#sometimes characters are just like me for real. sorry!

[synity]

Heyy!

I was wondering if you’d be up for writing a Scoups fic sometime! Honestly, I’m not picky about the plot I’m just really craving some good Seungcheol fluff and/or angst right now. Totally no pressure if you’re not feeling it, but I’d love to see what you come up with if you’re down. Thanks so much either way!! 💗

ESE DÍA DIFERENTE

(Choi Seungcheo! X Fem!Reader)

Chosen Family, Bittersweet, Slice of life, Contemporary Romance, Healing, Redemption, Emotional Drama

This story is inspired by real-life experiences and emotions that I have lived through and witnessed. While the characters and events are fictionalized, the feelings of heartbreak, healing, and hope are deeply personal and genuine.😭

Seungcheol's life used to be simple. Not in the sense of easy, but in the way that love felt safe and real. When Maria came into his world, it was as if all the scattered pieces of his life finally found their place.

She was stunning bright-eyed, full of laughter, and with a smile that seemed to light up every room she entered.

From the moment they met, there was a spark he couldn't ignore.

He remembered their first date vividly a small, cozy café tucked away in the city's quieter streets. Maria had laughed at his awkward jokes, her eyes sparkling with genuine joy. They talked for hours, about everything and nothing, until the sun dipped below the horizon and the city lights flickered on.

"That was... really nice," Maria had said softly as they stood outside, the cool night air wrapping around them.

Seungcheol grinned, feeling his heart pound.

"I'm glad you think so. I don't usually do this kind of thing, but with you... it felt different."

She smiled back, touching his hand lightly. "Me too."

From then on, their lives intertwined like the vines of a climbing rose. They shared meals, secrets, dreams. Seungcheol found himself planning a future he never dared imagine. Maria wasn't just his girlfriend; she was his partner, his best friend, the person he wanted beside him through every storm and calm.

One evening, a few months into their relationship, they sat on the rooftop of his apartment building. The city sprawled beneath them, glittering like a galaxy.

"I can't wait to marry you, Seungcheol," Maria whispered, her fingers laced through his.

He pulled her close, heart swelling. "Soon. Soon, we'll have that life.

They dreamed aloud about the wedding white flowers, soft music, dancing under the stars.

Maria talked about picking out a house, maybe near the beach where they could watch sunsets every day. Seungcheol listened, believing every

word.

But life rarely stays perfect for long.

Small cracks began to form, almost imperceptibly at first. Maria started staying out later than usual, her phone always locked tight, a new layer of distance settling between them.

When he asked, she smiled and reassured him.

"Nothing to worry about, babe. Just work stuff."

Seungcheol wanted to believe her. Wanted so badly to trust the woman he loved with all his heart.

One afternoon, he waited for her at the café where they often met after work. She arrived late, flustered, avoiding his eyes.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, slipping into the seat opposite him. "I've just been... busy."

"Is everything okay?" he asked gently, searching her face.

Maria forced a smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Yeah, really. Just tired, that's all."

Seungcheol nodded, but the seed of doubt had been planted.

Weeks passed, and the distance grew.

One rainy night, unable to shake the gnawing feeling in his chest, Seungcheol decided to surprise Maria at her apartment. He arrived unannounced, his heart pounding with hope and fear.

The door was slightly ajar.

He stepped inside, the scent of unfamiliar perfume hitting him first.

Then he heard voices soft laughter, whispered words not meant for him.

Seungcheol's breath caught in his throat as he crept closer to the living room.

There, on the couch, was Maria wrapped in the arms of another man.

Time froze.

His world shattered.

Maria looked up, eyes wide with shock.

"Seungcheol! What are you doing here?"

He swallowed the lump in his throat, pain crackina his voice. "How lona?"

She didn't answer.

The man shifted uncomfortably.

"I thought we had something real," Seungcheol said, voice breaking. "I trusted you."

Maria's face crumpled, guilt flooding her features. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to-"

"Why?" he interrupted, pain cutting through him like a knife. "Why do this to me? To us?"

She looked away, unable to meet his gaze.

Seungcheol turned and left, the cold rain outside soaking him as he walked aimlessly, feeling like every step took him further from the man he used to be.

Days blurred into nights. He barely ate, barely slept. Friends called, but he couldn't answer. His phone was filled with messages from Maria, apologies and explanations, but he couldn't bring himself to respond.

One night, alone in his dark apartment, he stared at the ring he had bought for her. The ring he never got to give. It felt heavy in his hand, a symbol of a future erased.

"I was going to marry you," he whispered into the emptiness. "How did it all fall apart?"

Seungcheol's life crumbled, but somewhere deep inside, beneath the pain, a flicker remained. A faint, fragile hope that maybe, someday, he could find his way back from the darkness.

The days stretched on like endless shadows.

The colors of the city dimmed, and the laughter that once filled his ears turned into a distant echo, a haunting reminder of what was lost.

Seungcheol moved through his routine like a ghost going to work, answering emails, smiling at meetings but inside, he was unraveling.

His apartment, once a sanctuary filled with memories and hope, now felt like a cold cage.

The bed where two souls once dreamed of forever was empty, a silent testament to the promises broken. He often found himself staring at the ceiling late into the night, the weight of silence pressing down on his chest.

Friends tried to reach out.

"Cheol, we miss you," his closest friend, Joshua called one evening. "Let's grab dinner, talk it

out."

But Seungcheol shook his head, forcing a hollow smile. "Not tonight. I'm just tired."

The truth was, he was tired not just physically, but from the ache that refused to fade. From the betrayal that replayed in his mind like a cruel song.

He walked the city streets aimlessly, searching for something to fill the void. Sometimes he found himself in the park, watching couples holding hands, their happiness like salt on a wound. He envied their laughter, their ease, the simple beauty of love that now seemed so distant to him.

One rainy afternoon, he sat alone in a quiet café, fingers tracing the rim of his empty cup. The barista placed a fresh coffee in front of him with a gentle smile.

"Rough day?" He asked kindly.

Seungcheol nodded faintly, managing a small, grateful smile. "You could say that."

He wondered if he knew the weight he carried the loneliness, the heartbreak. But he didn't want to burden anyone with his pain. He had learned to keep it locked inside, behind a carefully crafted mask.

At work, he tried to focus, burying himself in projects and meetings. But the silence in his office was deafening. Every time his phone buzzed, his heart leapt, hoping for a message that never came.

His family noticed his change the quiet that replaced his usual warmth, the shadows under his eyes.

"Seungcheol, are you okay?" his mother asked one evening, concern etched in her voice.

He forced a smile, shaking his head.

"I'm fine. Just... tired."

But inside, he felt fractured. Like a beautiful vase smashed on the floor some pieces sharp and jagged, others missing entirely.

One night, as rain pattered against his window, he sat by the glass, tracing droplets with a trembling finger. He thought about the future he once dreamed of, now crumbled like ashes in his hands.

"I don't know how to move on," he whispered to the empty room. "How do I heal when everything I believed in was a lie?"

His phone lit up suddenly a notification from a florist's shop nearby, advertising fresh spring blooms. He scrolled through the pictures of vibrant flowers, their delicate beauty stirring something deep inside.

Maybe... maybe a small step. Maybe a way to feel something real again.

Unbeknownst to him, that moment, fragile as it was, would lead him somewhere new somewhere he hadn't dared to dream.

The days that followed were a blur of muted colors and hollow routines. Seungcheol woke each morning feeling like he was carrying the weight of the world or maybe just the weight of himself. The silence inside his apartment pressed in on him, thick and suffocating. Sometimes, he’d catch himself reaching for his phone, only to remember there was no one to call.

constant hum of meetings and deadlines distracted him, but it also reminded him how far away he’d drifted from the life he’d imagined. His colleagues noticed the change how his laughter no longer reached his eyes, how his smile felt forced, like a mask he wore to hide the cracks beneath.

One evening, after a long day, Seungcheol found himself standing in front of a small flower shop he hadn’t noticed before. The sign was simple, adorned with delicate script, and the warm glow from inside spilled onto the sidewalk. Drawn by something he couldn’t name, he stepped inside.

The air smelled of earth and petals, soft and comforting. Rows of colorful flowers stretched out before him roses, lilies, tulips each one vibrant, alive. For a moment, he forgot the ache in his chest. He ran his fingers gently over a cluster of soft pink peonies, their petals fragile but full of life.

The shopkeeper, a kind-faced woman with gentle eyes, smiled at him. “Looking for something special?”

