bake case and decorate that cake?” Steve asked.

He watched you think for a second. “Other than us two I have no idea… You were here too. Did you see anything weird?”

“Not at all.” Steve couldn’t even hold in the laugh he was desperately trying to conceal. “So if it was just you and I…”

Before he could even finish his sentence, you remembered one very important detail about Steven.

He was an artist.

Steve could literally see the moment it clicked in your head, your face snapped into something between joy and annoyance. But you were smiling with big pink cheeks, so he really didn’t care.

“Steven!” You laughed joyfully, voice raising a few notches.

“What?!” He questioned gigging with you.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was you!” You screeched, reaching forward and very gently play hitting his arm.

“I was seeing how long it would take you to figure it out!”

“Meanie!”

“…and you said it was making you and all your employees happy!” Steve continued explaining. “Leaving drawings around the store to make you guys happy is the least I could do in exchange for how happy you and the bakery make me.”

You cheeks only deepened their blush as his explanation sunk into your mind and heart. “Honey, you already do so much for us and they don’t even know you’re here helping out. You’re appreciated by everyone regardless, and what you do here goes a long way.”

“Yeah, but, I really like making the drawings” he admitted shyly.

“We all love them too. Thanks for all you do for me, Steven.” You said sincerely.

“No, thank you.” He said humbly, his cheeks were blushed pink just like yours.

“Okay, now I just have to get these all in a picture frame…” Thought.

He laughed. “Stop it! They’re literally just post it notes!”

“One man’s post-it is another man’s masterpiece!”

[godsfavoritescientist]

Building off of what I wrote in my fic "Sparks," I'm really compelled by the idea of Ford genuinely no longer being interested in sailing around in a boat with Stan by the time they were seniors in high school.

I like the idea of it not being just a symptom of the resentment that had been building between them, nor it being a dream of Ford's that only paled in comparison to west coast tech, but it being a genuine loss of interest on Ford's end. I think it complicates things even further in some really juicy ways.

Like, imagine going through high school slowly losing more and more interest in the dream you've shared with your twin and only friend ever since you were little kids. How do you break it to him? How do you explain it to him without making it sound like a rejection of him? Without it making him hate you?

How do you explain it without it feeling like a spit in the face to all the hard work he's put into a plan that started out as a way of him comforting you by telling you "it doesn't matter what people say about you, you're going to be an adventurer who sails away into the sunset and never has to hear their mockery ever again, and there will be babes and treasure and heroism, and then they'll all see how cool you really are!"

And all through high school you think to yourself, "he's going to move on to more realistic dreams any day now, and then I won't have to say anything about it!" But no matter how many times you mention something else he could do with his life that he seems interested in, or bring up the challenging logistics of traveling around long-term in a boat, he sounds just as committed to the childhood dream as ever, and completely oblivious to how apprehensive you sound.

So resentment grows, little by little. Because that's easier than confronting the soul-crushing levels of guilt that are building up inside of you, every time you don't take an opportunity to tell him you don't want to do the plan anymore. You don't have a single person in your life who modeled how to have difficult conversations for you. As far as you know, having this conversation with Stan would crush him into tiny little pieces and then he would hate you forever, and you can't stand the idea of losing the only friend you've ever had.

So tensions grow. A lack of interest turns into a bitter resentment that, if you were really being honest with yourself, is directed more at yourself than it is at Stan.

And then the falling-out happens, and it seems like you were proven right. Stan hates you now, and he's never going to forgive you for giving up on his dream. But two can play that game, so you try to hate him too. Because if you hate him too, then maybe it won't hurt as much that he never came back. That he never even turned up at school, or by the boat, or in through your bedroom window in the middle of the night. He knows what dad's like, and how he says impulsive exaggerated things when he's angry, and haven't you both dealt with his harsh words countless times before and been able to dust yourselves off and joke about it later? So why isn't he back at home, joking with you about how absurd your dad acted that night, being impossible and belligerent about ruining your dream, but at least now you're even, because you've ruined his dream too.

-

And now imagine you find out he risked the lives of everyone in existence to bring you back, right after you had accepted your fate was to die killing Bill. It would be terrifying and confusing and infuriating. If he cared so much, why didn't he do something to reconnect with you sooner? Why did he ignore you in favor of trying to make it big without you? Why didn't he take the infinitely safer and simpler action of reaching out to you without you having to track down his address and send a desperate plea for help? You were convinced that he didn't care enough to bother with you unless you had an important enough reason for him to come. But even then, he thought your plans were stupid. He didn't want anything to do with you, not even with the world at stake.

Did he save your life out of guilt? Does he pity you that much? It doesn't add up with what he did in the decade leading up to shoving you into the portal. And the dissonance between the version of him in your head that hates you, and the man who held out his arms to welcome you back to your home dimension, is so strong that you feel like you're being lied to again, like you're back in the depths of gaslighting and manipulation that Bill put you through, even though there's no way that's what Stan is trying to do... right? You can't figure it out, so you run away from it. You don't want to know the answer to whether or not Stan hates you, because you don't know which answer would hurt more, so you try to make him hate you more than ever, because at least then you would know for sure how he feels.

And in the end, after he sacrifices his memories for you, and for the world, things seem clearer. The layers upon layers of confusion and anger and hurt seem to have washed away like drawings in the sand, leaving behind the simple truth: that you two had an argument, and didn't move past it for forty years, and despite everything you put each other through, you both still want to re-connect.

So you sail away in a boat together.

And at first, it's wonderful. It's exactly what you want. It feels like an apology to Stan, and a thank-you for saving the world, and a once-in-a-lifetime chance to heal the rift between you two, and it's good to be back on earth, and you wonder why you ever doubted the dream you two once had.

But then, after the first long journey you spend on the sea together, when you get back home to dry land, Stan is already talking about planning your next adventure out on the open sea. He recaps every adventure you had on the first trip, over and over again, and he wants to chat with you all through the morning and long into the night, and you don't have the words to explain to yourself that you don't have enough social battery for this, and suddenly you're slipping back into the horrifyingly familiar feeling of Stan being overbearing and needing space from him and how could you think that? How could you think that about him after everything he's done for you and everything he's forgiven you for? But the longer this goes on, the more you realize that you still don't want to spend the rest of your life sailing around with Stan. It's great fun in moderation, but the idea of your whole life revolving around Stan and going on adventures with Stan and being in a boat with Stan with no time to be by yourself thinking about your own things and figuring out your own dreams makes your skin crawl with a claustrophobic kind of panic that you still don't know how to put into words forty years after the first time this feeling grabbed you by the throat and ruined your friendship with Stanley.

But the first time this happened, it nearly ruined his life forever. You can't let yourself feel this. You don't feel this. You're happy to spend the rest of your life fulfilling Stan's lifelong dream, and making up for the time you crushed his dream, and sure, maybe he crushed your dream once too, and maybe it would be nice for him to support your dreams like you're now doing for him, but you can't say that. He saved the universe, and it would be horrible and ungrateful and cruel for you to try to voice these feelings, especially when you don't know how to voice your feelings without it making other people feel like you twisted a knife into their gut. So you try to pretend the feeling isn't there.

You go out on a boat with Stan again. You planned out another incredible journey together, and this should be fun, and you should be happy about this, but the unspoken feeling you shoved as far down in yourself as it could possibly go is eating you alive. The worst part? Stan is starting to notice. You have never been good at hiding your emotions. The trick to it has always been to convince yourself you don't feel it at all, and not think about it, and that has always worked like a charm. But whenever the emotion claws its way back up to the forefront of your mind, you can tell Stan knows something is wrong. So you can't even give him the happy ending he deserves. You can't even convince him that you want to be here on the open seas forever with him, like he deserves. And you keep trying and trying to hide it, but Stan keeps asking in roundabout ways, like "You're being awfully quiet, sixer," and "whats that look on your face?" and eventually it comes exploding out of you like a shaken-up soda bottle dropped on its cap.

And then it's like you're back at home in New Jersey again, standing in the living room while dad grabs Stanley by the shirt. It all comes pouring out of you, in the worst possible way, with the worst possible phrasing, like a pandora's box of monstrousness, and Stan tries to fight back against the sting of your words, but you're made out of acid and you're burning through him and you can see it on his face, and there's never any coming back from this, not this time, you'll just have to either jump into the ocean or become a monster forever, so Stan can hate you more easily again, and-

-and at the end of the outburst, you're still on a boat in the middle of nowhere in the ocean with your brother, in dangerous waters, and you have things to do to keep the boat running smoothly.

You can't run away from him. He can't run away from you. You're stuck here for at least a couple more weeks, even if you turned around and sailed back towards shore right away.

-

And the thing that compels me so much here, despite how unbelievably angsty it all is, is that it sets up a situation wherein the Stans might end up forced to actually address the decades of resentment and confusion and wanting-to-reconnect-throughout-it-all that they thought they could gloss over and heal with enough time spent adventuring together on a boat. They might end up forced to actually address the crux of the issue that drove them apart in the first place: Ford wanting a little more space to feel like his own person, and to feel like he's able to have his own dreams, too.

It wouldn't happen easily, nor right away, but if they were stuck together on a little boat in the middle of nowhere surrounded by magical creatures they have to protect each other from in order to make it back home alive, then after they had one fight where they brought up all the things they silently agreed to never bring up again, it would probably happen many more times, and each time it would leave them both angrier at each other than ever, until eventually something honest slipped through amidst all the saying-anything-except-what-they-mean bickering. And once enough of these honest moments slipped through, then they would have a thread to tug on to start to unravel the gargantuan knot of their decades of unresolved conflicts.

And then, eventually, maybe Stan could learn that he can have a good friendship with his brother without needing to be glued to him at the hip, and Ford needing a certain amount of alone time doesn't mean he dislikes him or wants to abandon him, and Ford could learn that he can be honest and have a meaningful connection with someone without it driving them away and making them hate him.

[popculturebuffet]

TMNT Month: Turtle Tunes and We Wish You A Turtles Christmas: Not So Erotic Nightmares Beyond Any Measure and Christmas Fever Dreams to Treasure Forever (Comission for Emma Fici)

Hello all you happy people and welcome back to turtles month. Thanks to a schedule change, we're looking at another piece of weird turtles media coming as the franchise was loosing steam and someone was huffing that steam to try and come up with new ideas.

As a result we got two direct to vhs specials, designed to try to eat into that sweet sweet DTV market that was starting to really take off at the time and would do so long into my childhood and long after. These specials go for a younger audience, I suspect trying to get some of that barney money. They did not and we only got two and the world was spared the third that would've triggered the end times.

As you can see just looking at the covers for these things they had the budget of a paper clip and a piece of string, and it shows. The turtles have horrifying barley moving heads that insure they'll be your sleep paralysis demon for years to come. But beyond the terrible costumes what do these specails have? Well not a lot and everything respectively so let's talk about them, and hopefully make my night terrors worth the money under the cut

Turtle Tunes has an objectively weird premise. It's not a horrible one for doing some goofy less actiony videos as these costumes would tear apart if the wind blew on them slightly, I can't imagine them doing full on fight scenes like the movies, but it's still weird for the nonexistant budget this thing has.