Seungcheol hesitated. “I’m not sure… Maybe just something to brighten the day.”

She nodded knowingly. “Flowers have a way of doing that.”

He picked a small bouquet of white daisies simple, pure, hopeful. As he held them, a small flicker of something new stirred inside him not quite happiness, not quite peace, but a fragile thread of hope.

Days passed, and Seungcheol found himself returning to the flower shop more often, drawn by the quiet beauty and the unexpected comfort it offered. He started to care for the flowers he bought, learning how to nurture something delicate and alive. It was a small act, but it reminded him he was still capable of caring even if it was just for petals and leaves.

Slowly, very slowly, the sharp edges of his pain began to soften.

He still carried the scars of his heartbreak they were a part of him now but amid the wilted parts of his life, there were hints of growth. A fragile, quiet strength was taking root.

In the moments between work and sleep, he found himself thinking less about what he’d lost, and more about what might still be waiting.

Seungcheol didn’t know it yet, but this small change a bouquet of daisies, a few quiet moments in a flower shop was the first step toward a new beginning.

It was a quiet Sunday morning, the kind where the sky was pale and the air still. Seungcheol found himself walking the familiar route to the flower shop, hands tucked into the pockets of his beige coat. The streets were calm, and the gentle clink of wind chimes above the flower shop door greeted him as he stepped inside.

He had begun to find comfort in these visits not because he needed flowers for any particular reason, but because it was one of the few places where his chest didn’t feel so heavy.

“Back again,” the florist a warm, gentle woman with tired but kind eyes said with a soft smile.

Seungcheol nodded. “Yeah. I guess I’ve started to like it here.”

The woman chuckled. “People who come back to flowers again and again are usually the ones trying to heal.”

He looked down, quiet. “Yeah… I guess that’s true.”

Just then, the sound of soft footsteps came from behind the wooden curtain separating the back room from the front. A voice, lighter and younger, floated in.

“Mom, do you know where you put the shears? The sharp ones?”

Seungcheol looked up instinctively, and that’s when he saw her.

You.

You stepped out, dressed casually in a light sweater and jeans, a faint smudge of dirt on your wrist as if you’d been helping with potting or organizing. You weren’t in the least like the perfectly polished women Seungcheol used to be surrounded by. There was something grounded about you something real. A small frown rested on your face as you looked around for the missing shears.

“Oh,” you said, stopping short when you noticed someone else in the shop. You straightened up. “Sorry I didn’t know there was a customer.”

Your mother smiled. “This is Seungcheol. He’s been coming here a lot lately.”

You gave a polite nod. “I’m YN her daughter. Just visiting today.”

“Nice to meet you,” Seungcheol replied quietly, something uncertain flickering behind his eyes.

You reached behind the counter, finally spotting the shears and holding them up in triumph. “There they are. Thought I was losing my mind

Seungcheol chuckled softly, and the sound surprised even him. It had been a long time since he’d laughed like that not out of politeness, not to fill silence, but because something genuinely amused him.

Your mother raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of you.

“You said you were looking for something simple today?” she asked, redirecting Seungcheol gently.

“Yeah… something calm. Nothing too bright. Maybe white or soft blue.”

You turned your head, curiosity piqued. “That sounds like hydrangeas.”

“Hydrangeas?” he echoed, unfamiliar.

You stepped closer, motioning toward the back of the store. “We just got some fresh blue ones in this morning. I’ll show you.”

He followed, not entirely sure why only that your voice was soft, and your presence wasn’t overwhelming. As you gently lifted a hydrangea pot, the petals catching light like quiet silk, Seungcheol felt something stir in him.

“They symbolize gratitude and deep understanding,” you explained, setting the pot down in front of him. “But… also regret and apology. I always found that bittersweet.”

“Sounds like life,” he murmured.

You looked up, meeting his eyes for a moment. Something unspoken passed between you not recognition, not attraction, but something deeper: understanding.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Exactly.”

Your mother called from the front, and you gave him a small smile before turning away.

As he paid and stepped out of the shop with the potted hydrangea in hand, Seungcheol found himself glancing back once.

You were standing at the counter now, laughing at something your mother said, your eyes crinkling with warmth.

He didn’t know your name until five minutes ago. He didn’t know anything about you what you did, where you lived, what you dreamed of.

But for the first time in what felt like forever, he wanted to know.

And that… felt like something new was beginning.

From that day on, Seungcheol’s visits to the flower shop became more frequent and less about the flowers.

He never admitted it, not even to himself, but he always hoped you’d be there. Sometimes you were tying ribbons around bouquets, sweeping fallen petals, or leaning behind the counter as you talked with your mother. And sometimes you weren’t. On those days, he still bought something small. A sprig of eucalyptus. A single daisy. A lavender stem. Just to justify the visit.

“Still going with calm tones?” you teased one afternoon, walking beside him as he studied a row of soft lilacs.

“They’re peaceful,” he replied with a faint smile. “I need peace.”

You didn’t pry. That was something he noticed about you. You didn’t ask about the sadness in his eyes, or the slight hesitation in his laugh. You didn’t fill silences with questions. You just let them breathe.

“Lilacs symbolize rebirth, you know,” you offered gently. “Like… letting go.”

He glanced at you, something quiet and grateful in his expression. “Then maybe I should take two.”

You grinned.

A few days later, it was raining soft and steady. Seungcheol entered the shop, hair damp, coat speckled with droplets. You were wiping down the window glass, humming something low under your breath.

“You’ll catch a cold,” you said without looking, your voice warm. “There’s tea in the back if you want to sit for a bit.”

He hesitated.

“You sure?”

“Mm-hmm,” you said, finally turning toward him. “You’ve earned regular customer privileges by now.”

That was the first time he sat with you at the little wooden table behind the shop. The kettle steamed softly as you poured two cups of barley tea. The smell of damp earth and petals wrapped around both of you like a blanket.

“I used to drink this with my grandmother,” you said, wrapping your hands around the warm mug. “She always said it tastes like patience.”

Seungcheol sipped slowly. “Then it’s perfect for me.”

The rain continued to fall.

You didn’t speak about your past. He didn’t speak about his. But the silence wasn’t awkward. It felt… comforting. Shared. Like the two of you had been sitting across from each other for years in another life.

The next time he came, you weren’t there.

He tried not to be disappointed. Your mother told him you had classes that day and wouldn’t be back until the weekend. He picked out a soft pink carnation anyway, but as he walked home with it tucked into his coat pocket, it wasn’t the same.

He didn’t know why.

She was just someone he met in a flower shop.

Just someone who smiled at him when the rest of the world felt cold.

Just someone whose voice stayed in his head longer than it should have.

He saw you again a week later kneeling in the back garden behind the shop, replanting new seedlings.

“Hey,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

You looked up, smiling beneath your bangs. “Hey, yourself. Thought we lost you to a rival florist.”

He laughed, crouching beside you. “Never. You and your lilac wisdom got me hooked.”

You looked at him then, the dirt on your hands, the scent of fresh soil and morning light all around you.

“You’re smiling more lately,” you said.

That caught him off guard.

“I am?”

You nodded. “You were carrying a storm before. Now it’s more like… a quiet sky.”

His chest tightened at the honesty in your voice. You weren’t complimenting him. You were noticing him. Seeing him. Not who he used to be. Not who he pretended to be.

But who he was now broken, healing, and quietly blooming again.

It was late afternoon the kind where the golden light trickled through the flower shop windows and everything felt slow, like the world was taking a breath.

YN had just left to run an errand. The shop was quiet. Seungcheol lingered, pretending to browse, but really… he just didn’t feel like going home yet.

“Sit down, son,” her mother said suddenly, wiping her hands on her apron. “You’ve been pacing around those lilies like they owe you rent.”

He blinked in surprise, then laughed softly, lowering himself into the wooden chair near the counter.

“You always call me that,” he said. “Son.”

She gave him a long look, gentle but serious. “That’s because I see you like one.”

A lump formed in Seungcheol’s throat. No one had said something like that to him in a long, long time.

She poured tea without asking she always did and slid the cup across to him.

“You remind me a lot of her,” she said quietly, nodding toward the door where you’d left moments ago. “Before everything fell apart.”

He looked up, eyes curious.

“I know that weight you carry. The silence. The smile that never quite reaches. You think you’re hiding it well, but I’ve seen it before.”

Her voice dipped, laced with memory. “She was like that too.”