So the turtles got a hookup from april to host their own show on channel 6 and were this just a tmnt version of waynes world i'd have watched this years ago. Also something to keep in mind for the mutant mayhem verse. Just saying.

But no their instead just counting down their faviorite songs.. and rather than say use the ones from out of our shells which are actually pretty good, or make some up they decide to do covers of various public domain songs and still present it like it's TRL. Do kids still know what TRL was? I.. I feel old.

Anyways, the Turtles rather than have April, who agreed to this in the first place, Splinter or Casey help out, instead have a bunch of random kids serve as their crew and boss them around. Also Mikey runs off and apparently does this all the time. Just goes to skateboard around the park and do mushrooms, living his best life.

As for the rest of the plot

This vid is just an excuse to do terrible covers of public domain songs.. and a loose one of Rick Springfield's don't talk to strangers. I'm dead serious. I mean the song IS a mild banger and using it for an actual anti stranger message and not Rick Springfield desperatly trying to stop his girlfriend from leaving him, but it's left as atonal garbage.

I don't have much for this one. I mean it has Leo on a rowboat as he slowly dies inside, that's kinda funny and it's weird they chose to do that one to yankee doodle dandy instead of row row row your boat, but I stand by their dumbass decision. At least Leo struggling to breath as he rows a boat is funny. Everything else is just bland: the turtles talk over each other, announce videos and somehow get renewed, though I think the renewal is really an excuse to get them out into the open and into a woodchipper.

Turtle Tunes proves, in the words of our prophet huey lewis, sometimes bad is bad. Sometimes cheese can be really funny, this is just 20 some minutes of my life I won't get back.

Thankfully We Wish You A Turtles Christmas, which emma and I watched before is so bad it's good. It's gloriosuly stupid, cheap and while still using music videos to pad things, is far more creative with them. This feels more like a tmnt product.. one that was written by a sentient mound of cocaine, but still a thing people put actually efort into at least feeling like a tmnt vide0 Turtles tunes could have any obnoxious mascot jammed in it. It could've been Busby Tunes... imagine him announcing videos and doing stuff and

Okay maybe it's thanks to saftey regulations we got the turtles, but still you could've also just.. put an opossum on screen to music. There's a line and a few layers of hell between TMNT and Bubsy

We Wish You A Turtles Christmas is the good kind of crack to Turtle Tunes shard of glass they tell you is crack, taking a straightforward tale of "the turtles forget to get a gift and have to go get it" and making it baffling as it is hilaroius.

So our story begins with We're the Turtles, the theme song for both tapes where their turtles and their on the look out for a friend in need that's what their about... and never actually find one too busy as they laugh and sing and do their thing their the turtles. Their the turtles. It's this weird durge that gets glued to your brain.

So it's christmas eve and the turtles are joking, putting presents under the tree while Leonardo sings Reggage, you know what everyone does every christmas. Or else.

Leo is horribly out of character in both these specials, taking being a stern big brother type who leads the team and tries to keep them on task and making him a dick who insults his brothers and also the mutant equilvent of Ras Trent.

As for the reggae song itself it's deck the halls but TO A REGGAE BEAT MON. CULTURAL APROPRATION POWER! It's the clear seperation from this special and turtle tunes; Turtle Tunes is KINDA weird, We Wish You A Turtles Christmas is FUCKING weird. You have a scooby dooby doo doo laden song about decking the halls that both is happy Bebeop and Rocksteady aren't here yet wishes a merry christmas to the shredder, while also having a beat drop for some reason. It's beautiful and I never want to hear it again.

The turtles then have a horrifying relization: WE FORGOT TO GET A GIFT FOR SPLINTER. I do like HOW this comes about as it's the only part of this special that's not written by a guy who was told the basics about the turtles then told to write a christmas special or they'd release the bees. The boys all thought one of the others had the duty: it's a sitcom cliche sure but one that would happen to a family.

So they have to go shopping on christmas eve with a rousing rendention of over the river and through the woods "up through the sewer"... or sleep inducing. Let's go with coma-tastic, sounds snappier.

We get to the surface for what's the best song of the special. A subterranian bar but it's the upbeat and peppy gotta get a gift for splinter. It has dancing, random children out on christmas eve busking, ryming gotta gift for splinter with "I hate shopping in the winter", and suggesting they get him a go cart "a go cart in the sewer baby!" while aruging. This sibling bantering and bickering at least is a little fun.

We then get to the most inexplicable part of this special.. and yes

As Mikey decides to sing opera. And this alone would be amazing just for the sheer what the fuckery.. but the turtles annoyed reactions and implication he does this a lot just sell it. The bit's dumb, but like this special it's also fun. No one not even the characters know why the fuck this is happeing.

After that our turtles return home to wrap they also decide.. TO RAP. Yes it's time for the Rap every bit of 90's childrens media thought they could do. It's as painfully awkward as you could hope for. Not as awkard as the rasta bit because it has a little bit of a beat but it sure does exist, i'll give it that.

So with that we get the climax as the turtles all get vauge gifts and give Splinter a 12 days of christmas themeed barrage of gifts while awkwardly sings about them. I do love how he looses pace towards the end and looses his space and his delighted "nailed it" when he catches up. Splinters singing is stiff as it's clear his actor cannot sing int he character voice, but I'll give him points for enthussim

So the gifts they got are

Twelve April O'Neil autographs

Eleven pairs of sneakers

Ten yellow yo-yos

Nine narrow neckties

Eight chopsticks

Seven silk kimonos

Six frisbees

Five video games

Four man-hole covers

Three skateboards

Two comic books

And a pizza with pepperoni

It's a bizzare assortment something you notice while listening but really looking at the lyrics, thanks turtlepedia for having those so I didn't have to listen to this song in full again to find em all, you see just how slapdash it is. It's in character but it dosen't make it any less bizzare as this list is not played for laughs. So we have 12 autographs from someone they know and likely got in a rush, elven pairs of sneakers which.. is honestly quite nice they found them in his size as while it's not his style of footwear i'm sure splinter would love some shoes after walking in the sewer barefoot for nearly two decades, ten yellow yo yos clearly from the dollar store, nine narrow neckties which while the specitfication weird is a classic parent ot child they don't know too well gift, eight chopsticks which is just.. .did you guys go for chinese and realize you missed a gift for your schitck, seven silk kimonos which is kind thougthful and a good gift, six frisbees because they went back to the dollar store, five video games all copies of the first NES game no one wanted, four man hole covers because theft is okay if it's christmas, three skateboards because splinter can shred man, two comic books which is just aweirdly low number and a pizza with pepperoni which is the most self serving as we all know Splitner prefers sushi.

Finally we have the title song.. which is eh. I don't have much to say its there for a moment, it's gone and they all rock out ending the special.

We Wish You A Turtles Christmas is something you have to experince at least once: it's baffling, stupid and hilarious and i'm glad to share it all with you. I encourage you to watch it.. and leave turtle tunes in a dumpster where you likely found it. Thanks for reading and remember i'm pullin for you, we're all in this together.

[beanghostprincess]

My thoughts on Sanuso's children!!

I recently got a Tumblr ask (I'll edit this later and write the link) that talked about Sanuso adopting a child, and it has opened my eyes to make this whole post about the three children I think they'd have!! (Also shout out to @latinokokonoi for the idea of Zolu's daughter).

The Strawhats are still together after finding the One Piece, being together still and enjoying their own dreams for a while without separating yet (honestly, with how fast this story is going they're gonna find the One Piece quickly af, just pretend they've already found it). Sanji and Usopp are 25/23 when they have their two twin daughters (accidentally. Because they are idiots and did NOT listen to Chopper's talk about protection). Even if they weren't planned they're still extremely excited to form a family together! They're a bit worried about what will happen from now on, but they've taken care of children before on their adventures, so how hard can it be? The answer is pretty fucking hard but, you know, it's not like they don't have other children in the crew (Zoro and Luffy found a 2 y/o in a treasure chest when they were 23/21 and they've been taking care of her for two years now. Called her Kuina!). They believe they'll be just fine.

The girls are named after their moms, Sora and Banchina, and they're Usopp and Sanji's little princesses. They instantly get along with Kuina, by the way, as they grow up together. She kind of acts like an older sister to them, being 4 years older and all. If anybody asks, they're cousins! I won't go into much detail about Kuina here because this is about Sanuso's children, but I love the idea I have of her already.

The thing is, the girls grow up to be brilliant and also a menace. They're twins but you can easily tell who's who when they're not together!

Sora: Oldest sister for, like, two seconds and she's always reminding everyone about that (in a good way. She takes pride in protecting her sister). She has Sanji's morals and ambition. She's passionate and pretty intense when it comes to protecting the ones she loves. But also she's an adventurer like Usopp! She loves getting into trouble, too, and she's strategic enough to know how to come out of them (most of the time. Well- Sometimes. Most of the time Kuina is the one saving her ass. But, you know, at the end of the day Kuina gets lost and Sora is the one to find her... They make a pretty good team). She dreams of being a pirate and having her own crew someday with Banchina. She's a natural dreamer. A bit idealistic. She has Sanji's smile and Usopp's skills. She wants to learn how to fight in every damn way. She asks Sanji to teach her how to fight with her legs and Usopp to use the slingshot (prefers Sanji's method, tho). She often trains with Kuina, too! She reminds people of Nami (that's, like, her favorite crew member if you ask her. That's her auntie!) because of her mischievous personality and ability to steal. She's also very impulsive because she has Usopp's sense of adventure but Sanji's inability to back down. So... Yeah. Luffy fucking loves her. But at least she's good at strategies! She would do anything for her sister and has been by her side forever. Often asks her to join her shenanigans and schemes and that's when Banchina is a bit more playful! Loves Sanji's cooking and eats almost just as much as Luffy. She talks about Usopp's stories, being so so proud of being his daughter! Her favorite aunt is Nami and her favorite uncles are Luffy and Zoro.

Banchina: The sweetest of the two sisters. She's pretty much like their mothers, personality wise. She's a cutie pie. She loves cooking and drawing because she grew up watching her fathers doing these mundane, more domestic and calm activities. If Sora is the clumsy more adventurous one, Banchina is the caretaker who's just done with her sister's bullshit but loves her a lot. She has Sanji's need to help and Usopp's anxiety (but not in a really nervous way. More in a careful, thoughtful way). It's not that she doesn't know how to defend herself, but she uses her slingshot only when needed and to back up her sister. She's more of a support person! She loves to cook but prefers to draw. Spends the day drawing. Kuina and Sora are very protective of her but she's usually the one who ends up rolling her eyes and taking care of them when they get injured somehow. However, she can be very playful too when Sora manages to get her in her schemes and shenanigans. She's a sweetheart but she protects her family when she needs to do so. She prefers more calm spaces but she appreciates the company of her sister and Kuina, finds them amusing. Basically, calm and helpful, very done with the chaos but secretly loves it, and ends up playing around when she finds it funny. Her favorite aunt is Robin (they spend time together reading and drawing) and her favorite uncles are Jinbe and Brook.