Seungcheol’s lips parted. “YN?”

She nodded slowly.

“Three years ago. A betrayal from a friend she trusted more than family. It shattered her. Broke her spirit in ways I didn’t even know were possible.”

Her eyes misted, but she didn’t look away.

“She shut everyone out. Wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t speak.

She stopped sketching, stopped writing, stopped building things all the things that made her her.” She shook her head gently.

“This girl could turn scraps into art. She was brilliant. Always making, always dreaming. But after that betrayal, she stopped breathing life into anything.”

Seungcheol swallowed, his voice low. “What brought her back?”

“A lot of time. A lot of silence. And a little bit of kindness.” She looked at him knowingly.

“Sometimes we forget that pain doesn’t need to be solved. It just needs to be witnessed.”

That struck him deeply. He looked down at his tea, then at her again. Her eyes didn’t judge. Didn’t pity. They understood.

“I was supposed to get married,” he said, the words falling from his mouth for the first time without shame. “To someone I thought… loved me. Maria.”

The name tasted bitter.

“She cheated,” he continued, voice tight. “With someone I trusted. It wasn’t just the betrayal it was the life we built. All those promises. All those mornings where I thought I was happy…”

He trailed off. His hands trembled lightly.

“She left me in pieces,” he whispered. “And I don’t even know who I am anymore without her.”

The older woman reached across the table, placing her hand over his.

“Oh, my son,” she said softly. “You don’t have to know right now.”

He looked at her.

“You know what’s the worst thing about pain?” she asked. “It makes us think we’ve lost who we were forever. But sometimes, we’re just… paused. Waiting to be found again. Not by someone else. But by ourselves.”

Tears brimmed in his eyes, but he didn’t let them fall.

She smiled. “YN was known around this neighborhood for her creativity. Her spark. Her quick mind. And when all of that disappeared, everyone thought she’d never return to herself.”

A small, proud smile touched her lips.

“But look at her now. Laughing again. Creating again. Breathing again.”

Seungcheol closed his eyes for a moment. It wasn’t healing not yet. But it was relief. Like someone had reached into his soul and turned on the lights, even if dimly.

The older woman stood and ruffled his hair gently like a real mother would.

“You don’t have to rush. But don’t let that girl fool you either. She understands pain better than anyone. That’s why she’s so gentle with yours.”

As she returned to the flowers, humming to herself, Seungcheol sat still for a long time tea growing cold in his hands, something unspoken blooming in his chest.

Not love.

Not yet.

But something warmer than grief.

And something softer than regret.

Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as lost as he thought.

YN wasn’t the kind of person to press.

She noticed things in quiet moments how Seungcheol always avoided love songs playing on the radio, how he never talked about the past, how sometimes he stared a little too long at a single flower like he was trying to remember something he lost.

She noticed how his laugh came with a pause. Like he had to check with himself if it was okay to feel joy again.

She noticed and she didn’t say a word.

Not at first.

But she stayed.

When he dropped by the flower shop, she started setting aside little things without asking a new chamomile bloom she thought he’d like, a folded napkin with a quote she scribbled, a cookie her mom made that she knew he wouldn’t buy but always finished.

She didn’t try to cheer him up.

She didn’t try to fix the invisible heaviness he carried.

She just… offered herself.

And one evening, after a sudden downpour soaked the streets and left the world smelling like wet soil and green things, she handed him a towel and said quietly:

“You don’t have to tell me what happened, Seungcheol.”

He looked at her.

Her eyes were calm. Steady. Not filled with pity, but with recognition.

“I just want you to know… whatever it is you don’t have to carry it alone every day.”

Seungcheol blinked, lips parting but no words came. No one had ever said that to him. No one had noticed without asking.

“Some days are harder than others,” she continued softly, “I know that. I’ve had days where I couldn’t even get out of bed, where I hated the idea of being seen.”

He froze. Those words he knew them.

“But someone told me once,” she smiled gently, “that pain doesn’t mean you’re broken forever. It just means you’re still healing.”

His throat tightened. It felt like she was peeling open a window in him he didn’t even know was locked shut.

“You remind me of myself back then,” she said.

He raised his head slowly, brows drawn.

“I know that look. That quiet ache. That… pause before speaking like you’re afraid your voice doesn’t matter anymore.”

Silence stretched between them not awkward, but real.

Then finally, he whispered, “It does. With you, it does.”

YN smiled, that small kind of smile that doesn’t scream joy but offers peace.

“Then I’ll keep listening,” she said.

Seungcheol felt something shift in him that night not big, not dramatic just a flicker of warmth, a sense of not being invisible.

Someone saw him.

Not the perfect him. Not the smiling version he used to be with Maria.

But this version the one with bruised hope and a slow heartbeat.

And for the first time in a long time, that felt like enough.

The sun had just begun to set, its honey-colored light spilling over the quiet streets like a golden blanket. Seungcheol was walking back home from the gym, earbuds in, sweat cooling on his skin, when he saw her YN’s mother, standing outside the local grocery store, struggling with two heavy bags balanced awkwardly in each hand.

He blinked, instantly pulling his earbuds out. “Ma’am—! Let me help.”

She turned, a little startled, and then broke into a warm smile. “Ah, Seungcheol! My strong son!” she laughed, clearly relieved. “I got a little ambitious today.”

He jogged over and easily took the bags from her hands, surprised at the weight.

“What’s all this?” he asked with a grin.

“I’m making a chocolate cake,” she said proudly, “for YN and her siblings. They’ve been working so hard. Saturday’s our tradition they all come over to cook for me, so I wanted to surprise them first.”

Seungcheol nodded, amused and touched. “That sounds… really sweet. Literally.”

“You should come in too,” she added, unlocking her gate. “There’s always more than enough. And you deserve something sweet.”

He hesitated for only a second. But her tone that motherly certainty made it impossible to say no.

They entered her home through the small garden pathway where vines crept gently along the white fence, and tiny flowerpots lined the windowsills.

The door opened straight into a veranda covered in trellises and potted blooms, the scent of lavender and basil lingering in the warm air.

Inside, the house felt like a hug soft light, floral cushions, wooden beams that creaked with memory, and the faint scent of vanilla.

But just as they stepped into the living room, a wave of music and laughter burst through the space like sunshine.

Seungcheol stopped, blinking in surprise.

There they were YN and her siblings, Julián, Savanah, Alvaro, barefoot on the wooden floor, crowded around the TV with microphones in hand. A karaoke video blared on the screen, a spirited Spanish song with vibrant rhythms. They were singing well, more like shouting half the lyrics with big grins, correcting each other mid-line, then bursting into giggles when someone completely botched the chorus.

“No no no! That’s corazón, not camarón!” one of the brothers shouted.

“Oh shut up, boy!” YN yelled back, laughing so hard she had to hold onto the couch for balance.

It was chaos.

And it was beautiful.

Seungcheol stood frozen for a moment, bags still in hand, as the warmth of that moment wrapped around him pure, untamed joy.

“Don’t just stand there,” her mom said quietly, smiling beside him. “Come into the kitchen. Let’s let them sing their hearts out while we make some peace in the form of chocolate.”

He followed, still a little dazed.

Through the living room past the burst of music and dancing limbs into the kitchen that smelled like butter, sugar, and home.

“I used to sing like that once,” her mother said, putting on an apron and chuckling to herself. “But now my singing’s reserved for burnt rice and angry saucepans.”

Seungcheol laughed. He felt something loosen inside of him like his ribs had been tight for too long, and finally someone was letting him breathe.

He began unpacking the bags without being asked. Eggs, flour, dark chocolate, ripe bananas, cocoa powder.

“I haven’t felt this… alive in a while,” he admitted quietly, as the sounds of off-key Spanish harmonies drifted in from the next room.

Her mother glanced at him, knowingly. “That’s what happens when you walk into a place where people are allowed to be messy. Loud. Real.”

She handed him a whisk. “And now you’re part of the recipe.”

Seungcheol grinned, shaking his head.

A part of him still ached. Maria’s betrayal hadn’t vanished. But here in this flower-filled home, with the hum of love echoing through walls it didn’t own him.

He stirred the batter, laughter ringing from the living room, as if music could stitch together the broken corners of him he thought no one would ever touch again.

And for the first time in a long time… he didn’t feel like a guest in someone else’s joy.

He felt welcome in it.

The chocolate cake was a hit rich, slightly warm from the oven, with just the right amount of bitterness in the dark chocolate and love in every slice. Plates were scattered across the coffee table, mugs half-filled with café con leche and cinnamon tea.