They grow up together and somehow they're not only the crew's most precious treasure, but also they're very helpful when they fight. I mean, they don't usually let them fight, but they always end up helping without being asked.

They're 10 and 14 when they find Takumi (Sanuso is 35/33, if you're curious) on a boat, fainted, and very very injured. The kid appears to be around 7 and he has chains on his arms and a metal collar around his neck. That doesn't sit right with any of them, so the kids call Luffy and the others and they instantly help him to get into the ship.

Long story short, they take care of him for a day or so, extremely worried about his well-being. Sanji and Chopper look after him until he wakes up. The thing is, the kid wakes up when he's alone with Sanji, and he's instantly frightened. Sanji promises they're not going to do anything to him, but the kid is only begging him to not bring him back to where he was. Anything but that. Sanji is- Well, saying he's worried would be an understatement. When everyone goes to see him, he doesn't want to tell them anything. For some reason he grows attached to Sanji and won't let go of him, apparently, and he refuses to tell anybody what happened to him. However, Luffy offers him to break his chains and Takumi hesitates but obviously says yes. When Luffy does so, he just smiles widely at the sight of Takumi's relief and says: "See? Much better now, isn't it?" And Takumi stares at him and whispers "You look..." Luffy only tilts his head, confused, and Takumi blushes shyly. "I just- You look like someone I know." And he tightens his grip inside the pockets of his hoodie, holding something they can't see but don't ask about either.

Basically, they take care of the kid but he isn't quite ready to socialize yet and his injuries are still bad. The only ones allowed to spend a long time with him are Chopper (he's looking after his wounds) and Sanji (brings him food and, well, he's apparently the only one Takumi is comfortable with enough to talk. Besides, Takumi apparently won't eat any meat or fish and he doesn't explain why, but Sanji makes new dishes for him gladly). The three girls want to know him better, but they're forbidden from bothering him (although they definitely sneak out to talk to him for a few seconds when the adults are busy).

Sanji sees a lot of himself in him. The scared eyes. The trembling voice. He's even blond, for God's sake. He spends a lot of time with the kid, and Takumi even asks him to sleep next to him most of the time. Usopp sees this and he just knows they're keeping him because now there's no way they can say goodbye to him. One day, Takumi has a very nasty panic attack and Sanji has to help him through it. When the kid asks how he knows to deal with this, Sanji thinks it's only fair to open up to him about some stuff about his own past. This makes Takumi open up too, finally explaining what happened to him:

Takumi's mom is a celestial dragon that cheated on her husband with a slave. Of course, this didn't go unnoticed and she died in an "accident" while the slave was brutally murdered (when you think Celestial Dragons can be worse, they- They just get worse). The man didn't even give Takumi a name, he just took the kid and made him a slave the second he could start working. That's all he's ever known. Long story short, he's locked in a cell for a while as a punishment along with some other slaves, thinking there's no hope. But there's always hope, because the revolutionary army suddenly shows up! Sabo frees all of the slaves from that cell, Koala leading them to their respective boats. But... There's a kid who won't move. Chained. Injured. It shatters Sabo's heart into a million pieces. Sabo tries to help him with reassuring words but the kid is visibly shaking. Sabo asks him his name, but the kid won't answer, to which Sabo just smiles and says: "Well! Isn't that just great? Now you can choose your own name!" and the little guy is all confused, but it's the first time there's true excitement in his eyes. "Really?" / "Really! Is there something you like a ton? A name you want to make yours?" The kid seems to think about it, a bit shy about his answer. "I want- I want to go to the sea." / "Oh! I come from there, actually. Is there something you want to do there?" / "It's dumb-" / "No dreams are dumb. Now tell me." / "I want to build things. Things that can help people! Like- Like machines but- But good ones. I dunno how to explain it..." / "Umm. Well. How about Takumi? You can write it however you want it can mean both sea and craftsman. Also an outstanding person. The person you'll become once you get out of here. How does that sound?" Takumi nods and takes the name as his, as long with Sabo's glasses. He says Takumi will use them way more than him one day.

However, there's a lot of chaos and Takumi gets lost in his boat. All alone. And ends up fainting in the middle of the sea until the Straw hats find him.

Sanji knows it will be too much for the little guy to tell him all he knows about this story, so he just comforts him and lets him rest for a few days until he's ready to come out of the room. He has dinner with the rest of them, finally, one day. And even though the three girls are curious about him they have a very calm dinner, respecting his space. That's when the crew does their presentations, Luffy being the last one... And of course, he says: "I'm Monkey D. Luffy! Captain of this ship and the king of the pirates!". Something inside of Takumi switches, a huge surprised smile decorating his face. "You are Sabo's brother! That's why you reminded me of him!" / "You know Sabo?". Takumi tells them about his story and shows them the glasses, saying he's worried about Sabo because he promised to take care of him and he's sure the blond blames himself for this. He tells them, also, about Sabo talking about Luffy ("The world is scary out there, but pirates aren't all so bad, all right? Monkey D. Luffy is my brother! The king of the pirates! And he's the best man I've ever met.") and Takumi couldn't be happier to have found him.

Basically, Takumi stays with them for a long time and grows closer and closer with everyone. The girls and he get along, even if he's still very overwhelmed by everything and has to take things slow. They protect him when there's a fight and they spend time with him, playing and teaching him everything there's to know. He also sleeps with Sanji and Usopp most of the time, also growing very fond of the sniper and his stories late at night when he has nightmares and refuses to wake up Sanji. Usopp is always there to distract him from bad thoughts and Sanji is always there to hug the anxiousness away. Sora and Banchina love him like a brother, so much that they even start calling him that. Sanji and Usopp don't say a word about it, but it hurts to know that there's a possibility of him not staying with them. Sanji says it's fine. That the kid deserves a better life. But Usopp knows Sanji wants the kid to stay with them.

Sabo appears one day with the intention to see Takumi again. They catch up and have a fun day together until Sabo offers Takumi the option of going away with him. However, Takumi says he prefers to stay here. With his new family, if they accept him. And so Takumi stays with them!

That's when his personality starts to form a little bit more with the passage of time. He loves spending time with Franky and Usopp, building things. Little machines and inventions. Turns out Sabo's glasses do end up being useful to him! He's still a bit shy. A very anxious kid. But he's so, so smart... A brilliant, outstanding kid who wants to make the world a better place with his inventions. He keeps being reserved and he isn't very fond of fighting, but he supports the whole crew with his inventions! Usopp couldn't be more proud. He also likes the revolutionary's ideology and lets Robin talk to him about it for hours and hours. Cooking is just like science, in his opinion, and once he says it Sanji's heart melts because that's exactly what Usopp told him once.

They end up figuring out that he ate a devil fruit, one that helps him talk to animals. That's why he refuses to eat them. Sanji tells him that it's amazing. One of the best powers in the world. Fascinating, even. He's his special boy and Sanji's just so jealous he has a power like that but he's glad Takumi is the one to have it and not some horrible pirate out there. Usopp and he grow closer talking about bugs and different types of beetles and arachnids! Sanji loves to see it, but can only talk about Takumi about it when it comes to regular animals.

They're so, so similar in a lot of things... Even if they are not his real parents. Yet. He hasn't called them that yet.

Until one morning Takumi calls Sanji dad and he has a whole crisis about it, the kid thinks he has killed his father but Usopp calms both of them down. Sanji asks the kid if he truly wants to be part of his family. Because if he does, he'd be glad to call him his son. And Takumi couldn't be happier. Do you know who's even happier? Sora and Banchina. They are THRILLED to have a little brother.

I've made these picrews based on the idea I have of them (if you like the idea I'll post more information about them):

Sora

Age: 10 (Older twin for literally seconds of difference)

MBTI: ENTP

-> She's an adventurer, hence the bandages and band-aids. Prefers long hair because she refuses to cut it, mostly. Uses Usopp's overalls and Sanji's shirts because they're comfortable and they don't fit her dads anymore, so she gets to keep them!!! She likes nature (the bees and her leaf earring) and loves stealing Zoro's money at poker (Nami taught her).

Banchina

Age: 10

MBTI: INFP

-> Usually has a ponytail or buns to keep them from bothering her while she draws. Lil' toad on her head (Wano Usopp reference, he kept that toad). She likes butterflies and bugs, too!! Big comfy clothes and a calmer, comfier energy.

Takumi

Age: 7

MBTI: INFJ

-> Lil' crown of leaves his sisters gift him. Animals around him all the time. He likes big clothes but usually just wears a synthetic leather jacket Usopp gave him and never takes off Sabo's goggles. Big sweaters, too. He's very tiny even for his age.

Kuina

Age: 14

MBTI: ESTP

-> Long hair for the same reason as Sora: Refuses to cut it. Bold of you to assume she showers, honestly. Lil' ponytail to see better. She has one of Zoro's earrings and a necklace with a sun (iykyk). She also has a bandana around her neck (Zoro moment). Have you seen her clothes? She wants to go to Wano so fucking bad.

Picrew

[blazehedgehog]

What do you think of AI stuff like DAll-E or Midjourney?

It's not as useful as some people want you to believe. A lot of people pushing for the acceptance of this kind of software are the same tech bros that invested in crypto currency and were trying to sell you NFTs, which should tell you enough.

All of this "it's democratizing art!" and "finally, people can make art even if they don't have natural talent!" is snake oil.

You know where my "natural talent" came from? I started drawing when I was 4 or 5 years old. I drew at least one thing per day for over 20 years. I earned the ability to crank out dumb doodles on a whim.

You can't just show up one day and think you deserve to make artwork without putting in the work to learn and get good at it. Art's importance comes from the length of time needed to learn to master it. And I don't just mean drawings, I mean music, film, food, everything. No matter what it is, effort is value.

Financial value, sentimental value, it doesn't matter. All value is derived from the effort required to make it.

If you can just push a button and churn out artwork en masse, that devalues the importance of art. I mentioned this back with the Martin Scorsese ask, but it's like, which has more value? An original hand-made piece of artwork, or a print of that artwork? Prints are easy to mass produce. You can get a nice, high quality, glossy print of the Mona Lisa almost for free at this point. But the actual Mona Lisa, the original product, is actually valuable beyond value.

Art prints are literally just replicating a single file over and over and over again, but the original is one-of-a-kind and where all the effort is most evident. All the layers of paint can be felt as DaVinci sought perfection in his work. That's what makes it special. That's what makes it important.

My uncle does woodworking. He's so good at it, he gave my Mom an end table that looks like it came from a high-tier furniture store. A mass-produced end table like that would be at least $100. He made it by hand. It is beautiful. I will treasure that end table forever.

Effort is value.