By now, the sun had fully dipped below the horizon, leaving the little house bathed in amber and fairy lights strung up along the veranda. The earlier laughter had softened into that easy kind of silence that only families comfortable with each other share.

Seungcheol leaned against the archway between the kitchen and living room, sipping tea, soaking it all in.

That’s when Julián, YN’s older brother, pulled out his guitar and began to strum. Not wildly — gently. Like a whisper across water.

The room shifted. Quiet fell. Heads turned.

Then he started singing. His voice was low, soulful, raw.

And just like that, the room transformed. This wasn’t karaoke anymore.

This was… intimate.

YN’s voice slipped in next.

Soft at first. Feather-light. But growing with each line. Her tone was warm, honeyed, but carried a kind of ache that made Seungcheol freeze mid-sip.

She and Savanah harmonized like it was muscle memory the kind of blend you don’t learn, but grow into.

Their voices tangled like vines lifting, falling, blooming in every verse.

Alvaro stood and began to rap the bridge from “Alto Suspiro,”

effortlessly flowing into the rhythm with the kind of charisma that filled the entire room. He danced between lines, punctuating lyrics with laughter and footwork that had even their mom clapping to the beat.

It wasn’t rehearsed. It wasn’t performative.

It was who they were.

Songs written from years ago maybe never released but clearly carried like sacred things. Memories put to melody. Shared pain made art. Family bound not just by blood, but by sound.

Seungcheol sat down slowly on the couch, caught in the current.

He watched YN the whole time how her eyes sparkled when she hit the chorus, how her hands moved as if sculpting the air, how the sadness in her voice didn’t dim the light but made it realer.

She was laughing now, spinning with Savanah in the middle of the room while Julián kept playing and Alvaro clapped off-beat just to annoy them.

Seungcheol smiled.

A real one.

Not one he forced. Not one he practiced in mirrors.

A smile that ached in his cheeks because it had been so long since he’d worn one that fit.

And deep inside, somewhere quiet, he thought

So this is what it feels like to witness joy that isn’t pretending.

And for the first time, he didn’t feel like an outsider watching through a window.

He felt like he’d been invited in.

Like maybe just maybe he’d found a place where his silence was allowed… until he was ready to sing too.

The music had faded. The laughter had softened. Now only the hum of summer crickets and the scent of leftover cake remained.

Everyone had slipped into that mellow post-celebration mood scattered across couches and kitchen stools, some dozing off, others half-whispering stories with full bellies and warm hearts.

But Seungcheol?

He’d slipped outside.

The porch creaked as he settled into the old wooden bench near the jasmine vines, elbows on his knees, fingers laced together. He stared out into the little garden, now dim and silvery under the moonlight.

He didn’t know what he was feeling, really.

Something between gratitude and grief.

Something quiet.

He let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“You okay?” Her voice was soft. So soft, he nearly didn’t hear it.

He turned.

There she was YN, barefoot, holding two mugs in her hands, hair slightly tousled, cheeks pink from laughing too much. A little piece of cake crumb on her shirt.

He nodded gently, managing a smile. “Yeah. Just… needed some air.”

She handed him a mug and sat beside him, the bench sighing beneath them.

“Chamomile,” she said. “It’s all that’s left.”

“Perfect,” he murmured, taking it.

For a while, they just sat there shoulder to shoulder, watching the moonlight glaze the tops of the flowerbeds, the way light wind rustled through the leaves.

“You sing beautifully,” he said at last, his voice low. “All of you. But… especially you.”

She looked over, a bit surprised. “Thanks,” she said, then looked down at her mug. “We grew up that way. Music was how we got through things. It’s always been… therapy, I guess.”

He nodded, staring ahead again. “I don’t think I realized how long it’s been since I’ve been around something so… alive.”

She glanced at him, studying the side of his face in the pale light. “You’ve been through something,” she said softly. Not as a question just… a truth.

He didn’t speak at first.

Then: “Yeah.”

Another breath.

“It was a lot. I thought I had it all figured out. The life, the woman, the path.” His throat tightened a bit. “But it was all… a lie.”

YN stayed quiet, letting the silence hold him.

“I gave everything,” he added, voice barely above a whisper. “And I didn’t even see it coming.”

There was a long pause. Then she said, gently, “You know… my mom told me once that some betrayals don’t just break your heart they break your compass. You stop knowing where to walk. What to trust. Even in yourself.”

He looked at her, surprised.

She gave a half-smile, a little sad.

“I’ve been there.”

They didn’t have to say more.

The silence between them now wasn’t awkward. It was full.

He looked at her again the way her hair caught the breeze, the way her eyes held stars in them without even trying and he felt it:

This wasn’t just safety. This was presence.

And maybe, for the first time since everything fell apart, someone wasn’t just near him someone was actually with him.

“Thanks,” he said quietly.

“For what?”

“For… this. For not asking me to be 

okay. Just letting me be.”

YN smiled, turning her face toward the wind.

“I don’t expect people to be okay,” she said. “I just hope they don’t walk through the dark alone.”

And that night, Seungcheol didn’t.

Saturday became sacred.

It wasn’t planned. Seungcheol never asked to be there but every week, he was. Not because anyone told him to. Not even because YN’s mom expected it. But because he wanted to be.

At first, he came early just to help her carry groceries again.

Then it was: “Cheol, can you chop the onions?” “Cheol, help Julián fix that loose chair?” “Cheol, come taste this too salty or perfect?”

By the third week, he was showing up with extra flowers for the kitchen table, and a Tupperware of marinated chicken he’d made the night before “just in case.”

The siblings stopped treating him like a guest.

Alvaro playfully insulted him mid-cooking.

Savanah taught him how to fold dumplings without letting them burst.

Julián invited him to strum the guitar with him in the late afternoons, even if he didn’t play.

And YN?

She watched it all unfold quietly.

Seungcheol laughed more now. Not loud but genuinely. His posture had relaxed. He took more photos of flowers, asked about songs, offered to wash dishes, and even stayed late to help clean the backyard.

She’d catch him looking around, soft-eyed, like he couldn’t believe this was real.

And maybe that’s when she realized it.

It didn’t hit like thunder. It didn’t bloom like roses. It was quieter.

She noticed it in the way he listened not just to respond, but to understand.

She noticed it when he helped her little cousin braid her doll’s hair for two hours straight just because she asked.

She noticed it when he looked at her like her silences made sense.

She fell. Slowly. Surely. Stupidly. Like water collecting in the same place until it became a river.

And she couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Mom…”

Her mother turned from her recipe book, peeking over her reading glasses.

“Yes?”

YN bit her lip, twisting the string on her hoodie sleeve. “Can I… tell you something? But you can’t tell the others.”

Her mom raised a brow. “You’re not pregnant, right?”

“Mom!” she laughed, swatting her arm.

“Okay, okay. Go on.”

She sat down next to her, nervous. “I think… I think I’m falling for Seungcheol.”

Her mom didn’t speak.

Not because she was shocked. But because… she wasn’t.

“I just I didn’t plan to,” YN continued. “I just started noticing him… you know? The way he talks, the way he makes space for people. He’s gentle. He’s kind. Even when he’s hurting.”

She looked down.

“And it scares me. Because I was so broken before. You remember. And I swore I wouldn’t trust easily again. But with him… I don’t feel scared.”

Her mom reached over, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“My sweet girl,” she said softly, “I knew the moment you stopped humming sad songs in the kitchen.”

YN looked up, blinking. “What?”

Her mother smiled. “You hum again. You laugh with your belly. You come alive when he walks into the room, even if you don’t notice it.”

She paused.

“And if you trust him with that heart of yours… I think he’ll treat it gently. Like it’s something sacred.”

That night, YN stood alone by the porch steps, watching Seungcheol play cards inside with Alvaro and Julián laughing, groaning when he lost a round, swearing they were cheating.

And she realized her mom was right.

She didn’t want grand fireworks. She didn’t want sweeping romance. She just wanted him as he was, as she was.

Maybe next week, she’d tell him.

But for now?

She just wanted to watch the man she loved start to feel like he belonged again.

.

Instead, he went to the veranda sat on the bench again under the vines, mug of cold tea in his hand, heart thudding too loud to ignore.

He didn’t know what to do with the knowledge.

But for the first time in what felt like forever, someone had looked at his scars and didn’t flinch.

She… wanted him.