If you spend any length of time looking at art websites where AI art is allowed (such as deviantart or pixiv), what you'll often find is these AI art chumps submitting massive amounts of artwork. They'll submit 10, 20, 40+ images a day, all from the same prompt, all with slight differences, because to them, every single thing the generator produces is worth submitting.

Even when I was drawing regularly, I could only really do maybe one finished piece per day. Two if you were lucky. Not only because sketching, inking, coloring and shading would take so long, but because after I was done the tank was empty. I'd used up all my effort for the day and had no more creativity left to give.

All the claims of "letting people without artistic talent generate art" are bogus because it throws the whole signal-to-noise ratio out of wack. Too much signal in itself becomes noise. And it devalues the effort that real artwork takes, because real artwork is now part of that noise, instead of rising above it.

When anyone can vomit out hundreds or even thousands of AI generated images that are of decent-to-good quality, a lot of what would be considered "b-tier" artwork ceases to be important anymore.

In a world where AI generated images are normalized, only the top 0.1% of artwork (your Mona Lisas) are considered to have real value. And who benefits the most from that kind of stuff? Rich people. Rich people who can afford to drop a million dollars on a historic piece of hand-crafted artwork. And just to be clear: these are exactly the same people who are trying to sell you on how important AI generator software is going to be going forward.

Or to simplify it even more: the people who stand to profit the most from AI "art" are the ones trying the hardest to sell you on its benefits. Because it benefits them more than it will ever benefit you.

Because, full disclosure, over this last week, a friend of mine has been having a lot of fun with Bing's new image generator feature, and I couldn't help but also play with the toy. The quality of images it can generate is shocking.

Microsoft, in their endless desperation to get anyone to use Bing on purpose, is clearly playing with fire here.

When effort is value and value is effortless, nothing has any value anymore.

I understand how, if you aren't an artist, this is all probably incredibly difficult to comprehend. The lure of fast and easy artwork from a simple line of text is a net gain to you, and nothing else really matters to your perspective. But imagine all of the up-and-coming artists who get completely pushed out of the conversation because of how easy it is to crap out endless AI generator output. I spent 20 years drawing every day for results that can be beaten in 20 seconds.

How many future artists is that going to discourage? There's a lot of buzz, now more than ever, about "late stage capitalism" and the way that's manifesting in our lives. When AI generated images are "good enough", how is that going to change the world around us?

You can't just think, "we'll figure something out" because the people trying to control this narrative do not have your best interests in mind. The people trying to control this narrative think they still don't have enough money yet even though there's not much money left to give them.

Their solution is to stop paying people to do work that they can get a computer to do for free, even if it means destroying the entire foundation of human culture. Long term destruction for short term gain. The same old story.

Are they going to get away with it?

(Another good ask along this line is over here, from February.)

[whirling-fangs]

@fallesto || continued from [x]

Kiba had kept his promises.

Eleven new Moons, handpicked from the broken, the beaten and the damned. Those that humanity had deemed unworthy to keep walking this earth, given a second chance, in exchange for their freedom. Their loyalty undying, grateful as they were to get back at the humankind that had rejected them.

Each of them was a lost soul, condemned to atrocious deaths, or fates even worth that that. Lives filled with sorrow, now replaced with glory, power and riches beyond their wildest dreams.

Eleven new soldiers, all devoted to Muzan's cause. The ranks were still young, but in their years of existence, they had never once let their creator down.

The world was changing. Little by little, day after day, it was being shaped by the demons' actions. Leaders falling, replaced by puppets that acted upon the Lord's every wish. Power shifting, changing hands, as the demons were never once threatened.

The more their influence grew, the more Kiba's worries followed the same trend. As demons made their presence known, the slayers were certain to resurface, if there even was any of them left to roam the planet.

He couldn't keep the Lord cooped up in their apartment complex forever. He owed it to her to show her the world, to let her discover the society she was soon to reign upon.

He never expected his worst fears to come alive in this place. A quest to uncover some of his Lord's lost treasures, a place that only she could remember.

Of course. He should have expected that place to be guarded.

The child he had tortured for information proved to be completely useless. Kiba had completely forgotten about their presence, as his senses burned with dangers he hadn't felt in over a century.

"Stand back. They're here." He told his beloved Lord, panic pumping through his veins. The awaited day had finally come, and the timing couldn't have been worse.

A descendant of the Sun Breathers.

As Kiba laid eyes upon the brat, crimson ever so present amongst the emerald of his irises, he immediately knew. He could feel it deep in his bones, in the way his cells squirmed in anticipation, his power released from the dying human. Its airways were crushed beyond repair.

"You can't save him. You came too late, you piece of trash human. You always do."

Blind rage oozed from his limbs, his power biting at his fingertips. He ought to crush this creature right away, a clawed hand rising into the air, his disguise utterly pointless. He knew that the brat had recognized him for what he was.

Bright symbols shone amongst the colors of his eyes. Perhaps the brat would understand what they meant.

Upper One.

"I don't value the life of the worthless. Humans have no potential. They live, they destroy the world around them, they die. They destroy each other, hate each other... Sooner or later, they'll bring their own demise upon themselves."

"I'll be there to make it happen, but you won't. Tonight, you're going to die."

[heartofspells]

3 and 14 for end of the year asks 🫶

3 - favorite line/scene you wrote this year

Oh, that's hard. Why would you do this to me? No candles in the cave for you. But actually, I think it would be this scene from Painted Ceilings:

It's not an easy conversation. It lasts forever, far longer than Sirius would have ever liked. It almost ends countless times in arguments. It spans the sun's steady path through the sky and different rooms. They hop between the bedroom, the bath, stand inside the narrow corridor, pace the sitting room, scuttle through cupboards in the kitchen just for something to do. They fight. Fight about James and his part in it all, fight about names of all the absurd things to worry about, fight about where they'll be in five years, ten, thirty.

They fight and laugh. Walk and laugh. Fight and shout. Joke, tease, dance, fight again. Lounge across the sofa together with wedges of cheese and nothing alcoholic to drink, jesting and reminiscing about where they came from and how they started, Sirius battling against the urge for a cigarette and failing until he's begging for one, Remus smoothing the hair out of his face and rubbing soothingly across his scalp to settle him with understanding in his eyes that only leads to that increasingly familiar irritation swelling in Sirius and then they're fighting again.

Fight and twist and twirl and spiral and fight more and more and more. Laughter between the fights and laughter in the middle of them, shocking and rude, harsh sounds that shred vocal cords and shred hearts even worse, but they sew the pieces back together and go another round and then another and another. There are tears on Remus' face at one point, Sirius is sure of it, and Sirius maybe cries too but he'll never admit to it, that stiff upper lip ever-present, never fading, and Remus snarls his rage about it while Sirius screams his back, cruel and high-pitched like the choirs of hyenas leaving Remus reeling and Sirius reeling.

Laugh and argue and whisper memories and fight, round and round they spin, never stopping, never slowing down until they do but only for a second, only for another breath and then they're off again, doing it all over. Fight and fight and fight, shouts and accusations, jagged claws tearing away the faces of monsters, ones that don't exist and never have in kind-willed men and the ones that will forever exist in the worst kinds of people. Fight, fight, fight – fight or flight – stay or go – up and down and around round round, spin and circle and duck and dive, soar high and crash low, stripping away layers, not gentle, can't be anymore, peel it back, lay it bare, expose it to the air and let it rankle and swell and infect the air they breathe until it's in them again but different, growing, lightening, out again, floating into the sky, reaching space, touching stars and exploding from the heat, black holes left to devour other worlds, sent off to leave theirs in peace.

And it ends.

It ends like cold water gathered in a puddle at their feet, an ice sculpture melted to reveal treasures locked inside. It ends with Sirius speechless and hurting and stripped raw, with Remus staring at him with bleached eyes and breathless lips parted. It ends with Sirius pulling Remus against him with needful force and holding tightly, refusing to let go, with Remus clawing at Sirius' shoulder blades and gasping into his neck like a man hauled from a raging sea.

It ends with a decision, one made by both, together, solid in its foundation, nothing more than a foundation but there without cracks or anything unknown hidden beneath the dirt of their previous lives and who they've always been. It ends with the agreement and the understanding of the start of something new and impossibly terrifying and completely theirs.

And it starts again, anew and fresh, the way the ending had started from the beginning, with hot mouths and hot hands and still hotter flesh between teeth. With a familiar glint in Remus' eyes that shouldn't exist away from the moon but he says probably doesn't matter all that much anymore. It starts again with sticky tiles beneath their feet and fingers sliding through sweat and hair and with a broken kitchen table, Remus only barely catching Sirius in time with laughter on their tongues and the taste of each other in their mouths.

14 - a fic you didn't expect to write

Any of the three (3) Prongsfoot fics I've got (my universe, in flames, Sins Trapped in Belfries, CRuSH) or Black Moon. If someone had told me at the beginning of the year that I'd be writing Prongsfoot romantically or a Moony/Sirius smut fic, I'd have laughed in their face and called them a liar.

End of year asks!

[hecatesbroom]

Hii!

I thought it was about time to make an index/introductory post to pin (because I love lists and this is essentially a list) so here we are :))

I'm Alys! Or at least I go by that online ever since I decided Internet safety also applies to me. I use she/her pronouns but honestly anything goes, and I'm known to friends as a grandma in a 21-year-old's body.

Feel free to tag me in things, send me a dm, or pop an ask in my tumblr mailbox. I don't bite, and I love interacting with people! (Which includes you, I promise!)

(I do have a tendency to forget to reply, which I'm working on, but please don't worry if that happens. It's nothing to do with you!)

I write fic and the occasional long meta post, and can make gifsets if I set my mind to it, most of them being on pieces of media so obscure they'll only appeal to a handful of people lol

Here's a little, probably incomplete list of the things I love and will most likely post/reblog stuff about:

My main interests at the moment are:

The Golden Girls (find all golden girls posts under #the golden girls, and most ship posts under #golden wives! I'm hoping to go back and re-tag my meta posts & ficlets with a special tag soon, but for now it's just one big treasure hunt under the main tag lol)

Maude (tagged #maude 1972)

And I'm following along with Dracula Daily this year (find all related posts under #dracula & #dracula daily)

Other things I have & will occasionally post about:

The Wheel of Time

The Witcher books

Good Omens

Doctor Who (watching for the very first time! You can find my unhinged rants under #alys watches who)

Tolkien, both his works and adaptations of it

Books in general, mostly fantasy and classics with a dash of basically everything else

The Locked Tomb on my sideblog @i-hardlyknowher

An entire list of (mostly niche, mostly British and Dutch) sitcoms from the '70s and '80s. Ask me about them if you want and I'll love you forever

I'm trying to read and see some more Shakespeare so you'll probably see the occasional post about that too

BBC Ghosts

Broadchurch, which I watched when it first aired, rewatched last year, and am back to occasionally losing my mind over now

The Worst Witch, which I don't really post about anymore but deserves a spot here anyway, because it's what inspired my username!!