Not the perfect version of him. Not the “used-to-be” him. Not the could-have-been fiancé.

Him. Now. Still healing.

And as he looked out at the moonlight blanketing the flower beds, he whispered to himself:

“Maybe I can love again.”

The stars had fully bloomed in the sky by the time YN stepped outside.

She carried a half-empty glass of strawberry soda, not because she was thirsty but because her heart was restless. Her legs moved before her mind caught up. She had too much to think about, and somehow… she knew where to find him.

And there he was.

Sitting on the veranda bench like he always did when the noise of the world got too heavy one hand nursing a lukewarm mug of tea, the other absentmindedly running across the wooden armrest.

The jasmine vines above danced in the breeze.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” she asked softly.

He looked up, startled for just a split second before something gentle flickered in his eyes.

“No,” he said. “Too much in my head.”

She nodded, walking over, sitting beside him but not too close. She didn’t want to disturb whatever stillness he had carved out for himself here.

They sat in silence.

The air buzzed with crickets and leftover laughter from inside.

After a few moments, Seungcheol finally spoke voice low, almost afraid to shatter the stillness.

“I didn’t mean to hear it.”

YN blinked. Her heart dropped.

“What?”

“In the kitchen,” he added. “Earlier. I was coming to see if your mom needed help. And then I heard you talking to her.”

Silence. Her breath caught in her throat.

“I should’ve left,” he continued, voice even. “But I froze. I wasn’t trying to… eavesdrop. I swear.”

She didn’t answer.

Not because she was mad.

But because her cheeks burned. Her fingers clenched around her glass.

He turned to her slowly, expression unreadable at first until she met his eyes.

And in them… there was no judgment.

Only something soft. And raw. And real.

“You said you weren’t scared when I looked at you.”

She nodded, barely able to breathe.

“That’s funny,” he whispered. “Because when I look at you… I don’t feel lost anymore.”

Her gaze snapped up to meet his.

He offered a small, almost shy smile like a man still learning how to love again with hands that had once held all the wrong things.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted. “Not yet. I’m still figuring things out. Still healing. But if there’s even a small part of you that wants me the way I already want you…”

He looked down, then back up eyes glistening but steady.

“I’ll try. For you, I’ll try.”

YN didn’t speak. She reached out, slowly, letting her fingers brush against his a quiet answer that said:

“You don’t have to know how. Just don’t run. I’m here. I’ll be here.”

They sat like that for a while hands barely touching, hearts whispering louder than words ever could.

Under jasmine vines, on a porch soaked in moonlight, two broken people found something neither of them thought they’d deserve again:

A second chance.

Two Years Later

The living room was filled with sunshine, warmth, and the scent of lavender from the open windows.

YN sat on the couch, eight months pregnant, her feet resting on a pouf while she scribbled baby name ideas into a notebook half of them crossed out already.

In the kitchen, Alvaro and Seungcheol stood at the counter, chopping vegetables and chatting between sips of mango juice.

“She kicked again?” Alvaro asked, glancing at YN from the doorway.

“Hard,” Seungcheol smiled, placing a hand over his heart. “I think she’s training for the national team already.”

Alvaro chuckled. “You ready to be a girl dad?”

“More than ready,” Seungcheol said with a dreamy sigh. “I’ve already bought four books on how to braid hair.”

“Bro,” Alvaro laughed, slapping his shoulder. “You’re gonna cry the first time she says ‘appa.’”

“I cried when she hiccupped during the ultrasound,” Seungcheol admitted, not even ashamed.

They both laughed.

Then a pause.

Alvaro leaned against the counter, a little more serious. “You know… I’ve never seen her this happy before. Not even close.”

Seungcheol looked up, eyes soft.

“Me neither.”

There was a long silence. Not awkward. Just… full.

“She saved me, man,” Seungcheol added quietly, voice breaking the stillness. “Without even trying. Just by being… her.”

“She would say you did the same.”

Seungcheol smiled as he looked over at her again YN, humming to the baby in her belly, head tilted toward the sun.

And in that moment, he didn’t feel like a man who had been broken.

He felt like a man who had been rebuilt with laughter, second chances, warm kitchens, porch conversations, and a kind of love that healed without asking permission.

[rinis-rift]

(Ok sorry I think i did this inthe comments sorry) so if you have the time to take this request, it would mean a lot. So Basically trans-male idol reader x baby saja, Art Nouveau and Surrealism, I think for song-wise placing the blame by self and vampire empire by big thief for the vibe but also for like the main characters stage persona I think like girls & boys is like a pretty good example basically the two (baby and reader) connect over their hated for the personas that were forced on to them (reader it's by the fans and baby it's by gwi ma) and basically reader is tired of the fans femnizing him and but he doesn't want to quit because his label treats him and his friends well and he likes being lead dancer and getting to be in a group with his best friends but it's getting to much and so baby takes him to a fairground and arcade and baby reassures that he is a boy (thx for reading feel free to change if you want and sorry again for doing it wrong I am just a little bit dumb) have a nice day/morning/afternoon bye

Placing the Blame (On the) Vampire Empire

ꕥ Art Nouveau with the element of Surrealism in Base Colors!

ftm!Reader x Baby

extra: i genuinely jumped when the "are you man enough?" part came on, and then i physically stopped when i started playing Vampire Empire. STAR, YOU'RE AN ICON- HOLY SHITTT- this is the music I thrive for. the disgusting feeling of dread that makes your surroundings fade to black

you didn't put what kind of format you wanted so I will make this bulletpoint form. i am not trans but i am agender, so i might not capture the whole feeling, so i genuinely hope i worded this as accurate as possible, i am so sorry if i don't+ i made this more [reader] centered and made baby's role more supportive & i didn't write them to go out bc i didn't see an opening (I'M SO SORRY I FEEL LIKE I CHANGED YOUR REQUEST SO MUCH)

anyway sorry for yapping, i just know this is a very real struggle that i also sometimes juggle with- so i hope i do it justice, you are valid. don't let anyone say otherwise

i am so sorry if i wrote something insensitive or simply inaccurate in here or if i worded something that twists the meaning- do not be afraid to call me out, I want this to be comfortable and validating, not vice versa

100 Follower's Event

You looked at the comments too long.

You know it’s not right, your label and your friends constantly advise against it, but that sick feeling rolled inside of you again. 

Validation. The want to feel validated.

Validated to be a boy.

A real bー

“[Name] is such a queen for that move”

“You can really see his feminine side come out when he dances”

“He’s trying to be so tough but you can really see how cute he really is”

“He’ll never stop being fem1!!!1!”

Your breath gets caught in your throat, and it sinks like the fucking titanic at how heavy you suddenly felt.

Now here you were, cracked in half on the silent ocean floor like it. Suffering the consequences, you hunched over and stared blankly at the floor, passing the mirror too quickly on your way out.

As quickly as you could in this heavy disguise, you reach the house of your trusted friend, the one you feel like has any semblance of understanding the acidic feeling that never fails to burn and fry your insides.

Baby wasn’t doing anything meaningful inside his room, his thumbs mindless pushing the mechanics of his nintendo too quickly with a blank look

But he looks up immediately when his door opens. 

“Didn’t I tell you to kn-” He stops the moment he gets a good look at you, and puts away his games quickly.

That look in your eyes, hollow, wide, disgusted- he knew you looked at the comments.

He takes off your hat, it’s been shielding your upper face the whole time.

Your eyes look at the sage green sweater Baby has on, a stark difference from his bright pink sweater that he always wore under the guise of the public.

Your eyes eventually meet his, and in his eyes, you break.

Your face sniffles as you twitch, your eyes and cheeks and nose wrinkle into an expression that Baby hates to see.

“Hey, hey..” He whispers, slowly extending his arms to hold your face, the moment his cool hands reach your warm cheeks, your tears start to spill messy.

Like a broken faucet, the tears don’t stop, you fall onto Baby, you engulf him, and he hugs you back.

The clothes you wore to conceal your body seems to burn against your skin at how warm and hot they were, Baby notices it too. He wants to take them off and see you in your normal clothes.

You both have had intense meetings like this before, where you both rant and scream at how your fanbases treated you- like little girls and babies. 

Baby always described it like acting in a boring play in front of millions in a tight and itchy costume- You couldn’t agree more.

Baby has seen you cry like this before, and each time his hatred for that subsection of your fan base grows. You were a real boy, you’re valid, you’re not any less of a man than him.

Your past shouldn’t have any effect on you right now. It was in the past for a reason. And you’ve grown so confident into your current identity.

So why do these fuckers keep saying otherwise? Dropping subtle hints in their comments, slyly showing attachment to your former image like it was a vice? Why do you have to suffer so much because people saw you a different way some time ago?

He held you tighter, like if he held you tight enough, you’d ingest his mindset and never doubt yourself again at the hands of others.

Between cries that made his heart ache, you ask a question. Though it felt like it was more to yourself than him.

“Am I.. man enough?”

Baby’s eyebrows wrinkle at your question, of course you were! It’s such an obvious answer, and yet, thanks to these bitchasses on the internet, you won’t believe it.

The teal haired boy’s hands just stroke your hair, softly, he buries his nose into your hair.

“Of course you are.”

You don’t say anything, but you bury your face into the crook of your neck. Baby is lucky that he’s a demon so your intense body heat doesn’t affect him, but he can’t help but imagine how uncomfortable it is to be in those clothes.

In those heavy clothes, you already held such a heavy heart. Having to carry that under the weight of being an idol, of being seen by millions. 

“I- I don’t want to quit! But i- it’s just.. so… ” you hiccups make your entire chest vibrate with discomfort, you genuinely don’t want to quit just because of these comments- but why couldn’t they just see you as a man? Speak and act like you were any other boy?

“Never quit. That means they win. That means they have more agency than you on your own integrity.” Baby snaps too quickly, he hates to see you like this, cowering at words that discouraged your identity.

“You’re exactly what you sought out to be [Name], you’ll never be who you were back then, don’t even think otherwise.” Baby says, his hand slipping from your hair to your back, rubbing your back in order to soothe you.

“I see you, I see you rejecting what’s real, what is reality. On or offline, you are still you. The ‘you’ are right now.”

Your eyes shut at his affirmative words, you felt chills from how he drilled it with eviction, like it personally affected him.

Which for the record: fucking does. 

Baby notices your expression, a small sign that his words were getting to you, it relaxes him. His voice grows soft again.

“Even if the whole world doesn’t see it, I will. I will always be on your side, I’ll make sure you’ll never lose it.”

Baby’s words feel like an ice pack to your melting heart, but it actually cools you down, you get emotional at how powerful he speaks about you, how his support and love for you bubbles with molten lava when he defends you.

His hands gently tug at your thick sleeves.

“I see you in all the clothes you’re in, that you hide behind [Name].”

“And you’ll always be man enough.”

i have yet to hear a song that isn't fire from you guys, the 3 ppl who have requested gave me BANGERSSS

i didn't add mentions of surgeries or hair cutting/length because i know not everyone goes to those lengths/invalidate those who don't do those things

anyways, I really hope this brought the intended feeling.

again, i am so sorry if i wrote something insensitive or simply inaccurate about the feeling/experience or if i worded something that twists the feeling/meaning- do not be afraid to call me out, I want this to be comfortable and validating, not vice versa

[cliffs-sniperrifle]

DS2 RANT WITH SPOILERS:

People being so loudly wrong about higgs and his writing in DS2 is slowly starting to kill me cause I don’t think we love the same character AT ALL.

I’m writing this with no hate so please don’t take it personally but I’m getting annoyed at how badly y’all wanna defend higgs from his actions.

I LOVE how awful he is in DS2. How that rage has festered inside him to lash out at everything yet desperate to keep playing games because he needs to be entertained. He is such a tragic villain and that is the POINT. It’s not bad writing for someone to be written so complex. Kojima is not writing for us to hate higgs. We are supposed to sympathize and feel sorry for him, but also angry at how this grown ass man is throwing temper tantrums because he refuses to take some accountability for the things he’s done. Hurting fragile, killing others, etc.

And I HATE that people try and go “oh but what abt amelie she’s worse and manipulated him?” Do you not remember the end of DS1?? The part where she cut herself off from everyone to suffer alone to prevent the exctinction?? Why do people keep ignoring that as if she’s not repenting?? It lowkey feels misogynistic the way people are comparing higgs to fragile and amelie, when these 3 are all complex individuals. Higgs and fragile are DIRECT parallels! The way they are written is purposeful and not trying to paint higgs as simply evil and “doesn’t deserve help”. If that was the case, why even give us scenes of him at the end grieving and crying? Why even add lore about him being abused as a child at all if kojima wanted to paint him as some one-dimensional villain.

Some people want to infantilize this grown man and reduce him to nothing but his trauma to excuse all the bad he’s done out of his own volition. Fragile and sam are there to be direct parallels to higgs character, to prove him wrong.

Yes, it is sad that higgs didn’t get help. In another universe I wish he did but then this wouldn’t make for a story if everyone just got therapy and held hands. Sometimes the abused become abusers and yall refuse to accept that. It’s a real, sad thing but it doesn’t excuse his actions and behavior. Higgs is complex and nuanced because of his backstory but to reduce him to just his trauma takes away that complexity. You don’t want higgs, you want someone to soothe and coddle. Higgs was going to end up like this in DS2, because in all the years he spent repenting on the beach like amelie, he decides to take no accountability and become worse out of pure anger and spite.

Trauma and abuse affects everyone in different ways. In no way am I, or DS2, trying to hate higgs for not being the perfect victim, however, trauma and abuse does NOT excuse the choices he’s made and thats what some of you are failing to grasp. Higgs is not the only person with trauma or abuse in this story and you guys trying to compare who’s had it “harder” are missing the point.

I’m sorry if this upsets some people to hear but I’m so tired of hearing people say DS2 is trying to “make victims look like bad people” or that DS2 is awful all because kojima didn’t write a redemption arc for the man who abused and killed fragile and tried to kill a baby (and bragged about killing said baby).

Higgs is NOT the first ever villain to have a tragic backstory that does not get redeemed and he will certainly not be the last. And I highly doubt this is the last we ever see of him unless kojima says otherwise.

[ilikekidsshows]

Marinette isn't the first character that people coddling with “its fine, she already feels bad” and “she doesn't meant it” and certainly wouldn't be the last. But I do wonder, where or when exactly some common senses become so uncommon? So what if she feels bad? So what if she doesn't meant it? It's not like the people she wronged automatically be fine once she feels bad, neither does the damage is lifted or become non existent just because she doesn't mean it. Since when we're supposed to feel more sorry to the preperator rather than the victim? “She's 14!!” So? Marinette, is a 14 years old fictional character. She isn't a toddler, she's a mid teen, why people coddle her so much while attacking real people for a fictional character is beyond me. What an era to live in.

---

A big part of it is just how heavily the show itself leans on Marinette’s regret and self-flagellation, to the degree it becomes a type of repentance ritual. We previously discussed this on the blog in relation to cultural Christianity, because Christianity has the idea of punishment equaling a restoration of morality.

The idea of some kind of self-inflicted punishment having any meaning to people outside of you is based on the idea that outward morality is something other than how you treat others, because who are you repenting for when your repentance is making yourself miserable? It's not helping the people you’ve hurt, so it's for some higher power who can judge if your misery is great enough to balance the scales.

In Marinette's case, she's repenting to the audience, who have now been trained to see Marinette “feeling bad” as a punishment. Of course, that also means that every time Marinette feels bad for the sake of the plot, her stans are wired to see her as being punished for no reason.

Her stans have also been convinced that Marinette is somehow a uniquely controversial protagonist, that she's super hated and needs to be defended against unjust criticism, especially if someone has managed to attach said criticism to somehow relate to social justice. So people hating on Marinette are called racist misogynists, sometimes because her defenders genuinely think hating girls or POC characters is the only reason to hate Marinette, and sometimes because left-leaning fans will actually reflect on the accusations when called racist or misogynistic, because these are actual issues in many fandoms, so it's actually an easy way to shut them up.

The irony is, of course, that Maripologists' treatment of Alya is actually exactly what usual fandom misogyny and racism looks like.

[evilneo]

sometimes im like "damn why is there not more discussion about [canonically abused character]'s and [canonical abuser who has no regard for autonomy or boundaries and is also a parental/familial/older figure of some kind]'s abuse through a lens of CSA bc im a victim of that and they resonate with me and also it would not be a stretch at all to view it as that even tho its not canon". and then im violently transported back to the real world where the internet is mainly split into either "we discuss it but only bc we fetishize pedophilia and incest LOL we dont care about survivors" or "we have a complex about this and we think if you hc characters in this way youre as bad as the first camp. what do you mean were basically telling survivors that their experiences are too disgusting and shameful to talk about? shut up" and well i think both camps are Dick Heads‼️‼️‼️‼️

[theelmoarchive]

THE SUCKENING!!!!!!!

Can you tell who my favorite is

I love drawing these guys so much Emizel is slowly filling every sketchbook page i flip

[anghraine]

One of the weirder parts of being formally tested for autism as an adult—apart from the hellscape of hours of math hell—was that they kept asking me for my conclusions or opinions about things I had very little knowledge of. These weren't basic facts you'd expect someone to pick up in the course of a standard US education, and I kept repeating that I would have to do actual research to form opinions on subjects I had no significant information about.

Obviously, "not opinionated" isn't a major problem for me when I do have a reasonable amount of information, but my eventual diagnosis specifically mentioned that I kept repeating that I would have to do more research to acquire the necessary baseline of data for forming opinions on [whatever], and that the phrasing of my various refusals tended to be identical or very similar (I didn't see any need to alter my wording when I was simply repeating the same position over and over).

*cough*

Anyway this is also about Star Trek. (Surprise.) I knew Spock would be relatable before we started the grand TOS watch, but did not expect him to be the most relatable character on television ever, and his continual refusals to deliver opinions without enough data for informed theories was actually a big part of this.

[pokemonblack3white3]

Girlies I have got to stop feeling guilty about creating art I enjoy

[dreamsy990]

some of the less nice thoughts about being aroace

extras below the cut

sketch

closeups on my favorite panels

bonus: adios

[burningcheese-merchant]

I'm really sorry for asking, I hope this isn't an intrusive question. You don't have to answer if you don't want to, but I've noticed you've toned down your burningcheese posts. Are you taking a break? I hope this ask doesn't come around as being demanding or intrusive. I just really miss seeing burningcheese since there's hardly anything on the tags anymore from what I've noticed. If you are taking a break, please don't feel pressured to answer this post. You deserve a break after everything that's happened

Have I? Doesn't really seem like that to me... But I guess I don't know? Feels like I've been posting and reblogging stuff about them like usual. I guess not? I've been posting a lot about the fankids recently, is that it? Those don't count as burningcheese posts? Haha

But yeah uh I'm sorry if I've given that impression. This ship is still infecting my brain all day every day dont worry haha. I guess i just. I haven't been doing well recently. Nothing to do with internet drama or anything I don't care about that. I've been facing a lot of genuine hardship irl. and i guess it's starting to show on here? Maybe? I'm not really sure. In any case i do apologize if it seems like I'm losing interest or anything like that. Promise I'm not. I'm always thinking about them lol they're a plague. They're a curse. Devsisters owes me reparations at this point. Or rent money for the space in my brain they've been squatting in. Tenant's rights don't exist in my mindscape, they're in big trouble

[wackywatchdotcom]

something i genuinely adore about tadc is how painfully flawed everyone in the circus is. and not in a small way

everyone does SOMETHING that negatively impacts the others. but it makes the fact that you are supposed to sympathize with and really connect with them all the more potent. because its easy to want to put a bunch of characters in a bad situation together and to just have them all be nice to each other and everyone and never make mistakes because theres no reason to hurt each other, and most of them dont TRY to, but the way they cope is so, so realistic for each of their personalities, and it doesnt always mesh with the others, and sometimes it exceeds self destructive and Just Hurts Others, Too

they still generally care about each other and the mistakes they make and the ways they end up hurting each other dont lose their weight but like. it doesnt take away from their humanity and the fact that they are all trying so hard to manage in an awful situation

and the characters seem to have sooome sort of understanding of this too. not fully, because the characters dont tend to be 100% communicative, but when they hurt each other, it often makes EVERYONE uncomfortable. because these are the only people they have. these are their friends. and theyre all coping. but it doesnt change how much it affects them (best illustrated by ragathas lines at the start of ep 2 or gangles 'i love her, but after a while it gets kinda hard to tell how genuine shes actually being'). its not all like this, theres a good amnt of variety, but characters knowing this but not really knowing what to do about it is very painful in an effective way

(i think a subtle example of this is how zooble handles gangles situation in ep 4- they were so genuinely trying to help her because they care. but could tell as the day went on that oh, this is not working at all and its making things worse, and they leave gangle alone- something that very genuinely couldve been the moment she abstracted, because of the mask zooble gave her- and we dont get to have a super blatant explanation of zoobles thoughts on it, but they reach a fairly healthy conclusion about it that helps both of them, and i like that a lot, because on paper zooble could be placed at fault but the narrative doesnt dwell on it excessively, because thats not the point. i dont know if that tangent makes sense but i think about it sometimes. i think zooble wasnt 'to blame' but it was still a mistake, which is a hard balance to strike, and having them help at the end feels extremely effective at rounding it off!!!)

but like. in general its complicated balancing making characters in a bad situation act flawed because it can run the risk of seeming like the story is scolding them or blaming them for the situation theyre in, or like youre expected to not sympathize with them despite it (though the inverse also has complications- if characters in a bad situation never mess up, it feels unrealistic and hard to relate to, and can imply that their innocence is why whats happening to them is bad at all), but the show handles it so well

even the characters who are genuinely trying all try in different ways- some of them have similar outlooks or attitudes towards these thing but theres vital differences for ALL of them- sometimes it works and sometimes it doesnt. in fact some of the more painful mistakes characters have made in the show have come from them so genuinely trying (like the thing i mentioned w zooble, or basically Everything Ragatha Does, or pomnis first attempt at helping gangle, etc), which hits harder than if every mistake characters made had wholly selfish and cruel goals.

i mean, there is a selfishness to many of the characters' actions but imo not in a way thats not warranted. because all of them are in a horrible setting. its uncomfortable to watch characters be selfish. but it is a natural instinct to survive. its not the foundation of most of their actions, but when it is, its uncomfortable but hard to completely disparage them for in a way that makes you feel kinda conflicted

and like. it hurts to be doing your best and for that to make things worse, but its what happens often in the show. because no one in a bad situation is gonna handle it well. by the very nature of trying to survive something is gonna give, but it makes the themes of the show so much more powerful. that making sure the people around you dont feel unloved, cherishing them and finding meaning with others is no less important just because everyone is fucking up. it complicates things, for sure, but it doesnt make those characters exempt fromt this. theres a reason pomni tells gummigoo that she doesnt want "anyone" to feel like theyre nothing, and that kinger doesnt add ANY quallifiers to making sure people feel wanted and loved (not that i think either of them were thinking SUPER super hard, but it conveys smth from the perspective of the narrative

it gets complicated when you add in jax for sure, since i think on the surface he IS the exception to this concept- none of the characters like him, including pomni or kinger. but i think this is something thats gonna be examined further down the line, bc hes the main complicating factor in this reading of the show, but i feel like thats on purpose. hes universally disliked (and so is caine, in a different way) and his actions arent mistakes. they are him coping. the show has made it clear that he can be a complex person AND also a piece of shit. his actions dont detract from the fact that hes a person and the show reminds us of this. so it makes things so messy, but im genuinely super excited to see how the show examines that. where his character goes is, imo, going to be a massive piece of how this show fleshes out this concept

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

literally the easiest way to make someone care about a character and make them feel well-rounded beyond basic traits like personality, sexuality, ethnicity, etc, is to give them an actual character arc, and it’s shocking how many people do not seem to fully realize this

you cannot just cram a bunch of tropes. tropes are not the main event, they are tools to tell the story you wish to tell. emotional impact comes from the lead up, so you can’t just jump ahead and expect the payoff to work. “I want this character to just ___ already!” but they’re not there yet. that’s where the arc comes in - how do they get there?

and! most importantly, and this is something I really want people to think about when writing - the most important relationship your character should have, always, is with the world and society around them. defining your character purely through their interactions with other characters are, I find, how a lot of female characters end up feeling flat or not engaging with the themes as much as the male characters, and also how queer and non-white characters wind up as devices for other characters’ development instead of being more fleshed out

[taraxippos]

I never touched it but I feel like i only ever hear positive things said about song of achilles.. in (rough strokes at least) what makes it dogshit to you?

Okay it's been a while since I actually read it so some of this might not be spot on accurate. Sorry if at any point I say 'the book never does xyz' and it actually does once or twice but I think my underlying criticisms are accurate

-Patroclus is made into like this soft gentle tender quivering little yaoi boy. In the source text, he's shown as compassionate and moved by the suffering of his own men (and apparently having some medical skill, tending to the wounded in the camp), but very much invested n combat and very, very good at it (pages worth of descriptions of the guys he's killing left and right). In this, the arguably more complex character from this 8th century BC text is flattened into Being A Healer, he doesn't want to go to war he just wants to help people, he only goes because Achilles has to but he doesn't want to fight he's a HEALER he's a gentle lover NOT A FIGHTER who just wants to help he just wants to help everyone around him he HEALS while Achilles is a doomed warrior who is so good at fighting and KILLING its a DICHOTOMY GUYS!!!LIKE THE BEAUTIFUL SUN AND MOON DOOMED LOVERS SO SAD patocluse HEALER . (I Think he's specifically characterized as being BAD at fighting but might be misremembering)

-I don't remember much about Achilles' characterization I think it just makes him less of a jackass while not adding anything of interest and levels out into being mad boring.

-Not getting into the literal millenias old debate whether the mythological characters Achilles and Patroclus were being characterized as some type of lover by the original oral sources of the Iliad or its Homeric writers. We will never know. We don't even know what (if any) culturally accepted conventions of male homosexuality existed in bronze age Greece (we know much more about their descendants). But there are some interesting elements of their characterization in this direction, with how unconventional their relationship is WITHIN the text itself- Patroclus is described as cooking for Achilles and his guests (very specifically a woman/wife's job), Achilles chides Patroclus like a father, but there's also scene where Achilles' mourning of him directly echoes a passage of Hector's wife mourning her husband, Patroclus is explicitly stated to Achilles' elder, and is overall treated as his equal or near-equal, closest confidant and most beloved friend (to the point that pederastic classical Greeks would debate over who was erastes (older authority figure lover) and who was eromenos (adolescent 'beloved')- many took it as a given that this text depicted their present-day cultural norms of homosexual behavior but it existed so Outside of these norms that it had to be debated who was who). Their relationship is non-standard both within the text and to the descendants of the civilization that wrote them.

Basically what I'm saying is this book had opportunities to like, explore the unconventionality of the relationship (being presented here as explicitly lovers), explore the dynamics of why Patroclus wants to do 'women's work' (besides being a tenderhearted softboy), the weird dynamics where they take on paternal roles to each other but also roles of wives, how they feel about being this way, and just kind of Doesn't. Which I guess isn't an intrinsic fault (because it omits much of what I just talked about to begin with). it's just like.... Lame. This book takes jsut abandons everything interesting about the source text in favor of flattening it into bland Doomed Yaoi.

-The conflict that sets off the core story of the Iliad is Achilles and Agamemnon fighting over Briseis, an enslaved Trojan woman taken by Achilles as a war-trophy, Achilles spends most of the story moping because he was dishonored by his 'trophy' being taken. Achilles and Patroclus and everyone else are raping their captives, all the women in the story are either captured Trojans (or in the case of the free women within the walls of Troy, soon to be enslaved, and are slave owners themselves). Slavery as an institution and extreme patriarchal conventions are innate to the text and reflective of the context in which it was developed. You cannot avoid it.

But obviously you can't have your soft yaoi boys doing this, so the author has them capturing women to Protect Them from the other men. Their slaves are UNDER THEIR PROTECTION and VERY SAFE (and they might even Like And Befriend Them but I might be misremembering that. Briseis does though). Our heroes have apparently absorbed none of the ideals of the culture they exist in and the author seems to think "they're gay and aren't sexually attracted to their captives" would translate to them being outright benevolent (also as if wartime sexual violence is just about attraction and not part of a wider spectrum of violent acts to dehumanize and brutalize an accepted 'enemy')

In the source text, Briseis mourns Patroclus as being the kindest to her of her captors, who tried to get her a slightly better outcome by getting her married to Achilles (which probably would be the Least Bad of all possible outcomes for a woman in that situation, becoming a legal wife instead of a slave), and wonders what will happen to her now that he's gone. This is a really really sad, horrible, and compelling dynamic which could be fleshed out in very interesting ways but is instead is tossed entirely aside in favor of them being Besties. Like brother and sister.

All of the above pisses me off so much. If you don't want to engage in the icky parts of ancient/bronze age Greece then don't write a retelling of a story taking place in bronze age Greece. I'm not gonna get mad at children's adaptations of Greek myths or silly fun stories loosely based on them for omitting the rape and slavery but it is SO fundamental to the Iliad. If you're not willing to handle it, either fully omit it or better yet set your Iliad inspired yaoi in an invented swords-and-sandals setting where you can have all your heartbreaking tragic doomed lovers plot beats and not have to clumsily write around the women they're brutalizing.

-The author didn't seem to know what to do with Thetis and she made her just like, Achilles bitch mother who spends most of the story trying to separate our Yaoi Boys (iirc her disguising Achilles as a girl and hiding him on Scyros is made to be more about getting him away from Patroclus than trying to save her son from his prophesied doom in the Trojan War) until she sees how much they loooove each other and I think helps Patroclus' spirit get to the afterlife or something in the end?

-This is more of a personal taste gripe but it has that writing style I loathe where the prose feels less like a story and more like an attempt to string together Deep Beautiful Hard Hitting Poetic Lines that will look great as excerpts on booktok (might predate booktok but same vibe). It's all very Pretty and Haunting and Deep but feels devoid of real substance.

I really like The Iliad and The Odyssey in of themselves. They're fascinating historical texts that give a window into how 8th century BC Greeks told their stories, saw their world, interpreted their ancestors, etc. And genuinely I think these texts have 'good' characters, there's a lot of complexity and humanity to it.

WRT the Iliad- all of the main Achaeans are pretty fascinating, the one singular part where Briseis Gets To Talk and laments her situation is great, Achilles fantasizing that all of the Trojans AND the Achaeans die so he and Patroclus alone can have the glory of conquering Troy (wild), Achilles asking to embrace Patroclus' shade and reaching out for him but it's immaterial (and the shade being sucked back underground with a 'squeak' (the squeak kinda gets me it's disturbing and sad)), Hecuba talking about wanting to tear out Achilles' liver and eat it in a (taboo, exceptioally pointed) expression of rage and grief for his mutilation of her son's corpse, just one tiny line where the enslaved women performing ritual wailing for their dead captors are described as using it as an outlet to 'grieve for their own troubles' is heartrending, etc. A lot of grappling with anger and grief and the inevitability of death, a lot of groundwork laid for characters that could be very interesting when expanded upon in the framework of a conventional novel.

And Song Of Achilles really doesn't do much with all that. I know a lot of my gripes here are kind of just "It's different from the Iliad", I would have thought of it as mostly mediocre and forgettable rather than infuriating if it wasn't a retelling (and I DEFINITELY have strong biases here). But I think the ways in which it is different are less just a product of a retelling (of course there's going to be omissions and differences) and more a complete and utter disinterest in vast majority of its own subject matter, to the book's detriment. I think a retelling has a point when it EXPANDS on the source, or provides a NEW ANGLE to the source. This book doesn't Really do either, it just shaves off the complexity of its source material, renders the characters into a really boring archetype of a gay relationship, and gives very little else. Its content boils down to a middling tragic romance that has been inserted into the hollowed out defleshed skeleton of the Iliad.

Bottom line: I definitely would not be as mad about it if I wasn't familiar with the source material but I think it's fair to expect a retelling to Engage with/expand on its source, and I also think it's weak purely on its own merits. This book was set up to disappoint Me specifically.

[witchzvamp]

first of all, these boys need to learn when shut the fuck up omg it's better than get more and more into this mess! everyone is so damn dumb, i was dumb when i was a teenager but god not this much

second, fou4mod is not all THAT, not enough to have TWO boys trying to get him like you guys (baabin) are better than this! i mean he such a mess like omg he doesn't need you guys in a weird competition to know who he gonna end up with he needs therapy and if you guys like him so much send him to therapy asap; all of you guys need therapy actually

third of all, i don't know how should i feel about bua?? he's a sweetheart but i don't know if he really does feel something real for baabin; i understand he's in need of real attention and love but it's like he clings to the first person he thinks will be good for him, which is a little unhealthy (actually VERY UNHEALTHY); but love him regardless

and i have nothing to talk about baabin bc he let me down so much and depending on what he does next week's episode i gonna become his hater #1

[chaotictomtom]

lunch break a billions time better cos im at the marcus centered ep in my rewatch yipeeee

[princsstwilightsparkl]

saying "if aroace people can date, then can lesbians date men?" is absolutely aphobic narrative btw!